In This Life or the Next

by Kallysten

  Somehow, as had happened so often before, Chris seemed to guess what she was thinking. After he had lit the oil lamp on the bedside table, he turned to her and smiled gently, the kind of smile he used to give her as a child when she was afraid of thunder.

  "Do you know how long I have wanted you?” he asked, reaching to caress her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

  "I kissed you first,” she pointed out, blushing a little at the memory of her boldness. Judging by how his smile widened, he remembered too.

  "So you did. But,” his voice dropped lower as he drew her closer to him, “I wanted you for a long time before you kissed me. And I loved you even before that."

  She could have said the same thing, but she had a feeling he already knew as much.

  "Why didn't you do a thing about it?” she asked, softly, searching his eyes and surprised by what she found there as much as by his words.

  "I was afraid."

  "Of me?"

  Shaking his head lightly, he brushed his lips to hers. “I was afraid of losing you. What if you hadn't loved me? I would have lost your friendship, and I wouldn't have been able to bear that."

  "Don't be silly. I would still have been your friend."

  His hand drifted to her hair, and he played with the loose strands that had been woven with flowers and ribbons as tradition demanded. The flowers had fallen away earlier while she had danced, but she would keep and cherish the ribbons as a memento of this most beautiful day.

  "You say that now,” he murmured, his voice quiet but intense. “But look into my eyes. Now imagine this same look on someone you like but don't love. Would you have remained their friend if they had looked at you like that, told you—"

  He was right, she realized as she did what he had asked and looked deep into his eyes. The fire burning there had scared her when she had first seen it after she had kissed him, and even now, it was overwhelming.

  "I love you,” she interrupted him. “So it doesn't matter now. Kiss me."

  He grinned at her demand, the grin of a devil. “As my lady wife demands."

  It wasn't the first time he had kissed her, but it felt like it all over again. One kiss, the world stopped, she was lost in him, and she wanted to never let go. Yet she was the one to pull away first.

  "I like the sound of that,” she murmured, pressing her face to his shoulder.

  "Demands?” he asked, sounding amused.

  "Wife,” she breathed, knowing full well he was only teasing her but suddenly feeling too shy again to tease him back. She couldn't look at him when she talked next, and judging by his sudden silence, he had caught her mood. “Will you help me undress, husband?"

  She turned around, and the same hands that were so agile when it came to carving intricate pieces of wood were suddenly trembling against her back and fumbling with the fastening of her dress. Lauren used the time it was taking him to undo each button to try and calm her raging heart. She knew the basics of what was about to happen, but that didn't prevent her from being anxious.

  Again, Chris seemed to guess her mood, and as her dress, then her undergarments were discarded, he remained at her back, his hands playing lightly across her shoulders, soothing, waiting for her to be ready for more. Slowly, she relaxed against him and tilted her head to give him access to her neck when he brushed her hair away and peppered soft kisses against her skin.

  "I love you so much, Lauren. I don't think I could ever tell you how much."

  The words, whispered against her warming skin, made her tremble. Gathering what she could find of her courage, she turned toward him, offering her body to his hungry gaze.

  "If you can't tell me, why don't you show me?” she suggested, her bright blush belying the boldness of her words, and Chris laughed gently.

  "Anything you want."

  She could have sworn he was blushing too as he started undressing, and somehow it soothed her a little. She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but when his shirt fell to the floor, her gaze was attracted to the smooth planes of his chest, and she ached to touch him, finally, flesh against flesh, and...

  Her breath hitched in her throat when, as he had discarded the last of his clothes, her eyes fell down to the hard length arching up toward his belly. A wave of warmth spread through her and awakened tingles in her and between her thighs.

  "Chris ... you..."

  She wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, how she had never imagined—never dared to imagine—he would be so perfect, but the words refused to pass her lips, and all she could do was reach out with a shaky hand and press her palm to the center of his chest. The contact made the two of them shudder, and in the next moment, they were kissing again, only this time there was nothing left between them but their desire.

  His skin felt like fire wherever he touched her, and Lauren wanted nothing more than to pull him closer to her, right against her. In her.

  She couldn't have said if she led him to the bed, or if he led her. It didn't matter. The only important thing was that she could soon feel all of his body pressing against hers, anchoring her even as his lips made her fly. Resting on his elbow, he took some of his weight off her and she immediately started to complain. But in the space he had freed, his right hand began exploring her flesh, softly following her collarbone before reverently cupping her breast. She gasped, and he gave her a worried look; she smiled at him encouragingly, hoping with every fiber of her being that he would continue.

  He did.

  For what felt like hours, he caressed every part of her that he could reach, and nothing had ever felt as good to Lauren as the familiar, slightly callused hand discovering the curves of her body. Tentatively, she tried to return the beautiful sensations, touching his chest and shoulders with the tips of her fingers, happy to hear him moan his pleasure in reply. She couldn't make herself reach for the hardness pressing against her hip, but something in her was yearning for it. Thankfully, once again, he seemed to read her desires; she wasn't sure how she would have asked if he hadn't.

