Interlude [Book 2] Page 12

  “I’m not done yet,” he warns me. “You told me to fuck you till you begged me to stop.”

  He slaps my ass, and the burning sting intensifies my arousal. “Ahhhh …Yes …”

  “Look at me, Lina.” His commanding voice is rough.

  Turning around, I watch him come undone. His dark hair is damp. His forehead glistens with sweat that I long to taste. His full lips remain parted, and I can see the rise and fall of his breathing as he continues to fuck me so violently, I won’t be able to walk for the next few days. An impact so fierce moves my body forward, and my aching breasts slam against the armrest. “Please … please … Julian.”

  “What, Lina?” he says in a menacing tone. His assault on my body is relentless, and I can no longer handle his violent cock.

  He. Is. Deliciously. Vicious.

  Grabbing my limp body, he pulls me up so my back is against his chest and continues to fuck me like a madman. We are fucking upright. With one hand on my breast, the other reaches for my pussy, and he lightly touches my ultra-sensitive bud, gently circling it with the pad of his thumb. Moving my head slowly to the right, I urge him to kiss my jaw. “This is it,” he warns as he fucks me into a haze. As he hits every single nerve, he is no longer gentle with my clit, and I counter by squeezing him. With one touch, with one thrust, I am on the edge of something I have never encountered. I am possessed. Pleading, I shut my eyes. “Please … please … stop … I can’t … I can’t take it anymore.” My mind goes temporarily blank. All I see is an empty white space. And I smile.

  “Lina …” Julian cries out as he releases his warm essence inside me.

  Twenty

  Rather than remain on the comfort of his sofa, we shower, dress, and decide to spend the rest of the afternoon walking around SoHo. I am pleasantly surprised that my aching body can walk at all, let alone wander around our neighborhood. Our last stop before heading back to Julian’s duplex is my favorite market, Dean and Deluca. Armed with a shopping bag, we stroll hand in hand along Broadway as if we have been lovers for years. When we return to Julian’s, I’m exhausted from our earlier lovemaking session and shopping, so I collapse on his massive king-size bed.

  Soft lips touch my forehead, nose, and lips as his big hands gently caress my satiated body. A moan escapes my mouth. Tugging my bottom lip with his teeth, he reaches for the back of my head. My lips softly part, accepting all that he offers. When I open my eyes, I’m greeted with the most handsome face I long to touch. His long eyelashes rest on his cheeks as he kisses me. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and it’s those captivating eyes that leave me breathless. I can see forever through them. My heart beats a bit faster, and at the same time, it feels like it’s slowly breaking.

  This is temporary, I remind myself.

  With such care, he pulls away. “Darling, time to wake up. Dinner is ready.”

  “Mmm. Already?” I moan.

  “Yes, it seems I have worn you out.”

  “Uh-huh. I agree, that voracious appetite of yours exhausted me,” I say while stretching my body.

  “I believe it was you who begged.” He smirks before planting another kiss on my forehead. Suddenly, he tilts his head back, and deep laughter escapes his mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask unaware of what could possibly make him laugh so hard.

  “I think you woke up the dead earlier.” He’s still laughing, his arms now clutching his abdomen.

  Completely embarrassed, I shake my head and try to hide my face with both hands. Julian leans close to my face, his nose touching my fingers. “I love hearing you scream my name.”

  Peeking through two fingers, his impish smile greets me.

  This man knows me all too well.

  Large hands slowly guide me out of the big, comfortable bed even though I’m hesitant to leave. I’m no longer embarrassed, but his bed is too difficult to leave. Nothing like drowning in his soft, luxurious sheets. Soft, silky, and cool, they remind me of Julian’s skin that now touches the insides of my thighs. Running his long fingers to the elastic of my new black and white underwear, he teases me. “If you don’t get up, I’ll have to have you as dinner.” And as much as I would love for him to devour me again, my stomach begins to growl, reminding me that I need to eat.

