by Stella Noir
"Can't a man just take a walk as he pleases?" I retort, looking down at her.
The smile on her face is long gone and has been replaced with that same unreadable expression she displayed most of the day.
Then, she slowly shakes her head.
"Why did you follow me?" she asks, her voice so soft, it almost gets suffocated by the leaves rustling in the autumn wind.
"Did you not want me to?" I retort.
"Do you answer every question with another question?"
She sounds annoyed, but it doesn't show on her face. There is no emotion I could assign to the look she is giving me.
"My questions are usually more interesting than the answers I could give to yours," I say.
She snorts.
"Good comeback."
To my surprise, she suddenly turns around and walks away, following the path that leads into the forest ahead.
I catch up to her and walk next to her. I hate being the one who follows, and she better learn this sooner rather than later.
"No point in walking away," I comment. "You won't get rid of me that easily if that is what you're trying to do."
"I'm not," she says without looking at me.
She turns her head, looking up at me, her face now in the shadows of the trees above us. In this light, her eyes are of a deep green. It almost makes me wonder how I could have ever mistaken them for blue.
"All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking," she whispers.
I frown at her. "Wise words, but what—"
"They're not mine," she interrupts me, averting her eyes to stare ahead. "Friedrich Nietzsche. A German philosopher."
"Quite the poet," I remark.
She nods. "Yes, he was a poet, too."
"What an eloquent fit, Elizabeth Barrington," I say. "For you to like European philosophers."
"Liz," she corrects me, looking up at me with furled eyebrows. "Please call me Liz."
"No one else does," I assert.
"Not in my family, no," she admits. "But it's what I prefer to be called. I don't like my actual name."
"Alright, Liz then," he says. “I'm Leonard.”
She nods politely.
"And no, I don't like European philosophers," she corrects me again. "Just him."
I grind my teeth. I don't like how she's the one handling me, correcting and lecturing me with that stern, cold attitude of hers. It is driving me insane.
This girl has no idea how much trouble she is in.
We are walking deeper into the forest, further away from anybody else. The path is narrow and forces us to walk closely next to each other. So close, that her arm randomly touches mine every so often.
It takes all my strength to pull myself together and not grab her to get a taste of her. Just her lips, those rosy, delicate lips that let so little words escape.
But I know I couldn't stop there. I would need to take her, all of her.
I cannot risk it. Not here, not now.
"Is this still part of your family's estate?" I randomly ask, mostly to get my mind from running wild.
She nods. "Yes. It's part of our garden, but a part that no one ever visits, except for me."
She stops and turns towards me, looking up with those dark, green eyes.
"No one," she repeats.
I have come to a halt next to her and she keeps staring up at me with those sublime eyes.
Fuck.
Does she want me to rip her dress apart and destroy her right here and now?
My eyes narrow as I look down on her.
"What are those marks around your legs?" I repeat my question from earlier.
"What's that tattoo you have on your back?" she asks back, throwing me a victorious smile.
"A question for a question," she adds. "Quite annoying, isn't it?"
Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.
"You said nothing happened to you," I remind her, ignoring the fact that she obviously had a closer look at my neck than anybody else. Whenever the hell that was. "So was it something you did? Yourself?"
I can almost hear her heart jump. She can play it cool as much as she wants, but nothing goes by me. Her eyelashes flicker and she loses eye contact with me for a moment. It is just a split second, but I notice. Her breathing changed, the outline of her breasts rising up and down with deep and fast inhales and exhales, even though she tries to suppress it.
So fucking delicious.
She turns away and faces the path ahead of us, unable to look at me as she says: "What would you think if I said yes?"
"I would ask you what exactly you did," I reply. "And why you did it."
She swallows hard and doesn't say a word. Instead, she continues walking and so do I. Moments pass, minutes even. We walk next to each other in silence.
I intend to give her time, but when she is still not speaking when we reach the end of the forest, standing in front of a fence that marks the border of the Barrington estate, I decide to raise my voice again.
"Did you tie yourself up?" I ask. "Are those rope marks?"
She inhales audibly, proving me right.
She gazes over the fence at a large field, the rural landscape spreading before us. The sun is about to set. The late afternoon light has turned orange, announcing the impending twilight.
Liz places her hands on the fence as if she was looking for support.
"Well?" I probe, leaning against the fence right next to her and looking down at her expectantly.
She closes her eyes as if she was trying to hide.
"Maybe," she finally dares to say with her eyes still closed.
"Maybe, huh."
I love that expression. That vulnerable, shy girl she turns into. She is ashamed and afraid. A delicious mix that I cannot get enough of.
"You like being tied up?" I ask, now slowly stroking her lower arm with the tip of my finger.
This is a dangerous game I'm playing. I told myself to keep my distance from anyone who is living in this neighborhood, this world. I am here for business, and violating the sister of my business partner's son's fiancée does not fall under being careful and smart.
