The Lover From An Icy Sea Page 11

  He looked up and realized she was in her own world—and that her world, at this point, was at some distance from any world of which he was a part. Her mouth half open, Kit could hear gurgling sounds she was clearly unconscious of. Daneka issued no commands; she simply moved.

  After a few more seconds, she heaved forward, put her face into the pillow next to Kit’s head, and screamed. At the same moment, he felt the contraction of her vaginal muscles like a gentle yet firm grip. He came in the same instant with such force that he wondered whether he might actually pass out. He couldn’t remember ever having had a more intense orgasm. Nor could he remember ever having had a more urgent and intense desire to declare his love to a woman.

  Instead, he simply embraced her as the contractions receded little by little. He sensed she was once again breathing out of her nose—as she’d turned her face towards his and had it wedged up tight against his neck. Eventually, as he began to lose his erection, she slid off and settled down with one arm draped across his chest, one leg across his legs.

  Now it was her turn to give his neck a series of little kisses, his turn to purr. This time, however, neither of them fell asleep. After a couple of minutes, Kit turned his face to hers and smiled, then placed a soft kiss on the end of her nose. She smiled back.

  “How about a walk in the park?” he asked.

  “Hmm. A wonderful idea, darling. Wonderful! But how about a quick shower first?”

  “Sure, go right ahead.”

  Daneka stared back at Kit for a long moment. Then, she reached down between her legs, brought her hand back up, smeared the consommé across Kit’s chest, and grinned broadly.

  “I meant for both of us,” she said with a guttural laugh.

  Kit chuckled quietly; got up and stood alongside the bed; waited for her to climb out. She rose to her knees and came to him, but with no clear intention of leaving the bed. Instead, her head now at the level of his sternum, she put her lips to his chest and opened her mouth. Her tongue left a thin trail of saliva behind as it made its way first from one nipple to the other, then down towards his navel, then further down still.

  At seventeen or eighteen, Kit thought to himself, he might’ve been able to respond to a third challenge in such a short space of time. But at thirty, he figured the best he’d be able to manage was a chuckle of appreciation.

  He’d clearly underestimated both his abilities and Daneka’s art. There was—as he was already discovering much to his pleasant surprise—some kind of magic in her mouth and in what she could do with it. He’d had a second orgasm less than five minutes earlier, but he could already feel the blood moving and resulting in a third erection. With the grace of a cat, Daneka eased her body down and dropped both knees to the floor. At the same time, she turned Kit around on the edge of the bed, pushed his legs apart and moved in between them. Her hands moved up the insides of his thighs. She slipped one of them in under his scrotum, then moved an index finger back to a point at which she could begin to tease his anus. The other grasped his penis, which she slowly began to caress back to a state of full erection. Perhaps out of impatience, perhaps out of a desire not to be scrutinized too closely in how she performed her art, she placed her hand on his chest to let him understand she wanted him to lie back and enjoy the ride, though not necessarily the show. He understood, lay back, and closed his eyes.

  As he did so, he could feel Daneka rubbing her face, nose, lips and forehead up against him; it was not long before he found himself once again in the state they both wanted him to be in—and that state wasn’t anywhere west of the Hudson. The next move was Daneka’s, and she made it without hesitation. As he had the previous night, he felt her mouth come down over him—lips as soft … as other lips.

  When at one point Kit had apparently decided he couldn’t or wouldn’t allow the pleasure of this exercise to be exclusively his—and so, had attempted to interrupt it, Daneka, without breaking stride or contact between her mouth and his penis, set him straight with a word. “Wait,” she said—though the final consonant of her one-word command resonated more in Kit’s imagination than in his ear.

  He indeed waited for perhaps fifteen or twenty more seconds. And then he came, almost as marvelously and as recklessly as he had come the second time that morning.

