by Ivy Nelson
He nodded and eyed her carefully. “I want to ask you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“Did you mean it when you said you wanted this more than anything?”
She took a deep breath and blew it out again. “Yes.” It was the truth, and there was no point denying that.
“So why aren’t you bent over my kitchen island with a red ass right now?”
She shook her head. “I just think it’s a terrible idea. We’re going to get hurt.”
He stood then and moved to sit next to her on the bed where he picked up her hands and looked her in the eye. She hated to see the turmoil on his face.
“Two things. We don’t know what the outcome of your deportation hearing is going to be. Second, we’re hurting each other by not doing this so why not be happy while we can?”
It sounded reasonable, but she knew it wasn’t. “Because, the more we get attached to each other the more it’s going to hurt if this doesn’t go the way we want it to.”
A frown marred his handsome features. “So in an effort to save yourself pain down the road, you’re causing yourself just as much pain right now by denying yourself the thing you want? That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“When you put it that way…” she muttered. He chuckled and squeezed her hands.
“Let me make this easier on you. We both want this, so let’s agree to just have fun for however long we have. No strings, I’m not going to collar you or anything, I’m just going to give you as much of a fun ride as I can.”
She pulled her hands fromhis and leaned back, resting on her elbows. “Do you expect me to obey you?”
“Of course. That’s kind of part of the game. Not to mention, you’re technically still in my custody and you legally have to listen to me.” His finger grazed her knee, and he winked which caused her to roll her eyes and stick out her tongue.
“Watch it, the spoon is still on the counter.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, mister. Don’t threaten me. Let me think about it.” When he scowled she sat up and took his hand again. “I hear you. I do. I’m just confused still.”
“Take all the time you want. Just know I’m here and ready whenever you are.”
He stood and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned and said, “You’re not leaving this country Adara. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
She wanted to believe him, she really did. But things were not looking so good for her right now. They were looking downright dire. Her trial was in just two weeks.
Staring at him, she took the last swallow of her soda. “I’m grateful for your o ptimism, because I don’t have any of my own right now.”
“Trust the system. I know we’ve both seen it fail, but we’ve also seen it work. Let’s have some faith that things will work out how they’re supposed to.”
“I’ll try. I think I’m going to take another nap if you don’t mind. I’m feeling drained.”
His smilewas tender and understanding. “Of course. I’ll be in my office for a little while if you need me.”
Adara stared at the door for a long time after he closed it. Trying her best to imagine a world where he was right and everything worked out. It was a nice fantasy.
### It had been a week of pure torture for Michael. Living with Adara and not being able to touch her was pure hell. In the last seven days, he’d caught glimpses of her in various states of undress, going to and from the bathroom for showers and such. One day, he’d come home from work early to find her in the kitchen in her bra and panties rummaging around in the fridge. He’d simply muttered a curse and escaped to his bedroom and private bathroom for a shower. He was doing his best to give her space and let her think but it wasn’t easy. To say he wanted her was an understatement, it was reaching the point of need. There had never been a woman he wanted the way he wanted Adara. Work was a welcome respite from the torture of being in close proximity with the angel he couldn’t have.
Now, he sat at the table in his kitchen, watching her chop vegetables at the counter. She’d insisted on cooking for him and he wasn’t going to say no to a home-cooked meal. Before Darci had met Bradley, she had been his go to for food that wasn’t takeout. Adara grabbed a spoon out of the drawer to stir something on the stove. That God damned wooden spoon. Michael shifted, his pants suddenly becoming uncomfortable. Christ, he had it bad. They hadn’t exactly been walking on egg shells since the spoon incident, but they also hadn’t been chummy.
Adara spent most evenings in her room with the TV on and he worked late or went for a lot of runs. There had been one meeting with her attorney but there wasn’t much to do before the trial other than solidify their strategy to prove that Adara is American by way of the parents who raised her. Hopefully they could convince the judge her birth parents shouldn’t matter since she’s never had contact with them. It was a solid strategy but not guaranteed to work. Judge Carr was fair but also believed in following the letter of the law in most cases. The letter of the law in this case, said Adara doesn’t legally have a right to citizenship.
“Have you heard from Carrie this week?” Adara asked as she added the vegetables to the pan.
“Not yet. I touched base with Peter. He said she’s lost down a research hole and he didn’t want to bother her until she came up for air or another energy drink.” Adara laughed at his recollection of the conversation with Peter. He wasn’t exaggerating though. According to what he knew, when Carrie got on the trail of a story, she lived on little to no sleep and a case of energy drinks. Food was an afterthought often forced upon her by her dominant husband.
Fifteen minutes later, Adara was dishing a steaming veggie and chicken dish into bowls. She produced an unopened bottle of white wine he didn’t even know he had and poured them both a glass. Silence filled the space as she sat at the table and they both dug in. He watched her toy with her food. Something was on her mind. He wanted to urge her to talk to him, but he also didn’t want to push her away. He took a large bite of the dish and nearly moaned. So much better than takeout.
