Page 51 of Shattered Secrets
“It’s not a lot. It’s what was left in the store.”
She laughs, and it’s amazing to my ears. “Not a lot? Look at my apartment. There are flowers everywhere, in the kitchen, in the living room, even in the bathroom.” She glances up at me. “I know I told you I wanted an expensive date, but I didn’t mean it. I don’t want you to buy me expensive things or quantities of flowers.”
“I know. I tend to get carried away with gestures.” She takes my extended arm. “But I’m trying.”
When we reach our destination, she looks confused.
“There’s nothing here.” She looks at me questioningly, waving her arm toward the perfectly ordinary street.
“But there is.” I take her hand and step forward. The dark building does not reveal what’s inside.
Her gasp of surprise when we walk through the doors, and she realizes where we are, is exactly what I was going for. I’m still not sure if she’ll like it, but at least I didn’t choose something banal.
“Pottery?” A glint of excitement fills her eyes.
I move closer to her ear to whisper, “Just think of the soft wet clay when you press and caress it under your hands and sculpt it into a shape you want. I can’t think of anything sexier than that.” Shit, it is sexy. I straighten to my full height and tug on my pants. “But first, let’s eat because I promised you food, and I don’t want you to be hungry.”
When making these arrangements, I asked the owner of the place to prepare a table for us and leave us alone for the first hour while we enjoyed our meal. I found someone who prepares fresh homemade food, and I asked her to bring her best dishes. Now all that remains is to see if I succeeded in all the plans.
Ayala sits down, and I sit across from her. A pot filled with beef stew is already on the table, with fresh bread next to it. The food smells great.
The bottle of red wine opens easily, and I pour it into our glasses.
“To the first date of many.” I raise the glass and watch her. She taps my glass lightly and drinks. She eats with little sounds of pleasure. She must be mine. She must. I tried life without her, and it didn’t work.
Jane walks in just as we finish, and Ayala looks at her with interest, listening carefully to the explanations.
“I’ll show you how to work on the pottery wheel. We start the work by centering the clay, so it won’t be wobbly. This is also the hardest part. After this stage, you can start opening the clay and raising the wall for the form of your choice. Shall we begin?”
We nod, put on large nylon aprons to protect our clothes, and sit side by side on the wheels. Jane brings each of us a bowl of water, a sponge, and a large lump of gray clay.
Ayala looks at it with suspicion as if it’s about to attack her, and I smile.
We both place our hands on the material, and Jane stands by, explaining how to operate the device, how to control the speed, and how to press the clay so that it stops moving like a funny lump.
After completing the first step, with a little help, she shows us several options. I choose a bowl and Ayala a vase. Then we both start working according to the demonstration.
Her lump collapses, and giggling, she starts again. Both of our hands are full of wet clay. She raises a hand to wipe her forehead and smears a streak of clay across her cheek.
God, how beautiful she is.
“I’ll give you some time to practice alone.” Jane catches my expression and leaves. I jump at the opportunity and go to stand behind Ayala. “Need help?”
Ayala looks up at me and nods with a playful smile.
My hands are on hers, and I apply some pressure, guiding the clay to the center. The wetness of the material and the faint touch of body on body is enough to arouse me. Something in this material, maybe the noise it makes, the wet suction, the pressure… Whatever it is, it all concentrates my thoughts in one place. I must be out of my mind. There’s no other explanation for why I’m horny because of fucking mud.
I inhale the scent of her skin. It was a mistake to choose this place when I know I can’t get what I want. It was a fatal mistake that will cost me a lot of hand cream.
Ayala’s breathing is picking up, too. I’m sure of it. It doesn’t affect only me.
My lips pass over her neck, nearly touching the sensitive skin. I exhale and watch how her body shivers. She turns her face to me, and I don’t hold back anymore and kiss her.
I maintain restraint, but she doesn’t stop, and her tongue tastes me, asking to enter my mouth. The kiss turns heavy and needy. She lets go of the clay, and her hand goes to my face. I don’t even notice as she smears the mud on my cheeks.
We pull apart, gasping for breath. When Jane comes back into the room to check our progress, our faces are dirty. Ayala’s lump is not even close to being a vase, but a smile is plastered on both our faces.
Jane looks at me with a half smile and a raised eyebrow asking if she should disappear again, but I think we should stop here before I lay her on the floor of the studio.
