The Vessel

by Snow, Jenika

  After taking some pain relievers and washing those down with another glass of water, I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes for a minute, the pounding in my skull intensifying. My stomach clenched, roiled, the discomfort making its way behind my eyes and in my temples. But despite the fact I felt like shit, I pictured Elise.

  I pictured her long black hair tied up. I imagined myself reaching out and taking the pins that held the strands in place, letting those silky locks tumble down her back. Then I imagined tangling my fingers in them, yanking her head back, her throat bared, her mouth parted as she looked at me with dilated pupils and a hazy, arousal-filled expression.

  I bet she tasted sweet. I had no doubt her lips would be soft, pink, plump flesh I could run my teeth along. Her mouth looked like a Cupid’s bow, delectable and addicting.

  I groaned, the sound a mixture of my powerful desire for Elise and the raging hangover that consumed me. Maybe a shower would do me some good? Yeah, it sure as fuck would. I’d wash away the stink of being drunk, maybe tamp down some of this lust that was obnoxiously intense.

  I pushed away from the counter and made my way upstairs. I could still hear someone working in one of the back rooms, the soft patter of shoes moving back and forth over the hardwood floor sounding loud, especially this morning. I took the carpeted steps two at a time, because I just wanted to get where I was going and try to push this fog out of my head.

  Once on the top landing, I gripped the banister and fought off a wave of nausea.

  My room, the last door down the hallway on the second floor, seemed miles away. But I pushed forward and glanced down at my shoes, realizing I still wore them from yesterday, padding over the thick carpet that partially covered the tile floor. I was a fucking train wreck this morning.

  Once in my room, I didn’t bother shutting the door, just grabbed a change of clothes—a pair of gray sweats and a white T-shirt. No point in putting anything remotely professional on. I had no plans to leave the house. I tossed the clothes on the bed and headed into the bathroom, shutting that door and leaning against it.

  I was going to take a cold fucking shower, the coldest one imaginable, not just to wash away this hangover, but to hopefully tame this arousal and calm my fucking erection down. As it was, I walked with the damn thing tenting my slacks. But even that discomfort couldn’t match what I felt from the love affair I had with that scotch bottle.

  Or maybe I just needed to jerk one off to the filthiest thought I could muster of Elise and me and at least get control of one of the demons consuming me right now.

  6

  Elise

  I grabbed my cell and changed the song before slipping the phone back in the front pocket of my apron.

  I arrived at the Blacksmith mansion half an hour ago with strict instructions from Merla on what rooms needed extra attention. This was only half a day for me, but overtime I desperately needed. Then after work, I’d head to the store and grab some ingredients to bake something to take to my aunt’s tomorrow.

  Heck, maybe I’d get crazy and buy some cheap boxed wine, a pint of ice cream, order a pizza, and watch something romantic and sappy on TV.

  That sounded like the perfect Saturday night in my book.

  I finished cleaning the room I was in and grabbed my bucket of supplies before heading upstairs for my next room. The master bedroom. Lucius’s room.

  I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t a bit uncomfortable with cleaning his bedroom. I’d never actually done it before, had never even been in that particular part of the house at all. It had always been Merla’s domain. I guess she figured the head housekeeper should be the only one to clean the boss’s area.

  But today, because she wasn’t working and it needed done, she’d given me the task. But after the kitchen incident with Lucius just the day before, I felt a little bit more on edge.

  But I hadn’t seen him, so I assumed he already left for the morning, maybe went to the office. I knew he worked strange hours, long ones most days. I felt like he was at the office more times than not. But I guess you couldn’t be a billionaire and not put in the hard work.

  Once at the top of the stairs on the second floor, I took a left and headed down the long, ornate hallway to his room. The hallway itself was easily as wide as my living room, with a thick, plush Oriental runner covering the width of the marble flooring. I looked at the pictures on either side of me, ones that lined the damask black-and-silver wallpaper. They were mainly scenery pictures, ones of glacier-capped mountain peaks, others of a roaring waterfall surrounded by the jungle. There were a few scattered here and there of Lucius with celebrities or political figures. But mainly they were of nature.

  And I really loved that.

  I wondered why I didn’t see any more personal pictures, ones of Lucius and his father, maybe other family members. Maybe there weren’t any other Blacksmiths, none that were close enough to make appearances at their home or to be publicized in the media, or hell, get a spot on the wall.

  When I got to his room at the end of the hallway, I noticed the door was partially open. I stepped inside, the music blasting through my headphones and tuning everything else out. I wasn’t allowed to listen to music when Merla was here, and I agreed it was unprofessional, but seeing as I was the only one here, I didn’t think there would be too much of a problem with it.

  For a moment, I just stood there, looking around, taking in the wealth and art of his bedroom. It smelled like Lucius, these dark notes of masculinity and the subtle hints of power. His room was decorated in tones of black and teal, the blue-green accents a splash of color that reminded me of the Caribbean. I took in his bed, the impossibly massive mattress that he’d no doubt needed for his large frame. For just a second, I imaged lying in it, Lucius right behind me, his hands smoothing over my flesh, my body and mind surrendering to him.

