by Lynn Turner
“I-I didn’t think anyone noticed. I just wanted to have something that was mine…”
“I noticed. I’m sure I could find someone easier, petite, but I couldn’t find someone better.”
She shifted awkwardly a moment. When she looked at him again, her eyes had taken on a sheen, and she attempted a small smile. “Truce?”
He nodded. “Truce.”
*
The sun had just begun to set, and Mina squinted as its weakening rays streamed through gaps in the clouds and filtered through the leaves. It was nearing eight hours and a half, but the air was still warm and sultry, seeping through the cracks in the sidewalk and filtering up. Her legs burned deliciously from her brisk ten-minute walk from the subway stop to Alex’s beautiful, tree-lined street in Brooklyn. Brownstones towered above her in rich, earthy tones, and she couldn’t help but admire their charm, even as her heart pounded in her chest.
Alex had told her more than once she could stop by anytime. Still…I should have called, she reprimanded herself for the thousandth time. She’d given herself a few pep talks just to get out of her hotel and onto the train. And now, as Alex’s steep staircase rose from the pavement in front of her, she stopped, doubting herself again. What would be her excuse for stopping by? And so late?
She closed her eyes, letting the noise of the city around her absorb the panic creeping into her thoughts. Opening them again, she took the stairs slowly, until she stood at the landing in front of an ornate door. She quickly rang the bell before she gave in to the foolish urge to turn around and go right back to her hotel. There was a motion behind the thick stained-glass pane, the heavy sound of locks moving, and then the door opened. She gasped.
“Zack?”
He looked as shocked as she felt, opening the door wider as if to convince himself she was really there. “Mina.”
Caught off guard, she had no time to stop her eyes from moving over him, drinking in the way he looked outside the studio, dressed down in a completely different way. He wore only a pair of gym shorts and a sleeveless shirt. The thin gray cotton stretched across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, and her eyes lingered there before trailing over his narrow waist, over his lean hips and the taut muscles of his thighs.
She remembered the way those strong arms had held her, and the way those hands had lifted her against him only a few hours ago. She hadn’t been able to really see him then, the way she could now. Her eyes met his again, and she knew he was remembering the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Alex told me it was okay to stop by. I should have anticipated he might have company.”
“No need to apologize. I’m renting the room upstairs, so bumping into me is inevitable, I’m afraid. Alex is out right now, but you’re welcome to-”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She realized she’d just apologized again. “Sorry.” She winced, unable to stop the word from tumbling from her lips once more. Her mind was working overtime to formulate some excuse, but the truth came quicker. Easier. “I just…I don’t know anyone else here. Everyone back home is asleep, and I-I didn’t want to be alone.”
She chanced a look at him again, but his gaze held an unexpected warmth, not at all the annoyance she expected.
“It’s okay.” He stepped back and opened the door completely. “I’m someone, you know. Maybe not as wise or eccentric as Alex, but I might do in a pinch.”
Mina eyed him, still hesitant. He was obviously trying to lighten the moment, it was clear in his voice. But his expression was missing the lopsided grin that usually accompanied his humor. His brows were lifted slightly, and he shifted his weight. It was as if he wasn’t just being polite. As if, maybe, he really was hoping she would come in.
“Okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Stepping a few feet inside, she absently admired the foyer. It was wide, with open entryways on either side. One led to a library, the other to a sitting room, both furnished with a stately elegance that was distinctly Alex. The ceiling had to be twelve feet high, and an impressive chandelier hung above a spiraling staircase down the hall and to her left. She turned around at the sound of the door clicking heavily shut and stopped breathing.
Zack was a half meter in front of her. How had he moved so quickly? So quietly? She felt the smallest hint of warmth from his body, caught the faintest whiff of his clean scent as she breathed, and was overcome with the urge to get closer. To experience the same comfort his nearness had given her before. Her mouth worked silently as she stared at him.
“I’m here, petite. I’m someone you know.”
Her eyes welled suddenly and spilled over. He took a step forward and stopped, probably thinking she’d panic and flit past him out the door. She looked at the door. He wasn’t far off in that assumption.
“I’m here,” he said again carefully. “Just take what you need.”
Letting her purse fall to the floor, she stepped closer, and for the longest moment she just stood there and watched his chest rise and fall in deep, measured breaths. Then she lifted her hands to his chest to feel the movement beneath her palms. Strong and steady. Before she knew what she was doing, her hands moved down and around his waist, and her head nestled against his chest.
She felt his deep sigh, and his arms go around her, soft and strong. His body was already familiar to her after so many hours of rehearsal, his scent and movement. He was as close to home as she could feel in that moment. Tightening her arms around him, she pressed herself into his warmth, clinging desperately to that feeling for countless seconds, until her tears grew to soft sobs and her body went boneless.
He lifted her the second her body sagged against him, one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. Carrying her to the sitting room, he sat on the soft, button-tufted sofa, cradling her to his chest. She released everything she had in convulsive gasps, wetting his neck and wrenching at his gut for minutes on minutes. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, couldn’t think of anything to do but rub her back and squeeze her gently every now and then to remind her subconscious that he was there.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when her tears finally subsided and the shaking in her body faded to little tremors. She hadn’t moved her face from where it was tucked into his neck, and her breathing had slowed, the rise and fall of her chest matching his now. He thought she might have fallen asleep, but when he relaxed his shoulder to let her head fall gently into the crook of his arm, she was staring back at him.
