I open the ride-share app and a driver picks us up five minutes later. Montauk is half an hour away at the edge of Long Island.
“I've never been there,” Aurora says.
“You haven't? Well, you're in for a treat. It's kind of a quaint little town that's full of charm, at least in the summertime. In the winter, it's pretty dead like the rest of the island.”
When we get to my house, I take her inside through the back door and tell her to be very quiet. The house settles and creaks with each step, but she is careful not to make any noise. She's so committed to it that she even takes off her heels.
“I don't want your mother to wake up," she explains and follows me to my old room.
If I had known that I would have a visitor tonight, let alone Aurora Tate, I would've at least picked up some of the dirty clothes off the floor and
organized the books scattered all over the place. But she doesn’t seem to mind.
Instead she just wraps her arms around my neck and stands up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to mine. I take her into my arms and bury my hands in her hair. Her skin feels soft and full of life, and when I lick her, I taste the salt coming off the ocean.
Her shoulders broaden and contract with each breath as I slowly run my lips down her neck. She tilts her head back enjoying the moment. I linger for a moment around her collarbone before tugging at her dress. When the spaghetti straps slide down her arms, it falls to the floor.
She's not wearing a bra, only a pair of black lace panties. Her body is soft in all of the right places and she has curves that go on for miles. She's not overweight, but she is also not a stick figure.
I can tell that she's a little bit embarrassed by her nudity, but I get down on my knees and kiss her stomach to make up for it. She tries to bring me back up to a standing position, but I refuse. I want to kneel here and worship her.
Slowly, I pull down her panties and she opens her legs. She tucks her hands up by her breasts and waits for me to press my mouth to her.
6
Aurora
He touches me in every way a woman wants to be touched. His hands are firm and strong and they direct my body to maximize my pleasure. But instead of bending me to his will, he bends to mine. The only issue is that I don't know exactly what I want. I need him to show me.
Being naked in front of him is not like being naked in front of other people. My curves and my lumpy bits seem to only turn him on. In the past, I’ve had a boyfriend or three tell me that I would be prettier if I were just a little bit thinner.
It is hard to describe what it feels like to have someone say the one thing that you are most terrified of that someone else is thinking.
But Henry revels in my body. He loves it. He buries his tongue and his fingers deep within me and it's all I can do to not scream out his name.
But I have a dirty little secret. I have never had an orgasm. Of course, I have moaned and yelled a guy’s name and went through all of the motions to pretend like I was experiencing something epic, but it was all a show. Maybe, my secret is not so dirty after all.
Unfortunately, tonight is no different.
It's not Henry, he is hotter and sexier than any other guy I have ever been with. In addition to his hard as steel body, there's his personality and his way of being that makes me want to just rip off his clothes.
But tonight, I reach a plateau again. It has nothing to do with him.
It's all me. I'm in my head, and I can't get out of it.
Maybe it has something to do with me being self-conscious or just uncomfortable in a new environment, or maybe it's just the fact that I'm not lying on my back the way I do when I touch myself, but I can't let go.
I can't let him take me there, to that space where nothing else exists except for two of us.
He continues to go down on me and my knees start to grow weak. For a moment, I think that it might happen after all but then another one comes and my hopes evaporate.
I pull him up to his knees and lead him to his bed, a comically small twin-size bed, the kind that I have seen little kids have on television. My bed at home has been king-size ever since I can remember.
The smallness of this one brings us even closer together. There's nowhere to go except into each other’s arms.
He drapes his body over mine as he climbs on top of me.
He kisses my neck.
He kisses my breasts. He goes all the way down to my stomach and then to my pelvic region. He wants to go south again, but I want something else. I ask him to flip over me. Moving his legs toward my face, he positions his own head in between mine. I wrap my hands around his large, thick cock and run my tongue up and down eventually taking it into my mouth.
Our movements become one as the ebb and flow of our kisses morph together. He starts to moan my name and I start to feel like I’m inching closer to the edge, but the minutes tick along and I don’t get there.
Sometime later, he flips me onto my stomach and climbs on top. I push my butt up into the air as he finds that sweet spot in the middle of my core and thrusts himself inside. He opens me as wide as possible and I take him deeper and deeper inside with each thrust. We move in complete unison with even our breaths mimicking one another’s.
Suddenly, a strange feeling comes over me. I begin to relax. Every muscle in my body gets infused with oxygen and somehow softens. But then Henry’s movements speed up and he whispers my name over and over again into my ear.
When he moans, I moan along with him. I am not faking anything. This experience has been one of the most exciting and titillating of my life, and yet I know that I have not reached that epic point where I fall off the cliff. He yells my name into the pillow, muffling his voice, and I whisper “shh” over and over again to get him to be quieter.
Afterward, he holds me in his arms and I let myself drift off to sleep. For the first time, in a long time, I am completely at peace.
