Chambers of Desire: Opus 1

by Sophie Moreau

  “Me, too,” I said cautiously.

  “I haven’t talked about either of my parents in a long time,” he said, eyes clouding over. “Thank you for listening. I think I needed that.”

  “You can always talk to me,” I said. He felt so distant suddenly. What had changed? “I’m glad you were willing to listen to me rant about mine. It felt good talking about them without hearing someone say, ‘They just want the best for you, Sabrina.’ Someone who didn’t judge.”

  He nodded a curt you’re welcome. “And I’ve really enjoyed having you in New York, getting to know you. That day on the boat was fun,” he said, staring out his window.

  Thinking of the afternoon in the sun on his yacht brought a smile to my face. “That was fun. Really, you’ve been incredibly generous, Calvin. I can’t think of a better introduction to the city.”

  “Good luck in Boston, Sabrina. I know you’re going to impress the hell out of them,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. I couldn’t deny it to myself anymore. He was saying good-bye.

  I’d always thought heartbreak was just a metaphor. Mine wasn’t quite broken, but the sudden sharp pain was like a fracture. Like instead of saying good-bye, he’d caused an emotional earthquake. Stay calm, Sabs, I pleaded with myself.

  I studied his face, not wanting to believe it. “So this is it?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.

  “I have your check.” Calvin opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thin envelope, handing it across the table.

  Numbly, I reached out, taking the check from his hand. “Thanks,” I mumbled. The contract was over. I tried to make sense of it, tried to accept that this is what we agreed, but I was overcome with sadness.

  His face didn’t seem sad, but it did seem closed. Pensive. Because this is what he wants? Or because it’s not what he wants? I couldn’t tell. Clenching his jaw, he swallowed. “Bye, Sabrina.”

  My pride wanted me to return the good-bye, turn around, and walk out those double doors, but my feet wouldn’t move. Something began to seep from the crack in my fractured heart, and in an instant, it became a flood. I couldn’t breathe. The envelope slipped from my fingers, and tears pricked my eyes. I felt panicked, as if I were drowning.

  “What’s wrong?” Calvin asked.

  I met his eyes frantically, searching his questioning eyes. Be honest, they seemed to urge, tell me.

  “I can’t leave,” I blurted. The moment the words left my lips, a deep flush settled on my cheeks. I glanced back at the floor before ordering myself to raise my eyes, see his response, forcing myself to exhale. His face was expressionless, lips slightly parted.

  “What do you mean?” he asked softly. “The contract is over; the money’s yours. You have no obligation to stay here. There’s enough in that envelope for you to go wherever you want, do whatever you want. You can go to Boston, apply to the dance program.”

  “I know,” I said, voice cracking. “But I don’t want to leave you, not like this. I want to stay in New York with you. I’ve never felt so… so connected to anyone. The way I feel when I’m around you… I don’t want to leave,” I repeated. A tear snaked down the side of my face, and I brushed it away impatiently. I didn’t care about the tears. I cared about him.

  The unexpected rush of emotions caught me off guard. I was a bit embarrassed, but mostly, I was confused by the intensity of it. By my shaking voice. By the words coming out of my mouth for that matter. I wasn’t sure what was happening between us, but I couldn’t take the risk of leaving before I found out.

  Calvin made his way around his desk and tilted my head up toward his, looking into my tearful eyes. When our eyes met, I could see the darkness softening. He took my face in his hands, drying my cheeks tenderly.

  He wrapped me in his, and I burrowed into his strong embrace, holding on to him tightly.

  “You don’t have to go,” Calvin whispered, mouth to my ear. “Of course, you can stay.”

  A rush of relief washed over me, and I nodded into his neck. “Good,” I breathed. “I was afraid you wanted me to leave.”

  Gently, he pulled back, arms on my shoulders, to look me in the eye. “I want you here, but I didn’t know if you’d want to stay once your contract was fulfilled. You had to be the one to voice that first, Sabrina. You understand why, right?”

  I still felt shaken by the emotional rollercoaster. But his words made sense. The only gentlemanly thing to do would be to assume politely I’d leave once conditions were met. And, until a few days ago, I would have said it was the right assumption.

