by Cynthia Sax
Blaine’s lips curl upward. “Not now, nymph.”
“Not here?” I ask. He doesn’t answer and I tremble, his silence implying he’ll take me here. My skin instantly becomes more sensitive, my body more aware of Blaine’s. Every brush of his fingers is accentuated, every casual bump of his hips against mine amplified.
We sit at a huge round table covered by a bright red tablecloth. Blaine pulls our chairs close together, his thigh pressing against mine, his body heat warming me through the layers of fabric.
Platters of foods are set on a rotating tray in the middle of the table, and as Blaine continues a heated discussion with the business-focused Volkov, I transfer some beef teriyaki onto his plate. Mr. Lee, the hovering restaurant owner, nods his head, approving of my choice.
I eat quietly, content to listen to the conversations around me, remaining semi-invisible tucked close to Blaine. He grazes his fingertips along my side, up and down, up and down, teasing me, tormenting me. I’m conscious of him, too conscious, my body yearning for his touch.
Blaine slips his hand under the tablecloth and slowly pulls my skirt upward, exposing my bare legs. I freeze, my fork raised in the air. Cool air wafts over my skin, exciting me.
He’ll take me now, here. He prods his fingertips between my thighs and I open to him, spreading my legs, aware that anyone glancing under the table will see my wet pussy. They’ll see my private curls, my pink folds, my tight, no-longer-virginal entrance.
Blaine caresses my skin, close but not close enough to my aching core, and I tremble, lowering my fork, passion’s tremors radiating from his rough touch.
Henley, Blaine’s serious friend, shifts, his chair creaking under his large form. He’s seated across from us, watching me, his eyes as black as the night sky. Does he know Blaine has his fingers between my legs, that I’m being pleasured as we eat dinner?
I imagine he knows, that he watches as his boss finger-fucks me, that he wants to touch me also, his cock hard. It is a safe fantasy, as I know Blaine will never allow another man to touch me. I’m his, completely.
Blaine dips his fingertips into my wet heat and I jerk, the contact exquisite and forbidden. He strokes along my pussy, playing me as only he knows how, seducing me with his fingers.
I bow my head over my plate, concealing my face behind my hair, unable to maintain my blank expression, wanting, needing, him too much. Blaine slides two of his fingers into my entrance, stretching my tender pussy open, and I bite my bottom lip, stifling my moan.
He maintains his conversation with Volkov as he pumps me, pressing the heel of his hand against my clit, the delectable pressure spiraling my need upward. I bring my cloth napkin to my mouth, muffling my pants. Perspiration drips down my spine.
I’m close, too close, my body coiling tight, my inner muscles gripping his fingers. Oh Lord. My thighs shake, the effort to remain still, to remain silent, tremendous. I’m going to come here, in a restaurant, while Blaine’s business associates watch.
“Blaine,” I whisper.
He leans closer, the heat of his body driving me ruthlessly toward fulfillment. “Come for me, Anna. Here.” He plunges deep inside me. “Now.” He curls his fingers and smacks the heel of his hand against my clit.
I buck upward, a cry torn from my lips. As I lose control, breaking into a million pieces, uncaring who sees or who hears, Blaine flings his arm out, knocking a full glass of water across the table. Women shriek and men jump to their feet. Waiters rush to soak up the mess.
Amidst the chaos, Blaine pins me to my chair. I writhe, the room spinning around me, my juices gushing over his fingers. He strokes along my inner walls, caressing inside me. Gradually, my heartbeat slows, my rational thought returning, and Blaine withdraws his hand, resting his wet fingers on my upper thighs.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs into my ear, pressing his cheek against mine. “And beautiful.” Blaine nibbles on my earlobe, teasing my sensitive flesh. “And mine.”
His employees return to their seats. Henley remains where he is, having never moved, his gaze fixed on us. He knows. I wipe Blaine’s fingers with a cloth napkin, seeking to hide the truth from the others.
“Are we talking business?” Volkov grumbles. “I have an afternoon flight tomorrow.”
“We’re talking business.” Blaine wraps his arm around my waist, tucking me close, and he turns back to the impatient businessman.
