by Mann, Marni
I hugged the pole between my arms, my face pressing into the ornately-carved wood. When I opened my eyes and glanced down, my gaze met his forehead. The pressure he used and the intensity of his flicking were too much for me to keep still. My hands rubbed the poster’s surface, my skin burning as my fingers kneaded it. The pain added to the pleasure; it created a combination that so easily drove me to the edge.
And I knew it was what Cameron wanted; he had already filled me with two fingers, a third taunting my ass. But I wanted the moment to last a few seconds longer. Through my mask, I admired the top of his head. It reminded me of all the times I had been inside that house, hoping it would be his hair, his eyes that met me when my lids opened instead of the stranger I’d been contracted to please.
That hope was finally coming true.
And it was happening for Charlie, not Cee. Cee wasn’t in this mansion. I wasn’t sure what to do with this split, this division between us. But as of that moment, it felt like the right thing.
The realization of him combined with the penetration of his fingers and the flapping of his tongue started the spiral. I screamed out in response to the sensation. He didn’t stop when he felt my body shudder. He simply slowed to an exquisitely painful rhythm until my body calmed. Then his hands were back on my ass, lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist.
His mouth took me in roughly. The wetness he had created spread from his lips to mine, and I was filled with my own sweetness—another element of the pleasure he was able to give me, and continue to give me as he carried me to the bed and climbed on top of me. He was fully dressed…I ripped his shirt, starting with the first button and tugging my way down so each popped off and fell to the blankets. His belt was next, and his zipper followed. I peeled his pants and shoes off with my heels.
Rather than thrusting forcefully, he entered me at a slow, steady pace. His hands were tangled in my hair; his mouth never left mine. His body remained on top of me as we moved together. There was no rush, no desperate need. No pain. My nails avoided his skin as I rotated my touch between his neck and shoulders. The shift sent pulsating waves coursing through me.
I hadn’t felt him loosen the strings, but suddenly a burst of air hit my freed skin as he lifted the mask off my face.
“I need to see you. I need to know you’re with me.”
I reached behind his head and did the same, pulling the thick fabric away from him, taking his cheeks between my hands. “I’m here.”
His eyes glittered above me. “Just me?”
It was just him before he had taken off my mask; the removal didn’t change that. And I was exactly where I wanted to be.
“Only you,” I whispered.
He briefly bit down on my lip. “Then let me hear you come.”
I knew what tonight was about, that he was trying to recreate experiences that resembled my old ones, but make memories that were stronger, deeper, more meaningful. I also believed he was trying to show me a different side of him, one that stroked with an unhurried, loving pace rather than our usual feral need. But that wasn’t what I wanted for my second round.
“Bite me harder,” I demanded.
His teeth found me again, and I pushed the back of my head into the pillow. The build was there, but it was slow.
“Harder, baby,” I breathed.
His body pumped with more force instead, knowing it was what I really wanted, what I had meant to ask for. I moaned after each plunge. I couldn’t keep those bursts of bliss inside. The vibration of my voice was almost as pleasurable as he was. And though he wasn’t as loud as me, I could hear his enjoyment. I could feel it.
“Now fuck me…faster.”
I knew he was close; I was even closer.
“Cameron…”
His body slowed just a bit and rather than straight penetration, he circled his hips, grinding and filling me at the same time. It only took a few full twists before I completely released the build, letting it take over my entire body.
He wasn’t far behind me.
He didn’t pull out when we both finished. He stayed inside my warmth and surrounded my face with his forearms, pressing short, soft kisses on my lips. Everything tingled; my limbs were numb. It felt like the mattress was made of bubbles and they were sucking me into their delicate froth and enclosing the both of us.
His lips paused above me and we both opened our eyes. “Did you feel it?” he asked.
I searched his face, trying to figure out what exactly he was asking me. But I knew. That was a thing we had between us…we didn’t have years accumulated, we didn’t have a lot of words collected. But we didn’t need either. I didn’t know how I knew this, but I did.
I nodded. “Yes. I felt it.”
Cameron and I had the most intense, totally absorbing sex I’d ever had. I just didn’t want that to be the source of my answer, though.
“In there?” He looked down at my chest, then back up at my eyes.
I nodded again. Neither of us had to verbalize it. We both knew it was there.
The looks on our faces were enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
YOUR PICTURE WAS PRINTED IN SEVERAL NEWSPAPERS last week. My favorite was the one in the Globe, under the heading, “Boston’s Newest Budding Artist.” Cameron stood so protectively by you in that image, with his arm so snug around your waist. There was nothing but happiness in your expression. You were beaming, Charlie, looking over the crowd with such a humble, quiet confidence.
You’re not the same young woman I left behind.
You’ve become more.
When I think about what you’re going to accomplish, how hard you’re working, how you’re making better choices and decisions than I did, I feel rich with pride. I know I had absolutely no part in raising you and I didn’t instill any of these values, that the only thing we have in common is genetics. But I would like to think you inherited at least something from me…my best trait, since we both know my worst.
