Okay, so she had no life. Outside of teaching, her daily conversation consisted of talking to a cat and painting.
While she tucked the parchment into her smock, hiding it from Abra’s mischievous paws, Annie wondered yet again who “they” were—the people that Alice and Alexi were with. “They” were probably some kind of cult, which was what the police department had concluded even without the note. Annie had showed it to Awai only, for fear that the police would take it and lose it somewhere in all the shuffle of paperwork. That note was too important—it was her only link to her cousins.
Yeah, the twins were likely hidden up in the Tahoe area in some kind of back-to-nature commune. Yet Annie couldn’t believe that Alexi could possibly have been brainwashed enough to live with a cult—she was too damn pigheaded and stubborn. Alice, too, but she had a gentler side that could be more easily swayed than Alexi.
Even with the note, though, Annie had never stopped her search for her twin cousins. She had hired private investigator after private investigator, but every lead turned up empty. It was like her cousins had vanished to another planet or something.
Using her free hand, Annie pulled her smock and T-shirt away from her breasts to allow a little cool air to flow through. It was an unusually warm day, and sweat had beaded on her skin. She had very large breasts to go along with her size 16 figure, and when she was home she preferred to go with no bra.
Even though she was inexperienced sexually, she had plenty of fantasies. It made her feel naughty and kind of sexy to be clad only in her white T-shirt and black jeans, and no underwear at all.
Her pussy tingled and her nipples tightened as a thought crossed her mind—to take off all her clothes and paint in the nude. Should she?
Why not? No one would see.
But what if someone stops by?
Well, she’d settle for leaving her jeans on and taking off only her shirt.
Annie whipped off her smock then pulled her T-shirt over her head, causing her braid to flip over her shoulder again. She tossed the shirt and smock onto the taupe leather couch behind her.
Closing her eyes, Annie brought her hands to her breasts, allowing her fantasies to take over. As usual, a dark, mysterious, faceless man filled her thoughts. As she imagined his hands on her nipples she tweaked and tugged at them, feeling a response shoot down to her folds. She moved her hips in time with the movements, causing her jeans to rub against her clit as she imagined the man licking and sucking her.
Annie tilted her head back as she continued to play with her nipples. Her braid fell and swung across her skin, a teasing caress against her naked back. No one would believe her fantasies. She was the boring, staid college professor who never had time to date, nor a worthy selection. But her fantasies…she had often imagined what it would feel like to have a man between her thighs, to have his cock sliding in and out of her core.
And in her most secret fantasies, she had two men pleasuring her at once…or even a man and a woman.
Shame on me.
Annie grinned at her own brazen thoughts. Until she was eighteen, she had been raised as a southern lady. She learned that sex was something you didn’t do until you were married. And real ladies certainly never talked about sex. Anything other than missionary position with a spouse was considered evil as far as her sanctimonious mother had been concerned.
But after leaving home and going to college, Annie’s mind had opened up, freeing her to all the possibilities a woman could enjoy.
If only she could find the right man to enjoy them with.
The ache in her pussy was growing stronger and stronger, a tight spiral connected from her nipples to her belly to her slit. She moved her hips faster so that the jeans rubbed her clit even harder until she reached that special place.
She gave a small cry as a series of mini-orgasms rippled through her, and more of her juices soaked the heavy denim of her jeans. Warmth flushed over her skin and her core pulsed as though milking a cock and drawing out her mystery man’s seed.
What would a man’s come smell like, taste like? Brie and salty tapioca pudding, that’s what Awai said once. Just a casual comment, driving home to Annie how little first-hand information she had about intimacy. Her knowledge was confined to literature and the imaginations of her paint brushes…and the few naughty websites she had dared to visit.
“Brie and Tapioca. Well, y’all, Annie likes both.”
She lifted her eyelids and stared again at the blank canvas as she let her hands slide from her breasts and down her full waist. She felt more relaxed, her mind cleared of stress and ready to open up to her artistic imagination.
