“You don’t need to undo them, just pull them off,” she said.
I grasped the heel and pulled the first one off. My gaze transfixed on the gentle pink of her toe nails. Helplessly, my fingers traced the fine net of blood vessels. Her skin was warm and soft. So soft I wanted to lay my cheek against it.
My hand lingered on her skin … brushing across it ever so lightly, my heart flooding with warmth at the idea of being able to care for her in this way. If only I could. But of course, I couldn’t. She was not going to want me, not once she sees my face. I put her foot down and picked up the other. I stroked it. She was so gone she would almost definitely not remember any of this, which would be a good thing. She was Zackary’s nanny. She was out of bounds to me.
However, the monster in my pants was agonizing to ignore.
With a sigh, I took off her shoe and straightened. She looked up at me, and writhed her body upon the bed. There was a knowing, inviting smile on her face.
“Will you stay, Brett?” Her voice trembled with emotion.
I was shaking my head when her hand slipped down slowly. From her stomach down to the waistband of her jeans.
My jaw clenched as I watched transfixed, as she tried to slip her hands further down, but couldn’t get past the barrier her jeans presented.
That was my cue. I turned away before I lost my mind, determined to head to the door; however, as I reached it, I heard a soft moan leave her lips. I came to a halt. I wanted to leave … it was the right thing to do, but her body. Her heat. The lure of her perfume haunted me.
With my back to her, I switched off the light, but her words were still playing in my head.
your tongue speared me …
I’m still not sure if it actually happened, or if it was just a dream
I turned around and went back to stand over her.
“Please,” she begged huskily.
I wanted to take her. Hell, I was desperate to have her, but no matter how much I craved her, I wasn’t going to take her while she was this drunk. She could barely stand.
“I can’t take advantage of you while you’re like this,” I said harshly. “It’s not fair.”
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I can only have you while I am like this. And I really do want you. All the time. Day and night.”
I wanted to believe her. How I wanted to, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t move. I stood as still as a statue.
“Then just watch me,” she said, her hand was once again finding its way downwards.
I watched, as she swirled her hips to the delicious circling of her clit. A frustrated frown appeared on her forehead while she tried unsuccessfully to unbutton her jeans. Fuck, I felt the same frustration. Without thinking, I bent down and slipped the button out of its hole.
The sound of the zip echoed inside me. I swallowed. It had been so damn long.
With both her hands she tugged her jeans down revealing white cotton underwear with little bears on it. I felt my heart lurch at her innocence. Jillian would have died before wearing something like that. I lost track of my thoughts as her hand dived underneath the cheap material. Her movements were honest, almost as if she was unaware of my prying eyes. A painful shot of desire raced through my veins.
I was so hard I hurt. It killed me to watch her and yet I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She only managed a few thrusts before her intoxication overwhelmed her. To my shock I found myself falling to my knees. My lips found their way to the skin just below her belly button.
Her scent and the warmth instantly wiped any remnants of logic from my head. My tongue slipped out to taste her. Pushing her top higher, I speared the tip into her navel, and her body arched with pleasure.
Her hands cradled my masked face. I instantly flinched at the unfamiliar contact. I lifted my eyes to her face and saw her eyes were still shut. Taking a deep breath, I found a way to relax as she lightly ran her fingers upwards until they were in my hair.
“Please. Let me come, Brett,” she urged.
I threw away reason and crushed my mouth to the protruding nub. Breathing in the heady scent of her, I licked her clit through the cotton material. Her moan rang out into the silent night. Positioning myself properly between her hips, I slid the crotch of her panties to one side and looked at her glistening pink flesh.
“I would go to hell for this,” I muttered, as I buried my head between her thighs and sucked the swollen lips of her sex into my mouth.
“Oh, Brett,” I heard her call, and it swelled my chest with so much emotion that it was hard to breathe. She wasn’t hoping it was anyone else. Even in her inebriated state I was the one on her mind. The danger of what that really entailed flashed in a corner of my mind, but I didn’t want to deal with that. Not now.
I ravaged her pussy like a starving man, my tongue licking every sweet fold, and my teeth nipping at her engorged flesh. Deep almost unrecognizable growls rumbled from within my throat. My dick felt like it was on the verge of exploding, and I wanted to thrust it into her delicious pussy. To feel the fingers that were pulling on my hair, clawing down the bare skin of my back. To fill her up to bursting just as she had wished.
I wanted to fulfill her request more than I wanted to take my next breath.
Pulling away, I slipped a finger inside of her, and then a second. I felt her walls convulse around me. With the pad of my thumb circling her clit, I thrust voraciously in and out of her … goading her climax. She shot up from the bed as a storm of ecstasy ripped through her, her entire body thrashing. I pulled my head away to watch the result of my onslaught.
“Fuck,” she cursed, her body arching uncontrollably and her eyes wide open. The waves passed and she lay back and looked at me with heavy lidded eyes.
“Brett …” she called.