  But I pushed those sexual thoughts away and went back into work mode. I noticed how the room was already painfully pristine and clean, right down to the bed, which was already made.

  Had he made his bed before he left this morning? Maybe he didn’t even stay here last night. That thought was immediately followed by the image of him with a woman, wining and dining her, maybe taking her to one of the other many residences he had, like a penthouse apartment in the center of the city.

  I scrubbed those thoughts, further pushing them away. I needed to focus on something else, because I felt like—for the past twenty-four hours especially—my libido had been taking control and going overboard.

  I walked farther into the room and noticed a set of clothing on the edge of the duvet; a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt. I’d put them away once I was finished.

  I walked over to the windows and set my bucket of supplies down by my feet. After opening the drapes, I stared out the French doors, which led to the stone patio. The view from his room was incredible. The land went on as far as the eye could see, with lush green grass, manicured trees, trimmed shrubbery, and flowering bushes. I could even see the lake that stretched out an acre.

  I’d never been that far back on the property, but what I wouldn’t give to have this much land, this much scenery and openness. I could picture building a nice little house for my aunt and mom, enough room for us to be close but still have our privacy. They’d have enough land to have a dozen gardens if they wanted.

  A smile formed at my lips, but reality soon crept in. I needed to quit daydreaming. I’d never have anything like this, never be able to afford this type of luxury. And that was okay.

  I grabbed the polisher for the wood from my bucket and headed into the walk-in closet. I’d start in there, cleaning off all the oak trim and drawers, cabinets. I’d polish the little rose gold handles until they shone and you could see your reflection in them. It was just an excuse to be around Lucius’s things longer, I surmised.

  I stared at the rows upon rows of suits, slacks, jackets, and pressed button-down shirts of all colors lined up perfectly and in color-coordinated order. It was
like a rainbow, an expensive array of shades that smelled just like Lucius.

  I shouldn’t have walked up to one of the jackets, shouldn’t have ran my fingers over the smooth lapel, the suit no doubt custom tailored to fit his perfectly masculine frame. I looked behind me, expecting to be caught being creepy as hell, but no one stood in the closet doorway.

  I faced the jacket again and leaned in, inhaling deeply, smelling nothing but the spicy, purely male scent that made up the man who had consumed my thoughts for the last three months.

  7

  Lucius

  I stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the towels off the rack, drying myself off before wrapping it around my waist. I walked up to the sink and lifted my hand, running my palm over the fogged-over glass, staring at the blurry reflection of myself.

  The shower helped, but I’d only been able to stand the frigid water for a short time before I blasted it on hot, the water warm enough it could’ve singed my skin off. Although I wasn’t going in to the office today, I was going to busy myself with work in my study. I also needed to make an appointment with my lawyer, Michael, and have him go over my father’s trust and the ridiculous fucking demands on having a child just to keep the business.

  Although I knew Theodore wouldn’t bullshit me about this, I wanted my guy to look over it as well. I should’ve had him do that when I was meeting with Theodore.

  And then after I met with Michael, I needed to figure out what the fuck I was going to do about this whole situation. Losing my business was absolutely not an option. I worked too damn hard to help build it to what it was. And giving it over to someone who hadn’t built it from the ground up, who had no fucking idea how things ran, and would only see the employees as just that… employees and not integral parts of the company who helped make it prosper, was not going to happen on my watch.

  Selling the Blacksmith empire so I wasn’t cornered by my fucking father was also not a damn option. Greed was too strong in the world I lived in.

  But what were my options? Find a woman and hopefully start feeling things for her that she felt for me, and in turn hope things worked out and she got pregnant, or talked her into it? Could I be with someone I didn’t care about, who didn’t make me feel alive with just a look, by just being in her presence?

  I wasn’t going to let that thought settle in too deeply, but the first person who came to mind, the person who made me feel this pleasurable warmth and rush, was Elise.

  I shook my head and closed my eyes.

  There was always the option of a surrogate. But shit, that was highly impersonal, and although I wouldn’t have to have any sort of relationship with her, as it would be all legal, a transaction, that seemed so fucking wrong for what I wanted in life. And if I went the surrogate route, what happened when I finally found a woman I wanted to spend my life with, a woman I fell in love with? Would that go over well when she found out I had the baby with a woman I didn’t have any kind of feelings for, simply because I didn’t want to lose my business?

  Seemed pretty fucking shallow in my book, and I assumed she’d think that as well, unless she was some gold digger who ran in the socialite circles.

  Fuck.

  For right now, I didn’t want to think about it, not until I spoke with Michael and had him look into this more thoroughly. Maybe he could find a loophole, a way to get out of this and stay whole. It’s why I paid him a small damn fortune, why I kept him on retainer.

  I finished up in the bathroom, had shaved in the shower, brushed my teeth, put on some deodorant and cologne, and then I headed out to my room. My focus was on the bed, and I walked up to the edge and took my towel off, dropping the damp terry cloth on the floor by my feet. A soft sound coming from the closet had me glancing toward the double doors. They were partially open, and I knew they’d been closed when I came in here, because I hadn’t been in here since yesterday morning.

