Crave Me

by Geneva Lee

  It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t certain whatever could be. “But those are the things you want to do to me. The things you’ve already done! Which is it? Which piece of your life is the lie: me or the club?”

  “Some choices we don’t make for ourselves. That place, my life—my profession—was my birthright from the day I was born. I didn’t ask for any of it. I didn’t want it. I can’t expect you to understand. I don’t ask you to.”

  But I did understand. I’d spent my own life torn between the reality of my family’s name and what I wanted for myself. I’d never been able to see either without the other. It had directed me, perverting my fate long before I understood the nature of my inheritance. My mother had taught me to value luxury and material goods because that was how she filled the void inside her. It was how I’d filled my own until Smith came into my life.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was trading one vice for another.

  “I do know. I understand, but that doesn’t solve anything,” I whispered, afraid of what I was really saying.

  “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. “I’m not certain I’m capable of being normal. I’ve been fucked up too long to know. But you make me want to search for it, and when I saw you in the pool, that feeling slipped away. I’m not losing it again.” He grabbed my face roughly. “I’m not losing you.”

  “What if you don’t have a choice?” The question tore through me.

  “When I pulled you out of the water, I knew I had a choice. That we always have a choice. There’s no assurance that they’re easy ones, but we do have them. All those people that told me I didn’t and forced my hand—all those people that did the same to you—they were lying to us, beautiful. We can choose the direction we travel. The only thing left to decide is if we do it together.”

  I wanted to believe it was that easy, but I knew it wasn’t. “What about choosing to be honest with each other?”

  “That’s something we can do—in time. There are things I can’t tell you about my life. Ugly things. You’ve seen my darkness. You’ve let it touch you. But I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to spend your life looking over your shoulder,” he said in a low voice. “But I also can’t bear the idea of turning you away.”

  “Then don’t,” I pleaded, burying my face against his neck. “Let me in here.”

  I placed my hand on his chest, measuring the hard, steady beat of his heart.

  “You’re already there, beautiful. Isn’t that enough?”

  It was tempting to believe it could be. “No. You claimed me, Smith. Chose to protect me. I want the same. I need to claim you as much as I need to protect you.”

  “No one can protect me.” The words were hollow, so unlike the confidence that usually oozed off of him.

  But despite his rejection of the idea, I saw the truth. He’d opened himself to me. He was vulnerable. Exposed. Could the rest come with time?

  “The reality is that you don’t need my protection. You’re strong. You choose to face the storm when others fly away from it.” He kissed the tears from my cheeks and smiled sadly.

  “So have you,” I informed him, choking on the raw ache in my throat.

  “Birds of a feather,” he whispered. “Stay with me. I know you have no reason to wait for answers. I’m asking you to take a chance. Fly into the storm with me.”

  He urged my legs around him and pressed his forehead to mine, never breaking eye contact.

  “I’ll shelter you,” he promised.

  My answer was there, hiding in his tumultuous gaze. He never guarded the secrets there. Not from me. I didn’t know their names or crimes. I could only accept that with time I would.

  So I corrected him. “We’ll shelter each other.”

  All my protective impulses kicked in as I carried Belle from the pool into the lift. Thinking I’d lost her undermined every thing I’d promised myself after leaving the gravesite. For a fraction of an instant, I’d faced the reality of life without her, and instead of letting her go, I’d dived in after her.

  “Don’t disappear again,” she murmured, turning my face toward hers.

  If only it was that easy. The most difficult decision had been made, but there were others to consider. Decisions that would be difficult to explain.

  I laid her across the bed still dripping wet and went for a towel, stripping out of my soaked clothes on the way. When I returned, she’d curled into a ball, shivering. Gently I lifted her arm and wiped away the moisture, repeating the gesture until she was dry. Then I tossed it to the floor and crawled in next to her.

  “You’re still wet,” she pointed out, even as she spooned against me.

