by Nikki Sloane
We followed the man, who Macalister clearly made nervous, to the back of the theatre then up two ancient flights of stairs, climbing high into the attic. He fumbled with the knob on the old door, pushed it open, and flipped on the lights.
The room was essentially a warehouse. Long industrial bulbs hung sparsely from the exposed ceiling, lighting the green linoleum flooring below. There were rows of clothing racks, each garment hanging inside a clear zippered bag with a picture of an actor in costume tacked to the front.
“Thank you,” Macalister said. “We will find our own way back.”
Dismay visibly went through the man. He did not want to leave us alone in here, probably assuming we’d planned to play dress-up and potentially damage the expensive costumes. But he didn’t want to piss off such a powerful donor either.
“She only wants to look,” Macalister said casually. “You have my word we won’t touch anything.”
The man’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh.” He brightened and turned his focus to me. “Would you like me to pull any particular pieces?”
“No,” Macalister answered. “Sophia and I also have business to discuss, which needs to be done privately.” His sharp look politely announced, ‘fuck off.’ “Please don’t let us keep you from your patrons.”
The man hesitated a moment longer then decided it was beyond his control. “If you could turn off the lights and shut the door when you’re done, I’d appreciate it.”
Macalister gave a dismissive nod. “Of course.”
The director left us at the threshold of the door, and the creak of his footsteps on the stairs gradually diminished until it couldn’t be heard anymore.
Macalister’s head turned to the room, wordlessly commanding me to go inside, and I carried out his order immediately. He stepped in after me, pulling the door closed with a soft thud, and the tension between us drew taut.
“How did you know about this place?” I asked.
“He gave me a tour before I wrote the check.”
We were utterly alone in this room full of costumes. Slips of clothes that allowed people to become a completely different person, and as I stared at him, standing in the shadows between two tall racks, I wanted to be someone else.
I wanted to be the woman he’d fall in love with and break the curse.
In this seclusion, Macalister was safe to look at me however he wanted, and my heart pounded like fists against the side of a cage trying to break free. He was its captor, and he knew it.
He stated it like it was an unarguable law. “I own you.”
It was the truth, but it was hard to surrender. I’d given him everything else. Shouldn’t I hold on to this last thing and use it to bargain for his heart? I dug deep inside myself, gathering all the strength I had not to give in, and lifted my chin in defiance.
I couldn’t say the word, but I hoped my expression told him no.
Rather than look irritated or frustrated, a slow, pleased smile crawled along his lips. I’d challenged him as best I could, and he was excited I’d given him the opportunity to prove me wrong.
It was sexy and terrifying when he charged toward me, and I turned and fled, running as fast as I could in my heels and dress through the maze of towering racks of clothes. It would only be a matter of time before he caught me, and I ran with no intention of escaping, anyway. At the end of the row, I turned blindly to my right and dashed past shelves full of shoes and hats in plastic bins.
At the edge of the room, the wall was lined with cabinets, a seamstress station, and a bare dress form. There was a large mirror, and I caught a glimpse of myself running, my soft pink dress billowing around my legs, and Macalister behind me.
He probably could have caught me sooner, but either he was enjoying the chase too much or was waiting to pounce until he had me exactly where he wanted. He grasped me by the elbow and jerked me to a stop, spinning me around so I crashed into his chest, and I let out a grunt of surprise.
I’d worn my hair up at his request, and so the back of my neck was bare, and his palm slid up to hold me there, steadying me as he dropped his mouth to mine. His untamed kiss brought on delirium. It buzzed through my core, radiating outward.
But he abruptly tore his lips away, like a possessive child throwing a fit and taking their toys back. “Say it.”
Possession was nine tenths of the law, and I felt utterly possessed. “I’m yours.”
His eyes widened. It wasn’t clear exactly how he’d wanted me to say it, if I was supposed to repeat it word for word, but I’d gone with the full truth.
