I’d read the personal accounts over and over again, the way his mom would just descend into a screaming fit of bitter tears as she accused his father of sleeping with their neighbor, or a woman at work, were heart-wrenching. I felt pity for them all, but especially for the child who had come of that initial union.
Dylan had lived his whole life knowing his mom had conceived him on purpose, just to get a husband. His father had been a hard-working man, and he’d been devoted to his wife. The personal accounts told how everyone who knew the family knew that Dylan’s dad was faithful. He only ever went to work, and then he’d go straight home to cook dinner and clean the house up. He’d tried to give Dylan some semblance of stability, but most of the time, the home was dysfunctional.
I’d tried to imagine Dylan after he’d been released from the jail and taken into foster care. The poor child wasn’t even allowed to attend the dual funeral. Tears slid from my eyes as I’d pictured him, alone, afraid, and in a new home with strange people. The James couple had taken him, had given him a home, and had obviously helped him get his life back on track.
This the reason he’d wanted the contract so bad? His mother had tricked his father and then made all of their lives hell. It made sense to me now. If that was the reason for his insistence, however. I’d stared at the screen, re-reading words I’d already read a dozen times. Who was this family friend? Were they honest, could they be trusted? The site wasn’t exactly high-end; it could have been the writer’s fantasy about what had happened.
Another question I had was why Dylan had gone to foster care. Hadn’t there been grandparents or aunts and uncles who could have taken him in? He must have felt completely abandoned, I’d decided as I stared at the pictures that were sprinkled all over the page. The final picture was one of him being taken away by his new adoptive parents. The website wished Dylan luck, but it hadn’t been updated in at least ten years. There were other pages I could have looked at, even more gruesome tales of twisted love and burning hate, but I’d only clicked on it to learn about Dylan.
Murder sites weren’t my thing, and I’d closed the browser and my laptop after a few minutes of staring off into space. Dylan had lived an incredibly tumultuous life until he was taken in by the James family. It was hardly any wonder at all that he’d wanted a contract now. That didn’t mean I’d decided to give him one, though.
It just meant I had to help him work his way past the need for black and white promises. He had to learn to take me at face-value and to trust my word. Just as I’d trusted him. I went into my bedroom and pulled out some leisure-wear: a soft pair of velour pants in a bright peach color, with a matching jacket that would come off easily, but keep me warm on the drive over.
There was no doubt I’d go to him now. A man who had lived through that kind of trauma would have too much pride, or maybe not enough, to let his guard down, or to admit that he’d needed someone. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, he might turn me away at the door, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried, would I?
I drove over carefully, determined to get there in one piece. I didn’t want to rush over and end up in a tree or worse. I took my time, and when I’d pulled into the parking garage, I’d rushed to the elevators. I knew the passcode to get to his floor, I’d memorized it weeks ago, and punched it in and turned to watch the numbers above the door.
I’d deliberately kept my mind blank on the way over and did my best to concentrate on the road in front of me. That kept the doubts at bay, but that ride up the building almost broke me. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was and refused to see me? The code still worked, so he’d either hoped I’d come to him and left it alone, or he’d forgotten to change it. Or maybe he’d thought I wouldn’t have the gall to show up there?
I chewed at the inside of my lip and tried not to groan in misery. Surely, he’d be happy to see me? The thought occurred to me that he might still be at the club, already entangled with another woman, contract signed and delivered. That made me want to punch somebody’s lights out, and I’d never been a violent person.
Even in school, I’d always stayed out of fights and arguments. I’d just hated the turmoil and drama, so I’d avoided it. I doubted most people would even remember I’d been a student there. I’d just kind of blended into the walls.
I guessed that was part of the reason I was so pleased when Dylan noticed me. Out of all of the women he could have chosen, he’d chosen me. The one who was too shy to show her face, that wouldn’t have said a word to him if he hadn’t spoken to me. But he had seen me, he’d spoken to me, and he’d chosen me to be his, even if it was only intended to be for a little while.
