The Sleeping Serpent:

by Luna Saint Claire

  Luna was grateful when Tyler suggested Santa Fe again for the holidays. The Inn of the Anasazi, just off the Plaza, was perfectly romantic, with a kiva fireplace in the room. The sky was a cloudless turquoise, and the aroma of burning piñon hung in the air. Snow drifted down as they drove up the winding Canyon Road to Geronimo. The elegant restaurant, with its thick white adobe walls, exposed beams, and large fireplace adorned with enormous elk antlers, had been the original Borrego House, built in 1756. They sat at the bar while awaiting their table, playfully guessing where they thought people were from based on their outfits. Tyler ordered a hearty red zinfandel with dinner, and they shared the wasabi Caesar salad and elk tenderloin with applewood smoked bacon. Luna purposely did not mention Nico throughout dinner, and was dismayed when they were walking to the car and Tyler casually asked, “Are you getting Nico a Christmas gift this year?”

  The year before, Tyler couldn’t conceal his distress over the attention she’d devoted to Nico’s Christmas gift. He’d commented sarcastically, “A gift composed of photographs and imagery devoted to Nico is perfect for a narcissist.”

  Unable to ignore the tone in his voice, she’d asked if it bothered him, and he’d answered, “No, what bothers me is that he doesn’t appreciate you. Your lack of self-respect hurts me the most, Luna. Not that you do so much for him and care so much, but that he disrespects you.” That was Tyler—to a T.

  Linking arms with him, she snuggled into his winter coat and without hesitation answered, “No, we haven’t spoken in seven months, Tyler. You know that. And after that stunt in July when he accused me of stalking, I’m really trying to disconnect…” As an afterthought, even though it may have sounded hollow, she added, “And not think about him.”

  The sound of country music was pouring out of El Farol, an old stagecoach stop near Geronimo. “It’s early, Luna, do you want to go in?” Tyler suggested.

  Delighted, she exclaimed, “I’d love to!” It wasn’t very late, but normally Tyler would have gone straight back to the hotel. Pulling off her hat and gloves, Luna asked the bartender for their best brandy straight up, and Tyler seconded her. Luna knew Tyler didn’t like talking about Nico, but she felt she needed to say something, “I’m sorry, Tyler. I know it hasn’t been easy. I’m going to end this thing—whatever it is—that binds me to him. I love you so much, you know that. And no one would put up with what you have. I’m lucky you understand how he manipulated—compelled—me, and I want to break it.”

  Tyler shrugged. “OK. Enough. I’m done talking about him. I don’t want to ruin our time here.”

  Luna almost said something, but then saw the look in Tyler’s eye. He was still pained. It had been too many years of Luna running to Nico every time he needed her. Tyler picked up his glass of Gran Duque Spanish brandy. Luna picked up hers as well, and they clinked glasses. Sipping the warm, golden liquid, Luna showed Tyler a picture on her phone. “Look, Ty, the six of us at this bar. It must be at least fifteen years ago, right? We look so young! Our first trip here…it was in October. Remember how cold it was?! I bought that camel four-ply cashmere sweater at Santa Fe Dry Goods and I never took it off!”

  Tyler chuckled, finding Luna’s attempt at a distracting conversation charming. “I love you, Luna. You know I would never try to control you. You have to do it—for yourself—not just for us.”

  Leaning in, her hand on the back of his neck, she kissed him softly on the lips. “I know, Tyler. I love you so much. I don’t want anyone but you—ever.”

  25

  Maya was thrilled when after Nico first got to Abu Dhabi he suggested having virtual sex using Skype. She set the stage by wearing a Victoria’s Secret leopard print push-up bra and sheer black stockings with sky-high Jeffrey Campbell black stilettos. Positioning a chair in front of the camera, she lit candles to create a dramatic backdrop for her solo performance. Nico coached her striptease, encouraging her to be more seductive. She made her entrance wearing a robe, her back to the camera, with her long black hair hanging down. His voice low and husky, he instructed her to let the robe slip down off her shoulders and fall to the ground. When she slowly turned, he groaned softly, seeing she was wearing the red lipstick he liked. He purred, “You look lovely tonight, Maya, my jaguar. Put one foot up on the chair, I want to see your beautiful legs.” When she obediently lifted one leg, he uttered, “Oh…those sexy shoes! Let me look at you, but don’t speak. I only want to hear the sounds of you pleasuring yourself and calling my name when you come.”

