Mikalo's Grace (6 page)

Bending low, my fingers still dancing along
my folds, I moved between his legs, my tongue lightly licking his
knee.

He gasped.

Traveling slowly, I tasted his inner thigh.
Little licks. Lapping at the flesh, the beads of sweat in the fine
hair. And then lower, to his muscled calf, before moving north
again, to his knee, his thigh, the scent of his throbbing desire in
my nose.

And then his width beneath my tongue as I
licked up, up, up to the top, to where his own juices had
collected. And, lovingly taking him deep into my mouth, I licked
him clean.

"My Grace," he whimpered.

I stood.

"Turn over," I said, my fingers now moving
quicker inside me.

He paused, unsure. And then he turned over,
his face in the pillow, his ass in the air.

Oh my god, that ass.

My tongue was on his calves again, the back
of his thighs. My hands, the fingers stained with my lust, now
running over the firm muscles of his legs, his back, feeling the
strength. Massaging and rubbing. The nails gently trailing along
the flesh.

I bit one cheek.

He gasped.

And then the other.

He moaned.

I kneeled between his open legs, my knees
forcing them further apart.

I bent low, my hands on his cheeks, opening
him to me.

His head moved from the pillow, curious to
see, to watch.

"No," I said.

He turned his head, his face back into the
pillow.

I licked him, the scent of him now on my
face. Of sweat. Of a rare intimacy. Of secrets and shadows. Of a
bond now unbreakable.

His muscles clenched as his body responded,
the fists clutching the sheets, his gasps and moans lost in the
pillow. He spread his legs further, arched his back, and, pushing
back, offered himself to me.

I licked again. And again. My tongue moving
up and then down, my nails grazing the firm cheeks, his breath
growing ragged as he gyrated, pushing himself back. My fingertips
toyed with him, massaging the firm base of his hardness and then
cupping his large, delicate twins, gathering them in my fist and oh
so sweetly pulling.

Another groan.

My fingers returns to my folds, the heat of
my wetness shocking me.

I needed him.

Standing again,

"Turn over."

He turned over.

"Hands?" he asked, his hands in midair. Not
sure if he would be allowed to touch or if they'd be trapped behind
his head.

"Wait," I said as I straddled him.

"I want you inside me," I then said.
"Please."

He gripped himself and held it steady as I
lowered myself once again, his thickness once more stretching me to
the point of panic. I stopped, rested, allowed my body to
adjust.

Leaning forward, I kissed him. Sweetly.

His hands tentatively reached for me, moving
my hair from my face.

He returned the kiss.

"Fuck me," I whispered. "Hard."

"It will hurt you, no?" he asked.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"But my Grace --" he began.

Putting my hand over his mouth,

"Do it," I said. "Now."

He lunged up into me, his hands suddenly on
my hips, trapping me as he thrust again and again, his flesh
slapping against mine, my breath robbed from me as his thickness
plunged deeper and deeper.

I fell forward onto him, gasping.

"Yes," I said, the word repeating itself with
each thrust.

"Yes ... yes ... yes."

He was lost to me now. His body with a mind
of its own. A corner turned where all he cared about was relief.
The need for his hardness to pump his seed deep.

He was an animal, his eyes glazed over as his
hands gripped and his hips rose, bouncing off the bed as he drove
himself further and further into me.

"Oh ... my ... god ..."

The first wave hit.

I couldn't breathe. I tried to lift myself
from him, move away, the power of the storm suddenly
frightening.

But he held me tight, lost in his own world
as he fucked me.

Hard.

My body trembled and jerked, my muscles
contracting as my body came again and again.

Another wave hit, on the heels of the first,
no pause between, Mikalo not slowing his pace, oblivious to the
blessed brutality racking my body.

I gasped, catching my breath, the sheets now
clutched in my hand, his breath hot against my neck as he held me
tight.

I couldn't think straight now. I know my
heart was racing. I know he lay beneath me, gripping me, his
hardness battering and bruising me. And I know I was splashing him
with my heated desire, his hips now glistening wet as he
thrust.

