Maya - The Novel

"Can I do anything?" I asked for the third time.

"No," she said as she slid the pan into the oven and set the timer. Then she wiggled her way between my knees and gestured for me to lean forward.

"Let me take care of you tonight," she said, placing a soft kiss on my lips. She lingered for a few seconds and, I swear, I could feel my heartbeat slow right down. Can heartbeats feel thick? Languorous? Because that's really how mine felt. She smiled and pulled away.

I was... moved. Could she have guessed that no one had "taken care" of me in a really long time? My last fond memory of feeling spoiled in any way was going to Coney Island with ma as a child. And even those memories were tattered with age.

I watched her bustle around the kitchen, spraying the cupcake pan and removing cling from the deep red batter she'd already prepared. All the while, she hummed along with the Bruno Mars track playing in the background. Every few minutes, she looked up to smile at me, almost as though she'd forgotten I was even there. I wasn't offended - I mean, clearly, food was her first love.

She dipped the tip of a teaspoon into a pale syrup and lifted it to my lips. I tried it without hesitation. The burst of passion fruit flavor on my tongue was incredible.

"It's a passion fruit emulsion for the cupcake. It's good, right?" she asked. "So how much filling do you want? A lot or more than a lot?"

I laughed. "Whatever you recommend, chef."

"More than a lot it is then."

She scooped the dark batter into the cupcake trays, concentrating so intently that the tip of her tongue peeked out between the corners of her lips. She really was a natural in the kitchen - rephrase: she looked natural in it. Like this was her comfort zone, her favorite place.

A new track came on and she sang with it (maybe a little off key, but who cares?).

Let's take our time tonight, girl. Above us all the stars are watching.

I felt a twinge in my heart as realization slowly dawned. She was perfect. She was my version of what perfection is. I swallowed. This can't happen. This can't happen so quickly.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. She looked up, asking me what's up. How did she know? I'd barely moved.

"I left the wine in the room," I said quickly - it was the first excuse that came to mind.

"A glass would be nice, actually." I wondered if she could tell I was starting to panic.

"I'll grab the bottle." I slid off the counter and walked as normally as possible into the bedroom. Once there, I ran a hand through my hair. I could still hear her singing Bruno Mars off key. Dear god, what was happening?

I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and climbed onto the fire escape. Time for nicotine-and-think time.

My fingers were trembling as I lit up.

*

She'd already plated up the steak and mashed potatoes when I came through. She poured thick, creamy gravy on her mash and asked how much I wanted. I shrugged, having decided to play it cool but my stomach betrayed me by growling audibly.

She winced, glancing at the clock. It was past eleven. "Sorry, it's done now though. Would you mind eating at the coffee table?"

I shrugged again and set the wine down on the coffee table. The thick carpet cradled my thighs as I made myself comfortable on the floor. She set the plates in front of us; I noticed immediately that the portion on her plate was half the size of mine.

"Are you not hungry?" I asked, my knife already buried in the meat. The herb-flavored juices flowed out, coating the creamy mash. It was the second time I felt drool pool in my mouth that night.

"I am," she said, picking up her utensils. "But I have to watch my weight."

I tried to concentrate on the conversation even as the flavors burst in my mouth.

"Why?" I asked around a mouthful. In case you were wondering, I've always been a very graceful human being.

She took a sip of her wine. "You've seen what's under this. You know I need to lose more than a few kilos."

"I know no such thing." I actually wanted to say a combination of "that's bullshit" and "are you crazy" but the last thing I wanted to do was offend her. Instead, I said: "I think you have curves most women would kill for."

"What? No way. Have you seen my-"

"Ass? Yes. Absolutely spankable."

Her eyebrows rose. "But my boobs-"

"Are perfect handfuls."

Her eyes narrowed. "Surely, my tummy is-"

"Cushion for the pushin'?"

"Stop it!" She was trying to be serious but her lips tilted upwards at the corners. "You're just being silly."

I realized I had no choice but to break out the gospel of Sir Mix-Lot. As seriously as I could, I said: "My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hon."

She stared at me for a full two seconds before she burst out laughing and threw a couch cushion at me. Her laughter was highly contagious.

"Are you always like this?" she asked, flabbergasted, as though it were a sin to quote Nineties rap.