With renewed determination, Annie raised her head and pushed thoughts of her missing cousins away. Her braid fell forward, over her shoulder as she attacked her canvas, losing herself in swirls of blues and grays. When she worked on a landscape, she tended to block out the rest of the world and to get lost in thoughts and feelings of the moment. She truly was in her own little world.
Persistent knocking at the front door jarred Annie from her artistic trance. She blinked the fog of colors and shapes from her mind, slowly returning to reality. A glance to the window told her that from the time she’d started working on her painting hours had fled by rather than minutes. The sun now hung low over the ocean, its golden ripples leading from the glowing orb across the water to the shore. A spectacular sunset of oranges, blues, and pinks streaked the horizon.
More knocks, and Annie frowned as she eyed the door. Should she answer, or hope whoever it was went away?
“Annie! I know you’re in there!” Awai’s no-nonsense voice sliced through the door like a diamond saw. “Stop moping and open up.”
“I’m not moping,” Annie grumbled under her breath as she dropped her brush into her waiting container of turpentine, stood, and stretched her cramped muscles. The movement caused cool air to rush over her nipples, and they stood out hard and tight. Heat flushed over Annie as she realized she was still naked from the waist up. She climbed off the stool, quickly grabbed her T-shirt and yanked it over her head.
“Annie!” Awai’s tone notched up to her I’m-gonna-huff-and-puff-and-blow-your-house-down voice.
“Hold onto your britches,” Annie shouted. She pushed her glasses up her nose, threw her braid over her shoulder and padded across the worn carpet to the door. Abra blinked green eyes and watched from her perch on the back of the couch. The cat had her little chin up high, doing her best to show she was Queen of Annie’s Realm.
“What, are you naked or something?” Awai said from outside, and Annie’s cheeks heated even more. “Open the damn door already.”
“You have about as much patience as a hurricane.” When Annie reached the door she wiped her sweating palms on her black jeans. She didn’t bother to look through the peephole—no doubt at all it was Awai, the human whirlwind. She unlatched the chain lock then opened the door.
As always, Awai was sheer elegance with her black hair in a neat chignon at her nape and wearing one of her usual designer outfits. This one had a black skirt and matching mandarin collared jacket, her blouse a splash of amethyst in a vivid but gorgeous contrast.
Awai held two paper bags, one in each arm. “Took you long enough,” she said before Annie had a chance to greet her. “Damn southerners. Everything’s slow and easy.”
Awai blew through the doorway and Annie was left looking out into the late afternoon sunshine instead of her aunt. “Uh, hello?”
The warm smell of fresh baked bread and something spicy drifted behind Awai as she headed straight into the apartment’s kitchenette. Annie’s stomach growled.
“I heard that,” Awai said as she plopped the bags onto the counter. Without pause, she went to the oven, and turned it on. “I knew you’d be painting and moping.”
“I told you already—I wasn’t moping.” Annie shut the front door and followed Awai into the tiny kitchen, the linoleum cool to her bare feet. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“Making us dinner.” Awai smiled as her dark eyes met Annie’s. “I figured you’d need more than just Abra for company this evening.”
Annie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t cook.”
“Ah, but I make one hell of a mean warmed-up lasagna.” Awai reached for one of the shopping bags and pulled out a loaf of French bread, a packaged salad, a bottle of Annie’s favorite brand of merlot, and an aluminum pan with Mama Mia’s Italian Grill stamped across the cardboard top.
“Mmmmm. My favorite.” Annie peeked in the other bag. “Oooh, and you brought spumoni, too. I’ll put it in the freezer, Auntie.”
Awai gave Annie “the look” and said, “I’ve told you not to call me that. I’m only a couple of years older than you.”
With a grin, Annie replied, “Oh, but it’s so much fun to get you good and riled.”
Awai sniffed and turned back to the lasagna.
Annie had to admit it was fun chatting with Awai, and it helped to not be alone while she was thinking about her missing cousins. Awai was actually their aunt by marriage, not blood, and she only had four years on Annie, who had just passed her thirtieth birthday.
