Chapter Twenty-Four
One word.
Three syllables.
Sounded like…fuck…what rhymed with ballistic?
Best Zack could come up with was magic stick, and that wasn’t going to help with shit. It was a little hard to concentrate on his silent game of charades when Mina was screaming a string of rapid-fire sounds he couldn’t begin to understand.
If he thought her slap that time in rehearsal was painful, he didn’t want to know what Étienne was feeling right now—She was pummeling the poor guy, fists balled up, throwing her whole body behind it. She might be petite, but she was pretty much solid muscle, reinforced by pure rage.
Étienne made zero attempts to block her, protect himself, grip those flailing arms of hers to keep her at bay. He just stood there, feet planted apart, palms up, saying, “Je connais, bichette. S’il te plaît, chère…Mina…Je suis tellement désolé…Bichette…S’il te plaît…”
Well, maybe it wasn’t pure rage.
Tears streamed down her face, and she started to look exhausted, her arms landing softer…slower…until she collapsed into sobs that looked powerful enough to rip her in half. The urge to go right over there and pluck her away from him was overwhelming, but instinct held him back—instinct, and his own confusing clusterfuck of emotions.
For as long as Zack had known Mina, Étienne had been an enigma. A ghost. An unattainable ideal. Most of all, he was someone Mina obviously loved deeply enough that losing him had broken her heart. Zack knew that kind of pain acutely. A broken heart was impossible to see, but easy enough to detect. Because it hurt to breathe.
That was hard as hell to compete with—and it had felt like that sometimes with Mina. She’d kept Étienne to herself, which she’d had every right to do, but being left in the dark had made Zack susceptible to jealousy, confusion, even resentment. Now Étienne was here in the flesh. Strong, poised, and almost…painfully beautiful.
Tears were pouring from his eyes, too, and she lifted her hands to his face. He had all the angles of a well-structured masculine face, but there was a boyishness there too, in the sparkle behind his big blue eyes and the generous curve of his lips…and she mapped them all with her fingers, like she was refamiliarizing herself, testing the stuff he was made of, making sure he was solid. Making sure he was real. Then she replaced her fingers with her lips.
But they were nothing like the kisses she’d given Zack these last two months, not even in their most chaste moments. They were…adorable. After, she’d speak, he’d interrupt her, and she’d stop…he’d start, she’d interrupt, and he’d stop.
Jesus. They were finishing each other’s sentences.
In a stunning moment of clarity, Zack watched two shattered souls pull themselves back together like magnets. When the pieces finished coming together, it was clear to him what they were, what they had always been. The craziest part, is Mina had already told him weeks ago. He just hadn’t understood it then…
“I believe there are many kinds of soulmates.”
That’s exactly what they were. They were like twins. Soulmates.
Just as he was beginning to feel left out, Mina stood with a loud sigh, throwing her hands in the air and pacing. “It just occurred to me, my daytime soap opera and my dirty romance novel are in the same room, and I have no idea how to feel about it.”
With a gasp, Étienne tracked his eyes slowly up, then down, Zack’s body.
Zack choked on his own damn tongue. It was a look, a look he was still recovering from, and all that the look meant, when Étienne turned his scandalized gaze back to Mina.
“Oh. Mon. Dieu. I knew it, you naughty girl—You’re totally tapping that!”
“Have a care, would you?” asked Zack. “I’m standing right he—”
“Don’t even start.” Mina doubled back, jabbing her finger into Étienne’s chest. “You lied to me, remember? I’ve been miserable all this time, and y—”
“Well, not all this time.” Zack felt slightly affronted.
He was ignored.
“This is exactly why no one ever tells you anything, bichette. You get all worked up and start steaming from your ears.”
“I—I do not—”
“Right there.” He motioned at her head. “Steam.”
“Arrêtes—”
“Non.” Étienne put his hands on his narrow hips. “I’m not done. Did you ever stop to think what a year without dancing must have been like for me?”
Mina visibly cringed.
