by Mel Blue
“How on earth did you do that?” Karen said, enthused by his adept handling of a fry pan.
“It’s all in the wrist,” he replied with a sexy grin. “I’ll teach you next time you’re in town.” He plated the first omelet and set it in front of her and commenced cooking the beignets he’d already rolled out and cut before he poured his own omelet into the pan.
She snorted. “I’d have egg on the floor, all over the stove, on the ceiling.”
He laughed and she delighted in being responsible for amusing him.
She purposely did not comment on the next time she’d be in town, but trained her attention on his preparation of the meal, peppering him with more questions. Karen sat perched on a stool at his breakfast bar accepting each course he set in front of her, not sure whether her mouth was watering more over his food, or the way his muscles rippled beneath his t-shirt as he cooked for her. Paul wouldn’t allow her to do anything to help him, so she felt like a queen with all the special treatment.
The promised confections made of deep-fried choux paste kicked up a mouth-watering smell as they browned in the hot oil. Karen waited the few minutes it took to plate his omelet and the beignets before she dug into her own, thus giving it a bit of time to cool down.
They scarfed down the eggs and his homemade beignets sprinkled with the requisite powdered sugar, topped off with hot café au lait. Small talk flowed between them unforced throughout the meal. It seemed they’d each found something they’d known was missing in their lives but had been afraid to acknowledge it—easy companionship.
He set his elbow on the bar, propped his chin in his hand, and watched her consume the last bite. “The verdict, mademoiselle?”
“Mmm,” Karen said. “As much as I hate to admit it, your beignets are better.”
Paul pumped his fist vigorously in the air. “Yes!”
Karen grimaced and reached for the bottom of her shirt. “I suppose I might as well get this over with.”
“Wait.” Paul said. He came around and took her hands. The expression in his eyes was soft. “I’m in no hurry. Let’s just let it happen organically. We have plenty of time left in the weekend.”
She shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Okay,” but her heart was still racing with the knowledge that Paul would be the first man since Greg to see what the mastectomy had left. The inevitability of it gave her a dull ache in her chest. She was finally willing to share that part of herself with someone, and Karen felt as if she was doing exactly the right thing, even though the thought practically scared her spitless.
***
They drove back to New Orleans and went to the Quarter where they ducked in and out of quaint little shops so Karen could take the expected souvenirs back to her family. Paul laughed when she zoned in on the voodoo dolls.
“You know what those are, right?”
Karen looked at him quizzically. “What, these?” She pushed one into his face, and he jerked back.
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe in this crap.”
“Shhh,” Paul said and put a finger to his lips while looking furtively around.
Karen jutted out a hip. “Who are you looking for?”
“Don’t blame me if you piss off a Voodoo Priestess or two. You never know where they’re lurking.”
Karen rolled her eyes and turned back to her task. Paul grinned, got close behind her, and wrapped his arms around her like he was her human shield.
“I am not spooked by this,” she declared. “Nor should you be.” He pressed closer, and she wiggled away.
He picked up one, eyed it, then promptly dropped it. “Why do you want these again? I promise to be nice and never piss you off.”
“Brandy collects them.”
“Why?”
“Beats me. She thinks they’re cool or something. I don’t know. I’m just the conduit.”
She finally found some dastardly ones to add to Brandy’s collection, and they moved on to find something for Stan, her sister’s husband.
“What is Stan into? Santeria and goat heads?” Paul asked.
Karen glared. “Not funny.”
Paul threw up his hands in surrender. “I guess I thought they were both into weird, alternative religions or something. It’s not unheard of.”
“Well, if you have to know, Stan is a t-shirt guy. Whenever I take one back to him, he’s ecstatic.”
She found her brother-in-law a unique tee with the head of a smiling alligator on it.
After a late lunch, they lingered over drinks at Fritzel’s, his favorite jazz bar in the Quarter. The ambiance was so cozy, they actually danced a couple of times. Paul wasn’t much for dancing to upbeat music, but he loved the slow ones, because he got the chance to hold Karen close.
They got back to the hotel just in time to shower and dress for the Masked Ball. This was the event Paul most looked forward to, because Karen mentioned wanting to go, and it would give them the opportunity to dress up, or down, and hide their identities behind masks as ornate as they dared wear.
Paul waited while Karen disappeared into the ensuite to get dressed. She had allowed him to select what she would wear. The choices had been a formal floor-length gown, and a short silky cocktail dress that would show off her fabulous legs. Of course, Paul chose the cocktail dress. The only thing he had left to do was the tying of his bowtie to set off his one and only fancy tuxedo.
When he heard the bathroom door open, he turned and took in the vision that was his date. Karen looked like she’d stepped back in time, or was a modern-day version of Penthesilea. The silky dress was draped across one shoulder like a short toga. The length drew the eye to her long, bare legs. She even wore a pair of Greco-Roman styled heels that strapped midway up her legs. Seeing them on display for him in this way made him salivate like the pig he was. He wanted to nix the ball and stay in, but he knew she would hate having gone to all the trouble to get ready not to go anywhere.
