5
SERENA
It wasn’t yet dawn when I awoke, but it was pretty damned close.
Damien lay naked beside me, snoring away. It was a sexy snore though. A manly one. His broad surfer’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Especially since I couldn’t stop staring at it.
I reached out and touched him, just to make sure he was real. He’d been real enough last night. The pleasant soreness between my legs could attest for that, not to mention the muscles in my thighs that hadn’t been stretched like that since… well, since…
Since Alex.
Alex. My partner, my mentor. My lover. The man who’d brought me into the Hallowed Order and changed the very course of my life. It was Alex who’d recognized my power. Who’d brought me into the secret fold where I was taught to harvest it, use it, and especially, to control it.
It was also Alex who’d left this earth too soon, and too abruptly. Who’d been ripped so cruelly from my life, just two years ago next month.
I rubbed my eyes while taking in long, deep breath. I had to stop. This wasn’t about Alex now, and it wouldn’t be again. This was about healing, about moving on. About living my life.
And for once, at long last, finally taking care of myself.
The dim light filtering in through the window illuminated my blonde hero’s flawless, surfer’s skin. His smooth pectorals were broken only by two beautiful round nipples, which like the rest of him were absolutely perfect. Symmetrical in every way.
I had to resist the urge to bite one of them. They just looked too good. Temptation got the best of me, and I ended up compromising by pressing my lips softly against one. I flicked my tongue out, daringly, and it stiffened noticeably in my mouth.
Damien stirred, but didn’t wake. In a way, that was disappointing. The better part of me really wanted him awake… wanted him to roll over and take me again, softer and slower this time, in the lazy morning warmth of this sea of blankets.
I could mount him…
I lifted the sheet and looked beneath. He was already hard. Morning wood no doubt, but sometimes, as an old ex boyfriend once showed me, those could be the best erections ever.
I sighed, half in contentment, half with the frustration of wanting more. Another time.
Instead I slid from the bed, extracting myself without rousing him. I grabbed a T-shirt from his clean pile and pulled it down over my nakedness. My panties were already on — he’d screwed me in them the whole crazy time. From now on they’d be my special panties, though at the moment they were still uncomfortably wet.
I stretched as I made my way from the bedroom. Damien’s apartment was small but clean. There was no sense of style really, but what more could you expect from a transplanted SoCal surfer landlocked in the heart of Paris? I was wearing a Mr. Zogg’s Sex Wax T-shirt for Christ’s sake.
It’s not like I was looking to escape, either — the whole self-imposed ‘walk of shame’ guilt trip was never really my thing. I’d gone home with this guy knowingly, with a clear conscience, realizing — no, hoping — full well what was about to happen. In summary, we’d fucked. I fucked him and he’d sure as hell fucked me. We both came like crazy, all over each other, and somewhere along the line one of us almost got turned into a human headboard.
That was pretty much it. It was just that simple. So now, as my lover slept in a warm puddle of our combined sex, there was really only one thing left to do:
It was time to raid his fridge.
As I crossed the little kitchen an open package of cookies jumped out at me. Or maybe they were crackers. ‘Tea Biscuits’ they were called. How very European… and confusing.
Europe…
It wasn’t that I hated Europe. Paris was actually quite beautiful. I resented Europe as a whole though, for a singular — and probably very stupid — reason: it had been the place where Alex was taken from me.
London, to be more precise. And yet that city was beautiful too. What happened wasn’t London’s fault, and it had taken me a long time to realize it hadn’t been my fault either. For a while I’d blamed the Order, just for sending us on the assignment to begin with, and after that, Xiomara.
Hell, it was easy to blame Xiomara. For a while she even let me. I appreciated the cranky old bitch for that. At the time, I kinda needed it.
Shaking thoughts of Alex from my head, I turned my attention back to the fridge. As with most bachelors I’d dated, it was mostly empty. I saw the better part of a twelve-pack, a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in loose brown paper, and the obligatory tub of fake butter. There were a few eggs. A coagulated bottle of hot sauce. An unwrapped candy bar with a lion on it.
I was closing the door in disappointment when I saw the one thing universal to both Europe and America: a container of milk.
There are few guilty pleasures in life more forbidden than drinking milk straight out of the carton. I smiled fiendishly and went for it. The container was glass, which only made the liquid seem more cold and delicious as it slid down my eager throat. One sip turned into a gulp. Then three gulps. From there things snowballed, and by the time I stopped I’d already finished three-quarters of the liter.
“You’re a fucking barbarian,” I scolded myself, laughing in solitude as I wiped milk from my lips. I hadn’t realized I was this thirsty. My body felt hot too. Tingly. Like someone had rubbed warming lotion all over my skin.
Maybe I was coming down with something. That would be just perfect. Considering I hadn’t even started my assignment yet, a cold would be just what I needed. Still, it wasn’t my fault I hadn’t been contacted. I’d been following orders, staying put in that damned hotel like Xiomara said. At least until last night.
You should probably go, the voice of reason told me.
I considered it. Through the tiny kitchen window, the dawn sky had just begun to glow orange.
Or you should probably wake Damien up and fuck him again, the little voice on my other shoulder whispered.
I shrugged them both off temporarily as I tilted the bottle of milk back to my lips. I was still thirsty. Might as well finish it off.
The front door suddenly flew open and I jumped, spilling milk all over myself. It ran down my neck, my chest… it soaked into the fabric of Damien’s formerly-clean Sex Wax T-shirt. I whirled and a man was standing there in the doorway, wrestling with a set of keys.
He was tall and gorgeous, with close-cropped blonde hair and a look of utter confusion on his face. His Scandinavian blue eyes locked on me and he tilted his head, curiously.
“Uh… hi.” I said cheerily, still dripping milk.