The Price of Desire

by PE Kavanagh

  I had expected to feel differently, less engaged, with him here, but our bodies connected as deeply as ever. We were quiet and gentle and just as electric. I raised and lowered my body on his, and he guided me with his hands. I knew he liked looking up at me in this way and I held his gaze.

  “Mi amor, mi amor.”

  “Are you happy?” I asked him.

  “Happy is not the word for this. Thank you for bringing me into your family. Your life.”

  “I love you Marco. Thank you for letting me love you.”

  I moved more vigorously and his excitement grew. I sensed his climax approaching. He always wanted to wait for me to orgasm first, and sometimes I wouldn’t give him the chance. Tonight, he was being insistent on waiting for me, and tilted me forward, so that I could feel the extra friction of rubbing against him. With infinite patience, he took me to my climax, then turned me onto my side as my body softened.

  “You loving me is more than I could have ever dreamed of,” he said.

  He held me so tightly while he came, I thought I might have broken. I loved that feeling, of his power and strength, even in complete surrender. He tried to keep quiet for the sake of the girls, but the vibration of his moans resonated through his chest.

  “Now this bed has been officially christened.”

  Marco laughed. “The first of many.”

  We slept easily, although I woke up many times just to look at him, in my room, in my bed. I counted my blessings, then slipped back to my dreams.

  The next six months passed like a sweet sigh. All the turbulence and drama of the prior two months dissolved, leaving only the petals of some especially beautiful blossoms.

  Jeff’s girlfriend gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, and they decided to get married. I was honestly happy for them, and the girls, although initially hoping for a baby sister, found their new brother adorable.

  The professional awards continued to accumulate for Nora and she and Sam even talked about combining households. After almost twenty years of being in a committed relationship, this was a big deal for them.

  I began a new job working in a downtown restaurant catering to the corporate lunch set. Most restaurants like that did boringly ordinary food, but this place prided itself on creatively healthful cuisine, with a famous name chef at the helm. Since he was there infrequently, I had relatively free reign as Executive Sous Chef. I couldn’t have imagined a better situation that let me be home with my girls in the afternoon and be in the kitchen during the day.

  Marco and I settled into our own rhythm, spending several days a week together, either at his place or mine with the girls. I traveled to New York more and more frequently with him to visit his sons who were kind and welcoming. We felt like a family to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Argentina

  We planned a trip to Argentina, for his father's 75th birthday celebration. Although Marco was both Italian and Argentinian, his closest family members were all in South America. I intensified my efforts to learn Spanish, afraid I wouldn’t be able to communicate with his large family, and nervous about making a good impression. Apparently, he hadn’t brought a woman home for a very long time, and my visit was anxiously anticipated.

  I couldn’t believe it was possible, but I loved him even more, as time went on. The more we were together, the more we enjoyed each other's company, which was such a change from my history. Being with Marco was making me a better person. He taught me how to trust by being a perfect steward of my heart. I let the scars from our past issues soften and heal.

  We were both nervous before the trip. My anxiety revolved around meeting the family, and I assumed Marco’s revolved around the same. He came from a very large, very prominent family and they had apparently not enjoyed some of the previous women he’d brought home. I found this out through Lizzy, who got the scoop from Esteban.

  On the one hand, this man was an important part of my life. On the other, his family was thousands of miles away, so if we didn’t get along, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Still, I wanted people to like me (one of my many flaws) and I wanted these people to like me.

  During the long plane ride, I could see Marco was distracted. He told me he was thinking about the plans for his father's party, and the logistics of doing everything he wanted to do while we were there. His boys would be joining us in a few days, too.

  I fell asleep on the long ride from the airport, and woke up to find we were parked in front of a huge, white estate. Maybe even a villa. Certainly one of the biggest houses I’d ever seen. Marco’s father Andres, one of the most successful real estate developers in South America, lived a grand life, which I learned from Lizzy.

  Since it was so early in the morning, Marco assured me no one would be awake, and I’d have plenty of time to rest and freshen up before the introductions began.

  Andres opened the door, wearing a beautiful silk dressing robe. For a moment, he reminded me of Hugh Hefner, but much better looking.

  Marco was surprised to see him there, at the door. Without pause, Andres wrapped his arms around his son and held him tightly. “My darling son, you are here, you are here.” Then he kissed him firmly on both cheeks and looked him square in the face.

  “Life is good, I see,” Andres said with a sly smile.

  “Papa, this is Monique. Monique, this is Andres, my father, who is never up at this hour.”

  I had completely forgotten myself and began to put my hand out to shake his. Not sure if he noticed or not, but he took me by the shoulders, and kissed me just as firmly on both cheeks.

  “Buenos dias, senor Gonzales.”

  “Now I see why my son never comes to see me anymore.” His English was flawless.

  Uh-oh. In trouble already.

  “I would not leave your side either. How wonderful to meet you, finally,” he added.

  “Can we go in, Papa?” We were still standing at the entryway.

