The Drazen World: The Tryst (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Milana Raziel

  Jonathan collapsed on me, a weight I would gladly bear forever, our skin sticky with sweat and heat and musk. When he finally rolled to my side, I longed for the press of his body again.

  "Wow. Just wow. I guess I'll have to be careful about what I say in the future." I was sure I had a ridiculous grin on my face. "I never would've guessed there were pirates in the Drazen past. Any other notable family vocations I need to be aware of?"

  "If I told you, then I'd have to kill you." The caramel in his voice morphed to whiskey and cigarettes.

  "The James Bond fantasy might be fun . . ."

  We snuggled together, Jonathan wrapping his leg over mine and pulling me close. "Enough talk about fantasy tonight. I want to know about the reality of Lena. We have this 'thing' where it's my job to know you, but I don't really know much about you. Well, I guess I do, but not the important things. "

  "What was your first time like?"I blurted.

  Jonathan looked at me as though he were debating with himself whether to answer or not. "My first time was with my father's teenaged mistress. I was fourteen. I fell in love with her. It ended badly. Very badly. What about yours?"

  That was clearly all I was going to get from him.

  "Well, I went to Mother McCauley—all chicks, no dicks. My first time was nothing to write home about. I was here. I was a freshman. He was a senior. Not a ballplayer, but on 'staff.' A little flirty, but he seemed really nice. We had a good time the few dates we did go on. Then I decided why not? In my head, my virginity was an impediment. Something to get rid of. It was as banal as you can imagine. He was just looking to get off and go home, but when he realized what was going on, he just plowed ahead—no pun intended—got his orgasm, and left. I think it freaked him out more than anything. After we did it, he never called again. Probably afraid I was going to get clingy. But the joke was on him, because I was glad to never hear from him again. In retrospect, I guess the only thing I regret was that I was so careless about how I would feel after the fact. I should have valued myself more."

  "I guess we have that in common. I'm just as regretful. But it was the other side of the same coin. I regret that I cared too much. Mostly because it set this horrible Gothic melodrama into action."

  I cuddled closer to him and whispered, "All's not lost. The princess's first time was what I wished Missy's first time could have been. Bravo to the pirate."

  I had hoped to lighten the mood with that, and I did. Jonathan traced patterns on my arm, fiddling with my hair, and talking about everything and nothing. Silly stories from grade school; trouble he got into as a young boy with seven sisters; his absolute passion for baseball; life in general in a place where it seemed as though it was always Christmas and never winter. In return, I gave him my most vivid memory of my mother, with me sitting at her feet while she painted in the galleries of the Art Institute of Chicago, teaching herself the techniques of the Old Masters. Our stories lulled us to sleep, safe in each other's past.

  * * *

  "Wake up, sleepyhead."

  I opened one eye and realized that it was full light out. "Jon, what time is it?"

  "It's time for breakfast. Get down here. And that's Jonathan, by the way. We're not done here.”

  "Yes, Sir." I hustled downstairs, wrapping myself in the twisted top sheet.

  He was behind the stove, spatula in hand and the griddle fired up. "Two pancakes or three?"

  I looked at him incredulously." "Chocolate chip pancakes? What are you? An eight-year-old? The two things you know how to make are chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate? You are so full of surprises."

  He was laughing. "I can make more than two things. The chocolate chip pancakes are my sister Sheila's fault. It was the first thing Orry taught her to make, and she made them for us every Sunday. Then it was the first thing she taught me to make. If you'd like, I can make eggs instead."

  "No, chocolate chip pancakes would be awesome. I'm just shocked that the great Jonathan Drazen is making them for me. And it's not even my birthday." It said more about me than him that I couldn't get over the fact that the spoiled baby boy from a house full of servants and sisters had learned to cook. In my family, cooking was strictly women's work.

  "Well, this is part of the aftercare. Sit down and eat." He shoved a plate at me. Juice and coffee were already set on the breakfast bar, along with sausage and bacon.

