by Ash, Ingrid
I slow my step, looking defeated as he makes his way down the corridor and into one of the rooms. I roll my eyes. Fuck it. What do I have to lose? With all determination, I enter that forbidden territory, following him through the heavy wooden door into what seems to be an office. He's standing by his desk, his eyes pointed at me like laser beams.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, his words come out slow and seething with barely restrained anger.
I roll my eyes as I saunter around the desk towards him. “Just sit down and shut up,” I tell him, pushing him down into his leather chair. His eyes go wide, completely flabbergasted... and I love every minute of it.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Have you?” I say as I climb on top of him, hiking up my skirt and straddling his lap with my thighs.
“You know damn well you're not supposed to be in this room of the hou--”
His words become muffled as my mouth crashes hard against his. Hesitantly, he starts to kiss me back, as if he doesn't want to but just can't resist. His lips lock with mine, his tongue darting into my mouth and wrestling with my own. He groans reluctantly into me as I rock my hips against him, feeling the tense muscles of his body begin to relax. I forgot just how intoxicating his own kiss was, getting lost in it for a moment.
Keep your head in the game, Tamara. Stay in control.
I break the kiss, pull back and watch him for a split second. He's breathless and still slightly angry. He parts his lips to protest just as my hand slips between us, and down between his thighs. I can feel him and he's slightly hard in my palm already, much to my pleasant surprise. Maybe Mr. Cartwright likes being dominated after all?
His face contorts – his brows lowering and wrinkling in the middle at first touch. I stroke my palm against him heavily and he begins to relax into me as I feel him stiffen. He grips my hips in attempt to spin me around but I don't let him. Instead he winds his arms around my waist, pulling me close against his chest just before my lips land on his. He kisses me deeply, like he means it. His tongue darts into my mouth and I suckle it, my other hand wrapping around the back of his neck.
This is not what I planned. And damn did I miss him. The kiss breaks again but he keeps me close. “I'm...sorry about last night,” he says, and I don't know how to respond. He keeps his forehead against mine and continues. “It was just... unexpected for me, too. I was angry,” is all he says. I sigh, understanding it. I think. He reaches for his buckle. “All I really wanted to do was come home and make love to you.”
“I...” My lips part, and I melt. He hoists my hips up and I hear him unzip his slacks. He pulls me in close again, his tongue flicking at the base of my neck before I feel his lips travel up to my chin, nipping at my skin along the way. I feel his hand between my legs, moving my panties to the side. He shifts our bodies, positioning me just right until I feel his slick cock against my equally wet entrance. He pushes just the tip inside me and I gasp, sucking in air – it's been a month, way too long to be without this. I watch him bite his lip as he slides me down onto his cock, filling me and stretching me like it's the first time all over again.
My fingertips fall lightly against his cheeks. I can see his full passion written all over his beautiful face, up close and personal, watching him as he fucks me. He closes his eyes tight and rocks his hips gently against me – I moan with pleasure at the feeling of having him inside me once again. His arm slides down around my hips, pulling me into him. His lids flicker open and our eyes connect. Following his lead, I roll my hips again, riding him as he bucks up into me. I press my face close against his, gripping his hair as he grips my hips tighter. He groans, jerking and twitching inside me as our bodies move faster – it's rough, but in perfect synchronicity. I push him back against the seat, his hand gripping my ass tight as I ride him hard. His head falls back as he climaxes and shoots his load into me.
I fall against his chest again, feeling him wrap his arms around mine.
“So, am I allowed in the East wing now?” I ask, breathlessly.
He chuckles, his body bouncing against mine. “No. You're too much of a distraction.”
I pull back with a soft smile. “I'm sorry for distracting you from your work,” I say.
He smirks, running his fingers through the ends of my tresses. “And it was just the distraction I needed.” His eyes follow me as I slide off him and stand to my feet. “Just where are you going?” he asks.
“Away.” I reply, as I adjust my clothing and he does the same.
He stands as well, towering over me and walking me back until he has me pressed against his desk. “Who said I was done with you?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
The look in his eye and the low growl in his voice alone is enough to make me clench. I would easily let him take me again, but I resist. I smile, patting the lapel of his jacket and whisper, “Consider this a little taste of your own medicine.” With a smug raise of my eyebrow, I slide out from him and move towards the door.
He watches me, his jaw clenched with a twinge of a challenge in his eye. “I'm going to make you regret this, Tamara.”
“Oh I bet you will,” I reply. And I'm looking forward to it.
I slip through the door and into the hall, grinning from ear to ear. I'm so in my own world when I close the door tightly behind me that I don't notice someone standing in the hall until I turn. With a yelp my entire body jumps as the sight of him. Mr. Cartwright Sr. is standing right there, leaning casually against the wall. And he's the only one who's grinning now. Grinning at me. How long was he there? Was the there the entire time? I feel the heat rush to my cheeks and I swear if I could blush they'd give me away right here and now.
“So it's you that has my son all hot and bothered?” he asks.
I'm mortified. This is so not happening right now. “I ...um,” I stutter. Exactly how am I supposed to tell his father that I'm sleeping with him?
