“It calls to me,” he replied enigmatically, wrapping his arms around me. The warmth of the bath water around us and the strength of his body behind me felt comforting, finally calming my nerves completely. “One day, I want to live on a coast somewhere.”
“Why wait? What’s holding you in the city?”
“Lero has the cabaret here.” He nuzzled the spot above my ear. “And I need to work.”
“You could work elsewhere, couldn’t you? I can’t believe some huge record label hasn’t discovered you yet. Have you ever been offered a recording contract? With the voice like yours—”
“Oh, I have.” He waved me off. “A number of times. I’ve turned them all down, though.”
“Why?”
“Contracts come with too much publicity, which brings a lot of unwanted attention. And Lero says—,” he cut himself short. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what he says. Once you’re in the public eye, it’s impossible to blend in.”
“Why would you want to blend in?” I wondered how much control Lero had over Zeph’s career. They were a family. Was he also his manager? Why would Lero hold Zeph back? “Doesn’t everyone want to stand out from the crowd? Nature made sure you could by giving you your gift.”
“So, you like my singing?” he asked softly in my ear, obviously trying to steer me away from the subject of his career.
“I love your singing.” I allowed myself to be led away since he didn’t seem to be willing to discuss his future with me. Why should he be? We were practically strangers. Though, I wouldn’t mind getting closer, both physically and emotionally.
“Good.” He crossed his arms over my chest, bringing me near.
Starting with a soft hum of the introduction, he crooned the first four lines of “The Way You Look Tonight” in English.
The smooth velvet of his voice curled around my heart.
I’d heard this song performed by Frank Sinatra and later, by Michael Bublé. Never had it rung this true to me before. From Zeph’s lips, the emotions seemed to seep from his chest straight into mine via the water around us.
The lyrics suited perfectly, as if he were reminding me that tonight was all we had, singing he would keep a warm memory of me.
Lowering his head, he kissed an errant tear off my cheek.
“It’s not a sad song, Ivy.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, rubbing my cheeks dry. “A song is just a song.”
It was what it meant to me that made it special. Zeph’s singing opened my heart, made me feel vulnerable. At the same time, when Zeph was holding me like this, I felt safe and secure. Unguarded.
“So,” I chose to change the subject, needing a moment to get my emotions under control. “You speak English?”
“Fluently,” he said in English. His slight accent stroked my ear, resonating through my chest.
I loved the sound of the French language. It was called “the language of love” for a reason. But there was something especially alluring about an attractive Frenchman speaking in my mother tongue to me.
As if I needed Zeph to get any more alluring, really.
“How many languages do you speak?” I asked.
“Just two. French and English. But I sing in many more.”
“How does that work?”
“It’s easy for me to memorize the lyrics, no matter what language the song was written in.”
“Interesting.” I recalled reading somewhere about opera singers performing in German, Russian, and Italian, without actually speaking any of those languages. So, it wasn’t just Zeph who sang in more languages than he spoke.
Having this conversation had further relaxed me. Being with him felt like breathing, simple and natural, even as he actually took my breath away.
No matter what tomorrow brought, tonight he was mine, fully and completely.
Turning my head, I kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad I discovered Le Loup Solitaire today, and...you.”
He shifted me in his arms to fully capture my mouth in a kiss.
“Tell me what you like, Ivy?” he whispered against my lips a moment later. “What would you like me to do to you?”
I had no answer to give him.
The fact that well into my twenties, I still had no idea about my sexual preferences felt embarrassing. So far, my experience had only taught me what I didn’t like about sex.
The fumbling.
The extreme awareness of every clumsy move of mine or my partner’s.
The painful awkwardness that intimacy had brought to me.
As Zeph caressed my neck with his lips and stroked my arms with his fingers, I finally realized what I did like: the fact that none of the things I disliked happened while I was with him.
When Zeph touched me, I didn’t think about the exact position of our bodies or our next move. Instead, I focused on the sensation of his skin gliding against mine, the strength of his arms as he held me, the emotions that churned and grew inside me.
He made me lose myself in the pleasure he created, leaving me only half-aware of the world around us. His touch proved intoxicating.
“This, Zeph,” I murmured, reaching behind me to sink my fingers into the hair on the back of his head as he kissed my neck. “I like all of this. Your hands on me.”
Without skipping a beat, he leaned over to turn the water off. By now, it had reached under my breasts, with the thick layer of foam burying me up to my neck.
Hugging me from behind with one arm around my waist, Zeph moved his other hand in front of me, under the surface of the bubbles.
“I love how responsive you are to me, Ivy.” The water swelled in front of me with his gesture, washing over my breasts with a warm caress. “It’s like we’re on the same wavelength.”
The tub must have had jets I hadn’t noticed before, because streams of water sluiced around my body, up my legs, and...between my thighs. I gasped at the stroke of a stream along my folds yet resisted the urge to close my legs as pleasure rolled through me in a thick swell of heat.
“Touching you is like strumming strings of a guitar or stroking piano keys.” Zeph’s voice sounded low and uncharacteristically raspy. Something hard pressed against my back—his erection, I realized, with a thrill rushing through my body. “My touch creates resonance in you. I can sense it.”
He stroked my breasts with his hands, spreading the soapy bubbles along my skin and rubbing my nipples covered with the slippery foam.
“Oh God...” I exhaled sharply, arching my back from another charge of heat shooting straight from my chest to my lower belly.
No man had ever come close to making me orgasm, yet I was fairly certain Zeph was about to change that.
The persistent jet of water between my legs grew stronger. The pulsating pressure from it swirled around that one spot where I needed it the most, not quite reaching it.
Pleasure skirted around, building up, ebbing and rising, but not cresting yet.
I reached down with my hand, desperately needing more contact. Even the potential mortification of touching myself in the presence of another person couldn’t stop me.
Zeph quickly circled my wrist with his fingers, lifting my hand out of the water.
“The song is not over yet, Ivy,” he whispered into my ear, as I arched my back gyrating my hips in search of more pressure from that wonderful water jet, my head rolling on his shoulder. “The build-up is too beautiful to end it yet.”