Spice & Vanilla by Katherine Wyvern

Author:Katherine Wyvern
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, gay, lgbt, contemporary, bdsm, crossdressing, mm, genderqueer
Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Chapter Six

Adagio

Di

He finally answered. On Saturday, around 10 AM. Di almost burst into tears. Can we talk? My place? This evening? I REALLY must catch up with some work first or I am a dead man

As she held the phone to answer, it buzzed in her hands again.

I am sorry for the other day. It was a really stupid idea.

Di held the phone a bit longer, shaking from head to foot. She wanted to call him, now, this minute, hear his voice, but she was shaking so badly with the emotion that she just texted, OK, see u tonight. She was too unsure of anything to add a smile or heart.

And perhaps it wouldn’t be a very good idea to have this talk on the phone, without seeing his face, his eyes, his smile … hoping there would be a smile.

She had a long, hot shower before going out, just to relax her muscles. All week her back had stiffened until it was all she could do to stand straight. There was a lump of pure tension between her shoulder blades that made her stoop forward like an old woman.

She decided to walk rather than take a cab, hoping that the exercise would loosen her up a little.

She had never imagined that she could be frightened, literally frightened, of ringing Raphael’s doorbell, but she was. She had known, from pretty early on, from hearing Raphael on the phone on work matters, that he could be as cold and steely as a blade, if he wanted to. She felt so guilty over her overreaction that horrible night, that she was sure he must be furious with her. When she did ring the bell and the door was buzzed open with no comment she was very close to turning tail and going back home. Out of the lift, and along the corridor, it was the longest walk she had ever walked in her life.

He was standing inside his door, and all of her being shrank into a core of pure physical longing just seeing him.

Oh, that I could run. Oh, for my legs, that I could run and just jump in his arms. It would have been so much simpler. She had never, ever been so painfully conscious of what a pathetic object she was, crawling along that corridor with her crutch and her wobbling cross-body bag, as he stood in the door, still and silent, outlined in the light from the flat, his face in shadow, unreadable.

“Hey,” he said, when she finally limped onto the doormat. Nothing more, just Hey.

“Hey you,” she said, with a desperate attempt at a smile.

He let her in and closed the door behind her, but he didn’t make any gesture to go to the living room.

“You wanted to talk,” he said. “We n-need to talk,” he added.

He was pale, even paler than usual. He was, in fact, literally white. She could not quite tell if he was wary or tired, or possibly sick.

They stood under an

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