When I arrived at my doorstep, Christian was already there, pacing back and forth by the front stairs. The air around him crackled with dark energy.
He turned to face me, surprising me by grabbing my hand and pressing it against his heart. “Feel it, Ari.”
The look on his face said more than words ever could. There was expectation there, mixed with hope, longing, and something else. An odd fragility that hadn’t been there before. It reminded me of that time, decades ago, when Nicky and I had almost gotten caught by Ruslana.
I sank my blood-red fingernails into the fabric of his shirt. “Happy to see me?”
“I’ll be happier when I see all of you.”
We took the three flights of stairs two at a time. My adrenaline was through the roof. When I opened my door, I told him I was getting a glass of water and asked if he wanted one.
“Sure?” He gave me a funny, is-this-how-we’re-going-to-play-this look. I pointed toward my room and told him to make himself comfortable. When I was certain he was gone, I chugged two pints of water, then stuck my head in the freezer to try and bring my temperature down.
When I went to my room, I caught him studying my bookshelf, his back turned to me. I’d hired a carpenter years before to convert one of my bedroom walls into a library. It was extravagant and entirely unjustified, what with this apartment being a rental and all, but it made me feel more at home than any other piece of furniture I owned. Christian ran a finger along the spines of the books in a manner I found strangely erotic.
“The prized Atonement,” he drawled, knowing I was there even though I hadn’t made a sound. “First edition, hardcover.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I pushed off the doorframe, ambling toward him. I pried the book from his hands, caressing it lovingly.
He turned to look at me, a smirk playing on his face. “Think about what?”
“Borrowing it.”
“Why not?” he whispered. “It’s just words on paper.”
“What a preposterous thing to say. And death is just a long nap in a drawer.” I pressed the book deeper between the two books engulfing it. “If you’re so desperate to read it, get a library card.”
He leaned his shoulder against my shelves, scrutinizing me for a reaction. “Why this book specifically?”
“Because.”
“I’ll rephrase. What event do you associate with this specific book that makes it impossible to let go of? I find it hard to believe a different copy of Atonement, one I could order from Amazon right now, would have the same emotional impact.”
I thought of Nicky’s arctic blues, twinkling as he told me he would do this for me. Defy our parents. Reenact that scene.
Of Nicky pressing me against my shelves, kissing me.
Lying beneath the pounding sun, counting the constellation of freckles on my nose and shoulders.
Nicky. Nicky. Nicky.
A sweet ache spread inside my belly.
Christian shook his head. “Never mind. Too personal. I get it.”
“It’s not—”
He took the glass of water I’d forgotten I was holding and placed it carefully on one of the shelves behind my head. He laced his fingers through mine and pinned my arms on either side of me, above my head, just like in Atonement. His fingers tightened their grip, his mouth coming down to the base of my throat, his lips brushing softly against the sensitive skin.
For a second, I actually wondered if Christian was Nicky. Why else would he choose to do that? But no. It couldn’t be. Nicky was dead. Besides, maybe Christian had watched the movie and thought it would be hot to reenact it.
I mewed, dropping my head back and closing my eyes.
“Arya, you lovely, lying creature, you. How long I’ve waited to do this to you.”
His mouth dragged up my neck, his white teeth grazing my chin, before he dipped his tongue into my mouth, prying my lips open. My mouth fell open in an O shape, and I writhed, my back arching, my body pressed against him, as I relished the dull ache of desire.
“Beautiful . . . sweet . . . lovely Arya.” Each word was a kiss. His fingers let go of mine, and he scooped me up by the backs of my thighs, lacing my legs around his waist, our kisses deep, sweltering, filling the bottom of my belly with silky warmth. Most of my weight was supported by the bookshelves.
“How unbearably perfect you are,” he murmured into my mouth. Tendrils of my hair, wild as weeds, fell over our eyes. The compliments were not said with sarcasm or contempt. They were soft whispers, curling around my neck, my wrists, like fine jewels.
There was an urgency to his movements as he devoured my mouth, plastering me against the book-laden shelves. A sense of unfinished business. A continuation of something we’d previously started. But of course, that couldn’t be.
Christian’s erection pressed against my center, and something inside me ignited. I rolled my ass, my legs knotted at the ankles around his waist, meeting his erection with purposeful thrusts. The state of my panties told me a long foreplay session wasn’t in the cards for me.
“Christian.” I raked my fingernails over his sharp jaw, my tongue dancing with his. He froze, drawing away, like I’d slapped him.
“What?” I asked, panting, as he took a full step back, leaving me to level myself on my stilettos. “What happened?”
It couldn’t be anything I’d said. All I’d done was say his name. Men liked that, especially behind closed doors. And yet he stared me down as if I’d committed a great sin. Like a betrayed lover.
Confusion flooded me.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he looked completely different. He ate up the space between us with one swift movement, picked me up by my ass, and hurled me onto my bed. My legs flung in the air, and a loud rip pierced the silence. My pencil skirt was torn, half my ass hanging out there for him to see.
“What the . . .” I was a mixture of turned on, pissed off, and taken by surprise. “That was a brand-new Balmain!”
“Send me the bill.” He propped one knee between my legs on my bed, grabbed the hem of my skirt, and ripped it all the way until it fell beneath me in one perfect square. “Better yet, let’s call it even on all those dinners. I have a feeling your family won’t be able to afford unexpected expenses after the legal bill you’ll be slapped with.”
That was low, and Christian didn’t usually aim low. In fact, he’d been pretty good about not rubbing our situation in my face thus far. Which made me even more confused as to how my saying his name had changed things between us.
“What’s gotten into you?” I demanded, but I quickly forgot to press him for an answer when he leaned between my legs, plastering his strong body against mine. He kissed me roughly, deliberately rubbing his five-o’clock shadow against my skin, making it bloom pink.
