The doorknob moves. Oh yes! I feel my vagina tremble, wanting to enjoy what only Eric can give me. But, suddenly, the doorknob is still. My mouth drops open as I hear him walk away.
Did he go?
I close my mouth; I feel like crying. I’m a jerk. He’s respected what I asked of him, and, whether I like it or not, that should please me.
It takes me hours to get to sleep.
7
The first thing I do Christmas morning is call my father. He’s glad about Eric and me. He asks me if I like the house Eric bought for me. It surprises me that my father knows, but then he confesses he’s been in on everything. Eric asked him, and he was delighted to supervise the work and keep the secret.
Eric and my father get along very well. I like that, although it also worries me a little.
Once I hang up, I open the bedroom door and peek out. I don’t see anything; I just hear music. I think it’s Stevie Wonder singing. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, and put on a pair of jeans. When I walk into the expansive living room, which connects to the kitchen, I see Eric sitting on the couch and reading a newspaper. He smiles when he sees me. He looks so good in a gray-and-purple Lakers T-shirt and his jeans.
“Merry Christmas! Do you want some coffee?” he asks.
“Yes, with cream,” I say.
I see the tension has lifted. I watch as he goes to the kitchen, and I concentrate on his hands, those very strong hands I like so much, especially when they touch me and drive me crazy with delight.
“Do you want something to eat?”
“No, thanks.”
“Nothing?”
“I’m on a diet.”
“That surprises me. You don’t need a diet,” he says as he brings me my coffee and cream. “Eat.”
I don’t respond. I just look at him and drink my coffee. Eric doesn’t take his eyes off me the whole time either.
“Did you sleep OK?”
“Yes,” I lie. I have no plans to confess that I didn’t sleep a wink because I was thinking about him. “And you?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t close my eyes thinking about you.”
That little look of his drives me crazy. To avoid temptation—because I’m about to rip that Lakers T-shirt off him with my teeth—I get up and go to the window to look outside. It’s raining. Two seconds later, I sense him behind me, although he’s not touching me.
“What would you like to do today?”
Sex! But of course, I don’t plan on telling him that, so I just shrug.
“Whatever you want.”
“Hmm . . . Whatever I want?” he whispers in my ear.
Hearing his voice and imagining what he’s thinking give me goose bumps. I can’t help myself and turn to look at him.
“I want,” he adds, teasing, “your breasts right now, sweetheart.”
“Eric . . .”
He grins and playfully pulls away in his own devilish way.
“You want to go to Zahara and see Frida and Andrés?” he asks. That sounds like an excellent idea, and I happily agree.
Half an hour later, we’re in his car headed to Zahara de los Atunes. He turns on the radio, and “Convince Me” plays again. Why is this song always playing? I close my eyes and curse in silence. When I open them again, I look out the window. I stay quiet.
“You’re not singing?”
“I don’t feel like it.”
We’re quiet again until Eric speaks. “You know, this one time, a beautiful woman I adore told me her mother said singing was the only thing that soothed the savage beasts and . . .”
“Are you calling me a beast?”
He seems taken aback. “No . . . not at all.”
“You can sing if you want to. I just don’t feel like it.”
Eric nods and bites his lip. “All right, sweetheart,” he says with resignation. “I’ll shut up.”
The tension is palpable again, and neither one of us says a word during the rest of the trip. When we arrive at Frida and Andrés’s, they’re overjoyed and hug us. Frida seems especially pleased and pulls me aside as soon as she can.
“Finally . . . I’m so happy to see you’re together again!”
“Don’t be so sure yet. I have him in quarantine.”
“Quarantine?”
I smile mischievously. “I’m punishing him: no sex or snuggles.”
“What?”
“He punishes me when I do something wrong, so I decided that, from now on, I will do the same to him,” I whisper. “So, I’m punishing him with no sex.”
“But, no sex with just you, or with all women?”
Uh-oh.
I wasn’t specific, but I’m pretty sure he understands it’s with all women. Frida laughs when she sees my face.
“So, when he’s punished you, how has he done it?”
I think about his punishments and flush with excitement. Frida just laughs.
“You don’t have to tell me. From the look on your face, I can imagine.”
Her sly grin tickles me.
“All right . . . I’ll tell you because I have no shame talking about sex with you. The first time he punished me, he took me to a swingers’ club, and, after getting me all hot and bothered and making me open my legs so everybody could see, he forced me back to the hotel without letting anybody, not even him, touch me. The next time, he brought me a woman and . . .”
“Oh God! I love Eric’s punishments, but I think yours is excessively cruel.”
“It’s just so he knows who he’s dealing with. I’m gonna make sure he regrets ever having made me mad.”
It stops raining at lunchtime, and we decide to go to a restaurant in Zahara. As always, it’s delicious, and since I haven’t yet eaten today, I’m ferociously hungry. I devour the lobster, the dogfish, and the baby squid. Eric is stupefied.
“Aren’t you on a diet?”
“Yes,” I respond, chuckling, “I’m actually on two diets. But one of them always leaves me hungry.”
He laughs, then comes close and gives me a kiss. Oh wow.
