The Lustful Truth Ch. 03

I hear a whispering in my ear and feel a hand moving up and down the side of my body as I lay, just woken, eyes still closed, on the bed. I feel his body behind me, my mouth curves to a smile, and I feel the intensity of the moment increase. Strong hands are holding my hips from behind, and soft words are filling my mind with happiness. "I love you. I love you," he says. "Forever."

I reach behind my head and put my hand in his hair. I feel his face slide into the curve of my neck, smell his sweet breath on my face, feel the heat of his body up against mine. The stillness of the room makes me think I can hear his heart beat, the electricity between our bodies makes me think I can keep my eyes closed and become part of him.

I hear a whispered song from the radio and let the words hit my heart, word after word... "Spent enough time in your arms to know... just where I wanna be..." I smile wider. "Been with you enough to know... just why I need you... Baby I'm right beside you... All I need is a little more of you..." My fingers come away from his head and take his hand off my hip, caressing, intertwining, feeling. I feel his lips kissing my neck, my shoulder, my back. Soft kisses, peppered with soft words and a soft tongue.

The happiness in my chest fills me so completely that I think I could explode, and as I think more and more about that feeling, it feels harder and harder to breathe. As my body stiffens, I shift uncomfortably. He senses my sudden change and I sense his immediate response. My hands are grasping for him now, my breath ragged, my mind unsure. I feel him simultaneously pull away from me while pushing me away from behind. I fight to keep my mind together, to keep his hands on me, to keep my hands on him. But I can't turn around. I go to cry out and nothing comes but tears and pained pieces of words.

I am sweating when I wake. Sweating and shaking, struggling to breathe. I look next to me and see the person there. It's not the person from my dreams. I get out of bed.

It's been almost a year since I've seen him. Since he whispered "Shit" while looking at the sunrise with me, since walking out of the door, and down the aisle with somebody else. I spent months trying to piece myself back together, and even more time than that trying to keep myself that way. It was all gone. Everything but the nightmares.

I never went to the wedding. I couldn't bring myself to see him, feigning, or worse –meaning– happiness, with her. I couldn't look her in the eye, couldn't look my friends in the eye, because I knew I had the look of someone eternally changed and different. People would ask, and even without my answer, people would know. So I left that morning, citing a death in the family to the first person I saw, handing over an envelope with money and lost words. The last day of my happiness was the first legal day of theirs. Even now, I put my hand to my stomach to slow my breathing.

There had been men since him. Every one of them attractive, some of them probably more so than he was; but none of them smelt the same or spoke the same. None of them looked at me that way, none of them felt like he did. As imperfect as the situation surrounding us was, it wasn't until those two nights that I knew what right felt like. And now that I knew, wrong felt almost violating.

The man sleeping in my bed now was beautiful. He was tall and strong, sculpted in the form of some beautiful Greek hero. His name was Kostas, but everyone called him Jon and he was the eldest son of my current boss, Greek shipping god Stavros Niarchos. We'd met at a company party after he'd moved to America, and after months of little appetite following the abandoned wedding, I apparently looked good enough for the beautiful John to sleep with.

At first he didn't understand my quietness, my reservation, my distance when we were in bed. But after some time, I told him about Christian and he understood. After that, things felt better to me. Jon would knowingly give me a smile as I stared blankly at the wall during their weekly management meetings, or put his hand on my back in a way that let me know that he was there for me. On the rare occasion that we went to a social event together, I could almost feel a protectiveness about him. We became closer and closer as friends, and eventually as lovers, and I felt a comfort in being with him I hadn't felt since that day last June with Christian.

I stare into the bathroom mirror, marveling that such a disheveled and hideously sad looking person could ever attract another human being, especially one so attractive as Jon. Even if he didn't have the looks that I imagine could have rivaled Eros, he had the bank account to warrant significant attention from every female you've ever heard of in a years worth of any women's magazine. Perhaps that's what kept me on the ground with him: looking in the mirror as I brush my teeth. My hair is a knotted mess on the top of my head, my remaining eyeliner is making it look as though I have blackish-blue bruises along my lower eyelids and I'm naked with the exception of my underwear. I laugh a little, silent laugh, wipe the makeup off my eyes and bend over to spit into the sink when I feel his big, strong hands on my ass. My body trembles as I shiver from their warmth.

"I should be lucky enough to see you this way every morning," he says in his deep, raspy, accented voice. I feel his warm, wet lips kiss my back, just above my underwear. I pick my head up, wipe my mouth on a towel and look back into the mirror. I catch the fading of his smile, and see his black eyes settle on my mouth. He brushes his teeth as I reassess myself.

