“Don’t encourage me. This is hard enough.” The strained quality of his voice both surprised and excited her.
His thrusts were gentle at first. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, and his propulsions became more powerful. He covered her face and lips in hungry kisses while he grasped her hip with one hand. Their bodies grew warmer, then burned hot, a sheen of slickness emerging between them. He spoke her name in coarse whispers against her ear.
“This is my version of heaven, Goddess.”
She screamed his name with a breathless, raspy voice. Her thighs quivered. The pulsating sensation worked its way through her body just like before. Now, the orgasm wasn’t a small wave, but drove into her with fierce force, awakening every cell in her body until she closed her eyes and let it drown her completely. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her. His expression was raw, primal, and needy.
Nick’s thrusts took on more urgency until he said her name once more and collapsed on top of her. Both of their heartbeats bounced audibly, their harsh breaths filling in the silent spaces. He placed his palm on top of hers. She curled her fingers against his.
“You will spend the night with me. I will hold your body against mine…all night, our limbs entwined. Your head will lie over my heart, and you will tell me, not with your words but your hands and mouth, when you are ready for me again. I will make you come as many times as you let me. I will earn all your moans, your bliss, and your gratification. And I will own them.”
Although he spoke in low tones, there was a new control and authority in his voice. The change in demeanor claimed her in both body and spirit. She nodded, submitting to him. In those simple words, she knew what he did not.
He was a poet.
Chapter 15
Before Shyla could even step inside the door, Nick picked her up and spun her around, squeezing her so hard she squeaked.
“Sorry,” he offered, tilting her chin and kissing her softly.
“Why are you so happy today?”
“I’m always happy to see you.”
She walked to the kitchen to fetch water for the plant as she usually did.
“I already watered it, sweetheart.”
“Oh,” she said, amazed he’d remembered. The plant itself was growing rapidly. “You’re going to need to transplant it soon.”
“One thing at a time. I have something to show you.” He clasped her hips and brought her to the couch. He placed a pile of paper on her lap. She picked up the pages, reading each one.
“I don’t understand. What is this?”
He plopped next to her. “It’s the next Max Montero novel.”
Her heart leapt in excitement. “Max is talking to you again?”
“This is just a rough outline with some character profiles and stuff. But I have a new story in my head.”
She was excited for him. Nick never dwelled on his writer’s block, but she understood how desperately he wanted to write again. He needed the outlet, just as he needed to work out every day. It wasn’t a job, but an integral part of him. “That’s wonderful, Nick.”
“We’ll finish your story first.”
“Do you want to work on this instead?”
“I have it all up here,” he said, pointing to his head. His grin faded for a moment. “Besides, we have a deadline, don’t we?” It was a topic they usually sidestepped. The fact she would be going home soon.
She ignored his statement, scanning the page until her eyes stopped suddenly. “You have an Indian heroine?”
“Yes.”
“You based her on me?”
His laugh was dismissive, perhaps even nervous. “What? Just because she’s Indian? You aren’t the only Indian girl, you know.”
She jabbed at his chest. “I am the only Indian girl in your life.”
“Correction, you are the only girl in my life.”
He cupped her bottom and pulled her onto his lap. The pages fell from her hand.
Shyla reached to pick them up, but his hold wouldn’t yield. “Leave them.”
He unwrapped her scarf. She lost coherent thought for a moment when his lips moved against her neck. “Tell me about her, Nick.”
“She’s smart, sexy, funny, and very charming. She sweeps in and steals Max’s heart.” He punctuated each descriptive word with a slow kiss.
“So sweet.”
He fell back on the couch so she was on top of him.
“She also steals the state secrets of a small country.” He smacked her ass. “Naughty girl.”
She laughed, leaning her forehead against his. “If you’re going to make me a villain, I hope you at least give me a very cool, sexy name.”
“You have a very cool, sexy name,” he replied, rubbing the place he smacked. “Plus, I wouldn’t call you a villain. You have your reasons.”
“Will you use my real name?”
“Never,” he said with such conviction it surprised her. “That name is mine and mine alone. I won’t even let Max have it.”
“Than what will you call her?”
“Any suggestions?”
“You’ll let me pick?” she asked, excited about the possibilities of naming one of his characters.
“I’m willing to listen. You are my muse after all.”
She pressed her lips in contemplation, willing her mind to conjure an interesting name. Nick ran his fingers over her lips, making the act of thinking almost impossible. “Natasha,” she murmured, before playfully biting his finger.
“Natasha? Really?” He whispered the next words using a Russian accent. “Interesting choice. This character requires an authentic name to match her special gifts.”
“What are her gifts?” Shyla asked with hitched breath.
“She’s capable of not only bringing a man to his knees, but making him enjoy every increment of his crashing descent.”
She grew quiet with his description, her breaths increasing. This type of foreplay was driving her mad. “She sounds intriguing.”
