by Celia Loren
"Brent…Brent," I breathe. Immediately, his mouth is off me, and I feel his strong arms scooping me off me feet and laying me down on the ground. His hands roughly pull my stockings and panties off me as I lay in a daze on the plush Oriental rug. I hear the rip of a condom and then he's pulling my knees apart and his weight is pressing down on my chest. I open my eyes slightly and wrap my arms around his neck as he parts my lips with his tongue. He thrusts inside me and I gasp at the pain. He freezes above me.
"You okay?" he whispers.
"Mmhm," I answer, as I try to spread my knees a little further to accommodate him. Thankfully, he moves far slower as he continues his drive inside me, and I can feel without looking that his eyes are on my face to keep track of my reaction. As he reaches his full depth inside me, I feel him release a slow breath, as though he's searching for control. He gently pulses inside me, and I feel myself stretching out as the pain at my opening recedes. I pull his mouth back down to mine, sliding my tongue against his. He knows that was my cue to continue, he slowly slides back out, almost to his tip, before pressing back inside me.
"Brent," I murmur, moving to his ear and burying my tongue inside it. I hear a guttural sound in response that moves from his chest to his throat, almost a growl. He begins to move a little faster, and I can feel his shoulder and upper back muscles tensing under my hands. I feel him reach around, taking my hands in his and moving them above my head, pinning them above me to the carpet. My eyes fly open and I see him staring down at me, his eyes dark with desire.
"You're mine," he whispers.
"Yes," I almost gasp, taken aback, but also more turned on than I've ever been in my life.
"Say it," he asks, thrusting in hard.
"I'm yours," I repeat back, and he begins to really give it to me. I can feel pleasure building up inside me, and I know that soon I'll peak.
Not from an orgasm, though—I've never been able to have an orgasm from sex itself, just from foreplay or from the guy taking care of my needs after. But I'm shocked to feel myself rising beyond the point where I normally stop. My body feels completely out of my control. I try to stifle my rising cries as much as possible, remembering where we are in the house. But I feel myself unspool around him, his cock driving spasm after spasm out of me. My body shakes and my hips try to rise off the floor, but he has me pinned tightly down. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, far more uncontrollable and intense than any other orgasm.
I'm barely aware of him finishing on top of me, but I feel him releasing my arms and then gently moving them back down to my sides as he kisses my forehead.
"Cora," he whispers, nudging my cheek with his nose.
"Mm?" I reply, barely able to form the sound with my mouth. He doesn't say anything, but I feel him slowly pull out of me and suddenly the front of my body feels cold without the weight and warmth of him. A few moments later, I feel a soft blanket covering my body, and Brent lying down next to me. I pick up my head and rest it on his shoulder as he tucks his arm around me.
"You alright? You bled a little," he whispers. This fact causes me to raise my head.
"On the carpet?" Shit. I have to clean that right away.
"No, no, relax. Just on me a little."
"Oh," I reply, resting my head back down. "Um, it had been a little while."
"How long's a little while?"
"You don't want to know," I murmur with a little smile, opening one eye to look at him. He doesn't seem to be freaked out at all, just looking back at me with a content expression.
"Long story?"
"Long story." He pauses, and I feel his fingers brush my cheek as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
"Does it have something to do with your sister?" he finally asks. My other eye flies open and I frown at him.
"What do you mean?"
"You mentioned her last night. You said you were having a nightmare about her."
"Oh. I forgot about that." I clear my throat and turn up to look at the ceiling, feeling like my happiness has just been cut through with a cold knife. "I should get to bed," I finally say, and stand up, dropping the blanket off my body.
"Cora…" he protests, sitting up.
"No, no, it's fine," I assure him.
"You're upset."
"I just…I need to get to bed," I repeat lamely. "I can't sleep here, for obvious reasons." I pull my dress over my head and roll my underwear, stockings, and bra into a ball.
"Fine," he says quietly, and I feel a pang in my stomach at the hurt I can hear in my voice. I hurriedly wrap my hair in a bun, press a few pins into it, and stick the rest in my pocket as I slip on my shoes.
