Arms Of Mine
Having dressed in a simple kneel-length polka dot, button-down dress and coordinating white tights, Ava lounged casually on her large sofa, having rearranged the cushions to provide maximum nestiness.
In her hands she clutched a book of poetry she'd pulled from the dusty shelves of her husband's old bookcase, in an attempt to look cool, calm and collected, as well as intellectual.
Adam had always been a hopeless romantic, so therefore a sucker for poetry. With any luck he'd be impressed by her choice of reading material, though in all honesty she was having great difficulty concentrating as her mind kept being overruled solely by thoughts of Adam.
He was bound to be far from happy to find his clothes missing, so she had gone to great lengths in order to divert his inevitable anger.
She'd poured him a shot glass of O Negative, which now sat on a coaster on the wide, squared arm of the sofa. That, she hoped, would sate his hunger and go a long way towards distracting him from his temporary loss of clothing.
Whilst her tactical manoeuvre had been mischievous as well as practical, she had no desire to provoke any further outbursts from him. She wanted him to remain with her for as long as possible, and in order to achieve her goals she needed to be sneaky and resort to drastic measures.
Classical music filtered through the speakers, filling the room with a lulling, beautiful symphony.
Despite not being a huge fan of orchestral music herself, Ava knew this one particular melody by heart. 'Marche pour la Ceremonie des Turcs' written and composed in 1670 was an exquisite piece of music which had always been accredited to French composer, Jean-Baptiste Lully. In actual fact, it was one of Adam's most glorious pieces of work but like most of what he'd done musically, he had submitted it to a friend anonymously.
Ava unashamedly adored Adam's music. No matter the era or genre, she always considered it breathtakingly brilliant. He was, quite simply, a madcap genius. Whether playing melancholic, romantic overtures with elegant proficiency on classical piano, or experimenting with distorting sounds on an electric guitar by running a zippo lighter along the fretboard, his capabilities and imagination were boundless and his style was always distinctive.
It was a terrible pity she thought, that he'd grown reclusive towards the end of the 1970's. Fearing his true identity would be discovered, he retired from public life and thus began the obsession with strictly guarding his privacy. It was around this time worrying reports from some of the others reached Eve, informing her that the Adam he once was, the Adam they all knew who had always been joyful and gregarious, was now becoming increasingly socially withdrawn.
After traveling from Tangier to join him at his digs in St Louis, where he'd been temporarily residing, Eve had been so alarmed by the transformation in her husband she'd even voiced her fears for his emotional and mental state to Ava. She had listened, silently mortified as her sister relayed to her the full extent of his changes. One of the most striking features she described was the development of a blank, empty, dead-eyed stare.
Poor Adam, he had lost his effervescence and passion. And whilst both Eve and Kit Marlowe had coerced him from his nihilistic, self-pitying existence to some extent, he'd never fully regained his sparkle. A decade or so later and once more he had descended into a deep depression.
Ava had secretly agonised over Adam's tortured state of mind. He had shunned her ever since Paris, and it grieved her to be kept on the fringes of his and Eve's idyllic life. Learning of his affliction, made it all the more difficult to bear.
Her precious, beautiful Adam. He was suffering in solitude, and she was powerless to help. What a waste. It was an absolute travesty.
She not only admired him as a man and an artist, she also found him inspiring and privately idolised him.
Wherever in the world she found herself, she always gained comfort from listening to his music. It made her feel closer to him somehow, as she pined for him quietly, longing to be near to him whilst firmly believing that if he were to reconnect with the outside world again, this would present new and exciting opportunities.
In her opinion, whilst he was at times undeniably emotionally fragile, treating him like a China doll wasn't necessarily the solution to aid his recovery either.
Eve had always been the more dominant of the pairing, in the most subtlest of ways. Over time her overprotective, and somewhat patronising, manner had smoothed out Adam's rough corners.
Once a confident, self-assured man, he had undoubtedly lost his edge. Her sister had calmed his turbulence, and her wisdom and vibrancy had inadvertently diminished his flame.
You should not invite wildfire into your home and expect it to be content with having to remain in the fireplace, but that is precisely what Eve had done.
This was all wrong, Adam was the sort of man who, whilst being fashionably sensitive but too cool to care, was domineering in his own right. His commanding presence could be intimidating, and that was all part of his charisma.
But Eve overruled his masculinity and always took control in any given situation.
Only occasionally did his suppressed inner-fire flicker to the surface.