And I know I was going to cry.

My legs continued their trembling as a third
wave hit, Mikalo pushing deeper as he grunted and gasped, his own
wave rolling near.

"Uh ... uh ... uh ..."

He thrust once, twice, and then three times,
his body clenching as he wrapped his mouth around my breast, his
pearly white teeth cruelly biting the nipple as he came, his warmth
flooding me as, again, my body shook, my relief joining his.

The tears came.

Huge, great, heaving sobs.

He moved his mouth from my wounded breast,
his lips on my skin, my cheeks, discovering my tears.

"Ronan, my Grace," he whispered, his heart
still beating in his chest.

The sobs grew.

I moved from him, crawling across the bed.
Desperate to get away, to hide, not sure why this was happening,
but knowing only that it wasn't bad. No. I was mourning, yes, but
it was the heaviness in my heart I was saying goodbye to. The
perpetual sadness of a disappointed, cruel love now gone.

He came after me, gently, catching me,
drawing me close, holding me near.

"Yes," he whispered, his arms around me.
"Cry. It is good, yes."

"I'm okay," I said.

And then more tears came.

"No, cry, my Grace. Let it go. Let the past
die and let it go."

I looked up at him, to apologize, to assure
him I was okay, to show him I was strong.

Tears ran down his cheeks as his lips
trembled.

"We must let it die, the past," he said as he
pressed his forehead to mine, the sobs catching in his throat.

And, together, sitting on my bedroom floor,
our arms around each other, the room smelling of sex and sweat and
requited lust, we did just that.

We let the past die.

Chapter
Thirteen

He stretched his arms above his head.

The shades were now open, the sun growing
quiet as it prepared to set. And he, finally satiated, was now in
bed, watching me, the sheet not quite hiding the beauty of his tan,
supple skin, the hair under his arms soft, the dark curls trailing
down his stomach irresistible.

"Yes?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said for the millionth time. I'm
fine. Thank you.

I just wanted to leave. Walk. Get some
air.

Moving on.

Please.

"There is food, there is water, a nice
pillow, and you. What else would I need?" he asked.

"We don't need anything," I answered, my hand
once again running over his chest and down his stomach before
resting somewhere in the middle. "But we should leave, shouldn't
we? I just need some air."

"Take a breath," he said, looking at me
before inhaling deeply.

I watched him.

"Do it," he insisted, teasing me.

I took a breath.

Exhaled.

"You see?" he asked.

"No, what."

"I think we have air in here. Why go
out?"

He then laughed, snuggling close, his lips
once again finding mine.

"This," he said between kisses, "this is what
I need. Only this."

He paused.

"You are okay, no?"

I returned the kiss, inhaling his scent, my
hands instinctively in his hair.

"Didn't we do this already?" I said with a
grin as I left his embrace, eager to get out and leave the memory
of my tears behind. "I need to be productive. Let's go."

I stood, suddenly aware I was naked. And it
was daylight.

He could see me.

Mikalo's eyes drank me in, his grin slowly
growing into a smile.

"You want I come, too?" he asked, removing
the sheet as he prepared to stand.

He was excited. Again.

I turned away, determined to not slouch
around all day, even if it was with a steamy slice of heaven.

"Of course I want you to come, too," I
answered.

He was behind me, his arms around my waist,
the warmth of his hardness pressed against the small of my
back.

"Is that what you want?" he teased.

I turned to face him.

"Mikalo --"

His mouth was on me, his tongue tasting me,
his hands grabbing me, his arms around me, pulling me close, his
desire growing.

My knees grew weak.

I gripped him, one hand around him, the other
cupping below.

He sighed, his lips still on mine.

"Ronan, my Grace," he whispered.

"My Mikalo" I answered as I fought
temptation.

I removed my hand, my fingers rising to hold
his face in my hands. "Come. Out. With me. Please?"

His shoulders lifted in a shrug.

"But shower, yes?"

"Go for it," I said as I reached for a robe
and slipped it on. "I need to check my voicemail first."

