“Yes, well”—he nodded briefly—“everything’s easier with hindsight.” He walked over to the window, leaned against the billowing curtains, and looked across to the city. “But I’ve learned from my mistakes.” He looked at her. “I’m not going to let you get away again.”
She knew what he meant, knew that he was simply saying he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice, so why did she feel uneasy? She laughed nervously. “Don’t say it like that, Daidan. It makes me feel trapped.”
“You know me. I’m no good at saying things smoothly. They always come out wrong. I just mean that I never want you to leave me again.” He walked over to her and took her hands in his. “We’ve been given another chance. Let’s take it and make the most of it—what’s happened has happened and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”
She exhaled roughly and looked down. “You can’t believe how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
He lifted her chin and kissed her so tenderly, so without ownership, as if the clock had been turned back to when they had no resentment, no past, no secrets between them. She melted into his arms and he held her tight, the kiss continuing, as the tension increased—their breathing coming harder, as his hands pushed up under her shirt, her skin goose-bumping under his touch, her hips shifting to him in reaction.
He pulled away too soon, his thumbs sweeping her cheeks. She gripped his hips and held them against hers, grazing his neck with her lips as she moved against his erection, telling him what she wanted in no uncertain terms. He didn’t need any further encouragement and they fell to the bed, legs and arms and bodies entwined, as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Before she’d reached the last one, he’d deftly undone her bra and pushed off her shirt and with a little wriggling her trousers landed on the floor.
As soon as he was naked she pulled away from underneath him. She was tired of being underneath, tired of being made love to. She straddled him and kissed him. “This time, I’m in charge,” she whispered against his mouth. He fell back with a groan as she took charge, with both hands.
“You’re always in charge,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “You just don’t know it.”
She paused for a moment, thinking about his meaning, wondering whether he believed what he said, wondering if it were true.
“For God’s sake, don’t stop!”
She grinned as she continued her ministrations, his eyes closing only briefly before opening to meet her gaze, a gaze that did things to her, that made her take away her hands and lift her hips and drop down gently on top of him, watching him all the while. The intensity in those hooded eyes as they maintained a macho authority over her, even when she was on top, drove her harder. She leaned forward, gripped his shoulders with her hands, her breasts grazing his chest, her breath upon his face as she rode him until he was forced to close his eyes as he came. And when he came, he called out her name. Only then did she succumb to the waves of orgasm that she’d barely been able to keep at bay. She sat up, shifting her body for maximum satisfaction and crying out as a second wave slammed into her.
For a moment she thought she’d blacked out. Because suddenly she was in his arms, lying side by side, him still inside her, her legs clasping his waist. She closed her eyes as she half-listened to his murmured Arabic endearments of which she had no understanding. He continued to caress her, both inside and out, as her body responded to him, and the ripples of pleasure began once more.
Late into the night, they continued to make love while outside the birds sang and the late evening sunlight played over their bodies, slick with sweat, in the long midsummer twilight. It was only when the brief dusk that fell for an hour or so either side of midnight descended, that their love-making ceased and they drifted into sleep.
She lay awake in the early morning and turned to see he’d gone. He was never there when she awoke. He needed little sleep and was always working. She knew these things and yet still she felt rejected every time she awoke to find him gone.
She turned over on the fine linen sheets to look out through the open window toward Helsinki. From here she could just make out the low-lying buildings surrounding the old city near the wharf, where her mother’s studio/warehouse was. For years after her mother’s death, she’d look out and think about her mother, and of how different things would have been if Taina had made a different choice at fourteen.
She thought of The Warehouse now. It had the working drawings she needed to finish off her project. She knew Daidan would arrange for them to be brought to the island for her if she asked him. But what was she? A little girl who had to ask permission for everything?