He used his teeth to unbutton my white dress shirt. Not with expertise and finesse. Rather, he yanked and spit them out, one by one, as more of my skin was revealed in front of him. When he saw my crème lace bra, he covered one of my breasts with his mouth completely and sucked hard. The damp heat of his mouth sent violent shivers down my spine. My fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him southward shamelessly.
“Someone’s impatient,” he chuckled against my navel, dipping his tongue into it before breathing cold air inside. My skin prickled with goose bumps.
“You’re quite the expert, aren’t you . . .” I was going to say his name again but then stopped myself. Something told me he didn’t want to hear it, even though I had no idea why. Christian didn’t notice my sentence was incomplete.
“This is not a conversation I’d like to conduct at this moment.”
And then he was there. His teeth scraped the hem of my panties—unfortunately a pair of seamless, black, boyfriend-cut underwear—removing them urgently, his hands busy spreading my thighs wide. I didn’t know what was sexier—watching his tan, strong hands and muscular forearms against my pale skin, or looking down at his crown of jet-black hair, knowing what was to come. Or rather who was to come—me, namely.
He tossed my underwear behind his shoulder, still fully clothed.
He paused to take inventory of my naked body for the first time. Like he was studying a map, calculating where to start, where to attack first.
“God, Arya.”
He brushed his thumb from my clit to the base of my center, before dipping a long finger inside me. I closed my eyes and moaned.
“Soaked.” I heard the pop of his mouth and opened my eyes just in time to see he was tasting the finger he’d put inside me. “Tell me what you want, Arya.”
Not giving him the pleasure of hearing me beg, I sank my fingernails into his shoulders and brought him back down, his face level with my sex. He ran his tongue along my opening, and I shuddered, closing my eyes. Clearly, he wanted to have control over the situation. And clearly, he was failing.
“Fuck,” he growled, his tongue lapping at me again, deeper now. He was thirsty for it. “Here I go again.”
Here I go again?What did that mean?
His hands circled my hip bones, pressing me down to the mattress as he devoured me, stroking me with his tongue, occasionally stopping to suck my clit into his mouth, nibbling on it softly. He knew what he was doing. Normally, I’d find it commendable. Experience didn’t always equal good performance. This time, though, my heart squeezed. Like Past Christian was supposed to know Present Christian would meet me, somehow, and had to wait it out. Which was absolutely, atrociously stupid.
There was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that told me I was doing it all wrong. This was New York, and we were in our thirties. Usually, I went through a routine. I needed to see a clean medical bill. To have the Talk. To ensure he’d come with a pack of condoms. With Christian, I breezed past the technicalities like they didn’t exist.
“Condoms,” I panted, feeling my first orgasm slithering its way up my skin. From my toes, up my legs, climbing higher. “Tell me you have condoms.”
He shook his head, which was still buried between my thighs, just when my eyes dropped shut and my body began to quiver with my climax. I shook all over, and when I opened my eyes again, I saw him propped on his elbows, staring at me, absorbed in thought.
“I’m clean.”
I don’t want to get pregnant.
For a second, I imagined how that’d go. If I accidentally got pregnant with Christian’s child. What would Conrad think. Beatrice too. A panicked giggle bubbled up my throat, but I managed to swallow it down.
“I’m not on the pill,” I said. He began kissing his way up my abdomen, his mouth hot and damp, his breath carrying the earthy, feminine scent of me.
“I’ll pull out.”
“Are we in high school now?”
“What we are is in complete lust with each other. I can’t wait. I’ll pull out, then go downstairs and buy condoms for the next round. And there will be a next round.”
He ascended up my body until our faces were aligned. His eyes were mesmerizing. Clear, icy blues. Calm water over gleam-tipped icebergs. My resolve collapsed, just like it always did where this man was concerned. I closed my eyes and nodded once.
Christian was inside me.
He was still wearing his suit when he entered me. He was big—bigger than average—and he closed his eyes, not moving, just relishing the moment. I stared at him in awe. Everything about what we were doing felt monumental.
He began to move inside me, flinging one of my legs over his shoulder as he stared deep into my eyes. It surprised me. The intensity of it. After all, we hadn’t known each other for that long. I circled my arms around his neck while he filled me to the brim. I rolled my hips forward each time he pushed into me, meeting him in the middle. Another climax tickled inside me.
“Arya.” Christian’s forehead dropped to my chest as he picked up the pace. “Please tell me you’re close, because I am.”
“Yes.” I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m very close.”
Christian groaned, pulling out of me and squeezing himself hard, staving off his climax. He tore his gaze away and looked to the floor, concentrating on a spot before pushing back into me. Already aroused and sensitive from the friction, that was all I needed to fall apart in his arms and come again. The minute he felt me clenching around him, he mumbled, “Thank you,” pulled out of me, and came. Ribbons of his release coated my belly. It took me a few moments to descend down to earth and realize what we’d done. Christian rolled next to me on the bed. We both stared at the ceiling. There was the distinct feeling that we were like teenagers who’d just done something bad.
“You didn’t even take your clothes off.” I stared at my ceiling in a daze, wondering if he’d call tomorrow.
“No,” he said in wonder, turning his face to look at me. “Let’s rectify that. Shower?”
“First door to the left.”
He grabbed my hand. Squeezed. “Come with me.”
“I just did.” I grinned.
He laughed, tugging me gently from my bed. “Here we are. One step. Then another. Not so bad, is it?”
Our mutual shower was scorching. A slow-burn make-out session. We embraced, making out under the hot water. There, I could appreciate all of him, in his entirety. His defined six-pack, the coarse dark hair on his chest, his broad shoulders. Our kisses were hot and lingering, openmouthed, and I tried to remember the last time I’d felt so happy and content. Not in this decade, I suspected.