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“How could you possibly get hard at a time like this?”
Sensual creature that he was, a lazy smile curved his lips. I dropped the sponge and poured more gel on my hands. A new alertness entered his eyes as I grabbed his erection firmly at the base and began stroking him, pressing my thumb on the ridge under the crown. His eyelids turned heavy, his breathing harsh. His grip on the edge of the tub tightened.
Lost in arousal, he was simply stunning. I loved watching him lose control. It was always the other way around. I was always the one moaning and begging––at his mercy. I dipped my other hand below the water and squeezed his sac. Groaning loudly, he arched into my hands, pumping his hips. I kept stroking him until he climaxed and a primal cry from somewhere deep and dark erupted out of him. He sounded wounded, full of pained emotion.
He was just a man after all, often in control and dominating but not impervious. It was easy to forget when confronted with the beautiful ruse. And I was so caught up in my own problems that I hadn’t stopped to consider how deep his pain still ran. He had lost a woman he loved very much.
Grabbing my hand, he placed it on his chest and covered it with his own. The heavy thumping under my palm felt like I held his heart in my hand. My gaze traveled up to his solemn eyes.
“Thank you…I…” he murmured, struggling for words. “Thank you.”
I swallowed the lump of love and sympathy stuck in my throat. “You don’t have to thank me. I want to do this for you.” And then he pulled me down for a sweet, heartfelt kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The shrill of the kitchen phone interrupted my daydreaming. Mrs. Arnaud turned off the kitchen sink and dried her wet hands on her embroidered apron.
“Allo,” she answered in French, switching to English immediately afterwards.
My nails were bright green from cracking open pea pods and robbing them of their carefully protected cargo. I inspected the stain that seemed determined to stay under my fingernails, undiminished by a vigorous scrubbing.
“Vera, it’s for you.”
My head snapped up. Anxiously, I reached for the phone.
“Vera?” Emilia’s voice was shaky, weak.
“Emilia, what’s wrong?!”
“Can you come? I need you.”
“Give me your address.” Glancing up at the antique clock on the wall, I said, “It should only take me an hour by taxi.”
“Okay…thank you,” she responded with an unsteady sigh in between each word.
“See you soon, Em.”
Her address in Eaux-Vives on the Rive Gauche had me suspecting that I was probably meeting her at Yuri’s apartment. She couldn’t possibly afford the rent in that neighborhood on her inconsistent salary. Mrs. Arnaud insisted that Theo drive me instead of calling a taxi. I didn’t have time to debate the matter and agreed.
Theo’s car made slow progress down the country roads. I stared out the window at the passing scenery. Dusk fell reluctantly, airbrushing the sky a pretty ombre from orange to lavender before it descended into darkness.
In my rush to get to Emilia, I hadn’t mentioned it to Sebastian that I was going out. I had every intension of sending him an email when I ran to my room to change, but something stopped me. Because what would that say about us? That we had some kind of obligation to each other? It was a slippery slope.
By the time we pulled up to the address, it was already late. My argument with Theo, who insisted on coming back later to pick me up, took up another fifteen minutes. I had no idea what awaited me, and I didn’t want him driving late at night when he had to be at work at five in the morning.
Her building was located on a beautiful tree lined street, seated in between quaint shops and trendy cafés. I scanned the directory and rang the button next to a familiar name. Yuri Skilenski. After she buzzed me in, I climbed the steps to the second floor with my heart thumping loudly, dreading what I would find on the other side of the steel door. The door opened abruptly.
It only took a few seconds to assess the bloody lip, the messy hair, the ruddy cheeks. Fresh tears slipped down her face. I wrapped her gently in my arms, unsure if there were any broken bones, and she leaned on me, her knees giving out. I rubbed her thin back as I kicked the door shut. Small sobbing sounds burst out of her in between choppy breaths. I pulled away only long enough to take a more thorough inventory of her injuries.
“Emilia, where are you hurt?”
She dipped her head and turned away in embarrassment. Lifting her cotton shirt slowly, she revealed a cluster of bruises on her ribs. I touched the swollen, darkening mark gingerly, and stopped when she winced.
