by Sunniva Dee
Ciro’s been gone for two weeks. I’ve done my thing: Mom, dogs, toner sales, Mintrer’s. I’ve had plenty to take care of, stuff to keep me busy. But the thing is, I miss him.
Brooke has moved into her sister’s apartment “until the flower situation is sorted out.” Whenever I’m not home for my deliveries, Charlotte moves them out to the patio. When I return, I automatically head out and unwrap them. I accommodate them in their plastic buckets, the most recent batch from the 99-cent store being fuchsia pink. They don’t match anything and create veritable eyesores out there, but that’s the least of my problems. Thankfully, some of the older arrangements, like the cannon batch, are ready for the trash.
He calls me every night, and in the mornings, we text.
Where are you today? I type. He tends to switch location on me. The title of this film-in-making is Caribbean Nights, and he’s on yachts and different islands. Some have it rough, right?
Gran Bahama. Coming home in three days.
Oh that’s a while...
She misses me.
I chew on my lip to temper my excitement, but his jungle of red flowers invade my periphery. Guess she does, I type out.
Ciro Facetimes me. For a second, I’m too shy to pick up. I know what he’ll say too, and it will get awkward.
“Hey, gorgeous.” His voice is morning-gruff and hits the bottom of my stomach with a zing! Soft sheets, golden skin over some seriously well-trained pecks is a good look on him. Faintly, I wonder how much time he spends working out.
He shifts higher on the bed, the sheet sliding below his nipples, which are small, dark, and clearly edible.
“Hey. What’re you up to?” I bite my lip.
He lifts the phone over his head and stares at me. “Procrastinating. Hanging with my girlfriend in bed until work demands my presence.”
He’s waiting for a smart comeback, I can tell. I could ask him to swing the camera toward that inexistent girlfriend, but my mouth just opens and closes until my cheeks grow hot.
The humor fades from his eyes. “Am I?” he asks, pitch low. It buzzes in my chest even with an ocean between us.
“Are you what?”
“Hanging out with my girlfriend? You. It’s time, Savannah. You wanted the dating game. I told you I don’t play it, but somehow I’ve ended up being patient with you. Look at us: here we are, god knows how long after we met.”
“Six weeks.” I cough uncomfortably, because that slipped out. Ciro’s eyes fix on my mouth as I say it.
“Six weeks? Okay. Your six weeks are up. We’re not dating anymore. When I come home on Saturday, I want to spend time with my girlfriend. I’ve got two weeks in a row where all I have booked is a few home-turf Valley gigs. During that time, I want to see you as much as possible.” He chuckles. “That came out like an ultimatum, didn’t it?”
I nod out my agreement.
“And I guess it is.” Ciro’s eyes cool while he lets the words sink over me. “Let me ask you one last time, Savannah: will you be my girlfriend?”
Status Quo.
I’m okay. Mom’s okay. What if Status Quo has already changed and Ciro has already entered my every-day still? My Carpe Diems with him have been good. She hasn’t lost another job because I lost track of what was important. Maybe he won’t shake up our days.
I allow my smile to grow. I hope it gleams and sticks to my earlobes the way it would on girls who are fearless.
“Here. Down it,” Frieda holds my wineglass because my hand is trembling. “You’re acting crazy. He’s already your boyfriend, remember? It’s not like you have to impress him or anything. You have been chosen.” She suppresses a snort at her own choice of words but doesn’t stop tipping the glass to my mouth.
I cough, dripping chardonnay down my half-powdered chin. “You’re ruining my makeup, and you haven’t even finished me yet.”
“Wait.” She tips more wine down my throat, powder puff in the air until I snatch the glass and shove it onto the counter.
“I need to go.”
“Dude, he’s not going anywhere. Lin’s keeping him company while I finish you up.” She snaps her fingers like we’ve got assistants in the bathroom: “Lipstick.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worrying about. Goodness knows what he’ll tell him.”
