Chambers of Desire: Opus 1

by Sophie Moreau

  “I know,” Calvin answered with a mischievous smile, lacing his fingers among mine and squeezing. “I did a little research.”

  I sat up in my chair eagerly, squeezing back, thrilled to experience Turandot. It was one of my favorites, a haunting love story about an ice-hearted princess and her resilient suitor. I was spellbound for the entire performance. When the curtain fell, the audience, myself included, clamored to their feet, filling the theater with thunderous applause.

  The audience poured out of the theater, the cool night welcoming us into its arms, smelling crisp and alive. “Tired yet?” Calvin asked, eyes twinkling.

  “Not even!” Quite the opposite in fact. I felt energized, awakened after the opera, the powerful librettos still ringing in my ear.

  “Good,” he said, holding the door of the limo open for me. “We have one more stop.”

  Our limo arrived at a tall, geometric hotel where we bypassed a line that wrapped around the street block. Hundreds of people, women in short dresses, men in sport coats, bouncing impatiently, shivering in the chilly air. Apparently, Calvin wasn’t up for that kind of wait. He nodded to the bouncer, who lifted the velvet rope, welcoming us to Shade. We stepped into a glass elevator and rode to the top floor where an open-air, rooftop bar buzzed with intoxicating energy.

  A private lounge had been set in the corner of the swanky space, featuring a smoldering firepit. As soon as we were seated, a waiter appeared, offering me a glass of champagne, while Calvin selected a red wine for himself. The stars glowed in the sky. It felt like a dream, a good one this time, no nightmare. The air was chilly, but heat lamps lined the perimeter of the space, creating an envelope of warmth.

  “Here’s to you,” Calvin said, raising his glass to mine.

  It was difficult to believe that, the night before, I’d been sitting in a dark, dank jail cell. I clinked my glass to his with a smile. But it faded as I ran over the events of the last couple of days. Things felt perfect now, but the nightmare wasn’t necessarily over.

  “What’s wrong?” Calvin asked.

  “Chloe betrayed me, she’s the one that slept with Brandon,” I whispered.

  “Your best friend? This just keeps getting worse and worse. Look, I’m sorry that it didn’t seem like I was honest with all these other betrayals around you, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “I know you will,” I said. “But I want to just forget about Chloe. Besides, I found out this morning I have a court date in three weeks,” I said quietly. “For the hearing. I feel so stupid. What if I’m convicted? If this goes on my record…”

  “It won’t,” Calvin said confidently. “As you said, it’s your first offense. You have a clean record, and I happen to have the best lawyer in New York. I’ve already arranged for him to represent you. He’s never taken a case he can’t win.”

  “But what if—”

  “No what ifs. He’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to worry about it, Sabrina.”

  I hoped he was right, comforted by his confidence. I forced an optimistic smile. “OK, I won’t think about it. Let’s talk about something a little more exciting.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Calvin agreed.

  “So guess what I did this morning.” A grin itched to spread across my face.

  “What?” Calvin asked, taking the bait. He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “I met with a realtor,” I said, unable to contain the smile. “She showed me a few apartments that just came on the market. I’m thinking of putting in an offer on one later this week. She said she had two or three more to show me, but there’s this one—it’s perfect. Two-bedroom, huge living room—huge for New York, anyway—and it’s right over this tiny Italian restaurant, so when you first walk in, it smells like rosemary and garlic. It’s not as new as some others I saw, but it felt like home.” I raised my eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his response.

  “Wait—,” Calvin interrupted. “You’re going to buy a place in the city?” His face didn’t give away much, but I thought I saw a flash of warmth in his eyes. “What about Boston?”

  I shook my head. “That wouldn’t be for another two years, anyway, after graduation. I still need to finish undergrad, so I applied to transfer to NYU. Their dance program is light years beyond SMU’s. If I get in, it’ll open so many more doors for me.” I paused before continuing. “Plus, Dallas is too far from you.”

  This time, Calvin didn’t try to disguise his pleasure, bringing his lips to mine in fierce approval. I could feel him smiling through his kiss.

