by Ward, Penny
He sniggers and moves closer, until our fingertips touch at our sides, and as our fingers entwine almost passively, I want to reach over and straddle him.
I hold back, but then he completely surprises me.
“You’re damaged, I think,” he whispers, staring at the ceiling. “Like a broken bird.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes and I gulp down the emotion threatening to choke me.
I can’t respond--what does he mean?
Chapter 8
As I hold back my tears, I can’t respond to Zane.
This man has already touched me emotionally and we have only known he other for a few moments. Am I really that easy to read?
From within the strangulating silence he adds, “Seeing you battle on with only one healthy wing is... well, I admire resilience in anyone. I don’t know if I could deal with a broken heart as swiftly or as bravely as you.”
I turn to face him and find him staring at the side of my head, his pupils dilated and his lips wet, freshly licked.
I still can’t speak, but more importantly, the time for conversation has ended.
He reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek, stroking his damp fingers down my arm afterward. “I’m going to kiss you, Abbey.”
My lungs seem incapable of accommodating enough air, though I gasp.
His honey-brown eyes, strong jaw, and full mouth are too perfect for words.
My body wants so desperately to react, yet to say, nod, or say nothing is to accept I’m moving on, taking a leap of faith, and trusting another man with my body, perhaps even my heart.
I’m not ready to say yes, but not strong enough to say no.
Leaning up on his elbow, he gazes down at me. His breathing is heavy, his eyes penetrating. Caressing my cheek, he says, “Say you want me, Little Bird.”
Fearing I might explode with the need to react to such tenderness, I reach up and thread my fingers through his dark waves and pull his mouth down to mine.
Our mouths hover a half-inch apart, hesitating for a few seconds, swapping hot breath before they eventually connect.
When the kiss begins, I want this man more than I ever wanted Martin.
For the longest time, our tongues search oral contours to the sound of mutual groans and sighs as our hands fight to touch one another over cloth.
Soon, his hand grabs both of mine to restrain them above my head.
“Tell me,” he says, unbuttoning my dress with the other hand. “I must hear you say it before we go any further.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I breathe, lifting my mouth up to his.
He pulls away from my kiss, and his frown adds bulk to his heavy brow. “Say it, Abbey.”
“Okay, okay.” I figure this is something he needs to cover him if I cry rape and surrender. Boy, I want to surrender. “I want you... inside me. Now.” I know I’m flushed and needy, but I’m okay with it. “Good enough?”
The frown lifts and he whispers, “Perfect.” Ripping open the remainder of the buttons, he commands me: “Take this off.”
His intense need for me is so arousing; even his demands are more of a turn-on than I’d guessed.
Perhaps because he buffers his demands with benevolence, with needing to ensure we’re doing something we both want.
I sit up and strip without question.
Since we started this, neither one of us will stop until sated; may as well make the best of him while I have the chance.
Once my clothes are spread across the floor, I realize he’s still semi-naked. “You’re still wearing underwear? I know this isn’t your first time. You know you need to take those off, right?”
Biting his lips, he scans my body. “I’m admiring the view.”
Tilting his head, he licks his hot mouth when his gaze meets mine.
Shuffling on my knees toward him, I say, “Let me take care of that for you.”
When I reach him, I slip my hands beneath his boxers and over his butt, grabbing two handfuls of muscle and resting my breasts against his naked stomach, my cheek against his chest.
He wraps his long, heavy arms around my back and rests his chin on my head. The slow intimacy intensifies my arousal so I push the boxers down until his cock bobs out and against my sex.
“Much better,” I whisper, looking up at him.
“He’s not exactly coy,” Zane scoffs, leans down to kiss me, and pushes me to lie back.
As he offers me feather-light kisses, he strokes my clit as one would a furry pet; each caress is long and careful, but firm enough to have an impact.
And the impact is profound: my pussy soon throbs with the need for penetration.
I let go of a gasp, which spurs Zane on to slide one then two fingers inside me, moving them gently at first before adding firmer come-hither movements over my throbbing nub.
“Oh, yes...ah.” I spread my legs, rotate my hips, and bite my lower lip, all the while watching him watch me.
Needing me.
As the pleasure builds, I cannot wait any longer, so I seize his sizable cock in my fist and work him until he too is groaning with urgent desire.
I remember to be safe, and say between long, deep kisses, “Do you have...anything?”
“Already on it,” he says with a grin. His mouth is still stuck to mine, groaning each time I pull on him. “Super fine, super unobtrusive.”
Sure enough, there it is.
A thin coating over his handsome member. “Wow.” I smile up at him.
“I need to feel you around my cock, Little Bird. Not feel a condom.”
Dirty talk used to seem derogatory, but on his lips, it makes my pussy pulse.
I stroke his erection. “We’re both ready then...”
He pushes my legs out of his way and just before he slides inside me, he says, “More than ready.”
Thick and unyielding, his cock fills me up inch by glorious inch.
By pushing my legs up and back, Zane enters my body as deeply as he can, closing his eyes to shut off all but the physical sensation of being inside me.
Yes, that’s good to see.
And when he slowly pulls out, he opens his eyes to see me gasp and says, “Fuck, you look good enough to eat.”
