Cries of Penance: 5 (Chronicles of Surrender)

by Harte, Roxy

  “Oh God! Oh God,” Abigail swears beneath me.

  Standing, I scan the room to make sure everyone is all right.

  “Zita!” she calls out, and the yapping Bolognese jumps into her master’s arms. “Oh sweetheart, are you okay? Mommy’s here, mommy’s here. God, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

  Grabbing Abigail’s hand and helping her to her feet, I’d say she is quite shaken if her trembling hand is any indication. Three Secret Service agents shield her as we hurry from the office building and to a waiting car in case that was only a first-wave attack.

  Clutching Zita to her chest with one arm and holding my elbow with the other, she demands, “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t know, not for certain, and in times like this I really wish I’d been wrong and left standing there looking idiotic for my paranoia.”

  “Well, thank God for your suspicions or we might all be dead. Is there a body count from the outer rooms?”

  Timothy Watters, one of the agents, answers, “Two confirmed dead, including the courier, and seven injured. It could have been much worse if not for Mr. Karros.”

  Our gazes collide and not for the first time. Tim doesn’t trust me, or so it seems, and I don’t think he believes for a second I’m only a personal assistant as evidenced an hour later when he asks, “What’s your story, Mr. Karros?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re obviously ex-military.”

  “I have some training,” I admit, knowing my vague answers will send him digging through the paper trail of Lex Karros’ invented life. He will find that I served the United States with loyalty, valor and was a decorated Marine. That should soothe his curiosity.

  We are driven to a hotel and locked into a suite for safekeeping until a thorough search of Abigail’s office and home reveals if it is safe for her to return to either. She asks, “How long are we going to be stuck here?”

  “A few hours at least.”

  She paces in front of a large bank of windows. “I need to work on my speech.”

  I stride past her, pulling closed the curtains before stepping in front of her and stopping her mid-stride with a hard hold on her shoulders. “Talk to me. You shouldn’t be this shaken over a little bomb. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” She glances away.

  I tip her chin back to me gently. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She pulls away and wraps herself in her arms, admitting, “Self-doubt, okay? Why am I doing this? Why isn’t the Guardians enough for me?”

  I watch her with interest because this is a new side to Glorianna, one I’ve never seen before. “Who’s behind your run for office?”

  She jerks her chin, looking at me.

  I prod her harder. “Who’s holding your strings?”

  Affronted, she retorts, “I am no one’s puppet.”

  I laugh at her and when she moves to slap me I grab her hand. “A strong reaction. An emotional reaction. You don’t want to be controlled but you are, and now you’re worried that this assignment might actually get you killed.”

  She glares at me and I pull her against me.

  “You’re worried that has been the plan all along, a way to get you out of the way. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  She lets out a short sob when my mouth crushes against hers. I might not be able to identify the who but I understand how it feels when you know someone else decides if you are useful or a burden. I know how it feels to be burned. I kiss her soundly but don’t let the passion extend beyond a kiss.

  “They want you to cancel your speech.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. I’d be disappointed if you quit now.” I kiss her nose, vowing, “I’ll keep you alive,” and knowing exactly what that means for me—over a year of campaigning, four more years if she’s elected, and if she’s re-elected…

  I’m putting the cart before the horse, but I have to be honest with myself and the truth is the ménage won’t survive if I am away for an entire decade. My sons will be strangers to me. I have only to remind myself of the years my brother already gave up for me to remember just exactly how bad my life could have gone. This is a small sacrifice by comparison.

  I close my eyes and push my face against Abigail’s neck, not wanting her to see my pain. She takes it as an overture and rubs against me, whispering, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  She kisses my closed eyes, my forehead, my cheeks.

  She unties my tie and unbuttons my shirt.

  I will my body to respond as she lowers her mouth to one of my nipples and bites.

  “Thomas?”

  I open my eyes in time to see her walking away from me…toward the bed. Christ. This could be my life for the next decade. I try not to feel sorry for myself as I watch her disrobing. I see that she took my advice and bought a garter belt and stockings.

  I put on my company-issued smile and join her by the extra-high bed, seeing a little two-step riser beside her for assisting with the climbing into and out of it. She reaches behind herself to unhook her bra, but I stop her hands. Catching her gaze, I force myself to smile wider, leering a little. “Uh-uh, leave it on.”

  She frowns but relaxes when I lower my mouth to kiss the rounded and pushed-up top of her breast.

  I whisper against the swell, “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  I rub my hands down her body to cup her ass then lower to feel where the garter’s snaps attach to the stockings.

  “These are very nice. I think you need a different color for every day of the week.”

  She relaxes in my arms. “Well, I’d have felt ridiculous if I’d have ended up at the emergency room today and had to be cut out of my clothes.”

  I don’t tell her that if the flower delivery had made it inside the doors there would have been little left of her to take anywhere except a morgue. I push her body down onto the mattress and kiss my way down her spine. I palm her ass then smack it lightly.

  “This is how I like to see you.” I step back from her, looking at her bent over the mattress. “Arch your back, lift your ass for me.”