  “I take it that that’s OK with you,” I said when he pulled away.

  “Yeah,” he said, studying me intently. “It’s more than OK.” My eyes stayed on his lips, on the small smile that lingered there. Bliss.

  “And you really aren’t worried about being sued by my dad? I feel like this is only going to add fuel to the fire.”

  “No, I’m handling that. His money’s already been returned, and my lawyers have contacted his firm to negotiate a settlement. Without the money in my possession, there’s no real case against me. He’ll be advised to drop the suit. It would only be a waste of money and time. He can’t simply sue me for sleeping with his daughter.” He chuckled.

  “Good,” I said. “He can be so stubborn. Vindictive, even.”

  Calvin flashed another smile. “Nothing to worry about. I know how to handle men like that.”

  At this point, it felt as if there wasn’t anything he didn’t know about my family, but I couldn’t say the same about his. “I’m glad you took me to meet Donna,” I said slowly, looking for the right way to ask him for more details.

  “She loved you, just as I told you she would,” he said, leaning against the banquette and taking another sip of his wine.

  “Is she your father’s sister or mother’s?” I asked.

  His eyes seemed to darken, but his face remained impassive. “She’s… she’s on my mother’s side.”

  “I feel as if there’s still so much I don’t know about your family…” I trailed off, unsure how to continue.

  “There isn’t much more to know. My father was an abusive sociopath; he hated me from the moment I was born. It wasn’t long before I reciprocated the sentiment. When he went to jail, it was …” Calvin stopped for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

  “It was a relief,” he finished quietly. His voice was cool, businesslike, but his eyes were sad. “It’s not really a pleasant subject.”

  “Sorry,” I said softly. “I just—”

  “It’s fine, there’s really not any more to it, anyway.” We were quiet for a moment, Calvin staring into his glass of wine. He tilted the glass back, finishing it before meeting my gaze.

  “Have I turned you into an opera fan?” His tone was light, but I could hear it was forced, his eyes revealing he was still thinking about his father.

  “Absolutely!” I nodded a little too enthusiastically, wanting to make up for bringing up such a painful topic. “Oh, it was even better than I imagined. The costumes, the sets! The singing! It was—”

  “I’m sorry, Sabrina,” Calvin interrupted. “I’ll be right back.” Abruptly, he stood, glass of wine in hand and strode through the crowd toward the back of the lounge.

  I sat silently, picking at the array of fruits and cheese set before us. I hadn’t meant to upset him, rouse any sleeping demons, I just wanted to know more about his past, the “more” Donna had alluded to. You and your big mouth, Sabrina. You just had to go digging. Way to ruin an evening.

  Amid my self-deprecation, my cell phone rang, a sweet country melody reserved for my parents’ landline. Home the screen said. How ironic. How unhomelike it had become. I hesitated before answering. What if it’s news about Brandon? I thought before pressing the accept button, I had to make sure he was OK.

  “Hello?” I said tentatively.

  “How decent o
f you to finally pick up the phone,” my dad snarled.

  Fantastic. “Hi, Dad.”

  ”What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked, his voice cool. I could feel his contempt through the phone.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to say,” I answered calmly, proud of myself for maintaining my composure. “I don’t think there’s much I can say. You, on the other hand, could apologize for setting me up, for paying Calvin to bid on me.”

  “Apologize?” he erupted. “Me apologize to you? To the person who’s embarrassed her entire family? Do you know how devastated your mother is? How humiliated we both are?”

  “Right, Dad. Because this has been about you two all along. My feelings never were a thought.”

  “I hope you feel ashamed, Sabrina! I hope you understand what you’re doing to your family, to the people who care most about you!”

  “Care about me?” I scoffed. “Do you even hear yourself? You don’t even know me!”

  “You know what I know?” he bellowed into the phone. “If you don’t get your disobedient ass back to Dallas this instant, we’re through with you. You’re out of this family!”

  I felt sickened by his lack of empathy, his willingness to disown me so easily. When I spoke, my voice came out clear and steady.

