Maelstrom

Chapter 43: Lazy Sunday

Sunday morning

Awareness unfolded slowly, sense by sense. First came touch. The sheets were different – a cool, smooth cotton, high thread count, not the fleece I wrapped my bed in during the cold months of New York winters. The pillow was a decadent, lofty down, dramatically different from the cheap polyfill I'd been tossing and turning on at my West Harlem apartment. And best of all, there was a warm, heavy weight draped over my side, a large hand tenderly holding one of my breasts, a hard body and a strong heartbeat at my back.

Smell – that most basic, misunderstood, primitive of senses – asserted itself next. The odors of sex and fresh sweat hit me first, underlaid with the smoky, spicy fragrance of my fading perfume and the clean, lightly musky scent I was learning to be uniquely Ivan's. Inhaling that heady mix was already having a noticeable effect on the reptilian part of my brain – my heart rate increased from the slow rhythm of sleep to the quicker, lighter beat of arousal, my breathing became faster and more shallow, and a subtle, delicious ache grew between my legs.

The sounds here were different, too. The paper-thin walls of my apartment building meant I often woke to shouting, slamming doors, crying infants, and, if I were lucky, blaring salsa, rap, or heavy metal music – or some mix of the three – depending on the day. Here there were no sounds of neighbors on a more diurnal schedule than my own, just the muted hum of Sunday morning traffic, the staccato ticking of an analog clock somewhere outside of the bedroom, and Ivan's soft breathing just behind my ear.

Smiling, I finally allowed myself to open my eyes. The white wall in front of me was completely blank and freshly painted; Ivan had only moved to New York a month or two ago, I reminded myself, and apparently interior decorating was not high on his list of priorities.

The wan, gray light of early morning flooded the room from what I guessed were very large windows on the wall behind the bed. From the corner of my eye I could see, about ten or twelve feet above me, the unfinished concrete and exposed electrical conduit and ductwork that pegged this as one of NoHo's highly desirable loft apartments. I was disconcerted by how unfamiliar this room I'd spent the night in was to me. Uncharacteristically, I had noticed nothing about this space the night before, except, perhaps, the low height of the queen-sized platform bed.

I felt a warm blush creep into my cheeks at the thought of the activities that had led to that observation. I listened carefully to Ivan's breathing; I couldn't be certain if he was awake or asleep. Either way, I was overcome by the desire to look at him, study him in this new light, commit every detail of that too-good-to-be-real face to memory, and maybe explore a few exciting bits of him that had always been concealed by clothing before now.

Carefully, I moved his hand off my breast and slid it lower, until his forearm rested in the dip of my waist. Then, keeping my movements as small and stealthy as I could, I rolled in place until I was lying on my other side, looking directly into those steel-blue eyes.

"Good morning," he rumbled. I could see the beginnings of a smile hovering about his lips; I resisted the urge to touch my fingertips to that beautiful face, afraid of how he might react to that gesture of intimacy. For all I knew, he was already regretting last night, or at least, regretting not calling me a cab when we'd finally disentangled our limbs and tongues and naughtier bits.

"Good morning," I returned. And as air filled my mouth, taste finally returned, all champagne, morning breath, and another flavor it took me a moment to identify as a mix of my own juices and his, transplanted there last night by Ivan's lips and tongue after he had brought me so spectacularly to another orgasm.

He ran his hand over my ass and the back of my thigh until he reached my knee and, grabbing hold lightly, pulled me against him and rested my leg on top of his hip. Leaning in, he kissed me deeply, his fingers plunging into my hair to hold me to him. One of my arms wrapped around him, fingers kneading the lean muscles of his back; the other was trapped between our rapidly heating bodies. I could feel his heart beating under my palm, and I moved my little finger to flicker over the soft flesh of his nipple. I felt the head of his erection thump against my belly in response.