I glance across the table. Henley meets my gaze and tugs on the cuffs of his suit. I gaze down at Blaine’s hands. One of his cuffs is pulled up, revealing his tanned wrist, his skin speckled with my pussy juices.
My face heats. I smooth Blaine’s sleeve back down and Henley nods his approval, his face stern and his chin square.
He continues to watch me. I look around the table. Other people watch me, watch Blaine. They don’t see all of me and they never will but I’m no longer invisible. I’m vulnerable, exposed, and until I develop another strategy to cope, I’ll have to trust Blaine to protect me. I fit into his body, meshing my curves with his muscle, and his grip on me tightens.
As the night progresses, the conversations around us wane, and the waiters clean the table. One smiling waitress assures me no food is wasted, the leftovers are sent home with staff members. Men and women say their good-nights, returning to their homes, to their families.
Blaine and Volkov continue to talk, their heads bent and their tones serious. Mrs. Volkov sips coffee, her expression resigned, as though she’s spent decades waiting for business talk to wind down. Every once in a while Volkov reaches over, squeezes her hand, and her face lights up.
They’re a team, an aging patriarch and the woman who loves him. Mrs. Volkov isn’t flashy. Her breasts are natural and her figure is soft. She also doesn’t talk a lot. She’s quiet like me. Talking isn’t necessary. Volkov knows she’s there, supporting him as he supports her.
I close my eyes, listening to the rumble of Blaine’s voice, engulfed in his warmth. This is where I’m supposed to be also, by Blaine’s side, supporting him, loving him.
I WAKE TO sunlight streaming through a window, the glass splitting the rays into a rainbow of colors. I frown, confused. My bedroom in the Leighs’ bungalow doesn’t have a window. As I try to sit up, a heavy band over my stomach prevents me from moving.
I look down at the tanned male arm strewn across my near naked body. Blaine lies with his face buried in a white fluffy pillow, his back bare, his ass clad in his boxer shorts. I’m wearing my white panties.
I stare upward, trying to remember how I got here. A gold framed mirror hangs on the ceiling, the contrast of my pale skin and Blaine’s golden tan visually stimulating. There’s another mirror positioned at the foot of the bed, the wall behind it painted a warm brown. The furniture is rich dark wood, the four-poster bed intricately carved with vines and plants.
This is Blaine’s bedroom, the space comfortable and right, designed for watching inhabitants at every angle. I breathe deeply, the room smelling of his cologne, of him.
It smells of me also. My suit is folded neatly on a chair beside the bed and my faux leather flat shoes are lined up underneath the seat, the matching tote leaning against a clawed foot.
Blaine turns his head and his gaze meets mine, his green eyes soft. “I didn’t want to wake you.” He strokes under my breasts and my nipples tighten, my body responding to his touch.
“I don’t normally fall asleep in public places.” I place his hand over my left breast. “And I don’t normally wake up in strange beds.”
“This isn’t a strange bed. It’s our bed.” Blaine circles my nipple, teasing me, and I squirm, wanting more. “I’m meeting with Volkov at ten. How long do I have you?”
“I’m supposed to start work at nine o’clock.” I need this job to maintain my independence and I should care about it. I can’t summon up that concern, not right now, not while he’s touching me.
Blaine shifts over me, his body heavy, solid, warm, pressing me into the mattress. “I�
�ll give you a ride.” He bends his head and swipes his rough tongue over my right nipple. I bow my spine, pushing my breasts into his mouth, his hand. He works me with his lips and his fingers, squeezing and releasing me.
“Will you give me a ride?” I lower my voice suggestively and run my hands over his flat pectoral muscles, across his cascading abdominal muscles. His stomach ripples. “Did you look at me last night? Did you touch me when you undressed me?” I explore his shoulders, the dip along his spine, the scars on his back.
“I wanted to do more than touch you.” Blaine sucks on my nipple and I arch, crying out, the intensity sublime. “I wanted to fuck you while you slept.” He swirls his tongue around the abused flesh, soothing me. “You were so still, so soft.”
I was defenseless and vulnerable, and Blaine wanted me but he didn’t take advantage of me. He kept me safe even from himself, respecting my boundaries and my fears.
