The Awakening of Nina Fontaine

by Michelle St. James

  She hadn’t lost a ton of weight, but her body had changed. Her breasts looked almost perky — thank you, push-up bra and smaller cup size — and the line of the boat neck on the dress spotlighted her now-prominent collarbone. Her arms were defined, almost slender, no small feat with the always-challenging cap sleeve. The dress skimmed her narrower waist and toned hips, the hemline stopping an inch above her knees.

  She leaned into the mirror, startled by the definition in her face, the way the dress turned her eyes deep green.

  Green dress it is, she thought.

  She took it off long enough to do her makeup, second nature after all the times she’d had to do it for dates and work at the gallery and outings with the girls, and to blow out her hair. She pulled it into a loose chignon at the side of her head and returned to the bedroom to put on the dress.

  She said a silent prayer of thanks for the Louboutins as she balanced on each foot to put them on. Karen had been right — Nina had already used them a ton. She’d still felt sick when her credit card bill came with the charge, but it was hard to regret the purchase when they came through for her again and again.

  She touched the nape of her neck and her cleavage with Nirvana Black, her new favorite perfume, and was finishing her lipstick when the buzzer rang.

  She walked to the intercom and pressed the button to let Jack in. She and Liam laughed and talked through their dates, but Jack was a man of few words, a trait that seemed to rub off on Nina when she was with him.

  He’d expect to come to her door. There was no point in a frivolous greeting.

  She waited until she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs to open the door.

  He scanned her body, a ritual she’d gotten used to. She hated how much she wanted his approval, but she still held her breath, waiting for his gaze to return to her face.

  It lingered there, the signature Jack Morgan smirk slowly washing over his features. “Perfection. As always.”

  She smiled. “You said comfortable, but I had a feeling pajamas weren’t what you had in mind.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ll be naked soon, although I’ll be honest and say I’m looking forward to seeing you take off that dress.”

  He said it casually, but there was nothing casual about Nina’s response, the way her body flushed outward from her stomach, the immediate dampness between her thighs.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  She had a feeling he was asking not only if she was ready for their date, but if she was ready for him.

  If she was ready for what he was going to do to her.

  She didn’t know the answer. But it was time to find out.

  24

  His apartment was exactly as she’d imagined: luxurious, sterile, spare.

  Like him.

  They’d spoken very little on the way to the Upper West Side. The lack of conversation wasn’t unusual in and of itself — even the tension between them had become familiar — but this time the chemistry was different. Nina could feel it in her bones, in the pulse between her legs.

  Reggie had stopped outside the Mandarin Oriental off Central Park, and they’d made their way through a futuristic lobby to a private elevator that had taken them to the seventy-fifth floor. They’d exited into a private foyer and a view into the living room that nearly stole her breath.

  She’d heard of people who lived in five-star hotels but she’d never actually met one. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t the expansive apartment with two entire walls of glass showcasing the city.

  It was mesmerizing, and she walked toward it as if she was under a spell, scanning the panoramic view. There was the park, stretched out below, a blanket of green in the middle of Manhattan’s concrete grid. To the right, the Chrysler and Empire State buildings shimmered in the swiftly setting sun. She could even see the Statue of Liberty, rising out of the sea like an ancient goddess.

  “Do you like it?” Jack asked from behind her.

  She turned around to find him in the kitchen, pulling food from the fridge. The sight was so incongruous she had to blink a couple times to make sure she wasn’t imagining it.

  In all the time she’d spent with Jack, he’d never given any indication that he was human. He’d never been angry or happy, his enjoyment of every meal at every celebrated restaurant limited to how much Nina enjoyed her meal. He’d never even excused himself to use the restroom.

  And yet here he was, performing the very human task of caring a tray of sushi to a long, polished mahogany dining table and returning to the kitchen to pour saki from a bottle into a saki pitcher.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said. “If I lived here, I’d never want to leave.”

  He held her gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He carried the saki pitcher to the table along with two tiny saki cups. “Please,” he said, pulling out one of the chairs.

  She sat down, hyperaware of his nearness as he bent to help her scoot in the chair.

  He took the seat to her right at the head of the table and poured saki into the two cups.

  He raised his toward her. “To never wanting to leave.”

  The words sent a chill up her spine, one she couldn’t identify as either fear or excitement.

  The saki was bitter and acidic on her tongue and she was grateful for the sushi Jack piled on her plate, one of each variety. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t ask what she wanted — Jack valued experimentation, a willingness to take risks, over all things.

  He was never overly concerned with her comfort, focusing instead in the kind of education he was eager to provide: experiences not yet had, food never before eaten, questions never asked.

  He seemed slightly more at ease in the apartment, a realization that brought with it an unexpected burst of affection, a counterpoint to the intimidation and awe she’d experienced in the past.

