by Ava Claire
All eyes immediately shot to our corner of Laura’s Espresso, and it was 100% because he looked the part of the role he was born to play. I wondered if he had a closet filled with black V-neck tees, slacks, and scowls for every day of the week.
He nursed a bottle of water and even at a respectable distance, I knew he was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice—and so did the curious onlookers who scanned his immediate vicinity, on the lookout for his star clientele. It took them a minute or two, but I could feel the gears grinding. Isn’t she the woman who’s married to that billionaire? Hey, doesn’t that redhead look familiar?
Megan scooted a few inches lower in her chair. “I picked a great day to leave my trucker hat at home.”
“Since those glasses take up 80% of your face, I think you’re good,” I cracked a grin.
She just pushed her shades to the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. Usually, that finger was used playfully and only on special occasions. Today, it stung a little because I could tell the energy between us was still off after our last encounter at the boutique.
“I should be delighting in all the publicity, right? ‘All publicity is good publicity’,” she intoned, straightening her spine like she was reciting something in front of the class. “Even if my bestie brought along the Terminator because she’s worried I’ll go off on her like I went off on France’s answer to Rachel Laraby.”
I ignored the flash of guilt that I hadn’t updated Megan about Eichmann. I gave Jacob a bad wrap for keeping people at a distance, including yours truly, but the fact remained that I’d been vague and flat out CIA Redaction Level Quiet when it came to Eichmann. I didn’t want to worry her, or put her in danger. I knew it was just an excuse for the inexcusable, not confiding in my friend...and it led to her drawing her own conclusions.
I contemplated coming 100% clean, but decided to focus on her comparing Angelique to Rachel Laraby. “The only thing Rachel and Ang-” My nostrils flared. “Angelique have in common are that they’re both actresses and damn good at their jobs.”
If that was meant to shut down the subject, I failed miserably because Megan almost choked on her frappe. “Did you just compliment that succubus?” She coughed and took a couple of swigs of my bottle of water. “Clearly all that hormone stuff is at an all-time high because I never thought I’d see the day when you’d have anything nice to say about Rachel.”
I snatched back my water, beaming a little because there was a glimmer at the end of this BFF spat if she was willing to share germs. “Rachel is a lot of things, but I have to give credit where it’s due: she is damn good at her craft.”
“You do you, boo, but I don’t care if her trophy case is filled with Oscars. All the acclaim in the world can’t change all the awful thing she’s done.”
I picked at my tea bag string, agreeing with her, but not willing to add Rachel to the things I was worrying about. “How about we not dig up that old baggage when there’s so much unpacking to do in the here and now.”
“Ah yes,” Megan nodded emphatically. “Let’s not! I could be grading the colossal stack of things I’ve been putting off, but I’d much rather rehash all the dirty deeds of my run-in with the Great Angelique.” She tried on her best French accent and I must have looked très impressed because she rolled her eyes. “Those two years of French in college clearly paid off.”
Since I wasn’t even sure if Angelique was still a Whitmore and Creighton client, I didn’t want to go there. I’d asked Megan to meet me to apologize, and figure out what was going with her and Cade.
She was toying with her strawberry blonde strands and I was firmly pressing my lips together, trying to figure out how to start.
“So, about Saturday-”
“I may have been a little unfair to your client,” Megan jumped in, her words coming out in a single breath, like she’d been dying to share and wanted to get it out before she lost her nerve. “I’ve just been under so much stress with all the testing coming up at work, then Cade, and-” She bit her bottom lip, cupping her mug and exhaling. “Life is kinda sucky in Megan-land right now. Still, it’s no excuse for me flipping on some chick I don’t even know.”