“And bonus…she has big breasts.”
Shyla laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist. “So she’s not based after me.”
“She is.”
“I don’t have huge breasts.”
“Oh no? Let me check.”
He lifted her T-shirt. Nick cupped her breasts, his thumbs skimming the fabric of her bra right over her nipples.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m writing,” he said.
“This is writing?”
He pushed each of her cups aside, freeing her breasts. “Well, actually right now if you want the technical term, I’m plotting the story.”
“I think you’re plotting my body.”
His flicked his tongue over her nipples before answering. “I just want to be accurate about the physical characteristics.”
“Is this your version of write what you know?” Her voice wavered as Nick’s teeth grazed her nipple.
“I’m fact checking. I wish my muse would let me work in peace.”
“I was just thinking you have something else wrong, too.”
“What’s that, baby?”
“You said she can bring a man to her knees. I have yet to witness any such activity.”
“True.”
To her shock, he pushed her back into a sitting position and got on his knees before her. She’d said it as a joke, an attempt at flagrant flirtation, trying to keep up with this man who clearly had a grasp on that skill set, but she never expected him to take her literally. He untied her shoes and slipped each one off, followed by her socks. He did her jeans next, sliding them down along with her panties. Nick grabbed each ankle and pressed a kiss on each one. He slowly worked his way up her legs, alternating kisses with each advance. When he got to her thighs, he spread her legs farther apart. Her breath caught in her throat, half gasp and half inhale. He licked her opening.
“What are you doing?” A stupid question since she had an inkling, but the sensations he invoked prev
ented clearer articulation.
He looked at her, his eyes hooded, his tongue swiping across his lower lip seductively. “I’m going to eat you out.” Then he grinned in that charming, wicked way of his. “Has anyone ever done this for you?”
She sucked in another breath before shaking her head.
He looked pleased, as if it was some sort of triumph on her part…or perhaps his. “I have so much to teach you.”
“About sex?”
“About pleasure. Stop moving,” he commanded, firming his grip on her thighs.
His tongue pierced her folds, gently at first and then with more fervor. She grabbed the arm of the couch, squeezing it tightly. The sight of Nick’s head with its lion’s mane of hair bobbing between her legs was an image she wanted to preserve. She wasn’t sure what was more shocking. That he was doing this or how much she loved it. He hooked a leg over each of his shoulders and drove deeper still. His tongue flicked her nub and then sucked. He was making love to her with his mouth. She’d read about this, but she’d always associated the act as something disgusting. Nothing he was doing felt disgusting. It was delicious.
She echoed his name between each harsh breath. She struggled to keep from squirming and not close her legs or push herself into his tongue. It was such an exquisite experience, and although he was the instigator, she wondered what possible pleasure he could get. But those thoughts flew in and out of her mind as her body trembled under his expertise. Every muscle tightened before a surge penetrated her, rendering all of her higher functions useless.
He stood up, surveying the outcome of his work. He flopped on the couch next to her and pulled her against him.
Nick kissed her, rolling his tongue against hers. He tasted like his toothpaste, minty and fresh, but there was something else there. Again, Shyla wondered what was more astonishing—that she was tasting herself in his mouth or how much she loved it.
Chapter 16
On the deck of the sightseeing cruise, he stood behind her while she took in the view. She looked so beautiful with dangling earrings and a long silk scarf wrapped around her head, tied at the side. Queen of the gypsies. Owner of his heart.
“I’m enjoying this. Thank you,” she said.
He kissed her temple. “This isn’t a big deal.”
“Not just for today, Nick. For all the days. Thank you for the best days of my life.”
Her statement stirred something powerful in him. He wanted to reply in kind. God knows, it was the truth. But something held him back, some conflict spurred by his conscious and need for self-preservation. She didn’t know the truth about him, and she never had to. In her eyes, he was the man he wanted to be, and that was enough for him. He was falling for her. The crash would be imminent and painful, but right now they could just take each day…each best day as it came.
A subtle misery foreshadowed every moment they shared, but he was determined to enjoy every sweet increment of his descent.
“You’re welcome, Shyla,” he said, hating himself for the lame, unemotional response.
The day was warm, but the wind on the harbor felt chilly. He wrapped his coat around her. While she watched the magnificent sculpture of the regal lady rise up from the harbor like a goddess, he watched her.
“I know this is a cliché touristy thing to do, but I love coming here.”
“It’s perfect. I’ve been wanting to do this since I first arrived.”
“Everything about her is symbolic. The broken shackles at Lady Liberty’s feet are meant to denote the breaking away from oppression. The seven rays in her crown represent each continent. Even the twenty-five windows symbolize the rays of heaven shining on the earth.”
“It feels surreal in a way. Like you know you’re in the presence of something great.”