  Maya slowly swept her fingers along the length of her leg, starting at her foot, then sliding provocatively up along the inside of her thigh until she reached her crotch—all the while looking at him on the screen. She could tell from the movement that he was jerking himself off, though he didn’t have the camera aimed that low. She wanted to ask him to show her, but he had said not to speak.

  He cooed, “Take off your panties, Maya…slowly. Use both hands and pull them slowly over your hips. And wiggle when you step out of them. Push your hair over your shoulders.”

  She did exactly as he instructed, letting her hair fall to the side so it didn’t hide her face as she carefully removed her underwear.

  “Now sit down and spread your legs,” he murmured,

  When she had seated herself in the chair, he went on. “Wider. Spread yourself open for me. Let me see that perfect pink pussy.” His breathing was becoming ragged, and she could hear the sound of him jerking off harder. “Bring the chair closer to the camera until I tell you to stop. I want to see both your face and hot pussy.” Maya slid the chair a bit closer and brought a candle forward, placing it on the floor so it illuminated her.

  “Very good. Keep those legs spread wide. Are you wet?” he asked.

  She nodded, and he continued, “Play with yourself. Spread yourself open so I can see how wet you are. Run your finger all around the lips of your pussy. Then show me that clit, and rub it for me.”

  Maya tentatively parted the pink folds of her pussy, opening them up. She teased the opening, trailing her finger in a slow circular motion to widen the entrance. Then she slowly dragged her finger up and over her clit, pressing the tender nub. Moaning softly, she rubbed her clit harder. As the blissful sensation coursed through her, a shiver ran down her spine and she lifted her butt off the chair, offering up her pussy to the camera.

  “Oh, baby,” he growled. She focused in on the sound of his hand on his cock, moving faster again. “I love how turned on you are. You love touching yourself, don’t you?” The sound of his strangled voice intoxicated her. Sliding her ass toward the edge of the chair, she let her head fall against the back. The soft lighting in the room cast a shadow over her face, illuminating her décolletage.

  Nico continued his tutelage. “Fuck yourself with your fingers. I want to hear that sound and see your juices flowing.”

  Maya inserted first one finger, then another, into her swollen pussy, plunging them in and out until she could hear the sucking sound. Finding her hot spot, she caressed it, applying just the right amount of pressure as she glided through the wetness.

  “That’s it, baby,” Nico panted. She could tell he was very close to coming. Drowning in lustful pleasure, she rocked her hips off the chair, fucking herself harder and moaning as she brought herself close to the edge.

  Nico’s voice was tight, and he panted heavily between words. “Oh, God, yes. Lick your fingers. Show me how much you love how sweet you taste.”

  Obeying his command, she let out a soft whimper as she removed her fingers and provocatively inserted them between the moist red lips of her mouth as she gazed directly into the camera.

  “You’re so fucking hot, baby. Keep looking at the camera. I’m gonna come.” His eyes glazed over as he watched her frantically plunge her fingers back into her pussy. Fucking herself hard and fast, she felt her slick juices running down her fingers into her hand. She curled her fingers around her hot spot and stroked it repeatedly while her thumb swirled over her clit, the rigid t
ension building inside her.

  Nico rasped, “Come for me.” His face contorted in ecstasy as cum sprayed from his cock. With each pulsing jet, he emitted a guttural growl, his burning eyes riveted on her.

  His release fueled her fire, and a loud moan escaped her lips as she writhed in urgent need. Her breathing hitched as her back arched, and her legs stiffened when the tightness in her belly snapped loose with the rolling waves of her orgasm. Slick, glistening wetness gushed out of her as she convulsed and cried out his name. Neither of them spoke as Maya lifted her hand back to her mouth and slowly sucked the juices off each of her fingers, one by one.

  Their rousing Skype sessions were short lived, and though disappointed, she couldn’t fault Nico for going out and meeting people. But by the second week, his lusty calls were replaced by text messages instructing her to check the mail, pay the utility bill, and deal with his bank account. She dutifully attended to his demands, knowing how important it was to help him with his business.

