Closer

by Aria Hawthorne

  “Or an incurable romantic,” he countered.

  “Or both.”

  “Yes,” he conceded. “Likely both.”

  He gazed at her, as if something drastic had just changed between them. Slowly, he reached out and grazed his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. “For a moment, I thought I saw your face,” he whispered, his unpatched eye scanning the details of her lips, hair, and eyes. “No…I think it was only in my mind’s eye,” he finally said with disappointment before pulling his hand away.

  “I think you’re pretty drunk, Sven.”

  He nodded. “Likely plastered.”

  She smiled. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m still waiting to take a piss…and for my bath.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Barely clearing the threshold with his cumbersome body, Sven stumbled through the entrance of his penthouse.

  “Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall, forty-nine bottles of beer, we take one down, and pass it around…forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”

  If he kept singing loudly enough, and if he continued to correctly count all the way up to fifty bottles, he would charm her. He would charm her with his singing and then she would agree to go to Shanghai with him. She would be charmed enough not to say no.

  “Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall, forty-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around…” He paused to recover his breath before delving in again. “Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”

  He would charm her.

  “Lights, lights, lights!” he hollered out into the air. His penthouse lit up like a Christmas tree. He kicked off his shoes and laughed, then cackled, then felt the urge to weep. Thank God, thank God. He could see.

  Not perfectly, of course. And many of the familiar objects in his house still retained their blurry contours in the distance, but no longer was he rendered helpless, trapped within the shadowy fog of murky disorientation. Red, yellow, blue, green… his eyes swept across the open living room; he spotted every color. Thank God, he could see again. Overwhelmed with relief, he untucked his dress shirt, unbuttoned his waistline, unzipped his fly and ceremoniously prepared to piss right there across the full length of his black granite floors until her voice shrieked out from behind him.

  “No, no, no, no! God, no!”

  He dropped his head back and grinned. He loved it when she scolded him.

  “Don’t even think about dropping your pants and urinating here. No, Sven. Not here. You’ve waited this long, so now you can wait five more seconds until we get you into the bathroom.”

  “Yessss, Mistresssss Inezzzzz,” he hissed.

  She exhaled in a way that puzzled him. She didn’t sound charmed? At least, not as charmed as he had hoped. And certainly not charmed enough to get her undressed and into his bed.

  He winced as the full force of her fingernails dug into his wrists, towing him down the long corridor towards the master bedroom. Perhaps he should sing again? He needed to charm her. That was the plan.

  “Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall, forty-nine bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, forty-nine…”

  She suddenly covered his mouth.

  “Fifty,” she insisted.

  He peered at her beautiful blurry face. He could tell she was scowling at him with haughty displeasure. No, she wasn’t charmed—yet. But if he could just get her dress off, he knew exactly how to turn her frown upside down.

  “Sven—” she protested, pushing away his tentacle-like hands and guiding him into the bathroom. “Focus on the task at hand. Not feeling up my ass.”

  “But I’ve been waiting all night,” he whined.

  “God, you are so ridiculously drunk. Do you think you’re going to remember any of this?”

  “No…” he snorted, pulling down his pants and sighing in relief as the warm release of piss flowed out of him. “God, that’s the only thing I’ve wanted to do more than to suck your…”

  “Shhh,” she covered his mouth again. “Another word out of your mouth and I’m going to call your mother and have you repeat everything you say to me…to her.”

  He paused, processing her threat while shaking himself out. “You are a wicked woman.”

  “Yes, and if you don’t take off your own pants and get into your own bed, I’ll show you just how wicked I can be.”

  He slowly stepped out of his pants and fumbled to unfasten the pearl buttons of his shirt. “That sounds delicious.”

  “Flush,” she ordered him.

  He obeyed, resting his gaze on her defiant stance. She placed her hand on her curvy hip, accentuating the contours of her body—her sensual, seductive body. Her hair, her lips, her shoulders, her supple breasts. He wanted her so badly. He would do anything—anything she asked.

  “Good. Now, turn around and make your way to the bed,” she directed him.

  He nodded, repeating the sharpness of her voice in his mind, imagining how he could soften it into a thousand sighs of submission. He had been that stern with her when they had first met and now she was returning the favor. Officially, he was her boss, but now it was she who controlled his fate.

  How much money would it take to turn the tables back on her? Ten thousand? Fifteen thousand? Twenty thousand? Fifty thousand?

  Whatever the price, he would pay it tonight. Just one night to relieve the burning desire that consumed the very core of his being. One night for the cherished opportunity to be her lover. If she would have him.

  He turned away from the urinal and the whole bathroom spun around him like a carousel ride. He stretched out his arms, seeking support from the doorway. She rushed to his aid, slipping his arm over her own shoulders and guiding him to the foot of the bed. God, how he loved her scent. The mysterious fragrance of spice and flowers overwhelmed him.

  He wrapped his arms around her—certain he could bear his own weight, but not wanting to—and peered into her eyes.

  “God, you’re so beautiful.”

