by Ava Claire
"It's..." I winced, gritting my teeth against the torment. "I've done it before. And I didn't like it."
Just as yellow became red, the color stinging on my tongue, he released my aching peak. "Was that so hard?"
I narrowed my eyes to slits, wanting to smart off but knew that would just make him take the other one. Or worse--reclaim the first. "No sir."
He went back to the table, picking up the candle. "Wax play can be uncomfortable and when performed by a novice, it can be downright unpleasant." He swirled his wrist, the flame bobbing and weaving. "At the moment, your comfort level is of little concern to me because you need to remember that I am in control." He stepped closer and I could smell the wax mixing with the heady aroma of my arousal. "And as delicious as I find that body of yours, I want to see it on my terms. Not yours."
His eyes cut down to the candle, watching as he tilted it and the glow slanted. I held my breath and exhaled with a hiss as hot, liquid wax made contact with my skin. It was an electric jolt, a shock to the system as it hardened. I looked down at the translucent line on my chest. The second drip landed a few millimeters beside the second and I gasped. It seemed impossible that it could be hotter than the first. When the third landed I was futilely squirming, trying to pull away from him.
"Your color?"
I spread my lips, sure I would say yellow until I saw that the cooled wax was trailing down toward the curve of my breast. The sight of him drinking up my reaction, his cool gaze devouring my body, made a different kind of heat spread in my belly. "Green."
I regretted it as the next drop of wax sizzled, racing around the contour of my breast, licking my areola before hardening.
I knew where the next splash would land and I braced myself for it, closing my eyes and knowing the flash of heat would dissipate and leave the tingle of ecstasy. And if he hadn’t just pinched the solid pebble, the ‘just breathe’ mantra I whispered over and over might have worked.
But there was no breathing through what came next.
White hot wax gripped my nipple and even after it coated my peak and had cooled I still felt the proof of it ricocheting all over my body. I squeezed my eyes shut, riding the wave and when I came down I realized that I wasn’t squirming away like before--I was arching toward him.
He leaned in, warm lips skating my jaw. “You want more, don’t you?”
“Yes sir,” I groaned between pants.
The expectation of how it would feel brought every nerve ending alive, opening me up to sensations that warred for dominance. Delight and discomfort raced in and out of my flesh.
He stepped back and picked up his glass, studying me. “There are two sides of everything. Right and wrong. Light and dark. Hot and...” He held up a glittering cube of ice. “Cold.” He took it and pressed the edge against the center of my neck, his eyes studying me as I shivered and sunk my teeth into the curve of my bottom lip.
The sting of the ice was a stark contrast to the flash of warmth of the candle. I sighed against the chill then felt my skin warming as he rounded the other breast untouched by wax. He swirled the cube around my nipple and I moaned, tugging against my restraints, writhing from the sensation. It was melting…I was melting, disintegrating into a puddle at his feet.
A slave to desire. A slave to him.
The icy temperature turned my nipple into a tingling, ultra-sensitive thing and he leaned in, holding it still as his lips gripped mine. The fire inside took over as he breathed in my moans.
The icy trail descended toward my g-string and I hissed when I realized the final destination of that shivering cold cube. I was burning up with need, sure it would fade at any moment, but he kept going. The ice sent cool flashes through me, making me gasp as it breathed into my intimate folds. He wasn’t, he couldn’t...oh but he did. The world spun--beautiful, maddening and breathtaking as the ice cube lingered on my clitoris.
“Beg me,” he said huskily, his mouth hovering above mine. “Beg me to let you come.”
“Please let me come,” I moaned. “Jacob...” I felt my release building, threatening to spill over and drown me in ecstasy.
The ice was pulled away and replaced by the warmth of his fingers, swirling and flicking around my swollen bundle of nerves and with a deep sigh, he push a digit inside me.
“Come for me...come now.”