  Combing my fingers through her hair, I murmured, “But I’m warm, beautiful.”

  “Mmhmm.” She traced the curve of my pectorals, then leaned in to press hot kisses across my wet skin.

  I slid my hand under her chin, cupping her face, and drew her lips up to mine. Our mouths moved slowly. Tasting. Exploring. It was as if we were discovering each other for the first time. My tongue licked across her smooth teeth before seeking hers. We took our time, allowing our bodies to brush gently as we connected.

  She’d chosen to trust me and return to my bed. I wasn’t about to let her ever count that as a mistake. Even though I knew what I had to ask of her would be difficult, in the end, I knew it was the only path forward.

  I’d taken her body before. Controlling it. Owning it. Now I would worship it.

  Soon there would be reason for her to doubt what was happening between us. Tonight’s memory had to sustain her through those trials.

  Rolling her onto her back, I moved over her body. Her legs spread in invitation, and I sank between them, allowing the head of my cock to slide along her warm seam. Belle rolled against me, urging my entrance, but I held back. Hooking my arms under her back, I lifted her from the bed. I needed her flesh against mine. Her skin was feverish, heated from the simmering passion building between us, and her nipples hardened as they brushed against my chest. I bent to take them in my mouth, circling my tongue over the sensitive tips until she cried out. Belle’s head fell back as I alternated between her breasts, kissing and sucking, until her breathing grew ragged. There were so many things I wanted her to experience—so much pleasure I planned to give her.

  “Please, Sir—” she began.

  I hushed her, moving my lips to her ear. “Tonight isn’t about power or pleasure. It’s about connection.”

  The thread drawing us together tightened as I spoke. She gasped as if she also felt it. This time when her hips pushed against me, there was no desperation to the movement—only a signal that she needed the same thing. I rocked into her carefully, my cock instinctively seeking the shelter we had promised one another. It found it, meeting no resistance as it slid into her. Neither of us moved as our bodies joined together. Instead we savored the sensation as I filled her.

  Her hands caught the sides of my face, and she wrenched me forward until our mouths collided once more. We moved in unison with the kiss, the languid strokes soothing the ache I felt. Reaching down, I forced a hand between us and spread her folds, exposing her clit to my skin. I would show her that I could take care of her. I rolled my hips, withdrawing enough that each time I slowly thrust back inside her, the friction built.

  She moaned as her cunt pulsed around my shaft, each contraction adding the perfect punctuation to our lovemaking. We were climbing together, hand in hand. Neither of us raced forward. We merely savored each exquisite wave of pleasure that took us closer to the brink.

  It was a slow blues riff. The kind that burrowed into your soul and filtered into your bloodstream until it became more than music. It was art. Unplanned. Unrehearsed. Our bodies were the instruments, and we let them choose the melody.

  Her hands released my face, and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, digging her nails into me for leverage as our tempo increased. Our song began to evolve into an urgent rhythm, the notes raw and brutal as our climax began.
Small cries fell from her lips, punctuated by pants as our harmony gave way to chaos.

  I closed my mouth overs hers as I emptied into her, wanting her to feel the warmth of my lips as the heat of my seed filled her. She went limp in my arms, and I gathered her close, pulling the weight of her supple body with me, and I shifted onto my knees. I stayed inside her, the constrictions of her channel galvanizing my erection. Her arms draped around my neck as I gripped her hips and urged them up and down.

  “Too much,” she mumbled even as I felt her body tighten.

  “Never enough,” I grunted as I circled my groin.

  Her breath hitched as trembles rolled through her body, the sensitivity of her clit spurring her toward another orgasm.

  “Look at me,” I said in a soft voice. “I want to see inside you as I come.”

  Her eyes blinked open, her irises bright despite her hooded eyelids. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as trembles gave way to violent tremors.

  “You own me,” she gasped, barely pushing out the words as a strangled sob tore from her.