Mr. Cartwright Sr. laughs hard and from his belly. “No need to explain. I know my son enjoys his girls of the week. Or day.”
Girl of the... Who does he think he is? With my arms folded snugly across my chest I reply, “Actually, it's been four months. But it's nice to see you again, Mr. Cartwright.”
“None of those formalities – just call me Walter. Or even Walt,” he says.
Learning his name just reminds me that I still don't know Mr. Cartwright's first name. I flash him a tight smile. “It's nice to see you again, Walter,” I say, before moving past him. I can feel his eyes hot on me as I walk away. How did he even get in? Mr. Cartwright doesn't see too fond of his father so I can't imagine him giving him a key. Did he just stay all night? Was he ever going to leave?
“May I ask where you're going?” he calls out to me.
I look back. “I'm just going back to my room.”
His smile fades, and all the color in his face seems to go with it. “Room?” he asks with a questionable bark of laughter. “As in, you live here?”
“Yes, as in exactly that.”
“Well I suppose I'll see you at dinner tonight, since you and my son are so... chummy. His friends and closest business associates will be there, after all.”
I pause on the steps. Yet another thing I knew nothing about. I turn on my heel and face him with a smile. “Yes, you will actually. I'm looking forward to it.”
“Wonderful,” he says, watching me me through the side of his eyes – he may say it but he looks anything but. His weather beaten face looks even more pressed then usual. “What was your name again, love?”
“Tamara. Tamara Pierce.”
CHAPTER 10
We take the limo in to town that night. Mr. Cartwright hasn't said anything to me since he found me downstairs and waiting for him, dressed to the nines. He doesn't question why I'm going or how I found out so I figure his father had words with him. He keeps his gaze fixed on the window, his head propped up against his hand, fingers digging deep into his skin.
“What did he say to you?�
�� he asks, finally breaking the silence.
“Who?”
“My father, what did he say to you earlier today?”
“He.. .he didn't say anything really, he just asked me if I lived there and if I was coming tonight.”
He shifts his body until he's facing me. “And you said yes?” he asks with a look of disgust.His words paired with his expression sting. Was it just a few hours ago that he held me in his office and told me how much he missed me? Or was that all a dream?
“I'm so sorry you're forced to be seen with me in public. Trust me, I don't want to spend it with you either,” I spit out.
“What makes you think you're the one I'm dreading spending the evening with?” he shoots back.
“It's not like I was invited. Once again.”
He sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “There's a lot you don't know.”
“Then why don't you tell me?”
“My father is not a good man. And he definitely isn't someone you want as an enemy.”
An enemy? I quickly remember how downright angry Walter looked when I told him I lived there. But how much of a threat can I, of all people, be to a man who's filthy fucking rich? It doesn't add up.
“Something tells me your father doesn't really give a shit about me, besides thinking I'm not good enough for his little boy,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.
Mr. Cartwright turns and looks me dead in the eye. “You have no idea what he's capable of.”
His tone is sharp enough on it's own but the intensity in his eyes is what frightens me to the core. His father hurt him, I realize that now. All this time I figured he was a spoiled rich kid who whined because daddy didn't have enough time for him, but now I realize it's much more than that. And I know I shouldn't pry, but I'm totally going to, so I tread carefully.
“What happened between you two?” I ask and he doesn't answer. “What did he do to you?”
He shakes his head and replies, “He will cut down anyone who stands in his way. Anyone. And that includes me. But right now, that person is you. You realize that don't you?”
“Me? What did I do to him?”
“You don't get it. He wants me married into a good family, not cavorting with people like--”
“People like what?” I ask softly.
He breathes out loudly, turning away from me again. “Nothing.”
“You can go ahead and say it. I know what I am. “
He doesn't reply. Sitting across from him now, in a dress I could never afford, in a limo I didn't belong in, the gap between us has never been wider. I feel like a charlatan – a wolf in sheep's clothing. And who am I fooling? No one. For a while, I fooled myself, but I’m smarter than that now. And now I wish I hadn't come at all.
*
We arrive at the restaurant -- it’s fancy and exclusive, as expected, with a young, upper crust crowd that reminds me a whole lot of the guests at the party.
Mr. Cartwright helps me out of the limo, glancing at me with an apologetic look in his eyes. He takes me by the arm, proudly, leading me into the restaurant. All eyes are on him as we walk through -- the admiration is obvious and for a split second I hate how good it feels to be on his arm. We go straight toward the back, to a private room with one long table that quite possibly looks even more fancy than the rest of the restaurant. The first person I see is Walter, and actually he’s the only one I recognize. That familiar sly smile of his returns as soon as he sees me. And it's not a friendly smile; it probably looks that way to everyone else, but I know better. It's one of those plotting, sinister, 'I've got you right where I want you' type of smiles, which makes my palms sweat and my breath hitch in my throat. Can I just jump in a cap and speed away back to the mansion now?
“Well look who made it,” he says. I’m prepared for him to greet us until he opens his mouth again and says, “Veronica.”