“Bordel, bichette! You see? Just hearing the words hurts you. Imagine living it? —Non, not living. Dying. Part of me did die, and when I think of the work I will have to do to feel like myself again, I’m lost.”
Sniffing, she walked to him slowly and slipped her hands around his waist. “I know. I-I’m sorry.”
Étienne let go a sigh. “Allez. Enough of this now, okay?” He held her a second longer, then released her, looking at Zack. “Zachary?”
“Zack is fine—by the way, daytime soap opera?”
“Oui,” said Étienne. “You know, fake deaths, ransoms, secret love children.”
“Right,” Zack said. “Of course.”
“Bon.” Étienne clapped. “Let’s go to dinner. We’ll have wine, and I’ll tell you everything.” Without waiting for a reply, he hooked his arm through Mina’s, bending his head to her ear. “And you can tell me exactly how many screaming orgasms we’re talking about.”
“Still here.” Zack followed behind them like a golden retriever.
Étienne took them to an idyllic little town with sandstone streets and Romanesque architecture towering overheard. They had dinner at a café outside in the main square, beneath the warmth of Burgundy’s summer night sky. It was quaint, even with the men in black pretending to ignore them at the next table. Kids were playing in the fountains, and people were walking their dogs. During dinner, Étienne insisted they tell him everything about Lady in Red he couldn’t glean from the internet, and when he playfully asked for all the sordid details of their “blistering affair,” suddenly the summer air turned much colder.
“Alors.” Étienne gave good pout. “I guess that’s my cue, oui?”
“You don’t have to,” Mina said.
“I do, bichette. But…I need you to stay quiet until I finish, okay? That’s part of the reason I brought you here.” He grinned. “I thought, perhaps, in a public place, you wouldn’t freak out.”
She glared at him. “That’s not—”
“Promise me.”
Now she was pouting, too. “Fine. Go on.”
Curiosity had wrapped Zack’s neck in a chokehold from the moment Mina fainted. He met her eyes, silently asking if she was okay. Thankfully, she didn’t ignore him, offering him a subtle nod and turning her attention back to Étienne. Zack crossed his arms over his chest, and Étienne began his story in his deep, dulcet tone.
“I loved Angelo, I should say that first. To everyone else—maybe even you, bichette—he was a name on a bottle. A brand. To me, he was…a champion. He made me feel important. Like the world wouldn’t be the same if I was not in it.”
Mina stretched her arm across the table, and Étienne squeezed her hand.
“The day he was murdered…” His Adam’s apple worked in his throat. “He invited me over to discuss whether I should renew my contract in Paris or move to Italy…with him. He told me to take my time with my decision, and in the meantime, he had some business to take care of. Bichette, do you remember that man—the one they called ‘Monsieur Grand Cru’ at parties?”
“Oui,” she said. “He was very popular, I remember. Everyone loved him—or rather, his parties. We went to a few of them ourselves. I—Oh mon Dieu!” Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, Étienne. Oh non…non, non, non…”
Étienne’s jaw tightened so much, a muscle ticked in his cheek. “I’m afraid so.”
She gasped. “But…why?”
“His real name is Gabriel Ademar. He made his fortune trading in rare wine, and he had a particular fondness for Burgundy—which is how he got his nickname, you see, for the most superior grade. The problem is, he was bottling them himself, auctioning them as vintage. The year he killed Angelo—and tried to kill me—he made almost twenty-four million euros as a wine forger.”
Mina had both hands over her mouth, visibly trying to keep her composure.
Zack leaned forward. “I’m guessing Angelo caught on?”
Étienne nodded solemnly. “Monsieur Ademar auctioned a rare bottle of Burgundy from nineteen seventy-one for over thirty-thousand euros, claiming it had been produced by Angelo’s family, but the Bernards did not produce their first harvest until nineteen seventy-five. Angelo demanded Monsieur Ademar return the money, with whatever excuse he chose, or he would report him to la police.”
Taking another deep sip of his wine, Étienne looked up with tears in his eyes.
“You don’t have to, chère,” Mina whispered, tears in her eyes, too.
