CHAPTER 23
One Week Later
”Can you explain what”s going on with you?” Victoria asks, her voice laced with concern. She swivels the chair in which Micaela has been typing so compulsively it”s frankly alarming. The writer from Toledo gently cups Micaela”s face, searching her eyes for a clue to what”s disturbing her.
”Nothing,” Micaela lies through her teeth, attempting to turn back to her keyboard.
”Don”t lie to me,” Victoria replies sternly. ”If you don”t want to talk about it, that”s fine. I just need to know if you”re okay.”
After Javier”s visit, they both stepped up their efforts. In the attic of the house they temporarily share, they found a large chalkboard to track the days of the week and the chapters that needed to be written daily. Initially, one would stay at the computer while the other went out for a walk, as they had agreed. But by the third day, they realized they preferred being close while working. Mustering their willpower, they found a way to work and meet their goals without needing to separate, and they were overjoyed to discover they could manage both their professional targets and their passionate encounters until they collapsed, exhausted.
They”ve caught up with the delays in the manuscript, but at the same time, they”ve also grown much closer. They are hooked on each other, though neither admits it aloud, even denying it to themselves.
”I”m fine, really,” Micaela insists.
Victoria knows she”s lying. Every time she speaks to the writer with Italian ancestry, she answers with monosyllables. She hasn”t even touched the espresso she loves so much, and the toast Victoria made over an hour ago has gone cold on the table.
”Suit yourself, but you should know I hate being lied to.”
”I”m just nervous,” Micaela blurts out as Victoria starts to walk away from the living room.
Victoria stops and turns, her gaze assessing. Micaela realizes her response isn”t enough, so she decides to lay it all on the line.
”I”m not lying, Victoria,” she says, her gaze intense. ”I woke up really anxious this morning, but I need to relax, and it would be really great if you could make love to me right now. Seeing you looking so stern just turns me on.”
Victoria hadn”t expected such a forthright request, but Micaela”s words ignite a thrill of excitement in her. Without a word, she moves deliberately to the table they use for work, turns Micaela”s chair slightly, and kneels in front of her, never breaking eye contact. Micaela”s heart races, moisture building in anticipation of what”s to come. Ever since the two women began their intimate encounters, Micaela has been incredibly drawn to Victoria”s touch. She”s had her share of lovers, but the writer from Toledo is, without a doubt, the one she enjoys most in bed.
”Spread your legs wider, let me see you,” Victoria commands, her voice thick with arousal.
Micaela complies, watching as Victoria”s pupils dilate fully, a sign of her intense desire.
”I love seeing that glint,” Victoria whispers huskily. She extends a hand toward Micaela”s inner thigh, tracing a slow, deliberate line along her folds.
”Damn, Victoria,” Micaela breathes out, her Italian surname a whisper between them as she widens her stance, pulling herself closer to Victoria”s eager hands.
Victoria begins to savor Micaela intimately, knowing her well enough by now to understand her profound enjoyment of oral pleasure. She takes her time, intent on building Micaela”s frustration to enhance the intensity of the impending climax. Micaela closes her eyes, struggling to control the waves of pleasure starting to ripple through her abdomen. She finds it increasingly difficult to hold back, especially when it”s Victoria”s skilled tongue that”s driving her wild. Her head tilts back as she feels the older writer’s fingers expertly plunge deeper inside her.
”Cum for me, Micaela.”
A fierce cry escapes Micaela, unrestrained.She can”t stop the climax; Victoria”s rhythmic finger movements, now buried deep within her, send her spiraling into ecstasy.
”Are you okay?” Victoria asks after a moment, concern threading her tone.
Micaela, still sprawled in the chair, hasn”t uttered a single word since.
”Now I am,” Micaela smiles, the relief in her voice mingling with gratitude. ”Thank you.”
”You don”t have to thank me,” Victoria says, her touch tender as she strokes Micaela”s arm. ”I”m worried about you.”
Micaela sits up, locking eyes with Victoria. Though it”s only been a few weeks since their first night together, she feels incredibly at peace with Victoria. Yet suddenly, a wave of panic strikes her chest. She can”t afford to feel anything for her; she”s clear that Victoria is just here for the duration of their novel writing, a project that initially seemed like a punishment but has turned into a direct pass to paradise.
”My parents called,” Micaela shifts the subject to stop herself from analyzing her feelings for Victoria further. ”They”re here.”
”In the village?” Victoria asks, her expression one of dismay, reminiscent of a past fright when meeting her ex-in-laws decades ago.
