by Tasha Fawkes
"What the hell has gotten into you?" she demands.
She pauses in front of the expansive window overlooking the city and then turns to look at me, arms crossed over her chest.
"You know that our parents have gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this—"
"You don't need to keep reminding me that this is an arranged marriage, Karen," I say. I hoped, foolishly perhaps, that I would give her the news and she would absorb it and then storm out, probably slamming the door loudly behind her. But no, she lingered, as if she thought she could talk me out of it.
"Why?"
"You know I don't love you, Karen, and I know you don't love me. So, what's the point? You and I both know that we'll end up making each other miserable. Is that how you want to spend the next year, five years, or the rest of your life?"
She gives a dismissive gesture. "My mother told me that she and my dad didn't love each other when they got married, but they grew to love each other over the years. Now they're practically inseparable."
And miserable. I’ve seen Karen's parents on occasion, only to note their obvious disdain for one another. They barely look at each other, their conversations short and clipped, their body language—to me, at least—clarifying also that they no longer share a bed. Still, Karen is playing the part of jilted fiancée to the hilt, pretending that she cares about me when I know she doesn't.
"I'm sorry, Karen, but this isn't going to work, and I don't think it's fair—"
"Fair?"
Her voice cracks as she takes a step toward me, hands balled into fists.
"Fair? You're waiting until I'm deciding on wedding cake flavors and floral arrangements to tell me that you've changed your mind? And how is that fair?" She pauses and sucks in a breath. "Why are you being such a fucking bastard?”
I’ve been waiting for Karen's true nature to show. The fake tears are gone and the banshee is out. Her eyes narrow on me, her jaw clenches, a visible vein throbbing in her neck. An almost feral growl rumbles upward from deep in her chest, but to her credit, she doesn't let it loose. She stares down at the floor a moment, then looks back at me. Another cliché captures my thoughts—if looks could kill, I'd be dead by now.
I don't want to hurt her, but I can't cave. I can't allow those crocodile tears shining in her eyes to sway me. She isn't furious because she can't have me. She’s furious because… well, who the hell knows what she actually thinks.
"Don't you think our parents will have something to say about this?" she hisses.
"I frankly don't care," I say. "I shouldn't have waited so long, Karen, I know, and for that I do apologize. But I thought as time went by, as the wedding got closer, I would begin to feel differently. But the brutally honest truth is, I don't. I just don't think we can make a happy marriage of it. So again, what's the point?"
She takes several more steps toward me. I don't move. Perhaps she’ll slap me, and I’ll probably let her. But only one. No more than that. She doesn't. She stops and a look of pure vitriol crosses her features. Her lips turn down in a snarl.
"You're going to regret this, Daniel."
I say nothing. I probably won’t, at least for a while. In fact, my mother just might not ever forgive me, but I figure she’ll come around eventually. This entire arrangement has been ill advised from the start, but wanting to please her, I went along with it.
I should've known better. The plain truth of the matter is, if Ashley didn’t come along when she did, I might have.
Twenty-One
Ashley
I sit in my apartment at the kitchen table, my laptop open in front of me, the blank screen of the new Word document daring me to write something. The curser waits patiently. I haven't heard from Daniel since I was in his office bent over his desk, my legs held apart by the spreader bar. He didn’t tell me in so many words that we were over, and I haven't spoken the words to him, but the moment he told me about his engagement, things changed. For me at least. He's made no effort to text me, to send me a note, to call me back into his office, nothing.
It’s over.
In fact, I haven't seen him in the publishing house since I left his office, closing the door softly behind me. I didn't dare ask anyone if they've seen him. He’s probably just off on another of his business trips. Then again, maybe he’s gone off to get married to Karen. I don't know anything about their arrangements or their upcoming wedding date. The thought depresses me, but not to the degree where I allow myself to wallow in self-pity. It does bug me, no doubt about that, but I’m not despondent, not lying in my bed crying my eyes out, thinking that my life is over.
