by M. Leighton
Until now.
I’m still standing at the window, looking out over the dreary Portland skyline, when a soft knock sounds at the door. I don’t turn until I hear the door click twice—once to open and once to close behind Paris as she leaves.
When I turn to look at Samantha, my response is immediate. It is immediate, it is visceral and it is undeniable. It leaves me with no doubts as to why I’m taking such an enormous risk. My body demands it. The animal inside me demands it.
The monster. She sets his blood on fire.
“You came back,” I state simply as we stand, a room apart, staring at one another.
“Yes,” she responds, equally simply, not moving a single muscle.
She’s dressed as Laura Drake, complete with her sassy black wig and straight-laced glasses. Knowing that she, too, hides dark and sexy things makes me want to rip off her conservative suit and bare her to me, body and soul. And I know I won’t rest until I do exactly that.
The process has already begun. Samantha is losing her grip on Laura Drake in my presence. I can see that in the muted scarf tied around her neck. As part of my work, I’ve researched Laura Drake extensively. I’ve listened to her, watched her, looked up every picture posted of her on social media. Never, not once, has she worn anything with color. She’s always dressed in solid black from head to toe. The style may vary, but never the color.
Until today.
And I’d wager she thought nothing of it.
“We could spend an hour in this office, asking and answering questions, pretending that we don’t know where we’re headed,” I begin, walking slowly toward her. Filled with caution, her eyes watch my every step until I stop a scant inch from her. “Or we could agree to meet after we fly back to Charleston.” I reach up to brush my thumb over her quivering lower lip. I feel her fear and her desire like a branding iron to my gut—searing hot and slightly painful. But painful in a good way, in that way that says I’ll be getting what I want, even if it’s not what I need, not what’s best for me. “You could agree to come and stay with me for the weekend, to let me show you my world. And you can show me yours.”
“There are things I will not—” she begins, but I interrupt with a finger laid across her lips.
“Shh, you don’t need to do that. I know you. Well enough, anyway. I know something happened to you when you were a child, something that has skewed the way you view sexuality, the way you experience it. Understand now that you have nothing to fear from me. Whatever it is, I can take it. Whatever it is, I can help you.”
Her stormy gray eyes glisten with unshed tears. She whispers, “But what if you can’t?”
“Trust me, I can. You just have to let me.”
I see the indecision on her face. I know my deduction surprised her. But it will also bring her comfort—believing that I know and understand, and that I won’t judge her. In a few days’ time, she’ll be as ready for me as I am for her.
I just hope that when I introduce her to herself, to us, to who and what we are, that it won’t damage her beyond repair.
“Why would you do this for me?”
For you? If only I were that unselfish…
“You won’t be the only one to benefit,” I answer, purposely vague.
After a long pause, she finally nods. I walk to my desk and scribble out two addresses onto a piece of paper then hand it to her. Cautiously, as if it might burn her, she takes it from my fingers. “There are some things you’ll need. There’s a woman at the first address. Her name is Ursula. Swing by tomorrow night and she’ll measure you then send some clothes to my house. My address is the second one, just in case you don’t remember how to find it.” I drove her home from there, but most women have a terrible sense of direction. “Come to me after you finish with Ursula.”
Samantha nods, her fingers worrying the edges of the paper. I cover them with my own, feeling the fine tremor that passes through them at the contact.
God help me, but I’m going to enjoy this.
“Until then, do me one favor. Don’t think of me. At all. When you find your mind wandering to me or to the time we’ll be sharing, think of something else. Don’t fear it. Don’t anticipate it. Just let it be a surprise.”
She nods once more, and I’m sure she’ll attempt what I’ve asked. But I know it’s impossible. By asking her not to think of me, of what’s to come, she’ll likely be able to think of little else. And that’s really what I want. I want her to be on edge when she comes to me. I want her to be so close to snapping that all I’ll have to do is bend her over my arm to break her.
I tuck the silky strands of her black wig behind one ear. “All good?”
“All good,” she replies softly.
And so it begins…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN- Samantha
Ari wasn’t entirely surprised when I changed my return flight to today after the signing rather than waiting until tomorrow morning. I’m sure he assumes it’s my normal reasons for not wanting to stay gone too long. In a thousand years, he’d never guess I’m dying to get back because I have a torrid date with Alec Brand.
In my head, he’s still very much Alec Brand. It’s like Dr. B died the instant I found out he was Alec. I’m not sure that’s healthy, to be so utterly fixated on someone, but it is what it is.
When the electronic voice of my navigator tells me my destination is on the right, I start looking for the correct building number. I park in the lot to the side and walk around to the front.
I’m a little surprised when I see the dress shop. The awning reads Little Shop of Borrows. There are prom dresses in the window, as well as wedding and evening gowns. I’m not sure what I was really expecting, but I don’t think a formal clothing rental shop was it.
A bell jingles when I push open the door. After a few seconds, a small, mousy woman of middle age shuffles to greet me.
“Is there something I can help you with today?” she asks in a hushed librarian’s voice.
“I’m looking for Ursula.”