I went for her lips, kissing her deeply. She clung onto my neck as I drank her in. As if she really cared.
When I pulled away, she collapsed back unto the bed, her eyes shut and the most beautiful satisfied smile spread across her face. I was dying to have her, to let myself come, but she looked as if she had already fallen asleep. I got up from the bed and gazed down at her. For a few seconds I just watched her sleeping. So innocent. So beautiful. Then I quickly pulled her panties and jeans back in place. I didn’t zip her up.
She never woke up.
I took my leave then, wondering just how much clarity she would be able to recall of all that had just happened. The taste of the alcohol she had consumed mixed with the earthy scent of her juices was in my mouth and I relished it.
I returned to my suite, and laid like a tormented man on my bed.
Fisting my cock I pumped myself to climax, my mind and heart on Charlotte’s open pink pussy. If she ever became mine …
Chapter 33
Charlotte
I stood in front of my bathroom mirror the next morning, my head throbbing, my mouth painfully parched, and stared at my eyes smeared with liner and mascara. I tried to recall the night. Melly and I ended up drinking Tequila shots with the two guys. Oh no! I suddenly remembered dancing on the table. Oh, my God, the bartender had to help me down. And oh shit, I fell into his arms. I pressed my palms to my cheeks with shame. The whole pub had cheered and laughed.
I frowned. What happened after that?
I could vaguely remember telling Melly my knees wouldn’t work, and a hazy recollection of staggering out into the cool air. After that it was a complete blank. I couldn’t for the life of me remember how we got back to the castle, or how I got to bed.
I jumped at the sound of the intercom. It was my day off so really, I could ignore it, but what if it was Brett or something urgent? My head was killing me so I turned slowly and walked towards it.
The hammering in my head made it hard for me to even bear the bright light. On the other end was Melly.
“Hey,” she called.
“Please don’t shout,” I warned, holding my temples. My God, how could she sound so bright and cheerful
?
“Uh … okay. What's wrong?”
“I’m just hungover. How did we end up back here?”
“Wait! You don’t remember?”
“The last thing I remember is … getting out of the pub.”
“Well that was what we did. We got into a taxi.”
“We did?”
“Yup … the taxi driver was about a hundred years old and you were flirting with him. Incoherently though.”
“And you let me …”
“I was drunk too.”
“It’s horrible that I can’t remember anything. I’m never drinking Tequila again.”
She laughed. “You should have done what I did. I took two headache tablets before I went to sleep.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t.”
“Ah, it’s your day off. What does it matter? No harm done.”
I wanted to believe her that no harm had been done, but memories that I couldn’t quite get a grasp of fleeted around my consciousness. I ended the call, popped two headache tablets, then lay on my bed and tried to remember what had happened after I had arrived. I fell asleep and woke up again an hour later feeling more human again.
As I stripped off in the bathroom, though I looked down at myself and noted that something felt off. I felt sore between my legs … and strangely sated. As though … my heart lurched in my throat. Surely, nothing happened in the pub with the nice guy. No, I wouldn’t have. Anyway, I could remember everything until I staggered out of the pub.
I tore off my panties and examined them. Then to be sure, I brought them to my nose and sniffed, but it did not smell foreign. But the sensation between my legs.
I ran out of the bathroom and called Melly on the intercom, my heart pounding in my chest. “What happened with the guy I was dancing with?”
“Actually, you ditched him after a few drinks … something about his voice?”
“Are you sure I ditched him?”
“Yup.”
“Did I meet up with another guy?”
“Nope. By then you were pushing them all away with a stick you found on the floor.”
“I didn't leave your sight for even a moment, right?”
“You didn't. That much I remember. I wasn’t as drunk as you were, I remember everything.”
“Alright,” I said and ended the call.
Convincing myself to think nothing of my sensitive clit and sensation that something had happened, I headed into the shower and held my head under the running cascade. Maybe I had another wet dream.
I was soon dressed and on my way down the stairs.
I had only been really drunk three times in my life, but never ever so inebriated that I had suffered a complete blackout. Perhaps if I thought hard enough, whatever memories I couldn’t remember would return to me in fragments.
I was just about to take out a slice of bread from the toaster when Mrs. Blackmore walked into the kitchen. She was startled to see me.
“What are you doing here so early? Aren’t you supposed to be away?”
Her abrupt halt almost sent Mr. Boothsworth crashing into her. He quickly caught himself.
He smiled slyly. “Ah, you’re up? Rough night, wasn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
He laughed. “Don’t you remember? You were so drunk last night you almost tumbled down the stairs.”
My mouth dropped open because I had absolutely no memory.
“I would have caught you don’t worry,” he said. “Anyway, I helped you to your room.”
“What did I say?” I asked.
“You don’t remember?”
I shook my head.
He laughed. “The almighty black out. It’s been a few decades since any of those paid me a visit.”
Mrs. Blackmore looked at me with horror on her face. “Why were you that drunk?”