  Daneka allowed her mouth to rest, but didn’t move it from the spot until Kit put his hands under her armpits and lifted her up. He turned around with a mischievous grin, placed her exactly where he’d just been, and gently pushed her back down onto the bed. He then put a hand under each of her thighs and began to separate them. She resisted. He pushed a little harder. She continued to resist. He leaned over her and found an ear, began to nibble, and then bit down on her lobe. She squealed. He laughed.

  “Don’t fight me,” he whispered.

  He exerted half as much pressure again in separating her legs. She resisted again. He stopped insisting, found the same ear, and blew into it.

  “Don’t,” he whispered.

  Again, Kit exerted just a bit of pressure. This time, slowly, Daneka allowed him to push her legs apart and up until they rested against her own chest.

  He was now on his knees against the side of the bed, with his face directly over her. She was on her back, legs spread. In the history of variations on sexual positions, there was certainly nothing new about this one. In his personal history of sexual experiences, this was also hardly a novelty. Yet neither of them had been in this position with each other—until now.

  Kit understood that this was not a moment to be trifled with. While it might be erotic, the implications were far deeper. He’d already come to the realization that Daneka was not a woman who allowed herself to be easily aroused, much less “manhandled.” He knew that if he wanted to keep her, and keep her confidence, he would have to handle her with care.

  He gently kissed the insides of her thighs and moved, contrary to Daneka’s expectations, in the direction of her knees. He took his time. Each square inch of Daneka’s skin was, for Kit, a discovery. He adored everything about this woman: her feel, her smell, her taste. He would gladly have lingered for a week. There was not enough of her—there would never be enough of her he thought to himself—to taste, bit by delicious bit.

  He extended her legs straight up and away from her chest and began to explore the backs of her knees with his lips and tongue. Now, however, it was Daneka who grew impatient. She reached down under her legs with both hands and pulled herself open. Kit looked down and had his first glimpse of the true God.

  “Please…” she begged, barely rising above the volume of a whisper.

  The request was nothing if not superfluous. Kit began a slow trail of kisses back down from her knee and along the inside of her thigh. He found her fingers and took them, one by one, into his mouth. They tasted slightly of her, though not as urgently, not as pungently, as he might’ve wished.

  Kit noticed he was becoming erect yet again as he put his mouth on her and his tongue as far inside as he was able. He could taste her, and he could taste part of himself in her. The tip of his nose was up against her clitoris, and he moved it slowly back and forth. She responded with muted sounds—like something far below the surface of the ocean—to Kit’s tongue as she had previously responded to another part of him. As he repeatedly inserted and withdrew his tongue, he noted her reaction.

  Just as he thought his tongue might give out, she pushed herself hard against his mouth and came. The result, to both his ears and his tongue in the same instant, was enough to render him almost giddy. For the first time, he felt he and Daneka were equals: equally delirious; equally irresponsible; equally in love.

  A week? he reconsidered. He could easily have remained in this position through winter.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Daneka and Kit got up, showered, dressed, and then finally headed out to the park. They found a bench next to the toddlers’ playground at the Ninety-sixth Street entrance and sat down. She immediately draped her legs over his and he
reciprocated. From a distance, they might’ve more closely resembled a mess of noodles or a ball of multi-colored yarn. Mothers and nannies with young children eyed them sometimes curiously, at other times less than curiously—and anything but charitably. This very public display of affection might’ve been marginally acceptable in two teenagers: in two adults of Kit’s and Daneka’s ages, however, it was entirely inappropriate.

  They continued to carry on completely oblivious of their surroundings. They spoke of trivial things, but it was really just the sound of the other’s voice that each wanted to hear. What they had to say didn’t matter in the least. Daneka finally put an end to the chat with a question.

  “Kit, darling, what would you say to a trip to Europe together?”

  Kit was at once intrigued by the suggestion, but even more by its implications. If he’d still had any reservations about his status in Daneka’s mind at that point, her invitation clearly implied that they’d moved beyond a mere client-vendor relationship.

  “Did you have a particular time and country or city in mind? Europe’s a big place.”

