“Et alors?” I demanded.
“Et on fait quoi?”
“Whatever you want,” I replied.
I wasn’t entirely sure what had come over me. Maybe it was the withdrawal talking. All I knew was that the tug was hooked under my navel, practically ripping me in its effort to get me over to him. I wanted to spend my summer in bed with him.
My proposition would have probably been seen as reckless by my multitude of psychiatrists and other well-wishers. However, my progress towards sanity was the furthest thing from my mind. If it were to be insanity at the expense of fulfilling my most ardent desire, then I would gladly welcome the straight jacket to swim in Nicolaas’s mossy depths.
“Et si j’ai une copine?”
“Do you?” I asked. I could have cared less about any woman waiting on him in France, but I refrained from telling him so.
“No, but don’t you care that I’ve slept with men?” He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. I suppose that not many women would have been fond of that.
“Well that depends,” I said, smiling coyly. “Were you a Top or a Bottom?”
“Obviously I topped.” He sniffed.
I tried not to smile. He was so cute when he was being haughty.
“No,” I replied. “I don’t care that you’ve slept with a man.”
“Really? You are possibly the most fascinating person whom I’ve met,” he said, smiling.
“I like to think of myself as highly evolved,” I quipped. Despite my loving our banter, I was getting a bit antsy. I wanted to seal the distance between us. “Do you want to do this or not?”
Under the water, my arms crossed as I waited for him to make his decision. Nicolaas looked neither intimidated nor panicked as his eyes assessed me.
I felt the tug again, more like a stinging bite this time, and resisted the urge to give in to my desires.
He shrugged. “Pourquoi pas?”
And just like that, Adonis became mine and mine alone.
“Good,” I said rising. “I can think of a much better way to celebrate your birthday.”
“And which way is that?” Nicolaas asked. There was a cautious excitement hidden just beneath the surface of his voice.
I was led by the whispers that swirled and formed the link between us. His fingers singed me as they held the small of my back and the currents gave me courage.
“I really like your jaw,” I whispered, using my fingers to trace its smooth surface.
“You do?” He sounded like a child in rhapsodic awe.
I nodded. “And your lips…”
My fingers ran lazily along his bottom lip; electrifying.
“Mmm…What about my lips?”
His breath on my fingers was a succulent appetizer.
“I want them.”
Nicolaas pulled me on to his lap. I could have died from the jolt that rocketed through me at his touch.
“For as long as we’re testing the zodiac,” he said, “they’re yours.”
I did not hesitate to pull his face closer to mine and capture his lips. My fantasies failed to prepare me for the blessed moment when our lips finally touched. I thought that getting what I wanted would have satiated my desires, but somewhere in my calculations, I detoured towards all things wrong.
I sensed that I wouldn’t feel fulfilled once that pinnacle was reached and ecstasy erupted. I couldn’t foresee myself just walking away from Adonis and never looking back. There would always be that longing, that feeling that I never got enough.
This reality made me want to pull away and run all the way home until I was once again in the safety of my dark room, but even if I did give into the fear, I knew that it was too late. I felt it as our tongues partook in a sensual tango and the rhythm pulled me in a new direction. In all my wildest fantasies, never had I imagined a moment like the one that I shared with Nicolaas.
Breathlessly, we pulled away, frantically gulping at the air that we both needed to survive, and yet I wanted to once again be at his lips, drinking in the new element that I needed to find my footing.
Sitting in Nicolaas’s lap, I learned the meaning of the words insatiable desire.
**~*~*~**~*~*~**
¯ CHAPITRE CINQ ¯
WOODS
The room smelled of sex and the apple cinnamon candles that were lit. Provocative. Sexy. Downright enchanting. My hand ran over my swollen lips, bruised from having Nicolaas’ glued to mine. I lay on the bed, strung out on his scent, spontaneously combusting as his fingers memorised every inch of my skin.
“Noira,” he whispered. There was an acute longing in his voice. He pinned me to the mattress. I lost my ability to form coherent thoughts as I looked into his eyes.
“Je vais faire te transpirer...”
A featherlike kiss over my pulse spot, and I was crying out like he wanted.
“Je vais faire te crier…”
Fingers danced upon my most sensitive areas. I was tempted to give in to what he wanted and scream.
“Je vais faire te me vouloir… Je vais faire t’avoir besoin de moi…”
I did want him; did need him. All activity ceased. Alarmed, I cried out in protest, as he looked me in the eyes.
“…Et je vais faire te mendier pour moi et ma bite dure.”
In the lateness of the afternoon, I died in Nicolaas’ arms, succumbing to the danger of his prowess, murdered by Adonis and loving every minute of it. When the rains ceased, all was silent save for the soft murmurs that Nicolaas emitted as his chest rose and fell to a steady rhythm.
I never thought that I’d find myself enthralled by watching someone sleep. I yearned for his kind of serenity. Peace, serenity, comfort—such simple words, and yet for me, they were so hard to find. It was an internal battle that I’d been struggling to conquer. Something was missing, and until I figured out what it was, I knew that I’d forever be sinking, drowning in the depths.