“You promised me, bichette.”
Jesus.
Zack’s hackles were up. He knew what was coming, but hearing it was still chilling.
“Monsieur Ademar showed up unannounced,” Étienne continued. “He apologized, saying returning the money was impossible, because it would ruin his reputation, but he would donate to the charity of Angelo’s choice. Angelo said he would only accept under the condition Monsieur Ademar would cease all forgery in the future. Monsieur Ademar pretended to consider it, then pulled his revolver and emptied the chamber.”
Mina was crying softly now.
“Obviously, I survived, and Angelo did not.” Étienne wiped his tears and took another sip. “For almost a year, I’ve been in witness protection with maman and papa, so la police could build their case. But Monsieur Ademar had a lot of money, and he was well-connected. A few months into the case, la police discovered he had hired a private investigator. La police—they work with PI’s all the time. They have access to police databases…and that is how he discovered I was alive, in hiding somewhere. The private investigator got hold of my taped testimony.”
“Mon Dieu,” Mina gasped. “That’s why I was mugged! Why I was robbed, and—”
“Why your mother was shot,” Étienne said. “I’m sorry, bichette. He must have hired those thugs to find out what you knew.”
“I knew it,” she said. “I had such a bad feeling.”
Zack couldn’t help it this time. He took her hand underneath the table and squeezed. “Why’s it taking damn near a year to nail this guy’s ass to the wall?” he asked tightly.
“Bordel,” Étienne spat. “It’s not just him they want. It’s also his known associates—the private investigator he hired, and others like him, and the dirty cops who look the other way or even take bribes from bâtards like Monsieur Ademar. Harvest here is next month. Monsieur Ademar is already in Paris preparing to tape a reality show for a food and wine channel. They’re picking him up first thing in the morning, which is why I thought it better you stay here, bichette. It’s going to be a circus tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry, Étienne,” Mina whispered.
“Me too. But I’m also relieved. I’m tired of hiding. I’m ready to get on with my life. So…” He handed her a white napkin. “No more tears, okay? I’m reborn today, and you are depressing me.”
Her choking laugh-sob combination made Zack’s heart flip. Whatever he was feeling must have shown on his face, because Étienne studied him openly a moment, the laughter leaving his eyes, replaced with a look of fierce determination.
“I won’t be accompanying you back to Domaine Bernard,” he said, standing.
Mina stiffened. “Non, Étienne—”
“Bichette, I’m still in protective custody until Monsieur Ademar is indicted.”
Nodding, Mina stood, too. “Will you come by in the morning? We leave for New York in the evening.”
“Oui. For a little while. Then I have to go back.”
Zack smiled. It probably wasn’t enough time to catch up, but it was a start.
*
Mina was exhausted by the time they returned to the castle at Domaine Bernard. Another uniformed man showed them to their rooms on the second floor. Enfin, two floors in this place looked more like three or four. A suite of two bedrooms was prepared for them, separated by a sitting room, each with massive fireplaces and antique French beds. There was a terrace off the sitting room with a view that made her chest hurt. It overlooked a rose garden, with a maze just beyond, and a river beyond that.
Drawing the sweet countryside air into her lungs, she admired the stars. They were more and brighter than any night in Paris, and even the stars in Sunset Park she’d seen with Zack…the night they’d talked on and on then made cuddling love in his room. The night she first realized she was falling in love with him. She sighed. It was all so perfect. It was difficult to stomach, under the circumstances.
“Hey.”
She turned to see him standing there. Watching her. “Hi.”
He seemed a little unsure of himself but came up beside her on the balcony, gripping the iron balustrade with both hands. Something in his eyes softened the pout from her lips, her eyes clinging to his like they had so many times that day, seeking the truth behind his words and movements, his every expression. That he was there at all should have been sign enough of his feelings, but after what happened in Tetley Theatre, how could she trust him not to push her away again the next time things got difficult?