Frieda uncaps the Kiss of Fire and targets my mouth. “Hey, at least Sam and the guys are downstairs.”
“In the dungeon.”
“Hold your mouth still. The Gross Dungeon,” she reminds me of our latest nickname for the TV room in the basement. “I wish they’d turn down the volume when the porn chicks fake it.”
“Anyway,” I say, unable to focus on anything but my boyfriend at the door. “Peace out.”
“Here, don’t forget the lipstick. You got your pepper spray?”
“Jesus.”
“Kidding! Go have fun, little one. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t have done. Or, do anything I would have done.” I head toward the door, because now we’re in Frieda’s free association territory, and that can take time. “Do everyone I would have done.”
I round the corner from the living room and find Ciro in the hallway. Lin stands on one foot, holding his other tennis-shoe-clad foot high in front of him, toe pointing at Ciro. My boyfriend holds the shoe by its tip, and Lin is ecstatic.
I side-eye them. “What’re you guys doing?”
“He like my gold laces. I show them really close to his face.”
“I can see that. Shoe fetish?” I joke to Ciro, who slowly releases Lin’s foot and runs his gaze from my face and down my dress.
“Shoes can be damn sexy—the right kind on the right person at the right time.” My heart bounces when he halts at my feet; Charlotte and I went pumps-hunting and I finally found what I needed, a shiny, passion-red pair.
Ciro’s attention has left my love-struck roommate for good. He scoops me up, leaving Lin to giggle out, omigod-omigod in a broken Valley-girl accent.
“That’s the girl and time I’m talking about, and I can’t wait to remove those with my teeth.”
Over his shoulder, I meet Frieda’s stare. Careful, she mouths, and I nod, securing my arms around his neck so he can carry me down to the Bentley.
“The shoes are new,” I say in the car. “Don’t chew on them.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
Everything about him draws me in. I want to climb over the mid console and straddle him, hold his face still, and kiss the life out him.
But it’s not just the car speeding to his house that stops my fantasizing. I’m slowly realizing that all my whats and hows will be put to rest tonight too. I’ll be learning what it means to have Ciro Anthony Silveira as my boyfriend, if smoldering eyes and a cocky mouth convert to legendary.
What if he’s insane in bed and not in a good way? I’ll be alone, deep in Hillside Country behind cacti and bushes, way away from home. Bring your pepper spray, Frieda joked, and ah I hate when jokes become scary.
“After you, girlfriend.” Calm, and demanding, Ciro’s hand clasps mine as he guides me toward the front door. Damn, we got here fast. I wasn’t done panicking and regretting every decision I’ve ever made.
In the foyer, he envelops me in his arms, which makes me hyperventilate. When my legs go unsteady, he leans me toward the wall, kisses my mouth, and opens it with his own. I gasp sounding eerie-scared. My deer-in-headlight eyes must be on display too, because he pulls back to examine me.
“Savannah. Are you okay?”
“Oh what? Sure!” I pant.
He laughs softly at my lie. “Good. I’ve been thinking about this moment for weeks. I can’t wait to spoil you. I want you to never want to leave this house. I hope you’re hungry?”
What’s he talking about? Food? I hope so and nod with insistence, because procrastination. I’ll chew sl
owly.
I keep my eyes trained on the stairway. It winds upward with no support around it, one of those white, modern pieces which leaves the climber with escape routes on both sides. Ciro holds my hand as we take the last step and are assaulted by Princess.
Licks, happy whimpers, and barreling into bodies. She does that rearing-up-on-her-hind-legs thing without success again. It cuts some of the tension in me and makes me grimace out a smile. “Has she ever been able to do that?”
“Never. She’s a bit on the heavy side, my girl. My other girl,” he specifies.
“Oh no. He has two girls. He keeps them in the dark.”
He tugs at my hair, a makeshift ponytail in his fist while I pet a chubby Pitbull-belly.
“Nope, that’s been in the open from day one. Both of my girls know. They love each other and wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s the two of them against me.”