I had sometimes felt like an actor in my own life, portraying what others had always wanted, or expected, me to be. With Dylan, all of that had changed. I could be me. I could talk about the things that bored other people, like a tidbit about history that I’d learned, or about the principles of business management with Dylan, and he’d always discuss the matter with me. He wouldn’t tune out and let me talk just to appease me; he’d actually hold a conversation with me.
Now, I’d find out if that was all finished and done with, or if we could go back to what we were last week. I realized I’d been standing in front of his door for quite a while when I heard the elevator ding behind me.
I hadn’t even heard it go down, but I heard that noise. There was only one person it could be, and when I turned around, I saw him there. There was surprise in his eyes, shock even, but there was also a deep hunger that was oh so familiar. I felt my insides respond instantly, and my skin went tight all over.
I was going to say something, I didn’t know what, but Dylan didn’t give me the chance. In an instant, I was in his arms, and I felt how cool his skin was against my face when he kissed me. His hands pushed my hips back against the wall, then he tilted me into him as my arms went around his neck.
Dylan kissed me, his tongue entwined with mine, and neither of us cared that we were in a hallway. It wasn’t like anyone would come by and see us, so it didn’t matter. I clung to him and kissed him with every ounce of passion I had to give. He tasted of scotch and Dylan, a taste that was so familiar, but always made me hungry for more. I inhaled his scent and felt the coolness of his leather on my fingers.
With ecstatic glee my fingers then plunged into his hair to hold his face to mine, because I never wanted this kiss to end. Burning heat flooded my veins, and my movements became slow. His kiss slowed in turn, but it didn’t stop. Not at all. He pressed himself into me and hitched me up just a little, until I was on my tiptoes and barely hanging on to him. It didn’t matter because Dylan was there, he was in my arms, and he was kissing me. Nothing else mattered.
He broke away for a moment and stared at me, his lips pursed, and I thought he’d say something. Instead, he closed his eyes on the look of anguish I’d caught a glimpse of and pushed me into the wall with another earth-shattering kiss.
I felt lightheaded, giddy with joy, but I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to break the spell because I knew I would if I tried to speak, I’d ask him something stupid like how his day had gone, or if he’d got his laundry done today, almost anything but something that could be seen as sultry or seductive. I had that knack for ruining things if I wasn’t careful.
I wanted to speak to him, but right now, this seemed far more important, and he wasn’t asking for a contract, so I decided to let it go. I’d see how far we got, and then I’d give him an offer. Two weeks without a contract, just to see how it went, and if he didn’t like it or couldn’t cope, we’d go with a contract.
Or if he wanted a contract, I’d sign it; I didn’t care right now. I just wanted him to keep touching me. His hands ran up my jacket, and he hummed happily when he found my skin bare. I pressed into the cold touch of his fingers against my hot skin. Something about the contrast made me want more, and I let him know it.
I was sure it was only the fact that he was touching me that really mattered, but why examine the logic of
it at this point? That would just be stupid. I was not a stupid woman. I wrapped myself tighter around him and tried to get closer. I just wanted to be closer to him. I knew about his past now, I knew what had driven him to the life he had, and it made me hurt for him. I wanted to take his hurt away, all of it, and take it into myself where he didn’t have to feel it anymore.
I’d never quite felt like that about anyone before. Not that deeply. It scared me, but it was new, and new things always scared me. I’d decided at the outset that I’d face my fears and work past them. I’d do my best to live for this moment of my life. I knew now I’d fight for every moment I could have with Dylan, but I knew he was fragile in one regard. His history might not allow him to take this any further than friendship and sex. If that was all he could give me, for now, I’d take it.
I’d worry about the rest later. Right now, I’d wanted to make sure I never saw that anguish in his eyes ever again. I didn’t want to be the reason it was there either. I’d wash it away somehow. I’d replace it with my care. I’d tell him all of that as soon as he let us both come up for air. Until then, he could have me right here in the hallway if that was what he’d wanted. I didn’t care anymore. I’d just wanted him, and that was all that mattered, in the end.
