by Emerson Rose
Marcus pulls out my chair and scoots me to the table before sitting down next to me.
“I’ve never eaten someplace this fancy,” I whisper in his ear when we are seated. He chuckles and turns his sharp green eyes on me.
“Criminal is what that is. You should be spoiled constantly. This is all yours now, you know. Everything that I’ve built and worked for my entire life belongs to you.” I scan the room taking in every beautiful crevice and look back at him, confused.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I don’t need any of this, I just need you.” His hand slides under the table onto my thigh and easily between my legs at the top of the slit in my dress.
He turns until he is facing me in his chair.
“What I mean by that,” he says, pausing to run his fingers along the edge of my garter.
“Is,” he says, moving further until his fingers are skimming my damp panties. I’m gripping the edge of my seat, trying very hard not to fidget.
“That you have every entitlement that marriage brings to a relationship.”
With that he shifts my panties to the side and slides two fingers inside of me. I gasp and lock eyes with him when he drags them out and circles my clit. I bite my lip and dig my nails into the cushion of the chair pushing my toes deep into my shoes.
His words aren’t registering. All I can concentrate on are his fingers and the way they are making a perfect figure eight from inside my body to around my clit. I’m going to come and he knows it.
More, I want more. That’s all I can think about while he tortures me, slipping his fingers in my sex and dragging them out purposefully.
I’m on the edge of exploding when my common sense comes knocking and I grab his wrist to stop him.
“Don’t,” he commands low and stern.
“No, you don’t. I can’t sit here in front of all these people and lose control.” I hiss, gripping his wrist tighter.
“I bet you can,” he says, and I clench my jaw so tight my teeth ache.
“Not one for publicly displaying affection, my Imani?” He allows me to move his hand out from under my dress. The guests here would have never known what was really going on. It would look to them like Marcus had turned his full attention to me and was leaning in to hear me better but I don’t trust myself.
One of the many things I’ve learned making love with him is that I’m not quiet when I climax. I have no control when it comes to him. We have to stop now or we won’t.
“I... I just.” He said something about marriage. I swear he did. Why on earth would he be talking about marriage?
“Wait, what did you say about marriage?” I snap back to the here and now.
He purposely distracted me from that part of the conversation with an onslaught of passion and desire. Such a clever manipulative man he is.
“I said you are the sole beneficiary of everything I control financially. The marriage part was to help you understand the magnitude of the arrangement, and this…,” he says, slowly sliding the two fingers that were just inside of me into his mouth.
“Was to soften the shock.”
Fucking hell, this man is impossible. My blood is pumping so hard through my veins I feel an aneurism coming on.
Eighty percent of me is on fire for him and wants to drag him to the coat closet we passed on our way in and the other twenty wants to scream at him for manipulating me into accepting this news about his fortune being half mine.
“You can’t do that. I have to sign something or have a lawyer or… or… you can’t just do that.”
I’m getting loud and a little hysterical, drawing the attention of the people sitting closest to us but I can’t help it.
“Lower your voice, Imani.” Really? He’s worried about drawing attention? He nearly made me come as soon as we sat down and then he dropped this bomb on me and now he’s thinking about me causing a scene?
“Stop freaking out. I did it because I adore you. I’m devoted to you. I love you. There has never been anyone in my life that I loved more, not even my Aunt Angelica. You’re my world and I want you to have anything you want, anything you need. If I die I need to know that you’re taken care of.”
Stunned into silence, my chocolate-brown eyes lock with his sharp greens and I see all the pain he’s experienced in his life there.
Abandonment, abuse, neglect, fear, confusion, it’s all swimming there in those hypnotizing eyes. My anger dissipates, calm acceptance flows from me and I take his hand.
I tear my eyes from his beautiful face and focus on our hands between us trying to make sense of what he’s said.
“Imani?” His softer tone draws me from my thoughts.
“Okay, I think I understand. Well, I’m not entirely sure I understand, but I want to so I’ll try.”
He shakes his head briefly closing his eyes while the tension evaporates from his body.
“Thank you.”
“You are not going to die, though, so stop saying things like that. I mean it. I’m not accepting a dime from you because you’re not going anywhere.”
A waiter approaches the table oblivious of the serious conversation he’s interrupting but the murderous look Marcus spears him with is all the poor guy needs to abruptly about-face and retreat.
“That wasn’t nice.”
“I’m not nice.” I roll my eyes.
“I didn’t leave you my fortune in a will, Imani. Well, I did, but that’s not the point. And you’re correct about signing things; you will need to. But when you do, and I know you will, we will be equal partners now, not just if I die. I wish that you would accept that there is a possibility that I may not make it through surgery, or that it can even be attempted.”
I open my mouth to protest and bitch because he’s not fighting hard enough for his life but he places a finger over my lips to quiet me.
“I’m not giving up, baby. I’ll try whatever you want but only if you accept my demands.”
