3She still clings to him
Summary: She wanted to keep him by her side forever, but such was his world of modeling.
This story was inspired by the astonishing beauty of Silviu Tolu - a Romanian male model - and the video for the song 'My Passion' by Akcent.
She clung to him. Tears pouring down her face, her entire body burned with sizzling passion for this man that didn't care about her in the slightest. This tall, gorgeous male model that teased her with every step he took. For a few moments she considered maintaining her already bruised dignity, but she realized it was high time she ignored it.
He was beautiful.
Everything from his storm-blue eyes down to his pale, impeccably smooth skin screamed masculinity and power. Raw, unadulterated manliness oozed out of his very pores, making her skin tingle with anticipation of his touch.
"Don't," she whispered, her pouty lips touching his cheek meekly. From that angle she couldn't see his annoyed rolling of eyes as her hands clenched around his forearms, stopping him from moving. A frantic urge to kiss him bloomed inside her chest, but she stifled it quietly, unwilling to make a fool out of herself just yet. But she would willingly crush even that part of her pride.
"Sonja, I told you to move. Markus is gonna be here in twenty. There's no time for childishness," he admonished as if she were a child and he the father. She couldn't see him as a father.
But she loved him.
"Don't let go," she pleaded, trying to kiss his lips, but he avoided it, as she was now accustomed to. The past three days he had denied her his attention, his touch entirely. He'd simply gone out for drinks with his model friends, come back, still slept in the same bed, but closer to the edge and far away from her, as if intently trying to prove his point: he no longer wanted anything to do with her. As far as she gathered, he'd just used her for sex for the period he'd spent in that city and now he was bound to find himself another willing 'partner' in another city, another country - perhaps.
"Don't let go," Sonja begged, all sense of poise either misplaced or ignored. "Kristóffer, I know you felt something with me," she said. Lies. "All those nights – you can't say you didn't feel it, too."
This time he did roll his eyes quite emphatically, pursing his full lips in irritation. "Sonja, listen. The only thing I can say right now and be honest at the same time is that I enjoyed fucking you. Nothing more." He saw her recoil and felt just a tad of remorse, but he smothered it deftly. "Sorry I'm being so blunt, but I really gotta take a piss and you're in the way." She read the message in his eyes: Move. Furrowing her brows pathetically, she did just that and watched his sexy back as he disappeared behind the door.
She loved him.
Pieces of memories, fragments, they tormented her with their sweetness, their fervor. Without warning, he had become her obsession. In such a short period of time, she'd fallen in love. There was something about his neo-bohemian look that made her want to glue her own body to his so that they would never have to be apart. She didn't regret a thing she'd done with him, but wasn't sure she could stomach his absence in her life.
Her long lashes fluttered slightly in the demure morning light that filtered through thick, patterned curtains, making her appear fragile and on the verge of crumbling as she waited for him to come out. His luggage was already made: two bags with packed clothes and perfumes and hairspray and shoes and whatever else he possessed.
She wanted him…
Sonja bit her lips, the motion distracting her for a moment. She could just imagine him biting his impossibly full and sensual lower lip, his eyes shining with subtle mischief. Background noise came from the bathroom, where she presumed he was shaving as a last thing to do before leaving. She'd seen him keep the razor. She preferred him slightly hairy, however; thought it was manlier.
The first thing she noticed when he practically stormed out of the bathroom was his piercing gaze that lingered on her for a moment. He'd stopped to look at her – it seemed more like he was reading into her soul, stripping her of any layers of dermis or epidermis that might hinder his exploration and reaching far into the deep, greasy parts of her soul.
What was it she lacked? She wished he would describe his ideal woman so she'd become that for him. She'd climb mountains to make him satisfied, to keep him by her side, but he was leaving now and he would never return. It had been a series of photo shoots in a new city for him, one that had lasted a couple of weeks and he'd found her of all people to provide him with a place to stay.
"Thanks. For… letting me stay here," for free, he wanted to add, but didn't. His eyes were cold, distant, clouded over as if he'd turned off all emotions. As always, Sonja was having a hard time guessing his mood, his thoughts. She hated it when he looked at her as if he were at a photo shoot, pouring every fragment of mysterious, austere potency into one pose. Into one look. His thick lashes, they dominated his features and made him look uninterested, but downright hot.
"You're welcome," she would have said had her voice worked. Sobs were lining up inside her chest, waiting to be expelled, but she repressed them. There were fifteen more minutes for her to convince him to stay and she wouldn't waste them.
"So what now?" she asked, trying to look as passive as possible. Her palms were overly sweaty and shaking like leaves in autumn wind, so she pressed them to her sides, clenching fists until knuckles turned white. The strong urge to bite her lips until blood poured freely was there, but she ignored it. She couldn't stop the furrowing of her brows, however, but it gave her a slightly solemn air that was bound to impress him.
"Belgium," he replied casually, not one feature betraying any emotion.
"Impressive," she said, "do you speak French?"
"German," he corrected.
"I love Belgian chocolate," she stated randomly, resisting the urge to cringe when she realized how lame it sounded. He wanted to say "I'll send you some" but realized it would come across like he wanted to stay in touch with her. He didn't want to mislead her and he certainly did not want her to ever contact him.
Sonja's lips pursed for a moment and she exhaled loudly. "Look, Kristóffer–" Breathing ruggedly, the young woman knew it couldn't be long until her frail heart would break down and cause her to collapse at his feet, begging him to stay. She could kiss him now, get him in the mood, but she wasn't sure it would be the right thing to do. Could she deal with him only using her for sex any longer? But…
Maybe it would help if she realized he was only interested in that. If he wasn't gentle with her as he'd been so far, if his eyes didn't hold the same inscrutable longing when they held her gaze, if his touch didn't scorch her skin like before… then she'd know.