  We ate in a companionable silence. We finished, and Jonathan cleaned up, placing our dishes in the sink, while I savored my coffee.

  He came up behind me and shoved a piece of paper into my line of vision. "I'm clean."

  "Oh wait! My results are in my coat. Let me get them." I went toward the living room and stopped. "Where did you put my coat?"

  "Don't worry about it. Just give it to me on the ride over."

  "I can get back. Drop me off at the bus stop. That way no one will see us together."

  "Who's going to see us?” he asked. “Your neighbor, the widow, on her way to church? Let me drop you off at the door. I don't like the idea of you sitting on some cold street corner at the mercy of SEPTA."

  "If you drop me off at the door, half the freshman class will know by dinner. I live in Riepe."

  "What do you mean you live in Riepe? You're a senior."

  I shrugged. "Part of my work-study package includes serving as a resident advisor in one of the freshmen dorms. It means a suite and it's a single. I'll be honest, it beats paying rent in Philadelphia."

  "Well, I'm driving you back to the dorm and dropping you off. You're not riding the bus."

  "But then everybody will see us together first thing Sunday morning. It's even more obvious than the walk of shame. You know that's a hard limit for me."

  "Leave that to me. I'm not having you ride the bus."

  And with that, it was decided. Jonathan had already gathered my things, placed them in the master bathroom, and set the shower for me. I could get used to that shower.

  He got me back to the dorm and, true to his word, let me off at a side door I didn't know existed. I really didn't want to know how he’d found out about it. It was probably just more evidence of his manwhore ways. I preferred to look at it as another problem solved.

  JON

  We quickly fell into a routine. Though we didn't interact much in class beyond the actual subject matter and our assignments, knowing that I would see her during the week and could check on her gave me comfort and, more importantly, a sense of control. While I loved the sexual domination and, quite frankly, fucking her—after all, what guy wouldn't—taking on the responsibility for her well-being, even if technically it was only supposed to be aftercare, had had a hugely positive effect on my state of mind. I’d never had to be responsible for or look out for anyone before. That was part and parcel of being the baby of the family. Everyone always looked out for me. Truth be told, I was getting off on taking care of someone else.

  The fact that she wanted absolutely nothing from me, not even the cost of a drink, and was so tenaciously independent made me want to help her even more. That may not have been the most respectful of her wishes, and it was totally selfish on my part, but I wasn't about to let her pride get in the way of me getting my way on this. After all, Coach had admonished me to make her life a little easier. I was sure making her my spoiled, cherished submissive wasn't what he had in mind, but it was the way I rolled.

  Missy wasn't willing to let me take care of her, outside of her seemingly insatiable need to be spanked, even if I was her Dom, but I never quit trying. I lost the battle over lunch after our weekly museum walk, and I still hadn't figured out what made her so tired and stressed on Thursday mornings, but I would get to the bottom of that. I found other ways to impose my will.

  Once, out of curiosity, I asked her why she never had colorful toenails. Every female in my life did, and some were more obsessive about it than others, matching their nails to outfits and spending so much time in the nail salon that it became their second home. My sister Sheila was espec
ially guilty of that. After a lot of dancing around the topic, she finally admitted it was a luxury she couldn't afford. When I offered to pay for a day at the spa as a treat, I got an earful of indignation and lectures about her not being a prostitute. Anything that involved me pulling money out of my wallet in her presence clearly made her supremely uncomfortable. It just made me get more creative in how I went about spoiling her.

  Our Saturday “contract” time quickly came to include a meal or two, especially when I figured out she was on her own for meals on the weekends because the cafeteria was closed. But it was always a battle. As a compromise, I let her cook for me. And I had to admit, that was selfish on my part, because that woman could the cook like the devil. I wasn't about to deny her her kitchengasms. Not to mention, playing in the kitchen led into some of our more adventuresome scenes.

