Your Red Always

by Leeann Whitaker

  “It’s just a boost to keep you energised,” he says. “I can’t force it down your throat.”

  He seems annoyed that I don’t want it. He sips his whisky with a shrug, placing the tonic on the cushions.

  “So, I’m your Red?” I ask, hoping to lighten him up. “Has any other lady in your life had to sign one of those silly boy contracts… and how do I get out of it?” I joke.

  “Upfront little thing aren’t you,” he smiles deviously. “Well, there was one, back in the states.” He goes quiet.

  “And?” Don’t be jealous now Liz.

  “Well.” His pupils move up, clearly not liking this topic. “Let’s just say she was incompatible, and she didn’t keep herself healthy.” He looks at the tonic. “Never got to the signing stage because she couldn’t keep up with my demands.”

  “And me… am I compatible?” I feel it coming on again, that sweltering desire.

  He stares soundless with a sparkle in his eyes, making me wait for his answer. He likes it, tantalising me with his evocative grin, and firm pressed jaw.

  “You will do.”

  That’s it. You will do. Well thank you very much Adrien; you have now put out my fire. My view drifts away from him briefly.

  “Wow, that was easy,” he smirks.

  “What?”

  “To draw out your lack of self-worth. Fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone like you before, so stop exhausting yourself with these stupid confidence issues.”

  “I’m not exhausting myself,” I say in a sigh. “I just don’t get why you chose me.” I gaze coyly. “I’m sure there are plenty of high-class girls out there who’d have more in common with you… I mean all this. The plane.”

  His jawline tautens and brow frowns. He’s taken aback by my candour. God. Have I just blown this? He probably now sees me as an ungrateful bitch, but that’s not how it’s intended.

  “You think I’m pompous?”

  “No,” I squeal with my pulse rising. “I mean, you don’t need to go to all this trouble for me.”

  “Hmm, trouble,” he smiles low. “Nothing’s a trouble when it comes to you, Elizabeth. This place, it’s just bricks and glass. Yes, I have money. I have too much money. But that counts for nothing if you don’t feel alive, and I’ve been dead too long. Until you hobbled into Churchill’s in those absurd red shoes,” he says gently.

  A content ray grows on my lips. He’s so sincere with his words. A man has never spoke to me in such a way. Nathan’s, ‘give it to me love’ frankly does not compare with the smooth words of Adrien Knight. What did Cate describe me as, soppy? Well yes, right now I’m as squidgy as a sponge.

  He stands and extends his hand out to me. “Come, I’ll give you the tour.”

  I examine him as I try to stop biting my cheek. I course my fingers over his velvet skin, and lock them around his palm. I let out prolonged sigh, because I don’t want to let him go. He looks down at me, his pupils amplified, hiding that extreme copper. I inhale with scorching cheeks and release my hold, before he has to peel me away.

  Crap. I’m being clingy. I have to stop that.

  I follow him. My vision is not absorbing my surroundings, but his toned backside and the way he holds his shoulders. He even walks in a poised spellbinding motion.

  Settle yourself down Liz. You get to spend two nights with this man. I’m sure he’ll be going over sleeping arrangements soon.

  We go through a door in the kitchen. It’s cool, and there’s a buzzing sound, like white noise. The kind of sound that make you dizzy and sick if exposed to it for long periods. Finally, I take my eyes from his supple cheeks, to see wine-racks from floor-to-ceiling, every hole containing a bottle. My word. There’s enough alcohol in here to get the whole of Killiecrankie merry.

  I stroll down the dim lit walkway. On one side there’s wine, and the other, an array of rare whisky’s and spirits. I pull out a dusty bottle. It’s cream and gold, with the embossed words Chivas Regal Royal Salute 50 on the front.

  “So, this is like your stamp collection,” I giggle.

  He swiftly takes the bottle out of my hand, obviously thinking I may drop it.

  “This… is a ten-thousand dollar bottle of whisky.” He slides it away. “I did have two. When we completed this house, I gave one to my site manager as a thank you.”

  That is overly generous. I do get the odd perk of a free muffin at work. Or maybe a pound tip. But I bet that bottle went straight on eBay. It’s only what any normal person would do.

  I look next to the ten-thousand dollar bottle, and notice several bottles of Jack Daniels.