“My great great great grandfather came over here from Ireland on a boat like this.” Nick looked around. “Well, people weren’t snapping pictures and wearing I love New York shirts, but I imagine what you’re feeling is the same thing as the old buildings in the Village. It’s like you said, holding history in your hands… It’s tangible.”
“Isn’t there a poem?”
“Emma Lazarus wrote the poem to inspire immigrants.” He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” Nick recited it from memory. “I suppose that’s an example of poetry I do enjoy. Although things have changed since those days.”
“I don’t know about that. When I walk down any street here, I feel like I’m at the center of the world. You can hear about thirty different languages, and people from all over the world of every kind of background share the same space. It makes you feel special and distinct, but like you belong, too.”
“I’m glad to see the city hasn’t lost its charms.”
“I didn’t feel that way at first. It took me a long time to get to that place from the lost girl who arrived here four years ago. I was given many warnings before I left home.”
“Like what?”
“I was told to make sure people knew I was from India and that I’m Hindu, but I always wondered why I should need to correct other people’s judgments. I imagined New York to be a very cold place…both literally and figuratively. And that maybe the people would be cruel because of recent history.”
Nick swallowed and spun her around. “And were they?” His jaw clenched at the idea.
She caressed his face. “It’s not blatant, but once in a while I hear hushed voices. Even worse is when someone talks down to me because they believe I’m not capable of understanding. But when I look over my years here, those were rare exceptions.” She lowered her eyes, watching the water passing them by. “I was mugged my freshman year.”
“What?” Nick’s heart constricted. He let her go and wrapped his hands around the railing so tight his knuckles whitened.
“I was walking to class and someone lifted my purse right off my arm. He pushed me down so I wouldn’t run after him.”
“I’ll kill him.”
She pressed her hand over his heart. “Nick, calm down. That’s not the point of the story. I’d gotten cynical and dispirited being so far from home. I found myself looking for the meanness in people, perhaps even creating it. That moment when the mugger stole my purse, I wanted to yell at the sky and beat the ground.”
“I don’t blame you.” All his muscles tensed.
“But what happened next changed me. This man took off running after my attacker, and his wife stayed with me to make sure I was all right. They didn’t even know me, but they treated me as if I was a sister or daughter. He didn’t get my purse back, but they did take me to the police station to file a report. She gave me some pepper spray and showed me how to use it. They gave me tips about which streets to avoid and how to carry myself so I wouldn’t be such an easy target. They bought me coffee and walked me home. I had an epiphany that day. Cruelty can live and breathe in any place, but so can kindness. You’ll find either or both depending on how hard you choose to look. There are so many kindnesses that I see every day, which I would have missed because my own bitter heart blinded me to such things.”
“That’s really beautiful, Shyla, but I still want to kill the bastard who mugged you.”
She smiled crookedly, patting him on the chest. “He’s a minor footnote in the story. That’s not the point.”
“What is the moral of the story?”
She paused, considering her words. “We are a result of our experiences, and even darkness nurtures. We can’t appreciate what we take for granted.”
He sucked in a breath, nodding at how the statement applied to him as well.
He wanted to say something more about that, but the boat docked at their destination—Ellis Island.
* * * *
Shyla looked around, drinking in all the history that encompassed the building. Nick point
ed out the interesting architecture and exhibits of the once active gateway that welcomed millions of immigrants to the New World.
“I wish I had a camera. It’s amazing.”
“You have one,” Nick replied, taking the cell phone from her back pocket. He showed her how to use it.
“I keep forgetting how much you can do on this device.”
She ended up taking as many photos of Nick as she did the building. He looked so handsome in his knit cap, charcoal grey sweater, dark jeans, and black boots.
“Stop it,” he said.
“Why? I’m getting the hang of this,” she replied, snapping another photo.
He took the phone from her and held her against his chest while he snapped a picture of both of them with the harbor in the background.
“I want you in all my photos,” he said.
They walked down the great hall, listening to the real accounts of people who took the journey through the portal that was Ellis Island. Nick showed her where his ancestor had signed the registry. He insisted on buying her the official guidebook as well as a book of poems written by the very immigrants who came across this threshold. She forced herself not to read it while they had coffee and sandwiches in the small restaurant.
Like all her days with Nick, it was perfect. The two of them were as different as people could be, but despair and desolation sounded the same no matter what the language. Shyla knew they had those traits in common, and in spite of it, or perhaps because of it, they made perfect sense together.
They stopped at a café in Manhattan for “something more substantial” as Nick called it. The weather was enjoyable enough to sit outside.
“Tell me how your mind works,” she said, buttering her croissant.
“What do you mean?”
“How do you create a story, for instance?”
“Well, living in this city helps. There’s stimulation everywhere.” He gestured to the droves of people that walked past them. “I always start with a character and build from there. Max is easy because he’s been with me so long, and I based him on my grandfather, myself, and several other men I’ve met. But when I need something new, I just look around. It’s like window shopping.”
Unwanted Girl Page 13