by Emerson Rose
I open my eyes and recap the events that led me into my boss’s bed last night: the expensive nightgown, the sleeping pills, sharing my past. It’s not your typical relationship starting point, but nothing about Marcus and me is typical.
He is still asleep. His familiar breathing is soft and steady. His warm body wrapped around me feels like home.
His upper body is turned slightly toward me and his cast is propped up on my leg, hence the shooting pain. I need to move, but when I try his arms tighten around me.
“I was wondering how long you would sleep.” His gravelly morning voice causes a kaleidoscope of butterflies to flutter in my belly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but…,” I grunt and gently nudge his casted leg, “I need to move my leg out from under your cast; it’s cutting into mine.”
He rolls back just enough to take the pressure of his cast off of my leg. I try again to get up, but he’s having none of it.
“Don’t move. I want you right here,” he says, as he pushes his thick morning wood against my leg. I can feel him smile into my hair. This was bound to happen sleeping next to him. I tip my head back and bring us almost nose-to-nose.
“Marcus, I can’t…”
“I am not going to lie, Imani, I want you. Badly. But I understand now more than ever that we need to take this slow.”
Oh, great. He’s going to treat me like glass now that he knows about my past. Not the worst reaction possible, but it confirms my fear of being considered damaged goods.
I twist in his arms again, trying to avoid seeing pity written all over his face, but he won’t let me go.
“I meant what I said last night; I can’t stand to be pitied.”
He rolls his eyes and takes my chin between his thumb and pointer finger to get my full attention.
“I am not pitying you. I want you to stay right here so I can breathe in the smell of cotton candy on your skin. I want to explore your soft curves and bury myself so deep inside of you that you don’t know where I end and you begin. You would tempt a saint, Imani, there is no pity here, only understanding and desire.”
I open my mouth to respond but close it when I see the honest sincerity in his eyes. He does understand, somehow he does. Maybe he’s got deep, dark secrets, too.
I curl into the space under his arm and nuzzle against him, pressing a kiss to his skin. There’s no place I’d rather be right now or ever.
His fingers feather my skin, as we lie entwined in each other’s arms.
No advances, no expectations, just closeness.
I’m so relaxed I’m almost asleep when he speaks again.
“Imani? I need to get up.”
“Oh, gosh. Of course, the bathroom?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” He loosens his grip on me, and I crawl out of bed.
A pair of crutches stands propped against the wall next to his bed. Where did those come from? Someone in this house is always one step ahead, anticipating his needs.
I look at Marcus for an answer. “I have a very efficient staff.” He shrugs.
That’s all fine and good, but now those people, or at least the one who placed the crutches in his room, know that I spent the night in his bed. Great.
“I see that. Well, let’s get you up then.” There’s that damn comment again. How am I supposed to keep from saying ‘get you up’ when I’m caring for a man who needs help walking?
“I won’t say it.” He smiles a million-dollar, movie-star smile, and I grab the crutches and help him into the bathroom.
“Can you handle it from here?”
“Yes, Imani, I can handle it just fine,” he says, glancing down at his cock that is standing as tall and proud as the day is long.
“Very punny,” I say, with a sarcastic eye roll.
“I’m going to get dressed and make you an appointment at the hospital, I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” I turn to leave, and he grumbles something about not needing a scan. Why are men so damn stubborn, especially this one?
Back in my room, I discover a brand-new outfit waiting for me on the bed. Jeans, lavender silk boy-short panties with lace trim and a matching bra, and a thin cream-colored cashmere sweater with a row of tiny pearl buttons up the front. It’s exactly like something I would wear. He never misses a beat.
I grab the clothes and head to the bathroom; who am I to say no to clean clothes? After a bath in the glorious claw-foot tub, I cut the tags off the clothes without looking at the prices and put them on.
With no styling tools, I’m forced to pull my hair back into a messy knot at the base of my neck. It’ll have to do.
I dig in my purse for my phone, and when I find it, of course it’s dead. I’m sure my mom has been trying to reach me, not to mention Lana and Latoya.
I almost forgot I made plans to see the kids today. I need to call and cancel. Maybe Marcus will have a charger. We have the same kind of phone, I’m sure.
Back in his room, I hear the shower and wonder how he’s managing with his cast. I’m gone a quick twenty minutes and he’s already getting into trouble.
I crack the bathroom door and steam rushes out. “Marcus? So, you need help? How are you showering with your cast?”
“Come in, don’t be shy, Imani. I need some damn help.”
I push the door open slowly and peek around it. I have only glanced into his bathroom for a second to grab his sleeping pills last night. I didn’t take the time to look around and appreciate His Majesty’s throne.
It looks like a chapel with stonewalls and a row of tiny stained-glass windows up high near the ceiling. A long wall of glass separates the shower from the bathroom without having a door, which is handy for a person on crutches.
Marcus is perched on a stone bench surrounded by an elaborate array of showerheads spraying every which way, and all of them are pissing him off. He is over six feet tall, and the jets have been adjusted to accommodate that height standing up.
