by Emery Cross
Since I’d left off my underthings the night before, I only had to shuck off my jeans and t-shirt to get naked. I stepped in warily. I had a tendency to cry in the shower. I’d found that the spray could mute my weeping, and no one was ever the wiser, not my hateful stepfather, not Sam who took everything to heart, and not my roommate who had his own troubles.
I was determined to control myself knowing I was bathing in a damned aquarium, with my new owner pacing outside the glass. I lathered my body from head to toe twice before opening the cabinet embedded in the wall. His and her shampoos were sitting on the shelf, one with no-nonsense branding, and a shampoo and conditioner combo with a distinctly feminine scent.
I managed to lather my whole head before the shower triggered my sorrow. It surfaced from somewhere deep. I pressed my forehead against the marble wall. My silent sobbing soon became uncontrolled howls. Then I was being pulled away from the marble and into muscular arms. I pressed my face against his now soaking t-shirt.
“This has nothing to do with you,” I said, but instead of pushing him away, I clung tighter to him. “I’m not crying because of you,” I repeated. He held me secure with one hand while helping to remove the suds from my hair with the other. He was thoroughly efficient. There was no tenderness in his touch. It made me feel bitter. “I wouldn’t shed a tear over a man like you.”
CHAPTER TWO
Rafferty
I’d left Remi sleeping, a small lump beneath the comforter in the middle of my vast bed.
Two hours on my climbing wall and another hour lifting weights and I was still feeling the tension of a week’s worth of collapsing deals. A housing development project that was still in the framing stages was about to sink into bankruptcy, and I’d had the edge on buying it. Then the owner decided to suck on a gun. Now it fell to his widow to finalize any deal, and she’d gone into seclusion over the tragedy. I’d felt sorry for her for about ten seconds.
Today’s transaction only confirmed what I already knew. My conscience and I had parted company. I’d exploited the girl’s devotion to her sister to purchase her services for a couple of weeks, and yet, all I was worried about was whether that would be long enough to satisfy me.
I thought of her shivering and sobbing in the shower and with a grunt of frustration grabbed my bag gloves. I pulled them on, my hands aching from the climbing wall. My bedroom was soundproof, so I cranked the music higher.
The bag jumped on its chain as I pounded it. She’d assured me that I wasn’t the cause of the breakdown. I pummeled the bag some more. Apparently, an asshole like me was never worth tears. I could feel my knuckles getting bloody inside the gloves. I thought of all I’d learned about the girl from Brian and what she’d admitted to me. About her piece of shit stepfather. About how she wished she’d given her virginity to Sam before he’d died. I had no business messing with a girl like that. But that wouldn’t stop me. I could feel myself losing the flow, my punches were getting sloppy.
I felt air on my sweaty back as the door behind me opened. I caught the bag and turned around. Her long auburn hair was sleep mussed. She’d pulled on one of my white dress shirts. It came to mid-thigh on her, and the sleeves hung below her hands. My cock was instantly rigid.
I pulled off my gloves, walked over to the control panel, and turned down the music. “I figured you’d sleep through the night.”
She craned her neck to look at the climbing wall which reached to the ceiling of the third story. “My empty stomach woke me.” The edge of the sleeve fell back as she lifted her hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “This room is amazing.” She stared at my bleeding knuckles for a moment and then her gaze traveled slowly over my torso. I could feel sweat dripping down my chest and back. “You are amazing,” she said so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it. My cock swelled even more as if it was preening for her.
With a blush, she lowered her eyes and busied herself with folding back the cuffs. “I hope you don’t mind. This was all I could find. My jeans and t-shirt were gone.”
“That would be the work of Mrs. McCay.”
Her green eyes rounded.
“She is always discreet. Otherwise she wouldn’t be working for me.” I grabbed the towel from my neck, dampened it in the lap pool, and swabbed the blood from my hands. I tossed the towel aside and grabbed my cell phone. “You’ll need to call the pharmacy and get your birth control pills replaced.”
“You don’t think I lived behind the stage?” Her delectable lips curled in amusement. “Except for my phone, all my personal belongings are at my friend’s apartment.”
“Then give your friend a call and I’ll send Fitch to pick the stuff up.”
“Seems like a lot of effort for two weeks with me. Sure you wouldn’t rather use condoms?”
“Dammit, Remi.” Veronica hated taking the pill, she said it screwed with her hormones. I’d learned to deal with condoms. But I wanted no barriers between this little redhead and me.
She shrugged and took the phone from me. “It’s your dime.”
She was bubbly and sweet on the phone and I resented it. So far all I’d gotten was lip from her.
She ended the call and handed the phone back, her smile fading. “What’s the status on my sister’s admission?”
It was back to business with me.
“She’s in.”
She blinked in obvious surprise.
“My office is down the hallway. There’s a folder on my desk with all the details.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t want thanks. I want cooperation.” I reached over and popped open the top button of the shirt. I felt her gaze on my face as I undid the row of buttons. I pushed my hands between the open shirt panels and exposed her naked body. Her breasts rose and fell with quick, short breaths.