”In Spain,” Micaela clarifies. ”They arrived in Madrid a few days ago, but they plan to come here today to have lunch with me. They fly in from Italy several times a year for business.”
”And what”s the problem?” Victoria probes, genuinely interested.
”My parents don”t support my lifestyle; to them, I”m the family”s disgrace,” Micaela admits, her gaze distant. Despite her tough exterior, it pains her that her parents aren”t proud of her.
”That can”t be true,” Victoria responds, disbelief evident in her voice.
Though she knows Micaela can be quite arrogant, Victoria is convinced it”s a fa?ade Micaela has built for others. Having spent time together in Vinuesa, Victoria has discovered the brilliant mind and amazing ideas of the woman beside her. It”s impossible for anyone to feel ashamed of Micaela.
”They had other plans for me. For my father, it’s unacceptable that I choose writing as a career, especially erotica. And my mother claims I’ve lost my mind and am throwing my future away.”
”Being a writer is one of the most beautiful professions there is. It doesn”t matter the genre, what”s important is the impact our stories have,” Victoria says, her smile warm and inspiring. ”Do you realize how many people find joy through our words? Your parents should see the lines of people waiting just to get their daughter”s signature.”
Micaela looks at her, captivated, and a broad smile stretches across her face. She wishes her parents could see it the way Victoria does, but reality is a stubborn opponent, and she knows their views are unlikely to change.
”Don”t worry,” Victoria continues, her voice soothing as she gathers the manuscript pages. ”I”ll send what we have to Javier, and we”ll continue tomorrow. That way, you can rest and then get ready for lunch with them.”
”I”d rather finish this chapter; it keeps my mind occupied. Plus, I lose the thread if I stop now and it”s hard to pick it back up.”
”Do you want me to make another coffee? I”m sure you don”t want to drink that cold one,” Victoria gestures towards the abandoned mug at the corner of the table.
”Only if you join me,” Micaela says with a playful grin.
”I”ll be right back,” Victoria winks and turns toward the kitchen.
”I still don”t understand what you”re doing here. You could come with us to Italy,” Giancarlo De Luca, Micaela’s father, remarks sharply.
The De Luca family has been sitting in a modest restaurant on the outskirts of Vinuesa for the past hour, the best they could find in the area. Micaela”s mother, Antonella, is visibly upset, not just because her daughter writes what she considers ”offensive stories,” but also because they”ve settled in this remote village where, to her dismay, no quality wine is served. They”ve been relentless in their criticism, but for the first time, Micaela is unaffected by her parents’ harsh comments. Before leaving the house, Victoria had kissed her, whispering that she was proud of her. That kiss, that affirmation, now shields Micaela like armor.
”I”m here writing, Dad. I”ve explained this already,” she replies, her tone laced with exasperation.
”Have you not spent enough time playing at being a writer?” her father retorts sharply. ”It”s time to grow up.”
”Your father has a point, your cousins are already married to decent men, most of them have children, and here you are in Spain, wasting your time. It”s unbelievable,” Antonella adds, her lips curling in distaste after sipping the local tempranillo offered by the waiter.
”And be a housewife forever dependent on a man? Because that”s what my cousins are, conformists who stay at home putting up with their husbands” infidelities just to avoid working. They”ve never lifted a finger and they never will,” Micaela responds, her voice calm yet carrying a cutting edge that heightens the tension at the table, like the stillness before a storm.
”And you have?” her father snaps back, his face reddening with anger.
”More than once, Dad. You”re the modern man, right? Just type my name into a search engine and see for yourself. Now, if you don”t mind, I”m going to continue ”playing” at being a writer. Don’t worry about the bill; I’ve got it,” Micaela says, rising from the table with a grace that belies her inner turmoil.
Antonella and Giancarlo exchange glances, stunned into silence. They”re used to Micaela, rebellious as she is, either staying quiet or bursting into shouts. But this time, neither has happened, and the unexpected poise leaves them speechless.
Micaela strides out of the restaurant, her smile radiating a newfound confidence. For the first time, she feels she”s defended her stance as an adult woman. Pride swells within her, mingled with a flutter of uncertainty. Months ago, her reaction would have been the polar opposite. She thinks of Victoria, of all the ways she”s changed. It was Victoria”s tender words that spurred her growth, and it”s this realization that unnerves her. Micaela halts abruptly, a shiver racing through her spine and chest—a fleeting thought, but piercingly real, strikes her, making her heart skip when she questions if she”s fallen so deeply for the charming writer that she can”t imagine life without her by her side.