“Mina…”
“I’m so tired. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I know, petite.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I know you’re tired, and it’s been…intense. I know it’s a lot to ask but can you just…spare a few more minutes for me. Please?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
Relief shuddered over his expression. “I’m sorry, Mina. I’m sorry for hurting you instead of letting you in. For not letting you see all of me…even the shadows. You trusted me in Vera’s theater, and I betrayed you by not trusting you, too. I shouldn’t have accused you of hiding just because you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve. You were protecting yourself, and I am so, so sorry you had to protect yourself from me.”
Merde. He was saying all the right words. The way his deep voice shook with emotion threatened to wear down what was left of her battered heart shields. She couldn’t let him do it so easily. Those shields were all she had left to protect her tattered heart.
“It’s fine,” she said coolly. “I’m sorry you’ve been beating yourself up about it. I overreacted, which I apparently do a lot. It was just…bad timing on my part, and completely out of character. I should have been more understanding.”
His gaze seemed to intensify on hers, but she didn’t look away. For a full minute, it felt like he was trying to read what was written on her heart walls through her eyeballs. “I almost believed you, petite. Next time you lie to me, close your eyes.”
“I—I’m not…”
“No, it’s okay. I figured you’d be skeptical.” He moved as if to touch her but shoved his hands in his pockets instead. “You should know, I did try to tell you—maybe not all the gory details, but you still figured it out. It still scared the living shit out of me, because that’s never happened before. I’ve never opened up with anyone else enough for them to put the pieces together.”
“Zack…”
“Hang on a sec, okay?”
He seemed so earnest, she couldn’t tell him no, so she nodded. Ten seconds later, he’d jogged to his room and returned with a composition notebook.
She accepted it from his hand. “What’s this?”
“The truth.” He shrugged. “Every word in there is true. I started it the night we met. I never intended to show anyone, but I think…maybe you should read it.”
Her fingers moved over the title hand-written on the front. “Music Box Dancer?”
There was that half-cocked grin. It had been so long since she’d seen it. Her stupid, traitorous heart had the nerve to skip.
“Seemed fitting.” Leaning against the balustrade, he crossed his arms over his chest, watching her.
She wet her lips and opened to the first page…and with the first entry, the shield began to fall away from her heart:
June 16
Incredible. Inside and out of that enormous velvet box.
June 23
Smaller without the stilts. Petite, even.
June 25
She’s been compressed into a diamond. Brilliant. Multifaceted. Sharp.
June 26
I think her hand might be imprinted on my face.
June 30
The lady has a temper.
Sometimes she’s a quiet fire.
Simmering gently.
Her eyes are molten. Her tongue licks like a flame.
Sometimes she’s a wildfire.
Scorching hot.
Engulfing.
And I can’t breathe.
July 3
I wish there were a mirror that could show her what I see.
July 4
I’ve never hugged someone and pulled away branded.
July 11
Today, she’s a quiet fire.
July 15
On the rooftop. In the garden. Underneath the rain.
Tentatively. Gently. Thoroughly.
Hungrily. Passionately. Deeply.
Slower. Faster. Again.
July 18
I can’t. Not today.
July 20
When you dream you’re falling, but you’re wide awake.
July 23
She tries to hide her feelings sometimes, but when she sleeps, she sighs. I think it’s her heart whispering to mine.
July 27
It’s her pieces that slice me in pieces. Death by a thousand cuts.
July 31
Wildfire.
August 4
Every time she cries, I see how strong she is.
…
There was still one entry left to read, but Mina couldn’t see it through her tears. They spilled from her like they sprung from a well deep inside her, wetting the page.
Zack gently took the notebook from her. “Dated today: ‘We were never meant to be perfect. Our pieces wouldn’t fit together that way.’”
Turning away, she gripped the balustrade.
“There’s no corner of my heart you haven’t seen now, Mina. There’s no thought in my mind you don’t know.”
Dieu, she wanted to believe him, to believe the three words that practically peeled themselves from the pages and levitated in front of her eyes. She could believe him here, of all places, couldn’t she? Here, in the quiet dark of night, in an empty castle where no one knew or cared who they were, where water droplets began to drift down, unhurried, like they had nothing better to do than kiss the leaves and vines…where the rain had all night to polish the cobbled pathway and reflect the glow of the lamps from all the empty spaces.