  “Yes,” he smiles. “My good stuff.” He makes his way back into the kitchen.

  I close the door as he walks to the glass wall at the back end of the house. He flicks on switches to ignite a stunning enclosed garden area outside. There’s not one flower in sight. It’s all box shrubs, grey brick, with an unusual copper bowl water feature in the centre. It’s all very symmetrical and contemporary.

  “Not green fingered then?” I ask.

  He laughs, switches off the lights, and moves to the stairs. “Not in the slightest.”

  “So,” I call. “How many bedrooms do you have?” What the hell was that Liz? Flirting.

  He turns, holding the brushed steel handrail. He flashes his sultry lashes, and begins to climb up the stairs, without answering my question. I eagerly follow. I need to feel what I felt on that plane again. And soon.

  We cross the glass balcony and enter a corridor. The walls are a deep dusky lilac colour. There are four black doors on my left, four on my right, and one straight ahead. He shows me several of these rooms. All have queen size beds, all decorated to a high standard, and all have en-suite bathrooms.

  I walk deliberately slow in a risqué way, right to the very end, while brushing my fingers across the wall. I want him to stare. I want to tease. I pout and stand for a few seconds before the last door. For some reason it has me nervous. I place my hand around the gold nob and twist, but it’s locked. This is a tour, so why is this room not free to view?

  “Elizabeth.” Adrien calls from the first room in a splintering tone.

  “What’s behind this door, another bedroom?” I have to ask, Sara’s warning is dancing around inside my skull, and I’m way too intrigued.

  “It’s not finished, yet,” he says, sharp.

  I don’t believe him. It’s the first time since I’ve met him, that I’ve got such a negative vibe.

  “Elizabeth, you do know about the cat and curiosity.” He stalks closer.

  He tugs on my midriff. His hand moves up my backbone to fiddle with my hair. He kisses me faintly, then pulls away with austere ‘do as you’re told’ eyes.

  “It well and truly fucked that cat up. One day maybe.” He winks. “First, you need to come with me. I require your assistance.” Liz, prepare yourself for round two.

  He guides my by the hand into the bedroom on his right. This one I know is his. The silky sheets, black damask wall coverings and the silver, remind me of our first time. This bed though, is more in keeping with the house. A carved queen size bed, with wrote iron inserts.

  My chest inflates as he uses a remote to turn on an inbuilt fire. He leads me to a door, opening it to reveal a wet-room. He turns on a switch, and the ambience transform to candlelight as water sprays from a large chrome showerhead.

  He closes the door and consumes me with that solid sexy gaze. I lunge at him, powerless to keep any influence over my restraint. He takes my arms, and rams me under the hot water. I lift my legs and my wet jeans cling tightly around him. My backs against the slick grey tiles, as he buffs his pelvis against mine for non-penetrating sex. I grip hold of the showerhead, as he rips off my blouse, and kisses my breasts insatiably.

  I wheeze deeply for air, crashing my feet to the floor. With wet hair stuck to my face, I groan with sexual urgency. I cleave his shirt over his shoulders. The water cascades over his body, like a steamy tropic waterfall scene. This so painful. My need to h
ave him is excruciating. He gnaws at my cheek, then spins me with force, so my face is pressed upon the tiles.

  “I want to fuck you from behind, Elizabeth,” he growls low in my ear. “I want it hard… can you do that for me.”

  Holy hell! I gasp, nodding a big fat yes, because I cannot speak.

  The stream beats down on my head, and I need it. Because even this boiling water is cool in comparison with my flaming body. He kicks my heels apart with aggression, yanks down my pants, and pushes his body into mine.

  “Oh shit!” He’s there, exactly where I need him.

  He moves in and out of me, accurate and hard. It’s so sharp and deep this way. I call out his name as his rod plunges into me.

  He takes my hand that is scraping at the tiles and slides it high, interweaving his fingers tight between mine.

  “You.” He pounds me. “Are.” Again. “Incredible.” His nose is against my ear, grunting in carnal leisure.

