When I don’t hear a response, I look up and see her normally unflappable demeanor has morphed into uncertainty. Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m not going to enjoy whatever she’s preparing to say.
“Just spit it out, Cynthia,” I say in an impatient voice. I sit back in my chair, stretch my legs under my desk, and fold my arms across my chest.
“Well, as you see you have quite a few phone messages,” she states, nodding at the stack of message notes she’s left on my desk.
My eyes flick over to the stack of messages. “I see.”
“Most of those messages are from one person. A woman.”
At that, I raise my eyebrow. It isn’t the norm for women to leave messages for me at work, but it certainly isn’t unusual enough to have Cynthia as flustered as she is at the present moment. My mind wonders what woman it could be. I’ve cut off contact with most of my past lovers, seeing as how when I’m done with a woman, I’m done. The only woman I’ve had on my mind lately is LaTasha and I know she wouldn’t leave any messages on my work phone. Besides, we talked almost daily while I was away. If she needed to contact me regarding something urgent, she had plenty of chances to do so.
“Does this woman have a name?” I ask, growing impatient.
“Y-yes, but she’s also…” Cynthia drifts off.
“Cynthia, I’ve been gone a week and I only came in the office to check a few things before I leave. Please say whatever it is you need to say about this woman so we both can get on with our day.”
“Well, she says she’s your mother and she’s in town. She came in the office. She wouldn’t leave and insisted on seeing you when she knew you were coming back today.”
Everything after the words your mother goes right over my head. I can still see Cynthia’s lips moving, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what she’s saying. My mind is reeling. My mother...That can’t be.
“I…um…” I pause, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry. Did you say my mother?” I hate the fucking tone my voice has taken on, sounding like that scared ten-year-old kid, entering his first foster home. By now, my previously relaxed seated position has changed into a completely upright one. My back is ramrod straight, hands tightly gripping the edge of my desk.
“Yes, s-sir…uh, Mr. Bennett.”
I barely notice Cynthia almost slipping and referring to me as sir. That’s against one of my office rules. No one employed here is allowed to call me sir—ever. I save that moniker for more private affairs. “What name did this woman give you?”
“She said her name was—”
“Marilyn Aries.” A woman’s voice sounds from behind Cynthia, finishing the statement.
It sends a chill down my spine. It’s been more than twenty years since I’ve heard that voice, but I already know who it belongs to. The last name is different, but the first name is the same. Cynthia steps aside, and for the first time since I was ten years old, I lay eyes on the woman who birthed me and left me.
I remain paralyzed; too caught up in a time warp to say anything. I simply stare at her, taking in the dark brown hair that has begun to grey at the roots, her thin five-foot-nine frame, and olive skin. Her complexion nearly mirrors mine. Lastly, we make eye contact. Looking into the dark brown irises of hers, I know this is indeed the same woman I had lived with for the first ten years of my life. The same cold look I always remember her giving me is staring back at me now, assessing me.
“I see you’ve done well with the business your father left you,” she says, haughtily as she steps around Cynthia to glide toward my desk. She looks around the huge corner office. No doubt, she’s taking in the modern décor and view of downtown Dallas that can be seen from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett, but she wouldn’t leave. I can have security—”
I hold up my hand to silence my nervous assistant. “You may leave for the evening, Cynthia. Thank you,” I say curtly, never taking my eyes off of Marilyn. I hear Cynthia’s movements as she reluctantly exits my office. A few seconds later, the outer office door closes.
“What the hell are you doing here, Marilyn?” I bark between gritted teeth, seething.
“Marilyn? What happened to Mother or at least Mama? You used to like to call me Mama when you were younger.”
I stare at her for a few more moments, barely able to believe this bit-woman’s audacity. “You told me not to refer to you as anything other than Marilyn, especially in front of your male suitors. Remember, Marilyn?” I say her name again, reminding her that there is no love lost between the two of us. “What do you want? I’m busy,” I assert, retaking my seat and picking up papers from my desk. I refuse to give her any more than minimal attention.
