Page 49 of Oyster

The hand gripping the strap of her bag gripped it even tighter. “I’ll… I’ll quickly go and change.”

I crossed the room in two strides. “Hey, you don’t need to rush off.” Slipping my fingers underneath, I took the bag and placed it on the ground, then threaded her fingers through mine. “I need a kiss first, sweetheart.”

“With me like this? I… I at least have to shave, Nico. And to get out of these clothes.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t need to do any of that shit for me.”

It was only our mouths at first, a small press of my lips against her less receptive ones. As she eased a fraction, I slid my other hand under the suit jacket, around her waist to the small of her back, and kissed her again, feeling a slight trembling underneath my palm. I pulled her closer until her head nuzzled under my chin.

“You don’t have to change, Éti. But if you want, go ahead. If it makes you more comfortable.”

Her arms came up around the broadest part of my back, and she hugged me close, like I might run away if she didn’t. “I’m scared you won’t like me if you see me this way.”

“I know.” I inhaled to the bottom of my lungs, breathing in the scent of her hair. Warm and welcoming, like the pebbled beach at home after a day drenched in sunshine. Nothing had ever smelled as good. “And I’m telling you I love you however you are, my sweet.”

There. I said them. The words flying around inside, words I could no longer imagine ever saying to anyone else. That had me seeing beyond fame and fortune and beyond hard flat bodies dressed in men’s suits. Words that, instead, had me seeing no one but the woman standing in my arms, a beautiful one, inside and out. A woman with a row of empty oyster shells lining the coffee table of her barren, unloved apartment to remind herself this was temporary and the real Éti lived a full existence elsewhere. A woman who spent most of her waking hours pretending to be someone she wasn’t. A woman living half a life.

But this woman was not half-loved. My Éti was too full of joy. I adored all of her. With a love that came without warning and, yes, also encompassed the half masquerading as a man.

“I love you too,” she said in reply. “Howeveryouare. Happy or sad.”

I smiled at that. “Right now, that makes me very happy.”

“Would you… would you like to come and help me change?” She picked up the sports bag again, with a little wince. “I might need your assistance walking to the bedroom, to be honest. My legs have gone. I ran hard tonight. My everything is sore.”

“And there was me believing it was me making you weak at the knees.”

We assisted each other. And it took a lot longer than it should. In between unfastening buttons, untying neck ties, and pushing down trousers, we kissed, with the hungry urgency of new lovers enduring too many nights apart. But then there she was, naked except for a pair of crisp white boxer shorts.

“Do you love me when you see me like this?” she asked, hands at her sides. Her gaze flicked towards a pair of soft, feminine pyjamas, hung from the door. “Because as much as I’d like things to be different, this is all I’ve got.”

I could stare into her eyes the whole night. Dark and wide and full of uncertainty. Except I also wanted to drink in her mouth, curving into a shy smile for me, and her smooth chest, high and proud as a warrior’s, and her trembling legs, strong yet lean. I wanted to kiss her, too, cover every inch of her with my mouth, including the parts she was fearful of me seeing. I’d press my love into every soft curve and every hard angle, whispering it across her silky pale skin, imprinting it forever with the shape of my lips.

I craved to make love to her, to stamp my desire for her on the inside, too.

“I love you even more, for sharing your body with me.”

Hugging her arms across her chest, she adjusted her view downwards. “When I look at myself in the mirror, it doesn’t feel… like my home. I wear it like an uninvited guest, as if itbelongs to somebody else and I’ve crawled into it by mistake. A hermit crab or something.”

“I know you do,” I answered. “I can’t ever understand, but I know.”

She rolled her shoulders with a rueful expression on her face. “And right now, it aches like buggery.”

“I’m no expert, not like the backroom team at PSG, but I can give you a massage, if you like?”

“Does anyone ever decline?”

I drew her towards the bed and under the covers. Bare flesh on bare flesh, for the very first time. I took the lead. As I pulled her into my arms, she became an endearing mix of hesitance and wariness. Desire burned brightly behind.

“I’ve never before offered it. Turn over. Do you have anything I can use?”

Silly question. The woman was a pampered princess. She had an oil for every mood, and I picked one at random, the label boasting a sensual mix of coconut, orange, jasmine, and winter ocean spray.Winterocean spray? The rotten-egg scent of decomposing algae? Nice.

I straddled the tops of her thighs, warming the oil between my palms, and Éti snuffled with laughter into the pillow. “Just so you know, seeing as you’re new to massage and everything, my masseur at PSG doesn’t sit like that.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Fabien does sometimes, though, when I get a stiff neck.”

---