  “That’s it, beautiful,” I urged as she unfolded on me. “And I always will.”

  I stood in the hallway, staring at the crack of light under the door. A wail shattered the air around me, freezing me to the spot. I forced my hand to reach for the knob, but no matter how much I stretched, I couldn’t reach it. With each scream coming from the other side, my panic rose. I lunged forward and fell.

  Fell.

  Fell.

  I jerked awake, still panting as I sat up in the bed. Smith lay beside me, sprawled on his stomach with the sheet tangled between his legs. I considered shaking him awake, but before I could, my dream returned to me. I’d seen that door before.

  You have no idea what he keeps behind closed doors.

  Georgia’s words at the club.

  I didn’t think as I slid silently from the bed. Grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed, I wrapped myself in it and padded into the hallway. The lift dinged as it arrived, and I tensed as the insignificant sound echoed in the silent house. Inside I pushed the button for the third floor. I hadn’t ever made it back there after Smith had shown me the room he’d set aside for me. Perhaps if I had, my curiosity would have gotten the better of me before now. The doors slid open, revealing a dark hall, but as I stepped into the corridor, a series of automatic lights illuminated. One by one they blinked on. The final light switched on between the two doors at the end of the hallway.

  My footsteps fell heavily as I slowly walked forward. I had no idea what I would find. Most of me screamed to turn back and flee to the safety of Smith’s bed, but I continued, propelled by an unseen force. It seemed to drive me. I paused when I reached my destination, my eyes flashing between the open door that had been given to me and the one that remained closed directly across from it. When my hand reached toward it, my fingers closed over the knob. It turned effortlessly.

  The door had been closed, but not locked.

  A slant of moonlight fell in a streak across the room, but it wasn’t enough to see by. Sweeping my hand across the wall, I found the switch. Only one bulb flipped on but it was enough.

  Everything about the space was eerily similar to the room Smith had shown me. The one I was permitted to be in. But as my eyes adjusted to the light, it came into clearer focus. Heavy dust coated the furniture and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The bed was unmade, sheets wadded into a ball at the foot and the comforter hanging half off the mattress. A half dozen pillows were scattered across it as though someone had simply gotten up for the day and left it.

  Smith had a housekeeper. A woman I’d never met. But I knew from the pristine condition of the rest of his house that she was diligent, which meant this room had been left in this state purposefully. I wandered to the desk where mail waited in a neat stack. Dust billowed around me as I picked up a letter and blew it off to read the address. It wasn’t a surprise that it was posted to this house, but my heart skipped when I saw it was addressed to a woman. Margot Pleasant.

  If this had been her room, why would she leave it like this?

  I searched through the pile of unopened envelopes, hoping for a clue. Nothing was out of the ordinary except their condition.

  Turning away, I continued my search, stumbling over a heel on my way. I leaned down and picked it up. It was about my size. Tossing it into the corner to avoid tripping over it again, I stopped at a vanity. Bottles of perfumes and tubes of lipstick littered its top, covered in so much dust that I couldn’t read their names or brands. I looked up and froze. My face stared back at me. Not once, but a hundred times. Small slivers of my mouth and eyes and nose reflected in the shattered glass.

  I yanked open the drawer of the vanity, discovering more cosmetics and nothing else.

  I spun around, zeroing in on my next target. A large cedar chest under the window.

  Who was this woman? Nothing in this macabre museum of her life gave me any answers. I would have to keep digging.

  Opening the lid carefully, I peered inside the trunk. A thin, reedy cane rested at the bottom next to a pair of handcuffs and rope. The rest of the items were harder to make sense of. There were clamps and tubes attached to chains and hoses. Rummaging through it, my hand closed over a dildo. I dropped it immediately. One woman’s treasure…

  My throat constricted as I backed away from the chest. Smith hadn’t wanted me in here for a reason, one that was becoming increasingly more obvious. The tightness found my stomach. I should leave, but I couldn’t stop looking. Not until I was certain.