  He was still emotionally distant — she had a feeling that wouldn’t change quickly, if at all — but here scratching the surface of his carefully maintained facade seemed almost possible.

  They spoke of her childhood in the Midwest, her hunger to escape it, her parent’s divorce when she was twelve, her father’s subsequent exodus from her life.

  She asked about his own upbringing, and while he wasn’t a fount of information, she did learn that he’d been raised by wealthy parents until he’d gone to boarding school in Switzerland when he was six years old. When she’d expressed concern about how difficult it must have been to leave home so young, his face had quickly shuttered, making it clear his confession was over.

  She tried each of the things he put on her plate and forced herself to be honest about whether she liked it, even when the face she made caused Jack to laugh.

  She was a fish out of water in his world. It was a truth neither of them could deny, and while she was willing to experiment in the name of learning more about that world, she wasn’t willing to lie about who she was. She was finally understanding that she’d been lying for a very long time — lying about being happy with Peter, about her satisfaction as the perfect wife, about her contentedness in the suburbs.

  Maybe about everything.

  She was still figuring out who she was, what she really wanted, but whatever that was, she knew it wouldn’t be built on a lie.

  He insisted on clearing the plates himself, and she crossed the expansive living room, drawn back to the view, the city lights now glittering in a dark sky.

  It was even more lovely at night, columns of twinkling lights seeming to tower into infinity, the cars below crawling like ants. The apartment was completely insulated from the streets. It was like being adrift in space, floating through the darkness alone with Jack.

  A moment later she realized the soft clink of dishes and silver had stopped in the kitchen. She sensed Jack’s presence and lifted her gaze to catch his reflection over her shoulder.

  He was looking at her face in the glass, their locked gaze no less in
tense for the fact that it was reflected in the window.

  She sensed movement on her part would be unwelcome. Sensed that Jack was the ringleader of his own show, that her role was somehow predesignated.

  But instead of being constricting, the knowledge was liberating. After months of making all the decisions, of carrying the weight of her new life on her shoulders, now all she had to do was wait.

  She could hardly breathe as the moment lengthened between them. She sensed him step away from her body, his distance impossible to discern in the reflection.

  “Turn around,” he commanded.

  She turned away from the window.

  He was standing three feet away, staring at her. “Take off your clothes.”

  She was almost ashamed of how quickly she reached back to unzip the dress, not because she wanted him so badly but because she was following orders again.

  Don’t be a martyr, Nina. You want someone to tell you what to do. Fuck, you wouldn’t know what to do if you had to make all the decisions yourself.

  More of Peter’s words, thrown in her face in the heat of an argument over the level of control he exorcised over their lives. The comment had carried a dangerous note of truth, and Nina had often thought about it since the divorce, proud that she’d proven him wrong.

  So why then was she unzipping her dress, letting it fall to the floor until she was naked in front of the window — in front of Jack — except for her black thong and matching lace bra?

  Why did it feel so good to follow Jack’s orders?

  “All of it,” he said.

  There was no kindness in his voice, and his eyes were flinty and cold. It was almost a relief. She hadn’t been with any man, even Peter, for a very long time, and she hadn’t been with anyone but Peter since college.

  She didn’t know if she could navigate emotional intimacy and physical intimacy, if she could negotiate two equally unfamiliar courses at the same time.

  This she could do. Follow Jack’s orders. Give herself over to his demands.

  She bent to take off her heels.

  “Leave them.”

  She straightened, unhooked her bra, and dropped it to the floor. Then she slipped off her underwear, careful to work them around the Louboutins still on her feet.

  It was warm in the apartment, but her nipples were hard, her body smoldering with anticipation as he slowly scanned her body. She resisted the urge to fidget, forced herself not to wonder what he thought about her full breasts, smaller but still not as perky as they’d been in her youth.

  She panicked when he lowered his gaze to her waist and let it glide over her hips. She’d never had a child, but she still had faint stretch marks from various periods of weight gain, and while months at the gym had left her fit, she would never be slender.

  She pushed away her fear. This was who she was. She didn’t want to hide anymore.

  He continued to the mound between her legs, hesitating there long enough that she began to second-guess her decision to leave hair — however well-trimmed — there.

  He didn’t say anything, just continued over her thighs and calves.

  “Turn around,” he said without looking at her face.

  She could almost feel the heat of his inspection when she did as he asked, could almost feel his stare moving down the expanse of her back and waist, over the swell of her hips and ass, back down to her feet.

  She looked at the city spread out below. It was strangely exciting to be so on display in front of the window even though she knew the odds of anyone seeing her were slim. The glass was undoubtedly tinted for privacy, and they were so high above the park someone would have to have a telescope in a neighboring building to have a shot in hell at getting any kind of peep show.

  Still, there it was, the lights shimmering in the night proof that millions of people were on the other side of the window.

