by Cynthia Dane
For one blessed minute Nala was able to forget why she came to this party… why she was the consort of Vincent Lane, brand-new billionaire who was also on a mission to get back at the disgusting Xavier Crow. She forgot the hatred, the anguish, and most of all the grief that had overwhelmed her for so long. For that one blessed minute, all that existed was Robin and Lucian, their bodies crashing together in insatiable lust as the one talked dirty and the other accepted it as if it were her God-granted right. Nala wasn’t the type to clutch her pearls and run home. Nor was she the type to run in and ask, “Can I join?” However, she apparently was the type to stand there, watch, and happily realize that her nipples were hardening and her bottom lingerie became wetter with each passing second.
She didn’t necessarily want Lucian to do that to her – although the quick glimpse she got of his cock told her that he wasn’t bad at all. But Nala did want to be Robin for the briefest second. She wanted to feel that detached from reality, where all that mattered was the escape of sex. It wasn’t like that with my ex. The man was as vanilla as they came. Make out. Take off clothes. Little fingering. Little head. Main event. Done. Sleep.
This was a different plane of existence. This was sex.
“Come in me, sir!” Robin pleaded, her whole body riding back and forth as her Master claimed her from behind. “Take me for yours!”
Lucian grabbed her shoulders and forced her down, Robin’s long curls disappearing over the edge of the bed. Her cries intensified, but with the bed muffling her, they sounded like the ecstatic tears of a woman being granted the keys to the universe. Nala crossed her arms in front of her, afraid that her breasts would betray her propriety to the shadows enveloping her.
Before her, Lucian dug his fingers into the pink flesh of Robin’s ass, throwing his head back and growling like a beast. Robin lifted her head, visage claimed with ecstasy even though no sounds fell from her open mouth. In those precious few seconds, Nala gradually understood what was happening and felt her nether lips tingle in want.
“Shit…” The couple came to a halt, Robin collapsing against the bed while Lucian slowly pulled out of her. His bare chest glistened in sweat, and the hair swirling out of his pants did nothing to cover the skin of his cock – which also glistened, but not in sweat. Nala had never seen anything like it. She didn’t even think she was possible of being wet enough to make a man look like that as he softened and sank next to his lover, kisses caressing her shoulder and face.
Nala finally walked away, stumbling down the hall, hearing more sounds of revelry and seeing glimpses of sights before unseen. Quail was strung up in chains, being fed Sebastian’s cock. Starling straddled her Master in a chair, slowly disrobing her dress in an elaborate striptease as he stroked himself with one hand and drank with another. The only room Nala couldn’t see directly into was Maggie and Jay’s.
By the time she made it to the main gallery, Vincent was sitting alone on a couch while Xavier entertained his lingerie-clad ladies with parlor tricks at the wet bar. For a man who claimed to love watching, he wasn’t doing much of it tonight.
“You all right?” Vincent asked. “You look like you’ve seen something no less than shocking.”
That caught Xavier’s attention, who turned from his female friends and grinned like an old fool. “Someone was looking, Vince. I know that kind of face anywhere.”
Disgust overcame Nala. She turned away as quickly as possible, hiding her arousal in the back of her hand. Even Vincent, who uncrossed his legs and stood from the couch, wasn’t allowed to come near her and see what had happened to her body. What if he could see her nipples through her dress? What if he could sense her wetness? Nala wasn’t afraid of her fake lover, but she was embarrassed and didn’t need his judgment. She didn’t need anyone’s judgment.
“I’m fine,” she said, struggling to get the words past her swollen throat. “Really. I’m fine.”
No, she wasn’t fine. She was far from this strange concept of fine. If anything, she was quickly descending into an infinite loop of arousal and disgust – two things that she did not want to associate together. Every time she allowed herself to feel a tinge of lust, she thought of Crow looking at her, leering at her, waiting for her to drop her panties and serve as expected. I’m going through this for you, Tasha. She held on to that thought as Vincent came to her, pressed his fingers on her shoulder, and kissed her tenderly. All an act, of course, and yet Nala was able to forget again. Forget the pain. Forget the disgust. Forget everything that made her come apart and quickly lose the pieces of herself.
If Vincent recognized this in her, then that was why he pulled her into a loose embrace and pretended to whisper sweet nothings into her ear. Nothings full of promise, of love, and of course – of sex.
Instead, he said, “You keep walking around like that, and we’ll both be in danger. Lie, Nala. Don’t start showing truths.”
Frigidity claimed her limbs. “We’ll both be in danger.” Danger from Xavier Crow… or danger from each other?
Nala glanced at Vincent’s face and noted the slight color to his cheeks. He felt the heat in Nala’s skin, surely. He saw the look of lust in her eyes, and smelled the pheromones that she couldn’t control pouring out of her aroused frame.
