The Mistress

When she entered his room, she heard water running from the bathroom. He was in the shower. Good. That gave her a few minutes to collect herself. She sat on the edge of the bed facing the window. The sun had set and night was rising and taking over the sky. A few stars peeked over the tops of the trees. The world seemed to be waiting for something wonderful to happen. She hadn’t felt this way since she was a child, resting her head against the wall and listening to her aunt and uncle tell secrets to each other in the dark and feeling that she would die, absolutely die, if she couldn’t be part of that enchanted world they seemed to inhabit.

Now she sensed the enchantment tiptoeing in through the window and spreading its tendrils through the room. They danced over the Persian rug that lay atop the gleaming hardwood. They whispered across the white linens on the bed. They spiraled up and down the black bedposts of the old sturdy New England bed.

A summer breeze tickled her bare ankles.

Laila had never felt more calm in her life.

The water stopped in the bathroom and she closed her eyes. She heard movement and a door opening. Footsteps...and then the footsteps faltered.

“Laila?”

She didn’t speak, not a word. She only waited.

Wes came around the bed and stood in front of her. He wore nothing but jeans and the water that dripped from his hair onto his strong and sturdy shoulders. He had such a beautiful body—his flat stomach, his muscular arms, his chest she wanted to kiss so badly she could taste his skin on her tongue....

She met his eyes and saw that he looked at her with more than just confusion. The confusion was there, the question, but also desire. She saw it and knew it the moment she saw it. She’d been waiting to see that look all her life.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said.

“I know that.”

“You’ve never done this before.”

“I don’t care.”

“This is such a big deal. We have to talk about birth control—”

“I’m on it.”

“And what this means for us.”

“We can answer that question later.”

“Laila...I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting,” she said.

“That’s why it isn’t a good idea. I’m not strong enough to say no to you tonight.”

“It’s not weak to say yes.”

Wesley heaved a breath. Laila gathered her words and put them in order. She wanted to get them just right.

“Wes, I know you’re hurting,” she repeated, her voice tremulous and low. “Don’t be afraid to hurt me, too. I know you want to let go. Let go with me. You need comfort. Let me comfort you with my body. Lose yourself inside me. Forget what you’ve lost, forget what you can’t have. There’s no shame in trying to forget for a night even if you know you’ll remember in the morning.”

The words hung in the air and vibrated like the final notes of a symphony.

Wes raised a hand and gently cupped her neck. He bent his head and kissed her.

At first Laila couldn’t even believe it was happening. What she wanted and what she believed would actually happen were two opposite things. But no, his mouth was on her mouth and she opened to him and gave herself over to the kiss.

She rose off the bed, wanting to press her body to his but not quite ready to drag him down on top of her yet. When she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he pulled her close and hard against him. Warm...so warm... She almost groaned as the heat of his body seeped into her skin. His lips moved against hers in gentle, seeking waves. She thought she’d be terrified at this moment, on this night, but every kiss, every touch, felt so natural, so right.

Her lips moved down to his neck and she kissed the water drops off his shoulders.

“Laila...”

“What?” She pulled back immediately. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He took a ragged breath. “Not wrong at all.”

“Something right?”

He nodded. She stepped forward again and dropped another kiss on his right shoulder, a second slow kiss onto his left. She feathered more soft kisses over his neck and chest and to each end of his collarbone and back again.

“I love how tall you are,” he said, dipping his head to kiss under her ear. He brushed her hair off her shoulder and she shivered at the light tickling sensation of his fingertips touching such delicate skin. “Not used to that.”

“I like looking you right in your eyes.” She met his eyes then and saw desire and concern in his gaze. She ached for the desire. She adored him for the concern. “I never liked being this tall before. I do now.”

Laila ran her hands up and down Wes’s arms and then over his chest and stomach. When her hand came to the waistband of his jeans, she hesitated.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing her again. “You can touch me.”

With shaking hands, she unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them. Straight from the shower he had on nothing under his pants. She tried not to stare or gape but she’d never seen a naked man like this so close before, so close she could touch him. She wrapped her hand around him and stroked upward.

“You’re big,” she said, blushing against her will.

“And you’re a virgin.”

She shook her head as she continued to trace the length of him with her fingertips.

“Don’t. Don’t think of that. I want to take care of you tonight. That’s why I’m here.”