He walked away, his ass absolutely amazing as
he padded his way barefoot into the bathroom, the muscles in his
back moving with each step.

"We will eat lunch," he called out as he ran
the tap, steam rising to cloud the mirror and drift out the
door.

I laughed.

"Try dinner," I called back.

He poked his head out the door.

"No, it's true? Dinner?"

I nodded, glancing out the window. Yep. The
day almost gone. Still daylight, but almost gone.

"Then it is almost time for bed, yes?" he
said with a wink as he ducked back into the bathroom and stepped
into the shower.

Oh god, he was going to kill me.

Chapter
Fourteen

He kissed her. The stranger with the red
hair. His lips on her, me standing only feet away, my hands still
damp from the quick wash they got in the restroom.

We were out to dinner. Finally. Dressed,
showered, hungry, and out.

And he was kissing some girl.

She pulled away, laughing.

He smiled and snuggled in close, holding her
by her tiny waist.

I was going to scream. Right there in the
middle of this crowded restaurant. I was going to scream and there
was going to be violence and there might even be blood.

Seeing me, he motioned me over, the
red-haired stranger with the tall, skinny body and alabaster skin
and perfect lips following his gaze and, smiling, resting her
beautiful head against his.

Bitch.

I plastered my own smile on and, breathing
deep, walked over.

"My Grace," he was saying, his hand out to
me, the smiling bitch still on his lap, "you must meet Virginie.
She's from Paris."

Virginie held out her slender hand and limply
shook mine.

"It is nice to meet you," she said in heavily
accented English. "My Mikalo has told me so much about you."

My Mikalo?

I could feel the color rise to my cheeks.

"Nice to meet you," I said, my voice calm.
"Mikalo hasn't mentioned you at all."

"Why would he? I am but a friend and you, you
are more," she answered. "You are all he talks about now, my
Mikalo."

I started to relax.

But still. "My Mikalo."

Grrrrr.

"Come," he was saying. "Sit."

I sat next to him, his arm around me, this
Virginie on his other side.

"Virginie just married and is now here in New
York," he said. "And there is one more reason to be here, I
think."

Okay, I could forgive her now.

Maybe.

Virginie watched him carefully.

She knew something. Something she wasn't
telling me.

She spoke.

"Alberto would love for you to call him," she
said to him.

"Yes?"

He looked quickly at me.

"Her new husband," he said.

I nodded.

Yes, go talk to him, I wanted to say. You
don't need my permission.

He kissed her again and then, turning, kissed
me.

And then he rose, cell phone in hand as he
stepped outside away from the noise of the restaurant.

Virginie watched him go.

I turned to her.

"Okay, you can talk now," I said, my eyes
catching and holding hers.

She sighed.

"You do not need to worry, my new friend,"
she said. "I love Mikalo, yes, but with my soul, with my heart. Not
with my body. He is like a brother. I only wish to see him happy,
truly happy, and safe."

"Then what aren't you telling me?"

"He talks about you a lot, you know."

"We've only just met. Days ago."

"I know, I know," she said, interrupting me.
"This journey has only begun. And yet, there it is. 'My Grace' this
and 'my Grace' that. And now, here, I meet finally 'my Grace'. And
he was right. You're beautiful."

"Oh stop," I sighed, laughing.

"Ah, you do not believe he finds you
beautiful?"

"No, I do. I think."

I stopped, unsure what to say next.

"And if I were to say he sees a beauty that
is not just of the body, but also of the eyes, the soul, the smile?
That the beauty he sees lingers in a laugh or in the fall of tears?
Would you believe me then, my Grace?"

I watched her.

And then I nodded.

"I'm sorry," I said then. "He's so ... I
don't know."

"You fear losing him, I know," she said, her
hand suddenly on mine, comforting and cool, her smile gentle and
easy. "But he is not someone you can lose, my Grace. Understand, if
Mikalo gives you his heart, it is yours. He cannot give it to
someone else. He will not. He is trusting. And you must be, too.
His eyes do not wander and his hands do not stray. His kisses will
be yours. If he gives you his heart."