Though a little red, a little swollen, her eyes were completely free of their invisible shield. He sucked in a breath. It was like having a mirror held up to his own soul…
“Cariño,” Carmen had whispered to him when he was ten. “I’ve never seen someone so young with eyes so old.”
Recognition.
That’s what beckoned him closer, drawing his head down until his lips touched her forehead. It was all he would allow himself in the moment, a comforting kiss. He meant to be quick about it, but his lips lingered, pressed to her warm, dewy skin for a few seconds before he forced himself to pull back. She had other ideas, though, tensing in his hold for a split second before her arms came around his shoulders and pulled him back to her, her lips brushing his.
It wasn’t a kiss. Not really. It was the softest of touches, like a feather being dragged along the sensitive skin of his lips. They tingled in her wake, parting in anticipation, his eyes drifting closed. He felt her hands glide along the sides of his neck and sink into his hair, her fingers grazing his scalp. Groaning, he tightened his hold on her.
She brushed her mouth over his again…and again, and again. Slowly, and so maddeningly soft. He nudged his nose against hers, wanting more, but he felt the warmth of her breath leave his face and knew she’d pulled back.
Slowly, his eyes opened. It was dark outside now, but the light from the foyer guided his gaze across her beautiful face. Her hair was pulled up and he could see her large, expressive eyes, the delicate arch o
f her cheekbones, her soft, pillowy lips.
He knew better. He knew.
He knew the compatibility of their bodies, that where he dipped, she curved, that even the hardest parts of her were soft against him. He knew how far she could stretch, how much she could bend, the controlled power in her smooth limbs. But when her hands dropped to his arms and gently squeezed, he still loosened his hold, still let her sit up, still let her maneuver her limber body until she straddled him, her thighs hugging his waist, her hands smoothing up his chest and along his neck to cradle his face.
Curving her lips into a smile, she brought her face close, running the tip of her tongue along the seam of his parted lips. He made another sound, low in his throat, sliding his hands up and down her waist from hip to breast. She flicked her tongue into his mouth, touching it to the tip of his and pulling away.
“We can’t do this, petite.” But she swallowed the last word, her tongue gliding past the tip of his tongue and retreating again.
“We can. “ Pressing her lips to his jawbone, she practically purred as her cheek grazed his chin.
She left a trail of light kisses and playful flicks of her tongue from his jaw to his earlobe, and his fingers flexed at her waist, his breaths harsh and ragged.
“You make me crazy all the time,” she murmured. “Until I don’t recognize myself. I know you can make me feel good, Zack. Take away my shy.”
Her accent seemed magnified, lilting the edges of her vowels, dragging out the others…and threatening his already-fragile restraint.
“You think I’m being nice to you just to get my dick wet?” He was being gruff, but he needed to break through the sweltering haze of arousal. “I’m not an animal, petite.”
“Non, tu es un animal,” she insisted, grazing his earlobe with her teeth. “T’es un lion.”
The sound he made was louder this time, feral, like a growl. She shuddered against him and he cursed into her mouth, enveloping her lips with his. His tongue moved against hers, and her skin bloomed in his hands. He circled her tongue with his and she sighed, knotting her hands in his shirt, pulling him harder to her. Tasting the faint remnants of wine, he sucked it from her tongue. Gasping, she gently nipped his lower lip and slipped her tongue in again. Over and over he tasted her…slow, but insatiable.
He let her control the pace with her hands in his hair, her fingers massaging his nape. He kissed her deep and hard, then she gripped handfuls of his long strands and gently tugged, slowing their mouths to lazy kisses. Shuddering, he trailed his hands firmly down her sides to her hips, helping her grind against his erection, molding her curves more perfectly to his body.
“Fuck, I’m in trouble.” Smoothing his hands over the rounded curve of her ass, he squeezed tentatively, feeling her out. “So much trouble.”
He squeezed again, harder this time, enjoying her little whimper before he forced his hands to touch her somewhere else. Because he couldn’t handle much more, or he’d haul ass up three flights of stairs to see what other sounds he could rend from her lovely throat. Returning his hands to her sides, he caressed up and down, increasing and decreasing the pressure, circling his thumbs over her ribs just beneath her breasts. All the while, his lips never left her skin. They brushed her cheek, pressed hotly along her neck, and slowly down. She trembled as his lips brushed the delicate line of her collarbone, and he lifted his head to look at her.
“So much fucking trouble,” he gritted through his teeth.
Her mouth was open, her head tipped back as short, shallow breaths left her lips. Her breasts seemed to grow right in front of him, lifting and pushing against his chest. Helping her shrug out of her cardigan, he slid it over her shoulders and down her arms.
“Jesus, petite.” The skin I can see. He trailed his fingers along the top swells of her breasts, dipping them into the valley that disappeared into her camisole, then replaced his fingers with his mouth.