Desire rushed from me and I stretched toward its warm embrace, pleasure shooting out of my fingers and toes. I was wide open. Strained to the breaking point and beyond. I made wild, abandoned groans that sounded more animal than human. Feral. Carnal. He was right there with me, eyes closed as he savored the melody of my climax like it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
I was still lost in the throes of passion, gasping and panting. When he released my arms from the cross, I nearly tumbled over from exhaustion but after my feet were free, he scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bed.
I watched him pull his shirt off, revealing his beautiful golden chest, the cuts and planes flexing as he towered above me. The pants were the next to go and then the last piece of clothing that kept him from me joined the heap. His lust engorged him and his eyes were dark with need as I brought my knees up. He moved between my thighs, sheathing himself to the hilt with a single thrust. He impaled me, sending a moan full of yearning from my open mouth. He drew out, his face rippling with emotion before he drove back inside. Filling me. Stretching me.
“Come again,” he said hoarsely, his thrusts pounding me into the mattress. “Come with me.”
My second climax monsooned the first. It was different, the symmetry of our bodies, of our breathing turning it into something poetic. Even though we’d been together countless times, this time was different. Like we’d reached something, fought tooth and nail and this beautiful release was our salvation.
I laid my head against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beat in time with my own.
“You’re my forever, Leila.”
His voice was filled with so much naked emotion that my heart swelled in my chest. It left no room for the past, only our future.
****
I pulled my t-shirt over my bare chest and stepped into a pair of jeans. Jacob was still out cold, thank god. I was afraid the sound of my cell rattling would wake him, but he didn’t even stir.
I buttoned my jeans as I bounded down the staircase. I had great timing because the elevator dinged and slid open just as I hit the landing. Billy Meyer, one of the night security guards, was standing in the foyer, holding a box of pancake mix and syrup.
“Here you go, Miss Montgomery!” His sun weathered face creased in happiness as he held out the plastic bag.
I took it and fished for cash in my pocket. “You’re a life saver, Mr. Meyer.” I’d decided to surprise Jacob with breakfast, but didn’t want to hoof it all the way to the nearest grocery store. Billy was ending his shift and offered to run and grab me some ingredients and bring them up.
“Call me Billy, please.” He didn’t accept the twenty that I held out. “It was only a couple of bucks. Just consider it a thank you. You’re one of the few people in this building that actually remembers my name.”
I put the bag on the counter and turned back to him. All the guards on staff were nice, but I’d clicked with Billy ever since he’d given a photographer that was hounding me a few weeks ago a stern talking to. He told me that I reminded him of his granddaughter, but I had a feeling that even if I didn’t he would have been my knight in shining armor. He was just that kind of guy.
“How’s Mindy doing?” I asked, remembering his granddaughter’s name.
“Ready for a break, I think,” he said with a chuckle. “She works so hard.” He touched the visor of his hat. “Well, I won’t keep you. If you ever need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I thanked him again then turned to the kitchen. I had some fruit already cut up; now all I needed was to not burn the penthouse down while I whipped up some pancakes.
The mix was eas
y enough since all I had to do was add water and surprisingly, I managed to pour in two dollops without making a mega pancake or splattering it all over the place. Not that I couldn’t eat a mega pancake--or a small house. After our first bdsm session in over a month, I felt like I’d just run a marathon. I was spent, physically and emotionally. But I loved it—it was like we’d climbed our Everest, a mountain of all of these trials and tribulations—and now we could finally move forward.
You’re my forever, Leila.
I got goose bumps and couldn’t stop smiling as I flipped the pancakes. My smile broadened when I saw they were a perfect golden brown. I knew that whatever happened, whatever was next, I could face it with Jacob.
“You’re cooking breakfast?” His voice filtered from upstairs, still thick with sleep.
I pointed at him with the spatula. “The best breakfast ever, in fact.”
“Is that right?” he smirked, walking down the stairs. He came over, his eyes taking in the line of orange wedges, strawberries, and grapes.