“You can fuck me now.” I slide my fingers under the waistband of his boxer shorts, his ass firm against my palms. “Taking me the way you wanted to take me last night.” I push the soft cotton down and curl my fingers around his hard shaft. “Filling me.” I run my hands up and down him.
“I will fill you.” Blaine yanks on my panties and spreads my legs almost painfully wide, opening me completely to him. “You’re wet for me, nymph.” He rubs along me. “Hot.”
“Always.” I undulate, savoring the feel of his naked body against mine. “I’m always hot for you.”
He lowers himself, pressing down on me, trapping me underneath him. I can’t move, can’t free myself, and once he enters me, he’ll have me, seeing the needy piece of my soul I normally hide. He could hurt me as I’ve never been hurt before. I tremble, the old fears resurfacing.
Blaine pushes his cock head into my tight pussy. “Show me, Anna. Show me how much you want me.”
I meet his gaze, seeing the understanding in his brilliant green eyes. He’s offering me the gift of control, allowing me to give what other men might simply take. Blaine isn’t other men. He’s my man.
I lift my hips, taking him deeper and deeper and deeper, his tip sliding up me, stretching me. My pussy lips touch his base.
“This is how much I want you.” I clench my inner muscles around him.
He groans and I grin, feeling powerful and strong. I lower. The retreat is as exquisite as the advance, desire flowing over me. I pump my hips up and down, fucking Blaine’s huge cock as he remains still, braced above me, waiting for my command to move.
He’ll wait forever, locked in place if I say nothing. I wrap my legs around him, pulling myself upward, savoring the glide of hard cock in wet pussy, boldly, ruthlessly using him for my own pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful.” His arms shake, veins lifting over his bulging biceps. Sweat beads on his forehead. He’s suffering for me, my stubborn wonderful man, and I can’t allow this.
“I’ll show you everything, Blaine.” I tilt my chin up, trusting him with all of me. “Fuck me hard.”
“Yes.” Blaine drives into me, covering my lips with his, filling my pussy with the entire length of him. I tighten my grip on his waist as he pounds into me again and again, thrusting with his tongue and his cock, slapping my breasts with his chest. My nipples, hips, lips hum.
I glance at the mirror hanging above us and watch the muscles in his back strain, his ass cheeks clench. He’s superbly fit, Blaine’s body a thing of beauty, and he’s mine, all mine. I dig my fingers into his skin as he fucks me hard and deep, the bed shaking, sliding on the hardwood floor.
He doesn’t hold anything back, his tempo fast and wild, his restraint stripped, leaving him bare, exposed. I meet each thrust, embracing his savagery. Only I see him like this, raw and stark and real, his face flooded with emotion, his eyes flashing.
He grunts, I pant, skin slaps against skin, the bed slams against the wall, our sex noises filling the quiet room, escalating my need. I ache. I burn. I break the skin on Blaine’s shoulders, my fingernails digging into flesh.
I’m unrecognizable in the mirror, flushed and primal, a creature of passion. I’m no longer an innocent nymph skipping along a sandy beach. I’m a siren writhing on the jagged rocks, coaxing Blaine closer to his doom, intent on my own fulfillment.
He can give me what I need. I know this. “Blaine,” I demand.
“Come for me, Anna. Here. Now.” He bites my bottom lip, the pain splintering my soul.
I scream, light bouncing from mirror to mirror, crisscrossing the room, reflecting upon my heart. I drive my hips upward, taking Blaine fully inside me, and I tighten my inner muscles viciously around his shaft, mercilessly yanking his release from him, determined not to come alone.
“Anna,” Blaine roars. He pushes even deeper, spurting hot hard jets of cum into my pussy, coating me with his essence. Swirling his hips, he grinds against my clit and I whimper, a second wave of almost unbearable pleasure sweeping over me. My pussy muscles convulse, milking him dry.
Blaine collapses on top of me, pressing me into the mattress, his weight heavy and right. I stroke his back as he shudders, his skin smooth, wet and warm.
He rolls onto his back, his expression gratifyingly dazed.
I look up at the mirror. My lips are swollen and red, my nipples tight. My pussy lips glisten with our combined juices. These juices also coat Blaine’s cock.
“Is it always like this?” I meet Blaine’s gaze in the reflection.