  She complies and I smack her ass again and again. Through the sheer crème-colored panties I see her butt cheeks taking on a faint pink glow. Her bottom grows warm to my touch.

  I smack her again, a little harder, increasing the intensity. She fidgets in her high heels, and I know that the last smack stung. I smack her again and she moans.

  I smooth my hand over her spanking-warmed bottom. “You like that, don’t you?”

  She shakes her head and I chuckle as I push my fingers between her thighs, feeling her heat, knowing before I even push the flimsy film of panties covering her vagina out of the way that I am going to find her pussy slick with her wetness.

  “Tell me that you like it when I spank you.” I push my finger inside, finding her very wet. She pushes back with her body, not admitting anything.

  I withdraw my fingers and, holding her down, give her a spanking she will remember the rest of the night.

  * * * * *

  I am amused watching Abigail square off against the Homeland Security field director who is trying to convince her to postpone her speech. Her voice rises. “I will not go into hiding! Now will you be transporting me to the coliseum personally, Bruce, or should I hail a taxi and notify your superior of your lacking performance in light of today’s events?”

  She didn’t sit, she didn’t ask him to sit and so they stand nose to nose. I imagine her ass is on fire beneath her skirt, her pussy still dripping wet.

  Going to her side, I know that Bruce doesn’t have a chance in hell of winning this argument, as much because she is irritated by his insistence that she cancel the speech as by the fact that he arrived before I could bring her to completion.

  Pulling my PDA out of my pants pocket, I scroll through emails, animating the role of very prepared personal assistant. “The concierge has arranged a car and it is waiting downstairs.”

&nbs
p; She meets my gaze and nods. “Thank you, Lex.”

  I am as much Lex as I ever was Thomas or any of my other aliases. Putting on a name is like putting on a suit. I am who I need to be in any given moment.

  Bruce gives me a loathing look before directing his attention back to Abigail. “If you insist on this insanity at least make use of one of the unit’s armored vehicles.”

  “It is your prerogative to make the offer of availability, sir.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Consider the offer made.”

  “I accept. Thank you,” she says graciously, though her eyes still hold scathing challenge as she leaves the room in a hurry, her security detail struggling to keep up.

  I chuckle, following close, selecting elevator buttons and opening doors as we reach them.

  “Enjoying yourself?” she asks dryly.

  “Actually, I am. Life behind a desk was getting a little boring.” As we step outside into the cool evening air I stay close and help her into the back seat of a black SUV that screams government vehicle. “I think I would have preferred the taxi.”

  “Too late now, I suppose.”

  Our gazes meet as the SUV makes its way slowly through the hotel’s parking lot. She’s scared. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen her afraid. “I’m here, and I’m not going to let anyone assassinate you today, Abbie.”

  She smiles weakly. “Thank you, Lex.”

  Traffic is heavy as we make our way toward the coliseum and it turns out that Abigail is the reason for most of it. Record numbers have shown up to hear her first speech and standing-room only tents outfitted with large-screen televisions have been set up in the parking lot to accommodate the overflow crowd. The entrance road is lined by people holding signs that say Fuller for President on the left and anti-Fuller for President protestors on the right.

  “Wow,” she says, and I squeeze her hand for support.

  “Are you ready for this?” I ask in a whisper, leaning near.

  “I thought I was.”

  “You are going to be brilliant,” I say as the SUV comes to a stop and her door is opened. A wall of suits create a barricade between us and them as we are escorted into and through the building.

  I watch from the sidelines as she is hurried through the process, wardrobe, makeup, and meeting with a line of “very importants” and then she is taking the stage, standing behind the podium to give her speech. She doesn’t look back. Now she is in her element. She raises both hands, waving a greeting to the standing-ovation crowd. She waits for the commotion to die down before saying jokingly, “And to think, for a moment I was afraid no one would show up.”

  The standing ovation begins anew.

  “Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

  Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  Chapter Six

  Kitten

  Buoyed by Thomas’ call, I left the office early. I’m hoping to get at least a two-hour nap before I have to leave for the club and come home expecting to find the penthouse empty. To my surprise, I hear voices coming from the bedroom. I’m immediately on alert, ready to flee, but listening closely I recognize Garrett’s and relax. After the month I’ve had, expecting danger first and normal second is becoming a habit I’m fairly unhappy about.

  I guess no nap if Master is home…

  I step out of my shoes, lay my jacket over the back of the couch and stash my purse and briefcase. Unbuttoning my blouse, I start to disrobe but hearing a second voice traveling through the walls—a woman’s voice—stops me cold. I can’t ever remember a woman being here. Except for his best friend Jackie, who doesn’t count because she used to be a man and as far as I know still has a dick and balls in addition to breasts. No, a woman in the house seems like not a good thing.

  I finish unbuttoning my blouse and shrug out of it, letting the material fall to the floor. Similarly I keep undressing, peeling off skirt, hosiery and garter belt.

  Master and the woman-who-shouldn’t-be-in-our-house come into the living room just as I’m taking off my bra. The woman gasps. “Oh! Oh my.”

  She seems a little frumpy for Master’s taste.

