Metaxa

He raised his empty beer bottle to Ianthe across the room. She nodded and brought him another, and he bummed a smoke from me and we talked some more, and then there was a shout of laughter from the front of the room and the sounds of chairs moving back and we looked over to see what was happening. A large table full of women who seemed to be locals was gearing up for what looked like a mighty fine time. Standing, they all raised glasses of ouzo, drank, slammed the glasses down and began moving toward the door, some of them stopping to speak to another diner or two, leaning down to kiss a cheek. Then they were gone and I realized the place was almost empty.

I hadn't intended to stay this long-how long had it been? Before the confusion inside me could snowball, Thomas drained his beer, set the bottle aside, and asked, "Coffee?"

"Oh--no, I should... go, I think--I mean..."

I am not a stammerer. I could feel myself starting to blush.

Ianthe saved the day by showing up just then. Thomas said, "Thank you, that was excellent. Coffee, please?" before I could stop him, but Ianthe said, "No."

I stared at her in surprise. She smiled, her eyes very bright. "You should go together, walk to the caldera, just there. The moon is very special tonight. If you stay here to drink coffee you will miss it."

"No coffee, then." I stood up and reached over to the half-wall, where I'd put my notebook and pen. I picked up my lighter and the cigarette pack and said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Thomas. Travel safely," and turned to go, but Ianthe was having none of it. "No, what is 'travel safely?' You are going to see the moon."

"I can see it, walking back to my hotel. I'll look, I promise."

"You must both go. Together." Ianthe actually shook her finger at me. She looked at Thomas. "It is very bad luck to look at caldera moon alone. You must go with someone."

I sputtered something along the lines of trusting my luck, still a bit in awe of the finger-wagging, but Thomas was on his feet, dropping euros on the table and saying to her, "We'll go together to look, Ianthe. I promise not to let Martina see it alone." She laughed then, and we left the taverna together.

"Which way?" he asked me, stopping on the bottom step, but I had already turned to the right, in the direction of my hotel.

"Oh, I'm--just--going to go back to my room and go to bed, I think."

"I'll just see you back, then," he said. "You did say we'd be able to see the moon on the way?"

"Yes, but there's no need for you to walk all the way over there. Just down that alley there, and past the church, you can get a nice view of the caldera," I said, pointing. "See it? There's a place where you can get coffee, if you want, across from the church and down a few doors."

"Can't risk the bad luck though, can we?" He had turned to look in the direction I indicated, and now he cocked his head at me in inquiry.

"Oh," I laughed, "Ianthe just made that up. Like the mysterious disappearing lamb shank. She likes mischief, is all."

"I don't know about that," he frowned, deeply serious. Except for the ghost of that half-grin haunting the corner of his mouth. "I'd better come along with you, at least until we see this 'special caldera moon'." Something unbearably warm and sweet ran through me just then, straight down my throat to my belly and further down; I wrapped my arms around myself to keep my hands from reaching up to touch his finely-weathered face. He was still a stranger. I did not know this man.

"That's really not necessary."

Then his hand came up and one long finger traced my brow, moving my bangs away from my eyes and tucking my hair behind my ear.

Paralysis. Heat and cold. The pulse in my throat. A sudden, startling gush of warmth, lower.

"Oh, I think it is," he said. His voice was warm and dry and firm, like his hand; and I was unable to speak. Utterly without words, a weakling, stripped of my one strength. He continued to look at me, his hand back in his pocket now, in that same easy, interested stance he'd had as he waited to see if he'd be sharing my table.

Eventually I managed to look away, and then to take a step in the direction I'd started to go when we exited the restaurant. He turned and walked alongside me, hands still in his pockets, not touching me. Just walking. I began to breathe normally again.

Hoping he could not hear the wet squelching sounds I could feel between my legs at every step.

* * * * * * *

It wasn't actually so far to my hotel. We were there before I knew it. The best view of the caldera was down a flight of steps that led to the gorgeous salt-water infinity pool, so I led the way, setting my things down on a table, stepping around and between the chairs and chaises until we were standing at the far side of the pool, looking out across the sea and the sunken volcano to where the full moon sat enthroned on midnight clouds.