Regardless of my own shortcomings, as soon as I found out about you, I prayed that you would turn into a strong, determined, self-reliant woman. And that’s exactly what you’re becoming. I see those qualities radiating from you in all of your photos. I feel that, for the first time in a long time, you’re in the right place. I believe you’re safe, and I believe you’re being taken care of.
I will always worry about you; that concern appeared naturally the moment I discovered I had a daughter. But now, it’s a different kind of worry, because I trust that Cameron would never allow anything to happen to you. I know how men can be, Charlie. I knew of Cameron’s reputation long before you began dating himdon’t forget: he and I did business together in the past. He’s changed a great deal since then. Those photos revealed that to me as well. I can tell by the way he looked at you that he cares for you deeply. If he hasn’t told you yet, he will. Men have a difficult time opening up sometimes. We’re challenging animals. But give him a chance. In much the same way, there are people in my life with whom I wish I would have shared my feelings. It’s too late for that now. But it isn’t too late for you.
Be well.
Continue being happy.
-D.
***
The evening those pictures were taken was one of the best nights of my life. Cameron spent so much time planning every detail, making sure it all went so perfectly. Things between us have been different ever since.
I’m happy.
No…I’m ecstatic.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt this level of joy before. In the past, it’s come to me in short bursts, usually fueled by something dark. The feeling never lasted more than a few hours. But this has lasted far longer than any of that. It’s becoming all-consuming. Like my art, it haunts me; it constantly reminds me of its existence. It appears to me when I least expect it, as a sweet surprise.
I don’t know how to process these feelings, or how to voice them. I don’t know how to show my feelings more than I am already. But I think I need to. He isn’
t demanding that of me, or pressuring me. We have an understanding; he’s the first man who hasn’t pushed me or made me uncomfortable. He’s allowed me to unfold at my own pace. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, why I haven’t run.
Or maybe I’m just wiser now. Maybe things are much clearer.
Or maybe none of that is true, and it all comes down to this: he’s the first man I’ve ever truly cared for.
Whatever it is, I’m finding peace. He’s helping me with that. It’s a slow process, and I don’t expect the thoughts or the memories of my life before to ever go away. But I want them to be distant and small, like the stars; not things I bring forward with me, but things that, when I turn around, I discover how much ground I’ve gained beyond them. I’m not waiting for the outcome of the trial to determine justice…whatever that means at this point. I’m waiting for my own feelings to settle.
They’ve drawn down to a dull roar, which is a great thing.
I mentioned to you last time that I should stare at the sky more often. Well, I have beenevery evening out on our balcony. I step outside, and I watch the stars. I send them my “hello,” and I hope they deliver it to you whenever you see them next.
I’ve always signed my letters to you as C. I feel like maybe it was my way of only revealing a piece of myself at a time, until we got to know each other better. I was holding back out of fear. It feels like that’s changing now. I’m grateful for it.
-Charlie
CHAPTER NINE
THE DOORMAN DIDN’T JUST LET ME INTO THE LOBBY of Chet’s building; he also signed me in at the front desk, waved a wand over my body to ensure I wasn’t concealing a weapon and quickly searched my bag. Then he escorted me into the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor and riding with me the entire twenty-eight stories. I had been to numerous high-end apartments all over the city that housed athletes and celebrities…and yet I had never been babysat quite like this. I could only imagine the aristocratic residents who were present and called for the added measure of security.
Mansion people.
The thought made me shiver against the back wall of the elevator. It caught the attention of the doorman. I knew there were probably hundreds of clients who hadn’t been publicly outed in the newspaper. One of mine could be living in this building. As long as my identity remained a secret, I didn’t believe I had to worry about my safety. Still, I imagined the possibility that I would walk into someone’s apartment one day and not only be spotted, but be slapped with memories of his wiggling tongue. As long as they didn’t know who I was, I’d be fine.
Victoria, though…she was a concern I couldn’t quite get past.
She knew so much about me. If she ever decided to tell the world what she knew, there would be no hope for me. But at that point, there would be no hope for her, either.
I knew she’d never risk her own neck, even if it was to wring mine.
I breathed through the anxiety of her memory as the elevator door slid open. Waiting on the other side was a woman dressed in a housekeeping uniform. She thanked the doorman, who stayed inside. Once I stepped out into the foyer, she requested that I follow her to the living room and asked if she could get me anything to drink. I politely declined; my attention was too focused on the décor.
The high-end apartments I had been to were usually decorator-chic—everything was coordinated from the window treatment to the flooring. Tastes ranged from modern to traditional. But because they were all so similar in style—and because most of my clients played it so safe with their accents—the only elements that stood out were the tall windows, high ceilings and breathtaking views of the city. This apartment had all three, but it also had a style that I had never seen before; it could only be described as a collection of fetishes. This home screamed lust; it cried out sex. It moaned through its art, its color, its decorations—even its smell: pure leather and latex. These not-so-subtle hints were everywhere: in the hooks hanging from the twenty-foot ceiling, in the vases that closely resembled cocks, in the full collection of canvases that depicted various parts of nude bodies. The chairs had high backs that were folded in and shaped like a pussy, and even the lines of the couches dipped like an upper lip.