“Control your impulses, Mr. Zimmerman,” I say as seriously as I can as soon as he pulls back. “And stick to your punishment.”
Frida grins.
We have a good time the rest of the day. I always have fun with Frida, and this time I feel Eric is constantly trying to get my attention. He needs me to kiss him and touch him as much or more than I do, but I control myself.
In the evening, we go back home. When it’s time to go to bed, I do everything in my power to keep my heart in check and give him a tempting kiss on the mouth before turning to go to my room. Eric takes my hand.
“How long is this going to go on?”
I want to say it’s over.
I want to say I can’t take it anymore.
But my pride keeps me from giving in. I wink at him, let go of his hand, and go to my room without responding.
Once I’m in my room, my most basic instincts scream at me to open the door and stop this foolish punishment I alone have imposed, but my honor won’t let me. Just like the night before, I hear him come up to the door. I know he wants to come in, but, in the end, he walks away.
In the morning, Eric’s mom calls and urgently asks him to come back to Germany. His nephew’s nanny has quit without warning to go live with her family in Vienna. He talks to the woman and argues with her. He doesn’t understand why she’s quitting without notice so they might have time to find someone else. Later, he talks to Marta, his sister, and gets agitated. When he calls his mother again, they have an argument. I hear him talk to Flyn, his nephew, and feel his helplessness. In the afternoon, he’s exhausted and overwhelmed, so I offer to go to Germany with him.
He has to take care of this problem. When I tell him, he touches his forehead to mine and hugs me.
I talk to my father and agree to come home in time to have New Year’s Eve dinner with them. Later that evening, we take Eric’s private jet from Jerez all the way to Franz Josef Strauss International in Mun
ich.
8
There’s been a big snowstorm in Germany, and it’s fucking cold. A long, dark car is waiting for us. Eric greets the chauffeur and introduces him to me. His name is Norbert.
I look out on the empty snow-covered streets as Eric talks on the phone with his mother and promises we’ll go by the house tomorrow. There’s no one playing in the snow or strolling hand in hand. Half an hour later, the car stops in front of a steel-colored gate. When the gate opens, I see a small house next to it. Eric tells me this is where the couple who works for him lives. The car continues through a pretty, frozen garden. I blink when I see the gorgeous, enormous house that appears at the end of the drive. When the car stops, Eric helps me out.
“Welcome home,” he says as I look around.
His voice, his expression, and the way he’s looking at me give me goose bumps. He takes my hand and pulls me along. I follow him to the door where a woman in her fifties waits for us.
“Judith, this is Simona. She and her husband take care of the house.”
We come into the vestibule, and I see the man who picked us up at the airport.
“Norbert is her husband,” says Eric.
I startle them with a couple of kisses on their cheeks.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” I tell them in my perfect German.
The couple, dazed by my effusiveness, quickly glance at each other. “We are too, miss.”
“Simona, Norbert, please go rest. It’s late,” says a smiling Eric.
“We’ll take your bags up to your room first, sir,” says Norbert.
Once they’ve disappeared with our bags, Eric gives me a teasing look.
“We’re not so kissy kissy in Germany, and you rattled them,” he whispers.
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
He softly touches my face.
“It’s totally fine, Jude. I’m sure they’re going to like your way of being as much as I do.”
I nod and take a step back, or I won’t be able to control my reactions.
I look around and see the double stairway the couple went up.
“Impressive,” I whisper as he takes my hand again.
“You like it?” he asks hesitantly.
“How could I not like it? This . . . is awesome. Huge. Beautiful.”
“C’mon, I’ll show you the rest,” he says, not letting go of my hand. “We’re alone, except for Simona and Norbert, but they’ll leave soon. Flyn is at my mother’s. We’ll pick him up tomorrow.”
I like the feel of his hand, and sensing his happiness warms the cold core around my heart a little bit. He shows me a marvelous room with an enormous, majestic fireplace, already lit and inviting us to sit down on the chocolate-colored couch in front of it. I take note of everything. With its dark and somber furnishings, it’s definitely a man’s house. There’s not one photo or one feminine detail. Nothing.
Taking me by the hand, he gives me a full tour of the first floor. Two beautiful bathrooms, a long room. We go down a hallway, and he opens the door; suddenly we’re in a gigantic and spotless garage.
There are a dark blue all-terrain Mitsubishi, a light gray Maybach Exelero, a black Audi A6, and a light gray BMW 1.100 motorcycle. My father’s dream! I’m absolutely stunned by everything, and when I don’t think anything else could possibly astonish me, we go back down the hallway where he opens another door, and there’s a spectacular rectangular pool that leaves me in awe.
An indoor pool. What a luxury!
Eric grins. He’s having fun with my reactions. I try to be cool, but I can’t pull it off.
We leave the pool behind and continue down the hallway to his office. Everything is dark oak, and there’s an impressive library with one of those movable ladders that you always see in the movies. How cool is that! There are a twenty-inch screen on his desk and gadgets on a second desk. To the right of that, there’s a fireplace with a roaring fire, and to the left stands a white cabinet with various pistols.
“Are they yours?” I ask, checking out the display.
“Yes.”
The pistols make me shudder.
“I’ve never liked guns,” I say. “Do you know how to use them?”