  While I slip on a simple black jersey dress and black wedge sandals, Julian begins to hum Seal’s “Loneliest Star.” With my back now facing him, his arms wrap around my waist. Slightly bending his knees, he places his chin on my shoulder. Rocking us side to side, he continues to hum, and surprises me with, “Darling, only you can make me feel this way.”

  “How?” I ask, simply enjoying this moment.

  “Content,” he answers before kissing my cheek.

  Making our way down the staircase, I notice the sun has set. Incandescent lights illuminate the floor-to-ceiling windows, encircling us. From my vantage point, Hudson River glistens. With his large hands engulfing mine, we saunter lazily hand in hand toward the terrace. Once outside, I can’t help but stare in awe.

  Over one hundred white votive candles greet me. White peonies are everywhere. My favorite Isle of White flower arrangement sits on the patio table. Glimmering tea lights border the heated lap pool.

  As the background of the city and the river envelop us, nothing, and I mean, nothing, can compete with the image of Julian, simply dressed in a vintage Waterboys t-shirt, dark form-fitting jeans, and his Chucks. With Andrea Bocelli crooning “Garota de Ipanema” in the background, the lights illuminating, white flowers surrounding us, this is the most perfect romantic setting. Julian is good. Really good. Too skilled. Too much practice. I shake my head at the idea that this is not the first time he has romanced someone he has bedded. And that thought disturbs me.

  “Darling, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  “Nothing. This is beautiful,” I say, trying to hide the obvious concern.

  “I can hear you thinking. Something’s troubling you.” He takes my hand as we walk toward the amazing view from his terrace. “Okay, what is it?” He voices with a hint of irritation.

  “I don’t know,” I hesitantly respond.

  He ponders for a minute. “Ah, you’re thinking that this is my MO. Am I correct?” He tilts his head slightly, waiting for a reply.

  The green-eyed goddess prevents me from having an answer to share.

  Possessing both of my quivering hands, he confesses, “I’ve never, ever thought of doing this for anyone but you. Please believe me, I have never done this for anyone. Ever. Only three other women have been to my home. Miss Pendleton, Helena Emerson, and Cecelia. I’ve never been this way with anyone before, and I have never had anyone else share that bed with me.” He reaches for my lips that need affirmation. “It’s only you, Lina. Only. You.” His kiss is one of hunger. It’s all tongue and mouth. No lingering. No questioning.

  I open my eyes, and we’re so close that I can see his long eyelashes flutter as our tongues remain dancing. We remain glued to the spot, savoring the moment. It’s the sound of Mugpie snorting that shakes us. “Mmm,” he says as he draws in the scent of my hair. “I think he’s hungry.”

  Without another word, he leads me and Mugpie to the middle of the terrace where the arranged round table stands. “This is stunning.” I’m taken aback by the effort it must have taken to surprise me.

  “I can’t take all the credit. Miss Pendleton insisted on helping.” I gape at Julian as he pours a glass of Sancerre for each of us. As I enjoy my favorite wine, my date leaves my side for only a minute to retrieve the homemade Margherita pizza he had promised to make a few weeks ago. Once he places the thin crust pizza on the table, I look up and wonder if I am dreaming. I can’t remember ever feeling as pampered as I do at this moment.

  It is the perfect meal. Pizza, insalata, Sancerre, romantic music, and Julian. It is simple and delicious, and this night with the man I’ve fallen in love with is one I’ll always remember. As usual, our conversation is relaxed and easy. Nothing forced. With Juli
an, I feel free. He’s opinionated and unabashed, especially when it comes to politics, yet he enjoys bantering with me. We discuss Disappear and the progress I’m making with the score. He mentions my first foray into the gaming world and how much he believes The Enforcer will be successful. He explains his new business venture and the apartment he recently sold at One Madison to a model and her quarterback husband. He also mentions the new foundation and center that, with Cecelia and Miss Pendleton’s help, will benefit rape victims. It is only when he reveals the name of the foundation, Elisa Rutherford Caine Foundation and Center, that the mood between us darkens.

  “Your mother would be so proud,” I say, knowing it to be true.

  “It’s nothing. Anyone with money could do it.” Julian’s self-deprecation doesn’t surprise me. He is very English.

