Polina
How good it is with him! Such lightness, directness, and so much laughter - kind, warm - had not been in my life for a very long time. Max appeared in my life - built up, and thought out - and turned everything upside down.
After the hurricane sex, when I can barely stand on my feet, he is fresh and alert, moving around the kitchen, cheering me up and acting completely relaxed, as if I were his guest and the other way around. He turns on the stereo, looks at the playlist, compliments me on my good selection, and chooses Tarja Turunen.
- What do you prefer, a late dinner or an early breakfast? - Max peeks out from behind the door.
- Both, - I laugh.
- In that case, after revision of your refrigerator, our breakfast-dinner will consist of a light stew, an omelet with mushrooms and goat cheese, and I also see a chicken breast here, 'll make a light soufflé out of it . Would the menu suit you, ladies? - he smiles his dazzling smile makes me light up like a light bulb.
- I wouldn't dream of it, - I clap my hands. - And we'll have wine. Or do you want something ? - I asked, about to get up from the table, but Max stopped me.
- I already have a Riesling in your wine fridge. Since I intend to try a few "pas" in the bed with you, dear lady, I'll limit myself to a wine that invigorates.
Max pulls out a bottle of Gunderloch Riesling Rothenberg.
- Just the courtesy of kings today, sweet lady, - he jokes. - Do you mind?
I smile.
- Seconded.
Max uncorks the bottle, takes a couple glasses off the shelf, and pours a few drops of wine sample. He tasted it, savoring it, and handed it to me.
- What do you say? - I take a sip and lick my lips.
- It's delicious, - he pours us some wine and starts cooking, wielding his knife as deftly as a chef. I watched him as if mesmerized.
- Uh, Mr. Cameroons, you have one virtue chasing another, - I said admiringly, continuing to his polished, professional movements.
He deftly tosses the vegetables into the heated skillet and smiles at me, looking askew, his head slightly:
- The dignity of making your own dinner?
- But you do it professionally, - I rest my chin on my interlocked palms. - Max, what are other strengths?
He shrugs his shoulder and pours chunks of chicken meat into the blender.
- Are merits as well as demerits spoken aloud? - he says it quite seriously.
- No way, - I waved it off. - Max, tell me about yourself. For example, what's your ? Did you graduate from university? - I'm curious. I don't know at all whether an artist a higher education.
- Yes, I did. What are you interested in? What subjects was I particularly good at? - he , meanwhile, deftly mixing milk and egg yolk in a blender cup with the beaten meat, adding , not forgetting the vegetables in the pan. I have to admit, I'm amazed! A kind of show is out in front of me, and I am now a delighted spectator of a live performance by one actor.
- No, Max, what school did you go to - I'm sure it's something art-related, since he's an .
- I'm a graduate of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, - he replies, engrossed in the é. I open my mouth, and I think I forget to close it. What? Military? Is that a joke?
- Are you, uh. w-w-warrior? - I squeeze out. He laughs.
- What's embarrassing? You asked as if the military weren't people, - he glimpsed me with a of irony and went back to cooking.
- People, of course. But you're a creative person... Paintings, an artist, you have professional ..... What's your specialty? - my curiosity goes off the charts. There you go - a creative, subtly feeling the world around him, a man in the military!
- I was a fighter pilot, - he replies just as mundanely, and I jump up on the spot:
- Max, you're kidding me!
- Why? It runs in our family on my grandmother's side. All the men in the Cameroons have in the military. The last three generations have been pilots. Does that make you ?
Embarrassing? No! It amazes me!
- I'm fascinated, to be honest. It's a risky profession, - I shrieked, unrestrained in my .
- Work is like work - I think he's much more interested in food now. - There is risk in many , but it is higher for skydivers and formula one drivers.
- Did you work in your specialty? You mean you served? - I stand corrected.
- Yes, a little over a year, - he confirms.
- And where was that? Where did you serve? Wait, you went to school in Great Britain? - I Sandhurst is not the United States.
- If you know too much, you'll grow old, - Max joked. - It's not very interesting anymore, - waved it away.
- Oh, no! I'm interested in everything. I never expected a knife-wielding artist like Gordon
Ramsay in my kitchen to be a pilot of a warplane! - "And God in bed!" - I add mentally, to say it out loud. My heart bounces like a ball. I can't believe it. - Can you really a contract so quickly? I thought it was for a set period of time, five years at least.
- Actually, I did. But as it happens, I was able to leave after a little over a year. There are to every rule, you know, - Max explains to me.
- How many foreign languages do you know? Yesterday, at the party, I noticed that you were to Japanese people - at that moment I was sure that they were speaking English, but now I it very much.
- I'm completely incapable of languages. But my second mother tongue is French, so I can , - Max glances at the soufflé baking in the oven and begins the last item on the menu, the . He washes the mushrooms thoroughly, cleaning the caps of the mushrooms with a napkin, dries them with a clean paper towel.
- A second native? - I ask again.