“Your skin is like silk.” Her body stiffened as I rubbed my thumb over her erect nipple. “Relax,” I told her. “Are you afraid someone will discover that you’ve enjoyed yourself?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. You.”
I dropped my hand and smiled crookedly. “Go eat. I’m sure Mrs. McCay prepared something for you.”
She started to button up the shirt.
“Leave it,” I said. “I want it open. I gave Mrs. McCay the rest of the day off. I’m going up to shower and then I’ll join you.”
CHAPTER THREE
REMI
The kitchen looked like it belonged in a four star restaurant with its cutting edge equipment, high-tech wine cooler cabinet, and insane-looking coffee machine with grinders, levers, and temperature gauges. The afternoon light streaming through the windows glanced off the wall to wall stainless steel appliances and polished stone counters.
I found a tray with fruit and cheese in the fridge. Even if it wasn’t for me, I didn’t care. It looked too tempting. I grabbed it and a bottle of sparkling water and carried it to the granite topped island. My mouth watered as I scooted the barstool closer. I’d left the shirt unbuttoned, as he’d commanded, but pulled it tightly around my body as I devoured squares of cheese, slices of pears, and tiny toasts topped with whipped cream and chopped dates.
I eyed the wine cooler cabinet. I returned the water to the fridge and selected a bottle of wine. After some searching, I found the corkscrew and a wine glass. The wine had a lovely, soft golden color. It occurred to me I might be drinking something exceedingly expensive, but judging by the house, I figured Rafferty Cade could afford it. I felt spoiled and decadent, which made me think of Hannah crying her eyes out in the holding cell. She was, no doubt, facing charges and jail time, while I sat sipping delicious wine and eating fruit that seemed to have come directly from the orchard to my plate.
I wondered if I had enough saved up to bail her out. I needed advice. There was a cordless phone on the wall by the breakfast nook.
I began searching the nearby cupboards for a phone book. Stuffed deep in the back of a drawer, I found a book still in its plastic bag. It was obviously not high tech enough to be used in this house. I set the book on the kitchen table and flipped through the yellow pages to find a bail bondsman. I called the first one whose ad had a sympathetic tone. I was speaking to a receptionist when I heard his footsteps behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. He was wearing only a pair of jeans with the top buttons undone. He padded barefoot across the kitchen floor. He scraped his damp hair back from his forehead as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. My gaze followed the thin line of dark hair that ran down his abdomen.
I was having trouble concentrating on what the receptionist was saying and pulled my gaze away. “Is it possible to make an appointment to speak with Mr. Carlton?” I asked.
I felt the heat of his body as he came to peer over my shoulder.
“Hang it up.”
Flustered, I asked the woman to repeat herself.
He set the beer bottle down on the granite surface. “I said, hang it up.”
I slammed the phone down on its base.
“Don’t turn around.” He put his hand on my back. The tabletop pressed into my hips.
“I thought you’d understood.” He peeled the shirt off my back. “I want you to devote yourself to me.”
I shivered as he smoothed his big hand up the swell of my naked buttocks to the small of my back.
“It’s just that Hannah was so distraught. I thought perhaps—”
“No excuses.” His tongue traced the edge of my ear. He swept my hair forward exposing my neck as he ran open-mouthed kisses along my shoulder. My whole body tingled.
His fingers stroked my nape. “What’s this?”
“Nothing,” I replied.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you had your skin tattooed in honor of Saint Sam.”
The tiny inking consisted of Sam’s initials and the year of his death. I responded with silence. As far as I was concerned, there was no need for either of us to share any more personal details. Though I’d been dying of curiosity, I hadn’t asked him the significance of the crossed pistols on his upper arm.
His gentle touch shifted to a rougher seduction. He positioned me so that my bottom was thrust out, my breasts flattening on the cold tabletop. He brought his big hand down on my backside.
Considering his controlling nature, I should have anticipated it, but I jolted in surprise. The wall of shiny appliances reflected our images. The sheer size of the man as he hovered over me, and the intense way he focused on my vulnerable bottom as he delivered another smack made my pussy clench.
“You don’t want my cooperation. You want my submission.” And yet, as I said the words, it took all I had not to lift up on my toes and beg for more.
He chuckled low in his throat in response to my accusation and smacked each cheek in quick succession. I swallowed back a moan.
His fingers stroked my slick pink folds. “You can wipe that defiant look off your face, sweetheart,” he said, his voice raw, “your pussy tells me you want this.”
He shoved the jeans from his hips, maneuvered me to his liking and then, gripping my waist, he entered me. He proceeded to torture me with a series of very shallow thrusts which left me dripping wet and aching for deeper penetration.
“Admit you want this,” he growled. He thrust deeper into me, but I wanted him balls deep.
I bucked back against him, which was all the answer he needed.
He rammed into me, and I moaned in satisfaction.
The sound of my eager wet pussy as he started pumping made it embarrassingly obvious just how much I wanted him.