I know that my fling with Daniel was merely an interlude in his life. Maybe it meant more to me than it did to him, but I’m not naïve. I can live with my unrequited affection for him. I can continue to work for him, too. It might be awkward at first, but it will just take a little bit of time. Maybe a long time. Every time I think of him, I think of what we did in his office the last time we were together. Just the thought of it makes my heart skip a beat. My gaze keeps drifting from my laptop toward the window, my thoughts continually drifting back to him. Daniel.
Problem is, I’ve ignored the truth for too long. Go ahead and say it, my brain orders. Okay, I love him. I love Daniel. Maybe I’ve loved him all this time. Maybe using him as a foundation for the character in my book, the one in which I romped happily ever after with him, in my manuscript was merely my way of subconsciously recognizing my feelings.
Stupid of me, really, thinking that I, Ashley Shiels, could have my cake and eat it, too. I’m not usually prone to such negative thoughts, but I have to be honest with myself for a change. I’ve been a fool.
Live and learn.
I sigh, shut down my laptop, and close it, knowing that I’m not going to get any more work done on it this evening. I meander into the kitchen, thinking to make some tea when I hear the quiet knock on my door. I frown, glancing at the clock on the stove. Nine-thirty. Who the hell—Stewart. It's been a few days since I’ve heard from him, giving him enough time to work up a reaction, an attempt to talk me out of my decision. That’s Stewart. When we got into an argument, it usually took him seventy-two hours to process and come back with a retort. I've timed it, many times. Seventy-two hours; no more and no less.
Setting the box of tea bags back onto the counter, I sigh and stride toward my door, rehearsing what to say to him when I open it. I’m not going to let him in. I’m not going to give him the opportunity to start an argument. I don't have the energy. When I open the front door, you could knock me over with a feather.
Not Stewart, but Daniel. I stare at him, eyes wide, my mouth open in surprise.
"We're not done yet."
He steps into the apartment and I let him, and then cast a quick glance around, hoping I didn’t leave any clothes on the floor or dirty dishes in the sink. I’m not exactly compulsive about cleaning.
"How did you know where I live?"
He walks to my couch, calm as anything, and sits down, crossing his legs and extending one arm along the back of it. Making himself right at home.
"It's on your application file."
God, that’s a stupid question. I close the door and then turn to face him, just standing there like an idiot, staring at him in dismay. "What about your fiancée?" I shake my head. "I can't say that I haven't enjoyed our time together, Daniel, but I'm a bit of a traditionalist in—"
"I broke it off with her," he interrupts.
I’m rendered completely speechless. I stare at him for several moments, thinking that he’s joking. He has to be. "You what?" My stomach doesn't flip-flop. What’s he talking about? What’s he saying? What is he not saying?
"I broke off the engagement," he says simply.
I stared, aghast. "But why?" How could he do that? From what I gathered, they were in the final stages of wedding planning. Did he do it for me? I nearly choke. And then tell myself I’m an idiot again. He wouldn't break off his engagement for me. Idiot. He told me that o
ur relationship was to have no strings, so what is he intimating? I’m getting ahead of myself, I have to be. No, he didn’t break off his engagement because of me. Did he? I shake my head. "I don't understand."
"It was an arrangement, Ashley. I don't love her, and I sure as hell don't believe that she loves me. So, I broke it off."
He states it so simply, without any emotion whatsoever. Okay, so—
"Ashley, I would like to try taking our relationship to a different level."
I stand, my brain not tracking his words. "What?"
He pats the couch cushion beside him. "Come sit down. Let me explain."
Slowly, I approach the couch and sit down next to him. Tonight is the time for firsts, isn't it? The first time he's been in my apartment. The first time I sat next to him, on a couch no less, with my clothes on, in a different kind of situation. He feels comfortable, no doubt about it, but I don't know what to do. Is he my Dom now or is—
"Up until this point in time, we've had a Dom/sub relationship, Ashley. But I would like to suggest a bit of a change."
