“Do you still wish it were me?” His voice was low in my ear as the cock bottomed out. “Are you that desperate?”
I shook my head, his fingers laced in my hair.
“When I ask you something, youanswer.”
“Yes,” I whimpered, my legs shaking from the repetitive motion.
“I’m not convinced.” He pressed his hand to the front, rubbing between my legs; it only made me buck against it.
“Yes! God, yes!” I cried, my hands balling in his shirt as I felt it coming, my focus bleeding into a blurry bliss. “Please!”
He yanked my face forward by the grip on my hair, kissing me so deeply, my tears of pleasure stained the silk of my dress. My tension tight, then blooming as relief washed over me, a pulsing inside as I settled onto the stone, my legs too sore to lift any longer.
Arkady let go of my hair, gently rubbing the back of my scalp and smoothing my hair down. I slumped against his chest, needing to catch up on my breathing, my body twitching from every subsequent touch.
“You did good,” he whispered to me, leaving a kiss on the top of my head. “You were perfect.”
I dug my toes under the quilt, leaning back against the window that took up most of the wall behind his mattress. Pillows stacked behind me, stowed away to make room for the spread.
Arkady had assembled some wooden trays, covering them in cloth to appear either fancy or just to hide the paint and clay stains. One of the boards was covered in all types of charcuterie: figs, cheeses, aged meat. The other had more sweets, soft stone fruit, and fresh heavy cream. A safe distance from the bed were more candles on the floor, each in its own reused piece of pottery. On the low stool beside the bed was wine, the last of our wedding gifts, shared between us like an intimate secret.
Arkady was up, draping my day dress over a chair and rummaging for clean glasses and an extra blanket, as it got cold at night by the shore.
I glanced over my shoulder, the wind whistling to me like some message lost far away at sea, tapping against the old glass. The waterlooked not as expressive from up here, but the wider picture was so beautiful. A distance away, you could see the flash of a lighthouse, a bridge connecting one of many little islands we called a city. If you looked far enough west, the glow of dreams, of mammoths built to the sky out of iron and brick, the man-made towers we built to greet God at his door.
“I promise, they’re clean.” Arkady sat beside me on our picnic mattress.
In his hands, two mismatched jars, one for jam and one for pickles, filled appropriately with wine that cost more than his rent.
“This is nostalgic.” I graciously accepted my jar.
“Oh yes, from a time where you had only one house instead of two?” he joked.
I let out a small laugh. “More like comfort meals.”
He looked at me oddly with a quirked brow. “Your family fed you like a mouse? With all of that money?”
I nodded. “They seem giving ... kind, even. But they are crueler than you know.” I shrugged. “Though I suppose I am to blame. For a long time, I was angry at everything except them, it seems.”
“Was it because of your sport of choice?”
“No, though it was part of it,” I mumbled, eating one of the sliced pieces of aged meat. “They cut corners. They call it ‘good business,’ but it’s negligence. As a child, I didn’t understand. And then I suddenly became an investment. It felt like a savior when offered as an alternative.Be useful or starve,my mother would say. A witch, she is. I suppose that is why I was reluctant to leave dancing behind.”
“What is there to eat in the French countryside?”
“Cheap meat, good fruit,” I said.
“I would hate to imagine what circumstances would make such frugality necessary.”
“You have too big of a heart,” I said softly. “I wish to share that with you, but my heart no longer believes it to be true. Ithoughtmy heartwas just large, but instead, I grew into it, and realized that some people only have their own interests in mind.”
“Is that what has caused your affliction?” He leaned back on his palm, tipping his head at me as he ate a peach slice.
“Yes.”
There was a short silence, though it wasn’t bad. It was more contemplative for the both of us.
“Did you ever think you’d be in his situation?” I turned to him. “I’m sure if you expected to marry rich, she would have been a lot more interesting.”