  God, I hoped I was wrong.

  The closet door loomed in the far wall, beckoning me toward it. Steeling myself, I headed straight for it and pushed the open door. When I switched on the overhead light, a row of dresses greeted me. Beautiful gowns and simple shifts. Shoes and more shoes. And next to all of it, a selection of suits, tailored to a specific man.

  Tears swam into my eyes as I caught a familiar wool sleeve in my hand. They were all black. It was the only difference from the ones he wore now.

  This wasn’t her room. It was their room.

  “She kept her name,” Smith said behind me.

  Whipping around, I found him standing in the room behind me, holding the letter I’d cleaned off. His hair was tousled, and he wore a fresh layer of stubble, but nothing else. The brutal masculinity of his naked body stirred a familiar ravenousness in my core. I closed my eyes and tried to shake the feeling from my body, but his presence was too powerful. When I reopened them, he’d moved closer to me, making his magnetic pull even harder to resist.

  “It was a blow to the ego at first, but after time it made sense,” he continued. His voice was distant, caught in the past.

  “Margot.” Saying her name out loud made her feel more real. I wanted to take it back, wishing I’d never spoken it in the first place. “Did you love her?”

  It was the most important question, and the one that should matter least.

  “I loved her more than she loved me,” he admitted, his eyes returning to me. “We were young and stupid and filthy rich. I’d had the world handed to me without asking for the bill. I never imagined the price would be so high.”

  I swiped at the liquid threatening to spill down my cheeks, embarrassed to be jealous even though it seemed certain I had a right to be.

  “Where is she?” I asked although I dreaded his answer.

  “Dead.” The word was flat. Emotionless. A statement of fact and nothing more.

  “I need to go.” I shoved past him, but he caught me by the arm.

  “You need to understand!”

  “Understand what?” I exploded. “That you keep a shrine to your dead wife? Who, by the way, you’ve never mentioned. Or maybe understand that she’s dead? Tell me what you want me to understand.”

  It was clear he didn’t have an answer to that.

  “What do you expect me to do? Hold you? Drop to my knees and suck you off so that you’ll feel better?” I yanked away fr
om him and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Maybe you could fuck me and pretend I’m her.”

  Rage blazed in his eyes as he hauled me off the bed, throwing me over his shoulder. “I don’t want you to be her.”

  “Put me down!” I demanded.

  “No. Not until you calm down.”

  “My apologies,” I hissed. “Please put me down, Sir.”

  “Don’t do that,” he warned me as he carried me kicking and screaming toward the lift. “Do not sully our relationship.”

  “Oh, it’s fucking sullied.” I whacked his shoulder blade with my palm, only managing to hurt my own hand.

  We got off on the second floor. I’d stopped trying to fight him. Now my plan was to run the moment he released me. He couldn’t keep a hold on me forever.

  “I’m going to set you down,” he explained when we entered his bedroom. “And you’re going to want to run. Swear you won’t.”

  “Or what?” I dared him.

  “I’ll tie you up and fuck you until you don’t have enough strength to leave.”

  “You wouldn’t.” But deep down, I knew he would, and even worse, I knew I would enjoy it.

  I wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

  “Fine. I swear.”

  As he lowered me to the floor, he whispered. “Remember that I’m not only stronger, I’m faster, beautiful.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I crossed my arms over my chest. He could try to talk his way out of this all he wanted, but there was no backpedaling. He’d crossed a line.

  “The day she died,” he began, “I shut that door. Then I went to the cabinet and got my father’s gun.”

  Despite my attempt to remain remote, my mouth fell open. An overwhelming longing to take his hand flooded through me, but I held my ground, even if I was listening.

  “Things were a mess between us. I suspected she was seeing someone else. She was as hotheaded as I am. It made for interesting fights.”

  Another grotesque similarity between the two of us. I gulped, attempting to swallow this revelation.