Mikalo's Grace (13 page)

With Mikalo in my sights, I dreamt of this
man, this hairy-chested stranger with the five o'clock shadow and
rough palms and throbbing hardness, on top of me, inside me,
stealing my breath with each thrust, each plunge, each desperate
push and grind as he drove deeper, his teeth cruelly biting my
breast, gnawing on my tender nipple, his spit running down my
flesh, his arms crushing me tight as I gripped his sweaty
curls.

Mikalo still watched, the glass to his lips,
his hand still in his lap.

The music grew faster still, the climax
approaching. All these writhing, bouncing, celebrating bodies
around us picking up their own pace as they laughed and kissed and
celebrated.

My breathing grew ragged, the familiar
thump-thump-thump growing, my wetness spreading.

The stranger's eyes were almost closed, the
pupils unfocused as he gasped and grinded against me, beads of
sweat running down his neck and onto his chest.

And onto mine.

He held me closer, the large hand on the
small of my back pulling me tight as we swayed, the beating of his
heart pounding against my chest.

I was close, the thump-thump-thumping
growing, my thighs quivering, my heart in my throat, my own eyes
closing as the wave receded, receded, and receded still, the storm
approaching, threatening to crash here and now in this crowded room
of strangers, my Mikalo watching only feet away.

A cheer rose as the music reached its
crescendo, a round of deafening applause breaking the spell as the
couples broke their dance, the magic interrupted by hugs and
laughter and yet more glasses of ouzo.

And we broke our dance, the stranger and
I.

His lips paused, close to mine, our breath
hot. He then smiled, his grip loosening as, bending forward, he
gave me a quick, friendly kiss, and then gently pulled away.

And he was gone, stalking toward a pretty
Greek girl with black hair and almond eyes, her long arms at once
wrapping around him as he kissed her deep, pressing into her, the
two of them quickly leaving, their hands pawing at each other.

Mikalo approached, his lids heavy, his hand
discreetly tucked into his pocket to hide and grip his
hardness.

Oh god, what was I going to say? Here I was
flipping out over him talking to his gorgeous friend or my gorgeous
friend and then I go and basically bang a hot stranger in front of
all his friends.

Way to go, Ronan.

"Mikalo --" I began, searching for the words
to quiet his anger.

"My Grace," he breathed as he pulled me to
him.

He wasn't angry.

"Yes," I quickly said, his hardness pressing
into me.

"It is best we go --"

I nodded.

"Now."

Chapter
Thirty-Two

Grabbing his hand, I pulled him along.

Our need for each other had chased us from
the cab and into the park, his raging desire and my thumping,
pulsating, pumping wetness unable to make it the four blocks to the
safety of my house and the comfort of my bed.

I needed him now.

And he needed me.

Veering away from the trail, we tread along
the grass and into the trees, into the dark, the leaves crunching
under our feet.

"I do not think --" he whispered, suddenly
doubtful.

"Don't think," I interrupted, turning to
him.

And deeper into the dark we went.

Approaching a large, wide tree, we stopped. I
turned him, pushed him against the thick trunk and, my hands at his
pants, unzipped and reached in to feel his hardness.

Yes.

I kneeled, bringing him forward, the warmth
of him bathing my face as I caressed him, my nose inhaling his
scent, my lips kissing the throbbing flesh, my tongue then tasting
him as he sighed.

He was in my mouth.

I stroked him, my fist gripping him as I
lapped and licked and sucked, working him as far down my throat as
I could before moving back, teasing him, tasting his excitement as
it collected drip by drip on the tip.

His breathing grew rapid. Grabbing my hair in
his hands, he pumped his hips, forcing himself deeper, the pace
quickening, his need growing.

I glanced up.

His head was back, his eyes closed, his other
hand resting on his chest, the long fingers having absentmindedly
slipped between the buttons of his shirt to rub the soft skin of
his chest.

I wanted him inside me.

Standing, I slipped off my panties, tossing
them to the side, and, grabbing him, turned, my back against the
tree.