But I know it could work. I know what to do to make it work. To make it safe.
She will be mine.
Liz flinches at my touch, shivering like a scared little animal.
So fucking delicious.
She is responding perfectly. It scares her how much she wants this.
I move closer and lean down to her.
"Do you like the feeling of rope cutting into your flesh," I whisper in her ear. "Leaving marks. Leaving you at somebody else's mercy?"
She gasps, but not with indignation. Her breathing is erratic, aroused and scared.
Oh, what a perfect little lamb she is.
She turns around and looks up at me. Her eyes are flickering, it almost seems as if they are changing colors, dancing back and forth. Blue, green, blue, green.
Her mouths opens ever so slightly. She looks like she is about to say something, but I know she won't. She just stares up at me with those incredible eyes.
Begging.
She may be mute, but her eyes tell me everything I need to know.
I don't kiss like a gentle lover, I devour. I demand her. One hand at the back of her head, the other pressed against her tender lower back, just above her ass. I press her body against mine, ignoring the suffocated moans of protest.
She doesn't fight back. Her body is stiff and defensive at first but soon melts in my arms, becoming limber and soft as I claim her.
I invade her mouth with force, still trying to control myself as much as possible. She welcomes it, that little minx. Soon, her moans of protest turn into moans of lust.
She tries to touch me, hug me, but I force her hands down, pushing her away from me.
"No," I warn her. "I'm the one who does the touching, understand?"
She stares up at me with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted.
I dart forward
, grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of her head while my other hand reaches beneath her dress, finding its way up to the waistband of her pantyhose and slipping beneath it. She gasps in surprise when my hand reaches her center, forcing her panties to the side and sliding right between her damp lips.
She is soaking wet.
I knew it.
Liz instinctively pushes her legs together, trying to prevent my intrusion, but I yank her head backward and force her legs apart by spreading my fingers between her thighs.
"I said understand?" I press.
She lets out a helpless moan as I force my middle finger inside of her, pushing it in as deeply as possible while my palm presses against her folds. She is confined in my grip, unable to move, and showing no signs of fight. If anything, she is paralyzed, staring up at me with disbelief.
"Yes," she finally breathes. "I... understand."
"Good girl," I praise her, and she clenches around me.
Fucking hell, she needs this as much as I do. Maybe even more.
She will be mine, and the first step to accomplishing that is to make her understand that I am the one who is in control.
I let another finger slide inside her while my thumb searches for her clit.
"No," she gasps as she understands what I am about to do.
"Oh, yes," I object. "You are going to come on my fingers like a good little slut. Right now, right here."
She shakes her head, but her eyes roll back into her head as my thumb starts circling her swollen clit. Even I am surprised at how close she is already.
"No," she repeats, hardly a whisper. "No, no, no..."
I increase the pressure on her clit and move my fingers inside her, forcefully pushing in and out while she clenches around me. She starts shaking uncontrollably, closing her eyes and breaking a sweat as she tries to prevent the inevitable.
I decide to give the final push, the release she so desperately craves and fears, and bend my fingers inside of her, soon finding that most sensitive spot right beneath her mound.
Her eyes open wide in disbelief when I find it, pushing against that certain spot close to her entrance while my thumb still works her clit.
"Don't fight it," I urge her, pressing her closer to myself and tilting her head back so far, that her face grimaces in pain.
That sends her over the edge. Her breathing turns so desperate and fast for a few moments that I anticipate her to pass out. But she remains conscious. Instead, her eyes roll back into her head, and she lets out a loud moan of relief while her muscles clench around my fingers as she finds her release, handing over control for the brief moment that her climax lasts.
It's only the beginning.
Chapter 6
LIZ
I had fixed my hair and my dress, but my cheeks were probably still flushed when I made my way back to the house. He stayed behind for a few minutes, so we were not seen coming back together. I fled up to the bathroom and kept my distance for the rest of the evening, which was easy enough. I am good at not talking to people, after all.
Still, every time I remember that day, my pulse starts racing, sending heat and color of embarrassment up to my face. It's almost as if a telltale alarm goes off every time I think about him.
Even now while I am sitting in the most inappropriate company for these thoughts, I cannot help but remember that fateful afternoon.
It has been five days since then, and I am reminded of it because my sister and her fiancé have stopped by for dinner. They are talking about wedding plans with my parents while I stare down at my plate, invisible as always, but dancing on the inside as my thoughts wander back to the forest.
The way he looked at me, talked to me... touched me. I almost exploded when he grabbed me and his hand forced its way underneath my dress. No one—no one—has ever claimed me like that.
And I have never been this ready for anyone to do so.
My cheeks must be turning to dark shades of red as I remember the shame of the extent of my arousal. I didn't have to fake anything. I have had my first orgasm with a man—and just by his touch, fully clothed, his fingers between my legs, working his magic.
It was amazing. Forbidden, so filthy and dark. If my family knew about this....
