She shivers. “I can’t wait.”
Me either.
~~ * ~~
I am riveted by the sway of Daisy’s hips as she walks up the stairs in front of me. They seem to be saying something. This is the first refrain of the siren’s song. Follow me. Follow me.
“I am,” I whisper beneath my breath. “Anyway, even unto my own death.”
“What’s that?” she says.
“Your hips,” I tell her, for I keep nothing from my Daisy. Well, almost nothing. The car is a gift and so that will be secret until it is delivered. “They call to me. I think your body wants something from me.”
“Is that right?” she murmurs. Her innocence has given way to naughtiness and it is a change that I revel in. The words she says are subtext for the want simmering beneath the surface, the desire that has been building since we climbed into the car.
“It is so, kotyonok.” I have reached the step that she is standing on. I’m taller than Daisy, stronger, too, but she does not shrink from me. Instead, she rises on her tiptoes and places her mouth against my chin.
“What do you think my body wants?”
“I promised to show you.” I lift her effortlessly into my arms although my muscles tremble when she begins to dot open-mouthed kisses along my jaw line. My knees become weak as her tongue finds the hollow of my throat. I am but putty in her soft hands. Somehow I manage to unlock the door and carry Daisy to our bedroom. It takes a super-human effort and I think I am only upright because my cock is so hard that I can barely bend over to lay Daisy on the covers.
Her eyelids are heavy again, weighted down by lust. I dispense with my clothes swiftly. I know she likes to watch but I’m too eager to be inside her. I confess my weakness.
“I cannot wait to feel the hot glove of your cunt squeezing me.”
Her eyes flare at my words. Holding my heavy erection, I stroke it roughly, squeezing out drops of come and spreading it around the thick member for lubrication.
“Come here, then.”
At her invitation, I fall upon her, pulling off her coat and sweater. I pause then to savor her pendulous breasts that are swaying with her effort to remove the rest of her clothes. Palming each breast with a hand, I bury my face in the valley between the pale mounds, my thumbs rubbing gently over each nipple. They are erect almost immediately.
Her sensitivity astounds me and I am tempted to simply suckle on her breasts until she grinds to completion riding my thigh. But the ache in my cock is unrelenting. Later, then, I promise myself and kiss of the tops of each breast before removing the bra that confines them.
Impatiently she makes a frustrated sound that her tights and skirt are caught at my hard thigh. Moving, I help her until we are flesh to flesh. We fall back onto the bed, my mouth on hers and my hand between her legs.
She is wet, always so wet for me. Her thighs tighten around my hand and she begins to ride me even before I’ve touched her.
My fingers thread through her curls that shield her lower lips and her eager little clit that pushes up and demands attention. I ignore it, though, spreading her labia apart and reveling in the juicy sounds her cunt makes as I ease two fingers inside of her and thrust quickly.
The thready sounds of her need fill the air. “Yes, Nikolai, I need you.”
“I can feel it,” I growl moving down her body. “I want to taste it first.”
I nip at her clit and feel a corresponding tightening around the two fingers moving relentlessly inside her. Her soft flesh against my tongue makes me close my eyes in pleasure. I need the taste of her to flood my throat and coat my mouth. Using both hands, I spread her wide for me and spear my tongue inside her. She grips my head with both hands, tugging at me and pushing me away at the same time.
“God, Nick, the feeling—” her words are choked off as I attack her clit with my tongue, lightly nipping it and then sucking it into my mouth to soothe the tiny pains.
I will never get enough of her. Never. I drink at her fountain, working her with my tongue and lips and teeth and fingers until she is thrashing and crying meaninglessly above me. The fervor of her want makes me crazy with lust and I rear up on my knees and thrust inside her, one swift motion which sets her off again and I can feel the soft walls of her vagina hotly clutching at me. I grit my teeth to keep from coming at that very moment.
I have no restraint now. I am no better than an animal. Dragging her hips up, I pump into her.
“You feel amazing, always so amazing,” I gasp between thrusts. Daisy looks up at me, wordless with love, and I bend down to take her mouth in mine. I rub my tongue against hers, the same profane motion I make with my cock inside of her cunt. She moans and I revel in the dual sensations of being surrounded by her wet, hot enclosures.