Sex was everywhere in here.
I took a seat in one of the chairs. My feet rested on the skin of an animal; a mirrored ceiling hung above me. I tried to imagine how someone could conduct a business meeting here without completely revealing their lifestyle. I wondered if the other people he asked to come here were freaked out by their surroundings. Shouldn’t I have been, too?
Why was the dark, twisted side of me feeling almost nostalgic?
“Charlie, welcome,” Chet said, approaching me from behind and lightly kissing my cheek. He took the chair across from mine. “I hope my staff offered you something to drink?”
“Yes…very hospitable. I’m fine, though. Thank you.”
“Very well, then.”
For having such an eclectic and erotically charged home, Chet didn’t have a personality that matched the vibe. He seemed much more bashful, his cheeks flushing with ease. And his dress was casual, proper, with heavily-starched light-tan trousers and a light-blue striped polo.
His eyes didn’t move from mine, so I made sure to avert my stare. I didn’t want him to think I was passing any judgment on his choice of décor. The truth was I actually liked it very much.
“Do you think you can work with my tastes…my décor?” he asked. His face hadn’t lightened at all since he’d entered the room. As he finished speaking, it only reddened more.
“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s a taste I can appreciate.”
“I knew I was going to like you, Charlie. Should we get started, then?”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a pencil and my sketchpad and placed both on my lap. “Where is the piece going to be hung?”
He smiled. It almost appeared as though it wasn’t natural, as if he’d been overtaken by shyness and was covering his real feelings behind the grin. “It’s going in my den, which I plan to show you. But I’d like to hear your vision first.”
I was often asked this question when I met with a client for the first time. Unless they had a specific idea that had been stirring, they usually wanted to be approached with several options for them to choose from. But before I could provide any, I needed to get a feel for their appetites and desires, for how risky they would allow me to be. I needed all of this before I could design an image or select a theme.
The colors throughout the apartment were cold, masculine, dominating tones, with varied shades of black and gray. Burnt orange and deep crimson were used as accents. I liked the palette he had chosen, but I didn’t want the piece to blend. I wanted it to pop, to stand on its own.
“You mentioned that you liked The Lace Mask. What if I create something similar…” I glanced up, beyond the furniture, to the hooks on the ceiling. They reminded me of what had held the chains and cuffs above my bed at the mansion. “But instead of it being a showcase of dark, erotic fantasy, what if it’s just dark? And submissive?” My eyes continued to scan the room for inspiration as it was quite common for me to brainstorm in front of the client without an official destination, allowing the ideas to just come to me while I spoke until we settled on something solid. “Maybe a window into a much darker place, like…” I hesitated; the idea that had come to me was different than anything I had ever created before. It was daring and bold, black and gritty; I was about to take a huge risk, greater than I’d ever felt comfortable taking in the past. “Like a portrayal of Stockholm Syndrome.” He was silent. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I could put herthe mask-covered beautyin a place of captivity, emotionally…and physically.”
“Charlie…”
The tone of his voice startled me from my place of reverie…not that I’d zoned out while imagining it. It was more like I’d tapped into my own murkiness, pulling out thoughts that cast shadows over my own walls as well as his. But as my eyes traveled to his face a
nd assessed his reaction, I felt as if I’d taken it too far. I’d allowed my voice to be persuaded by my memories of the mansion. Had I really just offered to create a piece that showed a kidnapped woman for a total stranger? What the hell was I thinking? This was darker than anything I’d ever come up with for a client before.
I had overstepped.
“Chet, I apologize if I”
“It’s fabulous.”
His reply shot my back straight against the chair. “I’m sorry… would you mind repeating what you just said?”
He smiled again. “Your idea, it’s absolutely fabulous; it’s exactly what I was looking for. It takes a certain type of person to understand my taste. Most are just…overwhelmed by all of this.” His index finger circled the air, indicating his collection of fetishes. “Based on what I’ve seen of your work, I had a feeling you’d be open-minded… but I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly. Let’s say I’m pleasantly surprised. And very pleased.”
I believed Gareth’s request had been nothing more than a coincidence; my art was dark with sexual overtones and that’s what he was looking for. But now I was beginning to think it was more than that. Maybe I really did attract male collectors with a penchant for domination. I wondered if I’d somehow become the Madam of Boston’s dark art scene.
I could satisfy them…because I was them.
A madam and a whore? You’re moving up in the world, Charlie.
It chilled me that Lilly’s voice could reach me even here.
I pushed her out.
“Thank you,” I told him. “I have an ability to read people quite well.”