  “Dad, I’m going to say this one more time. I’m not coming back to Dallas. That is my decision. I’m not doing this for you, or for Mom, or for Brandon. And I’m not doing it to get back at you, either. Not anymore. But for me. You won’t like this, either, but I’m finishing school out here. Finishing my dance major. I know—another disappointment that I didn’t decide to pursue business or economics, but something I love, but I am an adult. I will make my decisions. I’m happy here. I’m happy with Calvin, and if you don’t accept that, that’s on you. If you can’t—if you won’t—try to understand, don’t bother calling me again.”

  With that, I ended the call, pressing the red end button. I was surprised, and pleased, that my hands weren’t trembling. When Calvin sat back down a minute later, I didn’t mention the phone call. He looked more relaxed, at ease, and I didn’t want to risk upsetting him again. Besides, I wasn’t sure how I even felt about it. I was strangely disappointed that my dad would give up so easily, that I was so simply tossed aside.

  “Sorry,” Calvin said, scooting closer to me. “I remembered I had a work thing to take care of.”

  “No worries,” I said absent-mindedly, sure that his quick departure had nothing to do with work. “Do you want dessert? I was going to order something, but I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for.”

  Under the table, his hand found my bare knee. All thoughts of my family evaporated instantly. “I don’t think I can find what I’m in the mood for on the menu.” His voice was low and throaty, sparking that slow warmth to build in my stomach. The night air felt cool against my warm skin, and my nipples hardened in excitement.

  “Maybe we should go then,” I said. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be anywhere except in a bed with Calvin.

  His hand drifted a few inches north, lightly grazing the soft skin on my inner thigh. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dessert?”

  The skin under his finger tingled. “I’m sure I’m sure,” I whispered, stomach tightening. “I’d rather have dessert back at your place.”

  I didn’t have to tell him twice, and before I knew it, our bill was paid, and Calvin was leading me toward the elevator. The doors opened, and we entered alone, my heart pounding. Instantly, my back was pressed against the wall, and he’d pinned my hands above my head. I opened my mouth, letting his skillful tongue find mine, sending waves of desire between my legs. I gasped for air when the doors dinged, and Calvin pulled away, giving my ass one last squeeze.

  He followed me into the limo, sitting next to me on the bench, thigh against mine, sexual tension mounting. “How fast can this driver get us back to your house?” I breathed.

  He answered by touching his lips to mine, slipping his tongue back in my mouth. His hand cupped the curve of my neck before dropping to the swell of my breast. He traced the fullness of my cleavage, and then plunged inside the fabric, finding my taut nipple, finger probing the sensitive bud.

  “What’s the rush?” he murmured. “Maybe you should just enjoy the ride.”

  I met his intense gaze. “If you insist,” I said, slowly pulling the silk over my knees, exposing my thighs. I watched as he hardened in his pants, growing thick and firm, pressing into the fabric.

  He parted my thighs gently, nudging between them with a wandering hand, raking his hand up my leg. Arousal pulsed through my stomach, spreading into my dampening thong. When his finger brushed against the elastic edge, I moaned, arching my back, begging him to dip inside. To my dismay, he didn’t, continuing to tease along the outside of my panties. The pulsing intensified, and I reached for his cock, running my hand over the hard length.

  By the time the limo pulled into his driveway, I was dizzy with desire, aching to feel him inside me. My skin was on fire, panties wet, and folds throbbing.

  “Tonight,” he whispered, “We will do something special.”

  Chapter 18

  There I sat, feeling the cold wood of the chair pressed against my naked bottom, feeling the creak of old mahogany in my bones as I shifted my weight back and forth. The creak was so loud, so dangerous. I couldn’t make too much noise, else he'd hear. Then again, I reasoned, he could have been standing right there. I wouldn't have known. The blindfold stole that from me. Tonight, I was his abductee. It was role-playing, a performance. The stage was a creaking old shed, and I had very few lines.