- My mother is French Canadian, from Quebec. I've been bilingual since I was a kid, - Max , whisking the eggs and milk into a lacy foam.
- Say something in French, please, - I ask, admiring his polished movements.
Max looks at me, tilting his head slightly and smiling.
- Like what?
- Mm-hmm. Whatever you want. I don't know. I want to hear you speak French, - I said with vague wave of my hand.
He is silent for a while, then looks at me and continues cooking, reciting poetry:
- La pluie fragile, soutien des tuiles
En équilibre. Elle, la danseuse,
Ne parviendra jamais
A tomber, à sauter
Comme la pluie.
- Oh, mmmmm... How beautiful it is.....
The French speech in his mouth sounds so sexy and musical that my skin gets goosebumps.
- What did you read?
- A poem by Paul Éluard.
I raise an eyebrow in mute question.
- Fragile rain holds the shingles
In balance. Ballerina
Will never learn
Pouring and bouncing,
Like the rain.
Max puts the knife aside, stands across from me, and looks me in the eye.
- It's very beautiful. I'm ashamed, of course, but I don't know Paul Éluard's work at all, - I 't take my eyes off his face. - Do you know anything of François Villon?
- No, I don't remember anything from Villon. I only remember what moved me, - Max cooking.
- Will you read anything else?
- Do you like Exupery's The Little Prince? - Max says, standing with his back to me. I smile I'm looking at his bare buttocks. It's fun to talk about Eluard's poetry and Exupéry's The
Little Prince with a naked man who I want more than I've ever wanted anyone, and who is also dinner in my kitchen.
- Yes, I really like The Little Prince, - I admire the play of his muscles in his shoulders, back, below his waist.
Max sits down across from me, taking a sip of wine from his glass while looking into my the whole time.
- "Les hommes on oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l'oublier. Tu deviens pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé. Tu es responsable de ta rose....
- Je suis responsable de ma rose ... répéta le petit prince, afin de se souvenir."
I stare into his gray-blue, sparkling eyes, afraid to blink.
- I think I'm guessing what this passage is about.
- "People have forgotten this truth, - said the Fox, "but you don't forget: you are forever for everyone you tame. You are responsible for your rose.
- I'm responsible for my rose..." the Little Prince repeated, to better remember, - Max slides his over my lips. Reaching out, he strokes my cheek with his thumb. - I really love that passage, - voice is husky and a chill runs through my body. I'm shocked into silence. As I come to my , he's working on the stove again.
Max speaking French puts me in a trance. An erotic trance. I want him again. Finally, I break silence just to say something:
- Max, but surely you know some other foreign language.
- A little Japanese. I learned it, rather than learned it, because the main market for my work Japan. I didn't want to trust anyone to pass on my customers' wishes to me. There were often , - he says casually, as if nothing had happened.
My eyebrows creep upward.
- You call that "only" Japanese?
- Polina, I'm really not good at languages. I've always wanted to learn Italian and I wouldn't speaking fluent Ukrainian, but I've never found the time to study it. I honestly tried a couple times to get the Italian thing sorted out, but nothing really settled in my head, - he explains.
- Exactly! You just didn't have the time! Painting pictures, exhibiting them all over the , flying a warplane and cooking like you do... Max, is modesty another one of your virtues? - I speculate.
He checks the heat over the skillet with the palm of his hand, pours the omelet onto the surface, and turns half-turned to me and laughs.
- Oh, yes, I am modesty itself, dear Lady Polina! Can't you see I have a halo over my head wings behind me?
I cover my face with my hands. He's so sexy right now. I never thought a man in the kitchen evoke so many different, positive emotions in me.
- You'd better help me set the table. I'll let you do that, - Max smiled, leaning toward me and me on the lips. - And stop asking me what kind of guy I am. I hope I live up to your high for sex, - he rubs his nose against mine. I pull his head to me and kiss him, gently nudging sensual lips apart with my tongue, our kiss becoming hot and passionate after a few moments.
- Let's eat, - Max suggested in a husky voice, pulling away. - You'll never know what my successes are. Look, Gringo's already standing at attention, - he rubbed his thigh lightly mine, and I could feel his rising flesh.
- Max, - I whisper, ruffling his hair.
We set the table right on the kitchen island. I set the plates and cutlery. Max arranges the . He picks up some stew with his fork and brings it to my mouth.
- Try it.
I slowly chew the bite he offered me.
- It's delicious... so spicy, - I admit honestly. He smiles and piles a couple spoonfuls of stew, slice of hot omelet, and a portion of airy soufflé on my plate.
- Bon appetit.
Max refreshes the glasses and touches mine lightly with his, eliciting a crystal sound. I take sip of wine and look warmly at the man across from me. Right now it feels like we've known each for as long as the earth has existed. In a very short time, he's become incredibly close to me.
I munch away, savoring the food. Mmm-mmm, it's delicious!
I quickly clean my plate and glance toward the chicken soufflé. I could use a refill. Who I'd be so hungry after sex?!