The following morning, I wake up before him. I revel in the fact that we actually slept with our bodies intertwined with each other's. I thought that was only possible in the movies. But somehow I slept in the crook of his elbow and neither of us were uncomfortable or even crammed.
There is an old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table and it flashes 8 a.m.
Shit, I say to myself. I doubt that my friends are actually worried about me, but I am certain that Mr. Madsen is. We were supposed to come back that night, late, but not this late.
I climb out of bed slowly, quickly wrapping the sheet around my body. When I notice that the sheet is also wrapped tightly around Henry, I decide to let it go and not disturb him. Instead, I scramble around the room looking for my panties and my dress.
I find my phone next to my heels in the far corner of the room. I scroll through the messages as quickly as I can. They’re all from Mr. Madsen and I quickly write him back.
Much to my surprise, Ellis has not contacted me and neither have any of the other girls. Mr. Madsen is not satisfied with a simple text and demands that I call him immediately so that he can make sure that I am actually safe.
I dial his number. If this were anyone else, I wouldn’t bother. But Mr. Madsen and I have a special relationship, he has been like a favorite uncle of mine ever since I was a little girl. And while I suspect that my own father only pretends to worry about me, I know that Mr. Madsen actually does.
“Hi, I'm here… I'm fine," I whisper into the phone, trying to be as quiet as possible. “Why am I whispering?” I repeat his question. “I don't want to wake Henry.”
His name escapes my lips before I can catch myself. I'm not sure if I should tell him who I'm with, and normally I wouldn’t, but all of those margaritas have gone straight to my head.
“Henry Asher? You are with Henry Asher?” Mr. Madsen asks. I bite my lower lip, unsure what to do with his disapproving tone.
On one hand, it's none of his business who I sleep with. On the other hand, I have known him for so long that he is almost a father figure a
nd someone I definitely don’t want to disappoint.
“Henry Asher is an employee of yours,” Mr. Madsen explains. “You have no business spending time with him…recreationally.”
“I know that this is probably inappropriate,” I say quickly. “But we really connected with each other, and he's not actually my employee. He just happens to work on a boat that my father owns.”
“Well, that won't be the case for long,” Mr. Madsen says.
“No, please, please don't take this out on him,” I plead. “He didn't do anything wrong.”
“He knew the rules,” Mr. Madsen says. “He should not have been developing friendly relations with the guests.”
This conversation is getting away from me. No, I need to stand my ground.
“But as you said yourself, I am not just a guest. I am my father's daughter and, as such, I ask you to please look the other way in this particular situation.”
He doesn't answer me one way or another, and I don't push it anymore for now. Instead, I thank him for worrying about me and for checking in on me and apologize again for not telling him about my plans.
I know that his worries are not for no good reason. I am an heir to a huge fortune and if it were anyone else, they would probably only go outside with a bodyguard or two.
But that's just not how I can exist in the world. I can't have anyone following me and tracking my every move. I feel like I am too much of a prisoner already.
When I sit back on the bed, I find Henry awake.
“He's going to fire me, isn't he?” he asks, leaning on one elbow.
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” I insist.
“I think your powers are limited.” He smiles. “This is Mr. Madsen that we're talking about.”
I laugh, but I'm not so sure that I'm right. Mr. Madsen is in charge of all the help and his decisions are final. I worry that this night could have cost Henry his job, one that he so desperately depends on.
“OK, let's just forget about it,” he says, reaching out and grabbing my arm.
He pulls me closer to him and kisses me again and again and again. Somehow my dress comes off again and we press our bodies to each other's, flesh to flesh.
But then he hears something in the hallway, right outside the door.
7
Aurora
“It’s my mom,” Henry whispers into my ear. “We better get up and join her for breakfast.”
He dresses quickly and I follow him down a very small corridor, which is only three steps across. Seeing this house in the light of day, I am surprised by exactly how small it is.
A long time ago, when my nanny was hit by a car and was taken to the hospital, the housekeeper took me to her house while my parents were out at a party. I’d never seen such a small house before, and it was about five hundred square feet bigger than this one.
Even though Henry’s home is small, it’s quant and inviting. The decorations are humble but tasteful. The cabinets in the kitchen have a fresh coat of paint and there are beautiful pictures of seascapes on the walls, giving the place the feel of a cottage by the sea.
“Mom, I want you to meet Aurora Tate,” Henry says.
“It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Asher,” I say, extending my hand. Her skin is warm and soft to the touch.
“Please don't call me that,” she says with a smile. “I’m Karen.”
“Okay, Karen. It's very nice to meet you,” I correct myself.
“Did you two have a nice evening?”
Henry nods and tells her that we went to the crab shack for dinner and then Tommy’s.
“I have to tell you, or rather apologize to you for the fact that my son has such terrible taste in places to take a girl out on a date,” Karen says, shaking her head.