  “But not everyone does it. I’m insanely proud of you as well.” I watch him smile, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

  He moves forward and plants a sweet kiss on my lips. “Lina, you know … you just know me.”

  “I want to know more, Julian. But right now, I need to know if there is dessert.” I giggle.

  His eyes light up at the mention of dessert. “I thought you’d never ask. Let me get it.” As I wait for him, I close my eyes and wonder how much time I have left with him. When he proposed this interlude, he mentioned a month. But I never out right accepted his proposal, and knowing his history, he could easily leave tomorrow. I pour another glass of Sancerre for myself and try to enjoy the moment.

  This is a temporary romantic arrangement, Lina. Nothing more.

  Walking through the terrace doors with Mugpie staring up at him from his side, Julian’s grin is wide as he carries a tray filled with my favorite dessert. It doesn’t take long for me to enjoy the delicious cupcake.

  Wiping a trace of chocolate icing on the corner of my bottom lip, Julian smiles. “Lina, you look happy.”

  I stare at the man I’m crazy about and his adorable bulldog. Mugpie is chomping at his Kong filled with crunchy peanut butter.

  I am ecstatic.

  “I certainly am.” I savor my vanilla cupcake before asking him, “What makes you happy?”

  “You,” he answers without hesitation.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You, Evangelina Darling James. You. Everything you do. The way you roll your eyes when you’re enjoying that cupcake. The way you laugh like Betty Rubble without a care in the world. The way you have no filter and say whatever’s on your mind. Even when you call me an arse.” He winks. “The way you love Mugpie. The way you get lost when playing one of your compositions on the piano. The way you sing your heart out and so out of tune to your favorite songs.” He laughs before continuing, “The way you moan when I kiss your delicious mouth. The way you look at me like I’m the only person in the world. You. You make me insanely happy.”

  Sweet Jesus, I am in deep trouble.

  For someone who never does romance, Julian is a quick learner. Actually, he’s a master at it.

  We remain silent for a few minutes, his hand now on mine. Still confounded by this romantic man’s admission, do I confess to Julian what’s been brewing inside this heart of mine?

  I can tell him everything, but how much I’ve fallen for him.

  Although he admits to me that I make him happy, I’m still unsure of where I am in his heart. Uncertainty makes me a coward, and I try to be playful. I point at the rest of the dessert before us. “We can’t let those delicious babies go to waste.”

  Mugpie has overdosed on treats and lies passed out on one of the lounge chairs. As we enjoy several cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, Julian reveals more of his past. He mentions his time as an awkward undergrad and some of his classmates that he keeps in touch with because of business. He freely admits he doesn’t have many friends. “You’re my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend.” As the most romantic night of my life continues, my date and I delight in more banter and, at the same time, sexual innuendos. His earlier admission lingers in my head.

  I make him happy.

  We devour six delicious cupcakes. Gently taking my hand, he places soft kisses on my palm. Our eyes meet, and without any words, there is a promise. His eyes are tender. It is not a promise of a night of passion. It is not a promise of something he will never keep. It is simply … a promise of love.

  My heart skips a beat, knowing full well this is an excursion from both of our hectic lives and I try to chase the doubt away. Rather than dwell on the knowledge this will be ending soon, I cherish this time. In exchange, I move forward, whispering, “This is all so wonderful. Thank you.”

  Slowly rising, he walks over and pulls my chair out. He extends his hand. “Shall we?”

  Moving only a few feet from the table, we begin to dance. With his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, I could be like this for eternity. Carmen McRae’s “My One and Only Love” begins to play. Carmen sings about surrendering and I couldn’t agree more. Although he consumes me while breathing his intoxicating scent, I finally find myself. Holding me tightly, he sways us to the rhythm of the song. As he hums along to the song closely to my ear, we become lost in the moment. As if we are the only two people left in the city we love.