I flashed her a sad smile. I could definitely relate, and I was in no position to throw stones when I was an emotional rollercoaster before the baby and had perfected the art of foot in mouth. “I owe you an apology too. I could have been gentler about the whole Angelique thing. And you and Cade...that was so much to carry on your own, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I missed something huge. The only thing I should have said, instead of interrogating you, was that I was here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Even though my glasses weren’t nearly as huge and disguise-worthy as hers, I still ducked my chin, glad they were hiding the tears that were swimming in my eyes. “You’re my best friend, Megan. And I don’t want you to ever feel like I take you for granted, even though I have. And it’s not even New Year’s, but it is my resolution, my vow, to do better.”
Both of us were sniffling and Megan swiped at her cheeks. “Damn it, Leila, you know I hate crying.” She shoved backward from the table and nearly collided with some hipster dude in a beanie and flannel shirt, despite the temperature outside. Pascal was on it, storming to our table in a blink of an eye.
Megan’s jaw was on the floor and the poor dude looked ready to pee his pants.
“Keep it moving,” Pascal growled. “Or I will help you move.”
The guy almost dropped his coffee, but he apologized profusely first, backing up slowly.
Pascal’s dark brown eyes went to Megan, then me. “Are you two alright?”
Megan brows arched, impressed. She gave him a tiny salute and I followed it with a nod. Pascal returned to his table and Megan mouthed, ’worth every penny’ before she continued her journey to the bar, grabbing a fistful of napkins.
As much as Jacob’s original proposition about hiring a bodyguard made me feel a bit queasy and overindulgent, it was clear that Pascal took his job very seriously and that I, and anyone with me, were safe from everything from pesky onlookers to whatever Eichmann had up his sleeve.
Megan returned with the napkins and a pep in her step. I shelved the worries in my head so I could be the friend I’d neglected to be the last time we were together.
I was all suited up, wearing a crisp, blush colored blouse and black slacks. I was even rocking a kitten heel for a little extra pizzaz. My curls were nestled at the nape of my neck and diamond studs caught the light in my earlobes. I forgot all of that, and Megan’s similar attire, clad in a pale colored blouse and wide legged khakis. I went back to a simpler time, when we both opted for pajama pants and sweatshirts. Nights spent in dorms, crying over some stupid guy and stressing about papers and exams. I turned off Leila Whitmore and all the drama and stress that came along with my current world. I was just a friend, here for my friend, with no strings attached.
Megan dabbed at her eyeballs, letting her shades drop back into place.
“I guess now’s the part where I give you the whole proposal story.” She sounded exhausted. Finally ready to stop carrying the weight of this secret alone. I didn’t make a joke, or let on that I was dying to hear it. I just waited, sipping my tea.
Megan pushed her shades to the crown of her head, revealing her swollen, emerald green eyes. “Things have been weird with Cade and I over the past couple of months. He’s been filming on location, working on a variety of projects. The distance used to be just a physical thing. Acting, making movies, photoshoots, promoting said movies: it’s his job. It’s what I’ve signed up for. But I didn’t sign up to be something on a to-do list that you check off so you’re not in the doghouse.”
She fiddled with her tissue, her eyes on her hands, like she didn’t want to see the worry and concern on my face. Either way, I followed her lead and lifted my shades from my eyes.
“Everyone falls into a routine. And when you’re in a long distance relationship, a routine is
kind of important. We Face-timed in the morning and before bed. He used to say it was because he wanted my face to be the first thing he saw when he woke up in the morning and the last thing he saw before he went to bed at night.”
“Aww,” I swooned. I couldn’t resist.
Megan raised her eyes to mine and the sadness in hers gripped my heart and squeezed. “Right. It was super sweet. ‘Was’ being the important word here. As in, he did something that he said was important, that I made important, that I lived for when he was half way across the world...and then we missed a morning. Then he was up late and crashed and we missed a night.” She trailed off and held a hand up in her defense. “I wasn’t keeping some mental tally in my head.”
When I gave her a look, because I knew that if I was in her shoes, I would be, she fessed up.