He sits so close I feel the heat emanating from his body. For the first time—another first—I feel that we’re talking more as a couple, like friends—with benefits, yes, but on an equal level. "I'm not sure I understand," I say softly. I sure as hell don't.
"I want to spend more time with you." He shrugs. "Spend more time other than just in my playroom."
I can't imagine what my face looks like. Inside, I feel breathless. My entire body tenses and for a second. Did I hear correctly? Is he telling me that he wants to—
His face leans toward mine and then his lips are on mine, kissing gently, softly nibbling, and then deepening in pressure. His tongue traces a path around my lower lip and then urges my mouth open. My heart pounds. Of course, I open my mouth to him, not quite certain what—
His breath feels warm against my lips. I say nothing. What can I say? My body tingles all over as I try to absorb what he’s saying. But it’s so hard to concentrate with his tongue doing that curling thing with mine. Is he saying that he wants to date me? Or that he doesn't want to do that Dom/sub thing anymore? I don't understand. I can't grasp this sudden change, but my questions will have to wait. As his lips increase their pressure on mine, I feel a surge of joy bubble up inside me. We’re acting like a normal couple would, sitting on the couch, kissing. I can't believe it. Needless to say, one thing leads to another. His hand slips up underneath the hem of my shirt and his hand leaves a trail of heat on my skin as he skims it along my side and then cups my breast. His thumb circles my nipple. At first, I’m not quite sure what to do. Did we slip back into the Dom/sub roll? He isn't acting like it but… do I have to wait for permission to touch him? I break off the kiss and slowly lift my head, raising an eyebrow in silent question. His hand and fingers pause in their achingly tender stroking.
“Tonight, Ashley, I'm not your Dom. You're not my sub. Let's just see how it goes, shall we?"
My mind is still spinning, trying to ascertain what he means by a change. Certainly, he isn't suggesting that we… but his hand is so warm, so gentle, caressing my breast in a way he’s never done before. Before, our encounters in the playroom were a bit more… intense? Desperate? Hurried? No, not desperate, but propelled by the incitement of his gadgets, the unknown.
I place my palms against his chest, reveling in the breadth of his pecs, marveling that tonight, we will be lovers. Not playing a role, just enjoying each other's body, no rules, no tools and gadgets, just the two of us. And I know that even without any tools, having sex with Daniel won’t be dull in the least. My nipples harden and extend, as if begging for his touch on their own. My pulse races, and the heat of desire tingles through my body. I’m anxious to explore this new side of Daniel; this side of him that I’ve never seen before. He leans back and so do I, both of us staring at one another.
I’m still not sure what this means. I’m certainly not going to jump to any conclusions. While I have to admit that I’m a bit disappointed that we won't be using any toys, based on how I’m feeling already, we don't need them, at least not tonight.
"Shall we take this into the bedroom?"
I moisten my lips, enjoying the sight of his gaze dipping to my mouth. His pulse races too, I can tell by the throbbing of the vein along the side of his neck. It gives me a thrill to know that I can trigger such a response in him without the gadgets.
I nod.
In my bedroom, he undresses me, though I only wore a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, sans bra, and my underwear. In seconds, I stand naked before him. Slowly, I undress him. My fingers tremble only slightly as I unbutton his shirt, then peel it off his broad shoulders. I keep my eyes on him while I unbuckle his belt, then unzip his pants. I tuck my hands inside the waistband and slide the trousers past his hips. Then his boxers.
His cock is hard already, pointing at me. I look at it and it moves of its own accord, as if trying to touch me. I grasp his cock in my palm as he slides his feet from his shoes and then kicks his pants and boxers away. He doesn't move after that, keeps his hands down by his sides while I take advantage. My hands are everywhere; trailing along those strong shoulders, across his chest, my palms circling his nipples into hard little nubs.
I grow wet between my legs. My hands skim along his hips and then along the outside of his muscular thighs. Abruptly, I sit down on the bed, then grasp his ass and urge him closer to me as I take him into my mouth. My tongue twirls around his head, eliciting a drop of moisture. One hand grasping his cock, the other cups his balls, gently massaging, squeezing and then releasing. I tease as my tongue does a number along his shaft, while my other hand grasps his ass, contracted into a hard mass. God, he is beautiful.