  “What a beautiful house,” I said as I tried to take it all in. Like a cross between an old European castle and a funky modern museum.

  “Gracias. It's home,” he said with clearly false modesty.

  “Why are you awake, Papa?”

  “I wanted to be the one to greet you. And Monique. There is some coffee, and maybe even some pastries. I know it has been a long flight.”

  “It was very easy,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Leave your things here. Martino will bring them up shortly.”

  He escorted us to an impeccable sitting room, where a tea and coffee service fit for the queen was laid out. I looked at Marco in disbelief. He had greatly under-represented his family's stature. This was the big leagues.

  “Thank you, Papa. You are looking very well, too.”

  “All is well, Marco. I continue to be the luckiest man alive.”

  Andres served us. Marco informed him that I didn’t drink coffee, and he sent for a woman called Isabella to bring some lemons. I was embarrassed, already looking needy and peculiar.

  “I hear this is very good for you, the hot water and lemon. Is that true?” This man was truly charming.

  “Yes, that's what they say. Let's hope they're right!” Everyone laughed, and my discomfort faded.

  Marco and his father begin to speak, very quickly, in Spanish. They were talking about the boys, I believed, and the business. I followed fairly well, but it was taking some serious concentration, which in my fatigued state, was not plentiful.

  “I am so sorry, my dear. How rude of us to exclude you. We must speak only English from now on.”

  “It's okay, Mr. Gonzales. I have been studying Spanish...”

  “She's doing very well,” added Marco.

  “I can usually keep up fairly well, but maybe not this morning, in my... state.”

  “Yes, you two must be very tired. We can finish up here, then you can go upstairs to rest. I am so pleased that you came. It means very much to me. And please stop calling me Mr. Gonzales. It makes me feel very old...”
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  “Don't worry Papa. No one would ever think such a thing.”

  “Thank you, Andres. It is really lovely to be here,” I added.

  When we arrived in the room, the luggage had been carefully arranged at the foot of the bed.

  “This is like an opulent hotel,” I said to Marco.

  “Yes... it's a bit over the top, isn't it?”

  “Not really. It is amazing though. Very beautiful.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck. “You are very beautiful.”

  I moved his head and kissed him, softly at first, then passionately. My feelings of fatigue began to melt under the heat of my excitement.

  “Are you still tired?” I asked.

  “No,” he said as he pressed our hips together. “Muy caliente,” he growled, using a euphemism for being turned on.

  We peeled each other's clothes off, our mouths never losing contact. I was surprised to find myself so aroused, after being so exhausted just a few minutes before. The intensity of our connection had continued to build the longer we were together. Gone were the days of my frigidity and my insecurity. My sex vixen was running the show these days.

  We never made it to the bed. Instead, I found myself pressed against a huge armoire. Marco lifted one of my legs and entered me. Things moved very quickly for both of us. As he slowed down, trying to cool things down, I pleaded, “Please don't stop.” The intensity was intoxicating, and him taking me in this way was unbelievably exciting.

  Our bodies knew exactly what to do, even though standing up was a rare position for us. Electricity filled my body and my legs buckled. Marco held me up, while still moving against me. I pressed one of my hands against the wall to steady myself, and keep from collapsing.

  “Marco!” I exclaimed.

  “Si, amor, si,” he encouraged me.

  A deep groan came through my body, out of my mouth. I tried to muffle myself by keeping my face against his body, but the sound filled the room. I was barely aware of how he did it, but he picked me up, laid me on the bed, and slid himself back inside me.

  The heat rose again. I really loved having him on top of me, maybe more than anything else. I didn’t care how traditional it was - missionary was very productive for us.

  “It's your turn, my love.”

  “I think it's still your turn,” he joked.

  I grabbed his bottom and pulled him deep into me. From the tenor of his moan, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he climaxed.

  I held his face to mine as the pulses of pleasure beat through his body. That feeling never got old for me. Marco was such a generous and attentive lover, anytime I could give him pleasure was delightful for me.

  He lay still for a few moments, and I thought he might have fallen asleep. I gently stroked his back.

  “Thank you for being here with me,” he said. “You don't know how much it means to me.”

  “Almost as much as it means to me that you invited me.”

  “Well, none of the others could make it,” he said jokingly.

  I gave him a playful slap on the bottom and we laughed as we moved under the covers.

  “Is it nap time?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Marco was still sleeping when I woke up, so I decided to quietly slip out and take a shower. I walked around the room in awe, admiring every piece of furniture and art. His family was wealthy, that was undoubtedly true, but they were also incredibly tasteful, which did not always go together. The mixtures of colors and textures, the use of light and open space, all made for a sophisticated, yet inviting space.

  The bathroom was a showpiece, with an open shower area in the middle of the large room. It was larger than some of the apartments of my youth.

  I luxuriated in the hot shower. It felt so good, removing the grime of traveling, and waking me up. I stood motionless under the warm spray when something made me open my eyes. Marco had come into the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching me - I didn't hear him enter. The broad grin on his face let me know he’d been enjoying the show.

