Lena

 

 

 

I knew he'd like it. Everyone always does. Mulled wine may sound strange to those who've never tasted it, but I've never seen anyone refuse a second mug after their first taste.

   Though the wind and snowfall are getting colder and more brisk outside, inside we are growing warmer by the minute. He helped me build a roaring fire in the fireplace, and then we each took a seat in the living room to absorb the warmth. He helped me set it up, after I fed Risu and put her back in her cage, locking her up this time.

The crackling of the fire drowns out the awkward silence that has spread between us since we sat down on the outdated sofa to drink our wine. He emptied his mug so fast that I didn't even have to ask whether he liked it. When I offered him more, he smiled, but gave me a dismissive wave.

"I can get it myself," he said, rising from the sofa and sauntering over to the kitchen. I'm curled up on the love seat across from him, too shy to sit down next to him.

He intimidates me, but he excites me. I just wish I was better at conveying my feelings to him. Instead, here I am sitting with my legs curled up beneath me, my mug held up to my face most of the time, even though I’m not actually drinking. Nothing about my demeanor suggests I want him any closer to me than he is right now.

"You have a lot of books," he observes as he walks back into the living room, browsing one of the many bookshelves that cover the walls.

"Some of them belonged to my grandma," I comment. He’s standing next to the shelf that still holds some of her favorites.

My heart skips a beat when he slowly moves to the next section of shelving. The shelf he’s now scanning by running his index finger down the bindings is one of the shelves that contain my guilty pleasures, romance novels.

He chuckles and I try to hide my embarrassment behind the mug of hot wine. I take a big sip as he tilts his head to the side to study the titles in front of him.

"Did these belong to your grandma?" he asks, without turning around.

I swallow. "No. They're mine."

"Thought so."

He reaches up and pulls one of them off the shelf. I can't tell which one it is from where I'm sitting, but I can tell it has a black spine.

"Interesting," he says, as he studies the blurb on the back, and my face catches fire as he raises his eyebrows and a spark of amusement twinkles in his eyes.

"You're a naughty girl," he says, slipping the book back into its spot on the shelf.

"A dominant alpha captures a poor young woman and turns her into his sex slave," he narrates, turning back to me with a mischievous smile on his face. "Is that what you like to fantasize about?"

I lift the mug up to my face again, wishing I could just disappear into thin air. This is so fucking embarrassing.

"It's not polite to go through other people's stuff," I say. "It's... private."

His eyes narrow, conflicting with the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I apologize," he says, sitting back down on the couch across from me. "But I'm still curious. Why does a girl like you read books like this?"

"A girl like me?"

He doesn't respond, instead locking me down with his intense gaze.

"It's none of your business.”

"What types of things happen in these books?" he probes.

I huff. "What do you think happens? It's about people falling in love."

"Cute," he comments.

"And exploring."

I bite my tongue. Why did I have to say that?

"Exploring what?"

I roll my eyes. "You know..."

"What kinds of explorations?” he continues. "Tell me about them.”

I let out a helpless half-laugh and jump up anxiously, using my empty mug as an excuse to leave his line of sight for a few moments.

I can feel his eyes on me as I walk over to the stove to pour another mug of mulled wine, which I need now more than ever. I take another sip, the alcohol fueling my spirit and warming my insides as I return to the living area.

"I don' want to talk about this,” I admit uneasily, quickly glancing at him from the corner of my eye before returning to my spot on the love seat, as far away from him as possible. "It's personal."

He shrugs. "Fine."

I didn't expect him to give up that easily, and the surprise is apparent on my face. He coyly smiles at me, and then I realize he won't be letting me off the hook after all.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asks next, completely catching me off guard.

I scrunch my eyebrows as I shake my head no. "Of course not."

"Of course not?" he asks. "Why should that be obvious to me?"

"Do you think I would have invited you to stay here if I had a boyfriend?"

I know how silly my words sound as soon as I say them. But I can't take them back, and I have to face his amused reaction.

"Why? We're not going to be doing anything traitorous, are we?"

I didn't think my face could grow any hotter, but I was wrong.

"No, of course not," I utter, my voice more shrill than I wanted it to be. My eyes helplessly wander around the room, searching for something to hold on to, anything to distract me from this uncomfortable situation I brought upon myself.

"When was the last time you had a boyfriend?" he asks, pulling me right back into the topic.

I let out a dry laugh, lowering my eyes as if searching for an answer at the bottom of my mug.

"That long, huh?”

I don't know whether he sounds amused or concerned.

"It's been a while," I say eventually. "Or... never really."

I finally convince myself to meet his unyielding gaze. The expression on his face is hard to read. He's smiling, but it's so faint I don't know what to make of it.

"Never?" he asks. "That's hard to believe."

"Well, I did have some... dates," I stutter. "But you asked about a boyfriend."

"Not even back in Germany?"

I laugh out loud. "I was fifteen when I came over here!"

The smile on his face widens. "God, you're cute."

I'm not sure whether he's belittling or complimenting me, but I definitely feel flattered, even if it's just as a result of the way he looks at me.

"This is a small town," I say. "It's not that easy to meet someone."

"So, you just invite out-of-town strangers to your place when the opportunity presents itself?"

I frown. "I hope you're joking."

He winks at me, but doesn't say anything.

"Don't test my hospitality," I warn him. "I could throw you out whenever I want to."

"I'm well aware of that."

My breath hikes when he rises from the sofa, places his mug on the coffee table and then saunters over to the fire place.

"The fire could use another log," he assesses, burying his hands inside his pants' pockets as he nods at the ebbing embers.

He's right, the fire is about to die out. When I realize he is only making an observation and has no intention of doing anything about it, I rise from my seat, as well. I grab a log from the pile next to the fireplace and carefully place it on top of the dying flames.

This may just have been a ploy to get me closer, an excuse to have me get up from that love seat and join him in front of the fire, but I appreciate it nonetheless. I get back up on my feet from my crouched position, finding that I’m standing close to him as we watch the growing flames. His proximity feels comforting and titillating at the same time. I long for him to touch me, and am itching to touch him, but I would never dare taking the first step.

"Say, Lena."

His voice is tender and so low that the words are barely audible.

"Are you lonely?"

His question hits me off-guard. My breath hitches and my arms draw back in a protective flinch. Why is he asking me that? His words hit me with a force that unravels me more than his touch does when he places his hand on my shoulder. I instinctively lean into him, letting out a soft sigh when his movements beckon me to turn around to face him.

It has been so long. So long since I've been touched by a man, another person even.

So long since I have yearned.

So long since I have been kissed.

Our eyes meet when he places his finger under my chin, tilting my head back. He's seeking approval without saying a word. I find myself nodding when he pulls me in closer, and I sigh again when our lips meet for the first time.