Danger from him. Nala faced the nearest wall, unresponsive to Vincent’s touch, even though she was furiously pushing away images of him in Lucian’s place, and herself in Robin’s. Vincent Lane is a dangerous man after all.
She could not lose sight of her mission. Neither could Vincent, she was sure. Maybe I’m the dangerous one.
No matter where she turned, danger lurked.
Entry #4
Tonight was our first return to The Aviary. There were a few missteps we did not account for. I will have to have a preliminary meeting with Nightingale next time.
Speaking of her, I may have crossed a line tonight. I kissed her, just to get it out of the way. I could have broached the subject better than I had, and now I must pay with guilt.
She is not the first woman I’ve kissed these past three years, but she is the first to make me feel a little… that old feeling I used to have. The moment I experienced it, I felt guilty. I could not help it.
I tell myself that Nightingale is more passionate, more intense than those few other women I’ve kissed since… there is nothing passive about Nightingale. She is posing as my sub, but I can tell that she is more buck than doe. The more animalistic side of me says that she would be a challenge to tame and break. I haven’t come across a woman like that in a very long time.
Even as I write this, I’m swamped with deplorable fantasies. Tonight I saw her as more than my partner in this endeavor. She was more than a young woman who is more brash than brain. The dress she wore was almost too enticing.
I must steel myself. I cannot fall into temptation. Not now, possibly not ever. It would be wrong.
Chapter 8
“I haven’t gotten any notice, no,” Nala said into her phone as she waited in line at the bank. “Also, it’s not my fault if you’re behind on your rent, Mom.”
On the other end of the line, Yulia Nazarova let out the type of sigh that used to make child-Nala’s spine shudder. Used to be that her mother was a formidable woman who could get her way with a snap of her fingers. Funny what double the grief did to a person. “You think it’s my fault?” she said, her accent slipping as she grew angrier. Yulia spent most of Nala’s childhood practicing her dialect so she would have a better chance at a career and help her children be made less fun of. For many years, it worked. Then she stopped caring as her life crumbled, and one family member after another was taken from her. I’m still here, Mom. Sometimes it felt like Yulia forgot that.
The line advanced one more person, but it being late Monday afternoon, that still meant ten people stood between Nala and some financial freedom. “Of course I think it’s partially your fault. I pay my rent more frequently than you do. And no, I don’t have any money for you to borrow.”
/> “I wasn’t going to ask!” Good. Nala had the desired effect on her mother. She didn’t want to insult the woman, but she was definitely going to curb any thoughts that may have danced in her head. “For God’s sake, can’t a woman call her daughter to chat?”
That was absurd. Yulia never called “to chat” anymore. She was more likely to call to bemoan her financial fate – as if Nala’s was any better – or to drunkenly cry on Tasha’s birthday or other memorable day. It was like Yulia’s existence centered around bringing more despair to her sole remaining family member. Oh, she could hold down a job. Barely. But her depression was so foul that she was a mere shell of the strong woman Nala once admired growing up.
“Fine. I’ll leave you alone then.” Sniffing, Yulia heaved another one of those now meaningless sighs. “Do me a favor, though. Step up and replenish this poor family. Marry a nice man and give me some grandbabies to live for.”
“Mam,” Nala said sternly, “I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”
“Why not! Surely there’s some surly man in that armpit stank of the world who can put up with your attitude. Just make sure he actually has money and doesn’t pretend at it.”
I could never tell her about Vincent. Not that Nala would go there, regardless of her relationship with her mother. “I’ll make sure, Mam. Now I’ve gotta go. I’m at the… store.” She didn’t dare say bank. That would continue this talk of money and who had it and who didn’t.
They hung up, and in time. Another teller window opened, meaning the line forked and put Nala second behind a man who merely wanted to update his address.
Ten minutes later, she walked out of the bank staring at a balance sheet. $1055.76. She could barely believe that number. Nala knew that wasn’t a lot of money, but the check Vincent wrote her Sunday night before dropping her off at home would do so much. She could buy an actual bag of groceries. She could invest in some winter clothes. Maybe a fleece blanket for her prison of a closet. Coffee! Oh, sweet coffee before work!
Oh, and she should probably head to Ross and pick up shoes and another dress for The Aviary. Thinking about that, though… more shivers, and it had nothing to do with the frosty air that cold Oregon day. For a summer that was sweltering hot… Nala spotted the nearest discount clothing store and decided today was the day she got a real rain jacket. These other Oregonians could prance around in their wet hoodies all they wanted. Nala preferred to not look like a drowned rat when she showed up for work.