The firelight flickers, illuminating every sinewy ripple of his well-defined muscles.
His bronze complexion is so like honey I could eat him up.
From nowhere, a need arises.
“I swore this wouldn’t happen between us, Zane, but since it is”--I push up--“Get on your back. Little Bird wants to steer this vessel.”
He sniggers, perhaps a little surprised by my bold, slightly comical command, but then he grins and gets on his back like a good boy. “I’m loving you right now, Ms. Levin.”
“You do?” I say, allowing my hair to fall heavily over my face as I change position.
And although I know he doesn’t mean love love, the sentence still somehow nourishes my conscience when I climb onto his cock, slide down until my ass rests on his thighs, and rock back and forth, smoothing my sex up and down until our juices flow and we are spent.
I didn’t take long to let go of the first orgasm I’ve had in over two years.
Things hadn’t been right between Martin and me for a long time.
When I awake a few hours later, the fire is out and the room is cold.
Zane opens his eyes when I sit up, and he strokes one finger down my spine.
“Want me to carry you to bed, beautiful? It’s a little cool down here without the fire.”
Smiling and feeling he has a direct link to my mind, I say, “That’d be great. Don’t fancy being naked when your staff starts working. And I think you wrecked your Chanel dress.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll have to buy you another one. Your curves did incredible things to it.” He stands, and even his flaccid cock is a thing of splendor. “Come here,” he says, lifting me into his arms as though I weigh no more than a bag of sugar. On our way out of the living room he asks, “You’ll let me warm you
up before we go back to sleep, though?”
My sex weeps with joy at the idea. I wink. “Oh, go on then.”
We kiss for moment and my stomach lurches with emotion--which emotion, I’m unsure of. He jogs through the hall to the grand staircase.
I inhale him, my head against his chest, thinking how this has been one hell of a night and I don’t want it to end.
And neither, it seems, does he.
Before entering one of the bedrooms on the second floor, he tells me, “I can’t get enough of you, Abbey Levin. You should be aware of that.”
He throws me on his huge bed and after I land, he allows me one bounce then enters me in one eye-watering movement.
This time he steers the vessel and he is vigorous about it, not asking if I want him because he knows I do.
Chapter 9
My eyes open reluctantly and for a moment, I remember what happened between Zane and me as a dream.
A delicious, naughty dream.
But when I see Zane’s hand draping over my waist, reality jumps up to bite me, and guilt--filthy, nasty guilt--makes me sneak from the bed, careful not to wake my illicit lover.
But as I wrap a towel around me, I see the handsome face sleeping, blissfully unaware of the stress my conscience is experiencing only a few feet away.
I sold my body for an app.
Whether I enjoyed it or not--and let’s face it, I so did--I whored myself out for money, and I’m disgusted with myself.
“I need to get away,” I whisper to myself, frustrated my clothes were elsewhere and I’d have to find them. “Forget the damn app; I’ll find a job. Anything’s better than this feeling.”
Once I leave his room and find my own, I redress in my clothes and leave.
The driver is playing a game on his cell phone, leaning against Zane’s limousine, while the sun burns the dew on the windscreen.
When he sees me beginning my walk of shame, I swallow my pride--or what’s left of it--and ask, “Sorry, but could you tell me how I might order a cab to the nearest train station?” My cheeks burn, imagining what he must think of me. “I… err... I need to get home.”
“Climb in, Ms. Levin. I’ll take you. Mr. Richmond won’t like you to find your own way home.”
He knows my name? “Thank you.”
Throughout the drive, the events of last night churn my stomach and blight my mind. By leaving Zane in bed like this means I’ve kissed goodbye to his support, to his investment.
And without it, there’s no app. I fight tears until I reach home and close the door behind me.
Then I cry all day.
Kylie returns from her date with her long-term boyfriend, Felix, to find me crying into a bottle of Merlot.
She isn’t happy.
“Jeez, lady. What’s with you?” She throws her coat and keys to the floor and crouches beside me. Her concerned face only renews the shame in my heart.
When I blubber, she gathers me up in her arms. “Hey, come on.” Her Chanel No. 5 perfume doesn’t help when I picture Zane ripping the Chanel dress from me. “What’s happened and more importantly, do I need to call the police or buy a gun?”
“What?” I pull away. “Oh no. The last thing I need is everyone knowing what I’ve done.” People’s judging gibes and glares will only add to my misery. Oh no, they’ll think I’m a cheap tart who seduced him for the money. “Anyway, the worst part of it all is how willing I was to go through with it. He didn’t make me or even coerce me. I went to him like a lamb to the slaughter.”
“Slaughter? You’re scaring me. You’re not making sense.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I focus on her green, clueless gaze, hating that I’m about to disappoint my best friend with my incorrigible behavior. “I sold myself, Kylie. I bartered my body for my bloody app.”
Her eyes widen. “You did what?”
“You heard. And not once, but twice.” His firm touch, the delectable sensation of his cock filling me up… I remember these things, making me ball my hands into fists. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, Nic. This is my lowest point.” I slap my head in frustration. “What was I thinking? How could I sink so low?”