“Mmhm. So I hope you’re hungry.” I turned back to the skillet and slid the two pancakes onto porcelain plates.
“It looks great, babe.” He went to work, helping me setup by putting the fruit into two square bowls. He swiped a strawberry and turned back to me, blocking me in. “I think I might need to sample something though. Make sure the fruit is of the utmost quality.” His eyes glittered. “Shirt off.”
I made a face. “What?”
“Shirt. Off.”
God when his voice deepened like that...
Heat flared in my belly, in my cheeks, and I obeyed, pulling the t-shirt up and over, letting it drop to the floor.
When he took the tip of the strawberry and trailed it down the valley between my breasts before taking a bite, I had a feeling sex was on the menu.
Lucky me, because I was starved.
He took another swipe then offered it to me. My eyes gobbled him up as I sunk my teeth into the tender flesh of the truth. As soon as I swallowed, the fruit was forgotten as our lips locked and he pulled me to his chest. He tasted sweet, ripe with lust. I’d never get enough of the way he tasted. I’d never get enough of Jacob Whitmore.
The elevator dinged and I froze, his lip between my teeth. I released him and snatched up my t-shirt, bringing it to my chest. “Were you expecting someone?”
He shook his head. “At this hour? Absolutely not.”
He moved past me and I took the opportunity to pull my shirt over my head and tried to make myself respectable. It had to be someone on his cleared visitors list or else the front desk would have called up for permission before letting them up in the private elevator.
I heard Jacob’s voice, hushed and dark with anger and I skated across the floor, expecting to see a photographer, but I stopped when I saw a woman in the foyer. She looked to sleek to be a paparazzo, dressed in a crisp white suit and stilettos. The tailored fit of her jacket and pants and the bright, classic color gave her an air of chic sophistication. She had short, cropped salt and pepper hair and even though I could only make out her side profile, there was something about her jawline and demeanor. The way she held herself with confidence and authority reminded me of Jacob.
When she faced me, I knew who she was immediately. She had more in common with Jacob than a presence—she had the same aristocratic nose and patrician features, devastatingly gorgeous like she’d just walked off the glossy pages of a magazine.
It was Jacob’s mom, Alicia Whitmore.
She moved forward with fluidity, extending her hand. “You must be Leila.” She held her head high, showcasing her long, lean neck and a glittering diamond necklace. “I’m Alicia Whitmore, Jacob’s mother.”
I shook her hand gingerly, eyes darting over to Jacob. He looked just surprised as I was. “H-Hi.”
Her cool gray eyes studied me for a moment before her ruby red lips spread into a grin. “I was just telling Jacob that I was in town for a charity luncheon and wanted to swing by and say hello--”
“And I was telling my mother that she should have called first,” Jacob cut in brusquely.
My eyes darted to him in bewilderment. I knew he had a difficult relationship with his father, but from the bits and pieces he’d shared of his childhood, he’d always had a solid connection with his mother. Not to mention the fact that I hoped they were close since he was sharing important facets of our relationship with her...like a desire to ask me to be his wife. None of it seemed to line up with the contemptuous vibes he was throwing her way.
If she was taken aback by his comment or reception, it hardly showed on her classically attractive face, her eyes glinting for a moment before she blinked it away.
I guess the mask was genetic.
“I’m sorry if you were pre-occupied.” Her emphasis was on the word as her gaze detoured to my chest. When her eyes returned to mine, she gave me a knowing wink that made me cross my arms uncomfortably. I wasn’t even that close with my own mother.
“We were just, uh, about to have something to eat.” I said, gesturing at the kitchen.
She didn’t wait for further explanation, breezing past and taking in the spread like it was the most scrumptious thing she’d ever seen.
“How delicious,” she said, popping a grape in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed then batted her thick eyelashes at me. “Room for one more?”
“Sure/No.” Jacob and I said in unison. I frowned at him and he glared right back.
I ignored him. “We’d love to have you.”