  His hand, always so gentle, guided her thighs and spread them. Then he touched her there, between her legs, slowly sliding a finger inside her, and she instinctively wanted to shy away from him. He soothed her with quiet words and kisses, and she calmed down, allowing his finger, then a second one, to move inside her. It felt strange, and a little uncomfortable, until he brushed something that made her whole body shiver in pleasure. He stopped then, and looked at her again with worry; she shook her head, babbling senseless words that she hoped would tell him not to stop, that he hadn't hurt her. She thought he hadn't understood, and she was trying to say it all again, better, but the fingers he had withdrawn were being replaced by something much thicker, and Lauren lost her ability to speak.

  His eyes remained locked with hers as he slowly pushed past her slick folds, and Lauren was afraid to blink for fear that he would stop if she did. A married friend had warned her that it would hurt, but all she could feel was this incredible warmth flowing through her, radiating from where he was entering her. Then the pain did come; brief and searing, it left her gasping for air. Chris stopped pushing in, even started moving back, but she caught his shoulders with both hands and kept him where he was.

  He whispered her name, and with that single word, she could hear how much he desired her—and how much he was afraid to hurt her.

  "I'm fine,” she assured him; it wasn't really a lie, she felt better already. “More?"

  An all-consuming fire passed through his eyes, and he leaned to capture her mouth. At the same time, he started moving in her again, slow thrusts, back and forth, that felt better than Lauren could have hoped, but that amazingly brought her even more pleasure when Chris started letting go of his restraint and driving himself more forcefully inside her. She clung to him, trying to tell him without words not to stop, not ever, not as long as every slide of his cock made her feel even better, made her body sing and reach toward something unseen.

  Her orgasm took her by surprise and
she cried out, feeling in the same instant that she was dying and being reborn. She held on to Chris tightly, keeping him deep inside her, and smiled against his shoulder when he, too, found his pleasure.

  * * * *

  Blinking, Tania came back to the present and the gallery, biting her bottom lip not to moan at the pleasure that was still coursing through her. Her knees felt ready to buckle, and with some difficulty, she made her way to a nearby bench. She couldn't see the paintings anymore from where she sat, and she was somehow grateful for it.

  The visions, or whatever they were, were getting worse. At first, she had simply seen things through Lauren's eyes and remained herself throughout; it had been the same for these short scenes about the other paintings. However, this last time, she had felt everything that Lauren had felt. She had experienced her apprehension, her excitement, her love, her pleasure. She had felt Chris’ hands on her, his lips, his body moving against hers, his cock in her...

  She could feel her internal muscles give a small twitch, as though remembering him too or maybe regretting that it hadn't really happened. The pleasure, however, had been all too real, and she suddenly became hyperaware that she had just had an orgasm in a public place, without anyone touching her. She cast furtive looks around her; there were only a handful of people in the gallery, and none of them was looking at her.

  Closing her eyes for an instant, she took a couple of deep breaths and tried to regain control of herself. Whatever was happening, she had to understand it and find the underlying cause of it. It couldn't keep happening like this, especially not if it was getting any stronger.

  The researcher in her immediately perked up and suggested that she document what she had experienced so far. With a new determination, she opened her notebook to a blank page and wrote down what she knew.

  Anna and ? Seamstress/tailor. Italian/Spanish?

  Lizzie and Steven. Children, Michael and Helena.

  Lauren and Christopher (last name?). Married. Child. Farm (where?). War (when?).

  She stopped there; everything else she could have written felt too personal. She had a feeling that, if she had focused on the missing details, they would have come to her as the child's name had earlier, but she didn't feel up to that right then. She had finally calmed down, and although a stop to the restrooms to refresh herself would probably have been a good idea, she stood and went back to the row of paintings, clutching the notebook to her chest like a shield.

  She stood in front of a painting depicting an older woman brushing her silvery hair and, cautiously, tried to open her mind to any images from the painting. That last vision had scared her a little, it had been so strong, but the other ones, the ones that weren't about Lauren, were milder, and she was hoping it would be one of those this time. Also, the simple fact that she was choosing to see something, was inviting her mind to accept the foreign images made it all much less daunting than to be assaulted by images unexpectedly. As long as she remained in control—and as long as she didn't stumble onto any more lovemaking scene—she could do this.

  * * * *

  The brush felt heavy in her hand, heavier than it had in a long time. The handle was pure silver, and as a child, she had hated the instrument, thinking it was too cumbersome, thinking that she ought to have been allowed to wear her hair short anyway since that was what she wanted. However, as the years had passed, she had learned to cherish the memento of her grandmother. She cherished it even more now because every time she picked it up before bed, Pierre would smile to her, come to stand at her back, gently take it from her, and brush her hair until it was as smooth as silvery silk.

  * * * *

  Even if this time she had expected it, even wanted it, the sudden plunge into someone else's life was as strange as the others had been, and Tania's hand was trembling when she wrote down the name of the woman's husband. She hadn't picked up the woman's name, but mentally, she reached toward it and was soon scribbling it on the notebook, trying not to dwell on the fact that it seemed to be becoming easier each time.

