All In

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “You look really amazing,” he murmured, looking as if he were caressing her with his eyes, skimming down her neck, stopping at her breasts. Her breathing sped up; she became aware of everything: the fabric of her dress, the sensitivity of her skin, his scent, the heat in the air.

  “Thanks,” she said and cleared her throat. She wished she had a glass in her hand. “You look great too,” she said honestly. Because he was dressed all in black—formfitting black slacks, shiny leather belt, black shirt—and was ethereally good-looking. God, how she wanted to taste him, bit by bit.

  David smiled, and Natalia had the awful feeling that she’d said that last bit out loud.

  “When did you arrive?” she asked, retreating to safe, polite topics. She could be polite in five languages.

  “Michel and I drove. We got here today.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “I rented a house. Down by the water. And you?”

  Natalia thought about her sex nest. “Åsa loaned me her guest cottage,” she said casually. “I’m staying there.”

  The noise of the party got louder with each minute. They’d started serving the food, and the band was playing. It was almost impossible to carry on a normal conversation.

  “Do you want to get out of here for a little while?” he asked.

  She hesitated. This was J-O’s party. He was the host, and she was his closest colleague. But people were partying and drinking. No one was going to miss her. Not if they were only gone for a little while. “Yes,” she said. “Just give me a sec.”

  David watched Natalia walk away, her long legs, her short red dress swinging. If his intention was to put an end to whatever was going on between them, then he had failed catastrophically. Everything, every last thing about her, drew him to her.

  She returned with red lips and a huge smile.

  And something inside him fell apart.

  What he was planning . . .

  It wasn’t going to sadden or disappoint Natalia. It was going to crush her.

  This was his very last chance not to hurt her any further. He ought to say something meaningless about this being bad timing, about having to prioritize his work, and leave her. He knew that. That would be humane and decent. If she already thought he was an asshole, then the later blow wouldn’t be so hard.

  He knew that.

  And then she swept past, gave him an expectant smile, and all he could think was that she was the most beautiful, the sexiest, most fun woman he’d ever met, and that this was their last night together, and that he was unscrupulous enough to want to enjoy as much of her as he could.

  They strolled down to the water. There were people everywhere—on the beach, on the docks, at the cafés—and David didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention, so he didn’t touch her. Didn’t want her to have to explain her relationship to him.

  Fuck, the press would slaughter her if they found out.

  At least he could do that, protect her from prying eyes. David looked out at the waters of the Kattegatt, which connected the Baltic Sea to the North Sea.

  “That was Jonas Jägerhed you were talking to earlier,” he said when he put two and two together, remembering where he’d seen the man before.

  She laughed. “Sometimes it feels like you have some kind of dossier on me that you’ve memorized. Yes, that was Jonas. That was the first time we’d seen each other in a year.”

  He helped her down a steep step. “Those shoes weren’t made for walking,” he pointed out. Narrow high heels, even narrower straps around her strong ankles.

  “No, Åsa says they’re shoes to capture men with.”

  He laughed. “Are they working?”

  She blinked at him. She didn’t seem drunk anymore; she just looked happy and a little naughty. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

  She looked out at the water, and David positioned himself behind her, shielding her from onlookers from behind. In front of them was just the sea.

  “It was weird to see Jonas again,” she continued. “But it wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be. Emotions are such a strange thing. Time makes everything better eventually. It’s a little sad, how changeable everything is.”

  “A little comforting, too,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. She leaned lightly against him, moving her shoulder blades slightly against his chest. He ran his hand over her skin.

  She trembled, drew in her breath. “I suppose so,” she said quietly.

  “Why did it end?” He asked the most personal of questions, the one he actually had no right to ask. But he just found it inconceivable. How could anyone be with Natalia De la Grip and not slay dragons for her?

  If everything was different, if she was his girlfriend . . .

  Natalia was silent for a long time, looking out at the quiet sea. The sound of the waves on the pier and the occasional splash was all they could hear.

  “My period started yesterday,” she said, and David thought she was changing the subject. “It’s never worked right, but this wasn’t anything unusual. This morning it was already over.” She smiled, and he knew that they had to have sex tonight; he couldn’t leave her without sharing that incredible experience one last time.

  “I never thought there might be anything wrong. I’ve always wanted to have a family, and Jonas is very fond of kids.” She rubbed her palms on her upper arms to warm herself up, still looking out at the water. Her voice was quiet and steady, almost distanced. “But Jonas is the oldest son; he has a title and a large estate. Only a biological child can inherit a noble title. In some circles that’s incredibly important.”

  She turned around and looked at David. The sun was still up, but the light was turning golden, and as her eyes caught its rays they began to sparkle like pure gold.

  “This might sound like a first-world problem, but for many years my period was my biggest enemy. God, how I hated when it came.”

  She shook her head and looked out at the water again, up at the sky, anywhere far away.

  David waited. When her voice began again, it was so empty, so sad that he shivered.

  “Jonas left me the same day he found out in black and white that I can’t have children.”