Max, intercepting my gaze:
- Did you like it? Can I count on being the cook in your kitchen? - He chuckled as he slid me batch of soufflé.
- Are you kidding me? I won't let you out of the apartment, - I joked back. - I've only had deliciousness in a restaurant. My culinary skills are nowhere near yours.
When we're done eating, Max refills our wine, takes a glass, and puts the other one in my . He pulls off his apron, leaving me naked, takes my hand, and leads me into the living room.
Stretching out on the couch, he pulls me to him by my arms. I kiss his cheek, stroking his hard .
- Wait a couple minutes, - I ask him.
I want to surprise him. And myself, too. Now it's my time.
He's so beautiful! I want to caress him. I want to try something new for myself. I've never a man's cock with my lips. I've never wanted to. Tonight is the first time I've experienced need, and the idea has been running around in my head all evening. I want to touch Gringo with lips, taste him, realize how good it feels to caress a man with my mouth. Just thinking about it my insides melt like wax again. I calm my raging emotions, ready to spill over the edge. I like I'm like a starving man in front of a packed banquet table.
To calm the emotions raging inside, I lit candles in the living room and turned off the lights. I took ice out of the refrigerator, put a few cubes in a tall, wide glass, and poured wine. Max, meanwhile, is picking up other music, his choice being my favorite band, Poets of Fall. Are our tastes in music the same?
Taking off my robe, I kneel down in front of the couch.
- Will you let me fondle you? - I trace a line down his torso with my fingertips. Touching his makes me dizzy. Max strokes my hair, tracing the outline of my lips with his thumb, tracing contour of my face. His fingers, his hands are perfection, and I want to look at them, kiss them, them with my tongue, and let myself wrap my lips around his thumb, sucking gently.
His eyes darken. We reach for each other.
- I want to be gentle this time, - he whispers in a husky voice. - But your idea is very , Baby.
I kiss his body slowly, sliding down.
- Don't look for a couple seconds, - I ask. When he closes his eyes, I take the cold wine into mouth and lower my head. His fisted fingers in my hair and his muffled moan give me .
- - -
A ray of sunlight touches my eyelids, and I hide from it by covering my head with a pillow.
Every muscle in my body reminds me of the night before. Max is a tireless lover. I don't remember I fell into either sleep or oblivion. I think it was getting light.
The bed was empty; he wasn't there. I wrap myself in the sheet and walk out into the living . Naked Max stands in front of the stove, the kitchen filled with the vanilla smell of toast.
Leaning against the doorjamb, I admire his back. It's perfect - muscular, broad in the shoulders, in the waist, and with sexy dimples over his buttocks. There's only one small mark on it, a strip of horizontal scar on the right side, between his ribs. You can barely see it, it's as thin as hair, and I rather remember it by touch. From afar, it's almost invisible.
Max turns around, smiling:
- You awake, sleepyhead? - I walk over to him and hug him, wrapping the sheet around his , taking him into my intimate grasp, pressing myself against him. We kiss. He smells clean now, and subtle, but still his, special, scent. He's already showered, his hair damp.
- I found a new toothbrush in your locker. You don't mind that I've been running around you, do you? - He rubbed his nose against my cheek, and I was ready to purr at that .
Biting his shoulder:
- I have to go to the bathroom, too. I'll be quick.
I tidy myself up, looking in the mirror - my eyes glowing, overflowing with happiness, my crimson and swollen, Max's kiss on my chest. I run my fingertip around the crimson stain.
Yesterday he'd caressed her, played with her, whispered some kind of sweet nothings to her. The makes me blush immediately. Does he really like my small breasts? I didn't think anyone like them. Igor had once said that it was easy to correct the lack of size with surgery, but Max to really like them, otherwise, why would he have been so passionate all night long?
I combed my damp hair, straightened it, and threw a short robe over my shoulders, barely my thighs.
I catch Max setting the table.
- Breakfast? - he smiles. I have a cappuccino waiting for me, and in his cup it's strong black with a thick crema. There's toast, cheese, and fruit salad on the table.
- Did you have time to make breakfast? - I couldn't help myself and kissed him on the cheek.
- We'll eat and go for a walk, - he slides me a plate of toast. - I also want to stop by the and take a look around.
- Okay, - I accept his offer enthusiastically.
- Just leave the car, - Max suggested. - I've heard about your subway, can you show me what 's like?
I nod in agreement. As he piles the fruit salad on me and pours some kind of tricky, sauce over it, I try to discreetly touch the coffee foam in his cup with my fingers to taste , but he deftly intercepts my hand and wraps his lips around my fingers. I ooze, unable to hide my . The sight of his molded lips around my fingers is erotic torture. Before our gazes cross, I myself lying with my back on the free part of the table, picked up by Max in a matter of . He opens his robe, settling it between my thighs:
- I guess we'll go out if we can get away from each other, - he growled hoarsely in my ear. I him closer to me, wrapping my legs around his waist.