by Kyra Davis
So we laugh and we laugh until our breath fails us and we wash down our merriment and tears with champagne and good food. We bring the conversation back to the trivial, and I ask about his favorite artists and vacation spots (Degas and Jackson Pollock for the former; Paris and the small villages of Vietnam for the latter). He asks about my favorite places to shop in New York and where I get my news (Friends Vintage and Angel Street Thrift Shop for the former; public radio and the Village Voice for the latter). We talk about television and the few movies I do like and the many movies he loves. We talk about his love of puzzles and how it was his mother who introduced him to the world of anagrams and how they used to send each other coded notes all the time when he was in elementary school. He admits to having pretended he was Galileo sending secret notes to Kepler, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I used to pretend that I was Cinderella getting princess lessons from my Fairy Godmother (aka my mother).
I tell him just how much I love to read.
Naming my favorite book was one thing, but spelling out my obsession with reading in general? Well, that may not seem like such a big admission for most people, but for me it is. My rebellious streak started at ten, and since then I’ve kept my love of books a secret. I admit to Lander that I’ve read everything from Faulkner to Charlaine Harris. I’ve read Brian Greene’s science books and the political books of Bob Woodward. The Odyssey, The Canterbury Tales, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, the Shopaholic books—I’ve read everything. I expect him to be surprised by this, but Lander just nods his head and gently fishes for more, asking about my thoughts on specific novels and authors, asking if I ever thought of writing myself (no, not for publication) and if I prefer ebooks to paperbacks (I’m good with either).
“Are you self-educated or did you go to college?” he asks.
“So many questions,” I say with a sigh as I scoop up the last bite on my plate. “Shouldn’t we leave a little to be discovered over time?”
“Oh, I suspect that even if I had a lifetime to make inquiries I’d still be discovering new things about you.” He picks up my hand and runs his thumb back and forth over the inside of my wrist.
I remain quiet as his touch moves from my wrist to my arm, tracing the vein where the life source is held. “If you took that much time to learn about me,” I finally say, “you’d discover that I’m not a good person.”
Lander’s hand stops and he looks up from my arm and into my eyes. “And if you took that much time to examine me,” he says, “you’d discover that I’m worse.”
I giggle. I’m a little thrilled by the darkness of it all, and the mere mention of taking so much time together fills me with a disturbing sense of hope.
“We haven’t talked about Travis yet,” I point out. “If we’re going to feed him false information we’d better figure out exactly what kind of false information will be most beneficial.”
“We’ll get to the subject of Travis.”
“When?”
He flashes me an impish grin. “I thought we’d talk about it over dessert.” He leans forward and touches his lips to my neck, sucks gently at the skin as I feel goose bumps rise all over my body. No one can excite me the way Lander can. No one can challenge or worry me in quite the same way. We’re two creatures shaped by heartbreak and rage.
We’re two people who belong together.
His hands are in my hair as my hands move down to his pants. I can feel his erection reaching for me as his mouth moves to my ear. With one arm he pushes the dishes out of the way. One of them falls, landing on the hardwood floor with a crash just as Lander lifts me onto the table. I wrap my legs around his waist and my hands are in his shirt. He has just the lightest scattering of chest hair, which is coarse against my fingers.
“I want to see you,” he breathes, his lips by my ear, his hands now up my skirt, stroking my thighs.
I smile and lean back just enough to pull off my shirt. He can see my hardened nipples peeking out from the black lace flowers of my bra. I wrap my arms around his neck and nod, inviting him to expose me.
His fingers work quickly and the bra is soon dangling from my shoulders. Seconds later it lies among the shards of ceramic on the floor.
His hands are so warm as they touch me, caressing the skin of my breasts as I arch my back, offering myself on his table as if I’m a delicacy.
One of his hands slips between my legs, and just the smallest movement of his fingers causes the thin fabric of my thong to delicately scrape against my clit.
“Are you wet for me, Bell?” he asks, his whispered voice gliding over my skin.
“Yes,” I whisper back. He shakes his head, unsatisfied with my answer.
“Yes, what?”
I close my eyes as he lowers his head, gasp as his teeth graze my nipple. “Yes,” I say again, “I’m wet for you, Lander.”
I feel his smile against my skin. With little effort he lifts me enough to pull off my panties and then my skirt.
And now I’m wearing nothing.
He pushes me onto my back, my legs dangling off the edge of the table.
“You’re going to spy on Travis for me,” he says, his hands moving from my calves, to my hips, to my stomach, to my breasts.
“Yes.”
“Will you enjoy it, Bell?”
Again his fingers slide between my legs and he’s touching me as I writhe before him.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what, Bell?”
“Yes, I’ll enjoy it.”
His finger pushes inside.
“You won’t disappoint me, will you, Bell?”
“No,” I breathe. His thumb moves to my clit. “I’m not going to disappoint you in any way.”
“That’s good,” he says. “It would be a shame if you did, particularly when you’re so capable of bringing me so much pleasure.”
