Love The Way You Kiss Me

by W. Winters

  The battering in my chest is a war drum. “Yes, sir,” I answer without hesitation. “I will not do it again.”

  The desperation for him to reward me, to believe me, not to punish me by denying me this is far too much, far too quickly, is practically palpable. I want him more than I’d ever admit.

  A chill meets my backside as he moves away and his grip loosens. For a moment I fear he’ll leave me like this, still gasping for breath and wanting. My apprehension vanishes when he pushes his fingers inside of me, curling them and stroking the front wall of my pussy while his thumb brushes against my clit.

  My words are unintelligible as I drop my face into the pillow.

  His touch is ruthless, and draws out a deep need that’s been hidden for far too long.

  He finger fucks me until I’m a puddle beneath him, sated and breathless.

  I stay as I am, my ass in the air with my dress hiked up and the fabric bunched around my waist after my second release.

  The idea of him fucking me consumes my conscience, but he doesn’t.

  His touch is gentle as he positions me to sit upright. He tells me once again how well I did, then kisses the curve of my neck. My nipples pebble and a shiver runs down my spine.

  “Wait here. I have to take care of the cameras for a moment. Then I will hold you and we’ll discuss how you’ll behave in my absence.”

  “Hmm?” I question although I have no words and all I can manage is the hmm.

  “I’ll detail how I want you to fuck yourself and what must happen for you to touch yourself at all when I’m not here.

  “We are not done, little bird. We have only just started.”

  Zander

  Necessary supervision and adjustments to supervision will be a constant endeavor of The Firm. The client’s safety and well-being will always be our top priority.

  The autumn night has fallen over the motel, leaving a trail of burgundy and pinks on the horizon. That’s my cue to go back to Ella. I had to force myself to sleep during the day. My overactive mind resisted the pull of the pills. It only wanted her. Planning every detail, reviewing potential lines for the next scene. With my muscles coiled, and my imagination going over every possibility, I hardly slept at all.

  My body fought again sleep as much as my mind did. My cock wanted Ella, yes, but so did every inch of me. Every last one. Thinking of her sweet lips and her dark eyes lends itself to a strain I’m eager to explore. It pulls everything into a neat, pulsing tension.

  Punishing her will have to be enough. Giving her this release will have to be enough, no matter how badly I want to fuck her. No matter how badly I want her to be mine in every way. It’ll have to be enough because these are the boundaries we’ve drawn. Her life. My job. Those are the circumstances, and part of the challenge is finding a way for it to work so that—

  My head spins with the recurring memories.

  Fuck. I don’t want this challenge. I want to have her under my hands and in my bed, and I can’t.

  Tugging my polo shirt over my head, I grab the file Silas sent over, tucked into a plain manila folder. It’s about Kamden, and it’s slim. Too slim. I take it with me on the way out to the car and page through it. Kamden has a squeaky-clean reputation. Absolutely nothing has ever been flagged about him in any database anywhere. Silas told me I’d be disappointed if I was looking for something, because there was nothing.

  Something’s not right with her conservator. It’s obvious in the way he guards himself with her, in his language and tone. He’s hiding something and I don’t like it. I take another set of four measured breaths and put aside my own misgivings about Kam. Even if I liked him, a completely empty file would be suspicious. Ella’s got enough of a past to warrant things appearing on a background check. Kam is with her all the time. One of them has a record, and one of them doesn’t?

  I pull open the driver side door and toss the file onto the passenger side seat, then climb in. The outskirts of town give way to tree-lined streets. Leaves come down and flutter against the windshield like the feathers of little birds.

  My little bird is waiting for me in her elegant, modern cage.

  If I’m honest with myself, that’s what it is—a spacious, comfortable cage. I’ve never thought about it in quite those terms before, but now I do. I follow the winding road toward the wealthy part of the suburbs where Ella lives tucked away in the mountains, and let myself consider her dilemma. She needs a cage. That much is clear. Only the house is too sprawling. Not intimate enough. The cage she needs is me. The bounds of our agreement.

