Arousal Read online

His comment caught me off guard. I expected him to ask if my dreams were showing me how good the sex will be—not if I knew he would cherish me. Tears came to my eyes. I felt silly getting so sentimental but some of the things he said were starting to sound so romantic and sweet, even if they were undeniably weird.

  He kissed the tears on my cheeks and gently licked his lips. “I can hold your tears, too, not just your pleasure. I can hold all that you are and all that you feel.”

  No man had ever offered me both sex and love in one package—well, I never gave anyone a chance too, anyway. I still couldn’t completely believe he could, or would, or that this was real and not some strange misadventure. But my heart began to hope.

  “It will take some time to trust, my love,” he said. Sometimes I thought he could read my mind. He took my hand and led me to the breakfast nook. It was off to the side of the dining room and a kitchen that looked more lived in than the main room. There was a beautiful mural of a mountain range with green forests painted onto tiles against the one solid wall in the room. There was also a small breakfast table. The counters were marble, and there was a work island in the center with a matching top. The aroma of coffee and sweet food filled the air.

  “What a striking image.” I admired the wall from where I stood.

  “That’s my homeland,” he said. “Beautiful, right?”

  “Wow. It’s so green.” I expected it to be dark and dreary like a classic vampire movie.

  “When you step onto the land there it is like heaven. I hope I can show you some day.”

  It never dawned on me that there would really be a trip to Transylvania in the cards. The idea of visiting a foreign land where I couldn’t hop in a cab home was unsettling. Knowing he may have a life there I knew nothing about was suddenly disturbing.

  Once we reached the table, he poured me a cup of coffee and one for himself and set them on the table with creamer, coconut milk, and condiments.

  For some reason it triggered anger in me. “Wait, how did you know I use coconut milk in everything?”

  He took a seat. Then he sipped his black coffee and looked at me over the rim of the cup. “It’s one of those things I know.“

  Anger rose up in my chest and emptied out of my mouth in words that sounded like accusations. “Oh, it’s in my employee file, right? On Google? Or your grandmother told you.” Suddenly I was back in that first night, feeling studied and stalked.

  “It’s just coconut milk, Allison.” He stroked his chin, and gazed at me. “You’re angry at me for making sure your needs are met?”

  “It’s not the coconut milk.” I spoke a little louder than I meant to. “Thank you, for the coconut milk.” I sat down across from him with folded arms. “It’s that you seem to know a lot about me, and I know so little about you.”

  He hesitated and considered my words before continuing.

  “Okay. What would you like to know?” He sat forward in his chair and pressed his fingertips together in front of him and brought them under his chin.

  “Well, you’re rich and handsome, so why do you have problems getting women?” I poured coconut milk into my coffee and stirred aggressively.

  “I don’t have problems getting women,” he said, now interlacing his fingers. “I am having problems getting one woman. You.”

  “What about past relationships? Did you know everything about the other women you’ve pursued before you met them, too?” I bit my lip.

  “No,” he said, unlocking his fingers and placing his hands on the table. “I used them for sex and went about my life, not letting anyone in. I didn’t know much about them at all. I guess you could say I was bit of a—”

  “Manwhore?” I took a sip of coffee. It tasted so good, but I was not about to tell him.

  “I was about to say bon vivant,” he laughed and leaned in toward me. “But okay, manwhore.”

  “No girlfriends or wives?” I found it hard to believe there was no relationship baggage.

  “I’ve never had a real relationship,” he said. “Not one that mattered.”

  I didn’t expect that. I was sure there would be a broken engagement in there, someone who got away and who he had to replace to appease his grandmother.

  “So how can you be so sure … about us?”

  “I’m not sure I can make you understand that this is something I know, in my heart, until you feel it in yours.” I was tensely gripping my coffee cup, but he reached over and tried to take hold of my hand. “I focused on building my business and on not opening my heart. My parents and grandparents had strong marriages and they told me there was someone special for me too. I took that to be true.”