Admittedly, Ava alone seemed able to bring out the more aggressive, decisive and more fiery side to his personality. The night he'd thrown her out of his house was a fine example of this, and when they'd been in the club and she'd danced sensually with his trusted errand-boy, she watched his face gradually darken until his expression was so black she half expected him to throw a drink over her. Adam alway did have a touch of the melodramatic about him, and he gave testament to that fact as he'd demanded they leave before storming out like a hormone-imbalanced youth.
This, was the side of Adam she now needed to appeal to. Now the two of them were alone together, perhaps she'd be able to evoke his inner-dominance, preferably without having to anger him too much. Only then did she stand a chance of scaling the walls he'd built to keep everyone, especially her, out.
She had put some clothes on just to appease his apparent prudish nature. Because in spite of his arousal as they'd shared that sensual moment in the hallway, she sensed he was still very much trying to keep her at a distance.
Perhaps he had simply become aroused by her brazen advances, which didn't necessarily mean his feelings ran any deeper than that. She wasn't completely naive to the ways of men. Obviously the feel of a woman's lips and tongue trailing an illicit path down any hot-blooded male's stomach would be enough to stir their libido, even if against their own wishes.
Is that all it was? An impulsive reaction to the sight of her bloodied finger and her bold actions? He loathed her, did he not? Which is why him allowing her to do what she had done, initially putting up no resistance and even appearing to enjoy it, had come as such a shockingly pleasant surprise.
She herself had been so caught up in the heat of the moment she hadn't stopped to consider what she was actually doing. All she knew was that he alone always awoke her dormant sexuality, making her burn and throb with pure, unadulterated need.
Had he not stopped her when he had, she would've continued bravely. Daring to explore the most intimate areas of his eatable body with her curious, sinful mouth.
Yet he'd retreated hastily, stating quite categorically that he did not want her. Well, that was debatable, and she was now determined to discover the truth. She needed more now. So much more. Like an addict with temptation within her grasp, she longed to reach out and touch him again. To satisfy her craving.
What was needed, she realised, was a change of tactics.
The dress she wore was a little prim for her tastes, but had been specifically chosen for that purpose. She wasn't about to frighten Adam off by dressing provocatively. This wasn't simply about seducing the previously unobtainable object of her desires anymore, she wanted more than that. She wanted to succeed where Eve and Marlowe had failed, she wanted to provide more than just temporary relief. She wanted to somehow fix her wretched love. To be his salvation.
It was a fanciful notion indeed, but she wouldn't ever be able to live with herself if she missed this opportunity, and her usual heavy-handed approach had always proved unsuccessful.
Now she had reached the conclusion that she would need to awaken the dormant beast within, and then let him take the lead. He needed to reassert his dominance, and she assumed that her boisterousness was too intimidating for the shyer side of his personality.
Whilst caught up in her thoughts, she neither heard nor sensed his arrival as he padded barefoot into the living room.
Only when he spoke did he alert her to his presence, making her start in surprise.
There was something about the enigma that was Adam which always put her on edge, and she was convinced he knew it.
"What the fuck have have you done with my clothes Ava? They're not where I left them."
"God, Adam!"
She sputtered, clasping a hand to her chest theatrically.
"You almost gave me a heart attack!"
He stood near the doorway, naked save for the white towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp and dishevelled, and as he moved towards the sofa with graceful strength, the soft glow of the candlelight shimmered in the tiny beads of water on his gleaming skin.
"I highly doubt that, it's a physical impossibility."
He retorted, looking comically unamused.
"Where are my clothes?"
"They're in the washing machine."
She replied flatly, deliberately returning her attentions back to her book.
"They're what?"
"In the washing machine. Didn't you hear me?"
"My hearing is perfectly adequate thank you Ava. Why the fuck would you wash my clothes?"
"Your hearing may be, but your understanding is clearly lacking."
She retorted dryly.
"They were dirty. That's why people wash their clothes. Sorry but bloodstains just aren't a good look Adam."
He stood before her now, the folded corner of the towel hanging tantalisingly low on his narrow hip.
He was so beautiful, she couldn't refrain from looking him up and down appreciatively.
Ava had seen many, many men in various states of undress, but none of them compared to Adam with his broad shoulders, fantastic sinewy arms and impossibly long, lean, powerful legs. His body was slender and sculpted, his smooth chest well-defined, and his stomach bore the etchings of solid abdominal muscle.
And then there was the small - or rather not so small - matter of what lay hidden beneath the small scrap of material that covered his modesty. Had she known of the treasures that had been kept from her view for so long, she would never have known a moments peace.
In truth, even just the sight of him shirtless back in Detroit had caused her to gaze too long, and too hard. Just as she did now.
She stared at him. Caught up in inappropriate thoughts. Then stared some more.
"How long before they're dry?"