I bite down on my lip before replying, “I always give as good as I get.”
His smile spreads into a grin and his fingers continue to play. I can feel myself being brought closer and closer to the edge.
“I want you to tell him that you overheard me on the phone. Tell him I addressed the person on the line as Mr. Talebi.”
That name again. I want to ask what it means, but then Lander’s thumb starts making little circular movements, adding a new and exciting sensation. I cannot question him now. All I can do is agree.
“What are you going to do, Bell?” he asks as he brings me closer and closer to orgasm. “What will you say to my brother?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll tell him . . . tell him that you were speaking to Talebi,” I gasp.
“Say it again,” Lander says. “I want to make sure you memorize your lines.”
“You were speaking with . . . Oh, God!”
“No,” Lander says. A second finger pushes inside, making me whimper in pleasure. “I don’t speak to God. Who will I be speaking to?”
“Talebi,” I moan.
“That’s right. You’ll tell him that for me. Won’t you?”
“Yes.” I’m so very close I can barely stand it.
“Do you like spying for me, Bell?” he says, his voice low, teasing. He knows the answer.
“Yes,” I say again.
He leans over me, whispering into my ear, “You will be my little spy, stealing secrets and exploiting them for my entertainment.”
I moan. My whole body is trembling.
“And do you know why you’ll do these things for me, Bell?”
“Why?” I breathe. “Tell me.”
He raises himself slowly, looking down at me as I writhe. “You’ll do it because you’ll like it. You like the game.”
“Yes!” I reach for him, but as my hand extends, the ring of the doorbell echoes through the penthouse.
Someone is here. And not just in the building. Someone was granted access to this floor and is right outside.
I try to get up but Lander gently pushes me back down. “I told you I ordered dessert, didn’t I?”
; My heart is pounding so hard it seems to make the entire table vibrate beneath me.
“Will you come get the door with me, Bell? Will you give me that pleasure?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who’s out there. I don’t know what this is about.
And then I’m struck with the strangest realization:
I trust Lander.
I trust that whatever happens, whatever he has planned . . . I’ll like it.
My heart is still pounding, his hand is still moving on me, and through barely parted lips I once again say, “Yes.”
And suddenly, just as I think I’m about to orgasm right here, on this table with God-knows-who waiting outside the door, he takes his hand away and then pulls me to my feet. I can barely keep my balance as he leads me out of the room, naked, and into the hall to the front door. I stand only a few steps behind. I’m tempted to cover myself, but instead I reach forward and take Lander’s arm, holding on to him tightly as he opens the door.
“Hi, I—” begins the man standing in the threshold, an insulated bag in his hands. But of course he doesn’t finish his sentence as his eyes land on me. He’s young, maybe my age, maybe a college student working part-time delivering desserts to wealthy patrons.
But whoever he is, he’s never seen anything like this. I can tell by the way his eyes wander over me, his mouth hanging open in shock, his eyes alight with desire.
“Ah, you brought the ice cream,” Lander says smoothly, turning to me, keeping the door open wide. “This place has the best ice cream in New York, all made on the premises, of course. They don’t usually deliver, but they made an exception for me.” He wraps his arm around my waist, his hand moving to my hip. “Please put it in the kitchen,” he says to the man.
The deliveryman nods and steps inside, never taking his eyes off me. Slowly, ever so slowly, he walks past, pivoting to watch me as he does.
“The kitchen,” Lander says, a little more sternly this time, and as the man turns to obey orders, Lander pushes me against the wall and kisses me fiercely. His hands are everywhere—my butt, my inner thighs—and then up, once again slipping inside my core just as our audience reemerges from the kitchen. He pauses to watch as I claw at Lander’s back.
I look over at the man. He’s got shaggy black hair that falls into his eyes, and the stubble on his face is so faint it can barely be seen.
Lander’s toying with me, making me shiver, but still I manage a smile for our visitor. “You can leave now,” I say coyly as Lander continues his ministrations.
“But I need to give him his tip,” Lander says, pulling a fifty out of his back pocket and placing it in my palm. His right hand never leaves me, never stops moving. Once again I’m coming close to losing control.
The stranger moves closer. He’s studying me now, watching the way Lander is making my body quiver and sing. His eyes linger on my breasts before falling to where Lander is touching me. I can see that he’s hard for me. I can see that he wants to touch me.
I reach out my hand . . .
. . . and give him the fifty.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Lander asks as he presses his finger in deeper, and I find that I can’t suppress my moan.
“Yes,” the man whispers. “May I . . . may I touch her?”
“No,” Lander says, leaning down to kiss my shoulder. “Only she chooses who can touch her. And she’s chosen me.”
I close my eyes at that. He has no idea why he was chosen. He doesn’t know that the woman whose body he can manipulate so easily has made it her life’s work to manipulate his world.
“May I touch you?” the man asks me, bypassing Lander in his desperation for satisfaction.
I open my eyes and stare into the brown eyes of Lander,
my lover,
my choice.
“No,” I whisper.