Behind her tortoise shell glasses, I see the woman’s nondescript blue eyes scan me from head to toe and back again. Finally she nods. “This way.”
I follow the tiny woman to the back of the store, behind the counter and through a door that reads EMPLOYEES ONLY. It opens into a small ante room housing two other doors. One reads BREAK ROOM. The other reads MS. URSULA. The woman leads me through the second door.
The room is as dramatically different from the main store as desert is from the ocean. The walls are covered in thick, red velvet, the floor is polished black marble and the lighting is so dim it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. When they do, I see a woman lounging on a black leather settee in the corner.
As fluidly as a cat, she swings her feet to the floor and stands. Slowly, she approaches me. She stops several inches from me and I see that she’s quite tall and quite stunning.
Her midnight hair cascades over her shoulders like rivers of ink, gushing into cleavage that any stripper would be proud to boast. Her eyes are dark and smoky in the pale oval of her face and her lips are stained ruby red. When she speaks, I’m not at all surprised by the low, husky sound. It suits her perfectly.
“You must be Samantha.”
I nod. I knew Alec would call ahead. He obviously has something very specific in mind. But now, after seeing this room in the shop, I’m a little concerned about what that might be, about what I might be getting myself into.
“I’m so glad to see Alec active again. It’s been too long.” She reaches for my hand and leads me to the center of the room. She urges me to step up onto the small pedestal there.
“Undress.”
It’s not a request; it’s a command, issued as she walks to a dimly-lit desk that’s barely visible behind a lacy tri-fold screen. She comes back with a measuring tape. When she sees I’m still fully clothed, she crosses her arms over her chest as if settling in to wait. And to watch.
I start peeling off clothes. It’s an unnerving task
with her looking on, even though I only disrobe down to my underwear.
When I’m finished, she approaches me, maneuvering me this way and that, dragging the tape along my limbs and around my waist. She doesn’t write down a single number. I hope she can remember them all, because I’m not coming back.
When she’s finished, she gives me a graceful nod and purrs, “You may dress. I’ll have Marilynn show you out.” And with that, she disappears through the door, leaving me to get dressed.
Alone.
********
It’s well after dark by the time I arrive at Alec’s home on Seabrook Island. I park in the driveway and cut the engine. I sit behind the wheel, staring at the single lighted window for several long minutes before I open the door and get out. After I pull my bag from the back seat, I make my way up the steps to the front door.
It opens before I can even knock.
Alec is standing in the opening, wearing black slacks and a pearl gray silk shirt, unbuttoned at the throat with the sleeves rolled up. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen anything sexier. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind,” he says as he reaches forward to take the bag from my shoulder.
“No you weren’t,” I blurt. He knew I would come. Maybe more than I did. It’s disconcerting, but it’s true. He knows he’s got me.
“No, I wasn’t,” he replies honestly. And he grins. For the first time, I get to see not the polite, cool gesture, but a genuine smile. And I’m totally disarmed. Here is yet another deadly dimension to this dangerous man.
“At least you’re honest,” I mutter as I step inside.
“I’m always honest.”
I could argue that, based strictly on the Alec Brand / Dr. B thing, but I don’t. There’s no room for that here. Not now. By unspoken agreement, we’ve moved on. My being here says that. Besides, this weekend is for…something else.
“Always honest, huh? Then you can tell me what you have planned for this weekend,” I say casually as he leads me through his magnificent home.
“I could. But I won’t. You’ll just have to trust me every step of the way.”
I’m trying.
Alec leads me up two levels to what I assume is the master bedroom. It occupies the entire third floor and includes a private balcony beyond the bank of windows that dominates one side of the room.
Although I associate Alec with dark colors, which suit his brooding personality, this room seems to fit something in him as well, even though it’s done completely in stark whites and rich creams. From the plush antique white duvet to the bear skin rug in front of the white marble fireplace, this room screams luxury and sensuality, both adjectives I would use to describe Alec.
Alec sets my bag in the corner beside another door then leads me through it into the most opulent bathroom I’ve ever seen. Its rich beauty is further accentuated by the softly flickering candles that cover every white surface.
My stomach twitches in excitement when Alec stops in the center of the room and turns toward me. Taking both my hands in his, he brings one to his mouth and presses his lips to my knuckles.
“I’m going to help you get ready for tonight. Your clothes shouldn’t be too long now. But first…a bath,” he says, never taking his eyes off mine.
I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should argue, at least for propriety’s sake.
We’ve only even kissed once and now he’s talking about a bath?
But no words form on my lips. Everything else in the world seems pointless compared to what I see in Alec’s eyes.
Pulling me further into the room, he stops in front of an oversized tub, half full of water, suds and flower petals.
“Those are for you,” he says. “I thought a more romantic ambience might put you at ease.”
And he was right. But it doesn’t eclipse the reason that I’m here. That we’re both here. “Thank you,” I whisper, keeping my insecurities to myself.
“This is all about you, all for you. This is to show you that I’m always considering you, that you can trust me. You must trust me. You must do as I ask. Every time. Without hesitation. Do you understand?”
