Her Protector

by R. S. Lively

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alice

  Dean's kiss is everything I've been craving and missing for the days he's been away.

  Almost everything.

  Our lips part and my hands trail down his chest to his belt as I kiss just beneath his ear.

  "Do you want to know what else I've never done up here?" I whisper.

  He starts peeling away his coat before he answers.

  "What else?" he asks, draping the coat over the metal bars along the side of the catwalk.

  I release his belt and open his pants, trailing my fingers down the soft cotton of the front of his trunks.

  "Why don't you let me show you."

  Lowering myself to my knees in front of him, I kiss Dean's stomach, tracing the muscles with the tip of my tongue as I make my way down to where my fingers feel him getting hard. When my mouth reaches the waistband of his trunks, I do the same thing to him that he had done to me the first time I lay stretched across the bed in front of him, at the mercy of his lips and tongue. Dean groans as my mouth runs along the top of his waistband and then moves down to kiss his cock through the fabric. It was meant to tease him, but my own body starts to tremble as the touch and the heat of his body is not enough with the fabric between it and my lips.

  I reach into his fly and wrap my eager hand around his shaft. It is thick and hard against my palm as I carefully take it out. Holding it firmly at the base with one hand, I trace the engorged head of his erection over my lips. It's smooth and soft, and the droplet of crystalline fluid that forms at the slit makes it glide more easily. The fluid touches my tongue and the taste of Dean heightens my hunger for him. I open my mouth, and Dean tucks his hips forward to slide in along my tongue. My eyes flutter closed so I can focus completely on him in my mouth, relishing the taste of him, the smell of his body, and the intense intimacy of him rolling his hips to slide further toward my throat. There is no hesitation in his movement, no caution. He knows I want him, that I need him in every way I can have him, and his total confidence in that only makes him more intoxicating.

  Closing my lips around his shaft, I roll my head slightly so my mouth twists along his length, gliding up and down. I add the stroke of my hand and almost instantly, Dean clutches the metal bars on either side of him and lets out a groan. The sound fuels me, and my mouth moves faster, sucking as I swirl my tongue around the head. Both of us still wearing all our clothes, and being high on the catwalk above the theater, even empty, feels forbidden and clandestine, sending my arousal even higher. I slowly withdraw his cock from my mouth, letting it glide through my lips so I can feel every vein and ridge. The tip of my tongue dips into the slit and Dean makes an almost strangled gasping sound.

  "Oh, fuck," he mutters.

  I climb to my feet and stand slowly, letting my body slide against his as I straighten until my face is level with his.

  "Is that an invitation?"

  Dean takes hold of my face and crushes my mouth with a kiss. Our tongues tangle, grappling with each other as he regains control. His teeth sink into my bottom lip and scrape across as he releases it.

  "You really are a bad girl, aren't you?"

  In one fast movement, he turns me around so I'm facing away from him and pushes between my shoulder blades to bend me over. He flips the end of my long, flowing dress up over my back and yanks my leggings down to my knees. My hands brace me on the metal bars on either side as Dean gathers the skirt of my dress in one hand in the middle of my back and uses it as a handle to hold me in place.

  Behind me, I hear the rustle of him pulling a condom out of his pocket and tearing open the package. Seconds later, he slams into me. There is no slow pace, no careful consideration or gradual sinking. Dean fills me fully and completely in one sharp thrust that drags a cry from my throat and almost makes my knees buckle. His free hand slips around my hips and down between my thighs to discover my wet clit. He massages it in tight circles, pounding into me relentlessly. Each thrust is a delirious mixture of pleasure and pain, creating an experience that threatens to consume us both. The intensity is overpowering. Dean's growls are primal, his hands on my body possessive and strong. Just when I think I can only bear it for a second longer before I collapse into oblivion, his hips stop.

  I gasp, pushing up away from the bars to stand and look at him.

  "You can't stop now," I manage through ragged breaths.

  Dean adjusts his pants, and I reach down to do the same. When I'm dressed, he takes me by the wrist and pulls me close, biting my lip again.

  "Show me somewhere else."

  I smile and take him by the hand. We rush down the stairs leading off the catwalk and through narrow passages to a back room. The keys are hanging in my office, but fortunately I almost always forget to lock it. This is one of those times. We stumble through the door as Dean sweeps me into another kiss. As our tangled feet carry us by, I reach out and slap the light switch by the door. Several overhead lights, features added during my briefly-optimistic renovation of the building, illuminate a jumble of furniture, boxes, and racks. It's clear in some portions of the room that there had once been some effort to create order, but further into the center of the room the chaos takes over.

  "Prop room," I explain.

  Dean nods and picks me up off my feet, carrying me over to a tarp-covered lump I know to be a couch. He tears away the tarp to reveal the sloping shape and richly-detailed ivory floral cushions. Lowering me back to my feet, Dean removes his pants and opens his shirt. I strip away my leggings and before I can even reach for my dress, he takes hold of my hips and brings me down into his lap as he sits.