“There’s no need,” I say quickly. “I’ve actually had a really good time.”
“Then you must not get out much,” Karen says and we both burst out laughing. I want to tell her that I’m a little tired of those high-end pretentious places that guys usually take me to but I sort of love the fact that she doesn’t know who I really am.
“I made pancakes,” Karen says, “Would you two like to have some?”
Henry and I exchange glances.
“Yes, please," I say quickly, “but only if I can help you.”
Karen walks with a cane but gets around the kitchen very quickly. The place is so tiny that there is only enough counter space for one.
“No, thank you,” Karen says. “Why don't you guys just sit there in the corner and tell me about your evening?”
Karen is a slight woman with wide hips and short brown hair. There is a kindness in her face that’s difficult to describe. My mother’s friends are all fit and trim and without a single line on their faces and yet they’re not nearly as beautiful as Karen is when you really look at them.
She exudes warmth and softness. It's as if the difficult life that she has led has not made an impact on her at all. It hasn't hardened her, nor has it made her callous and cynical.
I have never met anyone like her before and, frankly, I didn’t even know they existed.
Karen throws a luxurious amount of chocolate chips on top of my pancake and covers Henry's with chopped up strawberries. I steal a strawberry off his plate but he refuses to have any of my chocolate. We devour the pancakes as quickly as she makes them, and this makes her incredibly happy. When the batter starts to run low, she finally puts a few on her own plate to enjoy.
“I'm glad that you like to eat, Aurora,” she says. “That wasn't always the case with the girls that Henry brought home.”
I glance at him and his cheeks get flushed.
Wow, so he is capable of being embarrassed, I say to myself.
I smile and give him a little wink. He shakes his head, looking straight down at his plate.
“Mom, please, can we not talk about that?”
“Why? What's the matter?” she asks innocently, as if she doesn't know exactly what she was saying. “So, Aurora, tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Well, what do you do with yourself?” My jaw tightens for a moment, but I take a deep breath to center myself and let it out slowly.
“I am actually pursuing my PhD in popular fiction.”
“Oh, really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. I nod.
“And what is that exactly?”
“Well, it's kind of like a PhD in English Literature except that instead of focusing on classic works, I analyze and try to find meaning in popular works. I'm particularly interested in genre fiction, like romance and thrillers.
“I think that the kind of books that people read says a lot about the culture that they live in. It influences the kind of shows that they watch and affects all aspects of culture, in general.”
"Wow, that sounds fascinating. I actually love reading Danielle Steel and Nora Roberts. I know that Henry would make fun of me, but they can spin a wonderful yarn and that's all I really want at the end of a hard day.”
“I totally agree with you,” I say. “Their novels are fast-paced and easy to read and focus on relationships. There are many romantic elements but there are others as well, parents and children, sisters, brothers, and all sorts of other familiar relationships. We can learn a lot from the characters in the novels and the popularity of their books speaks to that.”
“I'm not sure Henry would agree with you,” Karen says, smiling out of the corner of her mouth.
In that moment, I see him in her face. They are different sexes and ages and yet it's as if he is a carbon copy of her.
“Do you not agree?” I ask him.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Henry says quickly. “Actually, to tell you the truth, I've never read a lot of popular fiction. I'm not sure why, maybe I'm a snob? But I have always been drawn to the short story genre and that's mainly what I read.”
“Novels don't hold your attention?” I ask.
He shrugs and shakes his hea
d.
“I think what I like most is the succinctness of the short story. All of the events are relayed immediately. Everything is resolved, or maybe not resolved. New characters are introduced and we only get a glimpse of who each of them are.”
I smile. I have known many snobs, and a part of me suspects that he might be one of them. But I appreciate his polite comments for the time being.
8
Henry
When I go to work the following morning, I’m not entirely sure if I have my old job on Aurora's boat. But at least, at the yacht club, Mr. Madsen has a bit less influence.
The day proceeds pretty much like all of the other ones this summer. The place gets busy around one, when the lunch crowd comes in from their morning on the water or at the golf club. This establishment has been around for at least fifty years, and very few things about it have changed.
The tables still have to be polished every day, and there are white tablecloths adorning each one. I have worked here for many summers, eventually ascending to the job of bartender. Bartenders make the most tips, followed by servers. We usually split a portion of them with the others but keep the majority to ourselves. Mr. Madsen comes in just as I am setting up all of the bottles and making sure that all of the glasses are extra clean for the lunch crowd.
I flinch, but only for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for a possible firing. Much to my surprise, he doesn't appear to be as angry as he was earlier, when he was on the phone with Aurora. He's not working today, so he orders a scotch on the rocks. After talking about the weather and briefly discussing the game on TV above our heads, he asks, “What are you doing with her?”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“She's a Tate, don't you know that?”
“Of course I do,” I say, polishing a glass that I've been working on for way too long.
Dangerous Engagement (Wedlocked Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
