Hush Hush #1

by Anneliese Vandell

  Oh! My mouth parts open in surprise, and I nearly laugh out loud. Dinner. Of course. He did mention something about that earlier at the office, didn’t he?

  He studies my reaction and his smirk grows wider. “Unless you’d rather I bend you over and fuck you right here…?”

  There’s a throb of heat in between my legs. I try to respond but no words come out—only stammers and squeaks.

  “I—uh—“

  Now it’s his turn to laugh. He wraps his arm around my waist and, instead of taking me upstairs to the bedroom, leads me past the staircase and around a corner.

  We find ourselves in a white, modern-looking dining room. An entire wall has been cut away and replaced by a massive pane of glass. It’s dark outside, so we only see our reflections in the black window, but I can just imagine what the view is like during the daytime. Probably a spectacular view of the water—way out here, we’re close enough to the shore to smell the salt in the air.

  He pulls out a dining chair for me. “Take a seat. Marcel will be bringing out dinner in just a few minutes.”

  I do as he asks, and Liam takes the seat beside me. Two full place settings have been laid out in front of us, complete with glasses of red wine.

  I reach for my glass. “Who’s Marcel?”

  “My personal chef.”

  Ah, of course. And as if on cue, a man in a white, double-breasted chef’s uniform comes through the swinging kitchen door. In each of his hands is a wide, shallow bowl filled with some kind of pale soup. He sets the bowls down in front of us.

  “First course is a celery root soup finished with black pepper and truffle oil,” he announces, before quickly whisking himself back into the kitchen.

  I turn to Liam. “Truffle oil again, huh?”

  He grins mischievously. “I had Marcel prepare this especially for you. I had a feeling that you may be warming up to the taste. Go on, try it.”

  I’ve hardly eaten all day, my stomach has been tied so tightly in knots. But suddenly, I am starving.

  As I bring the spoon to my mouth, I can smell the aromas of the buttery celery root, mingled with the earthy, garlicky truffle. I take a small sip.

  The silky soup cascades over my tongue. The taste is complex and rich and—I have to admit—actually amazing.

  “Okay,” I say, relenting. “Maybe you’re right.”

  He chuckles.

  I sneak glances at him as we quietly finish our soup. I keep expecting him to say something teasing, or even slyly suggestive, in his usual way of catching me off-guard. But to my surprise, he seems to actually be behaving himself. In a way, it’s worse—because that can only mean he’s saving his dirty antics for later.

  For when he takes me upstairs.

  My fingers tighten around my spoon. The anticipation builds.

  Marcel comes back into the dining room to retrieve our empty bowls. He replaces them the main course: a rack of lamb, finished with a pomegranate glaze and sprinkled with herbs.

  I gape as Marcel sets my plate down in front of me.

  “Do you eat like this every night?” I ask Liam.

  “Hardly,” he says, sliding a hand onto my knee. My skin prickles. “Only for special occasions.”

  Special.

  The word echoes gleefully in my head. It sends electric licks of excitement beneath my skin.

  Miranda is going to flip when I tell her about this.

  As I begin to nibble at our main course, I take a better look around the room. Just like the living room, the dining room walls are filled with large abstract art prints. I squint at the complex, unidentifiable shapes painted on the canvases, as if somehow I can divine some kind of meaning if I look at them long enough.

  Below the artwork is a long, low side table, which holds a few stray bottles of wine and—I recognize it with a start—the E.E. Cummings book that I gave him.

  He actually read it? I think.

  Liam catches me staring, and follows my gaze to the book.

  “I’ve found it to be an intriguing read,” he says. “It’s not like any poetry I’ve ever read—though I’ll admit that I don’t know very much about poetry to begin with.”

  “I’m glad you liked it,” I murmur.

  He responds by squeezing my knee and flashing me a dimpled smile.

  There’s a peculiar feeling in my chest, something warm and soft and sweet. As I gaze at the angles of his face, admiring the curve of his lips and the blue of his eyes, the feeling radiates outward. My mind spins as I try to identify the source of these curious sensations.