If not here, then where?
Finally, she let go a deep, shuddering sigh, and gave him her eyes. “Je pense toujours à toi. Tes yeux, j’en rêve jour et nuit,” she said in a tearful near-whisper. “Je t’aime de tout mon cœur.”
He did touch her then, tracing the tracks of her tears with his thumbs, until he’d followed them beneath the line of her jaw and he held her face in his hands. “What does that mean?”
Fear gripped her momentarily, but she squeezed her eyes shut and willed it away. Damn the fear. She was sick of it. Her mother could have died yesterday, but she hadn’t. She thought she’d lost Étienne, but he was alive, and determined to take his life back. Enfin, she was going to take hers back, too.
“Kiss me first,” she whispered.
Not hesitating a second, he scooped her in his arms, lifting her to her toes and aligning her heart with his heart, her mouth with his.
The first brushes of his lips were tentative—all whispers and sighs and shivers of relief. His lips were warm and soft, and then firmer, more grounded and sure. Sighing and melting into him, she angled her head, opened her mouth, and slipped him her tongue. He kissed her and kissed her, until the late hour didn’t matter, until time and place seemed to blur, until the rest of the world and everything in it crumbled away, leaving two warm bodies, two thundering heartbeats…one hungry soul bounding toward another.
When she finally pulled away, she hugged him as tightly as he hugged her, giving him a shy smile. “Come in with me.”
“So, what you’re saying is, ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’?”
Making an exasperated sound, she frowned. “Espèce d’idiot.”
“I might be an idiot, but I know when a woman’s telling me she’s in love with me.”
She gasped and slapped him simultaneously.
He burst into laughter, his hand going to his cheek.
“Merde!” She jumped back, her heart thumping wildly. “I-I’m sorry. It was reactionary…” Slipping her hand underneath his, she rubbed his cheek.
“It’s fine, I’ll just remember to buy a boxing helmet for any future momentous occasions.”
That made her smile. “Y-you understood what I said?”
“Not all of it, but I think I got the gist.” Grinning, he took her hand and kissed it.
“I said, ‘I always think about you. I dream about your eyes day and night.’”
“That’s sweet.” There was no trace of humor in his tone, as if he knew how difficult it was for her to open up.
“And…”
“And?”
“And, ‘I love you, with all my heart.’”
Pulling her close, he tucked her into his warmth as the rain dripped from the flying buttresses overhead. “I love you too, petite,” he said into her hair. “Tell me how to love you more, and I will.”
“Come in with me.” This time, there was no mistaking her meaning.
Over pale sheets, in the dim glow of the moon and the rain-scented air coming in from the open window, their fingers laced together above her head, he kissed her unhurriedly. He kissed all over her face and neck, the peaks of her breasts and curves of her shoulders, returning to take her mouth again and again.
She’d never felt so utterly naked—inside and out—and reveled in it. Like she could drop every stitch of armor and never be pierced by another expectation or opinion, because her pride and self-worth were impenetrable. It made her entire body shiver with exquisite vulnerability.
Dieu, he was everywhere, rubbing warmth all over her, opening and exposing her, stroking and licking her.
“Mamour,” she cried. “Please, please, please…”
Pre-orgasmic tremors washed over her, heat spiraling from her clit to her fingertips and toes. He slipped his fingers inside her, and her low, husky moans magnified to sharp, needy pants, goosebumps breaking out over her skin. Burying his tongue inside her again, she convulsed, crying out as everything in her seemed to dissolve and break apart.
Yet, he held her together so effortlessly.
Her eyes stung with new tears, at the scent and warmth and taste of him, after missing him for so long. Covering her body with his own, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed away her tears.
“Don’t cry, Mina.” He said gently, clutching her to his chest.
“I can’t help it,” she gulped. “Any time I feel anything, I cry.”
“Then cry all you want. Cry forever. Just let me be there when you do.”