I wasn’t always that way, of course. I was a real Pollyanna once in my life, a blur of colour with pigtails flaying in the winds of my creation as I darted around our Parisian mansion, wanting nothing more than to show my father my latest drawing. Waking up each day was truly a treat. But as with everything in life, everything became dark, and I left my desire to be happy along with everything else that was hastily left behind and forgotten in our past in France.
Beside me, Nicolaas stirred. “A penny for your thoughts,” he whispered.
I sat up, leaning my head against my knee. I looked down at my feet and saw the tattoo that was on my right foot. I had drawn it and gotten it done for my eighteenth birthday.
“Ma petite couche-tard,” I whispered the sentiment that I’d heard countless times before. Hearing it had the same calming effect as breathing in Nicolaas’ scent.
“What?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
Nicolaas looked down at the owl. I watched his facial expression change from curiosity to awe at my creation.
“Is the owl your favourite animal?” He guessed.
“Not really,” I replied. “I don’t think that I have a favourite for anything.”
“Except for black.”
“What?”
“We’ve been locked in this room for the past two days, and not once have you worn anything else besides black.”
I turned away from my owl to look at him. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem disturbed by this fact. “That’s because I don’t own clothes that aren’t black.”
He shrugged. “So I was right. Now what’s with the owl? It isn’t every day that you see one tattooed on someone’s foot.”
I sat up, biting my bottom lip. I barely knew Nicolaas and yet if I told him the answer, he would know so much about me. I was the owl on my foot; a creature of darkness. We both agreed that we were going to test the zodiac together and see if our signs really were compatible, but nothing was said about intimate details. I’d seen people get along famously and know absolutely nothing about each other. Surely Nicolaas and I cou
ld have been the same.
“Noira,” he whispered.
“It’s a pet name,” I relented.
“What is?”
“Ma petit couche-tard,” I replied. “It’s what Maman calls me; she claims that I’m her little night owl.”
“She’s right about that,” he said looking around the room. The drapes were drawn shut and the scented candles were the only source of light.
“Scared?”
“No,” he replied.
I laughed quietly. “That’s a first.”
“People are scared of you?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed.
“Who knows? Maybe it’s the black clothes.” I turned on my side so that I could face him. “It may just be that I’m plain crazy.”
“Crazy?” He frowned.
“Crazy.”
I leapt out of the bed, grabbing my Dunhills from the nightstand as I went. I bounded over to the window and pulled open the curtains without bothering to warn him before I did so. Stumbling a bit, I leaned against the window seat to steady myself as my eyes adjusted to the light. We were still at Bryn’s home, but he had disappeared on the night of the party, with Anjali more than likely, and had neither been heard nor heard from since.
“Why would they think that you’re crazy?” Nicolaas called.
“I don’t know.” I lit a cigarette and looked out the window. “But I know that some people think this.”
Maybe you should know a person before you agreed to test the zodiac with them. I highly doubted that Nicolaas would have still been sitting on my bed if he had opened the goody bag that contained my life’s story. It certainly wasn’t something that anyone would want to take home from a party.
“Why do you always try and bring conversations to a halt?” he asked. He crossed the bed and sat on the side that was closest to me. “Every conversation with you is stilted. What are you trying to hide?”
I turned towards him, genuinely surprised that he had deciphered this. We’d only know each other for a few days.
“Why do you know that?” I asked. “The only depth that I want from this arrangement is your cock inside me. I don’t need another therapy session about feelings and emotions. You’re not supposed to care.”
“What do you mean by I am not supposed to care?” Nicolaas demanded. The vain in his neck was throbbing. “I’m a human, not a mindless sex robot. Did you really expect me to notice that you prefer your conversations as you do your martini: dry?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it, really. I leaned against the windowsill and breathed deeply in order to control myself. “You’re good,” I said. “Very good. You could be a comedian.”
“I beg your pardon?” Nicolaas’ eyes narrowed. I was confusing him.
“You’re very good with quips. You would do well on stage, or maybe as a political critic…”
He sounded as if he were inhaling and exhaling all of the air in the room as he sighed. I watched as he cradled his head. In the garden, the trees swayed in the wind. Briefly, it rained yellow and white flowers.
“Noira?” Nicolaas said.
“Yes?” I turned away from the window and faced him.
“I’m trying my hardest to understand you, but you’re making it very difficult.” His voice was strained.
“Then stop trying to understand me, Nicolaas,” I replied.
His fingers seemed to be tearing at his hair as he snaked them through it. I took a long, hard pull on my cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His face sagged, and his shoulders were hunched.
I closed my eyes. His sincerity almost made me smile. I found the genuineness and the soft features of his face to be attractive. Everyone was concerned for me at Golden Ridge, but no one ever looked at me the way that Nicolaas did.
“Noira?” he called again.
My eyes met his. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
I fingered my cigarette butt, taking the final draw and exhaling the misty clouds. They curled, forcing themselves into knots and choking each other, as they died their instant deaths.
“Noira?”
“Yes?”