When he came I wanted to see his face. Hear
his sigh, feel his breath on my skin as he gasped, hold him close
as his body trembled.

Somewhere nearby the leaves crunched as
someone walked.

Of course there were others in the park. We
were hardly alone. And this was dangerous.

Very dangerous.

I grabbed his hardness in my fist, drawing it
close, the warmth of my wetness wrapping his thickness as he inched
near.

"Do it," I breathed in his ear as he moved
close. "Do it quick."

In one movement he was inside, his width
again pushing me close to panic.

I breathed deep, steadying myself, holding
him close as I inhaled and then exhaled.

And then I moved my hips toward him, wrapping
my hands around his waist to grab his ass and force him deeper.

He started to move, withdrawing only to pause
before plunging deep.

I guided him, insistent and needy, making him
move quicker, my ache for him catching in my throat as I swallowed
my gasps, willing myself quiet as he picked up the pace, his hips
slapping against me as he dipped his head low, his breath lost in
my cleavage, the scent of his sweaty hair in my nose.

More leaves crunching nearby.

He moved faster, deeper, harder.

I gasped.

His hand was over my mouth, shushing me
quiet.

He moved faster still. Greedy, needy,
frantic.

My legs started to shake, my breasts rising
and falling with each hurried breath, the thump-thump-thumping now
a constant roar as the wave crested and crashed, my hands on him
and then the tree behind me and then him again, my groan lost in
the palm of his large hand as he drove deep once, twice, and then
three time before suddenly stopping.

I felt him throbbing, his hips moving slowly
as he emptied into me, his hand over my mouth, his lips close as he
sighed, his eyes on mine, his face shining with sweat in the
moonlight.

Suddenly he was out. He pulled my skirt down,
pulled his pants up and, quickly, moved close as if we had only
shared a kiss.

From around the corner he came, a lone man
walking his dog.

Mikalo turned and waved.

The man paused and, leash in hand, waved
back, our sweaty skin and heaving sighs and deep breathing lost in
the shadow of the tree and the dark of night.

"Nice night, isn't it?" he called out as he
walked past.

"It is perfect," Mikalo answered calmly,
turning to me with a smile.

"It is a perfect night."

Chapter
Thirty-Three

My house was just ahead, Mikalo and I walking
hand in hand, grinning at our boldness, our bravery, and our
success at not being caught.

"I can't believe --" I began.

"I wanted you, my Grace," he interrupted. "I
could not wait."

"But I've never done anything like that
before."

And then I laughed.

"Oh my oh my oh my," I then said. "I think
it's the ouzo."

"And last night, it was the champagne,
yes?"

I glanced at him.

"No, Mikalo," I said gently. "It's you.
Always and only you."

My hand held his tighter.

"I'm learning to trust," I then said.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I think so," I said. "I mean, I don't mind
if you talk to other girls or whatever. I'm beginning to get that,
you know, you're going to come back and be mine.

"So it's okay if a pretty girl gets your
attention for a little while. I don't mind."

"This is a good thing?" he asked, his brow
briefly furrowing with worry.

"Oh, yes, absolutely! I'm not going crazy
anymore, you know? So, it's good. It's very good."

He looked toward the park across the
street.

"My Grace, she goes crazy at the thought of
me talking with a pretty girl."

Shrugging, he lightly laughed.

"Why should this worry my Grace?"

This wasn't going the way I wanted it to. I
needed to fix it, and quick.

"Mikalo, my Mikalo," I said. "We've talked
about this. You want me to trust you. And what I'm telling you is
that I'm there. Or at least closer. This is a good thing and I'm
proud of it. Very proud.

"Heck, you can even spend the whole party
talking to Deni and I wouldn't mind."

"Yes, I spoke with your friend. And this
bothered you?"

"Well, a little," I said carefully. "But not
now. Like I said, you could spend all night talking with her and
I'd be fine. Really, I would."

"But this friend, this Deni, she is someone
you trust, yes?"

"Of course!"