“Well, hey, you’re a handful, so they might need to gang up at times.”
“Which I understand.” He nods, expression so convincing it’s hard to know if he’s joking.
“You’re funny. Is that your specialty in films? Comedy?”
His smile crooks upward on one side. It makes him look younger. He hikes me closer and leads me toward the dining room. I catch flickering candles before I meet his eyes again.
“Passion,” he states matter-of-factly. Then he dives in for a burn-your-heart-out kiss. I gasp for oxygen once he lets go of my mouth, Jesus H, like some distressed maiden, I do it every time!
Where’s my dragon slayer? I think. Then, Never mind, don’t slay him.
I stare at his mouth while he continues, “I do comedy too, but more suspense.”
“Cool. Is it time I get to see some of your work?”
He kisses me before releasing me. Holds my chair out. Gets me seated. I wait while he bites his lip in the sexiest way. And then he just says, “Soon, baby.”
“Ah you’re so coy. Just give me some titles and I’ll blast through them already with Frieda and Charlotte. Don’t you understand?” I tease. “I need to see my boyfriend’s work.”
“Hmm.” He links my pinkie across the table and pulls me toward him. “What if you don’t like it? What if you hate my work so much you don’t want to see me again?” Says the sun and the moon and ninety percent of my dreams.
“Right, like I haven’t seen bad actors before.”
His face turns serious. Traces of humor still linger in his gaze. “I’ll show you soon. Let’s have a few weeks of us first, and when you see your first film, I want it to be with me. I want to sit next to you, watch your face, hold your hand. I want to bring you wine, and I want to carry you to my bed once you’ve watched it.”
“I’ve heard that to make it in Hollywood, you gotta be self-absorbed, but if you want to sit next to every person watching your movies, you’re aiming for a small audience.”
He doesn’t answer. Something niggles at the back of my brain, but I press it away.
“Why are you so worried?” I whisper. “No way you’re that bad.”
“Yeah. I guess the issue is that I’m that good.”
Twenty minutes into dinner, I’m beet red, stuttering, and Ciro is piercing me with an investigative stare. He’s steered the conversation in a whole new direction. When I’m particularly mortified, he bites his lip and follows it up with tender eyes.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
“You do, think about it. Communication is everything. Without dialog, how will I know how to spoil you? I want the best for you. I want you in Heaven when you’re between my sheets, and I need your body to never want free of me.”
God, my lower region throbs already, and all he’s touched is my arm.
“Let’s back up to the beginning of this conversation. We’ll start easy. Do you like it slow or fast once I’m inside of you?”
I feel a droplet of stress trickle down between my breasts. I need a pre-boyfriend-girlfriend-time shower. I have to admit I saw this coming, though. He’s hinted at it, how he believes getting the facts out in the open ahead of time is key to great sex. The man might be the Hollywood version of a sexologist.
I groan, fisting my hands between my knees; he’s so beautiful. I can’t meet his gaze while he understands me to death from across the table—and I haven’t even answered him yet. It’s such a freaking intimate question.
“I don’t know, Ciro.”
“Come here.”
He has a way of rising to his feet without touching anything around him. Now, he floats up and stands tall above me. I sink my face into my hands. I still sense him move around the table.
Between my fingers, I see the contour of him as he approaches. Warm hands close around my arms, decisive as they coax me up from the chair. He lifts me.
An L-shape with fluffy cushions lines the wall that gives to the terrace. Ciro brings me there and sinks down with me on his lap. In my peripheral vision, a small woman with short grey hair scurries to the dining room and begins to clean up.
“Every woman on the planet knows what she likes,” he murmurs. “We’ve established that you’ve had sex before, correct?” He narrows his eyes.
“Yeah, but I really can’t say.” I scrunch up my nose. “It depends on the situation and the person. Gah, I so don’t want to discuss this.”
My stomach stirs from his intensity. How can he look at me that way? I’m just Savannah.