"I…I'll see you tomorrow," I add awkwardly at the door. I watch him nod silently as he tucks the blanket around his waist like a towel, and shut the door behind me. The house is quiet now, and I pray that I won't run into someone on my way upstairs. There's no way I don't look a little disheveled. I can hear someone, probably Ms. Mueller, moving around in the kitchen, but thankfully my bedroom no longer lies in that direction. I hustle up the front stairs and down to my new bedroom, just knowing that I need to be alone.
To my surprise, tears begin to pour down my cheeks as soon as I shut my door behind me, and I toss my underthings on the bed in frustration. I'm not even sure what I'm crying about. It's just that what seemed like the start of something wonderful with Mr. Redmond—or is it Brent now?—now seems like a horrible idea. I feel like I want to jump out of my skin.
I can't have people close to me. The thought rings in my head like a bell. I haven't allowed anyone near me since Grace was killed, and now Mr. Redmond is getting too close. As if on cue, I hear his footsteps coming down the hallway. I freeze and listen. I can tell he's moving quickly, but as he nears my doorway he slows down, then stops. I can see the shadow of his feet under the door. He stands there for a minute as I stand in the middle of my bedroom watching him, wanting to go to him, but unable to. Suddenly, the shadow moves, and I hear his footsteps moving away toward his bedroom.
I wait a moment to make sure he's gone, then walk toward the door and lock it. Even if he hears me having a nightmare, I don't want him coming into my room tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
I yawn as I pour myself another cup of coffee. I was so worried about having another nightmare last night that I barely got any sleep. Just as I'm taking the half and half out of the fridge, I hear the front gate buzzer sound. I close the refrigerator door, and head over to the speaker on the wall.
"Yes? Who is it?" I ask pleasantly.
"Detective Felix Donohue with the Norwich Police Department. We have a warrant to search the premises."
Fuck. "One moment, please," I respond in a voice that I hope doesn't betray my shock. I have definitely not been trained for this situation. I press the entry button, wondering what else I should do. I have about thirty seconds before the police are at the front door. I pick up the phone, scanning the laminated list of numbers next to it and dial.
"Redmond Capital Properties," a female voice answers.
"This is Cora MacAuliffe, Mr. Redmond's maid. I need to speak to him immediately. It's an emergency."
"One moment." I'm placed on hold only briefly before I hear a click and Mr. Redmond's deep voice.
"Cora? What's wrong?"
"The police are here with a warrant. They're pulling up to the house now."
"I'll be home right away. Tell my mother. And Cora…the wastebasket in the study," he says shortly and then hangs up. The wastebasket in the study? What's he talking about? My eyes widen as I realize. I hang up the phone and run down the hall and around the foyer toward the study. The door is open and I beeline for the wastebasket. There, wrapped up in a tissue, is the condom we used last night. No point in having to have a conversation with the police about that…particularly with Jaime.
I hear the doorbell ring and stuff the evidence of our tryst into my front pocket. I take a few deep breaths as I walk toward the door so it doesn't look like I've been
running. There's pounding on the door just as I reach it and swing it open.
Detective Donohue stands on the stoop with his arm raised and Jaime next to him, followed by three uniformed policemen and two other people who I assume are crime scene workers of some kind.
"Can I take your coats?" I ask overly politely as they walk in.
"Not this time," Donohue replies with a smile. "You want to see the warrant?"
I shake my head no. "Mr. Redmond is on his way home, and I'm sure he'll bring Mr. Scanlon with him. You can show it to them. I'm going to alert the rest of the household. And try not to make too much of a mess…you know it's me who has to clean it up," I add.
"We'll do our best, but no promises," Donohue calls after me as I hurry back toward the kitchen phone. I make a quick call to the guest house and inform Mrs. Redmond, who just about explodes at the news, then leave a message on Ms. Mueller's cell phone, who is out running errands. A group of the policemen hurry by me and up the back staircase, heading to Jody's room, no doubt.