I get the sense that he’s warning me. Again. But the thinking part of me refuses to heed it. Again.
When I don’t answer, he reaches up to push a lock of hair behind my ear. “All good?”
I nod. “All good.”
Alec drops to one knee and wraps his large hand behind my leg, lifting until it bends and my foot comes off the floor. He slips off first one shoe and then the other.
I watch the top of his dark head as his fingers tease the tops of my toes. “Did you know,” he asks, glancing up at me with his burning eyes, “that to some people, feet are an erogenous zone?” As he watches me, his thumb begins to make deep circles on my arch. I feel the sensation all the way in the lowest part of my stomach.
His eyes still on mine, Alec slowly stands until he’s towering over me at his full height. I feel intimidated and excited and a little fearful of what he could do to me if he so chose.
“I’ve imagined what your breasts look like,” he says as he curls his fingers in the hem of my shirt and eases it up. When it’s free of my arms and lying on the floor behind me, he continues. “Pale white and perfectly round,” he whispers as he slides both bra straps off my shoulders and down my arms, pulling the cups over my nipples. His eyes fixate on them in a way that feels like a physical touch. He lets out a sigh that sounds both pained and excited. “With pink nipples that taste like candy.”
I feel them tighten as he speaks, as if begging for him to try them. And he does. In a movement so slow it almost hurts, Alec unhooks the clasp between my breasts and bends his head to take my aching nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it until I can’t breathe.
I let my head fall back, immediately lost to the sensation. It’s easier than it usually is. But I shouldn’t be surprised. From the moment I first saw Alec, I’ve found myself lost in him, lost to him.
“I’m making introductions,” he explains, trailing his mouth across to my other breast, “because you and my tongue are going to become close friends. Best friends, in fact.” He flicks my nipple with the warm, wet muscle then sucks it into his mouth. When he releases it, he licks his way down my stomach to the waist band of my skirt. “You’ll dream of it,” he says, his hands moving to the small of my back where he unbuttons and unzips the closure. Easing it over my hips, he lets it drop to the floor. “And you’ll think of it every time you go to put on your panties.” Leaning forward, Alec runs his tongue along the elastic band, his chin grazing the top of my most sensitive body part.
He hooks one finger inside the material where it runs between my legs and he brushes it back and forth over my nearly-smooth flesh. “Hmmm,” he groans. “These are already damp. That’s why you won’t be wearing panties while you’re here.” He glances up at me as he continues dragging his finger seductively over me, his knuckle grazing my clitoris. “I want all this on me, not wasted on satin and lace.”
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
Alec drags my panties down my legs, leaving me standing completely naked before him. I’m not thinking of my modesty, however, I’m thinking of his touch. I know it’s coming. Part of me is begging for it. Part of me is dreading it.
He pauses, his face only inches from my moist, hot center, and he watches me. Closely. As though he’s reading my mind.
I feel the shift and I know he saw into me. He saw my hesitation. And he’s adjusting his plan.
Rising, Alec directs his attention to his shirt. His hand moves to the collar, drawing my attention as well. I watch his fingers move deftly over each button, unfastening them as he makes his way to his waist. My pulse is throbbing erratically in my neck and I’m rooted to the spot.
When he slowly parts the two halves of his shirt, I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized by the flexing of rock hard muscle under smooth bronze skin. His chest is broad and sculpted, his abs are rippling and defined, and his wais
t is trim and narrow. He is a study in perfection.
“Do you like what you see?” he asks quietly, bringing my eyes up to his face. “Because I can keep going.” His hands go to his belt buckle and stop, awaiting my instruction. He’s leaving it up to me—how far we go right now—and as curious as I am about what’s inside those pants, and as hopeful as I am that he can be the one to do what no other has been able to thus far, fear that it will all fall apart wins the day.
“What else did you have in mind?” I ask shyly, hoping I don’t sound like a high school virgin.
Alec says nothing, moves nothing, for several long tense moments. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to ask.
But then, much to my relief, he abandons his buckle and steps closer to me instead. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the tub. Dropping to one knee, he sets me in the warm, scented water. “I want you to concentrate. Hard. Focus all your attention on not enjoying my hands on your body, okay?”
I’m surprised and confused, but thrilled that his task will be easy for me. I nod in agreement.
Alec takes a brand new bar of soap in his hands and lathers them. Starting at my throat, he massages the thick, creamy froth into my skin in lazy circles. He works his way down my chest to my breasts. Then I understand why the tub is only half full. It leaves my upper body out of the water. Open to his eyes. And his touch.
I tremble as his gaze follows his hands. “These nipples are mouthwatering,” he groans as his slippery fingers move over them. “I can only imagine how they would look all red and tender from being covered in hot wax.” As if to punctuate his thought, he pinches them, unleashing a gush of heat that floods my core. I clamp my lips against the gasp that traps air in my lungs. Remembering his words, I think about how I shouldn’t be enjoying what he’s doing. And I’m not. Not really.
Or am I?
No, I’m still too nervous, still too sure of how this will end to truly enjoy it, right? I know he can’t give me an orgasm. No one can. Right?