  She closed her eyes and let her mind go blank as she waited for Jack’s next move. She was suspended high above the city, almost floating in midair, naked as the day she was born except for her heels.

  She didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to analyze. Didn’t have to decide.

  All she had to do was wait for Jack. He would tell her what to do.

  But it wasn’t his words that made her eyes fly open. It was the crisp brush of his shirt against her back, cool cotton on bare skin.

  He was directly behind her, and she watched in the glass as he lowered his head to her bare shoulder. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her neck.

  She had to force herself not to gasp. Not to lean back against him.

  It was the most simple of kisses — just the touch of his lips against her skin.

  It was also one of the most erotic moments of her life: like drinking from a clear stream after days without water, like closing her eyes after being too long awake.

  A sigh escaped her mouth, and she immediately felt his absence behind her. When she opened her eyes and looked in the window for his reflection, he was no longer there.

  “Follow me, Nina.”

  She turned around and found him walking away from her. He was halfway down a wide hall when she followed, her clothes still in a heap on the floor.

  25

  He was standing by the bed, still dressed in his shirt and slacks, his shoes still on, when she entered a massive bedroom with towering ceilings. An entire wall was made of glass.

  The city would be her audience here too.

  She paused at the foot of an enormous bed, the headboard crafted of steel slats, the mattress stripped of all but a fitted sheet and pillows. The rest of the furniture was equally spare, modern, and expensive.

  “I have very specific… preferences, Nina.” His voice was all business. “I need you to tell me if you’d like to continue.”

  “To… continue?” It was such an odd way to describe what she thought was going to happen between them.

  “If you want me to fuck you.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes in the darkened room, but his words were like a firebomb to her center.

  “I do,” she said.

  “I need you to say the words.”

  “I… I want you to fuck me.”

  “And is there anything specific you’d like me to know in advance? Anything that would be a hard no for you?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anything in the way of experimentation,” he said.

  She tried to page through the possibilities, all the different things she’d done back when she and Peter still couldn’t get enough of each other, all the things she’d heard that other people enjoy, all the things she’d found online when she’d looked for information about Jack’s reputation.

  But her mind was too crowded with the noise of her arousal, the increasingly insistent demand by her body that he touch her.

  That he fuck her.

  “Not that I can think of,” she finally said.

  He studied her for a long moment. “We’ll still need a safe word,” he said. “What would you like to use?”

  “A safe word?” She’d heard the term, knew what it meant, but part of her couldn’t believe she was here — standing naked in Jack Morgan’s bedroom, participating in what felt like a contract negotiation over the things he would be allowed to do to her.

  “A word you will use if you don’t like what I’m doing to you, if you don’t wish to continue,” he explained.

  “Will it…” She sucked in a breath, the thread of fear winding its way through her belly only adding to her arousal. “Will it hurt?”

  “Only if you want it to.”

  The words should have stopped her cold. Should have sent her running for her clothes, back to Brooklyn, to Liam, who by comparison seemed safe.

  Which only told her how far she was from any semblance of her old life.

  “Can I just say stop?” she asked.

  A smile glanced over his mouth, the first flicker of emotion he’d shown since he’d ordered her to take o
ff her clothes.

  “Stop will do.” He turned his back to her and opened a wardrobe against the wall. She couldn’t see what was in it, but his movement told her he was looking for something. “I’ll try to take it slow, but you must say the word stop if you don’t like what I’m doing. I can’t be responsible if you don’t use your safe word.” He turned to face her. “Do you understand?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  She dropped her eyes to his hands and found him holding a simple length of scarlet rope.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that.

  He walked slowly toward her, his eyes flashing when they caught the lights on the other side of the glass.

  He stopped and she braced herself for more withholding, another torturous moment of need unfulfilled.

  Instead he lifted his hand and pulled at the pins in her hair until it fell around her shoulders. She caught the scent of her own shampoo and wondered if he smelled it too.

  He slid his hands into the hair at the back of her head. His eyes bore into hers.

  “I haven’t wanted someone this badly in a very long time, Nina.”

  She didn’t have time to say anything before he crushed her mouth beneath his, all reason swept from her mind as he plundered her with his tongue, his urgent exploration evidence that passion hid beneath his cool exterior.

  Their long courtship, strangely old-fashioned, only increased the explosion of sensation: his mouth wet and hot on hers, the brush of his shirt teasing her already erect nipples, his hard cock pressing against her stomach through his trousers.

  She wanted it all. Wanted him naked. Wanted his mouth on her.

  Wanted him inside her.

  Reaching for him was instinctual.

  He grabbed her wrist. “I’ll tell you when you can touch me.”

  He stepped away, and she was gratified to see that he was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he circled her body, the red rope still in his hand.

  She didn’t know why she lowered her gaze. It simply seemed like the appropriate thing to do, his study of her requiring privacy she didn’t understand.