Mikalo's Grace (16 page)

He kissed me, this man. Sharing my wetness,
sharing my taste, the stubble on his face rough against my mouth as
his tongue dove deep.

And then below, suddenly, without warning,
without apology, hard and fast and brutal, he was inside me.

Improbably thick, unbelievably hard, he slid
in deep, his mouth still on mine as he stole my breath, my scream
lost somewhere in this stranger's kiss.

Chapter
Thirty-Nine

There were mouths still on my breasts. Teeth
still grazing my nipples.

And this stranger, the one cradling my head,
he remained, his fingers stroking my temples and the soft flesh of
my flushed cheek.

But all I could feel, all I could focus on,
the only thing in my universe right now was this man, this
stranger, on top of me, his hardness grinding and pushing and
plunging me into orgasm after orgasm.

He had hair on his chest, I knew this. Could
feel the sweat-drenched curls pressed against my skin. And stubble
on his chin, the roughness against my lips as I sucked his neck,
tasting his flesh, my teeth gnawing his strong jaw.

His thickness moved faster, prodding deeper,
and then, plunging deeper still, stopped, holding itself steady and
calm, willing me to cum.

And I did cum, hard, my hips shaking, the
teeth on my nipples once again biting.

I bucked against him, grinding my hips into
his hardness, forcing him even deeper as he remained steady and
calm, a relentless, unending spasm racking my flesh as I gasped, my
breath coming quick.

He started drawing himself out, slowly,
slowly, slowly, teasing me with his length, his thickness, his
hardness.

I lifted my hips, desperate to keep him
in.

He plunged deep.

I screamed.

The stranger holding my head quickly kissed
me, his tongue quieting me as the man worked himself deeper and
deeper, in and out, grinding and pushing, forcing me to the edge
once again.

Another storm was building, the
thump-thump-thump growing, the rhythm insistent and inescapable as
his thickness assaulted me repeatedly.

The wave crested and crashed, the spasms
rolling through my body, my groans again lost in the mouth of the
stranger whose tongue battled my own.

Suddenly the thickness was gone. Withdrawn
quickly.

Mouths still on my breasts, tasting me, the
man who had been on top was again below, his tongue lapping at my
heat.

Oh god, he was good.

He worked his tongue deeper, his fingers
parting my wetness as the other men, the ones still working my
nipples, rolled the pink flesh between their lips, their teeth
pinching and gripping and pulling.

I could feel another storm building as the
stranger slipped his fingers between the folds to slide inside,
losing themselves in my throbbing heat.

His mouth on me, his fingers in me, their
hands rubbing my flesh, the stranger holding my head, his lips on
my cheeks, my chin, my temples before finding my lips, the taste of
him sweaty and sweet and intoxicating.

It was building up again, the storm.

I couldn't do it. This was too much. My heart
was already racing, my skin was already drenched in sweat, my
nipples were already wounded and raw, the aching below was becoming
an almost unbearable pleasure, and I didn't think I could survive
being slammed by that wave one more time.

Reading my mind and ignoring my doubt, the
stranger with the magical tongue grabbed my legs, holding them
steady, holding them captive, holding them open.

His tongue picked up the pace.

One of the men sucking my nipple reached his
fingers below, discovering and then rubbing my flesh as the
stranger continued to lick and lap and taste.

Oh no.

I could feel my hips lift. I could feel my
lungs expand as I held my breath. I could even feel my skin burn
red as the wave reached new heights.

And as I pushed my throbbing, burning hot
heat into the stranger's mouth and fingers and face, it hit.

But there was no gasp. No scream or moan or
groan.

I simply lay back, my mouth open, my eyes
blindfolded. The world around me still dark as I became a prisoner
to one spasm after another, the force of it silencing me, my bound
limbs jerking, my hips trembling, my desire rushing from below to
soak the moaning stranger and the luxurious, soft duvet
beneath.

My heart was going to stop, I suddenly
thought. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't even make
sense of what was now happening.

My universe, my whole existence, was this.
This pulsating, throbbing, thump-thump-thumping orgasm that had
trapped me. Seized me from the tips of my toes to the thin,
delicate ends of the dark air on my head.

Another slow, cool stream of air to quiet the
chaos below, his mouth no longer on me, his fingers gently calming
me as they stroked the inside of my thighs.

And the men on my breasts, their lips now
kissed the wounded flesh, their fingers stroking me, too. Gently
running up my stomach and down my sides.

The man cradling my head leaned forward, his
presence drawing near in the dark as he kissed me before laying my
head back on the pillow.

One by one they left me, the man below
gifting my quieting heat one last, deep kiss, his mouth swallowing
my scent before he lifted to his knees.

And there I lay, a sweaty, sodden mess.
Blindfolded and bound, my hair sticking to my flesh, my heart still
racing.

Still in the dark.

Someone drew near. The warm scent familiar as
he bent low, his lips near my ear.

But it wasn't the scent of my desire or my
heat or of his sweat.

No, this was clean. Clean and calm.

Blindfolded, I turned to him, my Mikalo.

And from the dark, he whispered.

"I have returned, my Grace."

Chapter Forty

He sat on the sand looking out toward the
water.

I approached quietly.

Released from my restraints the night before,
I had drawn him close, holding him tight, my arms still
trembling.

His lips pressed to my forehead as I snuggled
my head into his arms.

"There is trust now?" he had asked.

I nodded.

"You were always safe, even though you could
not move or see. Do you know this?

"Even though strangers took your body,
strangers who were friends, who were safe and discreet, who I trust
with my life and now with my heart, you were safe.

"Always."

I had looked at him, more in love with him
now than ever before. And I felt solid. Solid and safe. Yes, he was
right. I had been safe. I knew that. Was able to give myself to the
experience, not worrying about the psychological repercussions or
inevitable doubts, because of this.