  He opened the door and asked, “May I join you?”

  He’d already stepped in before I said yes.

  “Good morning, darling,” I greeted him.

  “Yes. Yes it is.”

  I moved him under the spray of the showerhead and let him enjoy the hot water. Then I took the soap and began to wash his body. I knew he loved my touching him like this, and it wasn’t so bad for me either.

  It still took my breath away to look at him, such a perfect specimen of a man. Lean, muscular, and perfectly proportional. I loved the shape of his broad shoulders and strong chest. I often imagined him being carved out of a piece of light caramel granite.

  My hands moved around his body, under the premise of cleaning him. I lingered in some areas longer than others. His excitement became obvious, but mine was just as strong. I couldn’t get enough of him.

  I moved him toward the cedar bench, and whispered, “Sit down,” in his ear. He obliged. I knelt facing him, and took him into my mouth. The water and the heat made him even more delicious.

  I didn’t get to linger there as he pulled my body up to him. My legs straddled him as I lowered myself slowly onto him. The slickness of our bodies created a wonderful range of movement and pleasure. I felt especially playful and couldn’t stop giggling, almost as if I was drunk. I was enjoying my lover in the shower of his father's immense house. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  We found our way to a passionate ending, but emerged waterlogged and pruney. He kept looking at me as if I had lost my mind, and maybe I had. I felt as free as I’d ever been, and as connected to another human being as I ever thought possible.

  “Did I mention how much I love you?” I said as I ran the soft towel on his beautiful body.

  “Not yet,” he said teasingly.

  “As much as all the marble in this house.”

  The rest of the day was filled with party planning and family introductions. Apparently, no one could wait for the official party to meet the mysterious woman Marco had brought home. Despite my concerns, everyone was kind and gracious and I felt welcomed at every turn.

  We’d planned to have dinner at his sister's house, in a nearby town, that night, and left the large group assembled at Andres’. His sister, Carolina, had a large family, and Marco warned me to expect a bit more chaos and frenzy than at his father's house. I didn’t see how that would be possible, but was excited to see what a female Marco would be like.

  Dinner went flawlessly, other than my numerous failed attempts at Spanish. Everyone was patient and understanding, and the children all wanted to practice their English, all five of them. Carolina was an artist, like their mother, and their house reminded me of something from Gaudi, out of Barcelona. It was fun and light and sometimes downright silly.

  Carolina’s husband was a regular comedian, a soft round man with a belly that laughed with him. He was utterly charming and a consummate host. I could tell she ran things, and he was the entertainment, quite divergent from the typical Argentinian patriarchy.

  After coming back from the bathroom, I found myself alone with her in the hallway. She stopped to look at me, as if something hovered on the tip of her tongue.

  “Carolina, thank you so much for dinner. I love your family! It was so nice to have this night with you, without all the others around.”

  “You are quite welcome, Monique. We have been dying to meet you for too long. You know, I was supposed to be at the wedding, where Marco met you.”

  Although the details weren’t quite right, I didn’t feel any need to correct her. “Yes, it would have been wonderful to meet you then. But I was so infatuated with Marco that I'm not sure I would have given you proper attention.” We both smiled.

  “Marco and I have always been very close. We are almost like twins.”

  “Yes, I can see that. And he always talks about you with such love.”

  “He has been through so much in his
life, all I want is for him to be happy.”

  I wasn’t sure where this was going, and was starting to feel a bit uneasy.

  She continued. “I know that you two had a difficult time not too long ago.”

  I gulped. “Yes. I was very foolish. And scared. The way we fell in love seemed to be too good to be true. I panicked. I feel very ashamed about what happened.”

  “He does seem like Prince Charming, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. He does.”

  “And you are his princess.”

  I had no idea how to respond to that.

  “I know you love him. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Yes, I do Carolina. More than I could ever describe. I want him to feel that every moment of his life.”

  “Aaaaah, I think he does. I know he does, in fact.”

  She was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.

  I wanted to cut the tension. “Perhaps we should get back to the rest-”

  “What I want to say to you, Monique, is thank you. Marco has always been my hero, and it has broken my heart to see him alone, or in relationships that did not make him happy. You have brought back the man I knew. The one whose heart is so full you can feel it in his presence. He deserves the best. I think you have given that to each other. And I am grateful. For you.”

  Tears pressed against my throat. This unexpected outpouring of love was too much for my emotional sensibilities. All I could do was wrap my arms around her.

  “Thank you, Carolina. Thank you.”

  We walked back to chaos in the dining room, with the children climbing all over Marco, and the men having a heated discussion in Spanish.

  Carolina admonished them. “No politics at the table.”

  “Yes, of course, my darling,” her jolly husband responded.

  Although they begged us to stay, Marco insisted that we had to return to his father's house that night. There was so much to do, he claimed. I didn’t really understand, but I let him make the decision.