I suckle his head, and then urge him a little deeper, my tongue circling his head, then his shaft, then sucking hard two or three times before I repeat the process. I thrill when I hear him hiss in a breath. His hands grasp my shoulders and then he pushes me back onto the bed. He nestles himself between my legs and pushes against my ankles until my knees are bent, opening myself to him.
My hands on his shoulders, his groping my breasts, he slides down until his mouth finds my mound. Then my nub. I groan and throw my head back, reveling in the sensations that rush through my body.
I’m so wet and hot for him I rock my hips upward. "Please… Daniel… I need you—"
He chuckles, and I feel it jolt through my body. My head is pounding, my body pounding, my blood pounding. He makes me feel with every nerve ending, every sensation more glorious than the last. This is heaven.
He shifts his position and I feel bereft, but he’s back in a second, holding onto a condom wrapper.
"You do it."
He hands it to me. I take it, not the least embarrassed that my legs are splayed before him. I rip open the package as he stares at my pussy with a smile. My hands tremble as I retrieve the circle of latex. He leans forward, his knees inside mine and his weight balanced on his hands, placed on either side of my shoulders. I place the condom on his head and slowly roll it down while he watches my face, that smile playing around his mouth wanting me to forego the condom and just shove him deep inside me.
The moment the condom is in place, he repositions himself. He lifts my hips again with his arms and finds my entrance with his shaft. He enters me slowly—excruciatingly slowly, as if by one centimeter at a time. My pussy contracts around him, urging him forward. I breathe hard, the anticipation nearly killing me. Then, with a chuckle, his jaw tight with tension, he lunges forward, his cock filling me. I marvel again that his huge shaft can fit inside me.
"Watch."
The word is spoken gently, but with command. I gaze at his face, see the tension as he holds himself still, and then I do as he asked. I stare down at our union. I see that he’s buried himself nearly to the hilt. He slowly retreats, pulling his length from my pussy as slowly as he entered. I stare in fascination. His cock glistens with my juices, the veins raised and pulsing, the shaft itself a
pinkish color—I groan, grab his ass with both my hands, lift my legs and wrap them around his waist and then pull him deeper.
He laughs and allows me to take the lead, to set the pace. I rock my hips with abandon, enjoying this kind of sex with him as much as I do the bondage. And just before I achieve climax, one image reverberates through my brain.
The look on Daniel's face. His smile.
Twenty-Two
Ashley
I lay panting on the bed, Daniel next to me, but my bliss is interrupted by the sound of a phone ring tone. His phone. He reaches over the side of the bed for his clothes and retrieves it. I turn to watch him, admiring the sight of his naked back and the ripple of muscles in his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waistline. Not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He’s all muscle. Just looking at him, gazing at the flair of his hips and his ass, gets me all hot again. I barely resist the urge to slide my hand between his legs and grope his balls.
"Excuse me," he says, offering a quick glance over his shoulder. "If I don't get it, I can guarantee you the phone will ring every five minutes until I do."
"Go ahead," I murmur, grinning. My body still thrums with the aftermath of our lovemaking—there, I said it. It wasn't just sex. That romp in bed just now was a genuine session of lovemaking, and I felt the difference. This sex was leisurely, gentle, and… exquisite. When we were in the playroom I also enjoyed the sex, but that was more like fucking; it was fast and intense and quick, and this was… this was wonderful.
"I'm busy, Mother, what is it?"
I barely hear the sound of a female voice coming from his phone. He startles me when he sits up abruptly, his back stiff. Even before he says a word I can sense the tension emanating from him.
"What? Are you sure?"
The one-sided conversation continues for a moment, and then Daniel speaks again, his voice low and uncertain. "I did. I called her last night and told her. We both know that it's—yes, I understand, and I know I should have said something sooner, but I—"
