Twist Me by Mia Monroe

Mitsu

It’s been a few days since I had dinner with Grey, but the memory of his lips on mine lingers. I’ve replayed it in my mind like the endless loop of a favorite song, desperately in need of a repeat. He’s hesitant, that much is obvious, so I’ve done my best to give him space and to allow both of us to tiptoe into whatever this is going to be. I can’t wait anymore though. My usual patient disposition and faith in the universe for its supreme timing has left me. If I wait for Grey to make the next move, I suspect I’ll be waiting a very long time.

I dial his number and wait to hear the voice that drifts through my mind at night when I close my eyes. His luminous skin, silken hair, and shy smile dance through my dreams. But I’m done thinking about him. I want to see him.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Grey. How are you?”

“Mitsu, hey. I’m great. You?”

“Wonderful. Are you busy?”

“No, actually. I finished a client ten minutes ago.”

“So you can chat?”

“Definitely.”

I exhale slowly, prepared for a potential rejection if he decides he’s not interested in pursuing this with me. “I’d like to see you again.”

“You would?”

I can hear the smile in his voice, which washes away my anxiety.

“Yes. Are you open to that?”

“Definitely. What were you thinking?”

“Dinner at my place? Tonight if you’re free.”

“Sounds great. What time?”

“Six?”

“I’ll be there. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Perfect. See you soon.”

“Soon.”

I hang up with a smile as wide as the Atlantic ocean. For the rest of the day, I busy myself sorting new ropes I just purchased, marinating the steaks I bought for dinner, and meditating. I need to harness my inner strength to restrain myself from attacking him as soon as he gets here. His very presence does something to me. He jumbles things up in a good way. My life has been far too passive for too long. Grey makes me feel...alive. I smile at that thought.

When the doorbell rings a few minutes before six, I wipe my wet hands on a dishtowel and hurry over to answer it. I swing the door open, smiling at his presence.

“Come in.”

“Thanks.” He hands me a bag. “I brought wine just in case.”

“Thank you.”

He kicks off his sneakers, standing before me in white socks. He’s wearing dark gray jeans with tears all over them, exposing delicious bits of skin, and a black shirt that hangs perfectly on his lean frame. His hair is down, falling in soft waves over his shoulders. Normally it’s bone straight when I see him, so it’s a nice change.

“Are you hungry? I’m making grilled steak strips and veggies with some rice.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Great. Let’s open this wine and get the evening started.”

“Yeah.”

He follows me to the kitchen while I do my best to act natural. His presence here is profound, permeating the space and leaving his imprint. Now when I look around my home, I’ll remember him here. Not just the garden, but the parts I live in.

I open the wine and take two glasses down from the cabinet. As I fill them, my eyes flash up to his, watching as if studying me.

“What are you thinking, Grey?”

He startles, chuckling. “I didn’t realize I was staring. Sorry. You’re just hard not to look at.”

“Thank you.” I bow my head slightly. “I like your hair tonight. It’s wavy.”

“Oh.” He reaches up and barely touches it as if he just became aware of it. “It’s naturally wavy, but I usually beat it into submission with a blow dryer and flat iron. You like it like this?”

“I’ve always been more drawn to anything in its natural state.”

His face flickers with something I can’t read fast enough before it’s gone.

“Yes, I like it.”

Grey smiles. “Thank you.”

I sip my wine and return to finishing the meal. After tossing the salad with ginger dressing, I offer Grey a plate. I’ve set everything up on the island buffet style so it’s easier to serve. I watch with delight as Grey fills his plate.

“Would you prefer to sit at the dining table?”

“What are my choices?”

“I like to sit in the living room on the floor. It’s how I grew up.”

“Let’s do that then.”

I motion for him to follow me before grabbing my wine and leading him to the living room. I realize my home is not set up like most American homes, that is by design. My years in Japan taught me to embrace my heritage after years of pushing it away in an attempt to be more like my friends. I sit down around the low square table in front of my couch, more the height of a foot rest than a coffee table, but it makes meals easy. I pull two pillows from the couch and place one across from me for Grey.

As he settles, he grins at me. “At least I know this is a comfortable way for tall people to eat, since you’re taller than me.”

“Not by much. How tall are you?”

“Six foot. You?”

“Six-two.”

“Nice. It’s hard for me to find men taller than me.”

“It is a challenge. I like it though. I love being able to look directly into your eyes. They are beautiful.”

He smiles, gazing down at his food. “Thank you. I used to hate them when I was little. They were too light, almost clear. I had white skin, white hair, and clear blue eyes. I wanted more depth to everything.”

“I guess I can understand. I wanted to look less Asian when I was a teenager. I grew out of it, of course. Now I embrace what I was given.”

“As you should. You’re hot, Mitsu.”

I chuckle. “Thank you. Is that why you covered all your skin with tattoos? For depth?”

He stabs at his lettuce with a fork, shaking his head. “Nah. I just love them. They tell a story that sometimes words can’t. Do you have any?”

“No.”

“Do you hate them?”

“Definitely not.” I want to lick his, but it’s far too early in this budding relationship to say that aloud. “I find them just as beautiful as any art, when done well. You’ve used your body as a canvas with a thousand stories to explore.”

His eyes meet mine. “Yeah, that’s how I describe it actually. I was born with a blank canvas that I get to design. I love every inch of my tattooed flesh.”