"Sometimes. My crew lightened me up a little. I think I would've scared you before."

"Before?"

"Yeah, I've mellowed out some over the years." I ran a hand through my hair. "I used to be on edge all the time, always ready for a fight. I really don't know how I managed it. Even thinking about using so much energy right now is tiring."

"What changed?"

I paused to take a large bite of steak and mash.

"It was a combination of many things. But the most positive change in my life is my crew at the store. They've been with me for about ten years. And, as you put it, they're all 'silly' in their own way."

She smiled. "You light up when you talk about them. They're family, aren't they?"

I hadn't even noticed the smile on my lips. "Yeah, they are. But don't tell them that. They're insufferable."

"Sounds like the best kind of family."

She seemed interested in hearing about them so I told her their stories and how I'd come to meet them over the years, interspersed with bites of steak. The meat was so perfectly seasoned that I had to hold back moans with each bite. The gravy was the perfect complement to the potatoes. The most important question was: how could I get her to cook for me on the daily?

An image of her in my studio suddenly clouded my thoughts. It had a stop motion film kind of effect. She's bent over, getting something out of my tiny temperamental oven. She's thrown an apron over her tank top and shorts and is humming some sort of pop song. When she straightens, she notices me standing in the doorway and smiles. Damn if she doesn't say, "Welcome home, baby" and sets a lasagna on the counter. I unzip my jacket and pull her close, nuzzling her neck, murmuring "hello".

The sequence of images was so appealing, so strong, that my throat closed up. I reached for my wine, trying to ease it. She was in the middle of a really funny story about the adventures of her (late) tiny Pomeranian, Romeo.

I watched her jaw work in slow motion, my eyes following the movement of her lips, the slant of her cheekbones and the narrowing of her eyes as she laughed. The first few bars of the Arctic Monkeys' "Baby I'm Yours" started up in my mind, their (surprisingly upbeat) British tones in perfect unison with every laugh, every tilt of her chin.

How much would you bet that I looked like a braindead zombie, staring at her like a slack-jawed idiot?

She reached out and touched my arm, shaking me out of the weird trance I was in.

"You okay?" she asked. "I've been talking too much, haven't I?"

"No." My voice was hoarse. "Not at all."

"How about dessert now?" She reached over to take my plate but I stopped her.

"You cooked so I'll clean up." She opened her mouth to argue but I cut her off with, "I insist."

I watched her frost the cupcakes - equal parts fascinated and impressed - as I soaped the dishes. Her movements were professional; it took her about two seconds to frost each cupcake with a quick flick of her wrists. In fact, she took so little time that she ended up waiting on me to clean up.

I have to admit - I don't have a giant sweet tooth. I don't even take sugar in my coffee. But if someone made a cupcake especially for you, wouldn't you eat it, too? Especially if that someone was a beautiful curvy woman you wanted in your bed on a more permanent basis.

"Where's yours?" I asked when she handed me a small plate.

"It's way too many calories." She patted her belly.

I looked over at the counter. "Then why'd you make six?!"

She shrugged. "So you can take some home with you?"

"Like, hey, thanks for the sex, here's a goodie bag?"

Her lips twitched. "No, not like that. I just like making cupcakes for people, okay? Do you want them or not?"

"I'm not turning down free cupcakes."

Her chin tilted up at an angle, which, I figured, was her "Yeah, I won!" gloat face.

She walked back to the couch, cradling her wine glass in her palm.

"So what?" I asked, settling on the other end of the couch with my cupcake. "You're just gonna watch me eat?"

She took a sip of her wine. "Sure, why not?"

I propped a foot on my knee and extended an arm towards her. "Come here and have a bite."

She set her glass down and scooted forward into the crook of my arm. Her breath was warm against my shoulder as she pulled her legs onto the couch and made herself comfortable. My arm curled around her shoulder and held her close. She looked so small, so soft tucked into my side. The floral scent of her hair seemed all encompassing.

"Let me help you with that," she said, reaching for the wrapping on the cupcake.

"Take a bite first, baby." My voice was husky. I couldn't help but take a peek at the generous curves of her breasts on display along the neckline of her tank.

"It's fine. You have some. You haven't even tried it yet."