They were both silent for a moment, not one thought traveling through their minds.
Then she pounced on him like some predatory animal, pushing him against the closest wall, proverbial claws ready to attack if he tried to break loose. Rapacious lips covered his fervently, her fingers quickly pulling his shirt out of his designer jeans, long nails raking his back painfully. She rocked against him with every sway of her body, moving carelessly like a voracious lover and feeling him harden swiftly, her passion igniting his.
He was taken aback for a moment, but his large, elegant hands cradled her face in the next, tilting her head to thrust his tongue more deeply inside her mouth. She smiled into the kiss before undoing his belt skillfully and pulling it free, then unzipping his jeans and pushing them down along with the CK black boxers she loved on him so much. She manipulated his body, triggered a rare zeal in his blood, made him nip and bite her jaw ardently.
She was only wearing an oversized shirt so the buttons flew open quickly, leaving her bare to his gaze. That moment was captured in her heart to keep forever, crushing her and burying her in the deepest hells. His eyes held no feeling, no blistering flames. They were just observing her vigilantly, like a heartless killer would a prey. Still, she wanted to feel him inside her, all around her one last time. Swallowing cries that threatened to overwhelm her, Sonja let him spin them around and push her to the wall this time around, lifting her with expert ease that made her wonder how many times he'd done this before. Her legs wrapped around him with the grace of a lady while her hands fumbled to guide him inside her clumsily.
Soon they were caught in a mindless dance of pheromones and wet kisses as he pushed inside her repeatedly with increasing pace. His thrusts were shallow so she ground herself against him harder, arching her back into him like a lustful feline. His back glistened with sweat that she could feel against her palms as she traced his spine.
They met their heights all too soon, with him breathing unevenly against her neck, his left hand stroking a breast while the other was holding the inside of her knee.
He eased out of her, pulling his boxers and jeans back on and pushing the belt through the loops. She simply stood there, naked and shivering, her arms she'd wrapped around herself providing the only comfort. A single tear slid down her cheek but she wiped it away awkwardly, lips quivering slightly.
He was leaving.
Comprehension struck her like frozen water and she had to suppress the sudden urge to throw up.
He was leaving.
She needed him, she wanted him with her, but she knew this wasn't his place. It wasn't where he was meant to be. A man like Kristóffer could only be meant to stride gracefully down the catwalk, attracting longing looks and making hearts flutter and break. He'd be the one to stare you down from a magazine cover, stealing pieces of your heart forever. Guys like him never stayed with girls like her. She was plain – quite pretty, yes, with her big, hazel eyes and quite pouty lips – not as full as his, though – but she wasn't some model. They just weren't on the same pedestal. Sonja would probably become a kindergarten teacher – she loved kids – while he would be dining with renowned designers and sleeping with stunning models of his class.
She knew this. Of course she did.
Suppressing that strong something that craved to rebel inside her, Sonja's lips parted delicately as she walked over to him, kissing his cheek gently before wordlessly leaving him be in favor of locking herself in her bedroom, knowing she'd cling to his memory for years on end. He'd be gone by the time she came out.
Now was his chance to drop the mask. It had been damned torture to fake such pitiless insensitivity when the only thing he'd wanted to do was to bury her inside him and keep her with him forever. His eyes became hazy with unshed tears and he nearly scoffed at his own weakness. She was his weakness, but harsh words coming from the delicious lips of his agent, Clara, reminded him why ending everything with Sonja was the right thing to do.
"Kristóffer, I can see you're distracted," she'd said. "It's a woman, isn't it?"
His eyes had widened then. Clara was always a cunningly perceptive shrew.
"You are requested by designers like Dior and Calvin Klein and Hermes and Versace, and not to mention Alexander McQueen. You're one of the few that the greatest designers fight for. A piece of advice: don't blow it." She'd turned away from him afterward, looking outside the window from her thirty-floor office. "If you know what's best for you, you'll make sure not to fall in love with her." A barely perceptible sigh had left her lips then. "At the end of the day, you'll be gone in a couple of weeks and you'll both be left heartbroken. It's best if you don't get attached to anyone, at least not until you're big enough to be able to call the shots to some extent."
Kristóffer wasn't stupid. Clara must have had some experience of the sort, so her warning was more than welcome. What he hadn't predicted, though, was that Sonja would turn his world upside down. She'd puzzle him, amaze him and break him all with one look, so he inevitably fell for her. Words got tangled in his throat every time he saw her so he avoided speaking for fear that he'd choke on syllables.
He'd heard that love meant to be afraid. Well he was afraid of living without her, but his panic had led him to terminate the hesitant romance that had developed gradually. He'd cancelled every sign he'd ever given Sonja that he was interested in something more with her by putting some distance between them and acting cool and nonchalant. Even when they got all hot and bothered he'd make an effort and keep his emotions in check, lest he showed her any more of himself than he ought to.
Now realization hit him in the face angrily: he'd never see her again. He was to go back to the captivating world of modeling, but she wouldn't be there. Swallowing thickly, Kristóffer pushed the ringing cell phone into his pocket, letting it make a racket without caring. His eyes were now truly devoid of any emotion, as if something inside him had shut down permanently. He threw a last glance at her closed door, knowing she was leaning against it on the floor, and lifted his luggage in both hands, kicking the front door shut with the heel of his right foot.
His future lay in front of him and it didn't involve her. There was no choice for him but to survive with that. He just hoped she would be able to move on, as well. He hoped she wouldn't still cling to him.