I sigh deeply and realize this is another battle I’m not winning, not even a little bit. I nod in agreement. He leans in to kiss me with abandon. No shame or concern for the dozens of people with one eye on the owner of this restaurant, curious about the new stranger. They’re trying to be subtle but I feel their eyes on us.
“Marcus. Marcus, I think we have an audience.” I murmur into his mouth as he continues to kiss me.
“Let them watch.”
Sixty-Two
Dinner was absurdly extravagant and the service was embarrassingly perfect. Marcus coached me on how to work my way through the flatware and the different ingredients of the dishes we were served.
He has an obvious passion for cooking and food. We were never allowed to finish a course before it was swept away and the next placed in front of us. I’m feeling guilty about all the waste. A small country could probably be fed with the food we didn’t finish.
“Do you give to any charities that are involved in feeding the hungry?” He sets his knife along the edge of his plate very deliberately turning all of his attention on me.
“I knew you were thinking about that. Imani, I didn’t become this successful by being irresponsible with money. I was poor once, too, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember. That’s why I ask.”
“Well, the answer is yes. Many organizations, in fact. My lawyers will fill you in on all of them tomorrow when you meet them.”
“Tomorrow? I was really hoping Dr. Carlson would be here by then.”
I can’t help but to frown a little and he reaches up to smooth the line between my eyebrows.
“We can do both. When is he due to arrive?”
“I’m not sure, I’ll have to check in with him.” He stills for a moment before he returns to eating.
“How do you contact him?” I can feel the jealous vibes rolling off of him.
“I’ll call his office.”
“Good.”
“Or text him.” I can’t resist. I should but I can’t. I peek at him out of the co
rner of my eye. His jaw is tight and the grip on his knife is tighter. I bust out laughing, covering my mouth to prevent more attention being brought our way.
“Something funny, Miss Jefferson?” he asks.
Through fits of giggles I answer, “Yes, Mr. Castillo.” I attempt to collect myself. With raised and expectant eyebrows, he regards me waiting for an explanation.
“I’m sorry, really. I don’t have his personal phone number Marcus, and even if I did, it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“And that’s funny, why?”
I smile lovingly and reach out to touch his thigh. I’m surprised to find his muscles rock hard with tension.
“You’re jealous, unnecessarily of course, but it struck me as very funny, I apologize.”
He covers my hand with his on his leg.
“I don’t remember things clearly from before the accident, Imani, but I do know that I was a dangerous man and being jealous concerning you is dangerous.”
He is deadly serious; this isn’t funny anymore at all. I try to slide my hand out from under his but he grips it hard, too hard.
“You’re hurting me.” He releases it and pushes his own hand through his thick dark brown waves in frustration. I’ve pushed a button that’s not to be pushed again.
When he’s worked through his anger, he clears his throat and straightens in his chair.
“More wine?” he asks.
“Yes, please. I’m sorry, Marcus.” I try again to apologize as he pours a second glass of wine for me.
“You don’t have to apologize for finding humor in something. I love the sound of your laughter but you are mine and the thought of you with another man…” He shakes his head and looks out over the sea of people in the dining room.
“That’s a hard limit for me.”
“Hard limit?” I repeat the unfamiliar term and he appears surprised at his use of the words as well.
“Something I cannot tolerate. I can’t guarantee what would happen if I saw you with another man, Imani.” His tone is frigid and intimidating. I will not be messing around with this subject anytime soon, no, make that ever.
“Let’s finish up and head to the club. The show starts soon,” he says, changing the subject.
I look over to check up on my bodyguards at the table across from us. The four of them look ridiculous, each taking turns scanning the room and checking on us. Not a single movement in this room goes unnoticed and there is no affection or friendliness exchanged between any of them.
I’d laugh if that hadn’t gone so wrong just moments ago.
“Okay, what kind of show is it?”
“You’ll see.”
“Strippers?” I ask innocently. The Seattle club looked like a place strippers would perform.
“No, not exactly. Trust me, I think you’ll like it.”
I take a drink of wine and consider chugging it all. I feel like I may need a little buzz before the show.
“You’ll enjoy it. Don’t look so apprehensive.” His soft tone has returned and I decide the glass of wine can come with me to the club.
This version of the Dominus nightclub is very different from the one in Seattle. The decor from the restaurant has been carried through to the elegant room spread out before us.
We pass through large double doors and the ambiance changes, the lighting is completely different. An unearthly red glow rises from the floor around the edge of the club and tiny undulating twinkle lights above cover the low ceiling, moving in waves with a life of their own.
A subdued excitement hangs in the air as members mingle and begin to find their seats at the tables that surround a large platform stage in the center of the room.
Cheerful dinner chatter is over and those who have found their spots are leaning close speaking in each other’s ears and showing a healthy dose of public affection. The music is sensual and slowly rhythmic, it’s intoxicating.
“Did you pump something into the air in here?” I ask, plastering my body against Marcus’s side. This place is beautiful but it’s also just creepy enough that I’m on edge. He chuckles and squeezes my hand that’s clinging to his bicep.