  27

  Åsa peered at Michel, who was standing in the middle of the room scratching his forehead. Man, was he sexy with his shaved head. She’d never gone for the gangster look before. Most criminal types were insufferable narcissists, and the way she saw it, there was only room for one egotist in her relationships. His shiny suits, garish shirts, and flashy rings were in a league of their own, of course. She crossed her legs in front of her. But they turned her on, no doubt about it. He wasn’t one of those slick finance boys, nor some tough thug. He was Michel, the nicest and most respectable man she’d ever met. The fact that Michel had turned her down once didn’t make him a bad guy. She realized that today, ten years too late. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt like hell.

  “You must have noticed,” he said, snapping Åsa out of her revery. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t even heard what he said. She furrowed her brow. She had been serious about what she’d said when she allowed him to drag her in here. She didn’t want to talk. No good ever came from talking, regardless of what Natalia and Åsa’s irritating psychotherapist thought.

  Talking hurt. People said rotten things and you never came out of it feeling good. So she really didn’t want to talk.

  She ran her eyes over his legs and hips and stomach, her gaze drifting to his crotch.

  What she wanted was to get laid.

  Natalia was always saying Åsa used sex to deaden her feelings, but Åsa didn’t agree. She used alcohol to deaden her feelings; she just really enjoyed sex. She was good at sex. And Michel wanted her, even a blind person could see that.

  “Are you listening to what I’m saying?” he asked indignantly.

  “Sorry,” Åsa said, making a show of looking at her watch. Three minutes had gone by.

  She got u
p from the armchair where she’d been sitting. Michel almost jumped back. She traced one finger along her décolletage, looking deep into his eyes. Two seconds and then he would be hers.

  Michel shook his head. “You’re not listening,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for how badly I behaved when we ran into each other at the bar. I was surprised and I said things I regret. I’m sorry.” He backed away farther.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said impatiently, with a dismissive wave of her hand. She took a high-heeled step toward him. He watched her warily. She smiled a little. “I let all of that go,” she continued, which was maybe not entirely truthful, because he had hurt her, at one time anyway, and it was still there, like an encapsulated spike in her heart. But that was then, and this was now, and nothing ever came of thinking about old issues, she reminded herself firmly.

  She cocked her head and lowered her voice to a hoarse purr. “You have a few minutes left.” She smiled, blinked slowly, and approached him.

  He shook his head. “No, Åsa,” he said seriously. “We need to talk. I mean it. Just talk.”

  And there it was.

  The panic.

  Åsa stiffened, lowered her arms. If Michel didn’t want to have sex with her, if he really just wanted to talk it out—there was no expression in the world she hated more than that—then there was no point in their even seeing each other. She had imagined that they would argue a little, he would pursue her, she would tease and taunt and then regain the power that he’d stolen from her that one vulnerable evening. Then they would end up in bed and have an explosive night. Michel would see what he’d missed out on, and then it would be over. She would have won. But this? No. The panic made her break into a cold sweat and opened floodgates that were supposed to stay closed.

  When she’d met Michel she had still been in shock. Apparently you could be in shock for years.

  Her family had been obliterated, so maybe it wasn’t so strange. An accident, a phone call from the police, and her whole world suddenly collapsed.

  She’d moved in with Natalia’s family. There had been papers to sign, lawyers to listen to, decisions to make. When she occasionally thought back on that time now, it was like it had all happened to someone else.

  School and then Michel had been her bedrock in the chaos. At school she’d just been one student in the crowd, which had been so wonderful. And Michel had always been there, waiting, never in the spotlight, but always dependably waiting in the wings. And they’d become friends. She’d teased him, flirted with other guys to test him. Nothing had happened. He’d just watched her with those black eyes of his, impossible to decipher. Sometimes she’d thought she’d seen hunger. Sometimes compassion. Always friendship. Somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love, of course. She’d had to drink until she was really drunk in order to muster the courage to approach him, which was so horribly childish and embarrassing. He’d rejected her. Just like that. Hadn’t wanted what she’d offered.

  She’d gone home with someone else that night, obviously.

  But that was lifetimes ago, she reminded herself, forcing air into her lungs. She was a grown-up. She could command herself not to think about that.

  “Michel, do we have to talk about that now? Couldn’t we maybe . . .” But her voice lacked conviction. She’d gambled everything on that one card; she’d bet it all on sex and had lost. Again. He was turning her down, again. This was starting to become a very unpleasant habit. She sank back down into the armchair.

  Michel squatted down in front of her and put his hands on her legs, and Åsa nearly flew out of her skin. In all these years, he’d never touched her, not really, not like a man. His hands were big and rough, just like the rest of him. His arms and legs bulged inside the fabric of his suit.

  She looked into his eyes, black and nice. Or was that pity she saw?

  She couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t breathe. She stretched her back. She was Åsa Bjelke. She could walk right back out to the party and in record time have a dozen men fawning over her. She didn’t need this.