He pressed into her slowly, then moved again, stretching and filling her, absorbing her sounds in his mouth. Smoothing her hands over his back, she admired the feel of his muscles, the silk of his skin, the magnificent arch of his spine.
“I love your body, petite,” Adjusting her hips the way he wanted, he kissed her again. “So much. So, so much.”
She moaned appreciatively, gripping his tight butt, digging her heels into his back. They were entwined like twisted strands of rope, strong and tight. Her body started to tighten around him again at the urgency in his thrusts, the way his skin reddened everywhere, the fierce concentration in his features—like he was holding back so he wouldn’t lose it too quickly. It melted her insides to feel how much he enjoyed her, to hear how good she made him feel. The tremors were already building again, low in her belly, intensifying every time he cursed or moaned.
“Jouir pour moi, mamour,” she whispered, rotating her hips. “Come for me, my love. Then we’ll do it again.”
He made an agonized sound, his hips bucking, his teeth sinking into the side of her neck as he shook from head to toe.
“Don’t stop! S’il te plaît, d-don’t stop…”
Lifting her hips a little, he drove into her again and again, chuckling at her mindlessly babbled “Merci.” Her breasts brushed his chest, and—like a match being struck—she came with sharp cry, her back arched, clenching down on him hard. He stroked her until the aftershocks subsided, whispering in her ear how beautiful she was.
“Wow.” She gripped his arms, still trembling with subtle shocks. “’I love you’ sex is way better than ‘I like you sex.’”
His laughter warmed her soul. Until he cocked his brow, and his lips twitched.
“Don’t ruin it,” she begged.
“I was just thinking it’s a good theory, that ‘I love you sex’ is better than ‘I like you’ sex.”
“Pardon?”
Rolling her over with him, he grinned rakishly at her squeal. “Theories are meant to be tested.”
In the shower, he tested the stream of water, adjusting until it was gentle and warm, running over them like a caress. Steam thickened the air, settling in tiny droplets over their heated skin. His soapy hands traced the rivulets down her body, rubbing the warm, sweet scent all over her.
“Touch me more,” she sighed, twisting his insides with longing, clouding his mind. “I love your hands on me.”
Tucking her back against his chest, letting her head rest against his shoulder, he willingly obeyed; massaging her breasts, circling her belly button with his thumb, tracing over her folds with his fingers. Her throaty pleas reawakened his desire, and he pressed her hard against his erection, one arm wrapped around her, holding her tightly to his body. She tilted her face to him, offering her lips.
Lazily, he kissed her, matching the stroke of his tongue to the slide of his fingers, getting drunk on her sighs, the way her eyes slid shut, the way her breasts pressed softly into his arm, and her body melted into his, as if she’d slide into a boneless puddle if not for him holding her up. He sensed her orgasm building slowly this time, and when her inner walls clung to his fingers, he groaned, turning her easily and lifting her astride him. He pressed her back gently to the ivory tiles, giving her ass an affectionate squeeze with both hands, sliding into her soft body.
“Beautiful, petite. You’re so beautiful.”
He kissed her again, chasing, then retreating, enticing sounds rising from her lips into the steam and blending into a continuous melody as he took her in slow, easy thrusts.
“I missed you,” he groaned into her throat, gripping one of her thighs for purchase. “I want to fuck you forever, petite. You. Just you.”
A shocked little gasp escaped her, a sound he was prepared to spend the rest of his life trying to rend from her in new and awesome ways. She seemed to like his blatant declaration, because her face twisted, and she cried out, her back arching, pressing every luscious line and curve of her body against his. Shaking, her arms clutching desperately around him, the water spilling over her, she unraveled. It seemed to last forever, wave after wave of long, gentle vibrations wracking her body. He felt them all, and it was exquisite torture, her body writhing around him, her heart pounding against his, sending ripples of pleasure up and down his spine.
Setting her down gently, he drew her to him again, soaping his hands and running them all over her. She clung to his arm, still trembling, letting him wash her in the most intimate way.
Trust. She trusted him, and the knowledge had him soaring.
