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I’d never seen him do that, something I regarded mostly as a chore. I’d always wanted Macy to have home-cooked meals, but I was no Delia in the kitchen, and meticulously followed recipes. Alex was stirring the sauce while a pot of spaghetti boiled merrily away on the side.
“That smells incredible,” I said.
He turned and looked at me, and I saw his eyes widen a little. I could tell he was pleased by the compliment, even if he didn’t smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “It’s Gabriel’s recipe. I made him give it to me.”
“You do a lot of cooking at home?” I said.
“When I am at home,” he said. “Sure.”
We sat down for dinner together, and Alex placed a bottle of wine he’d opened on the table next to us.
“Oh my God,” I said, as I took a mouthful of the delicious pasta. “This is incredible? How do you get the sauce so creamy?”
“Ah, well,” said Alex, drily. “I could tell you, but then you wouldn’t need me to make it for you, would you?”
“That’s silly,” I giggled. “Even if I knew how to make something as delicious as this—which I sure as hell don’t—I’d still be happy if I had you to make it for me.”
Alex looked at me curiously. “You know,” he said, “I hadn’t thought about it like that before. I guess I always think that there’s no point teaching someone how to do something. Then they won’t need you anymore.”
“Why don’t you look at it like this,” I said, leaning forward and looking into his blue eyes. In just a matter of days, I’d gone from hardly being able to look at Alex to wanting to seduce and charm him. “How much more will I think of you if you can teach me a new skill?”
“I guess you’re right,” he said, while his blue eyes swam over my body, drinking me in.
That evening, I dove into him again, wanting to be distracted from the fears in my heart, needing to feel his heat on my body once again. In the upstairs bedroom, Alex lowered me on the bed, and lifted my bare legs. They rested on his strong thighs while he felt them, his hands squeezing and caressing my flesh with a gentleness I hadn’t known before. I was sorely in need of him, and as he bent and his lips ran up my thighs, I heard my own sighs blossoming in my throat, and my back arched up. I took his hands in mine—holding his hands felt sweet and innocent—and I felt the pleasure surging as I passed them up under my shirt, and they gently gripped my breasts.
In the heat of the early evening, I could feel myself preparing for him, as he passed a hand under my shirt while his other undid the buttons. I felt like he was smoothing out all the cracks in me. I could smell by the way his cologne blossomed that Alex was growing hot for me, and when he finally tipped me over onto the bed and let his tongue press against my clitoris, I shivered with passion.
Gently, he worked at me again, playfully tussling with me as I rolled this way and that, working against him now and then just to feel the ease with which he pulled me back. He made me feel at home in my own body, letting me push and pull against him. His tongue drew in deep, pressured circles over my clit.
I was shocked when I heard myself say, “give me your hand too, inside of me.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” purred Alex.
His hand reached up, and in addition to his incredible oral skills, he pushed a single finger inside of me gently and began to curl it upwards, stimulating my g-spot as I drew myself in. My heart rushed and my legs seemed to clench with tension, while I raced towards an earth-rocking orgasm.
When I came, I gasped out, and it was so much that I saw stars, and felt my breathing soar and shudder in long, languid motions. And it kept going, for a minute, almost, as I kicked back on the bed and laughed, sighing with a deep and meaningful pleasure that sent me spinning into dreamland. And my lover lay beside me, running his hand over my chest.
“Don’t think you’re getting away that easily,” I said, and turned over to kiss him, to take him once again.
***
But that night, I woke up. And this time I knew why. I couldn’t verbalize it, but I knew that something was calling me. I went down to the ground floor of the lake house, across the boards, my feet lightly tapping. I’d put on clothes and shoes—somehow I knew I was going to need them.
I looked out down through the window, over the sloping ground covered in dead foliage and branches of trees.
There, in the moonlight, I could see the man. Standing there. Looking up at the house.
Immediately, I drew back from the window and could feel my heart pounding. This was it. This was my chance. I could catch him, scare him away, maybe. I felt brave. But there was more than bravery to it. I was angry. Angry at whoever this creep Luca had hired to bully us was, for coming out here, for disturbing the true happiness I felt with Alex.
Quietly, not wanting him to see me through the window, I crept by the back wall of the kitchen down to the door. It was covered by a group of trees and the eyeline to the shore of the lake was blocked by the shed with the generator. If I was quiet, the intruder wouldn’t hear me come out.
I put my hand on the doorknob, and turned it. The door squeaked a little as it opened, and immediately I froze. I went to move it again, and this time it slid open quietly.
With tension running through my muscles, I stepped down. I wasn’t crazy. I just wanted to get a good look at him, just to check if itwasthe old man from the diner, the one I’d seen in New York on the street. Then I could call the police, run back to the house, alert Alex to the presence of the intruder.
I padded down on the soft ground, keeping low. As I came up to the last of the trees, I could see the old man, clear as day. Itwas him. But he didn’t look menacing or scary, not now. He looked old and tired, and was sadly staring up at the house, as though he was trying to make up his mind whether to approach. There was still fifty or so yards’ distance between us, but in the silvery moonlight spreading on the lake’s surface, I could make out his tattered, torn fishing coat. The fraying cuffs of his jeans around the pair of old workboots he wore.