The breeze had turned cooler, and it picked up a bit at the exact moment I felt Thomas's fingers in my hair, lightly, rubbing the fine strands between them as though exploring the weave of some newly-discovered cloth. The sensation made a shiver run hard through my body and I crossed my arms as goose bumps rose up on my skin.

His hand left my hair and I saw him reach out to drape his jacket around me; I shifted away slightly, twitching my shoulders to avoid him, saying, "It's ok, I'm fine," but stepping behind me he just took hold of my shoulders beneath the jacket, drawing it securely around me, settling his hands on my shoulders again, the weight and the warmth radiating from them, through the fabric to my skin and the tight hard muscles beneath, almost making my knees buckle.

He didn't try to massage the muscles or stroke my back; he simply continued to rest those huge hands on me, letting the warmth wash through me. I felt him against my hair again and heard him inhale, long and slow, drawing the scent of my hair and scalp and skin deep, deep into his lungs, lightly resting his cheek against my head as he exhaled and then my knees did buckle slightly and I knew, too late, far too late, that I had completely lost control of this situation.

"She was right, wasn't she?" he said, just behind my ear. "What?" I tried to say, although the sound that emerged from my throat was without any consonants at all.

"The caldera moon. I'm very glad we didn't miss this."

I may have nodded slightly. I'm not sure. He moved to my side, running a hand across and down to catch my hand, and he was sitting in one of the chaises and pulling me down into his lap and I was off-balance before I realized what he was doing and then there I was, trying to get my feet on the concrete so I could stand up again.

His arm across my middle blocked my efforts. "Martina, it's all right. Just sit in my lap for a moment. Please?"

My feet still an inch or so off the ground, I willed myself to levitate. "I'm not much of a lap-sitter," I said, trying to smile, my face hot. "Well, you can learn, can't you?" he said. "It's not difficult."

"Thomas, I'm too heavy. I'd hate to cripple you for life."

"Nonsense," he said. Firmly. "You're exactly the right weight for my lap. Come on," and his arm around my middle tightened, shifting my hips back, more surely onto him, as his other hand cradled my head, drawing me closer. "Come here." The muscles of his thighs felt strong and secure and the softness around his belly made me want to sink into him, but I couldn't.

His fingers worked into my hair, slid underneath, brushing my scalp. "Martina," his voice was coming from deep in his throat now, his mouth so close, so close to my ear. "Let go, just for a moment. I have you, I'll hold you. Stop holding yourself, just for a bit, and let me hold you. Look at the caldera moon, and let me hold you."

I looked toward the moon, turning my head to follow my eyes. Allowed the back of my shoulder to come against the middle of his chest. Relaxed my neck; let my head... rest.

Let go of the breath I'd been holding.

"That's it," he sighed as he felt it. "Mmmmm... that's right." I felt him kiss my hair, briefly. Felt his hardness beneath me, but he didn't seem to mind, perfectly comfortable there, just holding me in his lap.

We watched the moon.

I felt his lips at my temple, soft, sweet. His nose at my ear, running along the outside of it, and then he was kissing my neck just below, gently, then harder, still slow, but a little more urgently, a bit more determination behind his tongue beginning to taste that place where the fine soft hair stops and down, harder now, and I felt my back arch as he held me tighter and I gasped, feeling his hand firm across my abdomen, and the heat of his mouth opening on me, as wet and full as the swelling space between my legs, the same heat, the same wetness and dark drawing need pulling, pulling at me, pulling at all the soft places, the soft secret places where pleasure curls up waiting, waiting to be called.

I moaned.

I am not a moaner. I like sex as much as the next girl, and I've never been shy about giving voice to my enjoyment in bed, but that moan... that soft, hot, intense voice issuing from my throat was one I'd never heard before, and as it entered my ears I heard what sounded like the voice of surrender. My surrender. Like nothing I'd ever heard coming from my own body before now, before this, before him.

He must have felt the tension returning in me; lifted his lips to my ear, breathing "it's all right, you're all right" as he shifted beneath me, turning, the hand that had been holding my head coming down, his forearm behind my shoulders, supporting me as he pulled his head back to see my face, his other hand sliding around my side so his fingers just touched the small of my back, holding me there in that place that makes everything inside me turn completely upside down.