He can’t reach to fix them, so he’s ducking his head trying to avoid being sprayed in the face while he takes his shower. He does, however, have a bag taped around his cast to protect it from the water. I’m glad he thought to do that.
I take a step inside and walk to the entrance of the shower where the glass is no longer shielding him. I stop and reach out to press my hand against the stone wall on my left for support when my legs turn to jelly.
I’ve seen every inch of Marcus, albeit in small doses between bath towels and blankets, while washing him in his hospital bed. I was even up close and personal with his cock when I removed his catheter, then I got a bigger dose of him yesterday when he sprawled out on his bed in his boxers. But nothing could have prepared me for the whole naked package.
I gather my wits about me - as many as are left, that is - and speak to get his attention. “Why didn’t you wait for me? That’s what I’m here for, you know.”
His cock hardens at the sight of me. With no shame or inhibitions, he turns to face me head on; yeah I know, head on. And with water rippling over every defined muscle on his perfect body, he meets my eyes.
His impressive erection springs forth, pointing directly at me, and I can’t help but gasp and look away.
“Imani, don’t look away from me, damn it. You know I am attracted to you, but right now I really need some help here, as much as I fucking hate to admit it.”
I do my best to pull it together, reminding myself that, first and foremost, I am here as a professional nurse. Yeah right, I’m here because I can’t manage to drag myself away from this magnetic man. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, smelling him, or caring for him in such intimate ways.
I step in and redirect several of the showerheads to spray away from us. Squirting some shower gel on a loofa I focus on washing one exquisite part of him at a time except for the most noticeable part.
His eyes are on me but his hands are white knuckling the stone bench on either side of him. I circle the loofah over his shoulders, down his
arms, and across his chest.
I motion with my hand for him to turn around and breathe a sigh of relief to be on the other side of his body for a moment. When I’m done soaping and rinsing his chiseled back, I help him turn back toward me.
I squat down and begin washing his feet, working my way up his calves until his smooth, silky erection is at eye level with me. There’s no way around it, literally.
I lift my eyes to his face, and he looks back at me with anticipation. I drop the loofah and lean forward onto my knees. My breath is coming in short pants, my heart is racing, pausing, and racing again. Nervous isn’t a strong enough word to describe what I’m feeling but something inside me, something that was dormant until I laid eyes on Marcus, comes alive.
I rest my palms on his knees and slide them up his thighs. He groans and his abdominal muscles contract when I take his solid, thick cock in my soapy hand and stroke his impressive length from base to tip.
He peels his hands off of the bench and takes hold of both of mine. One he wraps around the root of his cock, and the other directly above it. When he has me positioned the way he wants, he covers my hands with his and slowly we begin to work them up and down. Together, we stroke and twist in opposite directions, up over the head and down to the base until I learn the rhythm that evokes the most erotic reaction from him. It all comes very naturally to me and soon he has removed his hands, and I’m pleasing him by myself.
I look up at him, hoping like hell that I’m still doing this right. I can tell by his hooded eyes and clenched jaw that I most defiantly am.
I hold his eyes until I’m sure he’s close, but seconds before I bring him to climax, he leans forward and grasps me behind my neck. His mouth crashes against mine with urgency and powerful force.
There is nothing tender or gentle about this kiss. I lose concentration when he pulls away, and I remove my hands from his pulsing length. I’m breathless and my knees ache against the hard stone floor but, more than anything, I am confused.
“Not like this. I want you to be first.”
I’m stunned by his incredible ability to stop right on the edge like that. I’m no authority on the topic, but I’d think it would hurt to deny release at that point in the game.
“I want to; I’ve never done this before.” My admission genuinely surprises him
“Never?”
I shake my head, “No.”
“You’re very good at it.” He smiles with a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
Now I blush; where the hell was that ten minutes ago? He holds both of my hands to help me stand up. Resolved that this is how he wants it, I pick up his shampoo and massage his scalp; focusing my attention on his hair, his neck, and the soap sliding down his back between his shoulder blades. Anything other than his erection while he sits obediently in front of me with his hands to himself.
I rinse him off and shut down all of the water jets.
“Towels?” He points to a stack of thick, deep purple towels on a stool just inside the shower but out of the water’s spray.
I towel him off and help him out. With one of his arms draped over my slight shoulder, I’m not much help. If he falls, I’m going, too. I steady him while he hops to a leather bench outside the shower.
When I remove the plastic and tape from his leg, he is still at full mast. What now? I stand up and glance around for the next step in a man’s morning shower routine. I come up with nothing.
“You’re wet.”
My mouth pops open, and I tip my head forward and raising my eyebrows.
“Your clothes, they’re wet. You have others in your closet if you want to change.”
He smiles an ‘I gotcha’ smile, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Sorry. My closet is in the bedroom around the corner. Grab me a pair of jeans and a sweater,” he says, totally unaffected.
I’m a little insulted and a lot worried. I must have done something wrong to make him stop like that.
What kind of superpower does he have? How can he go to the brink of ecstasy and abruptly stop? It’s like reading an epic romance story and closing the book at the end of the last chapter.
