Secret Worlds (220 page)

Michael’s eyebrows met in the crease between his eyes. “What? No, Amaia, you’ve misunderstood my meaning.” Amaia relaxed a little. “I can’t sleep chastely with you every night.”

Oh yes, Michael and his morals. “That won’t be a problem. I don’t sleep. I can even leave the room if you like.”

Michael chuckled. “I’m not a saint, Amaia. If the only way I can have you is outside of wedlock, then so be it. I’ll not waste any more time when I have so little of it left. I can’t live with you without being with all of you. We’ve been together before, there’s no reason to hold off for marriage, especially when we’re going to be living like man and wife. If you’ll have me, I’d like to make love to you.”

“Really?” There was something absurd about hearing Michael proposition her so formally and thoughtfully.

“Yes. I want you more than anything, Amaia. You think I enjoy denying myself? Every time I see you, I want you. I don’t know what it’s like to look at you and not desire you. I think anyone who looks at you and doesn’t want to be with you is insane.” Michael looked up at her from the bed, clothes in disarray from their travels, face open and inviting. It was hard to believe that she had lived so many years without him.

“I seem to remember you not liking it when other people looked at me that way.”

“I didn’t say I like it. I never will. And it’s not just because I feel I have a claim to you. It’s because I know they could never fully understand and appreciate you, not the way I do, not the way you deserve to be known.”

Amaia had heard enough flattering words in her existence to last a thousand lifetimes. She was no stranger to romantic nothings from men. This was different. It wasn’t romantic. It was intense. Unsettling. The distinction was as clear as night from day. Michael spoke to her so differently from the way others did. He not only believed the words he spoke, he knew they were true. She liked the difference.

Michael made no move toward her. He was going to make her come to him. His eyes revealed that it wasn’t from a lack of desire. Amaia knew Michael needed her consent. This time would be different than the times with Michelle. Michelle had always been safe, unique in that she was Amaia’s only female lover. Her affair with Michelle started with a moment overtaken by heated passion. This would be deliberate.

Amaia sat next to him and stroked his face as she leaned in for a kiss. Michael dodged it and grabbed her wrist. “No, Amaia. I’m not one of your clients. I need you to be you tonight. I’m abandoning my ideals to be with
you
, not a practiced professional.”

Amaia hadn’t even realized she was doing it. Now that he mentioned it, though, she knew he was right. She had slipped so easily into the role she had played ever since she’d lost her virginity to a client at fourteen. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad that I’ll be the first man who has been with the real you.”

Michael always had a way of making her feel like more of a lady than she had any right to. Any other man would despise her for her profession. He was able to separate it from her.

Michael looked into her eyes and twirled a strand of her hair. The desire in his eyes was familiar. Amaia had seen it in the eyes of thousands of men. But instead of looking at her and seeing what he desired, he saw her. The difference was subtle, but impactful. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Amaia.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

“No, it’s not a compliment. A mere statement of fact.” His gray eyes warmed and dilated, coming nearer until they closed a split second before his lips connected with hers. Amaia’s eyes followed suit. When he pulled back, she wanted nothing more than those lips to make contact with hers again. She leaned forward, and Michael obliged. His chapped lips kissed
her
, not the fantasy men so often paid for. The knowledge was a greater aphrodisiac than anything Amaia had ever discovered.

Michael’s tongue firmly but gently sought entrance to her mouth. She parted her lips, allowing him in. She knew his mouth. It was warm and familiar to her, as if their kissing were a daily occurrence. It should be, she thought. A mouth like his deserved to be kissed regularly. What would it be like if they were a married, mortal couple? How often would they kiss? In the morning to be sure, before he left for work. He would want to kiss her while she made breakfast. Perhaps some days she would stop by for lunch, and they would kiss. That would probably be the way of it most days. What did a woman do all day at home alone? Amaia had no idea. She didn’t really want to find out. He would kiss her after lunch, tasting their meal on her lips. As the sun set, they would watch with Amaia sitting in his arms. Those arms would squeeze her close, let her know that she belonged with him. When the last hints of pink receded from the clouds, he would lean down and kiss her. And of course he would kiss her before bed and then once as he drifted off.