"I would agree with you and insert a joke here, but" I look back at myself, "this isn't very funny..."

He wipes his mouth with the towel, tosses it aside and I see his eyes travel from my reflection in the mirror to my shoulders and down my back to my ass. He looks back up at me, pats the hair on the top of my head and says "I would call you cute right now but," his left hand comes in front of my body and feels my tit as his right hand and his eyes move to my ass, "there's too much hot here."

I roll my eyes, half smiling, moving out of the way of the sink for him, but not before his arms wrap around my body, his hands caressing my stomach, and his mouth catching me on the throat; I feel his hot tongue for a split second. He feels my shiver with his hands and I look into the mirror to catch him watching my reaction. My smile disappears as he stares at me, looking me in the eye as he slowly and softly runs his lips and tongue up my neck to my jaw line and then back down again. I reach up behind me and put my hand in his hair, running my fingers through, then pulling a little. He pulls away from me a little, first looking at the front of my body from the mirror, then holding my hips with both hands and looking at me from the back.

"Oraios," he whispers, his deep, scratchy voice barely making the word discernable from a breath. I smile, not looking at him, having found out the meaning of this word a few months ago from his brother Thano.

"Oraios. Bella." Thano said, his accent heavier than Jon's.

"Yes, that's what I'm asking, what does it mean?" I laughed, restating the question.

"No, no, Bella. Oraios. It means beautiful. In Greek. Just like your name in Italian."

"Oh," I said, not knowing how to respond. Jon had taken to calling me this whenever he saw me, never bothering to call me Bella anymore. I should have put it together.

"Where did you hear this?" he asked me. I looked at him, hesitating for a moment before saying that I'd heard it somewhere in a conversation and didn't know what it meant. Just as the last word was out of my mouth, Jon walked into the office.

"Thano. Oraios, good morning," he said winking at me and walking past us down the hall. My face turned bright red as I glanced at Thano, who had now crossed his arms and was leaning up against the wall, smiling at me.

"A conversation? Perhaps this conversation was taking place outside of the office, ha, Bella? In, let's say, your apartment, or perhaps, Jon's?"

I covered my eyes and walked away, listening to Thano laugh under his breath.

Now, in my bathroom, I can't help but smile as Jon kisses me again and again on my back, his hands slowly and softly feeling every inch of my body as he whispers over and over "Oraios... oraios..." I can feel his fingers hook into my underwear to slowly move them down my hips, then his whole hands wrapping around my ass to push them off. They fall around my ankles and I move my feet to kick them away.

My breath catches as I feel his right hand reach around the front of my body, his long, strong fingers stroking the lips of my pussy, which has gotten wet and achy within the last minute. His mouth and tongue are grazing my shoulders and I look up to see him watching me in the mirror. He smiles at me mid-kiss and I feel his fingers move to my clit and start to move. I struggle to keep my eyes on his and all traces of his smile disappear as he focuses on my body and how it's reacting to his touch.

Just as I'm about to cum, he pulls his hand away. He spreads his legs and bends his knees so that his tall body is low enough to get his dick inside me. I lean my head back onto his shoulder and try to breathe as I feel the head of his cock waiting to enter me.

"Oraios," his raspy voice whispers, "Oraios, look at me." And I look into those black eyes reflecting in the mirror as I feel his huge, throbbing cock push inside me. No words escape my mouth as he moves in and out little by little, until he fills me up. Unlike most other men I'd been with, Jon is able to maintain complete control of himself while watching me get more and more excited. He moves slowly in and out of me, savoring the feel of each slide, enjoying every second that my pussy is wrapped around his dick. His hands take my hands and his fingers caress my fingers as we cum at the same time, our bodies trembling with the release of such pleasure.

"I should be lucky enough to see you this way every morning," he says into my ear, as he pulls out of me, turning my head to kiss me as he looks me in the eye. He gives me a soft smile, resting his forehead against mine for a moment before moving to get into the shower.

Later that day I meet my friend Anna for lunch at Sette on Seventh Avenue in Chelsea. We bullshit for a while about work and family, and then, as always, she asks about Jon.

"Just tell me anything else about him you can think of... anything at all that the general public doesn't know..."

"Oh God, Anna, like what?" I say, laughing.

"His favorite color? Or his favorite baseball team? Or his eyes? Tell me what you think of when you look into his eyes..."

"His eyes? What do I think of? I think of how I can always never tell if they really are black or not, that's how dark they are. And he watches soccer, not baseball. And his favorite color is black."

"Like yours," she says.

"Like mine," I say, pausing for a second, then smiling.