  Daneka’s eyes lit up. “Next week!” We’ll leave next Friday night and fly to Paris.”

  Kit looked back at her and wondered whether she was toying with him. “And just how long did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking two weeks or so. Now listen to me. We’ll stay in Paris for a night or two—just long enough to get some sleep and get re-acclimated. Then we’ll fly to Lisbon, rent a car, drive to the coast and stay somewhere south for a couple of nights. We’ll drive back to Lisbon and grab a flight to Rome. Then rent another car and drive to one of the most exquisite places on earth—and one of my personal favorites—Positano, on the Gulf of Salerno, just below Naples. Next, but only if you have a real desire to spend some time in the mountains, we’ll fly to Austria and drive to some little village in the Alps. All of that should cost us about a week, maybe ten days.”

  Kit was starry-eyed at the proposition. At the same time, he considered the condition of his bank account, which only slightly—but decidedly—dampened his burst of enthusiasm. Daneka took both of his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.

  “And then, darling, we’ll fly to Denmark. To Copenhagen, where we’ll get a train to the coast. We’ll take a ferry across to Bornholm, then rent another car and drive to Rønne so that you can meet my mother. We won’t stay long—maybe a couple of hours—and then we’ll drive on to Svaneke, where I have my summer place.”

  Daneka could barely contain her excitement. She pushed Kit’s legs off of hers and jumped into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck at the same instant. Kit, himself, was quietly ecstatic—troubled only by the thought of how he was going to finance his half of the trip.

  “In Svaneke, we’ll spend another whole week together. Just the two of us. Oh, Kit, you’re going to love it there! Trust me!”

  Now it was Kit’s turn to be businesslike. “Daneka, have you considered whether you can simply walk into your office on Monday and announce that, from Friday and for two weeks, you’ll be on vacation?”

  Daneka looked at Kit with a twinkle in her eye and teased. “My darling, that’s what bosses do. Who do you think is going to object? My P.A.?”

  Kit leaned in and planted a kiss on her nose. “You’re really serious—.”

  “Absolutely! And I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer!”

  Clearly, Kit thought, this woman knows how to get what she wants. “Okay, I promise. I’ll do what I can. I have no idea at this point what my bookings are for the next few weeks, but I’m sure I can get someone to cover for me.”

  She gave him a quick hug. “Good! You won’t regret it. Think of this trip as an investment, Kit. I know you don’t invest. But sometimes, investing in futures is a good strategy.” At this point, she leaned down and whispered into Kit’s ear. “Think of this strategically.”

  Chapter 20

  The following Friday afternoon, Kit arrived bags in hand at The Fitzgerald. Daneka’s car stood outside, hood up and hungry for luggage. Kit recognized the driver immediately. He wasn’t certain, however, that the recognition was mutual. And so, Kit approached him cautiously.

  “I don’t know whether Ms. Sorenson mentioned anything to you—” Kit began.

  “She did, sir. I’ve been expecting you. May I take those?” the driver asked, saluting Kit and then reaching out for his bags.

  “Please, allow me,” said Kit. No sooner had Kit replied, however, than the driver reached over, took both bags out of his hands, and put them into the trunk of the car.

  “I don’t want to be presump—,” Kit began, then stopped himself. “I don’t want to make assumptions. But maybe it wouldn’t be entirely inappropriate for us to get acquaint—. Oh, fuck it! ‘Name’s Kit.” At this point, Kit extended a hand and coupled it with a smile. I believe we met once before—downtown—over a little fender-bender with my camera?”

  “Yes, sir. I remember the incident,” the driver answered, extending a hand and meeting Kit’s smile with his own. “I hope you and your camera have come to better terms with zebra crossings,” he ventured further, but with a cautious chuckle.

  This brief exchange only further confirmed Kit’s first thoughts about Daneka’s driver. He was a straight shooter, honest, and someone—Kit concluded—whom both of them could rely upon to be where he said he’d be, when he said he’d be there.