  “It’s hard to believe no one tried to scoop you up before now.” I let him hold my hand but still felt annoyed.

  “Hey, I am promising you everything—my heart, soul, riches—and you don’t want to be scooped up,” he said with a smile, his thumb rubbing across the wedding ring finger of my left hand. “Why is it so shocking that I once favored sex over love?”

  “You said you needed me to love you before you would have sex with me,” I said. “So I thought—”

  “You thought I was a virgin?” He laughed and stood up, and made his way to my side of the table.

  I had to laugh too. “Not exactly.”

  “Look, my urgency is motivated by my grandmother and her vision, but it’s the right time.” He pulled me to my feet. “I started to feel very lonely because, in my heart, I believed I was meant for someone. But I never met anyone who was sincere—and who I felt an instant love connection to—until you.”

  He pulled me into his arms and my body yielded to his.

  “Can you forgive the coconut milk?” He gazed deeply into my eyes. “Consider it a rookie mistake. We’re on a crash course of discovering more about each other. “

  “Okay.” Though his insta-love theory was still a foreign concept, suddenly he seemed to speak a hook-up language I was familiar with: relationship-free sex. For most of my life I’d been focused on my career and typically relieved some tension via sex without love. Then I would move on. Quickly.

  “What about you?” he said. “What makes you so afraid of love?”

  “Haven’t you researched me?” He claimed to know so many things about our future together, wouldn’t he also know about my past?

  “I can’t research what’s in your heart.” He sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Even in relationships that are meant to be, couples have to do the work of getting to know each other, figuring out how to make each other happy.”

  “What about happily after?” I didn’t believe in it, but he did.

  “Fate is the opportunity to create a happily ever after, but it’s not a guarantee.” His eyes sparkled in the sun shining through the large glass window, and there was warmth in his words. “We have to create it, together.”

  “Well, I hope you enjoy disappointment.” I pulled myself out of his embrace, folded my arms over my chest, and stared out the window at the trees along the side of the house. I noticed two red robins nipping at the feed in the birdhouse, and each other. “I have no clue how to create a happy ending, let alone an actual relationship.”

  “Ah, well, the universe does have a sense of humor,” he said, inching back into my personal space. “Maybe that’s why you and I are perfect for each other, because we are meant to discover that together.” He moved closer. “I really would love to know your story.”

  “I’ve been hurt by love and loss.” I pulled out my chair and took a seat. “Haven’t we all?”

  “Talking about it is a way to free yourself to move on,” he urged, taking the seat alongside me. “I won’t bite.”

  “Really?” My hand went to the hickey on my neck as I shot him a look. “It’s very simple. My father left when I was very young. I was raised by my single mom and beloved grandmother. I grew up abandoned by my father, believing if he didn’t want me no man would. It’s text book family trauma, actually”

  “I’m s
o sorry, my love,” he whispered. “It pains me to think of anyone causing you distress and heartache.”

  “You’re the first person to care about that,” I said. My chest tightened. I could feel the tears rising from deep within and about to reach my eyes again. For some reason, my secret truth about being a loser at love was flowing out of my mouth. “I’ve had a string of short romances, never lasting more than a few days. I’ve never wanted to risk falling in love or giving a piece of myself to anyone. So I focused on building my career.”

  “I understand.” I hated that he was feeling sympathy for me—I didn’t want anyone’s pity—but when he placed a comforting arm around my shoulder I couldn’t help but appreciate his touch.

  “The thing is,” I said, tears streaming down, “when my mother died, my dad did show up for me. He took me to live with him. It gave me a chance to get to know him. My grandmother was in assisted living at the time so I couldn’t stay with her. He literally got me from my mom’s house and moved me into his guest room. And when my grandma died, he said he would take care of me forever.”

  “Your dad ultimately showed you he cared?” Nicolai’s face was filled with compassion as he held out a napkin to me.