“What are you thinking?” Michael looked into her face, cupping her cheek with one hand while the other pushed her hair away from her eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me. I want to know. I want to know all of you.”

“I was daydreaming. Of you. Us. Of how many kisses we could share.”

The smile on Michael’s face was playful, and his eyes shone with more happiness than she had ever seen. “I’m glad. I’ll spend the rest of time kissing you if you let me.”

Amaia smirked. “It’s tempting.”

Michael leaned in close. “I can tempt you in other ways.” His voice was different than she had ever heard it, husky, heavy with promise. This time, when his lips touched hers, they were fierce, strong with passion. He smashed his lips to hers, curling his arms around her waist, crushing her to him.

As quickly as the kiss had started, it ended. Michael withdrew, placing his lips instead on her collarbone and then her neck. They travelled frantically over the exposed flesh of her chest. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt of this, Amaia?”

“No. I can’t imagine it’s less than the number of times I have.” Amaia realized it was true. She had tried to pretend she didn’t desire it, but often her idle thoughts had drifted to Michael and what it would be like to bed him in his male form. She tried to convince herself it was purely professional interest, but that was such a pathetic lie she was ashamed to even have thought it.

Michael slid the shoulder of her dress down as far as it would go. He kissed the newly exposed skin slowly, almost reverently. His lips led him to her back. She twisted, giving him easier access. When he swept her hair back to reach the first button of her dress, his breath tickled the skin of her neck. Fully clothed, she felt strangely exposed. Perhaps it was knowing that it was the first time Michael, the man, would see her. With Michelle, it had been so different. Would he like what he saw? Never before had she been more aware of the flaws of her body. While her clients sung her praises, she knew she convinced them to see only what they wanted to, the fantasy that the women in their life were not prepared to fulfill. It would be different with Michael. He would see her. She wouldn’t be able to convince him of a fantasy. She didn’t want to.

Each unfastened button was followed by a kiss, leaving a trail down her spine that tingled up and down her back. Michael was slow and methodical. No one would have guessed how long he had waited to do this. Eventually, his lips reached the corset hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. His fingers were just as careful and slow in unlacing it as they had been unbuttoning her dress. Amaia felt the boning relax as he loosened the corset. Her body was slowly freed. Soon, he would see all of her. She would be exposed to him, and there would be no turning back.

Michael had the corset completely undone. Amaia stood, keeping her back to him, and removed her clothing. When she sat back down, she turned to face him, her hands covering her breasts, head lowered, eyes seeking out any focal point except him. How did he make her feel like a virgin again? Even more of a virgin than she had been her first time because that time she had known it was all about business. She had never permitted a man to see her, the person, flawed and vulnerable.

Michael’s warm hand turned her face to look at him. “It’s all right, Amaia. You don’t have to feel shy. I’ve seen you before.”

“I know, but it was different then.”

“Not to me. I see you every day. You’ve always been transparent to me. Don’t worry. You don’t have to move your hands. Just lay down. Relax.”

Why was he the one comforting her? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? She was the experienced professional. Still, Amaia found herself following his orders. She leaned back on the bed, situating herself on the pillows.

“Comfortable?”

Amaia didn’t trust herself to speak, so she merely nodded. Michael smiled and ran his hands down her body. The feel of his hands against skin that had so recently been confined made her shiver. He gripped her waist, and Amaia loved the secure feeling of his hands wrapped around her slender frame. She felt safe. He spread his hands out along her abdomen, covering as much skin possible. His lips caressed her stomach, feather soft despite the chapped skin. Amaia felt each line of his lips, the faint wetness from his saliva, the tickle of his breath. Each nerve jumped and reacted to him, buzzing wherever he touched. She felt a little overwhelmed, which did not bode well for the rest of the evening.

Amaia closed her eyes and simply enjoyed his kisses. In her mind, she mapped the path of his mouth. With her eyes closed, she focused more fully on the sensations. They were slow and sweet in a way lovemaking with a man never had been before. Of course, it wouldn’t be. She was used to trading sex for money. It wasn’t the same. Oh, how she was learning it wasn’t the same.