  The irony doesn’t escape me. A cage can set a little bird free.

  In that space, with her, the rest of The Firm doesn’t exist. Nothing exists except the two of us. She can pick up the pieces of her past and study them from a safe distance.

  Maybe that’s what I’m doing too. Or what I should be doing.

  I pull in at Ella’s driveway and steer the car around to the parking in the back. Nobody’s in the kitchen. One light is on in the sitting room, but she’s not there. Not in the rec room, the formal dining room, anywhere.

  There’s an anxiousness I shouldn’t feel. One I aim to remedy when I find her. She’s to wait for me in our blue room when she knows I’m arriving. This tense unease that she’s not here, not where I left her, not … okay—that something is wrong—I don’t care for it and it’s so easily rectified.

  “Ella,” I call, keeping my voice calm as it travels up the staircase, but is met with silence. Where the hell is Damon? Distress spurs my steps to pick up.

  I climb the stairs. The door to her bedroom is open, but it’s empty.

  Where are they?

  Did she tell them? Was it too much and she’s backing away from me? It’s a bitter reality to imagine. Of all the things that kept me up, this wasn’t one of them.

  Checking my phone, there are no messages from Damon and I’m nearly five minutes early. Still, where the hell are they?

  There’s only one place I haven’t been in this massive house. One place that Kam fiercely guarded when we were doing the modifications. Swore up and down that he’d keep it under control, but we weren’t allowed to move anything, to replace anything. So we didn’t. Instead there’s a rope that’s anchored in the doorway of the west hall.

  It could’ve been a mistake, listening to him. That empty file makes me uneasy all over again. I move through the halls to the west wing, ducking under the thin rope and ignoring it altogether.

  It’s an eerie feeling that surrounds me when I flick on the light. I don’t get more than a few steps in before it dawns on me that if Ella were here, she would not be okay.

  The clearest demarcation is the art on the walls.

  Every piece is wrapped in paper and a thin layer of packing foam as if it’s been protected in order to move it, but nothing has been moved. It’s all still hanging in place with a thin layer of dust coating it. Like an abandoned house, still filled with its memories and bundled up safely but kept hidden.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  I must have seen this before. I must have. I remember the conversation with Kam, his body blocking the entrance to this hall. I must have looked past him and noted the artwork, but I don’t remember it. That was the day of the court hearing, shortly after and before the informal introduction to her downstairs.

  I had still been rattled from seeing her.

  That’s why I didn’t notice the artwork. It would have already been done by then.

  There’s too much packing tape for me to unwrap one and see what needs to be protected like this. Protected—or hidden.

  Even the silence is different in this part of the house. As if it hasn’t been disturbed in some time, and doesn’t like to be disturbed. Not that houses have feelings. I’m not superstitious enough to believe in shit like that. All I know is that the quiet presses in harder the farther I go. Three more steps.

  “Ella?”

  I call her name, but I already know she’s
not back here. The first door creaks as it opens. I know she’s not here. I can sense it. All the time I’ve spent working in security has fine-tuned my attention to spaces. They breathe more when someone is there. Small movements in the air give them away. There is no movement here, only a deep hush.

  That’s when I hear a creak behind me.

  The new current in the air reaches me a second before Damon’s hand does. A strong hand, just above my elbow. I have just enough warning to tamp down the instinct to subdue him. “We’re not supposed to be back here.”

  I turn to face him, shutting the door as I do, and Damon’s expression is more serious than I’ve ever seen it. Worry flashes in his dark eyes, and a crease in his brow confirms the feeling. I know we’re not supposed to be here. He knows I know. So I don’t bother saying a damn thing about it.

  “What do you know about this wing of the house?”

  He releases me and takes a half step back, staying close enough that we can keep our voices low. “Damn it, Zander, why didn’t you read the file?”