“Faster, Nick,” she pleads with me. “Don’t stop.”
Her hips are now moving in that same round motion as she made when she walked up the stairs, only faster now and with less perfect rhythm. The glide of her hot cunt against my shaft feels like heaven. The pleasure of our joining is almost too much.
Her fingers dig into my thighs and as I feel the bite of the nails in my flesh I recognize how close she is to coming again. My balls tighten as I increase the pace of our mating.
“Now, come for me now.” I demand. Her body rises off the bed bowed by the force of her orgasm. I shout out my release and pound into her until I feel like I am jetting my come throughout her entire body. Nothing in this world is as good as being inside her. I collapse, sweaty and spent onto her body and her arms and legs close about me holding me close.
“You are my beloved, Daisy, as I am yours. Do not ever let go.”
“I won’t Nick,” she whispers into my ear. I do not know who clutches the other closer but I think it is me.
~~ * ~~
Daisy
I never thought Christmas would be such a delicate situation. But then again, I never thought of myself with someone like Nick.
I stuff my hands inside my coat pockets and watch my breath blow, frozen, into the air. I’m skipping class. I should be prepping for finals, but somehow, I am here on the street, waiting at the bus stop. This is more important than classes. It’s imperative that I get Christmas right for my Nick, so that we set the tone for our future together. I want to show him how good life with me can be. How sweet it is to be loved purely for who you are, not who hires you.
It’s these thoughts that go through my mind as I take the bus to the rougher part of town and hop off two blocks from a gun store. I walk briskly. It’s cold and icy, but it’s early and there’s hardly anyone on the street. I feel safe, oddly enough; my love is a hitman, and I have met the Bratva head on. Street thugs seem almost a foolish worry now.
I head into the gun store and smile at the man behind the counter.
He gives me a skeptical look, as if I’ve taken a wrong turn. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Christmas present for my…boyfriend.” I frown at the word. There’s probably a better one for what Nick is to me. He is my everything. But we’re not married. We’re not even engaged.
“What kind of gun?” the man asks.
I step up to the counter and peer at the weapons there. Immediately, I’m crestfallen at the sight. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the handguns, pistols, and assorted weaponry in the cases.
It’s that I realize it’s an entirely wrong gift for my Nick.
We’re trying to move away from guns and death, he and I. If I got him one, what kind of message would I be sending? Here is what you are, and what you will always be. A killer.
I bite my lip. This feels wrong. My Nick is so much more than this, than a man who deserves nothing more than weapons.
“Actually,” I murmur. “I think I have changed my mind.” I give the man a quick smile and turn and leave, heading right back for the bus.
I think about Nick as I wait for the bus, and I think about him on the way back to the part of town where we live. I’ll go back
to the campus shortly, so he won’t suspect I’ve been away, but I head to our apartment first. I have an idea of what to get Nick after all.
My Nick loves art. My Nick loves me. I think of his lean, tattooed body and how gorgeous he is to me. Perhaps I will get a tattoo — some of his beautiful, haunting sketches — on my body. He will see it on my skin and know I am his forever.
I like this thought. I dash up the stairs to our apartment, unlock the door, and hustle to the desk set up in the corner of the spare bedroom. It is Nick’s office, though he does not spend much time in here. We prefer to cuddle on the couch, and my love has gotten quite good at sketching with one hand, the other wrapped around my shoulders and holding me close while I watch movies or read a novel. I used to read nothing but romances, but the reality of Nick has ruined those silly fantasies for me; now, I read cozy mysteries about crime-solving cats.
Nick’s sketchbook is carefully set on the desk, amid boxes of charcoals and pencils. I pick it up and begin to flip through the pages, as always fascinated by the inner workings of Nick’s mind. The sketches are dark, and some are disturbing, but all of them have a beauty and a grace to them. I pause over one sketch of a woman that must be me, asleep in bed, the covers tangled about my body.
My heart aches with love for this man, and I bite my lip.
It’s not right for a tattoo, though, and when I skim a few more pages, I find just the right picture. Clutching the book to my breast, I race back out of the apartment, time not on my side. I must make a photocopy of this and get back to school before Nick realizes I am gone.