  Cupping his jaw in my palms, I kiss him. My body opens for him and a simple roll of my hips welcomes him back inside. Spreading my thighs further, I sink down until Dean is pressed so deep inside me, I can feel the pressure in my stomach. My breasts spill out over the neckline of my dress as he pulls it down, and his mouth immediately swoops down to lick and suckle. One hand on my lower back guides me to grind against him. The movement causes my clit to rub his pubic bone, creating friction that sends me spiraling toward the edge again. This time, Dean doesn't relent. His hips tighten and lift away from the couch and I match each thrust with a hard buck.

  I hold off until I hear Dean's sounds coming faster and rising higher, then feel him dig his fingers into my hips as he comes hard into me, filling the condom still on his cock. At that, my body bursts into an earth-shattering orgasm that pulls him deeper into me and milks each shuddering pulse. We kiss almost frantically at first, then slow gradually as our bodies slide down from their peaks and begin to relax.

  It takes several long minutes before we disentangle ourselves from each other and get dressed. Not wanting to move too much, we curl up on the couch, his body molded around my back as my head rests on his arm, my ear tucked close to his heartbeat.

  "I like this couch," Dean whispers into my ear.

  I laugh and try to cuddle deeper into the nook of his body. It doesn't seem like I can ever get close enough to him.

  "It was here when I bought it. It's just a cheap replica used for some play, but it's one of my favorite things I discovered when exploring right after signing the paperwork. There's no way of knowing and I'm most likely making it up, but I feel like I remember seeing it in a show when I was little. Probably not."

  "Even if you didn't really see it, it's nice to think you might have. Like it's always been a part of your life, just waiting for you to find it again."

  I look back at him and kiss the tip of his nose.

  "I like that. This whole place is filled with stuff like this. The first few months of owning it was like being on a scavenger hunt. We were always discovering little treasures hidden away in corners and old rooms that hadn't been used in decades."

  "Rooms?"

  "The original dressing rooms are really tiny. I'm assuming when they were 'modernizing' the theater in the seventies they decided those were just insultingly small for their stars and took out chunk
s of some workspaces to create bigger dressing rooms. The originals are still there, though. I found one still set up like it hadn't been touched since the last actress slipped out after a show."

  "That's somewhat alarming and yet beautiful at the same time."

  I laugh and nod.

  "Alice?"

  Lee's voice is faint somewhere in the theater, but it's unmistakable. I let out a resigned sigh and climb off the couch. Dean follows me and we run into Lee just as he runs down the hallway.

  "Hey, Lee."

  "Alice! I was so worried. There are lights on all around the theater, but I couldn't find you."

  "I'm right here. I just wanted to show Dean the prop room."

  Quickly over his crisis, Lee pops his hip to one side.

  "Did you show him that couch you love so much?"

  I glance up at Dean. He has the impressive ability to show nothing in his expression. Not so much as a flicker of color across his cheeks.

  "It's a great couch," he says.

  "Do you want to see the stage?" I ask.

  "Sure."

  "Lee?"

  "I've seen it. I'm just going to start getting these last-minute things ready for the show tonight."

  "Show?" Dean asks.

  "In honor of St. Patrick's Day approaching, we are doing screenings of movies and TV shows featuring Irish actors and actresses. This week is Angela Lansbury. Bedknobs and Broomsticks coming at you."

  "Is she Irish?" Dean asks as I take him by his elbow and steer him in the direction of the stage door.

  "Her mother was, and she lived in Ireland for years as an adult."

  I hit the backstage lights as we step into the wing. Like many such areas, this backstage is tightly packed with desks, tables, and cabinets, the occasional prop, and a cluster of chairs in one corner that look like ghosts are having a highly suspicious meeting. A swath of clear, open area near the curtains leads out onto the black-painted stage. I know from hours spent out there lying on the wood, sometimes reading, sometimes just thinking, that the black is only on the surface. I point that out to Dean as we stroll across the expanse, our fingers linked between us.

  "What do you mean?" he asks.

  "For a long time, the troupe that held their season here painted the stage for each production. It became part of the set for the stage itself to be a new color for each play. As soon as the play ended, a new black coat covered it up to wait for the next one. There are a lot of places all over the stage where people have dropped furniture or equipment and taken chunks out of the paint. You can look down at them and see layers of color. Each one of them is a story. I like thinking about them when I'm out here."

  Dean takes both of my hands and holds them in front of us, stepping back so our arms are stretch out, letting us fill more space.

  "No matter where you walk, you are somewhere one of those actors stood. It's like you're a continuing part of the performances."

  "Like you are a part of the ongoing history of New York?"

  "Something like that."

  I rub the toe of my shoe across the wood under my feet.

  "I wonder which layers were there when I watched shows here."

  "Hey, Alice?" Lee's voice calls from the catwalk. "Do you know why there's a cup of caramel hot chocolate and one of coffee up here?"

  My eyes snap to Dean.

  "Grab an early dinner?" he asks.

  "Absolutely.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dean

  The Angela Lansbury fans were a surprisingly rowdy bunch, and I got to sleep last night much later than I anticipated. That means I'm rushing into the office almost two hours later than I usually arrive on the days I’m expected in the office. No one really seems to notice. Most of them prescribe to the same attitude that I'm the boss, so I can do whatever I want to. That's not how I like to run my business, but it does have certain perks, like being able to ask to change the direction of projects on a whim.