He had one arm along my back and the other wrapped on my waist, and as soon as my words registered, I was lifted into his arms, just enough so my feet no longer touched the floor. I was carried to the empty wall that had been partitioned out in sections, this one for long garments, and he jammed me in the corner, ducking his head slightly so not to hit the hangar bar.
I was set down on my feet, my back wedged between the wall and the wooden partition, and his mouth was hot on my neck. His breathing came and went in a rush, but I wasn’t sure whether carrying me had caused it, or if it was how I’d surrendered.
His voice was dark and rough, filling my ear. “Only I’m allowed to touch you.”
I gasped as his hand moved, sliding over my hip and down until he found the slit in my skirt and slipped through it. He unapologetically stroked his fingers over the crotch of the white panties I’d worn for him, making me shudder.
My hands moved mindlessly, pushing inside his jacket, sliding over his shirt and beneath the braces he always wore with his tuxedo. Because he was old-fashioned and classic and sexy as fuck. But he wasn’t a gentleman right now with his harsh hand up my skirt as he rubbed me through my underwear, and I loved it. Blood roared in my ears so loudly, I had to focus on what he was saying.
“This isn’t how I planned to do it.” His tone was seductive as his lips brushed over the shell of my ear. “It will be quick, Sophia. Probably too fast for you to achieve an orgasm, but you’ll enjoy it, and then you will come home with me and I’ll take the time to do it properly.”
His fingers worked their way down the front of my panties, finding my clit, and I moaned, clutching at him. Holy shit, it felt good. I slumped back against the corner, my eyes falling closed.
“I need release,” he whispered into my neck. “So, you will consider this a taste. It’s only a fraction of what I’m capable of.”
Lava flowed through me, melting my bones, flooding between my thighs. The desire increased exponentially when he took a knee in front of me, pulled down my panties so I could step out of them, and pocketed the lacy underwear.
I stared down at him in his perfect tuxedo, his silver-threaded hair, and piercing eyes, and tried not to pass out. Macalister on his knees, even if only for a moment, was such a huge turn-on. It was nearly fatal.
Not that I needed any more help getting turned on. Electricity shattered across my body and throbbed in my center as an insistent need.
He rose back to his full height, our gazes connected the whole way, and when he claimed my lips, I sighed and slipped my arms around his neck. His hands were between us at his waist, working quickly to undo the inside buttons that fastened the braces to his trousers.
It wasn’t until he had his pants undone that my lust-laden mind started to assemble the thought of what he intended.
I was so eager it came out in a squeak. “Are you going to fuck me?”
“Yes.” He flashed a look like I was interrupting him. “I just explained this.” But then his hurried movements slowed with hesitation. “You may tell me no.”
If I didn’t want something, he didn’t need to give me permission to say so, but I appreciated what he meant. Perhaps he was worried I was so far under his spell that I didn’t realize saying no was an option.
“Why the fuck would I say no?” I cried.
“Language,” he said, a little serious and a lot teasing, and resumed his task of getting his dick out while hi
s mouth latched on to mine.
He was mostly hard, and with two rough jerks of his own fist, he was as ready as I was. Probably more—it hadn’t been three years since I’d had sex. But he moved with determination and restraint. Urgent but not desperate.
Macalister widened his stance to prevent his undone pants from slipping too far down his legs, and then his hands were in my skirt, pushing it up enough so the split parted and he had full access. The cool air brushed over my exposed, vulnerable skin, heightening anticipation.
He didn’t ask me to, but I picked one leg up and hooked it behind his back, and when the bare tip of him brushed against my piercing, we both exhaled in a rush. So close. Even just that light caress caused fireworks to shoot down my supporting leg, and I wobbled.
Fuck, was I going to be able to stand?
I tightened my arms around his neck, and one of his hands slid under my ass, helping to support me. The bottom half of his shirt had been unbuttoned and parted out of our way, and he ringed his fingers around the base of his cock, steadying as he lined himself up.