Also an ego-boost: her hair was in wild disarray, making her look more like a lion than he could ever hope to achieve. He grinned, despite the fact he was still painfully aroused. To that point, she was already pushing him back against the tiles and going to her knees.
“What are you doing?” His voice was thin, his heart tripping in his chest.
She smiled sweetly up at him, water dripping over her beautiful face, her hands running up the back of his thighs. “Trust falls.”
“M-Mina…” His heart hammered violently now, deafening in his ears, and he gripped her hair in both hands. “I want you to, but my mind tends to…go someplace else, whenever I let someone—I want to stay here with you.”
“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. Trust me, mamour,” she said softly, her hands wrapping gently around his wrists. “Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”
What shone in her eyes made him gasp. Raw, naked vulnerability, like he hadn’t seen since their first kiss, like his trust meant more to her than anything else in the world. Long as he lived, he’d never get used to seeing his soul reflected in her eyes. Willing his mind to accept what his body wanted, swallowing down the remaining dregs of doubt, he relaxed his grip on her hair, shaking with anticipation. She took her time with him, smoothing her hands over his abs, then down again, trailing hot kisses along his thighs and hip bones, over his lower abdomen and the lines that arrowed to a V. Taking him into her hands, stroking firmly, she very clearly telepathed with her eyes, I think you are beautiful too. Then she drew him into her soft, warm mouth.
His toes curled against the wet porcelain, his mouth making unintelligible sounds as she worked him over. She didn’t seem to mind that he pulled her hair so tightly, or that his hips flexed instinctively, pushing him to the back of her throat. Not even close. She moaned, like he was a delectable treat and she couldn’t get enough. For the first time in recent memory, he felt no consuming need to dissociate. It was pleasurable because it was her, because it didn’t feel like something was being taken from him, but given, and in giving, it brought her immeasurable joy.
And it was his complete undoing.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…”
His voice echoed off the tiles, his mind and body giving themselves up, void of all control, his hands buried in her hair. It wrecked him. Turned him completely inside out, proving his love for her didn’t exist only in his heart and soul. There wasn’t a single atom of his body that wasn’t melded with it, melded with her. It was ecstasy and solace. It was home.
She came to him quickly, while he was still shaking, his eyes stinging with tears, and wrapped him tightly in her arms, holding him up in more ways than one, just as he’d held her.
“Je t’aime,” she murmured, over and over and over. “Je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.”
He wrapped her in a towel downy as a robe and carried her to the bed. Lying beside her, he peeled away the towel slowly, like giftwrapping he didn’t want to tear. Her skin was warm and supple from the shower, and she shivered so subtly he would have missed it if he weren’t already touching her.
“Having an encore?” he teased lightly, his hands floating over her body.
In answer, she grasped his wrist and pulled his hand down, sliding it between her legs.
“More,” she whispered, shuddering again as he rubbed her with his thumb.
Bending his head, he licked and sucked her nipples, scraping gently with his teeth. She hadn’t stopped shaking since the shower, like her orgasm hadn’t finished but simmered on low, and had come back to collect. It happened quickly. Her lean, shapely body stiffened, and her eyes closed, her hips undulating against his hand. He kissed her when it was over. Over and over, because he couldn’t help himself. In a castle, on top of a hill, in this antique French bed, tangled in ruined sheets, Mina Allende imprinted herself on his tongue, his skin, his heart and soul…and he would cherish her, always.
“Merci,” she whispered, turning onto her stomach and collapsing into the pillows.
“Happy to help.”
Her answer was a sleepy growl, and he chuckled softly. They were sex drunk, love drunk, boneless—entirely useless human beings. Draping himself over her back, he kissed the expanse of smooth brown skin.
“Mina.” He said her name in wonder, enjoying her reflexive jerk when his lips met the small of her back. “Whatever happens after tonight, I’m yours, and you are mine.”
She sighed a contented little sigh and drifted to sleep.
Point taken.
Some things didn’t require words. Further, for some things, there were no words. And that was fine with him.