She clasped her hands together with glee, her manicured nails glittering...along with a wedding ring that eclipsed her left hand. I knew that Jacob’s father had passed away years ago so seeing it made me feel odd. My inner voice told me that I didn’t know what their relationship was like, but I felt like Jacob and Allegra’s revelations helped me put together a fairly accurate picture of what Carlton and Alicia Whitmore’s marriage was like.
Jacob’s father was filthy rich and he had a young, beautiful trophy wife...but she wasn’t just in it for the money. She loved him. Loved him even though he had an affair that lasted for years. Loved him when he ended the affair and shut his heart off to both his wife and son. The fact that she was still walking around with the ring, the very symbol of their love and marriage was...unsettling.
I gave myself an internal shake and walked over to help her with the plates, trying futilely to hide the fact that I was bra-less. I didn’t exactly have the cup size to pull it off without making it fairly obvious that I was missing support, so I needed to put something on stat.
I put down the last plate and turned toward the stairs. “I’m just going to run upstairs real quick and--”
“You don’t have to put a bra on for me, dear. I have a pair of my own and I’m sure my son is more than acquainted with yours.”
And I was pretty sure every inch of skin on my body flamed red with embarrassment.
So Alicia Whitmore didn’t mince her words. I tried to tell myself that was a good thing, but from the look Jacob gave her, I think we were both in agreement that there was a line...and talking about my breasts at breakfast was over it.
I sunk into the chair beside Jacob and realized that ‘look’ wasn’t even the right descriptor for the way he was eyeballing his mother. He was glaring at her like one more misstep and he’d toss her from the balcony.
I reached over and gripped his thigh and he blinked, like my touch roused him from a trance. He glanced at me and gave me a small nod. He was okay for now.
I uncorked the syrup, about to douse my pancake with the sticky sweet sugar until I remembered. I offered his mother a sympathetic smile. “Sorry we didn’t have any extra, I wasn’t expecting company.” I pointed at the kitchen. “I could whip you up a couple of pancakes real quick if you’d like.”
“I haven’t had a-” She twisted her mouth. “-‘pancake’ since I was a child. But you’re such a sweetheart for offering.” She shifted her eyes to Jacob. “You didn’t tell me sh
e was so sweet, Jakey.”
My fork clattered to the table. Jakey. It sounded so familiar...and then I remembered another woman using the same name. Saying it in the same whiney, sing song tone.
Rachel Laraby.
“Everything okay, Leila?” she purred.
I told myself it was a coincidence and that Rachel just happened upon the nickname because there weren’t too many variations for a name like Jacob. The only other explanation would be that Jacob lied when he said he wasn’t serious about her. She wouldn’t have had any other reason to have met his mother outside of being his girlfriend and during their meeting, overheard Alicia’s pet name for her son. There was another, less probable reason, but that was even more troubling. Rachel hadn’t tried to contact me or Jacob since Italy--could she have contacted Alicia?
I pushed my suspicions away. It was early. I was hearing things. My nerves were playing tricks on me. “I’m fine, Mrs. Whitmore. Just a little tired.”
She plucked another grape from the vine and popped it in her mouth. She chewed it slowly, savoring the silence as Jacob and I watched her.
“My son doesn’t keep you too busy does he, Leila? I know he can be quite the slave driver--”
“What did you just say?” Jacob growled, already up, the veins at his temple bulging.
She looked up at him innocently. “What do you mean?”
“Who have you been talking to, Mother?”
I’d never seen him so angry, practically frothing at the mouth. Not even with Cade.
She didn’t even flinch. “Sit down, Jacob. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I was confused by it all, looking back and forth between the two of them for clarity, but I found none. Every question led to another. My head was spinning like I’d just stumbled off a Tilt-a-Whirl.
“How about you answer my question or you can get the hell out?” Jacob thundered.
I gaped at him, flabbergasted by his fury, but finding my voice. “Jacob--”
