Benedict took a deep breath and then said the exact words she’d not been waiting to hear from him for the last seven years. “I don’t know, Rachel. I guess I was scared.”
“Right. I’m going now.” she replied, this time managing to stand up. “Have a lovely time and a lovely life.”
“I was twenty-one, Rachel! I had no fucking clue what I was doing with my life! And then you came in, and suddenly everything seemed to fall into place, and that bloody scared the shit out of me!”
“Don’t you think I was scared too? Because, believe me, I was absolutely terrified to death! I felt something in my heart that I haven’t felt ever since, and you just walked away from it!”
“Because I was a stupid bastard! And I still am, because I’m fully expecting you to do the same and walk out of my life again and I can’t take losing you twice!”
“Well, then you’re wrong because I am staying right here!”
“Good!”
“Good!”
“I’m going to kiss you now!”
“Jesus Christ, it’s about time!”
Benedict strode forward and pulled Rachel toward him. In the split second before their lips met, she could swear he whispered a thank-you to the divine graces, as their kiss seemingly melted the seven intervening years to a puddle of nothing.
His hands roamed over her body, as if remapping her curves into his head. He hadn’t changed; his touches were deliberate and careful enough, but still hungry and wanting. Rachel moaned into his mouth, shivers of deep lust running down the back of her spine. She wanted him to take her right then and there, to throw her on the bed and ravish her as befitted a posh country hotel like this.
Already she could feel his cock hard against her, straining at his fly and begging to be let out. God, his cock. She kicked herself for temporarily forgetting just how glorious it was. She wanted to reach out for it, release it and take it in her mouth like the last time was only yesterday.
But then she pulled herself away. Her breathing was heavy, her panties were soaked with her juices, her clit was crying out for his fingers…and here she was, having second thoughts.
“Rachel?”
Surprising herself, she uttered, “I’m so sorry…I don’t think I can.”
Her feet took control, and she was out of the room before Benedict even had time to think about what had just happened. It was only when she found her way back into her own room that her heart took over and the tears flowed freely.
“Bendy! Practicing your best man speech, I see?”
Benedict didn’t look up from his piece of paper. The only way he acknowledged that his brother had joined him was a little wave in his direction.
He wasn’t practicing his speech. He was reading it, possibly for the thirteenth time that week, but he wasn’t practicing it. He wasn’t even sure if the words on the paper were actual words.
George sat down next to him at the table in the hotel bar and put a brotherly hand on his shoulder. Benedict could tell that he’d switched gears from “teasing asshole” to “loving brother” mode.
“Are you all right, mate? You’ve been miles away all weekend.”
“I’m right here, George.”
“You know what I mean, Ben. Come on, I’m your brother. I can literally feel whenever you’re having an existential moment. You get all frowny and maudlin. Like right now.”
He felt ashamed to admit that George had it spot on. Benedict could actually feel the intensity of his own frown. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry, George. I didn’t mean to be like this on your big weekend. It’s just…”
George looked at him expectantly. He considered just letting it all out and telling him everything there was to tell about Rachel and their shared history…and the future he had virtually kissed goodbye.
“It’s just a bit busy for me. Never mind me; I’m just an old hermit.”
“You’re a twenty-eight-year-old journalist. Neither old nor a hermit, Bendy. If you want to talk, I’m right here. It may be my wedding, but you are my brother, and I always have time for you. Remember that.”
“Duly noted. Thank you.”
George smiled at his brother, and then stood up again. “Now, get something fancy on. We’re going on the piss and having a boys’ night out. It’s my last night as a bachelor and I would very much like to go out in style.”
Benedict hesitated, looking from his speech to the door of the restaurant, half expecting Rachel to walk through the door and into his arms. At this point, he could only hope she was still here. She hadn’t been seen all day.
“All right,” he said finally. “But if I have to peel Steven up from the floor of a strip club at three in the morning again, you are in my debt, brother of mine.”
“Sorted. Let’s go and celebrate.”
Benedict took a deep breath and followed his brother. Maybe George was right, and this would do him good. One more day and George would be married and Benedict would be on his way to his next assignment. How bad could a night of letting loose be?
It was three in the morning when Rachel heard the noise outside her hotel room window. She had fallen asleep watching some reality show on TV, after keeping to herself in her room all day. At first she thought it was the television, but then why would the man flogging vacuum cleaners on the home shopping channel scream out her name?
“Rachel!”
“What the hell?”
Rachel scrambled out of bed, rubbing her eyes. There it was again.
“Rachel!”
Followed by loud sobbing. As Rachel tried to focus her eyes, she made out three shapes sitting on a bench outside. She peeked through the open window and heard the distinct voices of Benedict and George, along with one of the other groomsmen.
“Oh god, I miss her, George!”
“It’s okay, Bendy. It’s okay. Just keep the noise down.”
“But I’m sad!”
“I know you’re sad, mate…”
“Oh god, I have missed her so much and now she doesn’t want me! Don’t leave me, Rachel! I love you!”
Rachel gasped.
“It’s okay, brother of mine. We’ll get you inside and you get some rest, okay?”