Lander smiles and with one hand he opens the door wide again. If anyone were in the hall they’d be able to see us. But no one is there and, very reluctantly, the deliveryman walks out the door. He turns to say one more thing, or perhaps he just wants to burn the image into his memory, but Lander lets the door close and then suddenly we’re alone again.
And I’m on fire.
In an instant I have his pants down. I’m pressed between him and the wall and I lift my legs and wrap them around his hips, allowing him to lower me onto him. I feel him thrusting with unhindered force inside my walls, making me cry out his name again and again as the orgasm finally overtakes me. I claw at his skin, bite down on his shoulder. And when he pulls me away from the wall and lowers me to the floor I don’t protest. Instead I run my fingers against his polished floor as he continues to ride me.
Then, with one swift motion he turns and I’m on top. I sit up, never breaking our connection. His hands go to my hips and he slides me forward and back, making sure that he hits the spot that he knows drives me wild. I throw my head back and pull at my own hair. It seems impossible that my body can handle such an intense ecstasy. Surely I’ll shatter or break.
He moves his hands up just a little higher so now I can feel his palms on the small of my back as he gently pulls me down to him. I put my hands on either side of his head and curl my feet around the insides of his knees as I take control, moving my hips, rubbing my clit against him as I press my breasts into his chest.
We’re so thoroughly connected you would think we were one.
Grinding slowly I push him farther and farther inside me until control becomes difficult for both of us.
His grip moves to my thighs, encouraging me, increasing my pace. He’s the only thing I can focus on. The room itself is a blur, controlled chaos.
Tonight I let a stranger see me. It felt wild and crazy and dangerous . . .
. . . and I never lost control.
I look down at Lander and see the intensity of his gaze, which I can feel as surely as I can feel him inside me. The penthouse is silent except for our rough and uneven breathing.
I start moving even faster and his hips move with mine before he abruptly flips me over again. Now he’s on top, and each thrust is so powerful that the explosion can no longer be contained.
But it’s a sweet explosion. I shake with pleasure as Lander releases himself inside me, filling me, throbbing inside me, making the moment complete.
It’s decadent.
It’s devious.
It’s fantastic.
It’s us.
chapter ten
Hours have passed and now we lie in his bed, him sleeping by my side. But me? I couldn’t be more awake. I should be looking through his things right now, but I don’t want to.
I want to talk.
I nudge him gently with my elbow, and when he doesn’t respond I jab him with more force. “Are you awake?” I ask as he moans and turns in my direction.
“Well, you just jabbed me with your elbow.”
“So I guess that’s a yes?”
“Bell.”
“Who is Talebi?”
There’s a silence in the room. I can’t see him but I can feel him thinking.
I turn onto my side so now I’m looking at his silhouette, his features completely lost to the darkness. “If you want me to help you, you have to,” I say.
“Have to what?” he asks.
“You have to trust me,” I reply. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? You’re trying to work out if you can trust me or not.”
Silence.
I release a loud, exasperated sigh. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll research it. I’ll find out one way or another.”
“I trust you, Bell,” Lander finally says. “I just don’t know if this is information that will help or hurt you. It’s easier to stay clean if you’re ignorant.”
“I don’t want to be ignorant, and a little dirt isn’t going to kill me. If it gets to be too much I’ll wash myself off and walk away.”
“It’s not always that easy.” His voice is softer now, tempered with both concern and affect
ion.
“You need to tell me, Lander.”
Another long silence and I’m about to continue my argument when he finally speaks up. “I think Talebi is feeding Travis information.”
“What kind of information?”
“Information about other companies. Companies that HGVB’s top clients are investing in.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “You mean like insider trading?” I can’t think of a crime less shocking or scandalous than insider trading.
“A lot of insider trading and a lot of corporate espionage.”
That perks me up. I’m not entirely clear on what qualifies as corporate espionage, but it certainly sounds more interesting than insider trading.
“Talebi and some of his associates get information on companies that they aren’t sharing with the shareholders. Sometimes it’s drops in profit that haven’t been reported yet but will be. Other times it’s product development information that if leaked to competitors will weaken the company. I think Talebi is giving this information to Travis for a fee and then he’s advising a few key investors to short the stock. They do, the information comes out or is mysteriously leaked, and our investors get rich.”
“And the companies?”
“It’s bad for them,” Lander admits. “The smaller ones fold. The bigger ones certainly survive, but they all suffer and frequently someone inside their ranks gets the blame for the leak. If I’m right, innocent people are being fired and blacklisted from the industries they’ve spent their lives working in.”
This time it’s me who lets the room fall into silence. Up here on the fifteenth floor the sounds of the city are muted to the point of being practically nonexistent. But the thoughts reverberating through my brain are very, very loud. I’m almost surprised Lander can’t hear them. Travis isn’t looking for companies to invest in. He’s looking for companies he can bet against. And once he places the bet, he makes sure that the company goes down. And if innocent people are hurt by this? Well, Travis has never been concerned with the welfare of innocents. Just ask my mother.