I shook my head in bewilderment. “You didn’t say much,” Barnaby responded. “You just mumbled that you needed to call Brett … I’m assuming you meant Mr. King.”
My eyes widened then in shock and so did Mrs. Blackmore’s. “Did you call him in that state?”
I slapped my hands to my head then, and turned away from the both of them. Jesus, my heart was hammering in my chest. “Of course not,” I answered automatically, but I knew it was a lie. Fragments of what I had done were already flooding back into my head.
“Well, you’ll never know,” Mr. Boothsworth said cheerfully.
I was so horrified I wanted to cry. I grabbed my slice of toast and began to stuff it down my throat without even buttering it.
“Make her something,” Mr. Boothsworth said.
Mrs. Blackmore came over to place her hands on my shoulders. Leading me towards the counter, she sat me down on a stool. “Does chicken soup sound good?”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded with gratitude. At that moment the intercom buzzed. Mr. Boothsworth went to answer it.
“Sir …” he said.
I swear I stopped breathing.
“I’ll be right there,” he said as I forced my half-chewed food down my throat.
“Was that Mr. King?” I croaked.
“Yes, he’s just about to leave. I’ll go and see him off.”
I hurried to the window. A black Rolls Royce with tinted windows was waiting outside the front door. The window rolled down as Mr. Boothsworth hurried up to the car. I saw him at the window. He had his mask on. He spoke quietly to his butler.
I saw Mr. Boothsworth step away, and suddenly Brett slid his gaze over and looked directly at me. In a fraction of an instant another memory filled my head. Was it real? I couldn’t be sure, but I could feel the heat rushing up my throat and into my face. I nodded my head slightly in greeting and hoped he couldn’t see how red I was from that distance. The smile he gave me almost made my heart stop. Then the window rolled back up and he was driven away, as sleek as a dream.
Chapter 34
Charlotte
Zackary returned to the house at noon.
I was awoken by warm breath on my face. When I opened my eyes, my heart sang with joy when I met his bright blue eyes and sleekly combed hair staring back at me.
But I pretended as if he had scared the living daylights out of me. With my hand on my chest, I shot out of bed. “Oh my. That was scary,” I cried and he dissolved into peals of laughter. Mrs. Blackmore smiled at my antics.
“Why are you here?” I asked, surprised but very happy to see him back. I had grown to love him so quickly. Maybe it was because I have never taken care of a child with such a sad and vulnerable face.
The housekeeper made a face behind his back. “His mother had a change of plans so he was sent back. She has a function in Frankfurt and his aunt is too old to be with him on her own.”
“Well, lucky me then,” I cried and drew his smiling innocent face into my arms for a hug. When I pulled away I saw that his face was screwed up in half-hearted distaste, but I considered it a victory. He did not pull away or rearrange his hair.
“Lunch is almost ready so you can both head down to the kitchen in about half an hour. Do you feel better, Charlotte?”
I nodded and she left.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“Can we fly the kite today?"
“Well, we won’t have enough time. We need to be back for lunch in thirty minutes,” I replied.
His face fell then. “Awww … ”
“How about we read together for a few minutes, hmmm?”
“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. We read for twenty minutes then we went downstairs to the dining room to await his meal.
“I saw your father today.”
I watched him very carefully, and saw his eyes fill with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and sadness.
“What is it Zackary?” I asked as gently as possible.
“I haven’t seen him in a long, long time.”
“Do you want to see him?”
A hundred different emotions seemed to cross his face in that moment, and fo
r the longest time he didn’t say a word.
“Zackary?” I prompted
He turned his head towards me then and I saw the tears well up in his beautiful eyes.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so quick. “Zackary?”
“He makes me afraid,” he said.
My heart felt as if it was breaking. For both father and son.
“Why?” I asked.
“He is a monster.”
I recognized the word his mother had used, and my temper flared. I took a very deep and long breath. “Why would you say that?”
“His face is very ugly.”
“His face is that way because of the accident.”
The moment I said that he searched my gaze earnestly. As if he was desperate to believe something other than what he had been told. His innocence touched me deeply.
“You know that your father was involved in a very terrible accident, right?”
He nodded.
“Well, he sustained many injuries to his face so he doesn’t look like most people, but he is not a monster. He is just …” I couldn’t find the right words. “Have you ever seen the scars on his face, Zackary?”
He shook his head. “No, he wears a mask. Mummy says the scars underneath are too horrid and frightening.”
I thought of what I could say then and my mind went to the burn scar on my wrist. “Here …” I said to him. “I got this when I was just a bit older than you. I was trying to make it better for my Mummy by ironing some clothes for her, but I didn’t understand how hot the iron was so I burned myself. The wound healed but look at the scar that is left.”
He gazed at it for the longest time and I stayed completely silent.
“Does it hurt?” he asked finally.
“Not anymore, but it was extremely painful when it happened. I cried for hours and hours. My Daddy had to put ice on it and everything.”
The Man In The Mirror Page 12