“I see someone has learned to perfect the cold shoulder.” She sounds almost shocked at my reaction.
“I learned from the best,” I respond without looking up at her. Continuing to look at my files, I hear her take a seat in the chair facing my desk. Her movement causes her perfume to waft in the air around me. White Diamonds. The same scent I remember her wearing when I was a child.
“Don’t be like that, Jer-Jer.”
My face immediately scrunches up at the old, stupid-ass nickname she used to call me as a child. “Jeremy,” I correct her.
“Okay, Jeremy. Anyway, I see you are doing well these days.”
No thanks to you.
“What do you mean no thanks to me? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have any of this.” Her voice takes on a shrill tone.
I hadn’t even realized I said those words out loud, but I refuse to take them back. “If it wasn’t for you?” I repeat, making sure I wasn’t hearing things.
“Yes! I chose your father and if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have had the opportunities you had.”
“Lady, have you lost your goddamn mind?!” I can tolerate a lot of bullshit, but this damn woman coming in here and telling me I should be grateful to her is not one of them. “You dropped me off at social services when I was ten years old like I was a goddamn lump of coal. If I owe anything to anyone, it sure as shit ain’t you!” I drop the papers on my desk and point angrily at her.
“Jer—” She stops when she notices the expression on my face. “Jeremy, I didn’t come here to upset you. I just thought it would be…nice if we got to know each other as adults.”
I squint at her, letting her know I am not buying her bullshit. “After twenty-three years, you want us to get to know each other? You know when a mother and son usually get to know one another? When that mother is raising her son; when that son grows and matures into an adult and that mother has been there every step of the way. But that was not the case for you and me. I stopped wanting to get to know you the day you dropped me off with one suitcase and never looked back. You and I have nothing to discuss,” I say, curtly standing. “Now, you can go on back to whatever corner of the world you reside in, living off your fourth or fifth rich husband’s wealth. Then we both can pretend that this little reunion never happened.” I begin placing the papers on my desk back in their folders and gathering my belongings to leave.
Marilyn stands. “Jeremy, please. We need to talk.”
“I already told you we have nothing to—”
“I’m dying!” she declares loudly, cutting me off.
My whole body freezes up and I probably could’ve been knocked over by a feather. The logical part of my brain is telling me I shouldn’t give a fuck. This is the woman who abandoned me, but the part of me who is still that little ten-year-old kid, takes over. I turn back to my desk, sit down, and stare at Marilyn. “Talk.”
****
I lift my head from the steering wheel, shaking off those thoughts. I look over at the dashboard clock. It’s 7:45. I just texted Tasha to let her know I’m on my way. I refuse to cancel. I’ll just have to deal with that other shit later. My stomach growls as I inhale the aroma of the Thai food I picked up, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since thi
s morning. I was supposed to have landed much earlier than I actually did, but I got caught up with some work matters. And then of course, once I got to the office, I got surprised by Marilyn, which was an entire shit show. Despite my weariness, the idea of seeing LaTasha sends a rush of warmth through me. I wish I could figure out what’s drawing me to her, but I can’t. Now, tonight despite the magnitude of what walked through my door earlier today, I find my nerves calming down with the knowledge that I’m only a few minutes away from seeing her face. I don’t remember the last time I had this type of reaction to any woman.
“Get a grip, Bennett,” I grumble to myself at the same time I pull up to the mansion gate. I lower my window for the security camera to scan my face and open the gate. I’m the only person who does not live on this property, but has this type of access. Liam doesn’t play about his home’s security, which is likely a smart move due to the fact that his wife is a trained spy with lots of enemies. His own father had tried to kill her once. But that’s a different story for a different time. Right now, I’m focused on my own wo…err…sub. Right. My sub. Not my woman. I don’t make any woman mine.