“Lion,” she moaned, and something in him snapped.
He tugged the straps down until the soft, golden brown flesh was fully exposed, the pretty peaks stiff and ready for his touch. But he teased her, deliberately avoiding them, caressing the sides of her breasts, cupping and gently squeezing. The more he gave her, the sharper her cries grew, until she was writhing wildly in his lap, and he was dangerously close to coming on Alex’s expensive couch. Cursing, he shifted his hips to adjust himself and avoid a mess, determined to get her to shatter for him instead. Licking his fingers, he swirled them along the dark skin around her nipples, dipping his head to blow over the dampened skin.
“Zack…” She strained against him, squirming as moisture seeped from her leggings to the soft fabric of his shorts.
Her scent wafted up between them and he breathed her in, practically tasting her on his tongue. Panting now, his hips flexed uncontrollably. The skin I can see, he reminded himself, dipping his head. She cried out, something shrill and completely unintelligible, the pain of his hair twisting around her fingers spurring him on. He took care to gently knead the breast he didn’t devour, alternating between licking and swirling her nipples with his tongue and sucking them into his mouth. When he grazed her with his teeth, she went rigid in his arms, taut as a tightly coiled spring, and then suddenly, gloriously, she released.
“Lion,” she gasped, shuddering against him. “Gentil, gentil lion.”
Zack rubbed her back until her tremors subsided, stiff with his own desire, his eyes glued to her dewy face.
“Petite?” His voice was hoarse, tentative.
It was fascinating, the way he could see the exact moment the euphoria left her face and awareness swept across it like a cold, sobering wave.
“Oh mon Dieu…” She snatched her camisole back up to cover herself, scrambling from his lap.
Grabbing her cardigan from the floor, she quickly turned away. She was nearly to the door with her purse over her shoulder by the time Zack could move, but he was still painfully aroused, and with his hair mussed up as it was, he was sure he looked like a crazed predator.
“Wait,” he called softly from a few feet behind her.
“S’il te plaît,” she begged from the door, her back to him. “Don’t say anything.”
“Mina, that was…incredible. I’ve never seen-”
“I have to go.” She wrenched the door open and fled, and Zack was in no condition to stop her.
Chapter Eight
Mina was eating her way through half a loaf of fried bread smothered in a syrup of wine, orange juice and sugar, when her phone chirped from deep in her bag.
“Look who finally decided to call,” she said, piling more food into her mouth.
“You texted me fifteen times,” said Sophie.
“Sixteen!”
“I’m not the one who moved to Siberia! It’s six hours into the future here, you know that. Just leaving rehearsal—which, by the way, has not been easy since you left. The director thinks we’re all conspiring to leave. Anyway, I figured if you were dying, you’d call.”
Mina choked. “I can’t decide which part of that statement sounds stupider.”
“Someone’s in a mood today. How’s the new apartment?”
“Crowded. Maman sent an army to decorate this morning so I’m eating a monstrosity they call ‘French Toast’ at a restaurant I don’t even know the name of.”
“It’ll probably kill you,” said Sophie. “And Siberia?”
“Hot.” Mina took another bite and emptied her brain in a torrent of food-muffled words. “So hot. And crowded. People everywhere, all the time…walking, standing in line, sitting on the train…”
“It must be very inconvenient to encounter actual people in a densely populated city-”
“So many people, but I still feel alone.”
“Oh, Mina…”
“I like being by myself. I left my apartment this morning because I wanted to be by myself! But…sometimes I don’t want to be.” Mina’s stomach cramped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “I think I’m goin
g to be sick…”
“Take a deep breath, chère. Stop binging.”
“I know. I’m so stupide. This is the first time I’ve eaten today.” Taking a tiny sip of water, controlling her breath, she willed the lump in her throat to sink back down. “Bon Dieu, I feel disgusting. I have rehearsal today. I have to face him, Sophie.”
“Deep breath,” Sophie said again softly. “What happened?”
Mina moved her gaze from the sea of people passing by the restaurant window. They were walking too fast, and nausea crept back into her throat. Closing her eyes until it passed, she took another deep breath. “Last night, I didn’t want to be alone. Monsieur Verenich said it would be alright to stop by if I wanted…I should have called…”
“Monsieur Verenich? I’m confused…”
“He wasn’t home. Zack opened the door. He lives there. He has his own floor.”
“Merde!”
“I wasn’t going to stay, but he insisted. I had nowhere else to go, and I… I just wanted something familiar.”
“So… you and him, alone…”
“Oui.”
“The suspense is giving me an ulcer. Just tell me!”
“We…hugged.”
“Tramp!”
Mina burst into laughter, uncaring of the heads turning her way. Let them stare. The tension in her body eased a little more with every gasping breath. “And kissed.”
“Putain!” Sophie swore. “I told you, hugs are sexual.”
“It wasn’t like that, not at first.”
“Non?”
“He can be such a… such an—”
“Connard.”
“Oui, an ass…but last night, something happened. He was the man I met in Paris after the show. His voice, the way he looked at me…Everything from that night came back, and it felt like he was pulling me to him without touching me.”
“Mon Dieu.”
Mina sighed. “It was…bliss.”