it on, and his scent brands my skin.
I don’t look like those long-legged blondes in a man’s shirt that seems custom-tailored for them. No, I look like a gawky teenager wearing an extra large T-shirt. The hem drops to the middle of my thighs and the sleeves roll past my fingertips almost to above my knees. The rest is a shapeless sack but at least it’s big enough to cover my breasts. My nipples show a little, but I have no idea what to do about that. Maybe if I put some Band-Aids on them? Bollocks, why didn’t I bring any? I start rummaging under the two sinks, noticing that one of them does not look used at all. No Band-Aids. Not even tape. Oh, bloody hell! I hear a knock on the door and almost collapse.
“Elisa, can I come in?”
“Umm—ah—just a minute.” My voice is at bat-ear frequency again. I fold my clothes, smooth over the front of his shirt, take a deep breath and open the door.
He takes me in from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, which curl a little at his sight. Oh, good, maybe he won’t like it at all and put an end to the madness. But his eyes are on fire. He takes my hand and walks backward into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving me. I have surpassed the moth stage and am now in snake-and-charmer territory. He stops at the foot of the bed, his body inches from mine.
His gaze makes me squirm, so I break the silence. “Umm, do you want me to wear makeup? I have to warn you, I’m really bad at it.” My voice sounds breathy.
He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “No makeup,” he whispers, and his lips flutter from my earlobe, along my jaw, to my chin, and back. He repeats the circuit three times. I don’t bother to calm my loud breathing. He pulls back, and even though his distance is more familiar than his closeness, I feel adrift.
“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he says as though he senses my doubts. “In case it’s not obvious, Elisa, I’m burning.”
He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close. His erection presses against me imperiously. Oh! What an effective demonstration.
“Nonetheless, in light of the fact that your friend will be here any minute, I have to restrict myself to things like kissing.” He smiles and starts rolling up my sleeves. Every time his fingertips graze my skin, my heart thuds so loudly, I’m afraid he will hear it.
My sleeves rolled, he steps back and gazes at me. I’m sure I look ridiculous.
“Why did you pick a shirt for the job?” I ask to distract myself.
“The series is called La Virgen . I don’t know if the title reflects fact, but it seemed that the finale should be about both liberation and belonging. Don’t you think?”
“You mean belonging to you?”
His eyes turn a stormy blue and the tectonic plates I first saw at Paradox shift out of focus—almost like a thousand-yard stare.
“At least in a painting,” he says after a moment.
He takes my hand and we walk out of his bedroom, winding through more airy corridors. Finally, light streams brightly from an arched doorway.
“After you,” he says, but it sounds like he means for you . I walk inside in a trance.
My first thought is that the lights don’t dim here.
My second thought is… peace .
Two vast glass walls curve around the room with sheer white curtains gathered to the sides. Beyond the glass, a wild meadow slopes into the thick forest. Celestial light pours inside, shrouding the room with an almost sacred air. The floor is bleached hardwood and in the very center, where all the rays of light fuse into an earthly North Star, are a chaise and chair identical to the ones in Aiden’s bedroom. The rest of the room is soft white, like a fairy tale version of a blank slate.
“Your bedroom furniture?” I ask with a muted voice, afraid of desecrating the purity of the room.
“Yes.” Aiden’s voice is lower too.
“Why not your real bedroom?”
“Because that’s not for Mr. Solis’s presence. And I wasn’t sure you would want
I don’t look like those long-legged blondes in a man’s shirt that seems custom-tailored for them. No, I look like a gawky teenager wearing an extra large T-shirt. The hem drops to the middle of my thighs and the sleeves roll past my fingertips almost to above my knees. The rest is a shapeless sack but at least it’s big enough to cover my breasts. My nipples show a little, but I have no idea what to do about that. Maybe if I put some Band-Aids on them? Bollocks, why didn’t I bring any? I start rummaging under the two sinks, noticing that one of them does not look used at all. No Band-Aids. Not even tape. Oh, bloody hell! I hear a knock on the door and almost collapse.
“Elisa, can I come in?”
“Umm—ah—just a minute.” My voice is at bat-ear frequency again. I fold my clothes, smooth over the front of his shirt, take a deep breath and open the door.
He takes me in from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, which curl a little at his sight. Oh, good, maybe he won’t like it at all and put an end to the madness. But his eyes are on fire. He takes my hand and walks backward into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving me. I have surpassed the moth stage and am now in snake-and-charmer territory. He stops at the foot of the bed, his body inches from mine.
His gaze makes me squirm, so I break the silence. “Umm, do you want me to wear makeup? I have to warn you, I’m really bad at it.” My voice sounds breathy.
He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “No makeup,” he whispers, and his lips flutter from my earlobe, along my jaw, to my chin, and back. He repeats the circuit three times. I don’t bother to calm my loud breathing. He pulls back, and even though his distance is more familiar than his closeness, I feel adrift.
“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he says as though he senses my doubts. “In case it’s not obvious, Elisa, I’m burning.”
He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close. His erection presses against me imperiously. Oh! What an effective demonstration.
“Nonetheless, in light of the fact that your friend will be here any minute, I have to restrict myself to things like kissing.” He smiles and starts rolling up my sleeves. Every time his fingertips graze my skin, my heart thuds so loudly, I’m afraid he will hear it.
My sleeves rolled, he steps back and gazes at me. I’m sure I look ridiculous.
“Why did you pick a shirt for the job?” I ask to distract myself.
“The series is called La Virgen . I don’t know if the title reflects fact, but it seemed that the finale should be about both liberation and belonging. Don’t you think?”
“You mean belonging to you?”
His eyes turn a stormy blue and the tectonic plates I first saw at Paradox shift out of focus—almost like a thousand-yard stare.
“At least in a painting,” he says after a moment.
He takes my hand and we walk out of his bedroom, winding through more airy corridors. Finally, light streams brightly from an arched doorway.
“After you,” he says, but it sounds like he means for you . I walk inside in a trance.
My first thought is that the lights don’t dim here.
My second thought is… peace .
Two vast glass walls curve around the room with sheer white curtains gathered to the sides. Beyond the glass, a wild meadow slopes into the thick forest. Celestial light pours inside, shrouding the room with an almost sacred air. The floor is bleached hardwood and in the very center, where all the rays of light fuse into an earthly North Star, are a chaise and chair identical to the ones in Aiden’s bedroom. The rest of the room is soft white, like a fairy tale version of a blank slate.
“Your bedroom furniture?” I ask with a muted voice, afraid of desecrating the purity of the room.
“Yes.” Aiden’s voice is lower too.
“Why not your real bedroom?”
“Because that’s not for Mr. Solis’s presence. And I wasn’t sure you would want
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