“Okay, maybe I was. And it drove me crazy that when I brought it up, because our routine became sporadic texts and Face-times, he just kinda shrugged. And then when he got home, because we had so little time together, it was all sex, all the time.” She fingered her red and blonde strands, her cheeks darkening. “Not that the sex was bad. It was amazing and hot and kinky and-” She stuck out her tongue when I made a face. “Don’t worry. I won’t be recapping the bumping and grinding, it’s just relevant to the story.”
“Uh huh,” I said playfully. I was partly teasing, partly trying to give her a minute to gather herself because I could tell from the tightening of her features as she blazed on that we were getting to the hardest part to swallow. The painful part.
“It got to the point where I felt like we were becoming more like fuck buddies than partners. He wasn’t asking me how I was doing. How my students were. What my weekend plans were. And I was just as guilty because I didn’t ask how he was either.” She shifted in her seat like there were hot coals beneath her. “So, pot roast night, I decided that it was do or die. I wanted clarity. I wanted to know if there was a future or if we were just clinging to each other and what we had because it was comfortable and familiar. I said my piece, and he seemed receptive. He told me he’d felt the distance too, and wanted me to know that he was here and wanted to be, and wanted a future.”
I played hot potato with my mug, switching it from hand to hand as my gut twisted. That was the proposal that would have gone down as the beginning of something new.
“So, I’m gathering the dishes,” she recounted, “And he does this uncomfortable cough thing. And he just casually says, ‘think we should get married?’.” She plucked up the tissue and wiped her fresh tears. “Leila, I laughed at him. Laughed right in his face so I wouldn’t start crying. It was like everything I said had gone in one ear and out the other. I tell him that I miss him, that I feel like a booty call instead of his girlfriend, and his answer is to propose marriage? Like a diamond ring would make me shut up.”
“That’s probably not what he-” Her death glare made me wince and shut my mouth. “Sorry.”
She glared at me for a few more moments, like she was glad to have a new target, but she exhaled, her shoulders slumping.
“You think I don’t know that he wasn’t trying to be insensitive? That I don’t know that he loves me?” She let out a groan of frustration and tossed her napkin on her saucer. “I used to think about marriage. About forever. That’s why it hurt so bad when he threw out the idea of spending the rest of his life with me like...”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
There was nothing I could say that would ease her pain and it him me...that wasn’t the point anyway. She just wanted to be heard. To feel safe. To have someone see her side. And I not only saw her pain—I felt it. A marriage proposal is a big damn deal, and I truly hoped the two of them could work through this so they could get the happy ending they both deserved.
I pushed my mug away and gripped Megan’s hand. “What can I do?”
She sniffled and covered my hand with hers, smiling in the midst of her tears. “You’re already doing it.”
Chapter Fifteen
The cuffs were back out.
I stroked them with my gaze, taking in the four tiny bundles of black and chrome. We’d been through a lot, those four cuffs and I. Strapped to an iron patio chair. Strapped to a balcony railing. Splayed open, unable to do anything but obey.
Tonight, I had a different adventure in mind. Jacob’s head (and a hard, throbbing part of him further down south) had been in the right place the other night. I’d been the one who pumped the brakes, not ready to submit when I felt so utterly out of control. I never stopped wanting him, craving him and the freedom in our role-play. I wanted to lay my body open for him. I wanted to give him the key to our ecstasy.
Or maybe he’ll give you a dose of your own medicine.
I’d shared how frustrated and fearful I was about Eichmann’s reemergence and he hadn’t shrugged off my rebuff. Pouted because I was denying him my body. We didn’t play those kinds of games with each other. Our games were mental, erotic ones, filled with whips, chains, and cuffs.
I unwrapped the robe from my body, squeezing excess water from my dark ringlets before I let both fall to the floor. I fished my lotion from the bedside table and plopped onto the mattress. I slathered the lotion on my feet, kneading my calves as I worked my way to my thigh. I raked my fingers along my inner thigh, biting my lip as I imagined his fingers replacing mine. The thick digits that knew just how to tease. Where to linger. When to whisper for me to let go.