“Over here, we can sit with Elijah and Black. The lights will be going out and I’d like them nearby.”
“What do you think’s going to happen?”
He stops his stroll to the front of the stage suddenly and I jerk to a halt as well.
“What?”
“Anything can happen. I need you to remember that, baby. He’s right. I do tend to block out the idea of danger when things have been going well for a few days or even hours. It’s my natural way of protecting my mind from anything unpleasant. It’s also a very dangerous way to avoid dealing with the problems at hand.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just…”
“You just don’t want to believe it. I know it’s your way of coping, but it’s a dangerous habit. You need to be on guard with me, Imani. Expect the unexpected at all times. Being involved with me is like walking a tightrope between good and evil. I don’t want to scare you and that’s why I avoid talking about it. You left me the last time you thought you were in danger. But we may as well be realistic and address the fact that I am trouble for you in more ways than one. The man I used to be attracted trouble like a magnet.”
His eyes dart from one to the other in anticipation of my reaction. When I give him none, a minuscule trace of panic flashes across his face and he dips his head coaxing a response from me.
“I know, I ignore it purposely. It’s foolish.”
“I’m doing everything within my power to keep you safe, Imani. Please know that if nothing else.”
“I do, Marcus. Don’t worry anymore. I’d learn to tolerate one hundred bodyguards if it were necessary to be with you.”
He closes his eyes briefly and sighs before leading me to our table where Elijah, Mr. Black, and the two women are already seated.
After brief introductions, I learn the women’s names are Lizbeth and Carmen. They are both curt and professional and brief. This should be fun.
We slide into the comfortable booth first followed by the women and then Elijah and Black on the outside openings.
I cross my legs to avoid a repeat of the heavy petting that occurred earlier and Marcus rolls his eyes knowingly, laying his hand across my thigh.
We settle in and chit chat about boring things like the weather and the holidays with the strange women and Elijah and Black.
All of the lights go down in the room, every single one, plunging us into blackness. The music changes and I recognize the slow churn of Massive Attack as the melody of Dissolved Girl flows through the room.
A spotlight turns on and I follow the stream of light through the dark to a woman near the ceiling wrapped in black silk. Mesmerized and frozen in my seat, I watch her begin a sultry routine of twisting and rolling up and down the long material with the music.
None of this would be out of the ordinary except that the performer is naked. It’s like a raw erotic Cirque du Soleil. Half way through the long performance, I sit wide eyed in awe of the strength and muscle tone of the woman moving fluidly up and down the silks. I jump in my seat and gasp when she drops unexpectedly. The material unrolls until she’s inches from the floor where it snaps and she hangs suspended in a graceful arch.
I feel Marcus’s warm breath on my neck and an electrical zing shoots up my spine at the combination of his closeness and the adrenaline rush from the performer’s daring stunt.
“You like?” he asks, whispering in my ear.
“I love.”
He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and begins to trail a path of warm kisses from behind my ear, down my neck and along my jaw. He has me dressed in a gown that doesn’t allow much access to my skin. Well, none actually, so he presses his kisses against the scratchy sequins.
Without thinking, I turn and part my lips but he doesn’t kiss me the way I’m expecting. He kisses one corner of my mouth and then the other hovering in betwe
en. I close my eyes and he leans in with his forehead touching mine.
His hand makes its way up to my sequin covered breast where he pauses and then nudges away from me completely at the exact moment the music stops, leaving me wanton and craving him like a drug.
The room erupts with clapping and the beautiful brunette scampers off stage into the protection of the dark with her long silky ponytail bobbing against her bare backside.
I have no idea what’s next but I feel trapped and frustrated after that part of the show and Marcus’s teasing. Paybacks are going to be hell; I hope he realizes that.
He’s enjoying the process of building my desire because he knows I’m not comfortable with public displays of affection. He doesn’t think I’ll make a scene.
The pitch-black room comes alive again when LED-lighted hula hoops appear and swirl around the naked bodies of performers on stage.
Trails of light drag behind the spinning dancers as they flow around the stage in time with the electronic arrangement of music.
When one of the performers comes close to the edge of the stage, I notice that Marcus and I aren’t the only two being whipped into a sex-crazed frenzy. That must be the goal of the show.
I wonder what the people around us are up to in the unlit room. My thought is interrupted by a change on stage. Five LED-lit poles rise from the floor of the stage in a circle and dark silhouettes in pairs appear next to each one.
The first performer snakes her body up the pole and begins a routine while the other mirrors it from a lower vantage point. Marcus slides his arm behind my waist and pulls me closer to his side and I mentally prepare myself for another onslaught of temptation. But, instead of passionate kisses, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up and a panic rushes around us.
The table vibrates and everyone around me slides out of the booth leaving me in Marcus’s painfully tight embrace.
“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” he whispers in my ear and his words bring dread instead of excitement.
I don’t move and I stay as quiet as I can, but after a few moments my body’s reaction to heightened stress and fear kicks in. I’m going to faint.