  I close my eyes, clenching his hand as tight as my tendons will allow as he takes me over the edge. I need him to go harder. I want to feel pain. I growl with each fierce thrust and push back on cue with every strike he inflicts me with. The water runs down between our clashing skins and the sex sounds make me even hotter for him. My chest knots and legs quiver, as my first orgasm torrents like the water we’re in. I cry out in unadulterated fulfilment, as I flow into the ultimate climax. My walls throb, feeling every inch of his erection. It’s fucking amazing!

  “I want to bite you, Elizabeth.” He plunges and grits, with his teeth pressing on my neck.

  “Do it!”

  I feel his open lips brushing on my skin as he inhales me deep.

  “Fuck… me,” he howls out, grasping at my hips.

  He stops, and embraces me tight, experiencing his eruptive finale. I can’t breathe. I have to pant to steady my raging heart.

  “God Elizabeth… what are you doing to me,” he wheezes into my back.

  Could this not get any better? He’s doing his best to make me feel emotions I told myself not to for a long time. Because I’ve always known that most men are only after one thing. Not that I’m frigid. I do have urges; just not acted on them. Take Nathan for instance. He will follow his dick to any short skirt or bit of leg. I’m not saying I want commitment. But jeez, sex that blows your mind is a must. And I’m getting that with Adrien… and more.

  Chapter 12: The Abyss

  He once told me he didn’t need much sleep, and boy, he was being serious. His outstanding stamina is that of an Olympian. He has given me the best night of my life, and I bet I’m now familiar with nearly all Kama Sutra positions.

  Sprawled out in his bed with my eyes closed, I search for him with my fingertips. The empty sheets crinkle up into the palm of my hand. I open my heavy eyelids, to see he’s not beside me. Using my elbows, I rise upright with an Ouch and a sigh. My muscles are so stiff and achy, due to spending the night in the gym of lust. But I’m not one bit bothered by the pain. It was more than worth it. It is a pleasant reminder of all the naughty things we did together.

  I clear my messy hair out of my face and yawn, wondering where my master has gone with my Sunday morning wakeup call. With an exhilarated grin, I lumber to the edge of the bed, entertaining myself with sensory flashbacks. I’m as light as helium, and so calm.

  Standing, I swathe the bed sheet around my back, trudging to the blackout curtains. With one hand holding the sheet, I tweak the curtain a little to see a light dusting of snowfall outside. My eyes wrinkle; it’s far too bright for me yet.

  I sweep Adrien’s shirt up off the black leather chesterfield chair, letting the bed sheet fall to the floor. I tug his fragrance over my shoulders, sniffing his collar jubilantly. My hairs pretty tangled. I could have a shower and condition it, but I must go and find Adrien first. Who knows, he may like to join me. I tuck my long knotty locks behind my ears, and head for the door.

  Dammit. That curiosity has caught me. I’m at the top of the stairs and my eyes fall back onto that locked door at the end of the hall. I will see what’s in there before this trip is over. It’s going to play on my mind when we get back if I don’t.

  With a bounce in my step I descend the stairs, picking up a rather delicious odour. I move by the front door, and see Adrien in the kitchen. Hell, he looks hot, wearing only his grey joggers, pottering around in his bare feet. His naked torso has made my morning already.

  “Hey,” he smiles sinfully.

  My forehead crumples, perplexed. He’s wearing shades and making me breakfast. It’s quite a bizarre thing to witness. But he does suffer migraines. Perhaps we’re both paying for last night’s love fest. He has a headache, and I’m being punished with sore weakened muscles.

  I walk across to him with a grin from lobe to lobe as he ogles, shaking a copper frying pan.

  “Morning.” My smile turns into a cavernous yawn and an uncontrollable stretch; not at all attractive.

  “You’re very pleasing on the eye in that shirt.” He places the pan back on the smallest ring of an eight ring hob. “I’ve plenty of them to choose from.” He gazes over the rim of his shades.

  I chuckle as he slides a large mug of coffee before me, and I need it. I wrap my hands around the heat, trying not to turn to mush over my unspoiled view of him.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip. “Have you taken anything for that?” I ask, referring to his headache. “I find a cool towel helps… and maybe some sleep.”

  He smiles taking off the shades, then curves over to push against the granite so his physique becomes tense. Okay, his arms, his chest, and abdomen, have now totally thrown me off course. My mouth is agape, and I don’t want food. I want him right now, on this shiny surface.