The kisses stopped, and all Amaia felt was the air against her stomach, chilling the wetness that Michael’s mouth had left. She opened her eyes, wanting to know what had changed. Michael knelt and was in the act of removing his shirt. He was pulling it over his head, his face obscured by the fabric. His abdomen was firm, muscles rippling as he tossed his shirt aside. There wasn’t any bulk to him, not like when he was a blacksmith. This time he was slender, with long, lean muscle.

When Michael’s shirt was discarded, he focused back on her with a self-deprecating smile. “What do you think? You have a lot to compare to. I hope you don’t find me lacking.”

“Michael, I have never seen a man who looked so beautiful.”

“I know I change every time. I hope my appearance always pleases you.”

“I can’t imagine how it wouldn’t. And not everything changes. Your eyes have always been the same.”

“I know. I’m grateful. Sometimes, I think they are the only part of me that’s real. They’ve helped me maintain my sanity when I thought I was going crazy.”

Amaia found it ironic that his eyes had played such a different role in her own life.

Michael leaned down until the soft hair of his chest grazed her. It tickled for the split second before his skin rested against hers. Never before had her body responded this way to a man’s. Every cell woke up, vibrating, seeking Michael out, craving contact. The skin of her legs, arms, back, everywhere that wasn’t touching Michael, was jealous. She wanted contact with all of him. She wanted the rest of his clothing gone, but she had a feeling Michael wouldn’t comply quickly. There was no way he would take this as a quick fuck. He would savor her. She needed to relax and do the same.

Michael kissed her again. Amaia’s hands moved without her even thinking about it and wrapped around him. With her breasts now pressed against him, Michael took the opportunity to cup one in his hand. He didn’t squeeze or maul the way other men were prone to do. His hand just rested there, as if that was where it was meant to be, as if Amaia belonged to him and it pleased him to cup her breast at this particular moment.

When the kiss ended, Michael pulled away and looked at the breast he held. Admiration shone clearly in his eyes. Amaia had always known her breasts weren’t a good size, not compared to other women. That knowledge had been a source of discomfort for her entire life and led to her religious use of corsets. She needed all the help she could get.

“I know they’re small.”

“Nonsense. More than a handful is a waste anyway.” He lowered himself onto her again, covering her nipple with his mouth. A groan escaped the back of his throat as he played with the nipple, rolling it back and forth and then sucking.

Oh the sucking. Amaia arched her back. It felt as if there were a thousand nerve endings in that nipple, and each one danced with Michael’s tongue. His stubble scratched her skin, contrasting with the smoother touch of his hand. It was impossible to feel this way. He was cheating. It was beyond distracting. She couldn’t focus on anything, least of all the feeling in her breast. It was too much. What was she supposed to do? Her hands went to Michael’s head and pushed. He released the breast and looked into her eyes, confusion apparent. She had always loved it when Michelle played with her breasts.

“It’s too much. For heaven’s sake, Michael, I think you’re going to kill me.”

He grinned wider than she thought she had ever seen him in any life. “No, I wouldn’t want that. I’ll give the other one some attention.” He turned to her other breast and sucked it into his mouth with a little plopping sound. It was spectacular and fantastic, and she didn’t know how she would ever recover from the feeling. Was it possible for her to die? She thought she was immortal, but Michael made her feel distinctly mortal. Vulnerable—exposed in a way she never had been before. She didn’t know how she would ever come back down to Earth.

How could she possibly survive the feel of him sliding into her? There was no way her body could withstand it. And if, by some chance, her body could, then certainly not her nerves. It wasn’t fair that he seemed so unaffected by her. He seemed so calm and sure while she was anything but.

He released her nipple, and thoughts flooded back into her brain. A part of her was grateful for the end to the delicious torment. Another wanted him to start again. It was an insane dance. He trailed down her stomach, planting kisses in his wake, igniting her nerve endings in new ways. Meg had been right. It really was different with someone she cared about, someone with whom she had a connection. Amaia wasn’t sure how. There was no logical explanation, but there it was. She had thought the sex with Michelle had been so different—so intense—because she was a woman. She had been wrong.