  Twenty-One

  Last night was magical. After a wonderful dinner and dancing to Ella, Billie, Shirley, Carmen, and ending the final dance with Michael Bublé and Ivan Lins’ “Wonderful Tonight,” Julian and I spent several hours making love. Unlike most of our nights together, last night was deliberately slow. As if we wanted to stay in the moment forever, forgetting our time together was temporary.

  I spend the day thinking only of my romantic man, reliving every single second and every single minute of last night with him. And I hate to admit it, but I’ve fallen so deep for this man that I’m wondering if it’s all a dream. Even though I’m commissioned to compose for an indie thriller, all I can compose are haunting love compositions reminiscent of a Celine Dion song. I laugh inside and know that I have completely lost it. I am desperately in love with him. The man who has given me so much love will also be the one to take it away.

  I can still feel every inch of Julian inside me. He’s in his office a few blocks away from his penthouse yet I can still smell him. I can still taste him. I breathe in every memory of the past few weeks. Like my favorite movie stills, I capture every image and know they’ll always be with me.

  Unable to accomplish any real work, I make my way over to Julian’s desk. It is a thing of beauty. The ash wood desk is sleek and modern with very clean lines. Only one thing is on it, a carefully positioned silver framed photograph of me with Mugpie on my lap taken on a bench in Washington Park. A few feet from his desk is a filing cabinet. Through a pile of books is a dark brown leather-bound photo album that catches my attention. I can’t recall the last time I had looked at one. Probably at my nana’s place. It seems that all photos are all digital now. They’re shared via files, via emails, via FB, via Shutterfly, via Instagram, but I can’t remember having touched an actual photo album in ages. Knowing that he wouldn’t mind, I reach for the leather album and wonder what I may find inside.

  With the terrace doors open, I make myself comfortable on the couch. My heart does a backflip at the memory of Julian pounding into me like a madman on this sofa not too long ago. As I listen to the sound of one of Julian’s favorite artists, Sting, in the background, I feel at home. When the first notes of “Englishman in New York” play, I smile thinking of the Englishman I have fallen in love with. After enjoying a glass of Riesling and some cheese and crackers, I open the photo album.

  Staring right back at me are my own almond shaped green eyes.

  I try to hold back the tears as I recall the moment when the photo was taken. I had just turned fifteen, and my grandparents insisted on celebrating my birthday with a trip to Miami with the Caines.

  I have always hated celebrating my birthday. It just reminds me of my loss.

  I stayed alone at the Tides Hotel whi
le my grandparents and the elder Caines were downstairs by the pool. Caroline, unable to tolerate my need to stay inside, shopped along Ocean Avenue. I laid in bed, doing absolutely nothing, selfish for not wanting to celebrate with family and friends when Julian knocked furiously on my hotel door. I just wanted the day to end.

  At the time, Julian was a quiet twelve-year-old. Even with the age difference, we were close. He didn’t have a lot of friends, and truth be told, I knew he enjoyed my company. And I loved being with him.

  “Lina, Lina, I’m not leaving until you open the door,” he screamed.

  This was unusual behavior for Julian. He was always the calm kid.

  Finally, after three minutes of listening to him plead, I finally opened the door.

  Standing before me was a short boy, holding a box of cupcakes for me.

  “Happy Birthday,” he said as his eyes focused on mine.

  “Oh, Julian.” Unable to be angry, I smiled before hugging him carefully, making sure that the cupcakes didn’t fall.

  After stuffing our faces with several cupcakes, I still didn’t want to leave the comforts of my hotel room. However, I was going to hang out with one of my favorite people on earth. It’s strange how memories can change our perspective. It would seem awkward for a fifteen-year-old girl to want to hang out with a younger boy. But there was always something about Julian that didn’t make it strange. He was smarter and more mature than most kids my own age. He read everything, watched everything, and absorbed everything like a sponge. It was rare for him not to know something. Moreover, I was simply comfortable with him. He didn’t want anything from me. He just wanted to be with me.

  “Lina, come with me. Let’s just get out of the room. We all came down here to be with you. Let’s just walk on the beach.” Julian was mature for his age. Moreover, he was correct. I was being selfish. We left the Tides Hotel and made our way to the beach across the street.