Madeline Sheehan - The Soul Mate

“Trinity, if I had known living with you was also going to be a constant lesson in Greek mythology, I really would have reconsidered.”

“How would you like to be brought back to life as a spider? Wouldn’t you be angry? Vengeful even?”

Becki scowled at me as I sat up. Her long, black curly hair was hanging in front of her dark brown eyes, but I could see enough of them to know if looks could kill, I would have been dead two or three times by now. Becki was most certainly not a morning person.

“Good morning sunshine.” I grinned at her.

“I wish I could turn you into a spider.” She grumbled, cocooning herself inside of her blankets until all I could see was the tips of her toes.

I was about to respond with another little tidbit of Greek Myth when I smelled it: Christmas in the middle of July. The sticky sweetness of fresh pine trees and the thick, pungent odor of cinnamon flew in through the open window alongside the warm morning breeze.

“Gerik’s coming.” I told her, jerking my head toward the doorway. The scent of the man preceded him wherever he went.

The screen door swung wide open and a 6’4” shirtless Viking came bounding through the small doorway, dwarfing the entire trailer, bringing with him his unique scent. He always smelled so amazing, so intoxicating… only to me. The one and only time I’d asked another person if they smelled what I did… Well, I’m pretty sure Alana still thinks I’m insane.

Gerik paused just inside the doorway and shook out his long, soaking wet hair, spraying water everywhere.

“Oh. My. God,” Becki moaned. “Why is everyone against me today?”

He turned to grin at her while stretching his long muscular body. The magical runes tattooed on his chest and arms rippled with the sinuous movements.

Gerik looked like none of the other Gypsies in this Romani camp I had been calling home for the past few months. Most of the men and women in camp were of Romanian origins and had darker shades of skin combined with dark, alluring features. Others had olive complexions but they too had dark hair and eye colors.

Gerik was different. He was strong and tall like most of the Roma men, his forehead wide, his cheekbones high and predominant, but that was where the resemblance ended. Like many of his Scandinavian ancestors, his hair was the color of ripe wheat and his eyes were a deep, ocean blue, that misted and swirled like a stormy sea. Gerik’s nose was proud and strong, unlike the majority of low rooted muzzles, and his jaw was strong and square, standing out around the many rounded chins in camp.

Needless to say, Gerik was like nothing I’d ever seen before.

I watched him wipe his wet face and chest with his t-shirt before slipping it on; easily picturing him covered in heavy animal furs and a horned helmet. Before I knew it, I was giggling.

Becki was watching me. She rolled her eyes. “Yes Trinity, we all know how sexy Gerik is.”

Her correct assessment of my thoughts embarrassed me, but Gerik hadn’t been paying her any attention. As usual, his focus was solely on me.

“Do my braids, yeah?” He held out his pony holders.

My giggles turned into full on hysterics. Gerik always wore his hair in two long braids that hung down his chest, making him look even more the part of the Viking warrior. I patted my bed. “Come Viking, I’ll plait yer hair before you go off to battle.”

Still grinning Gerik grabbed the corner of my old red quilt and with one quick tug yanked it off me. I shrieked and lunged for my covers, managing to keep the sheet over my legs.

“Ugh!” Still in her pajama’s, Becki jumped out of bed and shot us a disgusted look. “It’s a little early for the mushy stuff. I’m out.” The screen door slammed hard behind her as she stormed out.

Gerik and I exchanged confused glances. Since I’d come to camp, Becki hadn’t been a gracious morning person, but she never been outright mean.

I scooted closer to him when he sat down, taking the beaded pony holders out of his hand. The sheet that was still covering me slipped down my legs. I followed his gaze to my underwear and exposed thighs.

The air in the trailer grew hot and heavy, thick with anticipation. I knew without having to look up that Gerik’s eyes had turned gray.

Gerik made me tremble with want. He could make me forget everything around me except for him. Even without the knowledge that Gypsies still roamed the earth and that magic truly did exist in our world I would have felt the power in this man.

He was a force of nature and muddled my brain with energy the likes of which I’d never felt before. He zapped my body of will and strength just by being near me. Gerik was the stuff Gods and Goddesses were made of. But a Viking God. Well, actually a Gypsy God, but tomato, tomáto.

His hands slid up my sheet covered calves, the material of the sheets thin enough for me to still feel the rough and calloused skin on his fingers, caused by years of physical labor. The kind of labor you didn’t see in the world I had been accustomed to.

I couldn’t stop the shiver that tore through me in appreciation of his masculinity.

Gerik was strength incarnate; it showed in how he carried himself, how he spoke and now in how he was deliberately and oh so slowly and very neatly sending me down a path he knew I wasn’t ready to travel.

I pushed at his chest. “Stop,” I whispered hoarsely. Gods, he was just too much, too intense, for someone as inexperienced as I was.

His voice was a deep rumble in his chest when he answered, “Is that what you really want?”

I was breathing heavily, our lips so close, his hands still gripping my sheet covered knees. It was a sliver of sanity he had allowed me to keep, one I was thankful for. If Gerik touched me, skin to skin, I would be los-

“Gerik!” I gasped as he gripped my naked thighs. Roughly pulling me underneath him, he was suddenly situated overtop of me.

Heat flooded me as his hand slid up my t-shirt to wrap around my waist. Everywhere he wasn’t touching began to shake with the need to be in contact with him.

Gerik and I had this crazy chemical reaction to each other: something that I’m sure scientists would have loved to have gotten their hands on and studied until there was nothing left of us but blood and guts.

We were like that ridiculous song, “Just one look, that’s all it took.” Except in my case it was, just one touch and Trinity turns to mush.

“Tell me to stop Trinity. Tell me to stop right now... and I will.” He ran his lips across my cheek, then down my neck where he sucked softly and my body involuntarily clenched. Gods, he was such a liar.

My skin tingled, my limbs trembled, and my body’s sensitivity heightened to unbearable amounts, as the fever of his touch raced through me. I couldn’t tell him to stop because I couldn’t speak. I was so desperate for him, so focused on the completion of our joining, how magnificent it would be.

He wasn’t playing fair at all. Once he touched me, he knew I was lost to a world of only sensation, where only feelings ruled. Awareness of the outside world was sucked away to a teeny tiny part in the back of my brain that I could barely reach.

Stop! Stop! I thought over and over again. This wasn’t right, wasn’t the way I had imagined losing my virginity. Not in haze of magic and desperation. As if he’d heard my silent plea, he released me. I scooted backward until my butt hit the canvas.

“Trinity...” His voice was, so ragged, so full of hunger, full of… everything a girl would want to hear in a man. “I didn’t mean...”

“Save it,” I snapped, trying to shake the haze of lust that, to my embarrassment, so easily consumes me in his presence. He stared at me for a moment, then, in a quick singular movement reminding me of an acrobat, jumped off my bed.