The Vanishing by Karla Nikole

Twenty-Seven

The gallery opening for the new artist Cellina has contracted is in full swing on a windy summer evening. The musicians are in place, the food is beautifully presented, the art is showcased with the perfect lighting and the patrons and donors are pouring in through the doors. Cellina’s hard work is paying off and everyone seems to be pleased with the results.

Everyone except for the prick artist.

He’s complained and raised hell about a myriad of insignificant things. The latest being that the brand of water bottles she’d chosen don’t match up with his refined standards, nor are they “reflective of the quality of his art.”

They’re fucking water bottles.

And they’re expensive water bottles—glass, recycled and eco-friendly, for God’s sake. The artist has even complained to Cellina’s director. She’s just walked out of an impromptu “emergency meeting” where she was berated by the artist for not meeting his petty demands. She storms through the gallery, weaving in and out of the amazing crowd of people that she’s procured.

Her mind is white with rage when someone steps in front of her, causing her to crash into them. It’s like she’s hit a brick wall. She looks up and Giovanni is there, smiling down at her. His brow shifts into a look of concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

She shakes her head and lifts her palm. “Not now.” She hasn’t even seen him in two weeks, since he walked away from her at the Midsummer Night’s party. He’s been avoiding her altogether now, so why the hell is he even here? She moves around him and heads straight to her office in the upper corridor, away from the main hall and festivities.

Cellina enters the darkened space and doesn’t bother turning the lights on. She’s pacing and rubbing her forehead in disbelief. How can this pompous asshole be so ungrateful?

She knew this artist back when no one had heard of him. While she was still in school, she’d been the one to help him achieve his major break within the Milan art scene. But he’s changed. It’s inconceivable how disloyal and shallow people become when given a little success.

On top of tonight’s meeting, her director has told her that they will meet tomorrow as well. Apparently, they need to clarify “artist expectations” for gallery openings going forward. “My ass—donor support has increased by twenty percent since I took over the programming.”

Cellina grumbles in frustration as her office door creaks open. She pauses, watching in the darkness. Giovanni peeks his head around the corner. He steps inside, loosening his tie and smiling. “Hey…”

“I said not right now.”

Walking forward, her heel catches on the throw rug covering the marble floor. She reaches down and unties the straps at her ankles before throwing the shoes across the room one at a time. “Stupid high heel bullshit.”

“Lina—your guests will be looking for you. You need to calm down.”

She meets his gaze, her eyes wild as she points. “Don’t you dare come in here fucking telling me what to do. I’m done with all of this shit.”

Giovanni crosses the room, his long legs carrying him into the intimacy of her personal space within seconds. Startled from his sudden movement, Cellina backs away. She hits the wall beside her desk and looks up at him. “What the hell—”

He places his large hands against her jawline and presses their foreheads together. Immediately, she’s grounded by his soothing, gingery warmth. It slows her heart rate, making her inhale and exhale his spicy scent as her eyes close. Soon, her breathing is in rhythm with his. She unwinds, allowing the peaceful sensation to wash over her.

They stand together for a long moment before Giovanni pulls his head up. Cellina opens her eyes. He’s staring back at her through glowing irises.

“Listen,” he says. “This event is fantastic, and you’ve worked too hard to let it be ruined by some shitheadartist. I saw him come out of the room behind you, and he was acting like a little bitch and making a fuss. But you have to stay calm in these situations.”

Cellina leans back, relaxing her head against the wall. Giovanni’s hand drifts down to the small of her waist. “And you look incredible, by the way. You always do…”

His hand is heavy against her body—against the soft, silky material of her mustard-colored dress. She loves this dress. The hem flows and moves when she walks, the capped sleeves and neckline fit her bust perfectly. It makes her feel exquisite.

Lifting her chin, she meets Giovanni’s emerald eyes. “Thank you. I like this suit. You wore a tie tonight?”

He sighs. “I hate ties.”

“I know you do.” Cellina reaches up to his neck, maneuvering her fingers around the knot to loosen it. She unravels the silky material, amazed at how much calmer she feels. “Don’t do things you hate. Tonight isn’t so formal anyway.”

He stands still, unspeaking, as she pulls and slides the tie from his neck altogether, then tosses it onto her desk nearby. Giovanni’s breathing is deep and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. She unfastens the first two buttons of his collar and separates the shirt. “Better?”

He clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head in a tight smile. “No.”

Cellina grips his shirt collar and urges him down toward her. She lifts her chin to meet his mouth, softly brushing their lips. The warmth of his breath catches, hesitating just before he leans into her, fully pressing their mouths together as he grips her waist.

She parts her lips. His tongue is warm and sweet as it touches hers, and he tastes just like he smells—gingery and smoky, like hot chai or some other spiced and earthy concoction. Wanting more of him, she tilts her head and lifts to her toes, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders to press tighter into his body.

When Giovanni slides his hands down to her hips, Cellina decides she wants all of him. Or whatever he’s willing to give her. Right now, in this quiet office, hidden away from society and responsibility. She pulls away from the kiss, leaning her back into the wall. The silver glow of her own eyes alights as he watches her with his smoldering irises. He chases her, resting against her forehead. His voice is husky and deep when he speaks. “You smell so damn good to me—everything about you is just… Your nature sings to me.”

He exhales a heavy sigh, lifting from her and rubbing his large palm down his handsome face and closing his eyes. Cellina watches him, her mind calm and resolute. “You want me.”

Giovanni scoffs, amusement in his voice. “Understatement.”

“I want you, too. Right now.”

Blinking, he meets her eyes. “Here?”

“Should we wait another century?”