  I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy her company. Being the sneaky bastard that I was, I casually mentioned my high-speed Internet and link to the college and museum online collections, then I offered the use of my office on Sunday afternoon as a quiet alternative to the library, in the hopes that she'd be tempted to stay and hang out. After all, every contract has loopholes, and I was going to exploit every motherfucking one. One of the things no one would ever cure me of was wanting and getting my own way.

  Our regular Saturday rendezvous at Kovac's kept getting earlier and earlier, until it finally coincided with dinner about a month or so into our arrangement. I insisted on burgers. I should've already been following the nutrition plan for the season, but I wanted to indulge one last time. Missy had been looking on so longingly every time Mike passed by with an order from the kitchen, so I pulled the trigger.

  "Mike, bring out two with the works, and don't skimp on the fries."

  Missy glanced away. "Jon, I'm not hungry. I already ate."

  I already had her tells memorized, so I knew she was lying, but rather than let it turn into a public debate, I went for a blend of cajoling and bullying. "But I hate eating alone. You know you'll be hungry later. Humor me and eat. It's a hamburger, not compensation."

  Her cravings overruled her principles, and we were soon devouring the best burgers in Philly. Turned out she wasn't lying—entirely. She wasn't hungry. She was ravenous. This girl and her appetites. The way she threw herself into every one of them with abandon was riveting.

  The burgers and fries were history in a flash, and we bundled up for the walk back to my place. The weather was perfect for snow—it was in the forecast—but the sky was cloud free. We trekked into the neighborhood and away from the ambient light of the Square, and as the light faded, the stars became more vivid, peeping through the canopy of bare tree branches glittering with ice. I was content to take our time, enjoying the quiet and the company.

  We came to an intersection and a break in the canopy. I pulled Missy close, rested my chin on her shoulder, and directed her gaze skyward. "Check out the sky. That's Orion the Hunter and his belt. That bright star lower and to the left is Sirius—the dog star. And if you draw a straight line up from Sirius—that big, bright star really isn't a star. It's Jupiter."

  Missy turned her head to meet my eye. "It's beautiful. The sky. The stars. The way you share your passion about it."

  I shrugged. "I don't know if I'd call it passion. I spent a lot of my nights on the beach. Just me and the night sky. You spend enough time staring at something, you get curious about it. What fun is trivia if you don't get to share it?"

  I found myself wishing for the chance to share with her that desolate stretch of beach and the endless black velvet expanse of sky and sea where I found peace. But that isn't part of the deal. This has to do.

  We had to wait for the light to cycle through again before we could cross. The spell was broken. Our pace quickened as a light dusting of snow began to fall. The weather forecast was right for once. By the time we got to the Drake, the snow was falling a bit harder. Maybe it will stick this time.

  Missy broke free of me, hell-bent on exploring the lobby, and I let her. I settled into one of the club chairs near the lobby fireplace, while she worked her not inconsiderable charms on Mario. Their laughter drifted through the lobby as Missy interrogated him about a hundred architectural details and begged for the history and gossip of residents long dead. To my surprise, Mario was a self-taught historian when it came to all things Drake, both normal and paranormal.

  Missy was about to launch into an exploration of whether or not F. Scott and Zelda ever got drunk in this very space when I broke in. "Missy, Mario has work to do. We need to get upstairs and let him do it."

  "Oh yeah. Upstairs." She was smiling like a cat with cream as she thanked Mario and extracted a promise to pick up their conversation in the future. "Don't forget you promised me that story about Houdini."

  She grabbed me by the hand, hurrying me along to my private elevator. I was feeling predatory, so I pinned her against the wall of the elevator, kissing and biting her neck like a ravening wolf. The red marks I left behind were sure to bruise.

  "You'll be wearing turtlenecks next week, dove."

  "With pleasure, Jonathan. More please."

  Her eyes shone with a pure eagerness I so rarely saw, and I was happy to continue ravishing her. When the doors slid open, she broke free from me, leaving a trail of clothes. She quickly assumed her position, kneeling in the middle of the room.