"Cora!" I hear Donohue's voice calling me from the other wing, and hurry to find him. Just as I pass through the foyer, I see Jaime's back disappearing in the upstairs hallway. I wonder what he's looking for up there. I see Donohue standing in front of the closed door next Mr. Redmond's study.
"What's in here?" he asks as I approach.
"It's Mr. Sarka's office."
"It's locked."
"Well, it's where he monitors all the security from, so I'm sure he wants to make sure it's, you know, secure."
"Do you have a key?"
"No, he prefers to clean it himself," I reply with a shrug.
"Break it down," Donohue says to the burly cop standing next to him.
"Wait! Mr. Sarka will be home soon—he's driving Mr. Redmond here as we speak."
"Sorry. I can't give them a chance to change anything," Donohue replies, nodding to the other policeman. I step back as the policeman raises his leg and kicks the door just next to the handle. The area splinters and I cringe, wondering how old the wood is that's currently falling to the ground.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hear Mrs. Redmond's shrill voice from the foyer and see her watching the officer in shock.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Redmond, I tried to stop them," I explain.
"This house was built in 1895! Are you out of your mind?" she cries as she marches down toward us.
"Stay where you are, ma'am. This is a police investigation," Donohue orders her. I turn to him.
"Look, I know you have to look in every nook and cranny, but…the paintings. Just please be careful of them, alright? They are absolutely one of a kind, especially the one above the fireplace in the study here," I say, pointing. He studies my face quizzically for a moment, and I hold his gaze. "I'm not asking for the Redmonds. I'm asking for me."
He nods. "We'll be careful."
We both turn as Mr. Redmond, Mark Scanlon, and Aaron stride into the foyer from the direction of the garage.
"Oh, Brent! They're destroying everything!" Mrs. Redmond cries a bit hysterically, walking toward him.
"Not now, Mom," Mr. Redmond says, sidestepping her as the three of them walk directly toward Donohue. He doesn't look at me as Mark reaches his hand forward.
"The warrant," he demands. I glance back at the hurt, bewildered expression on Mrs. Redmond's face and hurry toward her.
"Why don't I make you some hot tea, Mrs. Redmond? And then we can sit outside, away from all this commotion. It might be better not to see," I suggest, touching her gently on the shoulder. She nods in a way that reminds me of a lost child, and allows me to escort her into the kitchen. As I make her tea and fetch our jackets, she stares out at the backyard until I open the door for her. I spot the bright green beginnings of a few buds as we make our way toward the bench by the rose garden. I hand her tea to her after she sits and then sit next to her, watching the steam rise toward her face from the mug.
"I just can't believe this is happening," she murmurs, staring out at the brambles. "At least Hugh isn’t alive to see it."
"He loved the house?"
"Very much. I remember how proud he was the first time I came over to dinner to meet his parents. Gave me the grand tour, telling me about every room and the family stories about what had gone on in each room. It absolutely crushed him when we had to sell, and he didn't live long enough to know that Brent was able to buy it back."
"Were your husband and Mr. Redmond similar?"
She laughs softly. "Not at all. Brent is more serious like me, and Whitney is more like…" she trails off. "Hugh never really grew up, because he assumed he'd always be wealthy. His father, who wasn't a great businessman himself, never taught him how to function in the real world, much less how to handle money, so he was completely lost when he realized how little of the family fortune was left. But he was fun. That's what attracted me to him in the first place." She sips her tea, and then glances up at me sharply, as if she's just realizing that's she been opening up to the maid. "Where's Eugenia?"
"Running errands. I left a message for her, so I'm sure she'll be back soon. Is there anyone else you'd like me to call?"
She shakes her head no. "I can't believe this is all happening over Jody. I know that sounds horrible to say, but she was so…nondescript in life. I'm sure she meant a lot to her family, to the people who cared about her…oh, how do I explain? She just had a way of blending into the background."
"A lot of maids do."
"Not you, though," she says sharply. "Or you did at first…but now not as much."