Emily
“Well, hello there, Dylan,” I whispered when he pulled away from my lips and then pulled me up in his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed me against the wall. I felt his excitement as a pressure against my center and wanted to grind myself into him even more.
I slid up the wall a little higher as Dylan gave me a smirking grin, my arms still wound around his neck.
“Hello there, Stephanie,” he whispered as his lips brushed against mine. “You’ve been a very bad girl; you know that, don’t you?”
A shiver of excitement slid down my spine and made my skin prickle with anticipation. That was all he’d needed to say for me to know I was going to be punished for my willfulness. It was a playful moment, however, not one that made me afraid.
His broad hands held me up, cupped beneath my bottom, as he held me there. “I’m going to make you regret every moment we spent apart.”
His cologne filled my nose as his head moved, and his lips started a dance along the length of my neck. When he bit down on one area, I went a little weak.
“I’m sorry, Dylan.” It was a pant more than an apology, but I’d said it, at least.
“I know you are. So am I, because now I have to make sure you understand the error of your ways.”
As if that was a threat, I thought, but didn’t say out loud.
I’d been wet from the moment he pushed me against the wall. Now, with his tongue against my neck to soothe the place he’d bitten, the tension in my abdomen grew, and the need to feel his skin against mine became almost unbearable.
I turned my face away from his and gasped for air for the reasoning abilities it would take to form words.
“Let me down, Dylan.” I didn’t think about what he’d said, I just felt, and my body demanded things more than my brain could think.
“No, ma’am.” Instead, he carried me through his doorway and into this kitchen. He placed me down on the long, dark table and slowly removed my clothes. I didn’t have on much, so it didn’t take long before I was naked against the cool top of the table, my feet on the edge. He’d arranged me that way, no words, just actions.
Now, he moved my feet apart. I felt his stare as if it was a touch. His eyes wandered down from my face, down to breasts. My nipples went impossibly tighter, and then the skin over my abdomen. His gaze went lower, to the pink slit between my thighs.
“Mm. Good.” He didn’t elaborate; he just looked. “Turn around, Stephanie. Let me see the other side of you.”
This time his fingers trailed along my shoulders, down my spine, into the crevice of my ass. I gasped when he pulled my hips out and pulled up until I moved with his touch. I realized then he was positioning me. I braced myself against the table, ready for him, more than ready. This entire time I’d wondered if he’d deny me his cock. He did that sometimes, when he felt I’d been bad and needed a reminder of who was in charge.
Sometimes, he’d let me have it with my mouth, but that was it. He wouldn’t fuck me, and that was torture. We’d been apart too long, though, and he’d needed me, needed what only I could give him. My hard nipples pressed into the cold plane of the table barely warmed my body, and the contrasting temperatures made them burn. If only he’d suck them, make the burn an ache.
I didn’t care if it meant I had to wait for him to fuck me; I needed relief for my nipples. He didn’t do that. Instead, he moved behind me and then I was being pushed into the table, my face pressed down, as he thrust into me hard and fast, until he filled me entirely with his cock.
“Oh yes, Dylan, that’s it,” I gasped, unable to control myself, my nipples forgotten. “Fuck me, baby.”
“Shut up, Stephanie,” he ground out as he started a punishing pace. His fingers dug into my hips to keep me in place, but I still moved in time with each of his thrusts.
“Fuck you, Dylan.” A little bit of anger brought the brat out in me, and I disobeyed. I knew it would get me something extra out of him.
He pushed deeper, his fingers went tighter, until I felt the bite of his nails on my skin. His grip didn’t let up, and the burn of little crescent moon-shaped indentations on my skin made me hiss happily. There it was, that little bit more.
The sensation of his cock moving inside of me stole my breath away suddenly, and I wanted to laugh with happiness. Spread over his table, my ass in the air, I could not have been happier. I was so close to the edge of satisfaction that I knew I’d explode any moment, but I’d held back; I’d wanted to wait. He’d taught me that little trick. Wait for it, don’t rush into it.