  “I had no idea I’d feel this way,” I said. “Believe me.”

  A hint of amusement flashed in his eyes before vanishing quickly. Leaning back, he perched on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over his chest. “But there’s something you should know about me, Sabrina. And it might change your mind.”

  “What?” My voice sounded small. Please, God, don’t let him be married!

  “I don’t do relationships. I haven’t had a real one in years, not ever maybe, depending on your definition. I’m not cut out for them. What I said last night, I meant. I’m not interested in love; I may not even be capable of it.”

  His mouth was set in a determined line, as if he’d given this speech before. “I understand,” I said slowly. Well, I understand the words, I thought. But the meaning behind them seemed ridiculous to me. Obviously, Calvin can love. I’d seen his vulnerability, his sensitivity, his passion… someone like that just couldn’t… be unable to love. “I want you to stay, but I need you to know that you can’t fall in love with me.”

  “Falling in love isn’t a choice, Calvin,” I whispered.

  “But giving into it is. If you think you’re in love with me, don’t say it. Pretend it isn’t real. I don’t want to know about it. The second you say it, this will be over. Can you promise me that?”

  “Wait a minute…” I said. “Pretend? Keep something like that bottled up?” My brow furrowed. I didn’t like this. It tasted like the sort of manipulating I hated. Even if it was my keeping the secret, my lying by omission. I chewed my lip. “I can understand how you feel about it… or at least, that you do feel that way about yourself falling in love. But I can’t change the fact that I can fall in love and lying about it seems … wrong.”

  “I understand,” he said. “You don’t have to. But, if you stay, that’s my only condition.”

  I exhaled slowly. It’s just words, I told myself. I can show him. He just doesn’t want to hear the words. Surely, that’s not the same as lying. It’s a quirk. It’ll be fine. It didn’t erase my doubts, though.”

  “All I can do is try,” I said. “But I accept in advance that… you don’t want to hear that, that it’s a deal-breaker.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. I loved how that sounded, his girl.

  He pulled me back toward him, slowly lowering his lips to mine. Instead of ending the kiss after a moment, he opened his mouth, gently moving his tongue inside. I felt arousal work its way through me, like a warm wave, tightening my thighs, pushing me closer, guiding my hands to explore his back. He tangled his fingers in my hair, taking gentle control, taking my breath away.

  We kissed and kissed. This is what lips were made for, I thought. For sending these delicious shivers through two people when they touch. Finally, we came up for air, but Calvin wasn’t done yet.

  “On your knees,” he whispered, after parting our lips. I dropped without hesitation. Down his hard chest I went, past the rippling muscles of his abdomen and down between his legs to that thick outline marked in his pants. I let my fingertips brush underneath teasingly before undoing the button. I pulled the zipper down with my teeth, eager to please him, and kissed his manhood as it strained to curl out of his boxer briefs. I looked up at his eyes. Voracious.

  His sharp intake of breath, when I slid him into my mouth, sent a shockwave through me, and I moaned in response. This time, he will come for me, I thought to myself. I knew he en
joyed my touch—he demanded it often enough—but he hadn’t come for me. Did it seem like giving up too much control? Maybe. But this time felt different. He had fucked me until I was a puddle of numb skin on the bedsheets, but he paced himself just well enough to never orgasm, in me or anywhere.

  But this time… I knew he would give in. He was pent up. Whether from stress or libido, I didn’t care. I wanted him. I wanted him to let go. His manhood flew down my throat, helped by his little, involuntary thrusts. I focused. Remembered the things he seemed to love. Listened to his breathing, felt for his muscles tensing and relaxing. I slid my tongue up his shaft just the way he liked, kneaded his balls in my hand, and moaned delicious vibrations into his cock.