  “Finally, he did.” I took the napkin and blew my nose. “I went to college for public relations and media, and got my first job on my own. After a layoff, my father gave me a job at Berke and Monroe, as an assistant. He showed me the business, how to be good at it. He made me work hard and earn my paycheck, and did not give me special treatment as an employee. He told me it was because he was grooming me to take over when he retired.”

  “But he never got to do that?” Nicolai asked softly.

  “No,” I began to sob in earnest. “He got sick. It was so sudden. His partner, Dan Berke, was involved with Sheila when Dad was most vulnerable. Berke brought her into the company. He said her TV news credentials would help the firm. Then my dad died, so quickly, and—” I was totally ugly crying.

  Nicolai put his arm on mine and let me get it all out.

  “There was no will, no last wishes, and no paperwork leaving his part of the company to me,” I said, remembering those horrible days of finding my dad was gone and that there was nothing in place to allow me to have security at his company. “Berke did not want to be bothered running things, so he left Sheila in charge. She barely tolerated me when my father was alive. Now she hates me and wants me out of her way. I have no idea how she gained so much power in the company, but she can fire me, and she is able to curb my advancement.”

  My body shook as emotions burst forth from within.

  The tears just kept coming, but he did not turn away. He listened patiently and didn’t try to add in any uncalled-for words or advice. He let me take my time.

  “I’ve been trying to somehow prove myself to Berke and show him I’m not just daddy’s little girl,” I said, starting to feel a burden had lifted. “I stay at the company for my father, because it was a part of him and I need to keep a part of him near me.”

  “Thank you for sharing so honestly.” He was soft-spoken and almost reflective. “Obviously, I knew there was an issue, but didn’t realize how deeply rooted or how painful it is for you. You see, we needed this day out of the office to share about our lives.”

  We were sharing about our lives and not hiding our imperfections. I’d hidden my secrets for a long time. It felt liberating to speak them out loud. In that moment, I decided to do something crazy and share something that caused me great shame.

  “There’s one more thing, while we’re being forthcoming.” I stood and walked toward the window. Looking out at nature was a little easier than being eyeball-to-eyeball with him, but I was determined to get it out of my system. “I pretty much lose interest in men once I have sex. I’m like one of those spiders that mates and then wraps the male in her web and discards him—men become dead to me, I never take their calls and never see them again. In fact, now that I think of it, I’ve never lasted longer than five days with a guy.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out with a sigh as I turned to face him. If anything could prove to us both that I was a lost cause, it was that statement. However, he did not seem to consider my scary truth as an impediment. In fact, he looked as if a light bulb went off in his head.

  He lifted up from the table and bolted to my side.

  “Perhaps now I understand why I’ve been given a deadline of six days to work with,” he said, taking his chin in hand the way he does when he is contemplating something. “It’s not a deadline, it’s a lifeline. We have to get past this pattern long enough for me to win your heart.”

  Apparently, he saw this as a challenge to be met and mastered.

  “How can you be so sure you can get into my heart anyway, Nicolai?” I shook my head thinking about how impossible it seemed. “It’s damaged.”

  “Because, my beautiful one,” he said. “The spider story happens in some species of black widow spiders, but it is mostly a myth. And myths we have about ourselves can become self-fulfilling prophecies. Or, we can choose a new prophecy. That is what is on the table.”

  Warmth washed over me as we stood in silence for a moment. Then he took my hand and walked me back to the breakfast nook and pulled me into his lap.

  Suddenly, it smelled so good. I hadn’t noticed before that he’d prepared a spread of yogurt, fruits, honey, juice, and some interesting looking eggs.

  “Let me feed you.” He smoothed a hand over my hair, to get it off my face. “In my culture, feeding someone is the way you show love and nurturing.”

  “I’m not really that hungry.” Everything looked yummy but I was still digesting our heavy conversation. “And you feeding me—it’s weird. Yesterday we used our own forks.”

