Chapter 22
Raffi
Four. He’d given her four orgasms. Three with his mouth and a surprise one when he had her perfect breasts in his mouth and she ground on him while he flicked her sensitive peaks over and over until she shuddered atop him.
Sex—or not sex exactly—with Ani was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.
He’d never even made out with a woman for more than a minute before stripping her naked and sleeping with her.
Maybe when he was still a teenager, unsure of what to do next.
But now, he was sure as hell of what to do next but wanted everything slow and never-ending with Ani.
True, his balls had swollen and ached and he’d had to take care of himself, but he didn’t want Ani to feel any bit of burden with it.
Let her see, not through pretty words but with actions, that he was going to be there for her exactly how she needed.
And he had a feeling that if they went any further last night, or even today, that it’d be too soon for her.
Although when she begged for him, her huge eyes half shut in rapture, her pouty, kissable mouth pleading “in me,” he got far too close to losing his resolve.
To ripping off his pants and sinking into her, fulfilling them both.
But some higher part of him allowed him a couple of spare brain cells to think, and to abstain.
And above all this, what was different was that after what they’d done, he hadn’t felt out-of-his-skin jumpy, wanting to move on. No. He wanted more. Not just sex. Kissing her, holding her, talking to her. Being there for Ani in every aspect of her life.
He had decent blackout curtains, but the morning light still found a way through, thin slivers that heralded the dawn of a new day.
A beautiful new day.
One with Ani by his side, as his girlfriend.
She was here now, her warm, naked body tucked tight against him. He kept his boxers on in an attempt at modesty. A vain attempt, because he was already hard as a rock, pressing into her gorgeous ass.
He wanted to get up to shower, rub one out so he had a chance of making it through the day without being ceaselessly entrenched in sexual fantasies. Eh, who was he kidding? One orgasm wasn’t going to relieve that.
Ani began to stir, and when he kissed the inside of her neck, she gave a soft “Mmm” and a little smile appeared across her lips. God, she was an angel. An actual angel.
“How’d you sleep?” he said into her ear.
She moaned. “Like I was buried in a cloud. Best sleep I’ve gotten in ages.”
Raffi realized then that he had, too. Deep, heavy sleep with vaguely pleasant dreams he could no longer remember. Just contentment.
“Good,” he said, running his fingers along her hair, her neck, down her back. Her skin tightened and she shivered once, and he loved that he had that effect on her, that he could give her that feeling.
“Mmm, what time is it?” she murmured.
Ani reached over and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She studied her phone while he buried his face into her back and nuzzled it.
But then her body stiffened. Something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked.
“I think—” Ani scrolled, read, concentrated fully on her phone.
“Did you miss something important?” Raffi worried. He didn’t want to be the reason she forgot a meeting or whatever other engagements she might have. His heart started beating fast. She was not answering him. Raffi sat up.
“Get your phone,” Ani said. “See if this is showing up on your news app, too.”
Now Raffi was actually concerned. “Ani, what is—?”
But he’d grabbed hold of his phone and saw someone familiar on his news homepage. Grace. Front and center. Worry about Ani transformed into curiosity. Far preferable.
Rising Star Grace Zhang Charms in Viral Video with De Niro
Even though he already knew the answer, Raffi asked, “Is that Grace Grace? Kami’s Grace?”
“Sure seems like it. Cloaked in newfound fame. Might be a fifteen-minute cycle, though. I guess we’ll find out. Should we see what it’s all about?”
“I’m going to make us some sourj; you pull up that video.”
“You, Raffi Garabedian, make sourj?”
“My medzmama taught me well,” he said. “And I prefer it. The American stuff is so weak, giant watery cups of thin coffee.”
“Well, well. Let’s see what you have.”
“Prepare to have your mind blown.”
“Okay, Mr. Cocky,” she smiled.
He shook himself and climbed out of bed. “Can’t have you saying that word. Not now. Not yet.”
“Which word?” She put on a mock coquette voice and positioned herself seductively. “Cocky?”
“I’m running away to the kitchen now,” he said, leaving a flood of her giggles in his wake.
Raffi gripped the handle of the jezveh, remembering his medzmama’s words when he was twenty.
“I’ll be leaving you soon, too, I feel it.
So at least let me give you this gift. Always make sourj.
Every morning. Always for guests.” He’d never known his mother’s mom, but he had known his father’s.
Medzmama. A stern, hardworking, religious woman who was about zero parts nurturing but still meant a lot to him.