"So why would I not be able to share my
stories with her? Share my laughter? What would be wrong with
that?"

"Nothing, Mikalo. That's what I'm telling
you. I'm feeling a lot stronger now. About you, about me, about
us.

"This is a good thing," I repeated, squeezing
his hand.

"This should not even be a talk, my Grace,"
he said. "This should not even be a thought in your head. A friend,
a friend you love, would not be someone to fear. That friend would
not hurt your heart. And I would not.

"You know this, yes?" he asked.

"I do," I said. "I do now. And that's what
I'm trying to say. I'm getting it. I'm finally learning to
trust."

He grew quiet.

We walked.

I should have kept my mouth shut, I
realized.

Way to go, Ronan. Nice way to destroy an
awesome night of dirty lovemaking in the park. Nice way to ruin the
mood and get him pissed off at you, all in one fell swoop.

Like I said, I should have kept my mouth
shut.

"Your friend, she is very unhappy," he said.
"You know this?"

I nodded, keeping my mouth shut.

"No, you do not," he said, glancing at me.
"You do not, my Grace. It is not a sadness she shares with words,
but it is there. In her eyes, her smile, the way she moves.

"It is a deep sadness which cannot be quieted
by money or things. It is a sadness which cannot grow calm with the
giving of one's body.

"It is a sadness of the heart and of the
spirit. Maybe of the soul.

"This is a sadness you do not know, my Grace.
And with my smile, my laughter, my heart, I did the small thing I
could to help your friend enjoy her party.

"Tonight, you dance. It is beautiful. It is
sexy. I love to watch you and I want to make love to you. I do not
care that you dance with a man. I do not care that he hungers for
you. Or that he holds your body close.

"I know you would not want him --"

"No, I wouldn't," I interrupted. "I
don't."

"And I would not want another woman. Even one
as beautiful as the friend I spoke with, this friend of yours. It
was a simple talk with laughter and smiles, my Grace.

"That you would find this something to not
trust, it makes me sad."

I had to speak.

"What I'm trying to say, Mikalo, is that I do
trust that. I do trust you. And if you were to spend another party
with Deni or anyone else who is sad, I would still trust you."

We rounded the corner to my house, the wide
expanse of Central Park West and the ominous shadow of Central Park
now behind us, the slender tree-lined street in front of us.

He stopped and turned.

Holding me near, he looked down at me and
deep into my eyes.

"This trust, it is still an issue. And
without this, it is difficult to give you my heart."

I started to speak, but he shushed me.

"I will teach you trust, my Grace. If I do
not, then there can be no way forward. And this, we must find."

And then he turned and walked away.

Chapter
Thirty-Four

"No matter what I say, it's the wrong
thing."

Bill watched me, his fingers resting at his
chin as he listened.

Today was Thursday. D-day.

The day when Mikalo was scheduled to meet
with Blazen and Jeffords.

This was it.

Or, rather, it had been it, the meeting
having finished half an hour ago.

And now Bill sat across from me as I talked
and talked and talked. Anything to keep him from telling me whether
they had decided yes or no on Mikalo.

I just don't think I could handle either one
right now.

Best I live for a moment longer in the
delicious delusion of not knowing, pretending my Mikalo and his
Grace could continue on as they were forever and ever.

"I tell him I'm starting to trust --"

"Really?" he asked. "That's huge for you,
Ronan."

"Yeah, I know, right? But that sends him into
a, oh, I don't know, a something about how I still don't trust
him."

"You don't --"

"And how his heart needs to trust --"

"It does" he interrupted again.

"And how he can't give his heart to someone
who doesn't trust him."

"Well, of course he can't. Would you?"

"Would I what?" I asked.

"Give your heart to a man you couldn't
trust."

I paused, the answer a simple one.

But to admit that, no, I wouldn't, would be
admitting defeat.

Defeat from what?

"I wouldn't," I quickly said. "You're
right."

He paused, his fingers still at his chin, and
then spoke.

"If you'd given me a chance to finish what I
was going to say at Deni's party --"