  He grimaces, as if it’s painful for him to blink. Jeez, I’m so selfish. Stop thinking with what’s between your legs Liz. Your sex god is in pain.

  I get up from the stool and feel his head with the back of my hand to see how warm he is. He has no temperature; he’s as cool as always. He laughs, and flicks on the remote that tints the glass windows.

  “Stop fretting.” He holds my wrists. “I’m absolutely fine… used to these now.” He picks up the pan. “So, scrambled eggs and bacon good for you?”

  Wow-wow-wow. Is he really Mr perfect? I can’t help being all dreamy. I know it’s overflowing from me.

  “Yes… that’s fine.” Shit. Stop sniggering Liz.

  He tips crispy bacon and eggs onto a rectangular plate, staring with a low brow. “You find the sight of me cooking amusing?”

  No, not amusing. More unexpected and wonderful. Suck it all in Liz, this is about as good as it gets.

  “So” I pick up a rasher and nibble. “You sleep well?”

  He leans over again and my eyes drink in his body. He’s the substance of my view, and is so much better than food. If we’re going to have a mature tête-a-tête, get to know each other, I need to stop my eyes scanning every inch of his skin.

  “I rest. Never sleep,” he says. “Besides, I was quite distracted by the strange sounds you were making.”

  Oh god, I wasn’t snoring like a hog next to him was I? I narrow my eyes as the flush rushes over my cheeks.

  “It wasn’t bad, Elizabeth,” he snickers. “It was just the odd charming squeak and moan. It was very sweet.”

  Sweet is not the way I’d describe sleeping noises. I myself, hate any noise while trying to get some shuteye. It has to be still, dark, and silent. So to hear that I’m a night time squeaker, is mortifying.

  “Sorry for keeping you up,” I shame.

  “Stop it… I told you I don’t need sleep,” he says, dropping the burnt crusted pan into the sink.

  I notice the small portion on my plate, and the mess he’s made in the kitchen. He’s had everything out of the cupboards. There’s even a bag of rice and a packet of herbs that has been spilt across the hobs. Eggs shells, a dozen at least left on the worktop, and a pool of milk next the kettle.

  I finish the rasher of bacon and t
ake my plate to the waste disposal unit. “What are your plans for Thursday?”

  “Thursday?”

  “Christmas… have you forgot?”

  I suppose it also seems irrelevant to me now. Who needs Christmas anyhow? I have Adrien Knight, and he’s a lifetime of Christmases to me, all rolled into one.

  “I don’t do Christmas.” His entire being has suddenly gone all miserable. “Don’t celebrate a god that likes suffering.”

  “Okay,” I sigh, due to his gloom. “What about your family… do you not see them over the festive period?”

  Even the bah-humbugs of this world can’t escape it. The dreaded family visit. The once a year occurrence, where no one has a thing to say until they are all tanked up on wine. And with that, all grievances come to the surface.

  “My real parents died… a long time ago,” he mumbles so I have to stretch my ears. “My adoptive parents have also passed away.”

  Oh crap. Foot in it Liz. I should keep my big trap shut. If he wanted to discuss his family, he would have brought it up himself.

  “Sorry,” I cringe.

  “It’s fine. I’m over it.” He pauses for too long, as though his grief has swallowed him up. “It’s something I never really speak of.”

  The sound of tense nothingness has took hold. I would open my mouth, if it wasn’t for the fear of my foot getting well and truly stuck between my teeth again. I hum out, eyes aimed on the garden.

  “Will you be partaking in the usual festivities?” He asks as though he’s managed to shake off the dark feeling, sitting on one of the stools across from me.

  Oh god Liz. You should have choked on that bacon. My Christmases are well, let’s just say, loud, garish, and unavoidable.

  “Hmm… the usual.”

  “Your parents?” He stares, waiting for the full shameful programme I have to endure. “I get the feeling you want me to be quiet on this subject… but I won’t,” he sniggers.

  A little growl escapes from my mouth. I have to tell him. I’m shit at lying, so I can’t just make something up.

  “Okay, my mum, her name is Ruby. She has the whole house looking like a Santa’s grotto, and has me wearing some stupid reindeer jumper.” I blow out as he chuckles. “Her and my step Dad Geoff, love Christmas.”