  “And please don’t call me ‘sir’. The name’s Kit. Pure and simple—Kit.”

  “Yes, si—. Yes, Kit.” They both laughed. “And mine’s—.”

  “I know. ‘Ron.’ A pleasure finally to meet you, Ron.”

  The two men exchanged a few more pleasantries. Kit then grabbed one plastic bag and excused himself to go upstairs to retrieve both Daneka and her luggage. As he entered the building, Kit recognized the doorman of a week earlier, even if at a much earlier hour, and concluded in an instant that doormen at The Fitzgerald must work on rotating shifts. He walked past him with only a cursory acknowledgement. The doorman responded with a barely perceptible—yet remarkably deferential—nod of recognition. Kit knew that he had won this battle, but thought better than to declare victory in any obvious way. He didn’t need to befriend this man; he also didn’t need to make of him an enemy. He walked straight on to the elevator, entered, pushed the button for the thirteenth floor and waited for the doors to close.

  When he arrived at Daneka’s floor, he stepped out and walked directly across a short space of marble to her door, slightly ajar, then stepped in without ringing. At the entrance, he could hear her voice from the bedroom. From the answers without audible questions, and questions without audible answers, he quickly deduced she was on the phone—with whom, he couldn’t know. And yet, he also couldn’t help hearing—just before he heard the sound of the receiver being returned to its cradle—“I love you, too.” The words left him anything but indifferent. However, he decided to store them away for another time and another, more suitable, place.

  He quickly took his gift of lichen out of the plastic bag and placed it in the center of her coffee table. Then he walked back to Daneka’s bedroom just as she was stepping away from the phone. She immediately caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. In that instant, not having seen him in almost six days, she dropped all pretense of formality, ran to him wearing a smile that looked to Kit like pure sunshine, and threw her arms around his neck.

  Chapter 21

  On the trip out to JFK, Kit and Deneka behaved as if on a prom date—he, the somewhat impetuous but always proper suitor; she, the somewhat demure but easily excitable object of his attentions. He didn’t want to ruffle her dress or smear her lipstick; she didn’t want to squash his carnation or wrinkle his dinner jacket. And yet, both of them were dying to get rid of dress, lipstick, flower and tux and find somewhere quiet and private where they could simply get naked with each other. There was nothing but energy and happiness and optimism in the car; even Ron felt it. Quiet, obedient Ron
. He couldn’t recall ever having seen Daneka so unabashedly merry.

  As their car reached curbside check-in at the airport, the two were still carrying on like two love-sick teenagers. Some of it, no doubt, was due to the excitement of international travel. But international travel to Daneka was nothing if not banal. She traveled back and forth to Europe the way thousands of people commuted back and forth between Connecticut or New Jersey and New York. Kit, too, had had his share of travel abroad, though none in recent memory. He was naturally excited about Paris and Positano. He knew France and Italy well, yet never tired of visiting. Portugal he knew not at all, and so the novelty of seeing it for the first time doubled his excitement. Austria and the Alps had once been as familiar to him as his own backyard, while Scandinavia, like Portugal, was a total unknown. To see the sun set at midnight—or maybe not at all—was something he’d wanted to do all of his life. And to see that part of the world in that most peculiar twilight was for the photographer in him nothing if not a dream come true.

  They carried their separate thoughts, wishes, anticipations and fears on board with them. They stowed their carry-on luggage in separate overhead bins. But then they sat down together like Siamese twins. Daneka buckled Kit in with her seatbelt; Kit buckled Daneka in with his. They were locked together by dint of seatbelts, though nothing of the kind was necessary to keep them together practically the entire length of the trip over the Atlantic.

  * * *

  When they arrived the next morning at Charles DeGaulle Airport, they were understandably tired and cramped. And yet, they were about to breathe French air which—to anyone or anything but a grub—could smell only of one thing: lust.