She grabs my hands. “Stop hurting yourself.” When I retrieve them and reach for my wine, she shakes me by my shoulders. “That won’t help either. Calm down. Perhaps this isn’t as bad as you think it is.”
“Ok, ok,” I snap, not liking being taken in hand, or patronized, by my bestie. This is a catastrophe of my own making.
“This all sounds a little...dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Dramatic? I’ve whored myself out. How dramatic can it get?”
Why doesn’t she understand?
“But you fancied the pants of him, yes?” Along with her confounded frown, she begs the question. “You slept with a hot guy. So what?”
“So what?” Why isn’t she shouting at me, telling me I’ve done something terrible? “What do you mean?”
“Well, when I sleep with a guy I fancy the pants off, I’m usually in it for the fun of it, the emotion of it maybe. Not for the dinner or gift he might buy me next time we meet up. And I very much doubt that when things got sweaty between you two, you were thinking about anything much, and certainly not about the cash he might invest in your app.”
“Of course not, but...” I say. Her attempts to establish reason only annoy me, “Oh, stop trying to excuse my behavior. We both know what I am; let’s not dress it up. Anyway, I left him sleeping this morning, which pretty much seals the deal.”
“What deal? You had a deal? He agreed to pay you for sex?”
“What? No, there was nothing like that. I mean any financial support I ‘earned’ will now be off the table. If he gave it to me now, I really would be a whore.”
Kylie climbs to her feet and lets go of a huge breath. “Oh Abbey, you’re an emotional fool at times, but I love you.”
“Nice.”
“Now go clean yourself up. Forget about all this rubbish for now... at least for tonight, before you blow a gasket or something.”
Her harsh truths and comforting smile drag me to my feet. She’s right; I need to calm down. Stressing won’t help me find a new plan for my future, and it sure as hell won’t clear my conscience. A snotty nose is so not a good look, either. “OK.”
She calls as I drag my ass upstairs to the bathroom, “We can see one of your favorite movies together later, if you like.”
Sniffing and generally sorry for myself, I smile, inhale, and tell her, “Aw, thanks, Nic. You’re awesome.”
“No problem.” She pulls a familiar DVD from behind her back, wearing a smirk. “How’s Pretty Woman sound?”
“Not funny,” I say, and only snigger at her joke when I close the bathroom door.
But in the bath, I cry again.
What have I done?
Chapter 10
Monday morning arrives on the heels of my shame.
Having not heard from him, I exhale at my silent phone before staring into the bathroom mirror.
“Enough of this. What am I expecting? After steak and fries I give it up without so much as a second thought, run away at sunrise without a word, and what? He’s supposed to call, be my guy, and everything’s going to turn out great? This is no fairy tale, this is my god-awful life. It’s time to find myself a real job; the dream of becoming the proud creator and owner of FloristApp is indeed dead at my feet.”
Kylie pops her head around the door on her way to work.
She’d been great during my cry-fest and self-pity party, trying to help me see the funny side and assuring me I’d done nothing wrong. But to me, I had, and nothing she could say convinced me to the contrary.
“Talking to yourself isn’t a great idea, unless you’re talking sense for a change--in which case I’m all for it,” she smiles.
“I’m talking my kind of sense.”
Her ample chest deflates with disappointment, and perhaps pity fatigue. “I heard the bit about finding a job.
Good to be proactive. You’ll soon forget all about--”
I show her my palm. “Don’t say his name or mention the app. I’m done with it. I’m going to need your suit again, I’m afraid. I’ll drop my résumé off everywhere this afternoon and see who bites.”
“Great idea. It’s hanging in the wardrobe, freshly dry-cleaned. I’ll cook us something lovely later, or we could go out. On me?”
“Thanks, but you’re doing enough for me already.” Like a roof over my head, pocket money for transport, use of your wardrobe, the briefcase. Oh, and food. She’s become my mother. “I’ll cook us something, and I’ll take us out with my first paycheck. Can’t wait to start contributing.” I smile, but feel nothing but shit.
A ping on my cell alerts me to the arrival of an email.
“You gonna get that?” Kylie asks, grinning excitedly. “Might be--”
“Don’t say a word!” I tell her, not wanting to talk about him, or test fate. “We both know it’s just spam.” My cell is on the side of the bath so I pick it up--or rather, I snatch it--and open my emails.
“Damn,” I gasp, “He actually did it.”
I proceed to read aloud the message from my bank:
You have received a deposit of one million dollars into your savings account.
Please contact us if any assistance is required.
“What the...?” Kylie’s jaw drops for a long pause, then she speaks. “I thought you said he wouldn’t give you the money after you left him?”
“How can he do this to me?” I’m insulted, disgraced, confused. “Who the hell does he think he is?” But... “Not a word since we, since I...and then this?”
She frowns. “Sorry, what? You’re annoyed with a guy for giving you one million bucks? Abbey, stop and think for a minute.”
After pushing past Kylie, I storm into my room, throw my cell into my handbag, climb into a pair of jeans, and grab a T-shirt and my leather jacket from the wardrobe.
“You want me to think, now, after this colossal level of insult?”