“George! I don’t…”
She couldn’t make out the rest of what he was saying, but what she could see spoke volumes. George and his groomsman each held on to a shoulder as they walked a still sobbing Benedict back to his room.
Rachel slowly backed away from the window and retreated to bed, wondering just how stubborn she could still afford to be.
Both of them spent the next morning playing a game of trying to catch each other’s eyes without really trying. Over breakfast, from which most of the wedding party appeared to be missing, it came down to Benedict and Rachel in a standoff of longing stares and sudden glances over plates of eggs Florentine.
Rachel, who sat alone in one corner, kept her eyes on Benedict, who was in the other corner. There were times where she’d nearly worked up the courage to go up to him, but faltered. She suspected it was much the same on his end.
“Come on, Hahn,” she said to herself. “You’re not twenty-one and extremely awkward anymore.”
No. She was twenty-eight and extremely stubborn. All she had to do was stand up and go to him. But as she readied herself, George suddenly materialized and sat himself down on the seat opposite hers. She could see Benedict doing that thing where he pinched the bridge of his nose, either in mortification or fighting off a catastrophic headache. Or both.
“Okay, I have about two minutes before I have to start preparing, so I’ll make this quick. D’you mind?” said George, before stealing a slice of toast from her plate. Rachel wanted to protest, but he held his hand up and apologized before continuing.
“Ben’s my younger brother. I love him to death, but he can be a stubborn and indecisive fucker sometimes. I mean, this is the bloke who once spent an hour deciding between mayonnaise and ketchup on his curly fries an
d then wouldn’t give the mayonnaise back to me. Granted, he was nine at the time, but still.”
George paused, practically devouring the toast. Rachel handed him another piece, which he gratefully accepted.
“But here’s the thing. In all my life, in all the years I’ve had Ben as my brother, I have never seen him so sure about anything than about what he feels for you.”
“He was drunk, George. I heard you guys outside.”
“Of course you did. I think the entire hotel heard him, he was that loud. But he was telling the truth, Rachel. Trust me on that. I know my brother well enough to know when his heart’s been properly stolen by someone. Which reminds me, I have to go and get dressed to marry the woman who’s stolen mine. See you in a tick.”
Before George left, he shot them both a wink. Now it was Rachel pinching the bridge of her nose. What was she going to do?
* * *
At five to two that afternoon, Rachel had set up on the lawn of the south court, where the ceremony was taking place. The heat outside was mercifully less scorching, but the heat inside her body was agonizing. The guests were already streaming in, with Anna’s parents proudly welcoming what looked like the entire population of a small German village to the proceedings.
The bride herself looked amazing. The groom, currently waiting at the front, looked incredibly dapper in his suit. And Benedict…he was the reason she was burning. It wasn’t just the suit and tie, or the slicked-back hair, or any one specific detail. It was him. It was the way he looked at her as he walked past her. It was the way he was handling George’s sudden onset of nerves. It was the way he just…was.
It made her realize how much she’d missed him…and how much more she would miss him if she let him slip away.
But she didn’t have time to think about that now. For the next few hours, she would be an exemplary professional.
And then she’d get her man. At last.
“Rachel, thank you so much. You have such…ein gutes Auge für einen schönen Moment. Thank you.”
Anna pulled Rachel into a hug that was surprisingly strong for such a slight lady. For a moment she feared bruising.
“Thank you for having me. Have a lovely time in… Where is it you’re going?”
“Vienna. Benedict’s recommendation. Apparently he had the most beautiful night of his life there.”
“Right,” Rachel said, nodding, but feeling her heart sink into the ground. She hadn’t seen Benedict since the dinner ended; the fear that he might have left without her noticing weighed on her shoulders.
“Anna, I don’t suppose you’ve…”
But before Rachel could finish, someone called out for the bride. Anna apologized and dashed off toward the party marquee. Rachel sighed, took her equipment and made her way back toward the hotel. She never tended to overstay her welcome, and as far as this wedding was concerned, her job was done.
She was leaving the next day. And it looked a lot like she’d be leaving brokenhearted.
But as she walked up the steps, that heart started to race. Coming down the steps was Benedict, carrying his bags. Upon seeing her, he shook his head and started walking faster.
“Hey! Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going!” she shouted, chasing him to the little copse nearby.
“Home.”
“No!”
Rachel grabbed on to his arm but Benedict shook himself free. “Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is, Rachel.”
“What, you leaving me again? Walking out of my life for the second time? No, no, you are not going to do that!”
“You don’t want me, Rachel!”
“Yes, I do!”
Both of them stopped in their tracks, on the other side of the green.
“Yes,” Rachel repeated. “I do want you. I want to curse you. I want to swear at you, I want to take you by the shoulders and shake sense into you! But most of all, I want you to throw me down on the green and make love to me, because what I want right now and forever is you!”
“Brilliant! Great! Shall I just throw you down and take you right here then?”
“Dear god, yes!” she said for the second time that weekend.
There was a clattering of bags on to the grass, followed by Benedict pulling Rachel into his arms.