"Oh. Oh…I'm sorry," I stammer. "I wasn't trying to—"
"It's nothing you're doing. Nothing specific. Just something I've noticed. You know, I often think that if I'd gone to college and had the training, I would have been a better businessman than my husband," she says thoughtfully, staring out at the garden. I nod in reply, studying her handsome profile out of the corner of my eye. Maybe her concern over the house and keeping up appearances are due to her never having anything more serious to focus on, not that she couldn't have chosen to go back to school herself, though. "I'll say one thing for Jody, though. She did know her place," she adds, taking a sip of her tea. "She did know her place," she says again.
I resist the urge to bite my nails. Has she picked up on something between her son and me? Maybe she's more observant than I thought.
Chapter Eighteen
It's getting dark by the time the police finish. After they went over the house with a fine-toothed comb, they moved to the grounds. I saw them when I passed by the windows as I did my best to clean up after them. Ms. Mueller is somberly preparing dinner when I finally show the techs to the door. I turn to see Donohue and Jaime walking down the main staircase, their coats draped over their arms.
Jaime looks up at me, and then says offhandedly to his partner, "I just can't believe what he had in his bedroom." Donohue just shakes his head in response as I frown. He must have been referring to Mr. Redmond, but it almost seemed like he wanted me to hear him.
"Hope we didn't disrupt your day too much," Donohue says to me as they step down onto the marble floor of the foyer. I just shrug in response, too tired to be polite and mollify him. They put on their jackets and I open the door for them. Donohue heads out first, and Jaime pauses by the door for a second.
"I think this belongs to you. I'd recognize your work anywhere," he murmurs, staring daggers at me as he presses a crumpled up piece of paper into my hand. I don't have a chance to respond before he pulls his collar up and follows his partner to the waiting squad car. I wince as I realize what's in my hand. That stupid drawing I did of Mr. Redmond. I left it in the trash when I switched rooms. Well, that's the last time it's going to bite me in the ass.
I walk directly into the living room and turn the handle on the side of the fireplace, igniting the gas. Flames quickly rise and I move the screen over and lean in, dropping the paper. I watch as Mr. Redmond's face is quickly consumed and the drawing turns into ashe
s.
"A fire, great idea. And I need some scotch," I hear Mark say from behind me. He walks over to the bar and helps himself. "You seen Brent anywhere?"
"Sorry, I haven't," I reply, though I bet I know where he is. I head back through the foyer and spot him as I turn into the other hallway. He's kneeling by the door to Aaron's office, running his hand over the splintered wood. I walk slowly toward him. He doesn't look up as I approach, and I kneel down next to him, studying his face. I've never seen him wear an expression like the one he has on now; he looks so full of sorrow.
"I kept the pieces. They're in a bag in the kitchen, in case it can be repaired." He nods, though I think he's barely heard me. "It will be alright," I add, laying my hand on his knee.
"No," he murmurs. "I think this is just the beginning. There's been something growing, festering…and I think Jody's death…it was just a symptom. It wasn't the root of the disease." I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. He's right, I can just tell.
"Why don't you come have some dinner?" is all I can say in response. He nods, and we stand up.
"I know last night ended…strangely, but will you come to me tonight?" he whispers as he looks down at me. I nod, and he walks past me. I tremble as I catch a whiff of his scent as he passes. I can't forget how he made me feel last night, and the orgasm that was so different than any I've had before. Whatever desire I have to push people away…surely it can wait one more night.
Dinner is a somber affair, Mr. Redmond and his mother eating quietly, with Mark bringing up different legal points at times, though he's talking mostly to himself. Ms. Mueller and Aaron look equally shaken as they eat their dinners in the kitchen. I'm glad that Whitney wasn't here today to see her home torn apart, but I do think her personality might have helped lighten the mood tonight.
I take another pass around the first floor of the house, shaking my head at how much work I'm going to have to do this week to put everything back in order. Drawers have been completely emptied, pillowcases pulled off cushions, dirty footprints left on the fragile rugs. I walk back toward the dining room, where I've already cleared the plates. Mrs. Redmond has gone to bed, and Mark is leaning toward Mr. Redmond, who's nursing a glass of scotch.
