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It’s almost worse that he gets it at such a deep level. How could I have lied to him? Alicia was right, it came back to bite me in the ass. But it was such a primal thing, so—I don’t know—soyoung.Like I barely had control of myself in the moment. I didn’t want to be identified as my mother’s daughter and someone who hadn’t made good on her own merit. I didn’t want to appear to be bought and paid for. I barely know how to describe it to myself.
“There was a man. A long time ago. He…” How to explain something thatdidn’t happen all the way, but wrecked my life all the same?“A riding instructor. Lied. Said he wasn’t… Didn’t… Was only…” Why are these words so hard to say? The deep breath does nothing to steady me, but I can at least get the words out. “He lied about wanting young girls. He got my friend pregnant and took her for an abortion; the school swept it under the carpet and said it was nothing, and my mother packed up all our belongings and moved us out of the country.”
I’ve barely had time to come to terms with what my mother did for me, what I have misunderstood all these years, but it’s coming together in my brain as I speak. “I didn’t know, until today, that she did it to protect me. From him. From the liar. From his touch. From his ick.” And he was just the ickiest you could imagine, all smiles and compliments and lies! lies! lies! “I thought I was in trouble. That it was my fault. That he touched me. Touched us. Many of us. And I believed then, well, until today, that I made my mother mad. And that I forced us to leave our home and move away from everyone I knew. And then back and forth, back and forth. And that’s why she was so focused on her career all the time—because she couldn’t stand to be around me anymore. That I was worth less than her job.”
Mariano hasn’t flinched. Not once. He’s listening. Carefully. As he does. Because he’s real. Whole. Mine. “I can’t abide a lie, Mariano. Not even the smallest one. Not even a politeness. And especially not the English ones that are done for comfort.”
“Sí.” It’s such a simple acknowledgement. It’s hard to bear his sincerity, but I love it. I love him.
“So… There was this rift. This split between my mother and me. Because I thought she hated me and would chooseanythingover me. Like I thought you chose money and Juliette over me. Except she did choose me, I just didn’t know. And you did too.”
“Sí. I understand.”
“But because of all that, I thought I had to do it all myself. Because I could notoweher anything. Not if she was on the side of the liars.”Which she wasn’t. Ever. Which is a mind-blowing fact of my new life.“So, I have. Done it myself. And that’s why I didn’t tell you—"
He pulls my hair back, sharply. “You’re a woman who wants to earn it all. Who wants to make her own path. Who wants to be independent and free.”Shit! Vampire mind reader, much?“That is why you would not let me buy your Velveteen for you,sí?”
Once again, he drives the wall I keep up—the sarcasm, the banter, the jokes that call to me—into submission. I will be me and me alone in his presence. All I can do is swallow. The words won’t come. I nod.
“We are alike in this. We must do it all, even if it costs us all.” Mariano takes my hand in his, puts it flat against his heart. His amazing, enormous heart. I slip my hand down, pinch his nipple, and smile at the half hum, half growl that comes out of him. When my hand finds its way back to the place above his heart, it’s beating furiously. For me. “I will earn your trust,mija. You will have nothing but honesty from me. I say it again—and again and again should you need it—I will be the truth in your life. You will be the passion in mine.”
The tremble that has had me in its grip since I arrived falls to a hum. I slide my thigh up his, almost as if we are dancing the tango again. Then I move his hand down to the garter strap that holds up my stockings. “Snap it.”
He does what I say. The sting of the snap, the sweetness of him complying, sends a thrill through me, bolsters me.
“Do you want to know why I brought you here?”
“I want to knowtodo. Everything there is to know about you, I want it, so soon as you are ready to tell it. Even”—he lifts my chin, brings his lips almost to mine—“even those things that hurt. Those things you think are too ugly for me. Because there isnadaabout you, about your past, that will change what is between us.”
It’s not a choice, then. I have to kiss him through the sobs, and the kiss lengthens and deepens until every part of me is ready for every part of him. When I break away from him, our chests are heaving.
“I’ve never brought anyone else here before.” Mariano crushes me to his chest, the thrum of his every muscle seeping through our clothes. My fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “This place. It’s my safe place. That well—it holds every dream I’ve ever had. And”—his shirt falls open, and I push it away, smoothing my palms up the muscled plane of his belly, up his chest. I brush across his nipples, as light as touch can be, before I scrape my nails down, down, down to the fastening of his pants and the desire that grows there—“when I was waiting for you tonight, I realized. If you came”—I deepen the pressure of my fingernails as I trace the outline of his cock, my grin growing in proportion to his arousal—“and if I shared my crazy with you and you didn’t run screaming—”
“I shall scream if you want me to, Lolly—” He keeps his tone serious, but his eyes glint with mischief.
I love this mishmash of sincerity and humor. I’ve bared myself to him and he’s taken it asnormal,asordinary.I’m just Lolly Benoit, a mildly neurotic young woman who requires people to tell the absolute truth. All the time. Even if it’s weird or icky. Even if it’s a woman in an elevator who wanted you to sign her boobs for no reason at all.
It’s the biggest secret I can think to entrust him with. I can hardly meet his eyes. “I told myself that if you came and I was honest—about this weird little hitch in my brain—this need for an unyielding honesty…” My breath is caught in my throat, but I can do this. I must. “I told myself, if you didn’t run, I wouldn’t either. I’d face you, hitches and shadows and blemishes and all.”
“I will always be here for you. Present and accountable. I am yours, Lolly, all of yours. Even the hitch you have. And if there are more—hitches you call them?—I’m here for them too.”
I throw my head back and laugh when he says it. Because it is the best thing anyone has ever said to me. And I believe him.
When I catch my breath, he is smiling at me. But smiles are not what I want now. “Bite me again. But here.” I show him the place that will never fail—that works from a standing start, the place that might as well be my wet and wild sex—and wait while he presses his lips into the hollow at the base of my neck, just over my shoulder, but not quite, that has at least as many nerve endings as my clit. He licks and nibbles then presses his teeth into my flesh and I’m a puddle of nothing. “Fuck me.”
And he does. And if there is anyone taking pictures, they can publish them anywhere they want, because what we have together is untouchable. We give them such a show that even grainy nighttime photos scream: perfection. PURRRR-FUCKING-FUCKTION!
BIGHEARTED
Lolly Benoit. Greenshoot Polo Ranch. Gloucestershire, England.
Under a brilliant blue sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds straight out of a Jane Austen film adaptation, the air fills with the thundering of polo pony hooves. Divots of earth fly as Mariano and Esther Fitzwilliam gallop down the field in a ride-off between two of the best polo players in the world. They ride shoulder-to-shoulder across the grass, Mariano trying to push Esther off the line of the ball and gain control of it, while her deft handling of her mallet and her mount keeps his attack at bay. The rest of us mark our opponents, blocking and screening each other, defending our top players.
This match is the highlight of Mummy’s inauguralTS&Kcapstone event, and for it, theGolden Horseshoeshave been divvied up into two teams for a demo match, which will be followed with a far more sedate and friendly match for any of our students who want a shot at riding a chukka with the professionals.
But that isn’t what makes my nerves twist with excitement. No. What makes me thrill with unadulterated elation is that I am on the field! I am on the goddamn polo pitch with Mariano and Esther Fucking Fitzwilliam, playing on Mariano’s team.
My shoulder and hip hurt from my fall at the drag hunt, my puss aches from the rounds of—to put it bluntly—pounding we put her through last night, and I could not be happier about either. They tell me I’m alive…and in the best possible ways!