  She pushed his hands away, stood up, and smoothed out her dress. “Your ten minutes are up,” she said coolly. “You really can’t have anything more to say to me. You’re not interested, that’s fine.” She shook out her hair, gathered her strength where she always gathered it—from anger, from indifference. “Thanks for this little chat. I’m sure we both agree that we don’t need to repeat it.”

  “Åsa . . . ,” he said.

  She shook her head. She’d had enough. “Good-bye, Michel,” she said.

  28

  The guest cottage Natalia had borrowed was well down below the main house, quite private, and all the way out by the water.

  “This is incredible,” David said as they stood in front of the enormous windows admiring the view.

  “I know,” she said. The windows ran from floor to ceiling, and outside only the sea was visible. No beach, no people, nothing other than water until the horizon met the sky. The July night was still light, but the sun had set, and a full moon hung over the warm water.

  The cottage consisted of just one room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Everything was white. The wood floor had been painted white, white textiles, white walls. The sea played the starring roll. The sea and the bed, made with white linens and white pillows.

  David looked at the bed for a long time and then at her. Natalia shivered. There was pure hunger in that look. She stepped right into his embrace, hard and urgent. She felt brave and bold, and she kissed him until they were both panting. He moved his hands to her neck, to her cheeks, and looked at her, studying her carefully.

  He was like that, attentive, a quick study. She had never felt so important, as if what she wanted, what she liked, was important to David, maybe most important of all. It was as if he studied her, tested his way forward, rejected what she didn’t like, gave her more of what she wanted. It was potently erotic. And in the midst of all the sensual darkness: safe.

  He stroked her throat, down to her collarbone, following his own movements with intense focus. Natalia lost track of anything besides his eyes and fingers. He pulled her dress off, she undid his belt, and they undressed each other with almost familiar motions.

  He smiled at her extravagant lingerie. She hadn’t realized it before, but the sheer lingerie, expensive and French, was representative of what she was with him, what she became with him. A sexy, hungry woman, a woman who expected and demanded, without shame, the best the world had to offer her, a woman who wanted this man and dared to claim him.

  Their previous lovemaking had been either fiery or playfully passionate. Today it was so intense that Natalia could hardly breathe.

  She lay down on the bed, and he lay down beside her. He spread her legs apart and carefully caressed her while showering her with airy kisses.

  He bit her on the shoulder and murmured, “Let me make this good for you. I need to make this good for you, better than before.”

  The raw emotion in his voice tied her insides in knots. “Yes,” she whispered, and then she was swept away by his tongue, his hands, and his body, coming in a quick orgasm.

  Afterward she lay on her back, sweaty and relaxed. David kissed her with feather-light kisses, stroked her hair. He brought water and watched while she drank. He took the glass, took a few gulps, and then set it on the floor. She reached for him, wanted him in her, but he pulled away.

  “Not yet,” he said quietly. He kissed her on the ribs, gently on the breasts, so incredibly tenderly. She sank down into the bedclothes, closed her eyes, letting him caress her, pulling her into yet another wave of sensations. Unbelievably enough he brought her to another orgasm, and she almost curled up into a ball afterward, as if her body couldn’t handle any more. He ran his hand down her back, helping her unfurl again, carefully laying her on her stomach, rubbing her back, down over her buttocks—so amazingly sensitive. Hot blood and warmth and lust surged, emptying her of all thought and leaving only emotions, sensations, and her b
ody. Her thighs: the inside, the backs, so many sensations in that thin, tender skin, so much desire. And although it was impossible, even though she was spent, Natalia’s body responded again.

  It was as if she was somewhere else, far inside herself. He rolled her onto her back. She was limp like a doll. He laid her legs over his own legs, his hairs scratchy beneath her thighs. He stuffed a pillow under her head, held a heavy arm over her legs. When she was comfortable, he spread her legs, stroking her, bent down and kissed her.

  “David, I can’t. No more,” she murmured. The touch was too intense.

  “Shh,” he said. And his finger found its way in, gentle but secure. So skillful. “You’re going to come again, Natalia,” he said. “You know you can, and I want it. I want you to come for me.” And then another finger, and he found all the most sensitive spots with his slow methodical movements. The stroking and her passive position made her breathing heavier and heavier. And finally, when she was writhing, he pulled on a condom and entered her.

  Natalia could hardly move as he filled her. It was as if every part of her had been made to receive him, buried in the bedclothes, surrounded by pillows and fresh air. He brushed the hair out of her face; she was sweaty and hot and floating around in the soft bed, the mild night, and the sounds of their lovemaking. He kissed her. He tasted so good, warm and familiar, big and safe. She opened her eyes, and he was so close, so close, and it was too intense and something in her couldn’t handle all the intimacy, so she closed her eyes again.

  “Natalia,” he whispered in her ear. He nibbled her earlobe. “Look at me,” he said, and she obediently opened her eyes again.

  They were so close, no space between them. He was looking right into her as he moved inside, deep, determined movements that pushed and pressed until the impossible happened and she came again. As her emotions overflowed, her tears were near.