  The moment Élodie’s plane touched the tarmac at LAX, she tapped Nico’s profile picture on her phone to call him. It had only been two weeks since she’d met him at Etoiles, the glamorous upscale nightclub at Emirates Palace in Abu Dhabi. Two of her best girlfriends had flown from Paris to visit, and Élodie treated them to a late-night supper of edamame fried rice and crispy duck salad at the acclaimed chic Cantonese restaurant Hakkasan. Instead of wine, they’d ordered exotic cocktails. Élodie couldn’t resist the ingredients of The Hakka, a brew of Belvedere vodka, sake, lychee juice, lime, coconut, and passion fruit, while her friends ordered The Kumquatcha, a blend of kumquat, lime, Campari, and Cachaça. After dinner, her friends had been intent on dancing. Etoiles was filled with fashionable Europeans, celebrities, and wealthy locals. Élodie wasn’t much for the loud music, preferring conversation to fist pumping, but they’d spurred her on, teasing that she was single and only thirty years old and insisting she act her age and have some fun. Élodie didn’t see how being pressed against drunk, sweaty strangers who couldn’t hear a word you said was fun, but she’d gone along, trying to act enthusiastic.

  Nico picked up on the second ring. “Baby, where are you? You’re late. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  When Élodie heard the lulling purr of his voice, she instantly felt a warm throbbing between her legs. “The plane has just landed. I only have a carry-on bag, so it should be fast.”

  “Come here to the studio. I want you to see it.”

  “Of course, baby. I want to see the studio…and you.”

  Élodie had never felt such a powerful connection to any man, and she met many wealthy, influential men through her business. She received expensive gifts and invitations to accompany them on private jets to homes around the world, but there had never been anyone she felt magnetically connected to, who made her lose herself, until Nico. When she first set eyes on him, she felt her pulse race; and when he kissed her, she gave herself up to him, completely.

  She and her friends had found their way to a bottle service table of wealthy Russians. A tall, lanky man was breathing down her neck while Élodie politely tried not to yell as she answered his questions. He had poured her another glass of champagne, even though she’d kept asking him to please get her a bottle of water. Élodie had been wearing a short black off-the-shoulder dress by Georges Chakra, a Lebanese designer who dressed several celebrities, and whom she had met in Beirut the prior year. The heat emanating from the bodies on the dance floor was oppressive and she’d run her hands underneath her long honey-colored hair that hung loose around her shoulders, lifting it from her damp neck. Tossing it back, she’d caught the flicker of his eyes—bright yellow headlights that peered into hers. He was leaning casually against the end of the bar, holding a tall cocktail. Their eyes had locked, and although it was rude to the man who kept trying to engage her, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Leaning over the bar, he spoke to the bartender, then made his way over to her. Ignoring the Russian, he’d come between them and handed her a bottle of water. He didn’t raise his voice above the din, and Élodie was unsure how she’d been able to hear him clearly when he said, “You must be very thirsty.”

  Breaking the seal on the water bottle, she’d mouthed, “Thank you,” and in a very unladylike manner tipped her head back, drinking the entire bottle at once.

  Nico had laughed, watching her with delight. When she finished, he took the empty bottle from her, placing it on the table. Putting one arm around her waist, he put his lips to her ear and purred softly, “Let’s get out of here.”

  He was poised and self-assured, yet with a gentle manner, and Élodie was intrigued by this handsome mystery man. In the din of Etoiles, she couldn’t hear herself think. All she knew was she needed to know more. Without hesitation, she’d walked out of Etoiles with the stranger. Holding her hand, he wove them through the crowd at a pace she found difficult to match. Her feet burned from standing in skyscraper Christian Louboutin heels, and she would have preferred taking his arm. And when they reached the door, he did extend his arm to her, and she’d smiled at him, relieved. Once outside the club, the thumping sounds of the music receded and they’d exchanged names and made small talk. Nico escorted her through the ornate colonnade and out to the Las Brisas, illuminated pools landscaped with tall palm trees. The Arabian night breeze brought relief, and Élodie relaxed while she walked quietly with the enigmatic man. After learning she was also a guest at the hotel, he asked why she was in Abu Dhabi. Speaking in English, Élodie shared she was an art consultant advising the new Louvre museum on its collection of modern art.

  Intrigued, Nico asked, “What does that mean, art consultant?”

  She explained, “I’m sorry, my English is not as good as my Arabic. I help people who collect art…for investment.”

  Nico gazed at her intently. “I didn’t know that people did that. Where do you live?”

  “My home is in Monaco, but my work is all over the world. Where do you live?”

  “I’m from Argentina, but I live in L.A.”