“So what do you think?” she asked and did one of the walks only a model could perfect. Then she turned twice, giving him a three-hundred-sixty degree view.
“Breathtaking.”
That strut only made him want her more, despite that he’d had her three times the day before and once that morning.
She frowned. “You’re not ready. Here, let me help you with your tie.” He happily moved close to let her do the honors. But when he took in her scent, he lost all control and drew her into his arms, and kissed her in a way that ruined the expert application of lipstick she’d undoubtedly just completed.
God, he loved the way she tasted, and the way she smelled.
He found his favorite pulse point at her throat and nipped her there.
Although protestations were coming from her lips, she lolled her head to one side, giving him better access to the caramel-colored skin that sloped perfectly from the curve of her neck to her shoulder. Paul waltzed them to the closest wall then trailed his tongue from the base of her throat and up to her jawline and ear, marking her with the lipstick his lips had removed.
“God, Paul,” she murmured and pulled him back.
He pushed his tongue inside her mouth and sucked. This had them both gasping for air within seconds. Paul gripped her hips and nestled his erection in the space where, were there no clothing to separate them, he could glide easily into her, yet again.
Karen’s soft whimper shocked him out of losing it completely and undressing them both so they’d be forced to stay in. Paul knew they shouldn’t go any further, so he released her reluctantly. Even though he’d eaten all her lipstick, she still looked beautiful with slightly swollen lips.
“Damn, I’ve ruined your makeup,” he said.
“And for this you’ll pay,” she declared. “Later.”
She went over to the dressing table and quickly fixed the botched makeup job, while he fixed his tie and brushed the hair her fingers had messed up in the same fashion. Then she grabbed her tiny evening clutch.
“Let’s go befo
re you get any other bright ideas, Beaudelaire,” she said with a smirk.
At the ball, they mingled over hot hors d’oeuvres and an open bar with a few of the couples they’d met the night before at the mixer. They both drank a little more than usual, since they only had to hop on the elevator to get to their room. It was rather freeing to tie one on like this without having to think of the consequences. Karen was even more demonstrative at this party than she’d been at the mixer, and Paul was happy to follow her lead, because he didn’t want to push her further than she was willing to go.
“I have an idea,” Karen said as they danced to a sappy contemporary ballad, her pelvis and his locked in an impromptu version of dirty dancing.
Paul had been in a perpetual state of semi-hardness as he’d watched her most of the evening. Her spectacular legs showcased just right beneath the short dress. Not only had Paul been drawn to her, he saw several other men ogling his date. Yes, his date.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Let’s blow this pop stand about a quarter to midnight, take a bottle of champagne back to our room, and view the fireworks from our balcony.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said and signaled a waiter.
***
From the chaise on their balcony they made love, and the fireworks provided a stunning soundtrack. Unlike some of the other couples who’d had the same bright idea, they’d only exposed the parts necessary to get the job done.
Almost as soon as they’d gone out on the balcony, Karen had attacked him and removed his tie while invading his mouth. He in turn had hooked his thumbs on the rim of the scant thong she wore and slid it down her legs. She pulled his hard erection through the zipper of his tuxedo pants and guided him down into her slick folds, made slicker still by one of the tubes of lube she’d surprised him with.
Paul became like a man possessed to take them over the edge with the resounding fireworks. He pumped his hips, thrusting like there was no tomorrow, unrelenting in his desire to make her scream as the fireworks finale approached. She hooked her legs around his back and crossed her ankles, still in those sexy shoes, so their position would allow him to go deeper.
When the fireworks display went wild, Karen shattered underneath him, calling his name in wild abandon as her orgasm rolled through her, igniting a chain reaction that milked his erection and brought him over the edge as well. Paul’s body jerked with the force of his climax as her muscles spasmed around him until they were both spent. They remained there on the chaise, dazed by the New Year’s fireworks, as well as the ones they’d created. There was silence, save the cacophony of heavy breathing coming from the other balconies, and their own labored breaths from the sprint they’d just undergone.
“I don’t think I can move,” Paul whispered.
“I don’t really want you to,” Karen answered.
So he stayed draped across her, his face tucked in the crook of her neck, breathing in the fragrance she wore and the scent that was uniquely Karen. But after several moments, he tucked himself back into his pants and rolled off her. She retracted her legs to make space for him. He’d purposely angled his body to shield her from any prying eyes, except his own. She was resplendent with the just-fucked state of her hair and dress, and the buzz from the copious champagne consumed. He pulled the afghan that was folded across the back of the chaise, over them.
“Happy New Year,” she said with a cheeky grin.
“And to you, professor.” He cupped her cheek and kissed her, long and deep, then gathered her into his arms. Together they gazed at the stars they could discern through the glare of the city’s night lights.
CHAPTER SIX
It was early on the final full day of their stay. Paul’s lips awoke her as he nibbled at her sex.
“Oh my God,” Karen murmured. “You are insatiable, professor.”
