The house had become suddenly quiet.
Victor had left in a buzz of phone calls and hurried directions, a business trip that would keep him away from the house for a couple of nights. The moment his car disappeared from sight, Maria was conscious of the silence closing in upon her. She had implored him for years for attention; this afternoon she was glad that he was away.
She put a glass of wine in front of her, her hand shaking as she gazed out over the terrace. From a distance, Maria could hear the gentle clink of tools—the end of the days work with the last man cleaning up the work tools. She didn't bother to ask who it was because Richard stayed later than the other men, as if working longer might ease the storm in him.
Maria stood back by the edge of the balcony and a glass of wine in her hand.A side of her robe slipped off her shoulder exposing her top smooth skin to the cold air.She told herself that she should resist the temptation of going to him. She should go inside her room and lock herself up in her fantasies. But the pull was stronger than her will power.
Her feet led her along the path.
Richard was bent over, tying on the last piece of wood on the pavilion frame. His shirt was stuck to him, wet with the sweat of the day's labor. Even by the not so bright light, Maria could still see the outline of his muscles propped out . He looked up as she came towards him, equally thrilled by her visit as the atmosphere ignited with a total kind of sensation.
"Maria," he said, her name low and unsteady.
She lifted the glass, attempting a forced grin that wasn't coming. "I didn't expect you to work this late."
"You shouldn't be out here alone ," he whispered, saying something he had once said before.
"I'm not alone," she said as if whispering to him.
The atmosphere was thick now, heavy with unspoken emotions defining the guilty glance that had passed between them these past weeks. His mouth trembled as if he struggled with himself but Maria saw the hunger in his eyes. The hunger that she had spoken of in secret, the hunger she had dreamed over and fantasized at bedtime.
Richard," she whispered, moving closer, "I could no longer pretend.".
Her words broke something in him. He set his tools down with reluctant slow motion, as if savoring the last defense eroding away. Then he moved closer to her, so close he could smell the jasmine fragrance on her robe.His hand rose,shaking, and hesitant, then carresed her cheek. The tip of his finger slipped into her upper bossom caressing her breast. It was gentle and sent a sensation down her spine and whole body.
Maria's eyes closed, a breath slipping between her lips and little sounds of soft moans.She leaned toward his touch, his warm palm bringing her to his body just as lust stirred her emotions. When she next looked up,Richards's eyes burnt hers, no longer fearful but set on a course.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
Her response was a breath against his lips. "You don't dare."
Their lips met.
The kiss was not proper, not restrained—it was raw, hungry, the release of weeks of silent torture. Maria fell against him, her glass slipping from her hands to break on the rocks, forgotten. Richard's arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his, she could smell his body mixed with the scent of cologne and sweat. She clung as if she might drown if she let him go, she wanted more, the heat of him was overwhelming.
When he pulled away, it was only to trace her mouth, her throat, the space just below her collarbone. She breathed his name, her voice cracking on it. His hands moved over her back, firm but gentle, as if committing and taking every detail of her.
Maria's robe slipped off her shoulders exposing more flesh to the night air. She didn't grab it. She let it slip, a conscious surrender. Richard stiffened, his breath chattering as he stared around her, reverence and appetite battling in him.
"Maria…", he groaned, her name ripped out of his chest like a prayer.
She stopped him with a further kiss, hot and throbbing. "No more waiting ," she said softly against his mouth. "Not this evening."
They stumbled toward the pavilion, hands clasped together, lips never breaking apart. The raw beams closed in around them as if they were walls of an intangible world. He pressed her up against the wood softly, his own frame enveloping hers, his breathing rough as he fought the last remnants of restraint.
Each contact was fire, each kiss was promise. Maria's daydreams—once the domain of the pages in her book—were now flesh and warmth and irrefutable truth. His hands caressed her sides, owning her yet still gentle, still respectful, as if she was something consecrated.
Maria held him tight, caught in the storm. Alive for the first time in years. Seen. Wanted. All the forgotten parts of her that Victor had ignored, Richard now adored with his hands.
Time unraveled.
The darkness closed around them, the crickets and rustle of wind the only onlookers as they surrendered. Something that has felt like a burning desire in her eased into intimacy- slowly, deeply,speed that was not lust but something more precious and perilous.
When Maria was finally wapped in his arms on the pavilion floor, panting and radiant, she put her ear against his chest and heard the strong beat of his heart.
"I dreamed about this," she whispered.
"I do," Richard replied, his voice rough. "I've read your dreams."
She stiffened, pulling back by air so that she could meet his gaze. She saw no sneering, no remorse—nothing but truth. Her diary. Her secret. He had known this entire time.
The revelation must have frightened her, yet it had thrilled her. He had not just gratified her wish this evening—he had chosen it.
She kissed him once more, gently this time, holding back on it. " so you know, this is just the beginning."
But just as the words escaped her mouth, her phone's loud ring pierced the evening air and brought them back from their world.Maria jumped, taking the phone she had left on the adjacent bench.
Victor's name illuminated the screen.
Her heart lurched into her throat.
Richard's arms wrapped around her against her will as if he shielded her from the man who was absent. She answered, shaking.
"Victor...."
Maria," he said in a calm and controlled tone. "Just arrived. Wanted to hear your voice before I head off to meetings.".
Maria put a brightness into her voice, but her heartbeat boomed in her ear. "Of course. Everything's okay here."
But as he spoke, Richards hand was still on her waist, his mouth on her shoulder in silent defiance. She was panting, her eyes shut tight, knowing that the fragile edge between make-believe and reality had been removed.
And Victor would discover sooner or later.