by E. K. Blair
Before I know it, he has me in his arms, and I’m quick to wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me over to the couch. Tossing me onto my back, he orders me to take my top and bra off, and I do so in mere seconds at the same time he rips off his pants and shirt.
“Hands under your ass,” he commands, and when I have them securely beneath me, he straddles my body, pinning me under him. “Spit in my hand,” is his next directive, and again, I obey.
His cock is rock hard, and I watch as he beats himself off above me, using my saliva as lube. He’s mean and he knows it, teasing me like this. He gives into his desires while forcing me to withhold my own. He refuses to feed my hunger, leaving me without touch as he pumps the length of himself.
I want to touch him, but he’s testing my obedience, so I squeeze my thighs together in a lame attempt to create much needed friction for my throbbing clit. I can’t contain myself as I watch him stare down at me while he indulges his craving. His breaths begin to stagger unevenly as a sheen of sweat coats his hairline. Every groan that escapes his throat spurs me farther, and I press my thighs together even harder. The moment my body writhes in utter heat, he catches me.
“Open your legs,” he barks, and I do.
He then leans forward and locks his free hand around my neck to keep control of me. My pussy aches painfully for him to fill me up, but I know he has no intentions. When I see the muscles of his abs begin to contract, he’s getting close. He chokes on a breath of air, his grip around my neck tightening, and then explodes all over me, scenting me in his semen.
His hand leaves my neck, and he kisses me roughly before getting off the couch. I lie here and look up at him when he says, “Don’t clean that off, and don’t wear any perfume tonight.”
I sit up, and a few drops of his cum roll down between my breasts. “Lucky for me, my dress doesn’t have a plunging neckline,” I tease with a smile, knowing he gets off leaving his mark on me.
“I’m going to take a hot shower,” he says and then kisses my forehead.
I admire his firm ass as I watch him walk to the bedroom.
While he’s in the shower, I take my time doing my makeup and hair. The dress may not have a plunging front, but the back does, so I curl my hair and wear it in a ponytail at the base of my neck so that my scars will be covered. I keep my look simple and clean with no jewelry.
I smile when I look over to Declan who’s now fastening his kilt. The Caledonian Club is a private Scottish club here in London, which I was pleased to learn because Declan in a kilt is about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
This is the first event we are attending as a couple, and it feels good to be getting ready and sharing this moment together—a moment we had to work so hard to get to—a moment so many probably take for granted. I slip on my gown and smooth down the fabric that contours closely to my body. It boasts a high round neck, concealing the dried cum that’s all over my chest, and flows to the floor in a sweeping, fluted hem. The deep green flatters my red hair, and also complements the green in Declan’s plaids.
I stand in front of the mirror and look myself over with restless hands.
“Why are you fidgeting?” Declan asks when he steps behind me. “You seem nervous.”
“I am,” I admit as he runs his hands up and down the length of my arms.
“Why? You must’ve gone to hundreds of events like this in Chicago. You’re an old pro.”
“Yeah, but I was always pretending. I’m a good actress, but this is the first time mingling among the upper crust as me. I’m not hiding behind a façade anymore.”
He plants a kiss on my shoulder. “The real you is so much better than the lie.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” he says and then turns me around. He looks me over from head to toe. “You’re incredibly stunning.”
I take hold of Declan’s hand to quell my nerves when we arrive at the mansion that was built in the early 1900s. He smiles down at me as we walk to the entrance. When we step inside, my eyes take in the ornate ambiance. The walls are painted ivory with rich gold accents, and heavy ruby drapes fall from the ceiling to the floor. Oil paintings hang from the walls and glow beneath the opulent chandeliers.
The wood floors that lie beneath the carpet creak under my feet as Declan leads me through the club that has a wealth of history here in London. I take in the men dressed in their kilts and fly plaids and the women in their elegant gowns. And suddenly, without my mask, I feel like an imposter—garbage wrapped in silk—and my stomach turns. So, I quickly decide that even though I have no clue who I am, I’ll do my best to fake it. The last thing I want is to show Declan any more weakness.
As we walk into the party, I stiffen my spine and feign my place in society with my head held high like I’ve done for years.
“Declan,” a gentleman who looks to be in his fifties calls out. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.”
The two of them shake hands.
“It’s good to see you, Ian. How’ve you been?”
“Busy as ever,” he says before turning his attention to me, asking Declan, “And who’s this lovely lady?”
“You’re a charmer,” I lightly flirt and then introduce myself, “Elizabeth Archer.”
“Lucky man,” Ian notes, to which Declan responds while looking over to me, “Extremely lucky.”
We continue to mingle and Declan introduces me to old friends and a few business men and their wives. He drinks his typical Scotch and I sip champagne, we share a few dances, and when Declan can’t help himself, he whispers his obscene thoughts in my ear. “I want to take you to another room and suck on that pretty little clit of yours until you cum in my mouth.”
I drop my forehead to his shoulder as he speaks to me, my neck igniting in heat with each of his obscenities.