  “Today is something new, and you need sustenance,” he said. “And I want to hold you close if that’s all right. Besides, I think you might like the breakfast I have in mind. It will help you feel better.”

  I nodded and settled into his lap as he pulled over the breakfast tray.

  “There is a Romanian dish called oua umplute, which is called here, deviled eggs. I always loved them as a child. My grandmother used to make them. They are, sadly, loaded with cholesterol as they’re made with sour cream. But they’re tasty. I made some for you today.”

  “That was sweet, thank you.” I smiled, but my mind kept going back to our conversation. Did I actually admit that I fuck men and pretend they don’t exist? Jeez. And did he pretty much tell me he has done the same with women? This was not a typical third date conversation.

  “This will give you the energy you need,” he said, lifting the fancy looking deviled egg to my lips. It was delicious and rich. I took a few bites. Then he offered me a spoonful of yogurt with honey. Next he gave me a strawberry dipped in honey. I opened wide as he slid it in and sensually moved it around on my tongue until I took a bite. And then another. He brought a homemade apple juice to my lips and let me take a sip. And after that, he kissed me, his tongue swirling around the lingering taste of sweetness.

  “Thank you for breakfast,” I said, feeling full from just the small bites. “That was tasty, and very interesting. If you’re expecting me to feed you too, I should tell you upfront I know nothing about food preparation. In fact, there is a sign in my kitchen that says, I kiss better than I cook.”

  “Well, I somehow knew that.” He paused, as if thinking twice before stating something he knows about me. “I know how good your kisses taste, and I understand you’re a working woman who does not have time. But there is a way you can nurture me without food or cooking,” he said, helping me out of my chair. “You can feed me with your body. That is, if you want to.”

  I nodded. I was ready to shake off the intensity of our revealing chat about personal relationship history.

  “We can change the mood quickly,” he said, setting me on my feet. “Lift your arms up.”

  In a flash, he had my shirt off. Before I knew it, my bra was off too. This was
the first time he’d seen that part of me fully exposed. His gaze moved unapologetically up and down my body, and landed on my nipples. They hardened in response. The deep arousal between my legs reawakened.

  “Take off your pants.”

  “My pants too?” This was becoming more fun. After the heavy talk we shared, I felt closer to him. And I liked that that we were moving in this direction.

  “Yes, your pants. Maybe you need some help?”

  With a hungry look in his eyes, he unbuttoned the top of my slacks and slid them over my ass and underwear with two hands. His palms brushed my flesh as he sensually moved the material down to my feet and helped me step out of them. “You are so beautiful,” he said, standing to touch my face. “The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  I’ve never been great at accepting complements. They embarrass me. But his words and the sound of his voice made me smile—and caused desire to rush back in. My body begged for his touch, again. He spread out a plush towel and a soft pillow for my head, and then lifted me up onto the huge Carrera marble counter that separated the breakfast nook from the kitchen.

  He lifted the yogurt in a bowl and mixed it up. Then he spooned some out and ever-so-gently he spread the cool yogurt around on my areola. My nipple was throbbing. He did the same to the other breast. Pleasure spread to my lower half and my hips gyrated in the air. He pulled away to survey my writhing body and then closed his eyes as if he were saying a prayer. His lips came down on my right breast. He pulled the nipple into his mouth with gentle force. His warm tongue felt so delicious I thought I could come from the sensations. I squirmed with pleasure.

  He walked around to the other nipple, which was still covered in yogurt, and hovered above, gently blowing. Just when I could not take another moment of teasing, his mouth opened onto me, tongue swirling, and sucking me deeply. I never knew breasts could be so sensitive, or that a nipple could be savored in that way. His ministrations made my lower parts swell. I longed to feel his tongue there too.

  Suddenly, his mouth was gone from me, and he was standing at the front of the counter by my feet, looking me over. I could hear his breathing getting hot and heavy like mine.