This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (30 page)

“Oh my God!”
I scream. It turned to trillions before escaping through each cell of my body and settling in my soul. What on earth was that? I’m still trembling and still moving but not fast enough for him, which would explain why I’m now the one lying on the soft carpet caressing his hair.

“Luce,” he keeps whispering against my mouth. “What are you doing to me?” he moans before kissing me.

“No…what…you…do…ing…to…me!” I let out as we both come together this time; one hundred trillion tingles all through my body and my heart is about to explode. This is so new to me, I’m still a bit dizzy, good dizzy. Is that what saying “I love you” does to you, even if he didn’t hear it? Did he hear it?

He sits up, still carrying me, moving my hair away from my face. “You’re not going to leave in the middle of the night again?” he asks. He looks almost afraid of the answer.

This time my heart explodes. “No, Marcus. Not unless you ask me to,” I tell him. “Not unless you ask me to.”

“Permission to speak freely?” I ask Marcus, wearing only his shirt and lying on his bed.

“Granted,” he answers, pulling me toward him. “Please take that thing off.”

“You mean your two hundred quid shirt?” I play with it. “But I’m cold,” I pout. I’m really freezing; I need to get under the covers now but Marcus isn’t letting me.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he says, completely naked I might add. And no part of his body is being affected by coolness of his room. “Now here you are,” Marcus gloats as he unveils my chest.

I don’t know if it’s the cold, his voice, his look or all combined, but I start groaning almost purring. I need help. “Marcus?” he takes one is his mouth.

“Yes, Kitty,” he groans against my breast.

“Why did you bring a condom with you to my sister’s wedding, you cocky prick?” I ask with a very husky voice.

“I didn’t.” He takes the other one.

I am getting warm. “Marcus, I’m serious!” It sounded more like a sough than that anything else. “We used it downstairs.” He’s almost at my navel now and I’m almost out of will power. “Marcus…really,” I manage to say.

“Patrick gave it to me,” he whispers. “My brother doesn’t look so perfect now?”

“Don’t try to drag Patrick into this!” I laugh.

“Really, Luce?”

“Really,” I tease and bring him back to me. Our eyes locks; they have been locking quite a bit today. “Marcus –”

“No.” He kisses me.

“You don’t even know –”

“We’re not going to have a chat, Lucia,” he says, back on my navel. “Not now.” He continues kissing it.

“But we really –” I suddenly feel the urge to purr again. Ma
rcus’ tongue is inside me, “need to…to…to…” I can’t even finish my train of thought.

“I believe I found that second navel after all. Should I stop?” I hear Marcus say.

“Later…” I moan, pushing his head back now. This time it is not a vivid dream.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked, straight in the eyes. I still can’t believe she said yes. After all that had happened between us in past the six months and all that had happened yesterday at the wedding, she still said yes. She generously gave herself to me without any reserve and I selfishly took what she was offering. And I want more, more of her, more of us.

I look at her sleeping next to me on her stomach in my bed. She’s facing me but I can’t see her face; her hair is covering it. I move it away to kiss her nose, her cheekbone, her neck. I move the sheet down so I can slowly kiss her naked back, each vert
ebra at a time. Her smell is just so intoxicating, vanilla and cocoa butter at the same time, strangely matching her light-brown complexion. The then exotic, charming, beautiful and very inviting Lucia has now become the beautifully, passionate, exotically intoxicating, charmingly stubborn, temptress Lucia.

I hear a small groan as I’m running my hands across her smooth back. She’s finally waking up. Good; I thought I might have to shake her this time.

“Hi, Marcus.” She’s just smiling her eyes closed, her voice hoarsened.

I keep kissing her lower back, almost reaching her butt when I’m stopped by a pair of knickers. “Now, how did those get here?” I ask her, laughing and trying to remove them.

She turns around, now fully awake, giving me an impressive view of her breasts, partially hidden under her long, straightened hair. My mouth goes dry. I bend down to kiss her stomach then lick her navel. She looks down, takes my head and brings it to her eye level.

“Marcus…” she whispers, staring at me, her eyes so full of love,
our mouths so close to one another.

“Luce…” I respond. That’s the only thing I can say every time I hear my name in that sexy, pleading tone. Temptress Lucia kisses me, softly at first, teasing me with her tongue, then she just goes for it. It’s deep, it’s wet, it’s messy,
it’s just earthshattering. I kiss her chin, her neck goes back to her mouth, take her breasts in my hands. I can hardly breathe or think but I just can’t stop myself. But I do while pushing her hair away from her breasts so I can enjoy them fully.

“Would you be a dear and take those off?” I ask her, pointing to her knickers.

“No rest for the wicked I see. Where do you find this energy?” she answers, smiling at me.

“I’m not sure,” I tease, still waiting for those damn knickers to be removed.

“I can barely move.” She pushes me away, “Are you trying to break a record?”

“It’s the last time I promise,” I tell her while kissing her neck. I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep this promise but she doesn’t have to know. “Now,
please, the knickers.”

“Baby, I’m so tired. I need a good shower,” she yawns and stretches her body against mine.

“A shower would be nice,” I gloat. Forget it, I’ll remove them myself.

She takes my hand and kisses it before pushing it away. “Alone! I’m starving. How about I cook us some breakfast as well?” she adds, sitting up and retrieving a nightgown.

“Where did you get this?” I ask her.

“In my bag.”
She points it out. “I went downstairs to pick up my things, which included my infamous knickers.”

“I see. It is mid-Sunday morning after all.” I look down at those damn panties. “So, are you going to do something about this?” I say.

“Patrick was here and left for Manchester about ninety minutes ago. He said, he’d call… Do you think he’s going to call
me
, Marcus? Men always say that but most never do,” she tells me.