But there were no consequences, no
repercussions or doubts. In the aftermath of that blessed chaos, I
understood without a doubt that he was someone to trust, someone to
love, someone to give my heart to.

Someone who would never put me or the love I
felt for him in harm's way.

And now, the morning after, my wrists still
smarting from the tightness of the silk, my ankles bearing the red
echo of the fabric resisting my strength as I arched my back and
bucked and writhed, I sat next to him on the sand.

He acknowledged me, though his eyes remain
glued to the horizon.

Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of wet
sand.

"It is not right, this," he said, his eyes
now on the pile of earth in his palm. "It is not white. It is not
soft. It does not slip from my fingers to the wind."

Tossing it away, he impatiently rubbed his
hands on his pants.

"And the sun, it is there somewhere, yes?" he
then asked, his eyes weary as they watched the grey clouds
above.

"Yes," I answered, my voice quiet. "It's
there, I promise."

He sighed and then, wrapping his arm around
me, drew me close.

"There is more to my world than soft sand and
bright sun, I think."

"But you miss it, don't you?"

There was a long pause as he thought.

"Yes," he finally said. "And my family.

"Those I love," he said, correcting himself.
"Not those who share my blood but not my joy of life or sense of
duty. I miss my true family.

"And here I have you," he finished, looking
at me.

"You do."

"And you can come visit me in Greece, I
think, yes?" he quickly said, and then stopped.

He laughed.

"I am sorry. I do not know where that
was."

I closed my eyes, unwilling to see the
obvious, focusing instead on the sound of the nearby surf and the
chill of the wind as it buffeted us.

An offer in hand and love in his heart, and
still, I knew he couldn't be here and be happy. And it was so
important he be happy even if it meant I was miserable and threw
myself back into work to escape the sadness of my life.

"I can be happy here, I think, my Grace," he
then said as if reading my thoughts, the words offered more to
himself than to me.

Glancing at him, I saw him looking at another
fistful of sand, a look of utter sadness in his eyes.

"Yes," he continued. "I can be happy
here."

Chapter
Forty-One

The rest of the weekend passed in a haze of
lingering hugs and hungry kisses. Of long looks and small
smiles.

And rain.

Which gave us the perfect excuse to make a
large fire and then spend the hours snuggled in each other's arms
as we watched the flames dance.

"What would you do if you went back to
Greece?" I asked.

He was silent for a long moment, his chin
resting on the top of my head as he thought, his arms wrapped
around me as he held me.

"I would live life, yes?" he then said.

"But what, exactly," I asked again. "What
would you do?"

A long sigh and then,

"I would protect my father's dreams and my
mother's work. Protect them from Silvestro and Caugina and their
attorneys and all those other companies that wish to eat it all up.
I would see that those who have given their lives to these dreams
would have work and be protected. That they could earn a dollar so
their children could continue to eat and go to school.

"I would see that the history of my family
would stand strong and not be broken by greed and unhappiness and
impatience. That my brother's bitterness would not destroy all we
love and need and cherish with our hearts.

"That is what I would do," he finished. "That
is what I would need to do."

"And if you weren't there?"

"There are others. Uncles, aunts, friends who
love my mother and father still. They could protect, I think.

"But it is better if I fight this
battle."

"No brothers or sisters?" I asked.

"A question that is difficult to answer, my
Grace," he said, ending the conversation with a kiss on the head
and a squeeze.

"You're okay going back to the city
tomorrow?" I asked, changing the subject, my mind on anything but
that, the flames from the fire growing uncomfortably hot.

"Of course," came his answer, the words lost
in my hair as his lips remained on the top of my head.

"And you need to return to this work on
Monday, no?" he then asked.

I nodded.

That I definitely needed to do.

"Then we must walk, my Grace. It will be
quicker than the car on that expressway, I think, yes?"

I could feel him smile, a small gesture which
made me dread the inevitable even more.

Drawing his arms tight around me, I closed my
eyes, content to focus on this.

This moment, the heat of the fire, the
comforting heaviness of his arms around me, his lips resting in my
hair, his chest rising and falling against my shoulders with each
breath.

Yes, just focus on this, Ronan.

The end would come soon enough.

Chapter
Forty-Two

"You can't be serious."

"You should have seen him, Deni. It was so
sad."

"He'll get over it, Ronan," came the voice
from the other end of the phone.

I swiveled my chair toward the window,
looking at Manhattan below.

"And maybe he won't. We don't know that."

"Oh, give me a break --"

"I'm not going to do this, okay? I'm not
going to make the selfish choice and live with the
consequences."

"And what would those be? Everlasting love?
Marriage? Earth-shattering sex with the hottest guy you have ever
seen, have ever met, and will ever meet?"

Damn, she had a point.

The doubts came again.

Was I doing the right thing? Was I making
this decision for him or because somewhere deep inside the power of
this love terrified me? Was I using his love for his home as a
convenient excuse to play Missy Martyr again?

No, I wasn't.

His home. That was the key phrase. His home.
New York was not his home. I may have his heart -- and I know that
I did, without a doubt --, but this mass of concrete choked by
traffic and swarming in an endless sea of people was not his
home.

His heart could not be happy here.

"I just can't," I said into the phone. "To
make that choice for him and then watch him struggle to find his
place, to find happiness, it wouldn't be worth it. It just
wouldn't."

"Think of all those orgasms, Ronan. You think
I'm joking, but I'm not. Seriously, think about it. Vinnie the
Vibrator ain't gonna hit that sweet spot."

I sighed.

Yet another point.

No!

"It's the right thing to do. Please, please,
please support me on this, alright?"

A long pause.

"Alright. Of course."

"Thank you."

"And let's definitely not forget our
sunblock."