  Suddenly, I felt it leap. I felt him try to back off, but I gently resisted. His handsome backside hit the desk, and I pressed forward still more, sliding him deeper and harder down than I ever had. My stomach jolted, and I ignored it. Just be calm and breathe, Sabs. Above me, he hissed again, but this time it wasn’t in pleasure—more like an irritated, but smug, sound. All the little signs of pleasure were gone, except for his cock staying hard. I looked up at him, defeated again, but the look on his face shocked me. He wore a vicious smile of… pride? It was the first smile of his that I didn’t find attractive. If anything it seemed… mean. Spiteful.

  “Up,” he commanded with a hard edge to the word that didn’t come from desire. I obeyed and found myself quickly bent over the huge, mahogany desk. Papers spilled over the sides, knickknacks and paperweights toppled to the hardwood floor, and his hand threaded through my hair.

  He didn’t need to tease me to make me wet, but he did anyway. His hands worked that magic over my skin, that half-caressing, half-massaging way he had of touching me as though my body were a computer he knew exactly how to program. I was moaning long before his fingers ripped my clothes off, so when he slid his thick cock inside me, all I had to do was turn up the volume. I think he liked me loud, though he hadn’t said anything about it. As much as I pleased him, I knew pleasing me was the source of his pride. I loved to let him know what I thought of his work.

  “Trying to seduce me in my own office,” he whispered, lowering his chest to my back. I felt engulfed, overpowered, as he wrapped his arms around me. But with his manhood sliding slowly in and out of me, I was too turned on to mind. I embraced the feeling. “Very bad. You’ll have to be punished.”

  “I’m sorry, master.” I moaned.

  “You will be.” It was a master’s answer—curt, bold, and commanding. I rolled my hips back into him, more aroused than I could vocalize.

  He pounded into me like a piece of meat. Punishment had never felt so good. He made submitting such a raw pleasure. His body was the body of a man who deserved respect and obedience. Everything about him radiated perfection. He could hit places inside me I had no idea existed. Each thrust completed me; each withdrawal only made me long for the next thrust.

  When he finally let go of my hair, it was only to pin my arms behind my back and pound me harder. I grunted mindlessly into the wood as he took his fill of me, pushing harder and harder against him as he fucked me faster and faster. Heat built between my legs so quickly, too quickly, and I felt my spine arching before I knew it.

  “That’s it,” he urged. “Give in. We both know how badly you want to.”

  I tried to resist, but he was right. He could feel my orgasm coming almost as quickly as I could. He punished me all the harder for knowing how close I was. My joints twitched as he sunk his manhood in, hard and deep, and held it there. I clenched around him, feeling all his warmth. All it took was a single extra push by him and the fire, so tenuously contained, exploded through my body. I writhed on his desk, grasping at something to hold—moaning, shaking, surging with passion.

  As I recovered, he pulled out.

  “Stop!” I whispered, exhausted. I turned around to look at him.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t. You have to…” I started, pausing to catch my breath. My eyes stared directly between his legs at his slick, hard manhood. He pulled his clothing back on and shook his head.

  “Come sit,” he ordered, falling casually back on the couch across the room. I wanted to be stubborn. I stepped into my panties and pulled them up. They were soaked; I was soaked. It barely made sense to bother with them at all. How could I argue with a man who had just done this to me?

  “Yes, sir,” I said and snuggled into his warm embrace to watch the sun set over the city.

  Chapter 12

  “Before I tell you,” Calvin continued. “I want you to meet my aunt.”

  I propped myself back up onto my elbow to study the serious expression on his face. “Your aunt? What does she have to do with all this?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” Calvin ran his finger up my arm thoughtfully. “After my mother died, it became clear that my father was the abuser and he was thrown in jail. My aunt stepped in before I could become a ward of the state.”

  “How long did you live with her?”

  “Until I went away to college,” he said. “She was like a mother to me. I owe everything to her, I’d probably be on the streets if it wasn’t for her.”

  “And you’re still close to her?” I asked.

  “Yeah, very. We talk twice, three times a week. She lives alone so I check in on her regularly.” I pictured an aging old woman, wrinkly and grey-haired, crocheted blanket covering her frail legs, eyes lighting up when Calvin called.

  “So sweet.” I said. “I’d love to meet her. When were you thinking we go?”

  Calvin sat up, looking at his watch. “What about this afternoon?”