  "Marie and Pierre,” she murmured, looking back at the woman for a second before moving on to the next paintings. She avoided the ones that brought forth images of Lauren, she didn't want to experience something so strong again, and was a little relieved when all the visions remained mild. Soon, she had a list composed of six pairs of names and a few details for each. There didn't seem to be any link between the names, except that they were all married couples as far as she could tell.

  Now, she just had to come up with a solution about learning who these people were and what her visions could mean. The thought of Marc came to her mind immediately. If anyone could tell her what it was about, it had to be him. After all, he had painted these scenes.

  Taking a deep breath, she plastered her brightest smile on her face and approached the receptionist.

  "Excuse me, I would like to contact one of the artists. Could you help me?"

  The woman, who had looked bored out of her mind a second earlier, returned her smile and said sweetly: “I'm sorry, we're bound by privacy agreements and cannot divulge the address or—"

  "I merely want to commission a painting,” Tania interrupted, lying as well as she knew how. “For my husband. He admires Mr. Wendell's work so much that I thought it would be a lovely gift for our anniversary."

  "I'm not sure,” the girl started, visibly hesitating, and Tania cut in amiably, with the same tone of voice that always granted her entrance to the campus library after hours.

  "Could you maybe call him and ask him if that's OK? I'm sure he'll agree. Just tell him I'm a friend of Lauren and Chris."

  Still looking unsure, the receptionist called, taking care to hide her phone as she dialed, and Tania listened, a little apprehensive yet very hopeful. She was still surprised when the receptionist jotted down an address. She hadn't really expected him to react to a mention of Lauren and Chris. What did it mean that he had?

  Thanking the receptionist, she clutched the piece of paper and walked out of the gallery. She took a deep breath before looking at the two lines, and wasn't sure whether to be apprehensive or relieved when she recognized the address and realized it was only a short walk away. She tried to chase away the apprehension, reminding herself that she was on her way to find answers, and held on tight to her notebook as she hurried down the few blocks.

  So many thoughts and questions cluttered her mind that she missed the apartment building and had to walk back to it once she noticed her mistake. She forced herself to calm down as she climbed the three flights of stairs, and when she reached his threshold, she counted to ten before knocking. The door opened after only a second, as though Marc had been waiting behind it.

  His bright smile lit up his whole face when he saw her, and he moved back to let her enter.

  "Tania! Come in, please. Would you like something to drink? A cup of coffee?"

  She was a little surprised that he remembered her name; he must have met quite a few people the previous night.

  "No. I'm fine, thank you."

  She followed him into a large open room that seemed to serve as living room and atelier. All around the room were numerous easels; each held a painting that was a work in progress. Splattered paint over the tiled floor let her know she had interrupted him while he had been working.

  "I'm sorry to bother you,” she began as she stepped in, but he interrupted her right away.

  "No, don't be! I'm so glad you came."

  The tone of his voice hinted at much more than simple politeness, and it gave Tania a pause. “You are?” she asked, somewhat puzzled.

  "Of course I am!” he exclaimed. “God, I've missed you so much! I wasn't sure it was really you at first last night, it just looked too good to be true, and then I saw him and I thought I was really off, but I thought about you all night and I was more and more sure it was you, not just me wishing it was. Am I even making sense anymore? I'm so excited I think I'm babbling. I need to calm down, don't I?"

  "Calm
ing down would definitely be a good thing,” she said with a tight smile. He had been speaking so fast, she wasn't sure she had understood half of what he had said, and what she had understood hadn't made much sense. “And maybe you could explain to me what's going on here."

  He shook his head, and she could see that he was trembling a little. “What's going on? We found each other again, that's what's going on. I never expected ... OK, I did, I hoped so damn much you would see the paintings somehow and would come back to me, but I never really thought you'd be there on opening night, that we'd meet like this and..."

  A nervous feeling was growing inside Tania; she had came here to find answers, but it seemed that Marc's words only created more questions for her, and she wasn't sure how to react to all of it. She wasn't sure either what to do when he suddenly calmed down from his babbling excitement and came to stand by her, so close that she had to look up to see his eyes, so close that her body demanded she take a step back. She couldn't seem to manage to do it though; because looking into his eyes, she had seen Chris again, and something warm and all-consuming had awakened in her, something that kept her right where she was and immobile when Marc tentatively cupped her cheek in his hand.

  "I've missed you so much,” he murmured, his voice on the edge of breaking. “Too much for words."

  With that, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers.

  * * * *

  If she had ever given it some thought—which she hadn't, because it wasn't the type of thing a proper young lady thought about, not at all—Lauren would have imagined that his lips would be rough from too much exposition to the sun and wind. Yet, they were soft when she brushed her mouth against Christopher's, so soft that for an instant she thought she was dreaming. However, reality was there, right in front of her, standing tall and opening wide surprised eyes as she drew back. Reality was a flame in Chris’ eyes that burned brighter than anything Lauren had ever seen, a flame that attracted her and scared her in the same heartbeat. She listened to the second instinct and ran.