  “Whatever, Sven,” she dismissed him. “You can barely see me, and only two days ago you told me I was average. And short.”

  “Two days ago I was a much bigger asshole than I am now.”

  “That’s true,” she conceded, peering back at him. “You were an asshole.”

  “Were? So I’ve redeemed myself?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say…redeemed. But you certainly are more entertaining when you’re drunk.”

  “And charming?”

  “Uninhibited,” she corrected him.

  “Sexy?” He raised his head and slipped his hand around her ass. He loved feeling those fucking ruffles against his palms, imagining how her tattoo would taste along his tongue.

  “Horny,” she asserted, brushing off his advances.

  He sighed with resignation and dropped the full weight of his head and chest against the plush mattress.

  “Horny?” he repeated, puzzled. She always succeeded in puzzling him. “You mean like a goat?”

  “Forget it.”

  She removed his socks and it made his cock twitch. He considered bleating like a goat. Perhaps that would charm her?

  But she didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she drew the sheet over his body, tucking him in while leaning across the bed with her heavy cleavage over him. He watched her as she carefully unfastened each pearl button along his dress shirt.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “It’s a silk weave. If you sleep in it all night, you’ll ruin it.”

  He gazed at her, but she avoided eye contact. Every tug of her fingertips felt like a release. Liberation. When she unfastened the final button, she drew out his arms from both sleeves and carefully folded the shirt over the high-back side chair like a cherished possession.

  The cool air pricked his bare chest. He needed her warmth. He held her gaze. She did not turn away. For a moment, he considered drawing her down into his arms, burying his head between her breasts, and nip
ping each dark luscious tit between his teeth until she moaned against him in consent. He yearned to feel her mercilessly rake her fingernails along his scalp and shoulders, urging him for more.

  More.

  He wanted her to draw up the hem of her own dress and allow him to run his needy tongue along the crease of her red panty line, savoring the quiver in her thighs and the scent of her desire. Her desire for him.

  Then he realized it. She was waiting, not for him to seduce her, but for her payment for tonight.

  “You’ll find double the normal amount in the drawer of the night table next to the bed,” he said.

  He had anticipated this moment, plotting it carefully ever since their encounter last night. Their encounter in which she had refused him. She hadn’t wanted to be turned into his whore and he respected her for it. But she also clearly needed the money, and whatever it was, whatever secret she was keeping, he wanted to help her. Now, he truly felt like a genius. She would be shocked to see ten thousand dollars. And then she would be charmed by it.

  “Double the normal amount?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  It was such a simple, direct question. But it spun the ceiling fan faster and confused him.

  “Because you need it. And I need you.”

  He lifted up from the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in her lap. She did not protest. Instead, he only felt repetitive strokes of her fingernails through his hair. He loved those fingernails.

  “Sven, our arrangement was only for five thousand a night. And that’s all I’ll take.”

  After an eternity of comfort and silence, she attempted to shift away from him.

  Yes, he was completely drunk. And yes, completely unaccountable for his actions. And yes, it was a dangerous combination because he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any other woman. But the idea of being left alone—without her—was too much to bear. He peered up into her dark cherrywood eyes without letting her go. “What are you hiding behind that strength?”

  She smiled down at him and touched his eyepatch. “Something I’m not certain you would understand.”

  “I think you should try to give me that chance.”

  But she did not give in to him. “It’s almost midnight. I have to go now, Sven. But I’ll come back early tomorrow to check on you.”

  He savored the way her fingertips stroked his scalp one final time. Then, with a heavy sigh of acceptance, he uncoiled his possessive embrace. “Good night, my Mistress Inez.”

  “Good night, Sven,” she said, rising and tucking him in. “Thank you for the dance.”

  “No, thank you,” he whispered back, catching her hand at the last moment and drawing her into a tender kiss of gratitude before falling back against the pillow and succumbing to the heady weight of sleepy inebriation and infinite darkness that consumed him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My Mistress Inez.

  His hot breath whispered down the sensitive nape of her neck as the flexing strength of his bare chest pushed against her body from behind her.

  She held her breath when he said the words like a petition.

  Let me take care of you.

  No— she exhaled, as if it was a punishment. She had been so guarded for so long, it was the only answer she would allow herself to express.

  Let me take care of you, his voiced echoed while his hands wound around her torso, slowly enveloping her breasts into his palms.

  She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and released a moan as he massaged her into submission. Through her ruffled panties, she felt the insistence of his hard cock against her backside, awaiting her consent. Would she allow him to dominate her? Would she be able to let him conquer her with such a simple request—a request that promised to make things better and easier in her life and not harder or worse?

  Let me take care of you, he exhaled in her ear, stripping down her panties and pushing up her smooth shimmering gown. The cool air washed over the sensual dimples of her tailbone just above the soft contours of her bare cheeks. The teasing tip of his wet tongue circled over her cherry blossom tattoo before lapping the forbidden arcs of her backside.

  He was determined to claim her.