After parking, I stroll down the walkway toward the door. Before I even lift my arm to knock, it opens. My breath catches at the sight of LaTasha, for the time in the flesh, in more than a week. She’s wearing a simple pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder, purple T-shirt. My insides settle in relief. That’s never happened to me before and it feels good. I instantly decide purple is her color and make a mental note to tell her to wear it more often for our dates. Despite the simplicity of the outfit, it hugs her curves just enough to give a full outline of the plush body that lies underneath. I raise my eyes, taking in the swell of her breasts and curvature of her shoulder to her neck. I admire her smooth, dark skin that glows with health. For a heartbeat, I wonder if she’ll shiver if I were to lick or better yet, bite the space right where her neck meets her shoulder. I have to stop myself from taking a step forward and finding out. Everything I’ve taken in so far is no match for the moment our eyes collide. Those damn eyes are filled with undeniable anticipation and hesitance.
“Hell—”
Her greeting is cut off by my lips against hers. It’d been days since I felt those soft cushions underneath mine, so I decided to take liberties. I kiss her, biting and nibbling on her bottom lip. I press my tongue into her mouth once I feel her give in to the kiss. Her hand comes up to cup the side of my face.
“Now, that’s the proper way to greet me.” I say against her lips. I needed that little taste after the evening I’ve had.
“C-come in. Do you need me to take that?” She gestures toward my hand holding our dinner.
“No. Just lead me to the dining area.”
“It’s right this way,” she says, walking ahead of me.
We walk through her living room and I smile at the eclectic décor of her home. The furniture is all bright colors, and although I don’t notice any clothes strewn about, I get the impression she’s recently cleaned up on my behalf.
“You can put it here. I’ll get the plates and forks. Would you like water, wine, juice or soda to drink with dinner?” She turns her head to look at me over her shoulder.
“Coke is fine,” I respond, making no secret that I’m eyeing her backside.
“Umm…” She pauses and fully turns to face me with her eyebrows crinkled. “I don’t have Coke. I only have Sprite and Ginger Ale.
I nod. “Sprite is fine.” I grin watching her walk away. This is the first time I see her in skinny jeans, and she looks damn good in them.
“Thank you,” I comment as she returns. I remove the plates and forks from her hand, while she places the two cans of Sprite on the table with her other. “I got chicken and shrimp pad Thai and spring rolls. Any preference for chicken or shrimp?”
“I’ll have shrimp please.”
I scoop a hefty amount of shrimp pad Thai and a couple of spring rolls onto her plate before placing it in front of her.
“Wait. Shouldn’t this be reverse?” she asks, standing.
“Reversed?” I ask as I fill my plate with chicken pad Thai. I inhale deeply as the aromas of the food fill the dining area. My stomach grumbles even louder than it had earlier in the car.
“Yes, I should be serving you. Right? Isn’t that a sub’s job?”
I nod, finally realizing what she was getting at. “If that’s one of the terms we agree on. But we’ll get there. Sit and let’s enjoy our meal before talking.”
“Okay,” she agrees, falling back into her seat.
“Mmm…”
I look up to see LaTasha’s eyes closed as she chews slowly. The look on her face reminds me of a woman in ecstasy.
“You can’t moan like that unless you’re ready for me to do something about it,” I say, looking directly at her.
Her eyes pop open. Immediately, the way she licks her bottom lip makes me grip my fork harder.
“Oh…” she replies bashfully.
“Yeah, oh.” I resume eating my food. It is delicious and I understand the pleasure she receives from eating. Still those sounds emanating from her mouth are a little too much for my already frayed nerves right now.
I raise an eyebrow when LaTasha clears her throat after a few minutes of silence, only marked by the sounds of forks hitting the plate and chewing. “How was your work trip?”
I sit back in my chair, wiping my mouth with a napkin before speaking. “Work was a little hectic. We’ve had some problems at this site, so we had to get new contractors awhile back. But things are running much more smoothly now. I had to be down there to sign some contracts and look over the shoulders of the new contractors to make sure the work is actually being done. These new guys are good.”