  My focus then went to the windows, and I realized the drapes were pulled open as well, the morning sun streaming in. I hadn’t even noticed when I’d come out of the bathroom, because my mind had been preoccupied. And then my gaze dipped down to the bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor by said windows. I didn’t have time to grab my towel and sling it back around my waist before the person in the closet stepped out.

  Elise.

  She looked at my face, her surprise evident on hers, and as I watched her eyes dip down my chest and settle on my cock, I saw her eyes widen.

  I expected her to snap her eyes back to my face—a natural reaction to seeing every part of me—but with each passing second as she stared at that part of me, I felt satisfaction fill me.

  She liked what she saw, and that in turn had me getting hard.

  If this wasn’t one hell of a way to have my hangover diminishing, I didn’t know what the hell could top it.

  8

  Elise

  I couldn’t move, and I sure as hell couldn’t take my eyes off a very big part of Lucius.

  Like a big-big part of him.

  And the longer I stared at it, the bigger it got. I realized he was getting hard.

  Oh my God.

  I snapped my gaze up to his face, feeling how wide my eyes were, knowing the shock was clear on my face. But I couldn’t help it, couldn’t hide it. Here was Lucius Blacksmith, naked as the day he was born, and hard all over.

  I couldn’t breathe, let alone say anything, think of anything, or even move to leave. That’s what I should have done. I should have apologized, ran out of there with my flaming-hot face and my heart in my throat.

  Rap music blasted through my ears, dirty lyrics that helped pass the time when I cleaned, but right now, they just made me even more flustered and hot and bothered as the singer rapped about fucking and dicks and pussies.

  I glanced down at his… manhood, just as the rapper started talking about needing ten inches between her thighs.

  Yeah, that seemed about right. Ten inches. Even the rapper knew what was up with Mr. Lucius Blacksmith.

  My face was on fire as I looked back at his face, and for a moment my heart stopped as I saw the slow smirk that started to cover his expression.

  He was… proud that I’d caught him naked and was embarrassed as hell?

  I pulled out my earbuds and shoved them in my apron pocket, but one fell from my grasp and landed on the plush carpeting by my foot.

  I shouldn’t be looking at any part of him, not his broad shoulders, his muscular biceps, his toned forearms. I shouldn’t have let my gaze linger along his defined pectoral muscles, or looked lower at his rippling six-pack. And I really shouldn’t go lower to follow that dark-blond trail of short hair that started below his navel and descended to his cock that, although all around huge while soft, got even bigger as he got aroused.

  “I—I’m sorry,” I muttered, bending down, grabbing the other ear bud, and tucking it in the pocket with the other one.

  I spied the towel he clearly had wrapped around his waist after his shower. I felt the humidity coming from the open doorway, smelled the masculine body wash he used.

  While he stared into my eyes, he reached out, grabbed the gray sweats, and slipped them on, that smirk still on his face. And while he put those pants on, he never once took his focus from me.

  And still I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even though he had pants on, the material was obscenely tented from his growing erection.

  I turned him on? Or maybe he had some kind of fetish, some voyeuristic or exhibitionist desire going on?

  Either way, it made no difference, because I was frozen in place, forcing myself to just breathe, to not let my gaze lower to his sweats again, to see if he’d gotten bigger.

  My inner muscles clenched, and I squeezed my thighs together, feeling a little bit ashamed that I was in this position, had these feelings. “I—I didn’t realize you were home, Mr. Blacksmith.” It felt grossly inappropriate to call him Lucius in this moment, even if he told me just yesterday to do just that. “I didn’t reali
ze you were in the room.” I pointed to my apron and then realized that doing so looked like I was pointing to my crotch. I felt my cheeks become hot even further. “I had my earbuds in. The music was loud. I didn’t hear the shower.” I was rambling because of my nerves.

  I just need to get the hell out of here.

  I snapped into motion then, walked over to grab my bucket off the floor then straightened. My knees felt weak, my legs like pudding. Walking past him was going to be a feat.

  He didn’t move, his body hard like stone, intimidating in a sexual way because of its power. I forced myself not to look anywhere but in his eyes, and I gave him a small smile as I walked past him. I actually smiled at him, like I hadn’t just seen every God-given part of his body a minute ago.

  God. This is mortifying.

  And as I walked by him, I could see out of my peripheral that he shifted his body toward me. I could feel his eyes tracking me. And it took everything in me not to look over my shoulder, like I had when I left the kitchen last night, to make sure, to see if he was actually staring at me.

  How in the hell was I supposed to work comfortably after seeing that?

  How in the hell was I supposed to keep my libido and my emotions in check when all I would think about, all I would see in my mind, was Lucius Blacksmith buck-naked in all his masculine, he-totally-works-out glory?

  Yeah, impossible. It would be absolutely fucking impossible.

  9

  Elise

  “Earth to Elise.”

  I blinked a few times and focused, pushing my thoughts away—thoughts that had been about Lucius ever since our extremely awkward run-in yesterday.