He pauses, staring, before he shakes his head. His face is mesmerized as he stares down at her. “No… we shouldn’t.” Giovanni pulls the silky material of her dress upward with his fingertips, the sensation tickling her skin. His large palms are warm against her naked thighs, sliding upward in a slow, intentional movement.

The way he touches her feels cautious, as if he’s an explorer carefully searching for something. She waits in anticipation of his discovery, enjoying the feel of his hands on her bare skin.

Giovanni reaches her hips underneath her dress and pauses, his smile wicked. He drags his palms up her soft curves, then grips her naked ass. “Are you serious?”

“I never wear underwear.” Cellina grins. “I hate it.”

“Good God,” he breathes. “Never?”

She lifts her chin to place a swift peck on his mouth. Kissing his full lips and having his hands on her flesh is wonderful—a deep and gratifying experience that her body has been yearning for. “You can test it going forward. You have consent.”

“Going forward…” Hesitation washes over his expression, but Cellina leans into him and kisses him again, wanting to redirect him from whatever path his mind is spiraling down. He responds to the kiss, groaning and hungry. She gasps when he breaks the affection to bend down and grip her thighs. He lifts, smooth, like the weight of her is nothing. The soft material of her dress slips higher up her thighs as she spreads her legs wider, her back pressed into the wall.

When she’s steady with her arms over Giovanni’s shoulders, he uses one hand to reach in between them. He traces his fingers up the inside of her thigh, the delicate sensation making her toes curl. Reaching his target, he touches in between her legs with his fingertips. Gentle but assured. The raw intimacy and contact make her inhale and shift her hips forward, chasing his fingers.

Finally…

It’s taken more than a hundred years but they’re here. The innate longing she’s always felt for him—the unyielding, warm thing sitting stagnate and deep in her nature—it can be fed and gratified at last.

He rubs his fingers against her flesh, teasing and making her breath shorter as he leans in to kiss her again. She moans when he presses his thick fingers inside, moving them slowly in and out to stretch her. Cellina lifts her head and arches her neck. Her body is hot, as if it’s on fire, and she can’t wait to have him inside her. Not just his fingers but Giovanni. This frustrating male that she’s been wanting since she knew how to want another creature.

When he removes his fingers, she sighs from the loss of it. His knuckles brush her flesh while he unfastens his pants to free himself. Running her fingers into his soft golden-brown hair, she settles against the wall, wrapping her legs around him and staring into his eyes. “You made me wait a long time for you.”

One corner of Giovanni’s full lips quirks up in a smile. “I didn’t even think you wanted me.” The moment she feels the warmth of his shaft touching her body, she sucks in a breath. Giovanni exhales as he guides himself into her. “I thought you hated me.”

Cellina relaxes her body around his shaft, welcoming it. She shifts her hips forward, urging the fullness and heat of him deeper, her entire body prickling with ecstasy. “I could say the same thing.”

The movement of his hips is slow, languid, as he grips the meat of her thigh with one hand. He moves his free hand up the curve of her body until his palm reaches her breast. He squeezes and Cellina exhales from pleasure, but he covers her mouth in another ravenous kiss—enticing and teasing her body in multiple ways. He lifts his head, and his voice is quiet but heavy with lust. “You… were the only good thing about my life. I could never hate you.”

Giovanni supports her weight with his broad frame, moving his hand between them once more. He caresses her flesh with his fingers as he rocks into her. She closes her eyes and meets his rhythm, using the wall as leverage to shift her hips forward and into his firm body. Something primal springs to life within her.

Whenever she’s with him, her nature twists and writhes in response to him. Even when they were young. After their fight, she ignored it. Refused to acknowledge any feelings she held for him. Now, everything stirs, threatening to expand and overtake her.

The heat of climax simmers low in her belly. She sinks down and spreads her thighs wider, wanting him deeper inside. He feels thick and strong, and the gingery sent of him is growing more intense, making her head spin and her eyes burn bright. He leans in, kissing her with a ferocity she’s never known just as the pressure within spills over. She moans against his mouth, the fizzy warmth and liberation of the orgasm racing up her spine and making her shiver all over.

Giovanni groans as he holds her. Soon, she feels his release warm as it spills inside. Laying her head back against the wall, Cellina closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of him—in the heat and scent of his body. She’s fantasized about this in secret for years, over and over. But the reality is wild. More innately satisfying than she could have anticipated.

He opens his beautiful green eyes and she smiles. She’s thinking of something funny and snarky to say, but he tilts his head and bends into her. Before she can blink, he bites her neck, high and just below her ear. Her eyes widen in shock as he pulls hard at her flesh. Cellina gasps. The emotion she feels from him is intense—an overwhelming sense of desire and love. Naked, sincere adoration and want. Desperate need.

His sentiments are beautiful as they fill her, but something in it makes her heart ache. Hopelessness? As if this moment and the inherent satisfaction he feels within it are fleeting. Something he may never experience again.

He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tight against his body as he feeds. He pulls hard again and Cellina takes a deep breath, grounding herself so that his intense emotions don’t overtake her—so they don’t reduce her to a blubbering pile of mush and tears.

Cellina laces her fingers against the back of his head. “Giovanni.”

He pulls his head up from her neck with a jolt. Giovanni’s incisors are still elongated, his green eyes bewildered. His expression is a mix of confusion and worry, as if he’s just been awakened after being hypnotized. He rubs his palm down his face. “I’m so sorry—shit. God. Cellina, I—”

She leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. She moves to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth before meeting his lips. When Cellina pulls up, she whispers, staring into his distressed eyes, “It’s okay, Giovanni. You’re okay.”