  “Today?” I said. “Okay. Should I be nervous?” I couldn’t believe that Calvin was ready to introduce me to his aunt, to the only family he had. But I was definitely going to be nervous, no matter his response. Just be yourself, Sabrina, I said. That’s the best you can do.

  He laughed, “Relax! No, there’s nothing to be worried about. She’s in Long Island, only forty-five minutes out of the city, so it’ll be a quick trip. I’ll give her a call on our way up, let her know we’re coming.”

  “Um,” I said, “We can go by the hotel first, right? I don’t think that—“ I pointed at the rumpled dinner ensemble decorating the floor of his office “—will work. And I’d like to shower also,” I finished, not including the fact that I needed a change of panties.

  “You look great in that skirt,” Calvin said. “And out of that skirt.” He winked and I blushed, swatting him away. “But if you want, we can swing by your hotel, pick up a few things. How does that sound?”

  “Like a plan,” I said. “So what’s your aunt’s name?”

  “Donna,” he answered, stepping into his pants. “Donna Wharton.”

  *

  I ran into the hotel, quickly depositing my outfit into a pile on the floor. I wanted to look nice, but didn’t want to overdress, giving away my need to impress. A five minute shower and a fresh pair of panties later, I traded my black skirt for a longer, looser blush-colored skirt, and paired it with a thin cashmere sweater and simple ballet flats. With my hair gathered into a low ponytail, a light blush on my cheeks, I decided I was ready to meet the mystery aunt. Ready as I’d ever be, anyway.

  “She’s happy to have us,” Calvin said as I got back into the car. “I called Donna and she said to come by any time this afternoon.”

  “Great,” I said, smiling timidly. I knew it was important for her to like me. Despite Calvin’s reassurances, I was a nervous wreck.

  Calvin wrapped his fingers in my ponytail, tugging lightly. “Hey,” he said, sensing my worry. “She’s going to think you’re amazing.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let’s do it!”

  The drive into Long Island flew by and within thirty minutes, the bustling city and tall skyscrapers faded into the background, replaced by two story houses with decks and lawn gnomes. We maneuvered our way through tree-lined streets and into a small neighborhood that was
modest and well-kept. The houses were average-sized, nothing like the mansions that lined the road to Calvin’s estate, and a few clusters of kids pedaled furiously on their bikes down the side of the road.

  We parked in front of a single story home with a one-car garage, blue shutters and a garden of tulips. A mailbox leaned crookedly at the start of the walkway, its small red arrow pointed skyward. Wharton was painted on the side in stylish block letters. I could tell the house had been freshly painted and the grass was frequently watered. I tried to imagine Calvin as a small kid playing in the front yard, but couldn’t.

  “Home sweet home,” Calvin said, a small smile on his lips.

  We strolled up the walkway and before we could climb the stairs, the screen door swung open and a small ball of fur hurdled toward us, yapping loudly, tail wagging.

  “Bitsy!” Donna chastised, appearing on the porch. Her voice was low, deep for a woman, but melodious and warm. “Get back in here this instant.”

  Calvin had already picked up the Pomeranian, letting her cover his face in sloppy kisses. “Hey, little maniac,” he said with a smile.

  “You spoil her, Cal,” Donna said, shaking her head in defeat, hands on her hips.

  “I’ve missed her,” Calvin said, climbing the stairs to kiss Donna on the cheek. “And you.”

  I stood back slightly, smiling at the familial exchange. “And who is this?” Donna asked, smiling broadly at me.

  She wasn’t at all what I was expecting. If I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed she was his mother. They shared the same shock of dark black hair, so black it was almost blue. Donna kept her hair short, in a styled bob against her jaw line. She was younger than I expected, probably in her early fifties, rather than seventies like I’d been expecting and there wasn’t anything frail about her. She was a handsome woman, skin like ivory, wrinkle free and smooth, making her eyes appear even bluer. But where Calvin’s eyes were a deep midnight, Donna’s were a bright rushing river. When she smiled, they lit up, changing colors almost, the way a river does when tumbling over a cluster of rocks.