Awai’s being there to help her through this tough day reminded Annie of that night a year ago when she’d taken Alexi out for drinks and dinner to help get her mind off of Alice.
The night she up and disappeared. Some idea that was, getting her drunk.
With everything being pre-prepared, it wasn’t long before dinner was served. Annie and Awai sat at the small oak table in the kitchen nook and Abra rubbed her head against Annie’s feet beneath the table. Awai chatted about the latest account she’d won over to her advertising firm, and of the gorgeous blond man she’d just met at the club last night.
“Which club?” Annie asked before taking a sip of her merlot.
As her eyes met Annie’s, Awai gave a small shrug. “A BDSM club.”
Annie choked on her wine and it shot up her nose. She grabbed her napkin and managed to cover her mouth before she spewed merlot everywhere.
“Are you all right, sweets?” Awai asked as if she’d just said she’d found toilet paper on sale at the grocery store instead of announcing she’d gone to a BDSM club.
When she’d sufficiently recovered, Annie patted her mouth with the napkin then set it on her empty plate. “That’s why you were wearing that tight leather dress and those thigh high boots when I came by to ask you to go with me to Alexi’s last year. You weren’t off to a masquerade party. You were going to a BDSM club.”
Awai smiled and raised her glass. “Does it bother you that I’m a Dominatrix? That’s Domme for short.”
Annie almost choked again as she visualized Awai wearing that black leather number and whipping a submissive male. “Um, no. Not at all.”
Cocking her head to one side, Awai said, “You should come with me sometime and find a good Dom. You’re a born submissive, you know.”
“I don’t think so.” Annie shook her head. “I’m not into, ah, whips and handcuffs.”
“It’s not all about whips, chains, and pain, Annie.” Awai pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table as she gave Annie that penetrating look of hers that was sure to have won over plenty of accounts…and probably submissives, too. “For a sub, giving up control is more than bondage, more than pleasure and pain. It’s power. You have total control over your Master’s pleasure. You hold all the cards.”
Meeting Awai’s gaze head on, Annie asked, “Why are you a Domme?”
With a shrug Awai leaned back in her chair. “I enjoy having men obeying my every whim.”
“Like they do at the agency?” Annie asked as she arched one eyebrow.
Awai’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Something like that.”
Annie pulled her braid over her shoulder and absently played with the end of it. “If the submissive has all the control, then why aren’t you a sub?”
For a moment Awai was silent. When she finally spoke she said, “Until I truly learned the concept behind BDSM, I always thought the Domme had the power.” She brushed imaginary lint off her black skirt. “By the time I figured out otherwise, I had learned all about being a Domme—and now, I enjoy it too much to switch.” But something in Awai’s eyes held just a tinge of regret.
Before Annie could respond, Awai said, “How about I come over in the morning, and we’ll head over to Macy’s? They have a big sale going on, and I could use a new suit.”
No doubt Awai had changed the subject because the reason she’d become a Domme was something she didn’t want to talk about. Perhaps she even regretted being a Domme instead of a submissive. It would take a hell of a man to dominate Awai, though. Annie didn’t think men like that existed on Earth.
Even though Awai lived in San Francisco, closer than Annie, she always insisted on picking Annie up. Awai had a Mercedes SL600, a sleek sports car and she loved to drive it every chance she got.
“I could use a few things, too.” Annie smiled and gave a slow nod. “Why don’t you drop by around ten?”
“Ten sharp.” Awai pushed her chair back, gracefully stood, and headed toward the easel in the living room. “So, what are you working on? Something depressing, right?”
Annie rolled her eyes, but then she realized she had no idea what she’d done during those hours of painting today. With Abra at her heels, Annie followed Awai to the easel.
Awai pushed the stool out of the way then folded her arms and pursed her lips as she studied the painting. “Oh, definitely morbid, but I like it.”
Annie’s frown deepened, but when she reached the easel and stopped in front of the canvas, her jaw dropped.