“Of course it depends, but I’m talking about your perfect situation. A man you’re so in love with you can’t stop thinking about him.”
Check.
“He finally has you alone. He’s kissing you. Candles are lit, the weekend is yours, together.”
Check.
“Your body is buzzing before he even touches you. It’s long overdue. You’re so ready for more.”
Um, CHECK.
“And this man feels the same way about you. He has all the power to make your night exactly what you want it to be.”
“Oh geez.” I look around for more wine, anything to take my mind off the sensual picture forming in my head. There isn’t any.
“Play along, baby girl.” His whisper is quiet against my ear, and the next words are a gust of air, “How does he bring you to bed?”
I turn. Find his mouth and seal it with mine until he opens and meld our lips.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper back. “So crazy.”
“Dream with me.” I don’t even think I hear it. It’s just his lips enunciating against my lips. “Dream with me. I’ll make your dream true.”
7. DREAM FOR ME
“It’s everything.” Wisps of gold coil away from Ciro’s forehead and slide back as he leans into the couch. “If there’s no chemistry in bed, how can you expect chemistry in life? What do you think happens when lovers fight and there’s no reprieve in meeting skin to skin, when their apologies aren’t genuine and can’t launch each other into ecstasy? Their relationship flat-lines and dies.”
His eyes move calmly over me as he speaks. I’m in the crook of his arm, the length of his body against my own. I miss the hands that now rest above his head, finding the wall instead of me.
“You’ve thought a lot about this,” I mumble.
I feel him shift, turning his face fully toward me. The bridge of his nose glides up my cheek in a slow caress. “Yeah. I’ve made so many mistakes, Savannah, and I’ve learned my lesson. People trust each other’s body language, even prefer them to words from the get-go. That’s odd when bodies so easily lie.”
“Come on, now. Bodies are pretty straightforward.” Mine is.
“You’d be surprised.”
“If I lean against you and sigh, then that would be a good sign, right?” I say. “Because I sure as heck feel like it is.”
“Yes, is it. Because you just used your words and told me so.” His li
ps curl upward. “But I’ve been with women where that meant they were faking arousal, that they wanted me to get it over with so they could move on to the next thing. Once, I was with someone who used it as a coping mechanism. By leaning in and sighing, she eased her own fears, but it didn’t mean I’d made her feel good.”
“You’ve seen it all, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
Just that, a simple yes, and jealousy squirms at the pit of my stomach.
“Where are your spots? Where do you love to be touched? I want to know what makes your eyes fall closed.”
Ciro twists on his side, leaving me lower on his arm. Gentle fingers brush the hair away from my face and trail down my shoulder. Tentative, he presses them into my upper arm, kneading. It feels so good when he turns my arm so he can touch the tender skin on the inside too. I blink slowly.
I shiver. “Can’t we just try?” I ask.
Aqua eyes remain open and reading me. My sternum feels flushed from his scrutiny, but even so, I’m not uncomfortable. His spotlight has been on me since I came here, and guess what, a girl can get used to his attention.
“Is shivering a good sign for you?”
“I guess…”
“Then the inside of your arm is a love spot.”
“Love spot...” I repeat his expression like it’s music.
He travels down to the inside of my forearms too, and my hands seem to lift on their own, fingers straightening and stretching.
“Hmm.” My nipples pebble to his voice as I let myself sense every second of his caresses. “You have an erogenous zone that reaches all the way down your arms, especially where the sun doesn’t reach.”
“Okay.” I exhale.
“Do you like dirty talk?”
“Hush. I wish you didn’t talk at all.”
“So no dirty talk?” Playful, he collects the tip of my nose between his index and middle finger. “You won’t like it if I tell you how you feel under my hands? Beneath me? On top of me? How much I like being inside of you?”
I hide my face in the crook of his neck, blushing because in the right moment, that is hot as hell. He laughs softly, hand moving down my hip and to the inside of my thigh. Instinctively, I open.