But of course. How did I not see this one coming? I turn to find the petite blonde standing there in the doorway, with her usual sleek hair pulled into a high bun. I groan and glance at Mr. Cartwright, who seems just as caught off guard as I do. This is going to be one long, awkward night.
“Walt! How are you?” Veronica says as she shuffles across the room, giving Mr. Cartwright Sr. a kiss on both cheeks.
“Good, darling. You look marvelous, as usual.”
I have to stop myself from laughing.
She turns towards Mr. Cartwright, her smile instantly fading when she sees me. “What is she doing here?” she asks.
Now this makes me smile a whole lot.
“I could ask you the same question,” Mr. Cartwright mumbles under his breath, and I have to stop myself from laughing.
“Kids, take a seat. I’m famished and ready to get dinner started,” Walt says.
We take our seats across from him, with Veronica on the other side of Mr. Cartwright, of course. I’m seated next to another couple, who look to both be in their mid thirties. I exchange pleasantries with both of them, they seem to be nice enough. There are about a dozen of us total, mostly Wall Street type guys with their coiffed haircuts, flashy watches and fake smiles. Mr. Cartwright seems to be chummy with them but I notice the wall he still has up between them. I can’t help but wonder if he has any close friends at all?
“Well now I'm being rude, arent?” Walt says over his wine glass. He looks directly at me and I'm not sure I I should be worried or relieved. “This is Tamara. Tamara Pierce. She's a...friend of my son's.”
I smile and glance around the table as the other guests acknowledge me.
The woman leans in, hands daintily folded beneath her chin. “So, Mr. Cartwright, just where did you too meet?”
“Through the agency,” he replies flatly.
Her eyes light up. “Ah, so you're a model? I knew it!”
I blush. “Well, no, not exactly. But that is how we met.”
“Yes, well my son has always been charitable, hasn't he?” Walt chimes in and I stiffen. “Why don't you tell us a little bit more about yourself, Tamara?” he asks with a grin.
I feel my palms begin to sweat as all the attention at the table is, once again, directed towards me. My eyes dart to Mr. Cartwright first, who keeps his gaze low and doesn't react. I shrug, mumbling a bit at first. “There isn't that much to tell? I was born and raised here. I'm just a normal girl.”
He laughs and responds, “Now I wouldn't exactly call your upbrining normal.”
Shit. He knows.
“Please, Walt, normal is relative!” the woman adds in. “Unless you think growing up on a yacht is normal, do you?”
The entire table chuckles, much to Walt's obvious demise, and I pretend to laugh along with them.
“Wonderful point, Jeanine. Normal is relative. Why don't you remind us what it is your parents do, Tamara?”
He leans in and waits for me to respond like a hunter sitting and watching it's prey wander into a trap. A few seconds go by like hours as I silently pray for Mr. Cartwright to chime in, change the subject, or hell, do anything at this point. But he doesn't.
“Um, my mom made clothing for a while,” I reply.
“She was a designer?” Jeanine asks.
“You could sort of say that...”
“I think she means she was a seamstress,” Walt says. He looks towards me and asks, “Correct?”
I nod. “Correct.”
An odd tension falls over the group. I look down at my bare plate, silently.
“And your father?” he continues to press.
Just kill me now.
“Why don't you tell me? I never knew him.”
The other guests stay silent. I can see them putting the pieces together in their head, and it’s a puzzle that clearly spells out “she’s not one of us”. It’s not like I tried to pretend to be someone I’m not.
“Wait, but what about your foster parents? The first set, or the second set, or hell even the fifth set. Whatever became of them?”
I stare back at him, stunned and speechles
s. He’s crossed the line this time, and everyone else seems to notice as well, although none of them say a thing.
“Enough,” I hear Mr. Cartwright mumble beside me.
Walt’s smile fades. “Do you have something to say?”
“I said enough,” he repeats, with more conviction this time. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“Don’t you dare talk back to me. Especially not in front of our friends.”
“Friends? Not one person here is your fucking friend. Especially not me.”
I watch as the lines and wrinkles in Walt’s face twist and contort. His eyes narrow as he tries his damnedest to restrain his anger, a fight he seems to be losing.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I push away from the table before he lets a single word escape his lips. Whatever it is he has to say, I won’t be here to hear it. In a dash, I make my way out of the private room and through the restaurant, breezing by the other patrons until I make it to the front doors and push through into the open night air. I catch my breath, gasping as if I’m breathing for the first time when I’m really just ecstatic to be away from that place.
I clasp my clutch tight under my arm. My first instinct is to hail a cab, as many of the other couples and parties around me are, but then I realize I don’t have any money. So my second instinct is to, reluctantly, walk home. That is until I realize that I don’t technically have a home to walk to.
Before I have a chance to let it all sink in, I feel a hand wrap around my forearm.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Cartwright commands. He tugs me towards the limo but I pull away from him. He shoots me a look as the car pulls into the driveway. What does he expect from me, gratitude?
“I told you he would rip you to shreds,” Mr. Cartwright says to me as we pile inside.
His words sting deep. “Seriously? After everything he just did to me, all you can say is 'I told you so'?” Having him sit there without doing a single thing to defend me was bad enough, but having him essentially blame me for it now was even worse.