“Good. I’m glad it’s going well.” She smiles.
A warmth spreads throughout my chest at her smile, and I instantly decide to change the subject.
“How’s the book coming along?”
The forlorn expression that forms on her face answers the question. She blows out an exasperated breath and shakes her head. “Not well at all. Still stuck in this damn writer’s block. It’s actually starting to scare me. What if I’m never able to write again? How many fans of this series will be disappointed? Almost daily I go to the community center with Coral and I hear some of the kids excited to read about Danica and her next adventure and triumph but then all I feel is guilt. Guilt I might not be able to deliver it to them. Of course they don’t know I’m the writer, but they do ask me sometimes if I know when the next book is coming out. I just give them some lame excuse that I’ve heard the author was hard at work or something. Then I come home and nothing. The words aren’t flowing. I can’t remember a time in my life when escaping into the fantasy world created by my imagination wasn’t a savior for me. And now? It may be gone.”
The desperation that begins to peek through in her voice grips my chest. I know the feeling of being abandoned, but to think it’s your own brain that is abandoning you has got to be the worst possible feeling. Nevertheless, I’ve picked up on something LaTasha likely hasn’t and I want to investigate it further. For a few seconds I just stare at her without blinking. My face doesn’t give anything away as I pick up my glass of soda and bring it to my lips. I take a few sips and wipe my mouth before asking my next question.
“When you wrote your first few books, you were living in Vermont on your own, right?”
Her face wrinkles in confusion for a nanosecond, obviously trying to figure out what my question has to do with what she’s just said. However, that’s for me to know.
“Yes, well, sort of. I actually wrote my first book years ago and quickly followed it with my second book. It wasn’t until about three years ago after I got my publishing deal that I wrote my third. I was in a little bubble almost. Didn’t really talk to anyone besides Coral while I was writing the first three.”
I nod, realizing my assessment of her problem was spot on. “I see.” I take another
sip of my drink and push my plate away from me, finished with my meal. “Come here,” I say, tapping my thigh for her to sit on my lap.
She hesitates at first, but eventually rises slowly and walks toward me. I grab her hand, pulling her to my lap and begin massaging her lower back. Her sigh reveals she’s relaxing into my embrace.
“I gave you some assignments on our last date. Did you remember?” I purposely didn’t discuss the assignments in our other conversations throughout the week because I’d told her it was something we would discuss in person. Also, I needed to see how well she would follow instructions after they’re given once. I don’t like repeating myself. That’s something my subs have to learn right away.
She lowers her lids. “Yes.”
“Love, when I ask a question, I need you to look at me unless directed otherwise. All right?”
“Yes,” she answers, raising her gaze to meet mine.
“Do you remember your assignments?”
She starts to nod, but then she answers, “Yes. It was to remember the last time I’d experienced pleasure of any kind in my body. Then came the uh…balls.”
I smirk at her awkwardness discussing the Ben Wa balls.
“First things first. Were you able to remember a pleasurable time?”
“Mmmhum,” she answers.
“What does mmm hum mean? I need actual words.”
The edges of her eyes tighten as she squints at me, frustrated. However, she continues. “I mean yes. I remember a time.”
“Go on,” I prod.
“About three months ago, Coral made a spa appointment for us. We did massages, manis, and pedis. The whole works. Anyway, the most enjoyable part of the day for me was the massage. It was my first massage ever. I usually don’t like being…” She pauses to clear her throat, shifting in her seat. “I don’t like being touched, but the masseuse was professional, so after a while I felt more comfortable. I decided to tell her to apply more pressure. She was being too light at first, but when she began to press harder on my muscles, euphoria overcame me. Well, maybe not that extreme, but it felt good. The harder she pressed, the more I liked it.”
My Storm Page 8