“I am well trained in the art of discipline; there’s no need to worry about me. That was fucking amazing, Imani, but I want to pleasure you first. Anticipation is the best aphrodisiac.” He winks at me while I stand there staring like an idiot.
“Okay.” I take a step away from him. If that’s how he feels, who am I to argue? He’s right about anticipation, I am utterly turned on at the thought of him pleasuring me first. I need the distraction of choosing his clothes to cool me off.
I return to the bathroom with a pair of soft distressed jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater from his organized closet. He dresses himself for the most part, but he allows me to shave his face. I think he enjoys the intimacy of the act. It gives him an opportunity to really look at me while I’m concentrating on his skin.
Ready to start our first day at home together, we make our way to the dining room for breakfast. “Do you have a charger I can borrow? My phone is dead,” I ask before I sit down.
“There is a charger next to my bed. Wasn’t there one in your room? I told Mr. Black to make sure you had everything you could possibly need.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t even look. I didn’t end up spending too much time in there, you know.” He slides his hand behind his neck and tips his head to the side to smile up at me. “Did Mr. Black buy me these clothes?”
“No, you can thank Maria for that; she knows your size and what I like.”
That makes me think of Elijah. “Where’s Elijah been? I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“I sent him to Milan. I travel once a month to different Dominus locations; he went in my place.”
I sit down and decide to charge my phone later. “How did you get started with the restaurant thing?” I ask. Maria slides a plate of eggs and fresh fruit right under my nose so efficiently I don’t have time to lean back and give her room.
“Thank you, Maria,” I say to her backside as she disappears around the corner back into the kitchen.
I’m still curious as to how someone becomes this wealthy owning and managing restaurants. Money’s not my thing. I mean it’s nice, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to support myself, live comfortably, pay the bills, and have a little savings. All of which I’ve achieved; anything beyond that seems extravagant… and Marcus is the epitome of extravagant.
“I was born and raised in Italy; technically I’m a Duke,” he says that while wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.
“A Duke? What all does that entail?”
“It’s only by lineage. I have no real ties or responsibilities, just the impressive title. My aunt taught me how to cook growing up; my mother was not much for feeding her children,” he says, with disgust. “I am quite good at it, and when she died, she left me everything she had, and she had a lot. I used the money to open Dominus, but that wasn’t enough. She was everything to me, and I wanted nothing more than to continue honoring her with my success. I expanded all over Europe and then to the U.S.”
“That’s quite a success story.”
He pushes his food around on his plate for a moment before he continues.
“I told you before, my aunt was blind. She was an amazing, exceptional woman who couldn’t see with her eyes, but she saw me with her heart.”
I’m taken with the adoration and reverence in his voice when he speaks about his late aunt. It’s an attractive trait that not many men have.
My heart aches for his loss. We finish eating in silence, and I help him move into the living room where I help him get arranged on the couch in front of the fireplace.
“Comfortable?” I ask.
“Yes, have a seat. We need to plan our day. I am going to Dominus to check on things while Elijah is out of town.”
I open my mouth to argue, but it’s futile. He knows that I’m finally catching on to how things work around here, and he’s smug.
“And then we will fit in an appointment at the hospital,” I remind him.
“Yes, Imani, I always keep my end of a bargain.”
He’s not happy about going to the hospital, but I don’t care. I have a deep desire to protect him, even if it is from himself. I don’t want to talk about our plans for the day anymore. He needs to rest and have a CT scan of his damn brain and that’s it. I veer the topic of conversation to something more benign, the décor.
I settle in next to him and point at the fireplace. “What’s with the huge fireplace?
“I do everything big, Imani. Haven’t you noticed?”
After that shower this morning, I’d have to agree with that statement one hundred and ten percent.
“Ok, Mr. Big, I’m going to go plug my phone in to charge and make your appointment. Can I get you anything?” The smirk is back, and this time he cocks his head to the side, stirring up those butterflies in my tummy again.
I wish we could get to the ‘pleasure me first’ part right now. Face flushed and eternally flustered, I stand to go. When I’ve taken three steps away from the couch, he says my name, “Imani.” I stop but I don’t turn around.
“You have a beautiful ass.”
I shake my head and make my way to his bedroom with a tad extra sway to my hips for him again. He chuckles softly, and I wonder if there is such a thing as death by anticipation? Because if there is, and he keeps this up, I’ll be in the ground by noon.
Seventeen
I change out of my damp clothes into a nearly identical pair of jeans and sweater from the fully-stocked closet in my room. When I’m dry and my phone has charged enough to power on, the texts start rolling in, one after another. I may have been cocooned from civilization, playing house with a billionaire for the past twenty-four hours, but life outside his castle walls continues as usual.
There are multiple messages from Mom, Latoya, and Lana. I call Latoya first and apologize for not showing up to see the kids today. I do my best to explain the situation with Marcus. I sit patiently and listen as she gives me a fair amount of shit for taking a leave of absence from my job out of the blue for a perfect stranger.