  He makes a wry joke about one of E.E. Cummings, and suddenly I find myself giggling like a schoolgirl.

  And that’s when it hits me.

  Am I actually starting to like this guy? I think to myself furiously. There’s no possible way. He said himself that he’s a bad person. He’s the son of the people who ruined your life.

  But there it is, like a flower opening.

  It dawns on me that somehow I’ve liked him all along. That’s why it felt like torture when he ignored my calls after his parents’ party. That’s why I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind ever since our first meeting at the country club. But I never realized it until now. I’ve always conflated my desire for him with my thirst for revenge; and now, they’ve become one in the same.

  “Sophia.” Liam’s voice is a low purr as he says my name. “If you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to make me blush.”

  I giggle.

  As his hand begins to trail up my knee, I realize that, in fact, I do want him.

  I want his hands on me, all over me. I want to feel his lips pressed against mine and to run my fingers down his hard erection. There is a tickle between my legs. All my frazzled nerves, all of my anticipation, cascades over me.

  I don’t think I can wait a moment longer.

  Liam stares as I push my chair away from the table.

  “Take me upstairs,” I plead. “I need to have you. Right now.”

  He doesn’t need to hear me say it twice.

  The rest of his meal instantly forgotten, he rises quickly. Liam takes my hand, leading me back into the foyer and up the staircase. We head down a wide, sunlit hallway, coming to a stop in front of a closed, innocuous-looking door.

  What is he waiting for? I think to myself. My heart begins to thump wildly with expectation.

  He reaches into his back pocket for something. When he holds up his hand, a strip of thick black lace hangs from his fingertips—the same lace he had me wear on our way to the steamboat.

  The mere sight of it sends an aroused shiver through me.

  “Turn around,” he says quietly, and I do as he says. The light of the hallway seems to darken as he places the lace over my eyes.

  He leans into my ear, his cheek tantalizingly close to mine. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  My heart is like a jackhammer.

  “I want this,” I whisper. “Take me inside.”

  I hear the twist of the doorknob, then the quiet creak of the door as it swings open. I strain to see through my lace blindfold, but the world is too obscured to discern anything meaningful.

  Liam’s fingers wrap around my arm. He leads me into the room, and as we cross the threshold, I am enveloped by darkness. My eyes take a moment to adjust; the lighting is dim in here, compared to the bright hallway.

  His hands take me by the shoulder and guide me purposefully forward, deeper into the room. After a few paces—I think we are somewhere in the middle of the room, but I’m not sure—he stops me. He places my arms at each of my sides.

  “Stay there,” he says. “Stand straight. Don’t move.”

  His footsteps retreat, and then begin to pace around me in circles. I don’t need my eyes to feel Liam’s eyes sweeping over every inch of my skin, every curve of my body. My breath turns shallow and quick under his gaze.

  I’ve never been looked at this like before. I can feel my cheeks begin to flush.

  “Y
ou really are fucking gorgeous, Sophia,” he says from somewhere in front of me. “And the crazy thing is—I don’t think you even realize it.”

  I’m certain that my cheeks are nearly crimson by now. And although I can feel my insides curl with self-consciousness, I don’t move a muscle. I remain there, waiting, wondering what Liam has planned next.

  He moves slowly around me, taking his time, drawing out my anticipation.

  As he steps forward, I can feel the savage heat of his body envelope mine. His hands trace up and down my bare arms, then across my collarbone. It slips down the front of my red dress. A sigh escapes my lips.

  “Take off your dress for me,” he murmurs into my ear. “And get rid of that bra. I want you to show me your naked body.”

  His words send a shuddering thrill through my spine. Heat begins to radiate from my lower belly, tickling between my legs.

  Now, when I bring my arm around behind me and begin to pull down the zipper, he doesn’t stop me. I slip my arms out of each sleeve, one at a time, letting the fabric drop to my waist. My chest heaves with each breath. I can feel the air on my naked belly.