“You should. I’ve never seen such vibrant colors.” I touch his arm, noticing how his brows pinch for just a second. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you for me to touch you?”

“No.” He takes a sip of wine. “Normally it does. People, I mean. Not you. It’s strange.”

“Is that why the idea of the ropes bothers you? Touch?”

“That, and I’m super claustrophobic. Kind of controlling, too, at least according to Mac.”

I nod, watching as Grey takes another bite of steak. “I’m the opposite. Touch is healing to me. It replenishes my soul when the world wears me down. It’s why I naturally gravitate to touching people I…want to get closer.”

Grey pushes his food around with his fork for a few seconds before gazing up at me. His teeth worry his bottom lip, his eyes wide and questioning.

“Maybe you could help me.”

“Help you what?”

“Get closer. I want to be touched. It annoys me that I’m like this.”

My brow creases. It’s a touchy question, but I feel it must be asked. “Grey, were you...hurt as a child?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Nothing like that. It’s just a thing with me.”

“Forgive me.”

“No, it’s okay. We’re getting to know each other.” He takes another bite of grilled peppers, so I join him, and together we eat in silence for several minutes.

“This is really good by the way. I eat a lot of junk food but this feels healthy.”

“It is healthy. It’s important to feed our bodies well.”

“Yeah. I’m not good at that. I just grab food, you know. Drink a shit-ton of coffee.”

“Well, I drink a shit-ton of tea, so I get my caffeine in too.”

“What’s your worst habit?”

“Hmm. Good question. I’d say probably my sweet tooth. I do my best to tame it, but when I give in, I really go there.”

Grey laughs softly. “That’s not such a bad one.”

“Yours?”

“Eating wise, I’d say French fries. I could eat them every day, and sometimes I do.”

“They are good though.”

“Yeah.”

We finish eating, and Grey helps me tidy the kitchen even after I insist I don’t need it. We retire to the living room where we sit on pillows, leaning back against the sofa.

“What do you do for fun?” Grey asks.

“Garden. Read. Meditate.”

“Meditate, huh? I’ve tried that a few times, but I can’t get into it.”

“That’s common. It’s challenging to turn our minds off.”

“Yeah. It sounds like I could benefit from it though. Probably lots of people could.”

“I agree. Would you like to try with me?”

“When?”

“Now.”

His face lights up. “Yeah.”

“Okay. What I do isn’t complicated. It’s a series of deep breaths in which you release whatever stress or anxiety you’re feeling. The idea is on the exhale you ask your higher self to show you the way to the answer you seek. If you get quiet enough, you’ll find what you need.”

“Okay, that sounds doable.”

“Do you want to try it now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Close your eyes.” He does. “Now try counting on the inhale: one, two, three; then exhale: one, two, three. Do this as many times as it takes to clear your mind. On the final exhale, ask yourself the answer you seek, then just listen. I’ll do it too.”

Grey nods then slowly inhales and exhales. My breathing syncs up with his and the two of us sit in silence, breathing. After a few minutes, Grey’s breath softens, and I can feel his energy seep into me. I sense some resistance, a desire to let go, but fear in doing so. I’m no psychic though. Grey’s general energy reads that way.

As we continue to sit, the energy between us shifts, bringing a smile to my face. I open my eyes to watch him. His face is more serene than I’ve ever seen it.

“Will you touch me somewhere?” he whispers, eyes still closed. “Anywhere.”

I reach out and place my hand over his, which is resting on his knee. He exhales again, his shoulders dropping as a smile pulls at his lips.

“How does this feel?”

“Good.” His eyes open slowly. “I like when you touch me.”

“I like it too.” I lift his hand, threading my fingers through his. “Still good?”

He nods. “Your hands are soft. Your skin is so warm. It feels nice.”

“Touch me whenever you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you think this is something you can do when you feel stressed or anxious?”

“I do. It was easy.” He laughs softly. “But to be honest, I wonder if it’s just because I’m here with you. Stepping into your house is like leaving the world behind. It’s calm here. You can think here.”

“By design, but I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear you like it here. I hope it means you’ll come back.”

“Just ask.”

I have a very strong desire to kiss him, and as he searches my eyes, I can see the invitation in them. I lean close, turning my body to face him. His lips part, his eyes zeroing in on my mouth.

I press our lips together, noticing the soft fullness of his. His hands move to my biceps, squeezing as if he’s afraid to fall, but he will learn that I would never let that happen. He opens his mouth to me, and I dive in, sucking his tongue and twisting it with my own. The low moan that he releases vibrates through me, lighting me up in ways I’ve never felt. His kiss is needy, yielding, and absolutely fucking delicious. My cock hardens in my linen pants, pushing against the material and leaking the first drops of precum. I’m committed to not rushing things between us, even though I want nothing more than to tear him apart piece by piece then slowly, lovingly put him back together again.

I break away slowly, pressing my forehead to his. When I pull back, he’s looking at me with pure awe in his eyes, and my heart beats with pride that I caused that look.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“You felt that too? That...connection?”

“I've always felt connected to you. That kiss just strengthened it.”

He nods. “Kind of wish I was into hookups right now.”

I nod my head toward my tented pants. “Same.”

We both laugh.

“Should I go now?”

“Do you want to?”

“No. I want to talk some more.”

“I would love that, Grey.”