  “Because I never read the files.” Irritation is evident in my answer, but it’s short-lived. I could have searched other areas of the house before I came in here. “And she asked me not to.”

  He holds my gaze and I see it—I see it. Suspicion. A shiver grips me. Does he know about the arrangement I have with Ella? Has he already figured it out? Damon, of all people, would be the one to notice. He’s here at every shift change, since we’re paired for this job. He sees me the most. And he knows me the best.

  I could tell him, here in this too-quiet hallway with the strange wrappings on all the artwork. That was the suggestion Harrison made, and he had a point. Telling Damon would protect The Firm.

  But I keep my mouth shut.

  I’ll sort through the why of it later, when I’m alone. I’ll come up with a plan. But I’m not going to tell him now. Not when I crave her so much that my chest hurts. Not when my hands ache to touch her again.

  Not now.

  “This is the main wing,” he says finally. “Where she sleeps now is the guest wing.”

  It explains the hotel-like quality of her bedroom. I’ve noticed the richer the client, the less clutter in general. They can afford a cleaning staff to keep it neat, and the items they buy tend to be fewer but better quality. Still, they have small details that belong to them as people. Who they are and what they cherish most. Ella’s room is devoid of almost all the personal items I’d expect. I should have known it wasn’t just because of her wealth, or her status. I should have known there was a deeper reason.

  She sleeps in a room that’s not her own, while her memories are locked away behind packing paper and dust.

  “Because all this is too much for her.”

  “Yes,” Damon agrees, although then he adds, “Potentially. The circumstances might have changed. Her progress has been consistent. Ella’s taking her meds and having longer conversations. She’s more active during the daytime than she was before she was admitted. We spent some time in the yard today, talking as we walked.”

  “Yard” is an understatement. The estate is grand with a sprawling lawn in the back, fenced in white and bursting with plants and gardens and a chestnut tree. It must sit on at least two acres and backs up to a picturesque mountainscape. I haven’t been out there with her much as the fall is rather bitter and she seems to prefer our blue room.

  “How did she handle that?” It’s hard to picture her out in the sun, strolling with the dappled light in her hair. Her face tipped up to look at the clouds. Her fingertips brushing over a hedge going brittle with autumn. What I really want to know is if the sun warmed her up. If she seemed free on the outside, or if she was still a little bird in a cage.

  Damon can’t tell me that.

  He nods, considering. “She did well. We took it slow.”

  He’s protective of her too … and for the second time in the space of this few minutes I think about confiding in him. Because the Ella he describes, this woman who needs to move slowly in the yard, this delicate, fragile thing—it’s not the Ella who looked me in the eye and consented to spanking with a gleam in the dark centers of her gaze. There are many sides to a person’s humanity. Damon is willing to help her, and he can help her in ways that I can’t. If I can offer insight, I should. If it will help her. Only if it would help her.

  She’s stronger than she appears. But also … maybe more broken than I’m seeing.

  “And the conversation? Did she share anything I should be aware of?”

  “No,” he says and shakes his head. “Just small talk mostly. But she’s opening up.”

  “That’s good.” I force myself to focus and get out of my thoughts. “Where is she now? I was looking for her.”

  “Resting in one of the guest rooms.” I walked right past those doors on the way here. Didn’t even bother to look because I thought she’d be in her own room. “She came up about an hour ago. I think the curtains are thicker in one of the other rooms.” He shrugs.

  I follow him, talking as we go.

  “She’s been more tired recently,” he says.

  “She’s been staying up later, maybe till two or three.”

  “Really?” Damon seems surprised. Our footsteps are heavy as we descend the staircase.

  “Yeah.” I don’t elaborate although his gaze is prying. “What time is she waking up?” I question.

  “Around nine. I guess that’s why she wanted a nap.”

  “What time did she lie down?”

  “’Bout … two hours ago maybe?”

  We go downstairs to the kitchen and Damon shrugs on his coat. I try to ignore the disappointment gnawing at my gut. I wanted to see her. I wanted to hear her voice. I want to know what she sounds like when she whimpers because her ass is red and she’s falling into that loss of control.