  Élodie listened intently as Nico boasted that he was a Kundalini Yoga master and shaman proficient in ancient healing ceremonies, and that he had been summoned to teach a particularly powerful kriya to a sheikh. Fascinated, she asked him to explain. He divulged that this specific meditation increases one’s psychic abilities and heightens awareness. Then, somewhat modestly, as if it were commonplace, he confided he had been paid a half a million dollars. Élodie smiled admiringly. She wasn’t all that surprised by the amount. By normal standards it would seem a lot, but money flowed in this region of the world more readily than water.

  Quite certain Nico would have been sworn to secrecy, she still couldn’t resist asking the sheikh’s name, apologizing when Nico quickly recoiled, stating he was unable to say. To soften her presumptuous inquiry, she admitted, “Ah, yes. I too am not able to share names of my clients. But how did the mysterious sheikh find you?”

  Nico touted, “I get a lot of press, and many clients are celebrities. I have centers in Tulum, Kerala, and Beverly Hills.”

  Accustomed to notable, arrogant men, Élodie found his bravado charming and his confidence sexy. Certainly, making it to Abu Dhabi as a yoga instructor to a sheikh was extraordinary.

  They strolled, her arm woven into his, slowly over a wooden foot bridge spanning a narrow neck of the underlit pool. Élodie, still wearing the Louboutins, was grateful when they neared the entrance to the beach and took the opportunity to sit on a white lounge bed facing the sea. Slipping her shoes off, she tucked her feet up under herself. The full moon hanging over the Persian Gulf was almost surreal, and they both gazed at it in awe. Élodie spoke in almost a whisper, not wishing to break the spell, “No matter how often I come here, this place is magical.”

  Seemingly without thinking, Nico took her hand and stroked it with his thumb. “Yes, magic…and tribal. I am drawn to ancient civilizations, like the Q’ero. There are powerful spirits in the mountains, known as Apus. This is somet
hing completely alien to me. Here is this vast, barren desert just beyond the city,” Nico pointed away from the sea. “And then this modern city, with glass and steel architecture, like from a science fiction movie!”

  Élodie laughed. “I know what you mean. I come from an old European city.”

  Nico looked at the Emirates Palace. “I mean, this is made to look old, but it’s brand new! I went to see the Grand Mosque, and it’s magnificent. You think it is ancient, right? But it’s not even ten years old. And the chandelier has millions of crystals! When I do a despacho ceremony to make an offering to Pachamama, the Mother Earth, I give her gifts like hair, blood, sage, and candy. It’s all so simple. Sure, I grew up Catholic, and there are beautiful old churches in Buenos Aires. They’re majestic, with stained glass and gold. Don’t get me wrong. I find this juxtaposition of ultra-modern and antiquity, the desert and this sublime body of water…this is awesome…it takes my breath away.”

  Élodie watched Nico’s childlike wonder with delight and admiration. “They have built great beauty from sand, and it is very opulent. Most people see only this. But, you know, they gave over two billion dollars for vaccines for children.” She stopped short and blushed, seeing Nico look at her with amusement.

  Élodie knew she was always defending this place—it had so much wealth and ostentation—a playground for the richest people in the world. Nico sat pensively staring at the huge full moon growing larger as it sank closer to the horizon. As she watched him, a slight shudder ran up her spine. Nico must have sensed it, because he put his arm around her and pulled her close to him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed as they gazed out over the Persian Gulf.

  As the moon set and darkness overtook them, Nico began idly coiling a tendril of her hair around his finger. In anticipation, Élodie involuntarily trembled under his touch. Nuzzling his face into her neck, Nico moved against her, closing the space between them. Lifting her chin, he pressed his lips to hers in a warm, soft, lingering kiss. Tentatively, he nibbled provocatively at her lips, gently teasing out kisses. Cupping her face with his hands, he slowly pulled on her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open. Then, running the tip of his tongue lightly over her lips, he pulled her closer to his chest, entwining his fingers into her hair. Melting into him while his tongue swept slowly over the inside of her lower lip, Élodie’s breath quickened, as she became awash in sensation. Slipping his tongue into her mouth, he swiveled it around hers in a devilish dance with deeper and harder strokes until she was breathless. She had never been kissed that passionately before, sending tremors throughout her body. Hungrily, he devoured her mouth, then kissed her jaw, running his teeth along it as he moved his lips down her neck, his tongue flicking the sensitive hollow in her clavicle. Purring, he murmured, “So beautiful.”