He was demanding gruffly.
She sighed in exasperation and sat up slightly, throwing her legs over a particularly large cushion in order to make space for him to join her.
"It won't take long. That's the wonders of modern technology for you Adam, I don't have to wash my clothes in the river and beat them against a rock anymore to dry them off, like you still do."
She gestured towards the glass which still sat atop the arm of the sofa.
"There's a little something for you, being as you spilled the last one on my designer rug."
His hungry eyes fell on the glass, and he wasted no time in snatching it up with his deft fingers..
"As soon as my clothes are dry, I'm gone."
He declared with conviction and reluctantly seated his scantily clad body as far away from her as the sofa would allow.
She watched him intently as he took a few eager sips of the dark liquid, trying in vain to pace himself until his thirst for blood became too great, compelling him to knock it back greedily.
The effect was instantaneous, immediately quelling the hunger which had driven him to do the most strange, unthinkable things. Such as licking the blood from his hostesses' injured finger. He must've been delirious.
His body slumped deeply into the cushions at his back, and his head involuntarily lolled as his pupils pooled.
As per usual, he briefly slipped into a catatonic state as the blood he'd just consumed chugged its way through his veins.
Then all at once he regained some coherency, enough for his attention to be caught by the familiar sound of music. His music. Confusing him temporarily whilst in his sated stupor.
"Why....why are you playing this?"
He heard himself asking. His voice thick with irritation.
"Is it some pathetic attempt to appease me? Because it won't work. Turn it off."
"No. I just like it that's all. But fine, suit yourself."
He felt her move as she reached for the remote, and his eyes flickered shut. There was a brief lull and he lost himself in the peacefulness of the moment.
His tranquility was interrupted however, by the distinctively smooth voice of Otis Redding emanating from the speaker which was placed almost directly in line with where Adam's head now lay.
The man's soulful voice, unlike the vulgar, tasteless music Ava had played last night, was not an assault on his senses. On the contrary, the raw emotion evident in the singers' performance, along with the sensually slow, melodic rhythm and blues beat, soothed him as he lay there, still and unmoving. Listening.
These arms of mine.
They are lonely.
Lonely and feeling blue.
These arms of mine.
They are yearning
Yearning from wanting you
As the lyrics resounded in Adam's ears he was all at once struck with an overwhelming feeling of empathy. He felt a searing tug on his heartstrings. The same sensation of yearning so undeniable and intense. Never before had lyrics made such an impact, striking a chord deep in his soul as he found himself identifying with the artist's torment.
His eyes snapped open as he then felt his unwanted companion, his tormentor, rise from her position on the sofa.
"Don't you just love this song?"
She smiled wistfully, and began moving in time to the music. Running her hands up and over her hips with a flair of sensuality that effected him deeply.
His hand gripped the glass tightly, so much so that it was by mere miracle it didn't fracture and break in his hand.
His enlarged pupils followed the soft curves of her body. Her gentle sway, her feminine and utterly alluring movements as she danced in the centre of the room, mesmerised him.
Her large, hazel eyes fell on him, her face split into a wide grin as she caught him watching her with such keen interest.
"Dance with me Adam?"
The invitation sounded more like a demand, and whilst it may have been innocently meant, he was certain her tone was laden heavily with sexual promise. Or was this mere wishful thinking on his part?
Under normal circumstances he would flatly deny her request and respond with some scathing remark. But these were far from being normal circumstances. Already it seemed as if the life he'd left behind in Tangier belonged to someone else. Would order ever be restored? Could there ever be order when Ava was involved? He highly doubted it.
Fleetingly he recalled Eve's phone call and the way in which she had implored him to have fun.
Fun.
It had been an absolute age since Adam had had fun. And even the very concept of having fun with Ava seemed dangerous. Enticingly so.
Could he do this? More than likely. Should he do this? Probably not. Did he want to do this? Most definitely.
But perhaps he owed it to himself, and even Eve in an abstract sort of way, he reasoned with himself, to live for the moment for once.
And even though he dare not think where it may lead, he wanted to be close to Ava tonight. As close to her as his senses and conscience would permit. Even though his pride said it was impossible, his experience and reason told him it was risky and pointless, his heart still whispered for him to give it a try. To take the chance.
He found himself moving almost without realising. He stood, then approached her in almost animated slow motion. Registering her look of pure, uninhibited delight as he slunk closer.
She continued to move almost imperceptibly, her eyes locking with his, shining with raw adoration and the slightest glimmer of want as she draped her arms carefully around his neck.
All of his reservations began to crumble like a pillar of salt beneath the heat of her gaze.