“Just thinking about the taste of your pussy gets my cock—”
“Declan!” a tall woman with long, dark hair says, interrupting our private moment. “I had no idea you were going to be here!” Annoyance rankles me when she pulls Declan in for a hug.
“Last minute move,” he tells her, composed as ever.
“Move? You’re living here now?”
“I am.”
“So I take it you purchased the land to build on?” she asks, and a trill of jealousy creeps alive in me with how much she knows.
“Davina, this is Elizabeth,” he introduces.
“Yes, I remember you. You were at the charity gala in Edinburgh last month, right?”
And then I remember. She was Declan’s date that night, hanging on his arm and constantly by his side.
“That’s right. And you are . . .?”
“An old family friend,” Declan answers for her.
“Practically brother and sister,” she adds with a big smile. “Although I do fondly remember our wedding. How old were we?”
“Ten. Eleven, maybe.”
Watching them go back and forth with such ease turns that jealousy into full blown spite.
“Sounds charming,” I interject with mockery, and when I do, I can feel Declan’s eyes hurling daggers at me, but I don’t engage.
Davina continues to wear her pretentious smile, adding, “The shortbread and jam reception wasn’t all that elegant, but it still makes for good memories.”
“Well, as much as I’d love to hear more about that humble reception of yours, you’ll have to excuse me.”
As I walk away from the both of them, I wonder if the feelings swarming inside me are anything like what Declan feels, because if I could put my mark on him like a dog claiming ownership, I would. I want to lock him up and pretend he never had a life before me.
And then I have to question how friendly they’ve been, because it was only a few weeks ago she was on his arm as his date.
Red heat slithers up my neck, and before I explode, I rush out the doors and into the chill of night. Clouds of vapor escape me with my heavy breathing. Never in my life have I felt
threatened and jealous over a man, but then again, never in my life have I been in love. I loved my brother, but in a very different way. I knew he fucked other women—lots of other women, but never did I care. And just to know that this woman has had more time with Declan than I have is enough to ignite this thrashing inside me.
“What are you doing out here?” Declan asks from behind me.
“Did you fuck her?” I seethe quietly so passersby won’t hear.
He takes me by the arm and nearly drags me around the building to the parking lot in the back, pushing me against a random car. He isn’t happy about my question, but I ask it again.
“Did you?”
“Would it make you mad?”
My anger grows.
“Hmm? Answer me.”
“Yes,” I spit in hostility.
He presses his chest against mine, fury roiling behind his eyes when he asks, “Tell me how it makes you feel to think about my dick in another woman’s pussy.”
In a sudden flash, I slap him hard across the face, but he barely flinches.
“Go ahead. Hit me again.”
“Go to hell.”
“That outrage you feel,” he says through gritted teeth. “That rage mixed with passion and jealousy could never amount to what you made me feel. You let me fuck you, fall in love with you, all the while knowing you were fucking your husband. And then I find out you were also letting your brother fuck you. And you have the nerve to question me!” He takes a pause, pinching his eyes closed before opening them again and continuing. “Do I need to remind you of all the fucked up ways you destroyed me?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. And to answer your question, no, I’ve never fucked her. Never wanted to.”
“She was your date.”
“Yes,” he responds. “She was. Like I told you, she’s an old friend. Our families were close and we grew up together. She’s attended many events with me in the past so I didn’t have to go with random women. But now I have you.”
Guilt eclipses jealousy.
“I’m sorry.”
“There should be no doubt in that heart of yours that you belong to me. Everyone in that room knows it. My cum is all over your skin, and yet you feel threatened by another woman.”
“You just . . .”
“You want to know my past? Because it isn’t that interesting. I’ve never been in love. Not once. I’ve dated less than five women in my life, but I never loved any of them. Did I fuck them? Yes. Have I fucked others? Yes, but not many. Casual sex isn’t really my thing. I’ve spent my life working hard, trying to live up to my father’s expectations. Work was always my main focus. And then there was you. You came into my life and turned everything upside down.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit. “I hate that you’ve seen so many of my weaknesses. I love you, there’s no question, but I don’t know how to do this the right way.”
“You don’t fool me. You’re the strongest woman I know.” He cups my face in his hands, dips his head down to my level, and looks deeply into my eyes, adding, “But you’re weak too, and when you let me see that part of you, it only makes me love you more. You and I have been through hell and back, and this isn’t going to be easy for either one of us.”
I slip my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest.
Declan presses his lips to my head in a tender kiss. “You have nothing to worry about, you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”
“We can go back in.”
“I’ve had enough socializing for one night. Let’s get out of here.”
The drive back to the apartment is a short one, and when we walk through the door, I kick off my heels. Declan gets the fireplace going and we simply hold each other as we lie on the couch. We settle into the silence and darkness, too lazy to slip out of our formalwear. I soak in the heat from his body while he runs his fingertips along my spine.
After a while, Declan’s phone rings. I’m edging on sleep when he takes the call.