There was a long, suspended moment where neither of us moved. A final beat to consider what we were doing and recognize there was no going back after this. I couldn’t breathe as I stared up into his pale eyes. They seemed bottomless, endless. I could study them for a hundred years and still not learn every secret.
But we didn’t have a hundred years. He’d told me this taste had to be quick.
“Oh,” I gasped as he found the angle he needed and began to ease himself inside. My body was tight and not entirely prepared for something so large, but it felt uncomfortably good. I whimpered at his slow, metered intrusion, making a soft sound of pleasure mixed with surprise.
His jaw was straining, and it was clear he was holding himself back when he wanted to drive and take. Deeper he pushed, stretching inside, and I let out breath through clenched teeth. He was . . . a lot. More than I’d ever had, in every way possible.
“Shit, you’re huge,” I groaned, clenching a fist of his soft hair in one hand and the back of his jacket collar in the other.
Macalister gave a sound of satisfaction under his breath. He’d liked hearing that, and it wasn’t bullshit. He was splitting me down the middle as he impaled me, advancing relentlessly until we were connected in the most basic way.
He held still and let me adjust to his size, but he didn’t kiss me. He seemed intent on studying my response to him, and it was nice this way. I got to see his eyes haze as he slowly retreated, and his mouth part to pull in a ragged breath when he advanced again, this time faster.
“All right?” he whispered in a strained voice.
I nodded, not completely understanding what he was asking.
His gaze flicked up to the wooden pole mounted overhead. “Grab the bar.”
As soon as I did, his hands scooped up under my legs and he lifted me completely, pressing my back against the wall. The shift in weight and the change in angle allowed him to slip deeper inside me, and we both groaned, our sounds of pleasure mingling with each other’s.
Our foreheads pressed together, and he stared unblinking as he made his first actual thrust.
“Oh, God,” I cried. My toes pushed into points, and then his teeth brushed against my bottom lip, gently snagging it.
It made it difficult to discern which I liked better. His cock was fire and pleasure, but his mouth was bliss. I whined with need into his mouth as he established his tempo. I locked my ankles behind his back, the wool of his tuxedo jacket soft against my legs, and I listened to the steady thump of my body against the wall as he drove his hips into me.
Could anyone hear us in here? There wasn’t a lock on the door, and I imagined what it’d look like if someone came in and discovered Macalister holding me in his arms, his pants to his knees and the backs of his bare legs visible beneath his jacket.
His back blocked the view, but the way he moved and the enjoyment twisting on my face would reveal exactly what we were doing.
The room was temperature controlled, but it was hot up here in the attic, and we both began to sweat. His temples were damp, and I felt the sticky cling of the lining of my dress to my back. My makeup was probably melting too, but it was worth it.
The push of his body inside mine was intense.
His nearly silent sounds grew louder and blurred into moans as he picked up the pace.
My arm trembled from the exertion of holding on to the bar to help distribute my weight, and I could tell his muscles were beginning to fatigue, but he was too focused to notice. The composed man I knew was fading away, replaced by this raw, need-driven male with a singular desire.
He rutted into me, thrust after thrust, slamming my body carelessly into the wall as he closed in on his goal. This was for him, for his enjoyment, his satisfaction. His aggressive, rough way was erotic. It doused me with more heat, and although I wasn’t close to coming, he’d been absolutely right. I wasn’t just enjoying it—I loved it.
Who’d have thought the best sex of my life would be when Macalister Hale screwed me against a wall?
The urgency of his punishing thrusts changed, becoming dire. The rough edges of his five o’clock shadow chafed against my cheek as he buried his mouth in the crook of my neck and bit down. It was like he was punishing me for how good I made him feel. And even though he pumped himself into me like I was nothing more than a hard, quick fuck, he didn’t let me think that.
“I own you.” He kissed away the discomfort from the spot he’d bitten. “So, you tell me,” he said between two mind-numbing thrusts, “I can finish inside you.”