Cautiously he slipped his arms around her slim waist and awkwardly placed his hands at her lower back.
They began moving together, and immediately fell in sync with each other as they surrendered themselves to the hypnotic thrum of the music.
Instinctively he drew her in closer, enfolding her petite frame in his strong arms.
Damn this felt so right. She, felt right. She felt right after so much wrong.
Leaning against the supple expanse of his chest, Ava breathed him in. He smelt clean and fresh, and like something more intrinsic like dew. Like he bathed in the morning dew.
She closed her eyes and let out a small, satisfied sigh. Feeling lost and found all at once, this was where she belonged she was certain of it. In Adam's arms. As Otis Redding was so eloquently singing now in 'These Arms of Mine'
'And if you would let them hold you.
Oh how grateful I would be.'
How very apt. How very perfect. This was one of life's rare, perfect moments. The moment she had been waiting for since the day she had first met Adam and they'd shared that extraordinary dance, as if destiny had somehow conspired to bring them together. Circumstances had kept them apart, but now fate would be their saviour.
Adam was equally as touched by the memory of that first, luxurious encounter. And just like on that fateful evening, once more he forced all rational thought and logic from his mind, allowing his senses to bathe in the heady moment. To feel her in his arms again, to be holding her, unexpectedly almost moved him to tears. He savoured the floral scent of her hair and the way in which it tickled the tip of his nose as he lowered his head to rest it gently atop of hers.
How was it that being so close to this wild, untameable beauty, whom he found so utterly exasperating, felt so blissfully natural?
They seemed to fit together perfectly, like two spoons in a drawer.
She felt his head resting tenderly on her own but she wasn't prepared for what happened next. Tears pricked her eyes as she felt a hard rush of emotion like she'd never felt before. It was unstoppable. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut but the tears pushed out, and she wasn't able to wipe them away with her hand because it would mean extricating herself from his embrace, and she never wanted to be anywhere other than in his arms.
Fortunately for her he wasn't able to see her tears, so he wouldn't mistake her overwhelming, breathtaking happiness for something else.
Dear God she loved this man so much it almost killed her.
She wasn't able to put into words the love she felt for him. If she could she would, but now it was coming out in nearly tangible waves. Physical, aching and desperate. And she couldn't stop herself pressing her body to his, so that there wasn't a sliver of light between them.
He brought his hips forward to meet hers as she moved against him, and her heartbeat careened as she began to feel the familiar pulse of arousal deep in her belly,
Feeling her body heat sear into him, was warming and comforting. He could've spent hours just absorbing her, holding her close, feeding off her warmth, but his body was an impatient beast and a certain part of his anatomy that lay south of the border began to grow increasingly hard.
Warring with the explicit pleasure she was evoking, he tried in vain to conceal it. He didn't want her to know. He didn't want her to know what she was doing to him. Whatever it was, she was like a fever he was learning to live with. He had never truly had a say in the matter, and now he wasn't so convinced he'd want it any other way.
He could feel himself internally falling, tumbling ever further down this rabbit hole of madness.
Standing up against her, she felt his growing erection which was just for her, and had to fight the primal temptation to reach down and touch him.
He was like some form of drug. Addictive, and taking over her body, commanding and bending it to his will.
She knew she should resist but the need to do something was making her lose her mind. The sense of urgency to feel closer to him was unbearable.
Lifting her head, she strained upwards and carefully ghosted her lips over his right clavicle, brushing them along the bone and against the base of his neck.
He had tried to ignore the inconvenient stirring at his groin, his pride wouldn't allow him to waver and succumb to his carnal urges so easily. He refused to give in to his desire. Regardless of how mouth-wateringly exquisite her scent was, or how the knowledge that she was burning for him, drove him completely manic with lust.
But as he felt her soft, full lips feathering along his neck he could no longer refrain from doing what he'd been so desperate to do for the longest time.
Raising a hand, he lightly grazed the back of his fingers down and across the apple of her cheek. They trailed down, seductively gliding over her pouting lips before finally cupping the tip of her jaw line.
Sensing what was coming next she held her breath, in fear of so much as breathing the wrong way and jeopardising the moment.
His face came closer agonisingly slowly, hesitating briefly, their mouths mere millimetres apart. She felt his cool breath on her lips and for a moment they seemed to exchange breath with each other. Her blood fizzed through her veins as if effervescent, bubbling and pumping up her heart with sweet anticipation and making it feel full to the point of bursting or floating away like a balloon. And she needed him. Needed him more than ever. Needed him there to catch it just in case it did.
And then it happened. Finally, it happened.
He swooped in and claimed her mouth in a deep, sensuous kiss.