  With his keys jingling in his hand, I decide to wait for him to leave and then I’ll prepare to wake Ella. We have more boundaries to set. “Wanted to talk to you about something,” Damon starts as he pats his pockets, checking for his keys and his wallet. Tension pulls my spine tight. Damn it. This is the moment he’s going to tell me he knows about Ella. That he saw the way I looked at her in the courtroom. That she spilled to him the details of our arrangement. I brace for it. I’m not ashamed. It’s what she needs.

  “Go ahead.” I hear myself say it, and I’m proud of how normal I sound.

  Damon leans against the kitchen island. “I heard you paid Harrison a visit.”

  Well, shit. I should feel relief, but it’s only slight. “Yeah? Did he tell you that?”

  “He mentioned that you stopped by. You know he doesn’t give details—he only mentioned it in passing. He said he was glad to see you.”

  “Okay.” What is this conversation? “Is there a question in there?”

  “Are you okay, man?” Damon’s tone is genuine. Empathetic. It’s what makes him a favorite of our clients. “We haven’t spoken about the hearing yet, and I know it has to be eating at you.”

  The air sweeps out of my lungs. Of course. The hearing. My gaze drops to the floor as I get ahold of my bearings and then look him in the eye to answer, “I’m doing all right. It’ll be better when it’s all over.”

  “I know it won’t bring her back, but—” He shakes his head, looking off toward the kitchen window. “She deserves resolution. As much justice as she can get. So do you.”

  My throat goes dry and I busy myself making a pot of coffee. That familiar ache returns. I’m comfortable telling Damon the truth. That’s why it slips out of me now. I’m not used to holding back with him. He’s seen me at my worst. “You think she’d want me to have closure? Sometimes I think she wouldn’t want that, since the whole damn thing was—”

  “Don’t say it.” Damon holds up a hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He allows us to sit in silence for a moment, the only sound being the drip of the coffee maker. I take a deep breath, then another. Four-count. And then do it again.<
br />
  Finally I respond, “I know.” Don’t I fucking know. I’ve worked through this with Harrison. I’m done working through it. And then a moment like this comes along and all those doubts are back in my head. I remind myself what happened is a ball in a box. “I know. But it feels like the blame should be mine.”

  “No, man. Quincy wouldn’t want that. It didn’t matter how things were between the two of you. What happened wasn’t your fault. If it was, you’d be the one on trial.”

  Quincy was good. She was a good person, and I didn’t trust her to know what she wanted from me. I didn’t trust myself to be honest with her about what I wanted. It’s what drove us apart in the end. That and the fact that we just weren’t right for each other.

  “Look, I’m here.” Damon slips his hands in his pockets. “I need to get out of this house and find some food, but—” I laugh at him in spite of myself. “I’m here. You know?”

  “Yeah.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Get out of here.”

  He goes, leaving me in the silent house and waiting on Ella so I could feel something other than the emptiness I feel right now.

  Ella

  Team members of The Firm will work closely together to provide a consistent and reliable care experience.

  “If you brought donuts, I’m going to guess it went well?” The early morning light is still painted with a mauve hue as the sliding back door closes. Kam wears his million-dollar smile, as I used to call it, just as well as his custom-tailored gray blazer with designer jeans. “By the way, you look hot,” I add and bring the mug of tea to my lips.

  “I would say it went exceptionally well.” With his statement, Kamden offers me the pink box of sweets.

  Setting down the cup, my smile grows. “Tell me they had the double glazed?”

  He speaks as I lift the top, eyeing a half dozen chocolate donuts and inhaling the fresh, sugary scent. It’s heaven.

  “You know it, my love,” he says, then hums and drags out the chair to the left of me, scooting it closer and taking a seat. The extension off of the kitchen boasts large windows. Damon suggested I have my morning tea here to soak up more sun since the weather has turned bitterly cold this week.