“Can I assume you like it then?”
“It’s all right, I guess,” she says, affecting a nonchalant tone, her eyes glowing with delight. “I’ll bet it’s even prettier by daylight.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. The light shimmering off the water makes it pretty special, don’t you think?’
“Mmm. This was such an excellent choice, Ian. I’m jealous.”
Smiling, he unlocks the door and steps aside. “After you. Would you like a formal tour or would you prefer to just wander around and acquaint yourself with the premises?”
“I’ll wander.”
“Okay, then I’ll go get us some wine. Unless you’d prefer something else?”
“No,” she shakes her head with a rueful smile, “wine is perfect. Perhaps just half a glass for me, though. I drank a bit too much already today.”
“Good enough. Feel free to look around and make yourself at home, Ariel.” He tilts his head back. “You look good in this house.”
Her voice drops in volume, sounds strangled even, as she replies, “I feel good in this house,” and then quickly turns away.
Ian’s own equilibrium shatters at that point and he realizes with a start that he’s nervous again, too. When was the last time he was nervous around a woman before meeting Ella? Fourteen years ago when he was fifteen, probably. But Ella frequently made him nervous, especially now, when he’d spent so many months missing her, thinking her lost to him forever. Tonight was his chance to win her back. Feeling a lot is riding on tonight is what is making his heart pound. It’s an alien sensation and he doesn’t like it. Not in the least.
Returning with the wine, he finds her sitting at one end of the sofa. Ian considers trapping her there by placing himself in the middle, thus invading her personal space, but instead decides to go slowly, so he seats himself at the other end, after handing her the glass. It feels relaxing to quietly sit and listen to the soft music and sip the wine—not at all how he’d originally envisioned his evening. Still, he couldn’t say he was disappointed. Quite the contrary.
After a few minutes, he looks at her and pats the cushion next to his lap. “Come here, Ella.”
After a slight hesitation, she rises to her feet and walks over to stand in front of him. He watches, waiting to see what she’ll do. Moving closer to him, she straddles his legs, sits on his lap, sets her hands on his shoulders… and then leans in to kiss him. Bold move.
He’d forgotten how soft her lips were… are. While she’s occupied with his tongue, he reaches his hands under the loose white shirt and up to her breasts, exploring with his fingers and then yanking her bra down to expose her breasts. A small moan is her only response. When she pulls her mouth away from his, he slides his hands to her waist and lifts her body as he stands—an impressive display of strength. “Wrap your long, sexy legs around me, sweetheart.”
As she complies, he carries her upstairs. As he walks, he talks. “Allow me to give you the abbreviated tour. This is the staircase to the second story. This is the hallway. Here’s the master bedroom,” he says as he enters the room and then drops her gently on the bed so that she’s lying across the width. “And here’s the bed. You have too many clothes on.”
He leans over her and pushes her arms up, sliding the shirt up and off; the leather bra, already half off, follows quickly. “By the way, I like the bra on you… but I like it better off.” He grins wickedly and then hooks his fingers in her waistband, unbuttoning, unzipping, and yanking off the pants. He leaves on her panties.
His eyes are focused intently on her, appraising her body up and down. “You’ve lost weight,” he notes. “Intentional?”
She shakes her head.
“You’re beautiful, Ariel,” he says as he leans back in to start kissing her, “I’ve missed seeing and touching you.” Beginning at her throat, he works his way down, kissing and nipping. By the time he reaches her hips, he could see her skin is glistening with sweat, as she squirms underneath him—but he won’t let that hurry him. He takes his time: he’s waited a very long year for the privilege.
As he kisses, touches, licks, and rediscovers her body, a possessive instinct washes over him and he wants desperately to ask her if she’s been with other men… but he can’t… he won’t.
No. It would be wrong. But he wants to know…needs to know.
But why? Would it make any difference? No, it really wouldn’t.
He won’t ask.
“Have you been with other men since we parted?”