“Really?” There was something absurd about hearing Michael proposition her so formally and thoughtfully.
“Yes. I want you more than anything, Amaia. You think I enjoy denying myself? Every time I see you, I want you. I don’t know what it’s like to look at you and not desire you. I think anyone who looks at you and doesn’t want to be with you is insane.” Michael looked up at her from the bed, clothes in disarray from their travels, face open and inviting. It was hard to believe that she had lived so many years without him.
“I seem to remember you not liking it when other people looked at me that way.”
“I didn’t say I like it. I never will. And it’s not just because I feel I have a claim to you. It’s because I know they could never fully understand and appreciate you, not the way I do, not the way you deserve to be known.”
Amaia had heard enough flattering words in her existence to last a thousand lifetimes. She was no stranger to romantic nothings from men. This was different. It wasn’t romantic. It was intense. Unsettling. The distinction was as clear as night from day. Michael spoke to her so differently from the way others did. He not only believed the words he spoke, he knew they were true. She liked the difference.
Michael made no move toward her. He was going to make her come to him. His eyes revealed that it wasn’t from a lack of desire. Amaia knew Michael needed her consent. This time would be different than the times with Michelle. Michelle had always been safe, unique in that she was Amaia’s only female lover. Her affair with Michelle started with a moment overtaken by heated passion. This would be deliberate.
Amaia sat next to him and stroked his face as she leaned in for a kiss. Michael dodged it and grabbed her wrist. “No, Amaia. I’m not one of your clients. I need you to be you tonight. I’m abandoning my ideals to be with you, not a practiced professional.”
Amaia hadn’t even realized she was doing it. Now that he mentioned it, though, she knew he was right. She had slipped so easily into the role she had played ever since she’d lost her virginity to a client at fourteen. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad that I’ll be the first man who has been with the real you.”
Michael always had a way of making her feel like more of a lady than she had any right to. Any other man would despise her for her profession. He was able to separate it from her.
Michael looked into her eyes and twirled a strand of her hair. The desire in his eyes was familiar. Amaia had seen it in the eyes of thousands of men. But instead of looking at her and seeing what he desired, he saw her. The difference was subtle, but impactful. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Amaia.”
“Thank you, Michael.”
“No, it’s not a compliment. A mere statement of fact.” His gray eyes warmed and dilated, coming nearer until they closed a split second before his lips connected with hers. Amaia’s eyes followed suit. When he pulled back, she wanted nothing more than those lips to make contact with hers again. She leaned forward, and Michael obliged. His chapped lips kissed her, not the fantasy men so often paid for. The knowledge was a greater aphrodisiac than anything Amaia had ever discovered.
Michael’s tongue firmly but gently sought entrance to her mouth. She parted her lips, allowing him in. She knew his mouth. It was warm and familiar to her, as if their kissing were a daily occurrence. It should be, she thought. A mouth like his deserved to be kissed regularly. What would it be like if they were a married, mortal couple? How often would they kiss? In the morning to be sure, before he left for work. He would want to kiss her while she made breakfast. Perhaps some days she would stop by for lunch, and they would kiss. That would probably be the way of it most days. What did a woman do all day at home alone? Amaia had no idea. She didn’t really want to find out. He would kiss her after lunch, tasting their meal on her lips. As the sun set, they would watch with Amaia sitting in his arms. Those arms would squeeze her close, let her know that she belonged with him. When the last hints of pink receded from the clouds, he would lean down and kiss her. And of course he would kiss her before bed and then once as he drifted off.
“What are you thinking?” Michael looked into her face, cupping her cheek with one hand while the other pushed her hair away from her eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me. I want to know. I want to know all of you.”
“I was daydreaming. Of you. Us. Of how many kisses we could share.”
The smile on Michael’s face was playful, and his eyes shone with more happiness than she had ever seen. “I’m glad. I’ll spend the rest of time kissing you if you let me.”