“God that’s good,” he said when he finished chewing. She smiled thinly.
“Thanks. Just something I made up with what you had.” Back to toying with her food. He was about to ask her what was on her mind when she picked up her wine glass and started drinking—more like chugging. She took large gulps of the fruity white liquid anddidn’t stop until the nearly full glass was empty. He stared at her, amused and bewildered.
Then, she set the glass back on the table with more force than necessary, squared her shoulders, and spoke.
“How does this no strings thing work with something so complicated?” The fact that she was making direct eye contact was a good sign.
He set his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin, taking a moment to study her.
“What do you mean complicated?”
She shrugged. “Just, this whole kink thing doesn’t seem like a no strings kind of interaction.”
“Not to sound like a dick, but I’ve been doing the no strings thing since the day I joined Exposure.”
“I know, but we have feelings and complicated things between us. Seems like we’re asking for trouble.”
“I understand your concern, Angel. I think the point of no-strings, is to not have any expectations. We just do what we like and fuck the rest of it. There wouldn’t be any pressure to plan for the future or anything like that. Collars and contracts and the heavy shit isn’t necessary for BDSM and power exchange to be fun.” He paused and took a drink of his wine. She was still locking eyes with him so he continued. “I like control. I like sensation. I love making you squirm. You like being on the receiving end of those things and we happen to like each other. What’s complicated about that?”
The wine glass twirled on the table as she rolled the stem between her fingers.
“So… It’s like a long-term hook up?”
“If that’s how you want to look at it, sure. Do we need a label for two adults enjoying
each other?”
She reached for the bottle and poured them both more wine. “You make it sound so simple.”
“That’s because it is Angel. Look, I get that we live in D.C. where nothing is ever as it seems but I promise you this really is that simple.”
“The week we had was fun. It really was. I wouldn’t mind experiencing more of that.”
“You owe me two more days anyway,” he said with a wink. “We can definitely arrange that.”
“Do we have to do the whole complete submission thing though? I mean. I liked it sometimes but other times your bossiness just pissed me off.”
Laugher erupted and shook him. “Oh but when you give yourself to me completely, I can take you so many places. But no, it doesn’t have to be that way if you don’t want.” He picked up her hand. “Or, you could try communicating with me. Tell me when my bossiness is irritating you. We’ll work it out together because there is likely a reason why it’s bugging you and we can fix it.”
She seemed to be contemplating his words as she twirled the wine glass in her fingers again. “OK,” she said after a minute.
“OK? What does that mean, Angel?”
“It means, OK. I’m willing. Being with you this week but not being with you has sucked. If I’m going to get kicked out of the country I might as well enjoy my last week here right?”
“You amaze and delight me Angel.”
A blush colored her cheeks as she shrugged at his compliment.
He shoveled more of her delicious dinner into his mouth.
“Now what?” she asked, moving her food around on her plate again.
“Now you finish your dinner. You’ve hardly eaten any of it and you’ll need your strength for later.” He flashed her a wolfish grin, and he watched her relax. Then she stabbed a vegetable and popped it in her mouth. “Good girl,” he said.
“When they finished the meal Michael picked up both their plates and carried them to the sink.
“Go in the living room and wait for me. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
She didn’t say anything, just grabbed her wine glass and headed into the living room. He stood at the sink rinsing dishes and devised a plan for all the devilish things he wanted to do to the angel in the next room. It would be his mission to give her as many pleasurable experiences as he possibly could in the next week. He didn’t want to lose his optimism that she would stay here, but he also knew there was a chance he was wrong.
When he finished the dishes, he shut off the water and grabbed his own glass. In the living room, he found Adara on the couch with her legs tucked under her. She was reading the book he had suggested to her what seemed like a lifetime ago. He smiled. This was going to be a delight. He couldn’t wait to peel her dress off her and explore her body again. He wanted to find every spot that made her squirm and torment her with sensation until she was begging for some relief. Would he be benevolent and grant her an orgasm quickly or would he drag it out for a while? Frustrated Adara was cute, so he was leaning toward dragging it out, but Adara after an orgasm was sinfully hot so he was a winner either way.
“Good book?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. He chuckled when she jumped at the sound of his voice. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to startle you.” She smiled when she looked up at him.
“It’s fine. Just lost in the words. Yes, it’s enlightening.”
“You’ll have to tell me how later.” He crossed the room and plucked the book out of her hands. “I’ve waited long enough to touch you. Stand up,” he ordered gruffly.
She swung her legs out from under her and off the couch. When she was standing, he pulled her into his arms for a scorching kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair as she opened to him without reservation. He could feel her losing herself in their kiss and he wanted nothing more than to tear her dress off and take her here on the couch. Screw the plans he’d been making. The kiss was so frantic and heated, it felt—and sounded—like his heart was going to pound out of his chest.
Wait. That wasn’t his heart. Fuck. Someone was pounding on the door.
“I know you’re in there. I see the lights on.” It was a woman’s voice. He broke the kiss and brushed Adara’s hair back from her face.