Cocking one eyebrow, Awai cut Annie a questioning glance. “Looks like it came right out of Wuthering Heights.”
“Yeah, it does.” Annie’s practiced eye scanned her work. It wasn’t quite finished, but it was damn good if not murky and mysterious. Maybe it was a sign that she was more down about her cousins’ disappearances than she’d thought.
A sprawling but gloomy mansion stood dark and foreboding in the background with only a single window dimly lit from within, as if by candlelight. Lightning illuminated the scene just enough that the viewer could see skeleton trees bowing close to the ground from raging winds, and in the distance whitecaps dotted a body of water below sheer black cliffs. In the lower right hand corner was a single magnolia bloom lying on the ground, its petals pure cream beside a shadow.
She narrowed her gaze. A man’s shadow. How odd.
“Well this is interesting,” Awai said, breaking into Annie’s thoughts. “How did you come up with it?”
Annie shook her head. “I have no idea. The twins still missing…maybe it’s bothering me even more than I thought.”
Unable to bear the sheer strangeness of seeing a painting she had obviously created without remembering a damned thing about it, Annie turned away from the canvas. She forced a smile for Awai’s benefit and tried to ignore a creeping sense that the painting was somehow…staring at her.
“Well come on,” Awai said. “Chop, chop. We’ve got spumoni waiting.”
Relieved, Annie followed Awai away from the mystery on the canvas. She’d deal with it later—probably with scissors.
Awai stayed for a while longer, long enough to share the spumoni and to polish off the bottle of wine. Annie wasn’t much of a drinker usually, and tonight she’d had two glasses of merlot. She felt mellow and relaxed, and definitely ready for bed.
Once Awai had left for her San Francisco apartment, Annie tried to make herself stay away from the painting. She had decided to deal with it in the morning. In the sunshine. And yet, it pulled at her.
Mumbling a few wine-enhanced curses, she finally gave up and moved the easel in front of her overstuffed armchair. Still feeling the merlot, she sat and studied her day’s work, her elbow resting on her knee, her chin in her hand. Her braid fell over her opposite shoulder as she tried to interpret her own work. Abra bounded onto the armrest and started ba
tting the end of Annie’s braid.
Where the heck did I get this from?
The picture had a brooding, gothic feel to it. It was unlike her usual landscapes and seascapes, but was still in her distinctive style. The painting was fascinating, really. She rarely had dwellings in her work, and this mausoleum of a mansion was beyond anything she thought herself capable of. Perhaps it was so captivating because it reminded her of the gothic romance novels her grandmother was always reading when she was young and still lived in Tennessee.
At least it’s not giving me the creeps anymore. Who cares where it came from? It’s good. That’s what matters. For a moment, she smiled, studying the mysterious lines and shadows.
“Maybe I have a dark, wild side after all. Yeah, right.” Stifling a yawn, Annie rose and turned away from the painting when she heard the crack of thunder. Abra hissed and arched her back then darted under the end table. Lights in her apartment flickered.
Everything went completely dark.
Annie frowned. They never had thunderstorms in the Bay Area because of the cool onshore flow of air from the Pacific. She started to go to the window when a flash lit up her dark apartment for a moment. Thunder boomed again, rattling her windows.
But the lightning flash hadn’t come from outside.
It had come from her painting.
A strange buzzing started in Annie’s ears as she moved back toward the painting—and her heart started pounding like mad.
She saw the same scene she had painted, only now it looked like a very tall and narrow television screen rather than a canvas. It was raining in the picture and trees swayed in fierce gusts of wind. She could even hear the haunting sound of whistling wind and could feel wet air blowing from the painting. It rushed across her face and misted her glasses. Something that looked like a very large cat stalked across the picture…a white tiger with black stripes.
Abra hissed again from beneath the end table, this time louder and much more fierce.
Goose bumps prickled Annie’s skin and her nipples pebbled beneath her white T-shirt.
Wonderland: King of Diamonds Page 2