He’d failed Medzmama by not serving Ani any sourj last time, but he was distracted after nearly losing her to drowning and then nearly kissing her on the couch.
He turned on the burner right as Ani strode in, wearing one of his plain white T-shirts. The outlines of her nipples were visible, and the bottom of the shirt barely skimmed her ass. Why did everything she wore have to look so sexy?
“I’ve got it,” she said, waving her phone, oblivious to how hot she was making him by just standing there.
Raffi curled her into him and rested his head on her shoulder as they watched.
Robert De Niro and Grace—Raffi still couldn’t believe he was seeing someone he knew chat with De Niro—were sitting in some kind of interview room, each on a plush chair across from each other. This seemed to be a clip from the longer interview. De Niro read from a card. “Your favorite food?”
Grace looked away thoughtfully. “I don’t love food.”
The camera cut to De Niro’s face. His eyebrows shot up, his mouth twisted slightly, the kind of expression that said, “Are you kidding me?”
“You don’t love food?” he finally repeated, his voice loaded with the kind of skepticism that could crush a man.
Not Grace, though. The camera cut back to her, where she appeared nonchalant, matter-of-fact. “Chewing is messy,” Grace said, wrinkling her nose. “I just wanna, like…swallow it.”
De Niro raised an eyebrow, intrigued now. “So we’re talking maybe smoothies?”
Grace smiled. “Mmm.”
De Niro asked, more animatedly, “Maybe oysters?”
Grace now pointed to him. “Mmmm!”
And that was the clip.
Ani set down her phone. “So Grace is a little bit of a weirdo and the internet goes wild?”
Raffi shrugged. “Guess so. Wait, look, scroll down, what’s that?”
Ani read, then tapped. “I guess there’s already a remix of it…”
They listened to an electronica version of the interview with Grace’s “I just wanna, like…swallow it” as the chorus.
“Catchy,” Raffi said, struggling not to laugh.
“I have a feeling this is just going to be contained to the internet,” Ani said. “But it’s still great her star is rising. Good for her.”
Raffi agreed, grabbed the jezveh off the stove before it bubbled over, then poured two small Armenian cups for them.
He handed Ani hers on a saucer. Ani sipped, closed her eyes, and let out a contented hum.
Raffi leaned in close to her. “Get used to that. Any time you’re over, it’s twenty-four seven bottomless sourj.”
Which he hoped would be very often.
She beamed at him, then ran her fingers along the edge of the carved copper cup holder. “I love this set.”
“Handmade in Armenia. Belonged to my medz.”
Ani turned the piece slightly, inspecting it like she was memorizing every detail. “It’s beautiful. It stands out here. All this modern design, then bam, we’re dropped into a nene’s house from the eighties.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I know. There’s barely anything Armenian in the house otherwise. Which…I don’t know. I think I did that on purpose.”
Ani looked up at him, curious but quiet.
“I love Armenian design,” he continued. “Warm tones, intricate, ancient patterns. But for a long time, ‘Armenian’ meant ‘family.’ And, well…you know how that’s gone for me.” He scratched his jaw, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “So I got the whitest, most impersonal place I could find.”
Ani’s face softened. Her fingers left the copper cup holder and drifted toward him. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm. Raffi immediately broke out in goosebumps at her touch. Every brush of her fingers felt like a balm over the past.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low. “That you had to carry that kind of weight.”
He laid his hand on hers. “It’s honestly okay.” And he meant it. “I have a feeling that can change too.”
“Me too.” She smiled.
And speaking of weight, they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk about them. And Raffi was wondering. “Ani jan, how are you feeling? About, you know, us.”
“Us?” She took another sip. “I feel perfect.” She leaned over and kissed him. “You?”
“The same,” he said, kissing her again.
Too good, honestly, he thought. “I didn’t know I was allowed to feel this happy,” he wanted to say.
“Ready to go, I see,” she said, eyeing his lap.
“Ugh, ignore that. That’s going to be a permanent state for a while.”
Ani giggled. “Maybe not that long.”
He couldn’t even let himself entertain the thought of burying himself between her legs, because he might lose his resolve.
Raffi finished the last of his coffee and turned the cup over in its saucer. “Since you’re in town,” he asked, steering the topic away from their bodies, “should we head over to the winery and check on the worksite?”
“I was going to suggest the same. We sort of disappeared yesterday, and I wonder what Chris and his team got done.”
Raffi stared at her lustfully. “But only after I get my breakfast in bed.”
“Not going to refuse that,” Ani said, beelining to his room.