“McKinnon . . . Yes. Let him up.” He ends the call and gently brushes my hair back. “Lachlan’s here,” he tells me, and I groan, not wanting to get up.
A couple minutes later there’s an abrupt knock on the door, and when Declan opens it, Lachlan rushes in.
“I’ve got it,” he announces urgently, holding a sheet of paper.
“What is it?” I question, standing and walking towards him.
He comes straight to me, passing Declan, and hands me the paper. “The passenger manifest.”
“THIS COULDN’T HAVE gone any better,” the PI that I hired a few days ago tells me.
“Were you able to plant the device on him?”
“Even better. I followed Stroud from his hotel to a residential building. It wasn’t long before he emerged right out the building’s front doors with a woman. I trailed them as they walked to a department store,” he recounts as I sit in my derelict cubical and listen. “The woman was in the fitting room when he became distracted with a phone call. As soon as the woman walked out to the shopping racks, I figured her phone would have to do since I didn’t see a way to get to Stroud’s. It only took thirty seconds to find her cell phone in her purse, pop out the SIM card, and replace it with the tracker SIM.”
“Why the fuck do we care about some chick? You were supposed to plant it in Stroud’s phone.”
“This is when you’re going to thank me,” he says with a bout of pride. “I pulled the data stored on her phone, and that woman is Archer’s daughter.”
“He has a daughter?”
“Elizabeth Archer. She is exactly who we need to be following. It has to be her who’s looking for Archer. I looked into her, and it seems she went straight into foster care when Archer was arrested.”
“Holy shit,” I murmur in astonishment.
“I say we keep quiet and allow her to lead us to our point of contact.”
“I agree.”
“I’m now adjusting my surveillance off Stroud and onto the daughter. I’ll call you with any updates.”
HOURS HAVE PASSED since Lachlan delivered the passenger manifest, and I’ve already completely scoured it. My heart sank a little when I didn’t see the name Steve Archer. I knew his name wouldn’t be on it, but all reasonable thought had vanished in that moment.
Declan immediately pushed Lachlan out when my emotions started getting the best of me. I tried to rein it in as best as I could since Declan is under the impression I’m taking the prescription that’s supposed to help these stress-induced meltdowns. But I couldn’t deafen myself to the piercing ring in my head. It was painful and sent me into a mild panic.
After I calmed down, Declan suggested I take a break, get a good night’s sleep, and revisit the manifest in the morning. But I can’t do that. My father is on this sheet of paper, I know it, and I can’t sleep until I find which name is his.
Sitting in Declan’s office while he’s sleeping in the other room, I continue to enter in each name into a people-finder database. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for to guide me in one direction or another, but I jot down any information that pops up for each male passenger. There were one hundred and twenty-two men on that plane. One hundred and twenty-two different paths to follow, but only one will lead me to my dad.
This particular flight was based out of a large hub in Dallas, so the plane is comprised of passengers from all over the States. I star the ones that have a home address in Illinois, but truth is, he’s most likely somewhere else if he’s hiding out.
My eyes strain against the glow of the laptop in the dark room, but I keep going, entering in the next name: Dennis Lowery
“What are you doing?”
Declan’s voice startles me, and when he flicks on the lights, I shield my eyes for a moment as they adjust to the brightness.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He walks over to me, rounding the desk to
see what I’m up to, and when I look up at him, he’s annoyed.
“I told you to wait until the morning.”
“I know, I—”
“What? Want to give yourself another anxiety attack, because let me tell you something, that episode you experienced earlier . . .” His words falter, and I can tell how much my panic attack affected him. “You can’t treat your body like this. You’re worn down and sleep deprived.”
“Then help me, because I won’t be able to sleep knowing that I’m holding his name in my hand. The last time I was this close to him was twenty-three years ago. How am I supposed to sleep? How am I supposed to be patient?”
Raking his hand through his sleep-tousled hair, he releases a heavy breath and succumbs to my eagerness. “Will you start a pot of water for coffee?”
Relieved and grateful for his help, I jump up and let him take a seat, then head to the kitchen to fill the kettle and grind the beans for the French press. I move around the kitchen and gather a few things for the coffee tray. When the kettle whistles, I pour the water into the glass carafe and over the grounds.
I walk back into the office and set the tray down on the desk.
“Come here, darling,” Declan says, voice still scratchy with sleep.
He pulls me onto his lap and continues working. I smile down at him, comforted to know his need to be close to me. His fingers type away, entering another name into the search engine, and then he transfers the details into the spreadsheet I’ve been putting the information in.
“Is there something in particular you’ve been looking for?” he asks.
“No. I was just getting the addresses and phone numbers and seeing if I recognize any of their listed relatives.”
“If he’s changed his name and is hiding, I doubt you’re going to come across anyone from his past.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’re probably right.”
I reach over and pick up a mug from the tray and push the press down to pour his coffee.
“Thanks.” He takes a sip and then adds, “There are a few large business-oriented social networking sites for professionals online. We can search all the names through those databases. Most profiles contain pictures.”