"Look at me... Martina, look. Look at me," and though I couldn't make myself look at him, his voice drew my eyes to his without any help from me at all. "You're safe with me. There's nothing you need to do, nothing you need to be other than exactly who you are, right now." His gaze dropped to my mouth. "Exactly... as you are," his voice lower still, and I put my mouth to his and just dissolved, right there, dissolving into undifferentiated liquid heat, unthinking, unspeaking, unhearing, open soft surging want, arms wrapping around his neck and his hand inside the wide leg of my cotton shorts, my thighs parting for him, his fingers finding me through the ocean of wetness, stroking gently, relentlessly through the gusset of my panties and I couldn't even form a thought of stopping him, his soft tongue filling my mouth with warmth, moaning into him again, writhing, flooding out over him, and then his fingers sliding the soaking fabric aside and the feeling of his skin on mine, those long strong fingers running through the folds of my flesh and stroking up to my clit, working against me in smooth indefatigable strokes and circles and I arched against him, crying out as he told me "yes, yes Marti, yes, oh my good girl, yes, my good sweet girl, that's it, that's it let go, let it go, let me have you, let me take you" sliding two fingers deep inside, deep and hard and sure, stroking in and in and the broad flat of his thumb at my clit, firm and circling as those fingers oh gods stroking and finding that place, that place, sure and unerring and both fingers running firmly down and across it, reaching up and again across and down, again...

and I detonated, voiceless now, rigid with unimaginable pleasure, his voice and arms and hand and fingers all one, all around and all inside and owning everything as he says, again, "yes, let it go, all of it, coming to me, coming just like that, coming my own sweet girl" and I am coming, and coming, coming apart, coming for him, under him, into him, into his hand, there, in the moonlight by the caldera, doing nothing at all, exactly as I am.

I don't know how long we sat like that. I felt myself shiver with aftershock and the chill of the breeze on my skin, drenched in sweat and sex. His jacket had somehow ended up partially trapped beneath my legs, twisted and hanging off the side of the chaise to the ground. Guilt stabbed me as I thought of him having to take it to be cleaned and pressed tomorrow.

Feeling the change in my body, he gently withdrew his hand from inside me and moved to wrap me in his arms, but I caught his wrist, using the tail of my shirt to dry his fingers, thoroughly, one at a time, finishing with his palm and the back. Leaned over to kiss the web of his thumb.

He rotated his hand to cup my jaw, stroking my cheek, the scent of my sex pouring over me. I was afraid he'd turn my head to make me look at him. The gentleness of his fingers on my face made me want to weep. I drew a great shuddering breath, still feeling his erection under my thigh. Summoned the energy and will to sit up and lean away from the warmth of his body.

Eyes drawn to his groin, I laid my hand on the swelling I could see beneath his trousers. He groaned, long and low, covering my hand with his, pressing me against him. Feeling him grow harder, I was finally able to look up at his face.

His eyes were closed, head stretched back in pleasure for an extended moment. Opening his eyes, he smiled slowly. Let go of my hand, caressed my arm. "Caldera moon," he half-growled, softly. "Exquisite."

I reached for his fly, but he stopped my hands. "Not yet." Trapping my fingers before I could pull them away, he said, "Martina. It's not that I don't want you. I do," his smile wider now, "that much should be evident."

"Then what?" my voice slightly hoarse. Suddenly aware of how dry my throat felt.

His hand at my forehead, stroking the hair back from my eyes once more. "I like the idea of seeing you tomorrow-if I may?-and..." his smile turned into something else again, "... if you don't mind-enjoying the anticipation."

My bewilderment was comprehensive. "Are you sure you're not a woman?" I blurted, immediately regretting it because it hadn't come out right at all. He shouted with laughter, held me fiercely. "That may be the strangest commendation I've ever received. And by far the greatest." I could feel his laughter, still bubbling deep in his chest. "So. Is that a yes for tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Breakfast?"

"All right."

"Ah. Sweet Marti." Another brief kiss to the top of my head, and he let me go. "Sleep well."