“What the fuck?” he muttered as he headed to the door.
“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR,” the voice yelled, louder this time.
“Jesus Christ. What’s going on?” Michael demanded, flinging open the door. “I found Adara’s birth mom.”
Chapter 13
Carrie Mercer stood on Michael’s front porch. Behind her was a bewildered security guard, and a seemingly irritated Peter.
“Sorry man, I tried to get her to call first, but I told you, there is no reasoning with her when she gets like this,” Peter said from behind the very excited woman.
Adara watched in confusion and amusement. It took a moment for to register exactly what Carrie had just said. When it clicked, she rushed to the door just in time for Carrie to say, “Bite me, Sir. This is important.” Peter’s scowl deepened and Adara couldn’t help but think that Carrie was about to get into trouble.
“You’re lucky you threw a Sir in there,” he said with a growl. Carries demeanor changed immediately and Peter seemed satisfied. “Well, we’re here now little one. Spit it out.”
Michael stood back and opened the door wider. “Come in. Please. Tell us what you’ve found.”
When the door was shut, Carrie plopped down on the living room floor in front of Michael’s coffee table. Adara followed and sat on the couch, watching as the excited blonde scattered papers all over the surface. It looked like chaos, but Carrie seemed to know exactly what she was doing.
“I found her Adara. I fucking found her. I need solid proof but I know it’s her and I know I can get it.” Pages were scattering everywhere as she continued to slap papers down on the table. Most appeared to be scans of old newspaper articles. “She was a hostage. And she was a U.S. citizen. Look, look,” she said motioning to the papers.
Adara picked one up, still not fully understanding what she was looking at. But for the first time since she was picked up at the airport, she felt a glimmer of hope. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to slow down and explain. I’m not following.”
“Sorry. Master says I get too excited for my own good. Let me show you.” She picked up a piece of paper. “This is a list of all the hostages. Three died before the rescue. Jeff Scott, Harold Gibson, and Adara Gabai.” Adara’s eyes went wide when Carrie said the final name. “I’m positive that Adara was your birth mother. Based on the journal your mom gave us, Faisal Hadawi took a liking to her not long after the hostage crisis began. The bastard kept her separate from the others and soon she became pregnant. When the baby—you—was born, you were given to two of the other hostages to care for. Those hostages were Daniel and Ruth Kent. Though they went by different names then. You had colic and cried a lot. It apparently bothered Hadawi. It’s thought that your mother died not too long after giving birth which was just days before the rescue operation that brought you and your parents home.
Your parents lied to the military and said they had gotten pregnant with you during the hostage situation. It seemed reasonable because the hostages were kept in bedrooms and had plenty of alone time. The story they told is that they used sex to comfort each other. Carrie was putting more articles in front of Adara, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. She was however, hanging on to every word that Carrie spoke.
“I’ve found her college yearbook picture Adara. Look at this.” Adara’s hand flew to her mouth, and Michael’s arm was around her in an instant. It was as if she were staring at a picture of herself. “I told you we found her. There is no way a judge ignores this. But if this isn’t enough for him, I have journal entries from other hostages. It’s all here. We think she’s buried where the hostages were held so DNA evidence is out unless we find a relative. You’re legally an American citizen though.”
Adara reached for the photo that Carrie still
held. Tears were streaming down her face now. For eight years, she had wondered who her real parents were. The information her mom and dad had given her was scant and gave her no real direction for figuring it out. They had never mentioned that they were hostages for nearly a year. How awful it must have been for them to carry that secret.
“I don’t understand. How did I not know my parents were hostages?”
Michael handed her a tissue as Carrie began straightening the mess she had made on the coffee table.
“When they first arrived back in the states, they were bombarded by the press, and the government. There was a lot of pressure to be in the public eye. Especially since they had supposedly given birth to you while beingheld hostage. They couldn’t take it, and they didn’t want you to grow up with that hanging over your head. Especially with the lie they had told. They changed their names and moved to Arizona where they tried to give you a quiet life. They named you Adarato honor your birth mother, but that’s the only part of the hostage crisis they brought home.
Adara was floored. “I have so many questions. I don’t even know where to start.”
“I’ll answer as many as I can, but I think we need to start with your attorney and the judge in your case. If we’re lucky, he’ll throw the whole case out without a trial and your citizenship will be reinstated without limitations.”
Adara nodded. Yes. “That sounds good.” Despite her words, she didn’t move from the sofa. Michael had remained quiet through the whole conversation. Just being a quiet source of support for her. She turned to him now. “I don’t know what to do next.”
He smiled and gently kissed her forehead. “Give me your phone, Angel. Let’s call your lawyer.” She stood and looked around the room. Dazed. No clue where her phone was. Michael signed and stood with her. “Sit back down. I‘ll get it.” She sat. This didn’t seem real. Her mother had been raped by a terrorist, died in or soon after childbirth and she had been given to another pair of hostages because she cried too much? It was like a movie. Michael was back with her phone now and had it pressed to his ear.