I’d never experienced a man without a condom before. His naked cock felt unbelievably intimate, and I squeezed my muscles around his shaft to better appreciate him.
He climaxed first this time, but having him come inside of me was all it took to trigger my own orgasm. My entire body was trembling when I peeled myself off the table. I’d left a sheen of sweat on the granite surface that instantly began evaporating. His seed was trickling down my inner thighs as I bent over to pick up his dress shirt from the floor.
“You won’t be needing that.”
I gave a small shrug, and nonchalantly hung his shirt over the back of a chair. But I was feeling anything but calm on the inside. The idea of walking around nude in front of him all day made me nervous as hell.
I felt his eyes on me as I snatched the wine glass and the half empty bottle off the granite island. I imagined he enjoyed seeing his possessive handprints on my pale cheeks as I strode out of the kitchen.
“What’s Hannah’s last name?” he called after me.
“Nettle.” I smiled to myself. Hannah was as good as free.
CHAPTER FOUR
REMI
The slate gray motorized shades still blocked out the morning sun. I could have slept all day. My body ached deliciously. Rafferty Cade had a seemingly insatiable appetite for sex, and I was definitely earning my keep. Shockingly, I was able to meet his desire each time with my own. My body seemed to get turned on by everything about him. I found myself obsessing over his big, handsome, long-fingered hands, the curve of his mouth when he gave me one of his wicked smiles, the way his tattoo distorted when he flexed his muscular bicep. I needed to keep reminding myself that this was a temporary situation. “It’s just sex,” I mentally repeated the words he’d used at the auction house.
So far I’d been pretty good at obeying his edict that I devote myself entirely to him. I’d only made the one call to Hannah to make certain she’d been released. Hannah had been convinced one of her high-powered clients had pulled strings on her behalf. I hadn’t told her differently, that Rafferty was the white knight. I doubted he wanted his involvement mentioned. Besides, he’d done it for my sake not Hannah’s.
There was a light knock on the door. I reached for the shirt I’d been wearing and pulled it on. “Come in.”
A small pink cheeked woman with blinking blue eyes behind thick lenses bustled into the room carrying a stack of boxes. So this was the elusive Mrs. McCay. This was the first time she’d actually stepped inside the bedroom to deliver packages. I usually found them stacked outside the door. I wondered if curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d wanted to see who Rafferty kept stashed in his bedroom.
“Mr. Cade ordered you some clothes.” She smiled down at me.
“Thank you,” I said with a laugh. The once empty side of the closet was already crammed with clothes. I had more new outfits than I could possibly wear in my remaining time in his house even if I changed every hour.
After a reviving shower, I followed the scent of waffles to the kitchen. And coffee…rich, delicious coffee. I climbed up on a counter stool. Next to the food was a smart phone. Not surprisingly, Rafferty was the only contact. Though I knew the treatment center limited a patient’s outside interaction during the first month, I quickly texted my sister to let her know I had a new, temporary number just in case.
My stomach growled with hunger as I slathered the golden waffle with butter and syrup. One glorious bite in, the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“I can’t get a fucking thing done,” Rafferty’s deep voice growled at me.
I swallowed. “I’m sorry?” I said in confusion.
“You should be.” His tone softened. “I haven’t had one coherent thought all morning.”
“I hope you don’t mind, I’m wearing one of your t-shirts.”
He grunted something unintelligible.
“The feel of the softly worn cotton t-shirt on my nipples and your lingering scent is making my pussy ache for you.”
I was rewarded with a raw groan. “Dammit, I have to hang-up so I can shake off this rag
ing hard-on before my meeting.”
Armed with the new smart phone, a naughty idea struck me. I took a couple of more bites of the waffle and then hurried upstairs. I hiked the hem of the t-shirt to my waist and snapped a picture.
“You are a very bad girl,” was his texted response. I imagined him running his hands through his hair. A habit of his when he was frustrated.
I followed that with a close up of my naked breasts. My nipples were taut and puckered just from visualizing him in his crisp white shirt. He’d be loosening his tie and popping open the top button right about now.
“You realize this is pure torture,” he texted back.
For my finale, I stretched out on the couch in the sitting area of the bedroom. I draped one leg over the back of the couch and took a picture of myself petting my exposed sex.
He didn’t fire back a response as he had before. I quickly closed my legs and sat up, certain I’d taken it too far.
My pulse was racing when he finally texted. “I had to cancel my meeting. You are fucking dangerous to my bottom line.”
I cursed under my breath. I had taken it too far.
I heard the buzz of another incoming text and clicked it open with trepidation. “You’ll need to finish what you started at my office. There’s a blue dress in one of the boxes. Be ready at noon for the car to pick you up.”
“Certainly, Mr. Cade,” I responded.
“And one more thing, brat—wear nothing but the dress. No, strike that. Put on the item in the small box too.”
I opened the velvet box tied with a gold ribbon first to find a diamond choker resting on midnight-colored satin. Stunning as the necklace was, I didn’t want to look at it let alone wear it. I’d had enough of being Diamond. I snapped the hinged box shut.