~~ * ~~
DAYS PASS AND NICK SUSPECTS nothing of what I plan. We have a small tree in the corner of our apartment, but there are no boxes under the tree yet. It’s like neither of us wishes to be the first one to put something there and declare the holiday, so we hold off. Instead, Nick helps me decorate the apartment with garlands, and we play Christmas music, and kiss under the mistletoe, so much mistletoe. Nick has practically filled the apartment with it.
On the twenty-fourth of the month, I tell Nick that I am going Christmas shopping for my father. It’s a tiny white lie; my father is a firm Amazon shopper and ordered all of our Christmas presents weeks ago. He even got them off the porch himself, which is a big step for my father. I’m proud of him. I’m not visiting him today, though. I take the bus downtown and head to the tattoo parlor I have picked out, where I have an early appointment.
The place is empty when I walk in, a counter full of body jewelry and bottles of disinfectant in the front of the store. The walls are covered with colorful tattoo designs. Behind the counter, one sleepy-eyed man is sitting at one of the chairs. He turns at the sight of me. “You Daisy?”
I smile nervously. “That’s me.” I pull out the drawing I have kept in my purse for the last week. “I need this drawing tattooed over my heart.”
I lay the artwork flat on the counter in front of me and smooth it out nervously.
It is a picture of a red heart, surrounded by darkness and delicately cupped between sketchy suggestions of fingers. There’s a banner across the center, and where Nikolai had written my name, I have modified the drawing and put his name in the banner across the heart. It is in Cyrillic: Николай.
I love it. It is darkness and hope. It is Nick’s heart in my hands, and I will put it over my heart as a double meaning - that the one that beats in my chest belongs solely to him.
The man looks at the drawing. “Nice work. Kinda dark for a pretty little thing like yourself, though. You sure you want that?”
“I do,” I tell him. “Right here.” And I tap my chest, right where my breastbone is. “Can you do that?”
“I can. Go ahead and take your shirt off.” He heads to the back with my paper.
I’m a little shy about taking my top off in front of a stranger, but the man could care less about my naked breasts. He doesn’t even look in my direction as I step inside the tattoo parlor and begin to disrobe. Before I am totally topless, he offers me a towel and tells me to use that to cover up my breasts but to leave my chest bare. Thank goodness.
The man is kind as I sit in the chair and he begins to disinfect the spot. He talks of the weather, and Christmas, and his girlfriend’s children. I smile and talk with him. They are looking for an apartment downtown; I suggest to him our building, which will be ready in another month, and I will make sure Nick gives this man a discount. He seems nice.
He warns me the tattoo will hurt, but the feel of the needle on my skin is more irritating than anything else. The black lines he draws sting and drag on my skin like a pencil is jabbing me at high speed, but I don’t mind; I think of Nick’s face when he sees how I have stamped him on my body forever.
“So, can I ask what this writing is?”
I smile dreamily. “It’s a name: Nikolai.”
“Husband?”
“Boyfriend,” I admit, and again, that word tastes wrong on my lips. Nick has never asked me to marry him. I know he won’t, either, because I told him that I would ask him when I was ready. I like to be in control of things, and Nick gives me control.
Maybe I’m ready now. I consider this as the man swipes at my stinging skin, then bends over the tattoo some more. “How long do you think this will take?” I ask him. “I have one more place to go today.”
~~ * ~~
HOURS LATER, MY CHEST IS throbbing, I carry a bottle of disinfectant in my purse, and my new tattoo is bandaged under my sweater. My skin feels scraped raw, but the picture is vivid and dark and gorgeous and I can’t stop staring at it. Even now, I want to rip off the bandages and touch Nick’s name branded over my heart. I love it.
But I head to a jewelry store instead. I pick out a man’s ring and a matching, dainty one for a woman. It feels weird to be the one picking out the rings, but these are simply bands. I will let Nick pick me out an engagement ring to go with the band later, if he likes.
It’s simply important that I claim him for myself, for good.