I tightened my walls around him and got the response I’d wanted. He grunted a sensual guttural sound that made me go tight involuntarily. I gasped out my own surprised pleasure and let my face settle on the cool surface. It soothed the overheated skin on my cheeks and brought me back to the world for just a moment.
I’d wanted to shock him, to let him know I still had some of my control. I slid my hand down to the place where we were joined and grasped him between my fingers.
His reaction was immediate and shocked me. Instead of fucking me even harder, he pulled out, his hand on my ass as he stepped away from me. Then his hand came down against my ass. Hard.
“That is not what good girls do, Stephanie.” He did it again, in the same spot, and I knew my skin must have been red. The area burned, it itched, but the other untouched side of my ass was jealous. I squirmed against the table, my fingers splayed as I sought for something to grip.
“Sit still, madam,” he instructed, but I couldn’t. I’d needed too much; I’d needed everything.
His hand came down on the other side at last, and my head tilted back just slightly with gratification. It burned so good. Hard enough to make my skin red, but not to bruise me. Again, the hand came down, then to the other side.
I felt it edge closer every time, to the sensitive skin lower, and I tilted my hips up to encourage him. I’d wanted it. I’d wanted this punishment, the insane goodness of his slap against my nether lips.
“Please, Dylan. Sir.” I licked my dry lips and asked him for what I’d wanted. “Please slap my pussy, sir.”
“Oh, is that what you want, brat?” he asked, and I felt him move up behind me, as he lowered his head down closer to mine. His cock dug into the globes of my ass, and I squirmed all over again. “Do you want me to make that pretty pussy cry, pet?”
“Yes, sir. Make it cry, please.” I knew I was begging and didn’t care. I’d wanted his attention, all of it, however he chose to give it to me.
His fingers moved and touched the smooth, petal soft skin with a delicate caress, but he didn’t slap it. He just soothed the wet flesh, but it didn’t soothe me a bit.
“Dylan,” I breathed his name, my lo
nging for him a fire within me. “Please, sir.”
He moved, and I knew he’d knelt when his fingers touched my ass to open me up to him. His lips brushed against my bare vulva, then his tongue delved down to the pink bud that ached the most for his touch.
His tongue came out, flicked at me to lick up the juices my excitement had created. I’d cried out with relief when his lips finally found my clit and closed over it to suck at it roughly. I loved it. My hips bucked up to meet that sucking mouth, before he gave me a long laving lick that made me almost scream.
I could just picture the image we’d created with him behind me, his face between my soft ass cheeks, mouth buried in my pussy while his fingers moved to follow. One dipped into my wet heat to lubricate it before he moved up to the puckered skin he now displayed to the world. He’d played with the area, teased me before, but he’d never actually fucked me there. Would that be part of my punishment tonight? Something lurched in me, and I hummed, vibrated maybe, with excitement.
I tensed as his finger pushed against the skin there, asked for entry. He slowly pushed the finger deeper inside. I’d shuddered beneath him, powerless to stop him, because I didn’t want to. I’d wanted to know the world Dylan had to offer me, the world he drove me to explore. I couldn’t help the way I’d moaned as his finger slid deeper into me, or the way I’d panted as he invaded my body.
I flexed my hips, wanting to take more of his finger, wanting more of him inside of me. Maybe, if he stood up and slid his cock into my pussy too … oh fuck, I was going to come.
“Sir,” I panted, so close; fuck, if he moved out of me, or deeper into me, with his finger and his cock, in both places, I’d die a very happy girl.
Dylan, always the sir, my dominate, the decider in our sex play, pulled his fingers and mouth away and stood. For a moment, he plunged his cock into the soaked walls of my velvety depths, but then he pulled out. I started to protest but he moved so swiftly, without even a hint of gentleness, that I didn’t really have time to say anything.
Dark Secret Page 4