  Master barely gives me a glance as he leads her past the wall of windows overlooking the city and the bay beyond. I realize he is pointing out features. “You are going to adore the kitchen, Italian marble, Sub-Zero and Wolf appliances.”

  The woman’s gaze stays on me as she walks past. Curious as to what is going on, I drop to my knees and crawl after them. Her eyes widen and she bumps into Master, not realizing he has stopped just inside the doorway.

  “Oh! Sorry.”

  Seeing me, Master shakes his head and I sit although I am still some distance away. I can be a good little kitten. When I want to be.

  I watch them through the wide threshold between rooms, Master opening and closing doors, displaying virtues. “Side-by-side refrigerator, a full freezer, wine cooler, two built-in ovens, gas cooktops, warming drawers.”

  The woman can’t take her eyes off me and I like it that she can’t. To reward her undivided attention, I sit in a sunbeam and proceed to give myself a tongue bath. Her eyes go wide. “Oh my!”

  “Yes, it’s a wonderful kitchen. I’ll miss it.” Master doesn’t have a clue that she hasn’t heard a word he’s said or even seen a single feature. I think he must be interviewing her to be the new maid and I chuckle at the fun I could have at her expense. He turns around and sees she is gaping at me. Over her head he glares at me as he clears his throat to get her attention.

  She jerks and turns to face him. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Lawrence. We should have little trouble getting top dollar even in this tough economy.”

  What? Top dollar?

  I hear a soft vibration from the general vicinity of Master’s crotch and watch as he retrieves his cell phone, excusing himself from the woman I now realize is a real estate agent.

  A real estate agent?

  He wouldn’t sell the penthouse! He can’t!

  Heart pounding, palms sweating, on the verge of a full-scale panic attack, I do the only thing I can think of. I create a scene. Lifting my head regally, I crawl past the agent, swinging my hips and making certain I rub against her leg as I pass. “Meow-meow.”

  I circle her ankles, rubbing my naked body against her. Glancing up, I see she has gone from drop-jawed to pale. In my mind I translate vanilla, even though I’d bet hard, cold cash that she advertises being scene-friendly. First the obstetrician and now her. It angers me that everyone is so willing to use the alternative-lifestyle angle to gain new clients without any understanding of what it really means to be kink-friendly.

  Reaching my kitten bowl, I eat the chocolate puff cereal that is kept waiting for me. I am careful to keep my eyelids lowered, but that doesn’t mean I can’t watch her reaction. I’m thrilled when I see her look of panic. She wants to run, but that wouldn’t be professional.

  Sitting back on my haunches, I spread my knees wide. The view of my pussy gets her out the door fast enough. I smile, pleased with my success, but the repercussion is Master’s quick return to the room when he hears the door slam. Looking unhappy, he announces into his phone, “Let me give you a call back in five.”

  I look at him innocently, thinking, Better make it ten.

  “Kitten?”

  I look at him blankly.

  “What did you do?”

  “Meow-meow?” I cock my head to the side and bat my eyelashes. He growls. “Speak. Why did Ms. Kruegger leave?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  He shakes his head. “I can only imagine.”

  “Please don’t sell the condo.”

  “Kitten,” he says patiently, explaining again, “we need more space, we’re having twins.”

  “You promised to wait until I’m comfortable with the idea, and babies are tiny. They take up almost no space. We
won’t need more space for years.”

  He sits on the sofa and pats his knee. Despite my irritation, I crawl to him and rest my chin on his knee, meeting his gaze.

  “I know you don’t think you are ready for suburbia, but it is going to be fine.”

  I sit back with a loud sigh and a pout “You move to suburbia, I’ll stay here with my babies.”

  “Kitten, that’s unacceptable and you know it.”

  Standing with extreme confidence and determination, I tower over him, hands on my hips. “I’m not having this argument, I’m not moving.”

  He growls and jerks my hands, forcing me to my knees so fast I don’t realize what’s happening until I’m down. “Lower your head. Eyes on the ground. Hands behind your back.”

  I obey, too surprised by his show of dominance to do less.

  Still sitting on the sofa, he fingers my collars, the one he gave me and the one Thomas gave me. I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. Very softly he speaks and I have to strain to hear.

  “Twins, a full-time housekeeper and two live-in nannies will not fit in this penthouse.”

  Two nannies? I start to argue that I can take care of my own children and that we won’t require nannies, but I stop myself because he’s right. Even if I give up a large portion of my hours at The Darkness and work from a home office in order to be with my babies, that still leaves the eight to ten hours we are at Lewd Larry’seach night. We’ll need help.

  He strokes my head. “You have a very unfair advantage, Kitten.”

  I roll my gaze up to look at him as his hands descend to my shoulders, kneading them. His fingers slide down my chest to cup my much fuller breasts. God. Breasts! I have breasts for the very first time, and it seems strange. When I look in a mirror, I don’t recognize my body but I think Master likes the changes.

  He squeezes my breasts, testing the fullness of them. He rolls my nipples then pulls them, stretching them out and making me gasp. They’re so sensitive. I don’t like having my breasts touched, let alone played with, but the look he gives me keeps me from asking him to stop.