  I hesitate for only a moment before I pull the fabric down over my hips. It falls in a heap around my ankles. I’ve left my panties at home today, so my bottom is completely exposed. My face burns, knowing that he can see the V of my bare pelvis.

  His fingers appear at my back and unhook my bra for me in one fluid motion. I let that, too, fall to the floor.

  With a rush of adrenaline, I realize that I am completely naked, alone in a dim room with a lustful, older man—and I don’t even know where he is.

  I twist my head around, hoping to catch a glimpse of his abstracted figure somewhere in the room.

  “Step forward,” he instructs from behind me. “Leave the clothes on the floor behind you.”

  I do as he says. And I wait.

  His footsteps do one more appraising loop around me, and then close in. His hands find my bare breasts, his fingers pressing into the flesh, clenching and unclenching. His thumb flicks at my nipple, instantly turning it hard.

  His hands trail down my naked belly. My back arches as his fingers migrate further and further south. I can hear his heavy breath in my ear, his passion barely restrained.

  Something large forces my legs open—his knees, I think. His fingers find my clit first, working urgently back and forth in quick, circular motions. Shivers course through my body; my knees immediately buckle with pleasure.

  A finger slips suddenly inside me, probing the walls of my vagina, exploring every pressure point. I gasp.

  “You’re so wet already,” he murmurs approvingly. “Fuck, Sophia, do you know what that does to me?”

  I moan as he slips in a second finger.

  “Ask me what you do to me,” he commands.

  “What do I do to you?” I pant back obediently as his fingers curl inside me.

  He takes my hand and places it between his legs. His erection bulges beneath the thick fabric of his pants. I gasp. My fingers trail up and down the length of his erection. It’s so big…

  I hear the jingle of his belt buckle, and then the swish of his pants as they fall the floor, followed shortly by what I think is his shirt and then his underwear.

  He takes my hand again and places it onto his hard, naked cock. His skin is hot and throbbing beneath my fingers. I stroke up and down slowly, keeping my grip firm around his shaft, listening intently to the sound of his lustful breathing.

  I increase my pace, stroking him more quickly. He groans with pleasure. When I move closer towards him, the tip of his penis presses against my skin. He reaches up and gives my nipple another squeeze, making me moan.

  But then he steps away, and with the blindfold, it suddenly feels like I’ve been left alone in the room. Relief washes over me when his hand wraps around my wrist.

  “Come here,” he says, and he pulls me forward.

  We walk forward just a few paces, and then his hands find my waist. He turns me around slowly, so that I am facing him. My back is suddenly against some hard object—though I don’t know what it is.

  He takes my right wrist and lifts it into the air. Something stiff and heavy wraps around it—leather, perhaps?

  There’s a click as something locks into place, and when he drops his hand, I realize that my arm is restrained on the wall, high behind me. My pulse quickens as he does the same thing to my other wrist. He repeats the process with my ankles, until I am totally restrained onto this—this thing, whatever it is—with all four limbs spread wide.

  Instinctively, my arms struggle against the leather, but the restraint holds fast. I’m trapped, unable to move, helpless to whatever dirty things he wants to do to me. The realization sends a wave of arousal washing over me.

  When he steps forward again, I can feel the sculpture of his musculature pressing into my skin.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?” he says in a low growl.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Beg me for it.”

  This turns me on even more. I breathe out, “Please, Liam, fuck me.”

  I hear the sound of a condom wrapper being opened. A moment later, something presses in between my legs, and I gasp. The hot tip of his penis probes the lips of my vagina, sliding back and forth, teasing me.

  “I don’t know,” he murmurs slyly. “I don’t think you’re begging hard enough, frankly.”

  The tip of his penis moves away, leaving my lips alone and throbbing.

  “I’m begging you,” I say. “Please, Liam, fuck me. Take me for the first time.”

  Every one of my nerve endings begins to short-circuit as Liam enters me. I can feel his cock stretching me from the inside out. The pressure is like nothing I’ve ever felt before—tight and hard but mingled with pleasure.