~~ * ~~
I GO TO THE GROCERY store and pick up a few things on the way home, then begin to make Christmas dinner. We have a ham already cooked, and I am making mashed potatoes and a pie. We will be going to my father’s and bringing food for Christmas dinner, but I can’t wait for Nick to come home. I’m practically brimming with excitement. I can’t wait to give him my gifts.
I already have the rings wrapped in a tiny box in my pocket. Under the tree, I have small things, like a set of art pencils and a new leather sketchbook that he will love.
And as I wait for Nick to come home, I touch my chest over and over. I took off the bandage, but the skin underneath is red and blotchy, and I’m a little dismayed that it’s not perfect for its unveiling. The man at the tattoo parlor told me it would take time, but I have waited until the last minute to get my tattoo. There is no way I could have kept a tattoo secret from my Nick; he likes to kiss every inch of my skin on a daily basis.
The door opens and I rush into the living room to greet Nick, all smiles. He’s unwrapping his scarf and grinning at me, looking pleased with himself.
“You’re home,” I exclaim, and head forward to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
“You miss your Nick?” he teases, and his cool eyes light up with genuine warmth, just for me.
“Always,” I murmur, and drag his face down to mine for a passionate kiss. His tongue sweeps over my mouth possessively, and for a moment, I’m entirely distracted by him. Then, I bat at his jacket and pull away. “I have your presents.”
“You do?” For a moment, he looks so boyishly pleased that I’m giddy, and I can’t help the excited giggle that escapes me.
“You get them early if you’re nice to me,” I tease, and saunter back into the kitchen, making sure to sway my hips.
He gives a soft groan and in the next moment, he grabs me from behind and drags my body against his. “Do you tease me, Daisy?” he murmurs in my ear, and I shiver with delight as he nips at my earlobe
.
“I do,” I murmur. “Can I show you your gift?”
“Will I like?”
“I think so,” I tell him, and turn around in his arms. I am wearing a red cardigan, the neck buttoned up to my throat, and as I smile at him, I slowly undo the buttons. His eyes light up, anticipating a strip show, but I don’t correct him.
Instead, I bare the tattoo I have had painted over my heart, and wait for his reaction.
~~ * ~~
Nikolai
I STARE AT DAISY AND the red angry welts on her skin that rise around the dark outline of a heart and the letters of my name etched into her body. My bones have liquefied and I stagger to the wall and press my arm against it so that I do not fall on my face.
“Painting is a blind man’s profession. He paints not what he sees, but what he feels, what he tells himself about what he has seen.” I quote Picasso at her because I have no thoughts of my own.
Her smile wavers.
I rush to explain, my words tumbling out like a torrential rain—hard and scattered. “I dream of being owned by you. In my fantasies, you wear my mark to tell everyone not that you belong to me but that I belong to you. But it is only in my mind. Never would I dare to give voice to this…” I cast about for the right word. “This want.”
“You once told me that your tattoos tell your story and I want mine to do the same.” Her lips tremble with emotion.
I lunge at her, unable to stand here this full of love and not hold her in my arms. We sink to the ground, our arms wrapped around each other. I hold her loosely to my chest so I do not rub against her tender skin. There is a wetness on my face and at first I look up to see if there is a leak in one of the exposed pipes but I realize it is me. That I am the one leaking moisture.
Daisy brushes away the tears. “I’m hoping these are tears of joy?” Her voice holds a gentle teasing.
I try to speak but the fullness in my throat prevents any words from escaping. The gift I’ve purchased for Daisy seems callow compared to hers. I swallow and try again. “When I am born, it is to a woman who has no name. She is a prostitute for the Bratva. They take me from her and maybe she bears more sons or daughters. The Bratva is my family. The gun is the teat from which I draw my sustenance. I grow strong feeding off the suffering of others until one day it sickens me and I turn away, abandoning the strict principles I have been taught as a Bratva soldier. But in turning away from the Bratva, I leave the only family I know. It is fine, I tell myself, because I need no one. Until you, Daisy. When I see you and your smile, I suddenly realized my whole soul’s purpose was to find you and become yours. I am clay in your hands. My life, my heart, it is all yours. That you would claim me as your own is the greatest gift you could have ever given.”