  She reached back to stroke his shaft, feeling the need to divert his attention away from seducing her. But he drew away her hands, affirming his quest to fulfill her—and only her. His hand slid over her thigh and cupped her pubic bone, teasing her clit before fingering her wetness. She dropped back her head with a submissive sigh and gushed for him. It was no longer possible to deny him. There was only the possibility that she would deny herself.

  I know it’s wrong. It must be wrong…

  The haunting lyrics of the jazz ballad drifted through her mind as his lips feathered down the erogenous curve of her spine, drawing out every vulnerable emotion she had guarded every time he gazed at her. The possessive strength of his hands, grasping her hips. The heat of his pelvis against her backside. The firmness of his cock, pulsing against her cheeks with the full force of his desire. Everything about his domination reinforced the sentiment behind his plea. He would take care of her—if she would only let him.

  She groaned, savoring the way his agile fingers slipped inside her. He confidently established a rhythm, building her up to an intolerable need before slowing his pace and teasing her more. She fell forward onto her hands and clenched the black silk sheets as he spread her knees wider across the bed. She was surrendering herself completely to him. His strong domineering body loomed behind her. She sensed what was to come, but she would never have anticipated how much she yearned for it. Then, she gasped as the full length of his cock penetrated her with one intimate thrust. He waited until she forced out her first exhale before rocking himself deeper and deeper into her. He would not stop until he pleasured her completely.

  It was all too much too bear. She muted her scream with every vibrating wave of pleasure, but the climax never came…she had been close, so close so many times before, and yet, Enzo was right. She had never found a way to allow herself to come. Not with him, not with anyone.

  Let me be the one to make you come. He said it like a sacred request.

  She shook her head and whispered back. I can’t.

  You can, if you trust me.

  She shook her head and everything suddenly went black. No, I’ll never trust anyone enough.

  * * * *

  Ping.

  Inez’s phone roused her from her sleep. She lifted her head from her pillow and glanced over to Luna’s crib, where the sunlight from the window streamed across its empty mattress.

  Nana.

  She exhaled with exhaustion. She barely remembered crawling into bed last night before Luna sensed her presence and awoke, wanting to feed. Inez remembered nursing her in bed, but almost nothing else. The entire night was already a distant memory, including her evening with Sven and her sexy wet dream. She glanced at the clock. 8:30 A.M. She paused and listened for Luna or her grandmother, feeling the prickling need to express milk. But the upstairs bedrooms were silent. They were downstairs, probably napping after breakfast, and neither one of them needed her now. Relieved, she fell back into bed.

  Ping. Ping. Ping.

  The urgency and rapidity of the texts forced her to sit up and retrieve her phone. She scanned the messages.

  Te echo de menos

  Perdona, mi amor

  Necesito verte tan pronto

  Inez flopped back against her pillow.

  Ugh, Enzo.

  She knew he would contact her—not to console her for using their private photographs in his public art exhibit—but because she recognized the flare of jealousy in Enzo’s eyes after Sven had kissed her. And despite the fact that Enzo had slept around with half of the single women in Argentina, Inez knew Enzo would never willingly stand by and let another man steal her away from him.

  She stopped and considered the best response before resorting to the most honest one: What do you want
, E?

  She sent it, despite already knowing the answer. What he always wanted: another chance.

  To see you. And Luna.

  We’re busy, she shot back.

  He pinged her again. You can’t avoid me forever. Luna deserves to see her papa.

  Ah, the guilty paternity play, she thought. He didn’t use it often, but she had already grown used to it. She considered her day before typing back her response. My grandmother and I are spending the morning with her, then I’m dropping her off at Sarah’s later today before work.

  Good, I’ll meet you there, he texted back.

  Are you finally offering to babysit? It was a petty swipe at him, but she didn’t care. He had been back for weeks, and there hadn’t been a single day that he had offered to take care of their child.

  I don’t want to babysit. I want to be a family, he zinged back.

  She rolled her eyes and considered turning off her phone. We are not a family, Enzo, she finally sent back.

  You are her mother. I am her father. We are a family. Nothing will ever change that.

  Inez was pretty sure that his whore-o-thon in Buenos Aires had irrevocably changed that.

  Te echo de menos.

  Inez stared at the words: I miss you.

  He often had said that phrase in Spanish to her—usually when they were in bed together, even when she was right there in front of him—as his way of expressing that she still wasn’t close enough. Every time he said it, it stirred deep, visceral emotions inside her, reinforcing the simple fairy tale belief that she had found her one true love who loved her back with all his heart.

  Now, she stared at those words, fighting their tempting promise of a happily ever after. Fairy tales were for naïve virgin maidens. She was an unwed penniless mother whose prince had slept around with the evil queen and whose heart had been turned into stone. There wasn’t much upside in believing in fairy tales anymore.

  How about the opera tonight?

  The text appeared across her screen like a wayward dove passing through a bleak sky.

  Sven, she thought, pretending not to feel anything when she re-read it.