  Jonathan slides my usual Wednesday morning tradition, a sausage biscuit and side of hash browns, across his desk, so I catch it on my way by. Waving my thanks, I step into the elevator and head up. Images of what Alice would look like reflected in the mirrored panels within the elevator distract me enough I almost forget my breakfast and I'm still munching my way through the biscuit when I walk down the hall towards Micah's office. He looks distastefully at the biscuit remnants.

  “You know, Dean, there is fantastic breakfast down in the conference room on the lobby level every morning.”

  “I know.” I chew and swallow my last bite. “I'm the one who arranged for it.”

  “Then why do you eat those things every week?”

  “Well, this morning it's because I'm getting to the office well after breakfast is done being served, so I needed an alternative. Every other time is because I like it. You know what? This time is because I like it, too.”

  I smile at him perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, and he looks at me strangely.

  “Why did you want to meet with me specifically today?” Micah asks.

  “I've been thinking a lot about the theater you mentioned the other day. The one you decided to invest in even though I told you to back away from the deal.”

  “Did you want to go over the projections?” he asks, deftly avoiding any potentially self-damning response. “I'm actually surprised. A payment from them came in this morning. Seems an event they planned was quite successful. Not successful enough to make up for the entire amount owed, but it's a nice token.”

  What Alice told me about her investor and the way they were talking to her flashes through my mind. I hate to think of anyone treating her that way for any reason, but it tears me up to think of someone who works for me, someone I trust, mistreating her for the sake of my company. But it's hard to imagine Micah doing something like that.

  Micah is for the most part a steady and personable member of my company, even if he can be too eager and ambitious for his own good. He has an incredible mind for numbers and his knowledge of real estate law, supposedly absorbed into him during a fateful semester of high school when he was struck down by mono, has proved invaluable as I’ve built my collection of land and buildings. The harshness doesn't sound like him. For that reason, I decide to tread lightly now and carefully unravel as I go.

  “Not exactly. I've decided I want to revisit my original opinions about that deal and pull back for now.”

  “Pull back for now?” Micah asks incredulously. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. Yes, that theater was very appealing to me at the time and could prove to be a fantastic addition to my offerings, but it’s already someone else's dream. They don't have the buying power or liquid resources my company does, but maybe they have the heart.”

  “The heart. You want to make a major business decision, reversing a plan that could basically drop this theater in your lap like a melting ice cream cone on a hot day, based on whether or not the prospective buyer has heart?”

  “I'm certain they have the heart. But that doesn't matter. I made my opinions regarding the transaction clear at the time, and those opinions haven't changed. I don't want my name, or my company involved in taking away something so precious. So, I want you to back off for now. Give them a chance for reconsideration and restructuring. Like you said, they sent you a payment this morning.”

  “A payment, yes, but not one anywhere near significant enough to warrant reconsidering the agreement.”

  “I'm not asking you to reconsider the agreement because of the money. I'm telling you it's time to stop putting so much pressure on it.”

  I stop just short of making an accusation. There's no reason to go down that road if I can convince Micah to just step off.

  He looks nothing short of perturbed as he starts reaching for the bottom drawer in his desk.

  “I hate to point this out, Dean, but there are contracts in place here. They are solely legally enforceable.”

  Somehow, I feel he doesn'
t really hate pointing that out to me. It might actually be the highlight of his day.

  “Legally enforceable only if we decide to do something about it. Contract or not, it's time for you to step back. Give them some breathing room and we'll try to figure something out.”

  I walked out of his office, still unsure of what's really going on. The trip down the elevator is for hash browns, and the bag has crumpled nicely in my palm by the time Jonathan opens his hands for me to toss it to him across the lobby. He catches it and tosses it back over his shoulder toward the waiting trash can. My arms fly up over my head in victory as I saunter toward him.

  “I know I have those meetings this afternoon and the Lake Champlain canoeing trip tonight. Anything new for me?”

  “Yes, actually. A new client just called in. Said she was looking specifically for you by referral from your sister-in-law Emma.”

  I cringe slightly.

  “She didn't call herself Mrs. Judy Dufresne, did she?”

  Jonathan check the papers in front of him and shakes his head.

  “No. No Mrs. Judy. This says her name is Luella McGregor.”

  “Interesting. Never heard of her. I'll give Emma a call about it. Thanks, Jonathan.”

  I take out my phone on the way up to my office. Emma answers on the third ring in mid-sentence to Lily. I wait for her to realize she answered.

  “Dean?”

  “I'm here.”

  “Sorry, Lily has been around Nick so much recently she's trying to carry the puppy around in a sling.”

  “You got a puppy? When did that happen?”

  I couldn't imagine it happened in the too-distant past. That's something Grant would mention to me.

  “Last night. It's not responding well to the attempts at being shoved into a Baby Bjorn by a toddler. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “Jonathan just told me about this new client?”

  “Right. Yes. Luella. She is a trip, Dean. You're going to love her.”

  “First, why isn't Grant taking her?”