I’d never had sex without a condom before, and holy shit, it felt good. What would it feel like when he came? “Yes,” I panted. “Oh, please, do it.”
He grunted like an animal, and the sound of this civilized man doing it caused me to quiver. It was savage. Brutal.
Necessary.
He came in a hot rush, spilling his seed inside my body, pulse after pulse of it. My internal muscles clenched on him like I could siphon off some of the ecstasy he was experiencing.
Macalister’s jerky movements came to a stop, and he held me, pinned to the wall with his cock still inside me, our sweaty bodies beginning to cool. His mouth moved across my cheek, searching mindlessly for my lips until he found them, and then delivered a slow, thorough kiss. It wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d assumed after sex he’d snap back almost instantly to his calm and collected state as he had after I’d gone down on him, but this version was out of sorts.
He seemed undone.
It was . . . sweet. His tentative, unsure manner reminded me of my first kiss years ago. How it seemed to have gone well for both of us, and we were thrilled, but then had no fucking idea what to do after we’d pulled it off.
He lowered one of my legs, letting me find my footing, and did the other, gradually retreating. It was suddenly too hard to look at him, because I worried I might blurt out something ridiculous and ruin the moment. Instead, I stared at the quick rise and fall of his chest and blinked rapidly, trying to get the emotions swirling inside me under control.
I could feel gravity’s impact on the results of his orgasm, and while the physical sensation was kind of strange, the thought of it was insanely hot. Maybe I was blushing, or had an odd expression on my face, because Macalister grasped my chin with his thumb and forefinger and forced my head up.
“Look at me,” he commanded. “What are you thinking about?”
I swallowed hard, but the answer came because I wanted to do whatever he told me. “That you’re the first guy to come inside me.” My voice was breathless, nervous. “I liked it. And I liked that it was you.”
His fingertips skated over my skin, brushing back the loose wisps of hair off my forehead. His tenderness was startling. “I understand why people tell you their secrets.” His eyes were the color of ice, but they were warm and inviting right now. “You have this power where you make it feel safe. We become the only two people in the
world with no one else to tell. When I’m with you, everything outside of that ceases to exist.”
I gasped. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me.
But his face froze and then his expression shuttered. Up went his shields, and he backed away, leaving me with only the wall for support as he pulled up his pants and hurried to dress.
I’d run earlier, and now I was the one chasing him. I launched forward, seized his head in my hands, and jerked him down into a blistering kiss.
We’d both been in love before, and I wondered if it was the same for him when he fell as it had been for me. It wasn’t a sudden, abrupt drop. The realization of it could be, sure. But the actual act happened through a collection of moments. Kisses, and words, and gestures, all building toward the awakening where you could no longer deny what had happened.
This was one of those moments, and I needed him to know that. I channeled all the passion I felt into my kiss, arching up to meet his mouth and reward him for letting his guard down. Everything else in the world stopped for me too when I was with him.
It was frightening being in charge, so when Macalister’s hands grabbed my waist and he took command of the kiss, I sighed in relief. I sensed it was the same for him. We had our roles, and there was comfort in their structure.
“We need to get back,” he said with deep reluctance.
“Yeah.” But it was still hard to part ways.
It took him a lot longer to get his clothes in order than for me. While he refastened the buttons of his braces, I walked to the mirror and stared at the repercussions of letting him take me against the wall.
I was flushed, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to my skin. My hair wasn’t too bad, and I thought he’d done his best to avoid touching it, but I ran my fingertips beneath my eyes to clean up the smudged makeup. My lipstick was gone, completely kissed off, and there was a faint red mark on the side of my neck. Hopefully, people would assume I’d recently scratched it and it was a temporary irritation, and not my boss’s bite mark.
There was a box of tissues at the sewing station, and I grabbed one in a hurry, using it to clean up between my legs, and dropped it in the trash before he made his way over to me.