“This is our last day,” he mumbled, then began lapping at her with alacrity, and Karen drifted away. It felt too damn good, and his oral skills were simply unmatched in her opinion. After exacting a spectacular orgasm from her, which had her screaming like a banshee, he finally slid back up her body and collapsed on the pillow beside her.
“I have an idea,” he said.
She took him into her hand and began to work his erection. “I’m listening.”
“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to think,” he said.
She paused, removed her hands, and ran her fingers through his unusually soft hair.
“That may not be much better,” he said.
Karen folded her arms across her ever-present cami, which reminded her he still hadn’t cashed in on the view of her chest he’d won. Gentleman that he was, he hadn’t pushed her. She didn’t think he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d just put the ball in her court, and it was totally up to her to decide whether she would share that part of herself of which she was most ashamed.
He rolled to his side and looked down at her. Karen swallowed hard, her heart heavy with the knowledge that even if she were to go there with him, circumstances may not put them in a place where they could repeat, for a long time, what they’d shared this weekend. His question brought her out of the funk before she was allowed to wallow there.
“How do you feel about tattoos?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yours? I love them.”
“Thanks, but I was referring to your general feeling about them.”
“Um, well, when I was modeling, I refrained from getting any because I didn’t want to go to the hassle of having to cover them up when I was doing a shoot. Then I had to concentrate so much on not dying, that I just never felt the urge to have a stranger draw on my body.”
“This morning, I would love the privilege of viewing your scars,” he said while gazing into her eyes. “Then I want to make love to you, without your top on.”
On an intuitive level, she’d known this was coming. Despite having given him every indication she would honor her part of the bargain, it was still disconcerting now that the moment of truth was finally at hand. She would not let her fears win this time.
She swallowed and nodded, unable to make her suddenly dry mouth form words.
Paul continued. “And after that, I’d like to take you to my friend’s shop and have him ink you on your chest.”
Her heart went from galloping to sprinting to damn-near passing the speed of sound. Paul cupped her cheeks, locking eyes with her in an effort to calm her. She relaxed enough for him to notice, and he shared the rest of his plan.
“Andre will cover all the scars and make a work of art on your chest you will never be ashamed of showing ever again.”
Karen had heard of other women who’d covered their scars with tattoos. On some level she’d wanted to make sure she was going to survive before she’d attempted anything so permanent on her skin, but now that Paul was proposing it, she was giving it serious thought. Then even if their thing didn’t survive past this fantasy weekend, she would always remember how he helped her overcome her struggle with body image. And she would always, always love him for it.
“Will you let me do this for you, Karen?”
“I-I…”
“I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, but I saw a photo online of a woman who’d had a double mastectomy who had this camisole of tattoos inked onto her body. It was one of the reasons I decided to get tattoos around my stump.”
“Really?” Karen said.
He nodded. “Yes.”
When he put it that way, it made her feel even closer to him, and she decided, at last, it was the most perfect idea, ever.
Her resolve sufficiently strengthened by his courage, she exhaled her relief. “Okay, let’s do it.”
***
After freshening up a bit, they met back up on the bed, where they sat on the edge kissing and touching one another softly. Paul, in all his bare-chested glory, and Karen, still wearing her cami and sleep shorts. She had a practically endless supply of these things, but something tol
d her after this weekend, she would never have to hide behind them again.
As if reading her mind, he stood briefly and removed his pajama bottoms, then his prosthesis, leaving them bundled on the floor at their feet. He turned to face her and urged her to stand, and she did. He sat and he pulled her toward him, so he could reach her easily. He removed her shorts first, which he dropped to pool around her ankles. She stepped out of them and closer into the circle of his arms. He rested his head against her torso, and Karen held him around his shoulders. His head was near her heart.
“I can hear your heart racing,” he murmured. “It’s just me, Karen.” He patted his thighs and drew her gaze down to his missing limb. She touched his powerful thighs then knelt and kissed the heel of his stump.
He urged her to sit next to him. “We both have scars,” he said. “Mine may have a bunch of tattoos covering it, but soon yours soon will, too, and you won’t have to hide behind this, any more.” He pinched the fabric of her cami between his thumb and forefinger. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
He slid his hands down her sides and took the cami at its base. She raised her arms voluntarily, and he slipped it, up, up, up, and finally over her head and dropped it to the floor. He embraced her, their skin touching chest to chest for the first time, and scooted them back onto the center of the bed. Karen lay back against the pillow, her arms splayed out almost as if she were making the sign of a cross, offering him her broken body in full.
Paul used his fingers to explore this skin that she had heretofore made off-limits to him. In place of what had been her perfect breasts, was an empty space with two very neat scars running perpendicular down her chest. He leaned his head down and grazed his lips over the scars one at a time, and a dam broke inside Karen. She trembled and shook as he continued to worship her chest like it was the most beautiful part of her body she could share with him.
He methodically kissed each and every tear away, then kissed her mouth in the way she had grown to love over this fantasy weekend. He made the sweetest and most excruciating love to her, bringing her body to an amazing three orgasms before he entered her and had his own.