I slid my fingers under her chin and tilted her head up to get her attention. Her fingers stopped fiddling with the wrapper as she tried to gauge what was going through my mind.

I swiped a little dollop of icing on the tip of my index finger.

"Open," I said, and she did.

My gaze didn't waver from hers as her lips closed around my finger, her tongue swiping at the icing. She was hesitant.

"Suck." My voice was low. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed... all a second before she took more of my finger into her mouth.

"Good girl." I swear she trembled.

Her fingers came up to hold my wrist in place as she took my finger deeper into mouth.

I couldn't look away if my life depended on it. Heat pooled between my thighs as her expressive eyes clouded over with desire. Her cheeks hollowed out as she sucked, her beautiful features masked in pleasure.

When she released my finger with a soft pop, I had to make a concerted effort not to push her down into the plush cushions and fuck her.

Instead, I set the plate aside and lifted her onto my lap. Straddling me, her breasts were two inches from my face. Each time she moved, they rippled gently, like subtle calls to come home.

I felt her fingers on the back of my neck, caressing, pulling me closer. I laid my head on her chest, enjoying the weight of her on my lap, the smell of her on my skin. I nuzzled her skin with my lips, nipping it lightly with my teeth. She jumped, her fingers tightening in my hair.

I kissed my way up to her neck, more pleased than I should have been when I came across the little bite marks I'd left behind.

"Gray..." Her voice was soft. I made a sound of assent at the back of my throat. My fingers had already delved under her tank top, exploring the expanse of skin on her back.

"Do you not like to be touched?"

I pulled back. "What?"

"It's just that I've, you know, and you haven't..."

A small smile twisted my lips. "I haven't what?"

I could tell she wanted to squirm but her position made it pretty difficult. Instead, her voice dropped to a whisper. She even leaned forward, as though we weren't the only two people in the room.

"You haven't, you know, come."

"And that makes you uncomfortable?"

She bit her lip. I could practically see her considering her responses and the different scenarios it could lead to.

"A little," she admitted eventually.

I reached for the neck of the hoodie and pulled it over my head. Naked from the waist up, I placed her hands on my chest. "Touch me, sweetheart. Do whatever you want. I've been too preoccupied with pleasing you but if this is what you want, I'm all yours."

She smiled, her fingers already exploring my flesh. I let my fingers stroke her sides absentmindedly, focusing instead on the feel of her soft, seeking touch.

"You're so hard everywhere." Her palms cupped the muscles on my shoulders. "I'm jealous."

"Of me?" I was genuinely taken aback. "Why?"

"I've always admired muscles like yours. You're so toned."

Her fingers ran over the side of my neck. "Really? Because I've always loved soft curves like yours. Look at you."

She scoffed. My eyes narrowed. It was obvious she thought I was just being nice. But why did I feel so personally offended by that?

"Stop."

Her fingers had just moved down to my breasts, but my tone, more than the actual word, stopped her.

"Take this off." I motioned to her tank top.

A little wary now, she tugged the top off. The loose bun she wore came apart; curls fell down her back and over her shoulders. She was magnificent.

"Put your hands behind your back. Don't move."

She did as instructed, the position thrusting her chest out a little more. The worry in her eyes hadn't eased. I could see her throat working.

"Now," I said patiently. "I don't want you to disrespect your body ever again. Understand? Especially not these."

I licked the tip of my index finger and traced the outline of an areola. She sucked in a breath.

"These are the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen." I cupped my palms under them and lifted them lightly before letting them fall into place. The jiggle was hypnotic. "Goddamn."

I flicked the tips lightly. "I could spend hours on these."

She trembled.

With my thumb and forefinger, I applied a little pleasure on the hard nubs. Her lips parted and an almost-silent "oh" escaped her.

I took my time with her breasts, tracing my fingers up and down, towards the sides and exploring the nook underneath. God, I could live in that warm nook.

When my fingers slipped lower onto her tummy, I could feel her muscles tighten. Nervous again. I kinda liked how her nerves battled her desire. When my fingers began tracing the stretch marks along her hips, she instinctively reached out to stop me.

"No." I made sure my voice was hard, stern. "Keep them behind your back."

Indecision colored her gaze. But I was determined; I met her eyes until she clasped her hands behind her back again.