“For real this time?” he asked, his eyes again filled with hope.
Her answer was her kiss, her lips melting together with his. The late evening air was still thick with warmth, and Rachel’s head swam as Benedict kissed her deeply. Remaining hints of setting sun illuminated his face and his gorgeous curls, making them almost shine.
The kiss seemed to last for ages. As they finally parted, both of them left with ragged breaths, Benedict’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close enough so she could feel the outline of his growing erection against her mound. He took off his suit jacket and spread it out on the ground. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and eventually managed to bare his gorgeous chest, flecked with dark hairs and still so beautifully defined.
Rachel’s mouth formed a perfect O, as memories of that fateful night in Vienna flooded back. He was wearing a suit jacket that day as well. They had gone to the ballet and ended up in the park, under the trees, sweaty and tangled up.
“And before you ask, yes, that is the same suit jacket I wore in Vienna. I’m just that nostalgic,” he said, grinning sheepishly.
“I thought it looked familiar,” said Rachel, sinking down on the spread-out jacket. “Then again, I’ve fantasized about this goddamn jacket for god-knows-how-long now.”
“Was I wearing it in your fantasies?” he asked, straddling her hips and pulling up her skirt. Already the feeling of his fingers brushing the wet fabric of her panties made her shiver with pleasure.
“No. We were fucking on it.”
With one deft pull, her panties found their way onto the ground, leaving her spread open and ready for Benedict’s cock. She fumbled with his belt, eventually managing to release his erection from his boxers. He briefly let his fingers dance over her cleft, relishing in how wet she was.
Then he flipped her over, guiding her onto her hands and knees. There was a brief, agonizing pause in which Rachel heard the distinctive sound of a foil wrapper being opened. And then there was the feeling of his cock, sliding inside her with ease.
Both of them breathed a sigh of relief and anticipation before Benedict started fucking her. Rachel’s hand found her throbbing clit, her fingers vigorously frigging herself as his cock thrust into her. He moaned her name like a lustful mantra, as he held on to her hips to steady himself.
In the distance, there was the light and sound of revelers, celebrating a new union. Here, in the relative darkness of the copse, there were two people celebrating a reunion. The notion of getting caught was far away from Rachel’s mind—this man had made love to her on the banks of the Seine, in an alleyway in Amsterdam, near the Riesenrad in the Prater Park… With Benedict, she feared nothing.
Their movements became faster and more frantic, as Rachel chased the light of her climax with every stroke of her fingers and every thrust of his cock. Benedict’s grunts became almost feral as he fought off his own climax.
“I can’t hold myself much longer, Rachel,” he moaned. “I can’t.”
“It’s okay. Come inside me,” she gasped, just as her own orgasm took over and rushed through her entire body. She rode it out as Benedict’s thrusts became nearly brutal, before his body stiffened and his cock twitched with his own rapture. He cried out her name, into the trees and into forever. It was like he could breathe again, after spending so long under water.
“This time, for real,” Rachel whispered, before collapsing onto the jacket. Benedict laughed.
“So, you’re a journalist now?”
“Yeah. It almost sounds grown-up, doesn’t it? Foreign correspondent, Benedict Matheson.”
After their tryst on the grass, Rachel had dragged Benedict to her hotel room, where they’d spent t
he entire night trying to make up for seven lost years. In the morning, he could barely walk, much to her amusement. A hearty breakfast was a definite necessity in this case.
“That’s incredibly fancy. It’s what you’ve always wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Well, either that or working for MI5,” said Benedict, before taking another bite of toast. “Either way, I wanted to travel. What about you? Don’t you ever want to strike out again? Take pictures of things other than weddings?”
“I haven’t really thought of that, to be honest.”
“And why not? You’re incredibly talented, and the world is as beautiful as you are.”
He took her hand in his. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“My next assignment. Three weeks in Los Angeles. I fly out on Tuesday.”
“Benedict…but, are you absolutely sure?”
“I have never been surer about anything in my entire life than about you, Rachel Hahn. I love you. Always have. And I want you to come with me.”
“What about afterward?”
Benedict grinned. “Taking it slow, getting reacquainted, being a couple, being in love. For real, this time. Building our own adventure.”
Rachel couldn’t help grinning herself. “I like a bit of adventure.”
Two days later, as she stepped off the plane into the glorious LA sunshine, closely followed by Benedict, she knew she was in for just that—and a whole lot more.
DANISH AFFAIR
J. Crichton
In the hot, slow days of summer he arrived at our two-story home in small-town suburbia. I remember driving home with him in the backseat and my mother riding shotgun, plying him with polite, simple questions about his journey and pointing out the local landmarks. He seemed interested though, eyes widening and face against the glass, staring out at that awful copper statue that had gone green with age and the local diner that I had passed every day of my life.
He did weird things like sleep on top of the covers and not eat his avocados at dinner. Even his underwear was foreign and fascinating to me; pulling them out of the laundry was thrilling and amusing. I held his briefs and giggled while my mother would mistake the teenage obsession I was developing for bullying and chide me for it. “Now, now. They’re just different, that’s all.”
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