Eyes drifting closed, I drew my pointer finger to the apex of my thighs. I danced along the curly strip of hair, fragrant from my vanilla body wash and the warmth of arousal that had seized me. There was something about knowing Jacob was pointed homeward, with no idea of what I had planned, that turned my own personal tease into an invitation I couldn’t deny. Jacob wouldn’t mind if I warmed myself up for our bondage festivities. And even if he did, the chances that it would awaken that sexy Dom that loved to watch my skin blossom red when he spanked me made me play with fire, sliding back on the bed so I could slide my fingers inside me.
I parted my knees, raking my nails down my smooth thighs, gliding over my swollen belly as I ground my ass into the mattress. My eyes were closed, my erotic dance for me alone, but it didn’t stop my mind from going wild with possibilities.
The first had me missing all the cues that he was home. The melodic jingle that happened whenever someone took the elevator up to the penthouse. The sound of the front door, clicking shut as he peeled off his suit jacket and went to work on his cuff links. The sound of his confident foot falls as he climbed the staircase to the bedroom. The creak of the hardwood floors as he paused in the doorway, cerulean eyes adjusting to the candlelight as it dawned on him that I’d been a bad, bad girl.
I snatched a pillow from the head of the bed, pausing my naughty daydream briefly as I made arrangements so I could comfortably do some exploring. So I could pretend that I was watching him watch me. Those blue eyes of his would be like flames as I spread my thighs wider, giving him a full view of the petals of me. My wet flesh opening for him like the most succulent flower.
My fingers were on the move, pointed towards the heaven between my thighs. I did the teasing, creating swirls and circles with my fingertips. The air licked me hungrily, cool and wanting. When my hot digit skated across my wet lips and slipped inside me, I let out a gasp.
I swirled my hips, my bare skin alive with the sensation of Egyptian cotton kissing my hungry skin. My finger was tasting, pushing, knowing exactly where it needed to go. Still, I guided it with my lips, curling my toes into the mattress. “You know how I like it.” I curved the digit slightly and used my other hand to spread my lips wider. If Jacob was standing there, watching me touch myself, I knew he wouldn’t be able to follow suit. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw his dark figure, still in the doorway because this was a view that he could not only appreciate, but craved. His little sub, so defiant, so hungry for something deep inside her that she couldn’t even wait for him to get started.
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To touch herself.
I rose from the mattress, hips bucking toward my finger.
“Oh my god,” I said huskily. I went back to my fantasy. The darkness in my voice would match my thrusts as I pumped in and out of my wetness. My groans would mix and crash into the sounds my body made.
My finger was buried in me, on its now mission. Taming it like a snake charmer taming something wild and lethal. My other hand was busy too. It glided back over my bump and rested on my left breast. My chest heaved as my pulse raced and I fought to remember why I didn’t spend more time just like this. Knowing my body, showing my Dom how beautiful it was when I submitted to my touch.
Pleasure flowed from me like honey, then moans that fell from my lips just as sweet when I pulled from my core and focused on the swollen bundle of nerves. The hand on my breast was quick to follow suit and I circled my nipple. I gripped both in unison and nearly came, ready to shatter. There was something erotic and dangerous about lingering in that delicious place. Teetering on the edge of my climax and denying myself. Navigating through this bliss, discovering just how much I could take before I lost my mind. And if Jacob had taught me anything, it was that I could take a lot, and then some.
“Oh my God,” I whimpered as my finger circled my clit in time with my other hand teasing my nipple. Flicking the nub back and forth. Pinching it. Contrasting with the gentle swirl of my finger on that knot of nerve endings that made stopping impossible.
That blurred the lines between fantasy and reality.
“Don’t stop.”
The hunger in those words must have come from somewhere deep inside me. Guttural, dark as the world around me as I squeezed my eyes shut until I saw stars. I barreled towards an orgasm that felt like it would tear me in two.