"Good girl," I said, resuming my caress of her skin. I wondered what she saw in the mirror to be so unhappy with her body. Because the woman in front of me was pure perfection. I'd take soft rolls any day.

My fingers dug into her sides as I grabbed her hips and pulled her closer to me. "I don't think you understand just how beautiful you are, sweetheart."

"Even my... stretch marks?"

"Why are you whispering?" I asked.

"I just don't like having them."

I placed a kiss on the base of her throat. "Well, even if you were to lose weight, you'll still have these. They're like a brand - these ones are yours. And they're beautiful."

She bit her lip. "I still can't decide if you're lying to make me feel better."

"See for yourself, then." I ran a hand along the marks, trying to make my touch as soothing / loving / reverent as possible so she'd know that I meant what I said.

Instead, she looked down and said: "I can't see my tummy. My tits are in the way."

I felt laughter bubble inside me; I bit my lip hard to keep it in. But when she started giggling, I couldn't help myself. Ever heard of champagne problems? This should be a good example of that.

We didn't stop until I slid her down onto the couch and covered her with my body. Her curls were everywhere, spread out around her, showing starkly against the white cushions. A smile still curled her lips as she laid a palm on my cheek.

"You're very sweet, Gray."

I kissed her, sliding my tongue against hers. She curled her arms around my neck, holding on tight, pressing her skin to mine. I felt my nipples pebble against the exposed skin of her hiked-up tank top. The little noises of desire she was making at the back of her throat were like the soundtrack to our lovemaking. I kept looking for little spots of pleasure that would trigger those sexy little sounds. She didn't disappoint.

As I grazed my teeth over a nipple, she held my head to her breast, her grip urgent, inviting.

"Gray, please." She pleaded very prettily. My fingers grazed the sensitive skin along her inner thigh and she tensed for a moment before parting her legs.

As I slid my fingers teasingly along the smooth flesh, she exhaled deeply.

"I still want to make you come." Her words were interwoven with a moan. It shot straight to my core and I shut my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

"Later," I said and slid home.

#

Chapter 6

She was like a curious little kitten once she recovered from the succession of orgasms that wracked her body. I'd promised to let her have her way with me and I wasn't about to go back on my word.

She explored my body with as much intense concentration as she used to ice her cupcakes. Damn if the tip of her tongue didn't peek through her lips and her brows didn't furrow in concentration when she parted my pussy with her fingers. She looked up at me every few seconds to make sure I was doing okay... what a cutie.

Her hesitance made her all the more appealing. I couldn't recall a time when I was more turned on or intrigued by a person. She'd mentioned that she'd only been with two others in her entire life - did that actually make me jealous? Ridiculous.

When she did enter me, she was eager and a little clumsy, and that made her all the more endearing. I talked her through what I liked until the moans overtook my ability to speak.

I won't lie - it wasn't the best orgasm I've ever had, but as she proudly cuddled close to my side and laid her head on my chest, her wild jasmine-scented curls tickling my nose, I couldn't have been more content. That was fucking scary.

She fell asleep in the middle of our post-coital conversation, her light snores making me smile. I looked down at our intertwined bodies. She'd thrown a thigh over my legs, exaggerating the prominent dip of her lower back and the generous curve of her ass. The low light from the single lamp shed a glow on our skin, highlighting the hypnotic contrast. I ran a hand over the expanse of her back; she mumbled unintelligibly and snugged closer.

I breathed in the scent of her hair, pressed a kiss to her forehead and let myself drift.

*

I had the dream again. I was nailed to the cement floor and fists were flying at my face. I could barely breathe; my nose had been badly broken. My tongue would taste like copper for days afterward.

It was probably the most harrowing moment of my life. Although I knew I was dreaming it, the memory of the pain, both physical and emotional, was fresh. I felt like my fifteen-year-old self again, pinned down by the people she loved the most and beaten to an inch of her life... all because she wanted out.

I felt a heavy boot come down on my ribs. The sick snap echoed in my dream just as a hand fell on my shoulder.

I jerked awake so suddenly that I almost knocked the coffee mug out of Maya's hands. She stepped back, her eyes wide, a hand cupped protectively over the rim of the mug.