  He keeps a slow rhythm at first, pulling out all the way before filling me back up in long, agonizingly slow thrusts. As he works in and out of me, he leans forward and gently bites at my lower lip.

  Waves of pleasure ripple through my body. A low moan escapes my throat. Liam begins to accelerate his pace. As he pounds in and out of me, the force of his thrusts send a cascading, hot sensation down my legs and into my toes. I am utterly consumed by my rapture.

  He’s awakening sensations inside of me that I never knew existed. I tilt back my head and let out another moan.

  "Don't come until I tell you," he instructs. I nod my head into the abyss.

  Each plunge sends roll after roll of ecstasy through my body. I want to lift my legs and wrap them around him, and I try, forgetting that my limbs are restrained. As the stiff leather bites against my skin, it turns me on even more, and this time I nibble at my own lip, moving my hips against his, feeling every inch of him inside me.

  Together, we pant faster and faster, our thrusts quickening to match the rhythm. The pleasure mounts.

  This is different from the night at the jazz club, with his hands up my dress—this kind of pleasure is deeper, more intense.

  I can feel the sweat roll down my back. I feel like I'm floating. I feel like I might drift around for the rest of my life, high on a cloud.

  "Come with me, now,” he commands.

  We climax together, the rush of sensations enveloping us both at once. His body buckles against mine as he comes. I feel radiant, shimmering.

  I made him come, I think triumphantly. It makes me feel powerful.

  No, it’s better than that—it makes me feel beautiful.

  Our chests heave as one, as we struggle to catch our breath. Liam reaches up and unties the restraints on my wrists first, and then the ones at my ankles. We collapse onto the floor together, our muscles totally spent.

  I fold my limbs into myself. They’re sore, and the skin around my wrists and ankles still stings, but it’s a peculiar kind of pain. I kind of like it. I’ve never felt so relaxed before.

  Liam’s lips find mine. He kisses me with a softness that surprises me. I yield to the kiss, breathing in the intoxicat
ing scent of the salt on his skin.

  “I want to see you again,” he says.

  “Okay. Yes,” I pant back.

  “Wait,” he says. “Let me remove your blindfold first. Then you can answer.”

  He reaches around to untie the knot at the back of my head. The lace falls away, and the dim room finally begins to take shape.

  My mouth drops open when I realize where I am.

  An assortment of tools hang on the opposite wall—whips and sticks and paddles and some other objects that I don’t even recognize. I crane my neck behind me to see a large wooden X-shaped structure—this must have been what he tied me to.

  Stunned, I turn my head to take in the other details of the room. A large leather bench, its sides studded with metal loops, sits below the rack of paddles. And standing in the middle of the room is, curiously, a simple wooden coffee table.

  Somehow this seems more nefarious than all the other objects in the room—at least I have an idea about what they’re for.

  I turn back to Liam, searching for an explanation.

  There’s an inexplicable look in his pale blue eyes. As I gaze into their depths, that’s when I see it.

  The smallest, quickest twitch of vulnerability.

  If I blinked, I might have missed it.

  My mouth parting open slightly in surprise, I realize what Liam must be thinking—that I’m going to running screaming from the room, now that I’ve seen the full extent of his carnal desire. I imagine that it must be difficult to find someone to satisfy his particular appetite when most of the women who flock to him are merely interested in his family name.

  And it dawns on me that perhaps this is part of the reasoning behind his no-dating policy—he’s afraid that someone will learn about his secret desires and loosen their lips to the public, causing a scandal.

  But now I know.

  My breath begins to quicken with excitement as my thoughts slip back to Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. If Liam is willing to bring me this deep into his world, then it’s only a matter of time before I’m close enough to pull back the curtains on his parents’ dark secrets.

  And like Miranda had said, there are worse prices to pay than sleeping with a handsome man. Particularly one that can so expertly bring you to a state of bliss with the simple flick of his fingers.