My back was turned to him as I tossed my cigarette butt over the ledge. I closed the window and drew the curtains shut.
“Come back to bed,” I heard Nicolaas say. He sounded almost weary.
I turned. That was all that I could give him: the heavy rains and the thunder of our little deaths.
*~*
I left Bryn’s the following afternoon. Maman greeted me at the door and inquired about my well-being. Thankfully, she did not follow me up to my room, as she would have normally done. I was grateful for the solitude, that is, until Cienna came barging in.
“I may be having an existential crisis!” she declared.
I sighed, putting away the Janet Flanner journal that I had been attempting to read. “Shouldn’t you be speaking to a counsellor about this, Cienna?”
Cienna stopped at the foot of my bed and rolled her eyes. “Please. Therapy is something that crazy people, i.e. you, do. I am not crazy; I am just having a crisis of faith.”
“Thanks for the moral support, Cienna,” I replied.
She rolled her eyes again. “Look, I need to speak to someone about this, and we both know that there is no way in hell that I am going to speak to Camelea, so that leaves you.”
“Don’t you have any friends?” I asked.
“I don’t have time for friends,” she declared, throwing herself on my bed. “Besides, people annoy me.”
I watched as she turned in the bed and sat up, biting her lips. Her almond-shaped eyes seemed to grow two sizes as she gave me her most imploring look.
“Fine,” I replied, giving up any notion of spending a quiet afternoon in bed. “What is it that you want to talk about?”
“Not here,” Cienna declared, springing from my bed. “Let’s go tanning!”
“What?” I gasped. “I don’t go tanning, Cienna.”
She paused, halfway out my room door, and turned slightly so that she could face me. “And you wonder why people are scared of you. You look like a ghost!”
I looked down at my complexion. Granted, the fact that Maman was half-Black would never have been guessed by anyone who did not know me personally, but I didn’t think that I was that pale. Why on earth did Nicolaas find me so attractive then? I suddenly became something that I was not familiar with: self-conscious.
Cienna’s head appeared in my doorway. “Are you coming or what?” she hissed.
“Yes!”
Maman and Camelea were in the kitchen as we walked through on our way to the garage.
“You’re leaving?” Maman asked.
“We’re going tanning,” I replied.
Camelea spat up her coffee.
Cienna ignored her. “We’ll be back before dinner.”
“Have fun!” Maman gave us a wave and a smile. I was pleased to have made her happy.
Once we got to the garage, Cienna tossed me the keys to my Range Rover. I hadn’t driven it in months, and I assumed that she had been using it. I was right.
“You drive,” she said. “I’m too frazzled.”
I shook my head slightly and unlocked the doors. Always the drama queen.
“You know,” she said as we backed out of the garage. “I was a bit surprised that you agreed to go tanning with me.”
“That’s because I need to get a tan,” I said, almost absentmindedly. I hadn’t driven in close to a year and for some reason, I was nervous.
“And why do you need to get a tan?” Cienna asked. She opened the bottle of iced tea that she had grabbed on her way out of the kitchen and looked at me, clearly interested in my new development.
I realised my mistake immediately, but it was too late. If it was the last thing that she did, Cienna would harass me until I confessed. I resolved myself to my fate.
“I’m sort of seeing som
eone.”
The tea came out of her mouth and she started to cough. “What?”
“You heard me, Cienna,” I replied.
“But how is this even possible?” she said, putting the bottle in the cup holder. “You wear black all the time and prefer sulking in corners, sucking the life out of the room. How did you of all people manage to attract someone, much less not scare him away after the first date?”
I rolled my eyes. Cienna could be extremely charming when she wanted to be.
“I’m assuming that you met him at Golden Ridge?” she guessed, picking up the bottle. “Lord knows that he’s got to be mad in order to tolerate you.”
I smiled, eager to see her reaction once I had corrected her. “I met him at a party.”
She abandoned her tea, turned in her seat so that she had a perfect view of me, and just stared. It was a bit discomforting.
“Stop it,” I demanded.
“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” she asked.
“Whatever,” I muttered. “His name is Nicolaas.”
“And is he of this planet?”
If anything, tact was something that Cienna was definitely lacking. My hands clenched tighter around the steering wheel. “Stop it. He’s French.”
“French?” Cienna snorted. “You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to date a French man.”
“Not all French men are bad, Cienna,” I warned.
“I’ll take your word for it if you and this Nicolaas fellow make it past summer’s end,” she said, folding my arms. She turned to gaze out the window, finally becoming silent. Soon, she started chewing on her nails. A few minutes later, she was tugging and kneading her lips, like dough. I didn’t know what was worse: the anguished silence or her rude remarks about my ability to attract men. Finally, she swivelled in my direction again.
“Do you get scared when you’re around men who like you?” she asked.
I wasn’t expecting that. My eyebrows rose. “Scared?”
“Yeah, you know. Do you stop breathing and do you feel nauseated and defensive?”
“Does that sound like a normal reaction to you? What’s going on?”
She bit her lip. “I went to dinner with Andreas last night. He forced me into doing it.”
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