I wake up from my daydreaming when I hear someone mention his name.
"... with Mr. Clark." I hear the end of Pete’s sentence.
I look up from my plate, glad that no seems to notice my sudden interest in the conversation.
"Yes, your father mentioned that he might be a good mentor for you," my dad says, speaking to Pete. "I had a few words with him before he left. Nice fellow, very polite and knowledgeable."
Pete nods. "Yes, he's not much older than me, but boy does that man know his business!"
"I don't like him," Sandria interjects.
Both my dad and Pete turn towards her, raising their eyebrows in question.
"Why is that, darling?" Pete wants to know.
Darling. God, what a wuss.
Sandria scrunches her nose like the perfect aristocratic lady she wants to be.
"I don't know," she says. "He just rubs me the wrong way. He is kind of... creepy."
"I see what you're saying," my mother agrees. "One cannot know if he is to be trusted."
My father and Pete exchange a quick look and shrug shoulders.
"He is a bit intense," my father admits. "But I don't see anything wrong with him."
"He is very professional," Pete adds. "I think I could learn a lot from him."
"So, you're meeting up with him?" I ask, to everyone's surprise.
All eyes turn to me. I haven't spoken the entire evening—I hardly ever do.
"That's what he just said," Sandria replies, rolling her eyes at me.
"Yeah, I'm having lunch with him next week," Pete says, politely as always.
Guess who's having lunch with him before that.
I suppress a treacherous smile as I think about the upcoming date that Mr. Clark and I arranged.
After he had forced that overwhelming orgasm out of me, he held me for a few moments, giving me time to come to my senses. As soon as I regained my ability to think clearly, I freed myself from his grip and fixed my dress and hair while lowering my head in shame. He looked at me and laughed, calling me a good girl again, which I hated and loved at the same time.
When he asked whether I was interested to see him again—alone—I didn't hesitate to say yes.
"There's more where that came from," he promised. I instantly felt light headed again, flashing him a coy smile as I replied: "I sure hope so."
He took out a tiny notebook and a pen from his suit's inside pocket and insisted that I gave him my number.
"Full name and number," he ordered.
I obliged, obedient like a well-trained puppy and only afterward wondered about that specific request. I figured that it was just him being overly formal, "professional" as Pete called it, but it still strikes me as odd.
Just as odd as his other requests while we arranged to see each other again.
"I want to take you out to the lake," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"Are you trying to scare me?" I asked, half-jokingly.
He smiled. "Does it scare you?"
"A stranger who just assaulted me, forcing me to come on his fingers while hiding in the forest on my family's estate, now says that he wants to 'take me to the lake'?" I said. "Some people would consider that scary."
He laughed. "I just want to take you out on my boat. It's beautiful out there this time of year with the leaves changing colors on the riverside."
He stepped forward, placing his hand on my cheek. "Plus, we can be sure we’re completely alone out there."
He planted a kiss on my lips, modest and loving, very different from the one before.
"Do you trust me?" he inquired.
I nodded though I wasn’t sure I did. I knew that I was curious, and that was enough for me right then.
He asked me to bring a ch
ange of warm clothes because it "might get cold and wet out there" and he thought it best for me to tell no one that I am meeting up with him.
I instantly agreed to that last part. I had no intentions of letting anyone know that I would be going out on a lunch date with Leonard Clark, the man whom my mother and sister found to be "creepy."
The man who has nothing but distant business relations to our family. No name, no background. A man my mother would never approve of.
I love that.
And I love secrets, especially when it is something I am keeping from my loveless family. They don't care about what I do all day. My father is busy with work, and my mother has her own things going on, especially now that she is so heavily involved in Sandria's wedding preparations. They wouldn't even notice if I was gone for the entire weekend if it wasn't for dinner. Being absent from the dinner table was frowned upon, even if no one ever spoke to me or wanted me to speak.
I hate being back here and I hate that I have nowhere else to go at the moment. An afternoon out of the house, distracting myself with the pleasure that the enticing Mr. Clark promises to provide me with sounds almost too good to be true.
I am counting every hour until Friday when I will see him.
Out on his boat.
Chapter 7
LEONARD
We agreed to meet at the pier where my little yacht is anchored. In truth, it is not mine, I am only leasing it. After all, I haven't been around in these parts for long, and I have no intentions of sticking around. When I learned that there is a giant lake close to the suburban area that I would call home for a while, I thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of it.
It paid off today.
Liz took a cab to the train station close to the pier just like I told her to. I keep out of sight as she pays the driver and steps out of the car. As far as he is concerned, I want him to think that she is here to get on a train.
It comes in handy that she didn't know the area and was glad to be picked up at the train station.
I was surprised to hear that her family never owned any boats or spent time at the lake. It is a bit far from their estate, but not too far to completely ignore its existence. Plus, yachts and sailing boats seem to be such a typical pastime for families like hers.