“No.” He shakes his head, his denial immediate. “Never. Only with you, Anna.” One of his palms cover mine, our fingers link together and we lie in bed, staring upward, watching each other.
The moment stretches, a moment I savor, hold in my heart, not knowing if there will be more moments like this. I took the moments I had with my parents for granted. I’ll never do this with Blaine.
Somewhere within his house a clock chimes, the musical tones announcing the return of reality. I have bills to pay and other responsibilities.
I sigh. “I should get to work.” I reluctantly roll out of bed and dress, not bothering to don my bra and panties, planning to shower and change next door.
I look around for the ribbon I always wear. “Have you seen my key?”
“I have it.” Blaine stands behind me, clad in his white boxer shorts, his body muscular and hard. “Hold up your hair.”
I gather the strands in my fingers he encircles my neck with the black ribbon, fastening the repaired clasp. Now two keys dangle between my breasts. The large gold key is for his backyard. I don’t know what the small rhinestone bedazzled gold key is for.
I turn my head and gaze over my shoulder at Blaine. I lift my eyebrows.
“The diamond key is for our house.” He shifts behind me, avoiding my gaze, my billionaire CEO appearing adorably nervous.
It isn’t a rhinestone. I study the intricately crafted piece of jewelry. It’s a very large diamond. And the key is for our house. I have a house, a permanent place to live, a permanent place by Blaine’s side. I haven’t had a home since I was fourteen years old. “It’s beautiful.” I blink back tears, emotion welling inside me.
“You’re beautiful.” He turns me to face him and tilts my chin upward. His green eyes glitter. “All I have is yours, Anna. I’d give you the stars if I could.”
“This key is as stunning as the stars and it is much more practical.” Balancing on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his. “I love it.” I love him. I’m not brave enough to say this. Blaine has never spoken of love and I won’t be the first.
He hugs me to his near-naked body, his breath wafting on my neck, the keys trapped between us, warmed by our skin. “Damn Volkov,” Blaine mutters. “Tonight, we’ll celebrate.” He hands me my tote, my bra and panties stuffed inside the bag.
“You’ll smoke one of your cigars.” I walk with him through the antique-filled house, the colors warm, the furniture solid wood. “And watch me as I swim naked in your pool.”
Rich oil paintings decorate the walls, the scenes dep
icting waterfalls and butterflies and uninhabited landscapes. My shoes sink into the handwoven rugs.
“You’ll swim naked in our pool,” Blaine corrects me. We descend a winding staircase, the wrought-iron railings twisted into a vine and leaf design. “We’ll make love under the stars.”
We won’t fuck. We’ll make love. My chest warms. We enter a grand foyer. A huge crystal chandelier hangs over our heads. Blaine’s bare feet smack against earth brown tiles.
As we wander to the front door, I slow our pace, gripping his fingers tighter, not wanting to leave him. “Blaine.”
“Not now.” He opens the door, uncaring that he’s clad only in his white boxer shorts, his hair mussed and his body firm. “I’ll be in the limousine waiting for you.” He leans into me and brushes his lips over mine. “Come over when you’re ready.”
I’m ready now. I gaze at Blaine. I want him. I need him.
He chuckles. “Don’t look at me like that, nymph. You have to go to work.” He turns me, places his palm on the small of my back and pushes me gently out the door.
The sun’s rays warm my skin. Birds chirp. The limousine waits in the driveway, Ted sitting in the front seat, staring down at his phone.
Blaine’s schedule affects other people—Ted, his assistant Fran, any employees he has meetings with. They’ll want to know where he is and wonder why he’s late. They might guess what we were doing.
I hurry next door to the Leighs’ modern bungalow. As I fiddle with the finicky front door lock, I check the mailbox. There aren’t any letters or packages, not one piece of junk mail in the metal box. That’s not unusual. The mailman has taken days off in the past.
I drop the key. As I bend to retrieve it, my heart clenches. A moth lies on the concrete steps, her wings broken and her body still. I pocket the keys and nudge her belly with my finger. She doesn’t move.
I scoop the moth off the steps, cradling her in my palm, and transfer her to the grass, hoping the connection with nature will revive her. Brown powder transferred from her fragile wings cover my skin.