Like always, he just looks at me. “A little bit,” he finally says. “I’m an Olympic shooter.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he takes me by the hand again and pulls me out of the office.
We go into another room with a desk and a ton of toys. He tells me it’s Flyn’s study and playroom. Everything is exquisitely tidy. Nothing is out of place, and that surprises me. If this belonged to my niece or even me, it would be chaos. I don’t say anything about what I’m thinking, and we go from one room to another. One is almost empty except for a treadmill and boxes.
“This is your room. For your things,” he says abruptly.
“My room?”
Eric nods.
“Yes, this can be your own private space. As you can see, Flyn has his and I have mine. It’s only fair you should have your own space too, to do with whatever you want.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m so bowled over. Eric gives me a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
Overwhelmed by all the space and luxury here, I go up that impressive double stairway. Eric tells me there are seven bedrooms on this floor, each with its own bathroom. Eric’s room is something else. It’s blue, and there’s a colossal bed in the very center, which makes my heart beat faster. The bathroom is another marvel: Jacuzzi, hydromassage, shower. Everything is deluxe.
I go back to the bedroom. I notice the lamp on one of the night tables, and I smile. It’s the little lamp we bought at El Rastro, with my lip print. It doesn’t go with anything in this bedroom; it’s much too informal. I feel Eric looking at me, and that makes me anxious, so I look away and notice my bags. That makes me even more anxious, but I try my best to seem OK.
From Eric’s room, we go to Flyn’s. There are planes and cars in perfect order. Is this child really that neat? It doesn’t feel like a kid lives here.
After that, he shows me the other bedrooms. They’re big and nice, but it’s obvious no one uses them. He takes me by the hand again, and we go downstairs. In an incredible steel-and-wood kitchen, he opens an American fridge and takes out a cold Coke for me and a beer for him.
“I hope you like the house.”
“It’s beautiful, Eric.”
He takes a sip of his beer.
“It’s so big . . . uff!” I say, looking around and touching my forehead. “It’s a helluva house. My house is smaller than one of the two bathrooms on this floor. How come you never told me about it before?”
He shrugs and looks around. “I don’t know. You never asked about my house.”
Before I have a chance to say anything else, he puts his hands around my waist. He lifts me up onto the kitchen island and pulls my legs up.
“Have you lifted my punishment yet?” he asks in a sweet tone, his mouth near mine.
That question and his quick proximity are so surprising that I don’t know what to say. On the one hand, I know I have to be tough and make him pay for what he did, but on the other, I need him so much, I’m perfectly capable of forgiving everything for the rest of my life and asking him to fuck me right here and now.
We look at each other for what feels like an eternity. We’re heating up. And as his lips come near, I begin to debate: Do I forgive him or not?
Tired of waiting, he puts his tempting mouth on mine. I feel his lips burning.
“Kiss me . . .”
I don’t move.
I am so paralyzed by desire, I can barely breathe.
“Sweetheart, kiss me,” he insists.
When he realizes I’m not moving, he holds my head in his hands and does that thing that drives me crazy: he runs his tongue on my upper lip and then my lower lip, ending with a delicious little nibble. His breathing gets harder, and then he kisses me. I stop breathing. He takes me with his mouth in such a way
that I’m willing to do absolutely anything he asks.
As he’s kissing me, one of his hands moves from my head to my neck and then to my back. His fingers dig into my flesh as he pulls me close enough to feel his hot, tempting, and exquisite erection.
Thank God I’m wearing jeans. Otherwise, Eric would have already torn off my panties, or rather, I would have torn them off myself. I close my eyes and throw my head back. I’m enjoying myself and, evidently noting the change in my breathing, he bites my chin and runs his wet tongue down my throat.
“Let’s go to our room, love. I need to undress you and take you the way I’ve wanted to for days. I want to open your legs and, after tasting you, bury myself in you over and over until your moans calm the living desire I have for you.”
Living desire! Just hearing that makes me dizzy.
I’m instantly drunk on him, and, like always, I want more. But no, I shouldn’t. I’m struggling mightily with my arousal, and, with what little strength I have left, I push myself back and pull away from him.
“No . . . you’re not forgiven.”
“But . . . I want you.”
“No . . . you shouldn’t.”
“Jude . . . love,” he protests.
“Just tell me which is my room and . . .”
I don’t even finish my sentence before he pulls away. His face is as hard as the erection in his pants. He closes his eyes and leans on the kitchen island. His knuckles have gone white.
“Fine,” he hisses. “We’ll go on with your game. Follow me.”
This time he doesn’t take my hand when I follow him up the stairs. I stare at his broad back, his strong legs, and his butt. Pure temptation and—uff!—I’m well aware of what I just said no to.
When we hit the second floor, he walks decisively to his room, opens the door, picks up my bags, and comes back out to the hallway. “Which room do you want to sleep in?”
“In . . . in whichever’s free,” I manage to say.
Livid and determined, Eric walks to the end of the hallway and opens the door farthest from his room. We both go in, and he leaves my bag next to the bed.
“Good night,” he says without looking at me or kissing me. He closes the door behind him.
Now and Forever Page 5