"You're smiling," she says, quizzically squinting her eyes as she tilts her head to the side.

"And...? What's wrong with smiling?"

"Well, we've been talking about Jon for nine months, and this is the first time you've smiled."

"I always smile when you ask me about Jon. You're crazy and your crazy questions make me laugh."

"I know they make you laugh and I know you smile when I ask you about him, but this was different."

"How?" I ask, laughing some more.

"You weren't talking about him when you smiled. You were thinking about him."

My laugh stops mid-flow and my smile fades.

"Oh shit," she says.

"Oh shit," I say.

Neither one of us brings it up again before we part ways, and I'm deep in thought as I'm walking to the subway, when I get a text message on my phone. The number looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place it.

It says "I miss you."

I feel sick as the numbers connect to a name in my head. I write back "Who is this?"

I wait holding my breath for what seems like hours before I get "It's been a long time since I've seen that beautiful smile and heard that beautiful laugh, Bells."

Then, "It's Christian. I'm across the street."

I swallow my rising panic and look in every direction across from me until I see him. He stares at me, standing stock still in the middle of Manhattan traffic, and I stare back, not knowing if I should run or scream or bend over and throw up. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and my face turning red as tears start welling up in my eyes. I am so angry I could die. I opt to run.

I turn and run as fast as I can in high heels down a Manhattan sidewalk. The subway is two blocks away and as long as the lights stay in my favor, I can get there without him being able to cross the street. I push past people and around gratings as I desperately try and get to the stairs. A few steps before they start, I feel him grab me. He turns my body around and pushes me up against the window of a nail salon. I brush his hands off me and push him back. He grabs at my hands and I can do nothing to free myself from his strength.

"Don't fucking touch me," I say, crying, struggling to twist my hands free. He lets them go and I wipe my eyes and my nose, unable to look at him, not knowing what to do. I'm covering my eyes with my hands and trying to catch my breath when I feel his hand in my hair, on the back of my head. I grab onto his wrist, and for a moment, I just let myself feel him before pulling him away and throwing his hand back at him. He goes to move closer and I put my hands up in front of me.

"Don't. Please don't," I say, still crying, my breath swallowing some of my words.

"Don't what Bells?"

"Don't fucking call me Bells," I sob, "and don't fucking touch me. Please."

He steps back and for the first time, I look at him. He's swallowing his own tears, struggling with his own words. I want to kiss him, I want to punch him. I want to leave.

"What the fuck?" I say.

He looks at me. "I was walking down the street and there you were, sitting down eating with Anna. I couldn't believe it. I've wanted to call you for months, but I didn't know how or what to say. I saw you sitting there and I couldn't stop myself, I had to talk to you."

For the first time I stop crying. "You make me sick," I say and I turn and go down the subway stairs. He doesn't follow.

. ..

I call work and tell them I'm not feeling well and that I'm not coming back for the day. They ask if I'm okay and I say that I'm fine, I just have a bad headache and need to lie down. I get a sincere "Feel better" and hang up. I'm sitting on the couch, facing my window view of the city in my apartment when I hear a key in the door. It opens, and I turn to see Jon walking in, flowers in his hand.

"I know you don't like flowers," his deep voice says as he moves closer to me, "but chocolate is bad for headaches." He smiles and bends down to kiss me on the forehead. "How is my oraios?" he asks.

I look up at him, and my red puffy eyes fill with tears again. I feel my face crumple as I lower my head and bring a tissue to my nose.

"Oh moro, moro, ti layos?" he says getting down onto his knees in front of me.

"I know I work for your family," I sputter out, "but I'm not Greek. I speak German."

He laughs and repeats himself. "Baby, what's wrong?"

I look into his eyes, the sun shining through the window, and for the first time, I can really see.

Brown. His eyes are the deepest brown I've ever seen.

I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe him in. His long, strong arms wrap around my body and I feel like a vice is being unscrewed from around my chest. I'm happy and sad and utterly, totally confused. How did Jon get so close to me?

"I saw Christian today," I say, and feel Jon's body stiffen and pull away. I feel the vice again.

"TheChristian?" he asks. I nod my head.

"Oh," he says, standing up and walking a few steps away, his teeth biting his lower lip. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks deep in thought. He catches my eye, sees the look on my face and quickly comes back over to me. "Are you okay?" he says, sounding strained.

I look at his face, puzzled. "I wasn't," I say, "I'm not, but I'm feeling a little better. I'm just shocked I think."

He asks what happened and I tell him. He looks far away when I ask if he's okay.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just worried about you, that's all." He smiles. "I'm fine, Bella."

I feel my heart sink. I haven't heard him call me that in months.