  "Go to the kitchen and hop up on the counter, Lena." Let the games begin.

  She gave me a quizzical look and did as instructed. I gathered the evidence of her enthusiasm, stowed her clothes in the master, and stripped down to my jeans before I joined her in the kitchen and blindfolded her so she couldn't see what I was up to. I pulled out the towels, polish, and bowl I’d stowed under the island counter earlier in the day then filled the bowl with warm soapy water. Just because she wouldn't let me send her to the spa for a pedicure didn't mean she wasn't going to get one.

  "Lean back on your hands and don't move them." I scooted the stool in front of her and put her foot in my lap while I got situated.

  Being the brat she was, she immediately used her foot to rub my cock, teasing and taunting. I smacked her calf for her sauciness and plunged her feet into the warm, soapy water.

  "What are you doing?" Her voice betrayed her trepidation, so I let the failure to address me properly slide.

  "Well, you wouldn't go for a pedicure, so the pedicure came to you. Don't forget what I told you. Keep your hands on the counter."

  She was ticklish, so I made a production of washing her feet until giggles bubbled from her sweet cherry lips. Once I’d had my fun, I toweled off her feet and gave her a foot massage, working all the way up her leg and digging my fingers into her muscles until she yelped. I worked my way up, finally strumming her clit until she was wet, before I plunged three fingers into her and rubbed her G-spot as if it were a genie's lamp until she came like a freight train, gushing all over my hand. Once we got her warm-up orgasm out of the way, I set to work polishing her nails a fiery red.

  The first coat applied, I put her feet up on my shoulders. "Don't you move those feet. If you smear that polish, we'll have to start all over again."

  That said, I bit, kissed, and sucked up her inner thighs to her pussy, leaving a trail of hickeys in my wake. By this time, her feet dangled down my back, her knees bent over my shoulders.

  I slid my shoulders up her spread thighs, pushing them even wider. "Be careful about that polish."

  I shoved my nose into her cunt and breathed in deeply before I took her clit between my teeth and bit before I worked it over with my tongue. God, she tasted like heaven. I flicked her clit until it was standing at attention—a hard, bright little red bundle. The more I flicked, the more she squirmed. I pulled her thighs all the way up on my shoulders, her cunt right in my face, and ate her out as if she was my last meal, tongue-fucking her until she was screaming my name. Just as she started to squeal, I backed off. Four fingers covered in the almond oil I had massaged onto her leg
s replaced my tongue in her sopping pussy, my thumb pressing hard on her clit.

  "Be still. Let me try something." I kissed her hard and deep, my tongue full of her taste.

  She moaned into my mouth and threw herself into the kiss, sucking on my tongue hungrily. By now my cock was hard as a rock and I had undone my jeans to get a little relief from the pressure and stimulation of the zipper against my bare skin. We kept up the kissing as I thrust my fingers in and out, scissoring and stretching and plundering, making way. Every move made her wetter and wetter.

  When I was finally satisfied she was wet and relaxed enough, I folded my thumb in and worked my whole fist into her cunt. She groaned at the invasion, relaxing with my murmured reassurances. I moved slowly, flexing and fisting my hand inside her, pressing every bit of her until I felt the rippling of her walls. I quickened my pace, getting progressively rougher as her reactions spurred me on. I could feel her gushing on my hand.

  "Now."

  Her cunt rippled, clenching and throbbing on my hand. Then her squeal turned into a keening wail, her orgasm going on and on and on. But never once did she pick up her hands from the counter. Slowly, I eased out my hand and took off the tear-soaked blindfold.

  "One more coat to go. Then we'll be finished."

  I wasn't kidding. I finished her pedicure quickly and, hoping that it would speed up the drying process, blew on her toes until she giggled. My erection was more than a little distracting, so I carried her off to bed and tasked her with giving me the best blow job of my life while I distracted her with my relentless tongue. When our game was over, both of us were satiated. Her responsiveness never ceased to amaze me. She was the best toy a sadist could wish for.