  Saliva dripped on my lap, under and around the ball gag thrust into my mouth. I gave a low moan; I felt almost too helpless. Would that I could have just reached up, torn the blindfold off, torn the ball gag out, and dropped to my knees before him, but the play and the teasing was half the fun. I wove back and forth on my chair again. The knots were tight. The ropes wound up my body like so many snakes, constricting me in new ways every time I squirmed, and I felt as though they were somehow fashioned to suffocate me slowly the more I struggled. The man who did this—that dark, evil man—certainly knew his rope-work.

  “Now, now.” a rumbling voice said in the darkness outside my blindfold. I stiffened immediately. Something about his tenor was so awe-inspiring. He cooed at me as though he really felt sorry for me, as though he hadn't been the one who did this to me.

  “There's no need for haste, Sabrina” he said with that seductive hiss. Excitement mounted in me, in step with a mounting claustrophobia.

  “We're not going anywhere for a long time,” he promised. I struggled against my bonds and whispered a muffled plea into the unknown shadow cast by that damned blindfold. He laughed. I went stiff. His laugh was like a blade cutting my perilous ego with all the subtlety of an axe. I felt cowed just for having heard it. There was some power in this man, something more than I’d ever felt. His hold on me was absolute. It’s just a game, I told myself. Why was my imagination so good at pretending it was real?

  He's just a man. He's just a man. He's just a man. I chanted in my head half to stave off the anticipation, half to check my lofty expectations.

  Then, he touched me. It was like being stabbed by a needle and caressed by a feather at the same time. The vastly separate feelings somehow mingled. I cried out and reeled back in fear. I had no idea what I’d just felt, not at first. I quickly realized that all he had done was stroke a single finger down my face.

  He's just a man. He's just a man.

  “Shhh, darling,” he said in that disarming tone, that venomous tone. Afterward, I found myself straining against the silence it left behind, eager to catch the next rumbling word he said. The fear—no, the anticipation; it had to be the anticipation—was killing me.

  “It’s so erotic, isn’t it? Just my hands and a bit of rope. And a chair. And that gag,” he said, trailing a finger around my lips. I didn't recoil this time. It felt electric.
>
  “Relax. This is what you wanted. This is what you've prayed for. I've heard you. I'm here to answer them. I'm here to give you what you've begged for,” he whispered, as blood rushed to my cheeks.

  Suddenly, a touch sent sensation through my groin, as a single finger began to explore my inner thighs. The ropes, tight but not choking, had made me so sensitive to his touch. The loss of power was sending me into his arms and, much as I tried to resist, I allowed a short moan into the gag. I heard him chuckle, and I immediately regretted the moan. I began to think horrible, unrealistic things—that he knew what I was thinking, that he had some magic spell on me, perhaps he'd drugged me. The doubt cascaded on itself, building as he continued to trace spirals over the skin of my thigh, and I twitched away uselessly. I could hardly move and nowhere far enough to escape him. I felt the chair under me sodden with my wetness. I knew he could see it. It was embarrassing and so arousing.

  “Relax...,” he repeated, and his hand slid to my pink lips, sliding up one side of my sex, up to brush over my sensitive cherry, only to dive down the other side. His light touches were worse than any rough handling. Roughness I could understand; I could buck back; I could participate in. I had some control. This was torture, plain and simple, and it was driving me mad; it banished every clear thought from my head with each stroke. He'd hardly touched me, and here I was nearly screaming...

  I let out another moan; I just couldn’t stop it. I felt like a bottle of cola, shaken and fit to burst. The only way to make it better was to let him know, to moan for him, to let him hear what he was doing to me. Maybe then, he'd stop, maybe then, he'd just throw me over and take me already—

  No, that was not what I was supposed to want. I was supposed to want home, freedom, sex with men I chose. But he was the man I chose. Eventually, he reached my most sensitive spot again, this time lingering there, pressing the tip of his finger against it, and rolling it underneath. My hips shook; my lips trembled. I whined. Suddenly, I felt warm breath over my left ear. His lips were inches from the skin of my face, and he whispered.