“You’re too much, Luce! And he’d better
not
call you or –” I say, taking her in my arms.

“Or what, Marcus?” she asks softly.

I caress her soft, sweet cheeks while she’s kissing my hands along the way. How can such simple gestures feel so intimate and so natural between us? It keeps amazing me.

“Or what, Marcus?” she asks again.

“Oh…I will deal with him,” I tell her. I reach out for her face, her lovely face. “Come here,” I say before kissing her again. “Luce?”

“What now?” she asks against my lips.

“I have to be in Paris next Wednesday…in ten days. I can’t promise you anything but I would really like –”

“I’ll stay with you.” She kisses the tip of my nose. She doesn’t add anything else but her eyes are doing all the talking, the yearning and the longing.

I can’t promise you anything, Luce, I keep repeating to myself, but I don’t want you to go away. “Thank you for staying.”

She removes her panties slowly, without breaking eye co
ntact. She reaches for me, her arms and legs embracing me, placing me on top of her.

“Last time, right?
Then you’ll let me rest,” she asks me. Her hands are caressing my back and the back of my head; her feet are caressing my butt.

“I really, really doubt it, love,” I groan, completely entering her without breaking eye contact and taking all her sweet, wonderful warmth inside of me.

By the time we made it back to the main floor it was mid-afternoon. After mostly sleeping until 1.00 p.m., Lucia went to take a long shower, alone, in my bathroom, no less. When I tried to follow her she shut the door in my face screaming, “If you even move the handle, I’ll scream blooding rape and you will spend your Sunday afternoon in jail! I’m not battery ope
rated, Marcus!” So I impatiently waited for my turn, which came about an hour later when a completely dressed Lucia emerged from the room brushing her long, straight, wet hair.

“All yours!” she said with a big smile, wearing her glasses and charm bracelet, no makeup and no shoes.

“Thanks, lost member of Salt N Pepa,” I told her, laughing. She was wearing baggy jean, short overalls with a fitted, Rolling Stones’ shirt; she looked simply adorable.

“Bite me!” she said and sat on the bed.

“So, you can call the coppers on me? Maybe later,” I answered before closing the door behind her. Unlike Luce, a fast, refreshing shower was all I needed, maybe a fast shave too. I just put a sweater on when my mobile rung.

“Hi, Mum!” I recognized the number. “I was wondering when you would be ringing me.”

“Hi, Cushion. How was the wedding?”

“It was great. The bride looked beautiful and the groom and his groomsmen were…well-coordinated,” I laughed. “The ce
remony was really moving. She was given away by her younger sister, Lucia.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said. “About Lucia,” she continued after a small silence. “Patrick told me about
her
.”

“And what did Patrick tell you? That weasel!” I asked her, leaving my bedroom for the living room downstairs. I could only imagine. Where did he sleep last night anyway?

“That he and Sally are getting a divorce,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “That’s what my weasel of the son told me.”

Who’s the weasel now? “I’m sorry, Mum. Yes, I know; she actually had the papers sent to my home in London.”

“He’s staying with us. No point going home to an empty house.” I could hear the sadness in her voice and it broke my heart. I never liked Sally but still… “He’s in bad shape, love, and he’s missing the girls.”

“I bet.” I looked around the main floor, “Luce?” I called as I covering my phone. Where is she? The telly was on and I could smell…food, very good food. She’s in my kitchen.

“Yes Luce. He told me about her too; and showed me pictures. Are you bringing her this weekend? Your brother is quite taken with her,” she teased.

“‘Your brother is quite taken with her’,” I mimicked
.
“Yes, Mum, they really hit it off during the reception. He’s supposed to ring her if I recall correctly.” Patrick! A real pain even though he’s miles away.

“She looks so much like her mother; they all do. And so beautiful,” Mum adds.

Didn’t I know! “Hey,” I whispered to Lucia cooking in the kitchen. There was a warm French apple tart cooling off on the counter and a whole chicken roasting in the oven. She did this in one hour? She turned around with a couple of coffee mugs in her hands and handed me one. “Right, Mum. I’ll ask her,” I told her, following her around while preparing…mini eggs benedict?

“Ask me what?” Lucia was plating. “I can’t believe you had quail eggs in your fridge,” she added, bringing the plate full of delicious eggs benedict into the living-room.

“About coming with me to Manchester this weekend,” I tell her.

“Sure! Patrick met my family; I should really meet his. It’s only fair,” she teased and tasted an egg. “Um…orgasmic,” she whispered.

“Right, Patrick’s family,” I said, tasting an egg as well. “Fantastic!”

“What?” Mum said over the phone. Oops! I forgot about her for a second.

“Lucia made mini eggs benedict… Oh and she will be coming this weekend too,” I told her.

“So Pat was right?” she smirked.

“Mum…” I warned.

“Bye, Cushion. Say hi to Lucia,” she said then hung up.

“My nesting brother redecorated the living room last week,” I explain to her. I sit next to her on the sofa and grab another egg. “He filled up the fridge with all the things you’ve seen in it.”

“That’s sweet. A full pantry… One of my soft spots is tingling,” she moans and snuggles up to me. She’s watching a
Dawson’s Creek
marathon. Who am I kidding? We’re both watching it. Who doesn’t love the adventures of the Capeside residents? “How is he? He must be missing his daughters,” she asks, still watching the telly.

“He’s sad but with family,” I tell her. It’s nice of her to care. “Do you know where he slept last night?”

“Yes…” she teases. She’s wearing my socks and is playing with my bare feet. Just a quiet Sunday afternoon, watching the telly and eating her wonderful cooking, just like we used to in Toronto. It still feels as natural now as it did then. “With one my cousins or Andrew’s groomsmen?”

“Very funny.
Patrick would have never done that. Not that your single cousins aren’t lovely,” I tell her.