Ah.
“‘Met’ is not quite how I remembered it,” Natalya said. “I’m fairly certain breath-freshener-as-mace was used as a threat on my life.”
Alison gave her a sly grin. “Well, sure, but calling it the anniversary of your stalking me because you wanted to kill me has some unsavoury connotations.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Natalya smiled and decided if Alison could whitewash those days, so could she. She winced as she shrugged out of her jacket and slid it on the back of a wooden chair at the kitchen table.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Natalya glanced up. Alison’s eyes never missed much.
“My masseuse found that scar on my back today, and decided it needed a special kind of pummeling.” She wriggled and straightened her back, stretching a little. “Actually, I think she used her entire body weight on it at one point.”
“Ouch,” Alison said in sympathy, putting the lid on the pot and then turning the heat way down.
Natalya ran her eyes over her lover, taking in the tight jeans and blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves. She felt a familiar tightening of arousal, something she’d never stopped having for this woman. Any thoughts she might become bored with her, or of this life, were fears that had yet to come to pass.
Alison came closer and the smell of her freshly washed hair and scrubbed skin, mingled with tomato aromas, made Natalya want her even more. More than anyone she’d ever known.
What had Mi Na called Alison? A sweet little thing? Actually, she was a woman who had stopped an assassin in her tracks by just being herself.
Alison’s keen, interested gaze took her measure. Something of Natalya’s desire must have shown in her eyes, because Alison’s cheeks warmed. “In the mood, are we?” she asked.
Always in the mood. For this, and for you.
Natalya had never used to want like this. But everything was different with this unassuming woman. She had redefined what Natalya’s body craved. Natalya allowed a seductive smile to curl her lips, making her interest known.
Alison’s lips captured hers immediately, and her tongue sought out Natalya’s with enthusiasm. Alison pressed hard against her, pushing her into a wall and grasping fists of clothing as she eliminated all space between them.
Natalya groaned in surprise and delight. She loved it when Alison took the initiative. Oh, Natalya always loved flinging Alison down and taking her until her body was a series of shaking, whimpering trembles. But this, this burning need, was something else. It undid her every time.
She was propelled into their bedroom, their bedroom—even after all this time, the shock of that still took adjustment. Natalya had been alone for so long that negotiating things like shared beds, bathrooms, and kitchens still sometimes made her itch with discomfort.
When Alison nudged open the door to their bedroom, Natalya pulled away, her eyes widening.
Red petals. On the floor. On the sheets. The music, playing on an iPod in the corner, was a string duet. Two instruments seemed to be dancing around each other, feeling each other out, flirting, seducing. Philip Glass’s Double Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra, she noted. Duet No. 2. How apt: a cellist and a violinist. She glanced at Alison who gave her a cheeky grin.
Alison’s lips were back on Natalya’s, claiming her. That magical tongue was doing things to her that were positively obscene. An approving gasp worked its way from her throat. Natalya’s eyes fluttered closed and she felt her outer clothes wrenched down her body with desperation. There was little skill; it was pure need.
It brought her back to that day.
Their first time together. The real first time. Not the earlier time she’d allowed Alison to have a taste of her, a small piece as a farewell because the woman’s soft eyes had pleaded for it and Natalya couldn’t deny her, despite knowing it was a terrible idea. Risky. She’d held back to protect herself, but it hadn’t entirely worked. She’d still given far more than she’d intended. Not all, but more. And she’d thought of little else since.
Natalya had held out for a year. Finally she had returned one night and, heart hammering in her chest, had asked Alison to return with her to Europe. It was a pivotal moment. For the first time in her entire life—a life spent toying with and controlling others—she’d kissed someone. On the lips.
It had been terrifying. And intoxicating.
Afterwards, they’d barely gotten back to Alison’s apartment before they’d begun tearing clothes off each other. And then… She swallowed at the memory of a time that had left her so vulnerable she could scarcely breathe.
Alison, hair still wet from the light rain that night, had pushed her down, eyes intense and dark, and smoothed her hands all over her, mapping her naked body with a joy that seemed to come from knowing Natalya was hers. She’d touched her. All of her. For an eternity. Because she could. Because Natalya had allowed her to, as her equal.
Natalya had watched the swaying of her pale, bare breasts, revelled in the softness of her skin, as Alison’s burning fingertips teased and touched all around where she most wanted them.
Natalya hadn’t asked for more, or for anything, because she’d wanted Alison to take her any way she wanted. It was the most profound and hardest gift she had ever given anyone. Natalya’s fingers had curled and retracted, fighting her fierce need to have control, to reclaim her power on that confronting, thrilling, terrifying first night.
Her jaw had tightened each time her body quivered—betraying its weakness of desiring to bend to the will of another. The apex predator side of her didn’t want to want this. But, as she’d discovered after roaming Europe alone, not having this was far worse than admitting to needing it.
Natalya’s skin and muscles had shone from perspiration in her efforts not to show how hard it was to be so laid bare. Beneath Alison’s fervent explorations, and in those eyes watching her so intently, lay a well of desire. This was all Alison had wanted in order to be happy.
Even if the fight to surrender killed her, Natalya wanted to give her this night.
Alison’s fingers had stroked her muscles, explored her dips and lines, teased her nipples and skidded over her ribs, before worshipping the planes from her hips down. She had laid heated lips upon her most intimate flesh, tasting her with relish. She’d brought Natalya to the edge over and over but never let her cross. Instead, those taunting lips had rushed back up to Natalya’s and murmured against her mouth how much she loved this. How often she had fantasised about doing this, exactly this, for so long. How having Natalya, this way, having the power, meant so much. How it had meant everything.
And then, finally, when Natalya had been gasping, on the edge again, voice and nerves raw with want, Alison had entered her for the first time. She had nudged her way between her swollen, wet lower lips with a single, long finger. Slow and gentle, with a tiny, sweet smile on her face, she’d pushed in as far and as deep as she could. And in so doing, she’d discovered Natalya’s darkest secret.
Natalya had tensed because, like the kissing earlier that evening, this was not something she’d done before. Even when alone, she’d never explored much beyond the surface. Without the thrill of power, there had never seemed much point before.
Thanks to her highly active life, Natalya had no idea whether she even still had an intact “virgin’s veil” as they used to call it. So she had lain there, frozen, expecting something—pain, blood maybe… Not everyone experienced these things, but still, she’d tensed, waiting for it.