She was perusing a rack of clearance coats much too big for her when she felt her phone buzz in her front pocket. What the… She reached in, pulling out the ancient flip phone and seeing an unknown number in her texts. The only reason she answered it at all was because it opened with “Next club meeting this Friday night. Can you go?”
Right. She and Vincent exchanged numbers on Sunday, although she hadn’t bothered to enter his into her phone because… why would she ever text him? Call him? Whatever. Besides, the last thing Nala wanted right now was to see Vincent’s name every time she opened her phone. After Sunday? All she could think about when she saw that man’s name was the way Lucian fucked the brains out of his girlfriend.
Nala turned her phone so she could painstakingly reply. “I work during the day. I get off at five. Tell Crow he’ll have to wait for my lovely face if we need to be there before seven. ‘Cause that ain’t happening.”
She was in the checkout line with her new purchases when Vincent replied. “Pick you up at six. I want to take you to dinner first. We need to talk.”
Of course they did. At least she was getting free food. “Sure.”
She was back on the sidewalk, wearing her new coat sans tags when she received an unexpected text. “Wear something sexier, if you can. We’re going to a sex club and will be expected to dress the part.”
Nala stopped, nearly slipping on a patch of ice. “Excuse me?”
“You read that right. You’re going to be ogled by every person there. To be fair, so will I.”
“I am so excited by this prospect. Unfortunately, I don’t have any hooker clothes and I left the cheap clothing store.”
“Hooker clothes won’t do you any good anyway. I will send you something. What size dress do you wear?”
Nala had yet to continue her journey home. “I’m suspicious of this, but, I wear a size eight, petite. That last part is really important. I’m serious. Don’t buy me a tent with your fancy money. There will be room for us both in there, and not in the fun way.”
“I will make sure it’s suitable for your body.”
Nala finally crossed the street and turned onto hers. “Black and purple are my best colors. Also, I need shoes. Size seven, wide. Go all out.”
That last part was sarcastic, although she knew that didn’t translate well in texts. Nevertheless, the final text she received from Vincent that day said, “Got it. Dress, shoes, and anything else I think will work well. See you then.”
Nala put her phone back in her pocket and helped herself into the craftsman house that was supposed to be part hers. Thankfully, Patrick wasn’t there, supposedly at his job, whatever it was this week. They had another roommate, but Paula had spent the past month visiting family back east. This meant Nala had the run of the house to herself, which didn’t mean much when none of it was hers aside from what was in that closet and what she kept in the kitchen and bathroom. As cold as she was? A hot shower sounded delightful.
With nobody else home, she could take as long of one as she wanted. She let the steam fill the room while she undressed in front of the mirror and wove her long, dark hair into a tight bun. Her Cleopatra bangs continued to sweep across her forehead, but she would have to ignore those for now.
The hot water caressed her body the moment she stepped in. For as gross as Patrick was in the living room, at least he kept the bathroom clean – probably because he never fucking showered. Nala didn’t care right now. Here, in the porcelain world of bath products and running hot water, she could pretend that she lived in a real home of her own. A fantasy that didn’t exist very often.
That wasn’t the only fantasy she had in that shower.
She looked down, groaning as she noticed her nipples hardening beneath water droplets. Really, now is not the time, body. Or perhaps it was. She was alone in the house. Nobody would disturb her for as long as it took to get the job done. The hot water should last enough for a quickie…
None of that was the problem, anyway. The roadblocks standing in Nala’s way were completely, 100% mental.
It felt wrong to be aroused to the point of touching herself. It felt disrespectful. To what? Her sister’s memory? Surely, just because Tasha’s life was stolen from the earth didn’t mean Nala ceased to live and function. Of course not, but Nala was so used to being focused on the endgame – namely, getting justice – that spending even ten minutes getting herself off felt like the most selfish thing in the world. She should be plotting. She should be thinking about what she had learned so far from The Aviary. Nala had lasted weeks, even months without an orgasm. What was different now?
Vincent.
She didn’t want to think about it. About him. That man with his dangerously stoic demeanor, with his body-pleasing outfits, and that fucking cologne that made him smell like the billion dollars he was worth. Fuck her life. Nala was not a woman who fell for men like that. Not even sexually. She had made it over twenty years without blubbering about or drooling over hot, rich men, so why would she start now?
This all started when he kissed me.
There was no passion in that kiss. Yet it woke something in her. Something tangible. Something dormant. Something so out of her fucking mind that here she was, standing against the shower wall as her hand traveled over her breast and to her stomach, stopping short of her mound.
This is wrong. Who was she? Was she a woman in control of her body, her emotions? Or was she a horny, dumb girl in need of being punished?
Wait, what?
Be
ing punished?
There it was. A toxic image. A deliciously toxic image of Vincent Lane unbuttoning the front of his burgundy shirt and easing Nala to bend over. “You’re not supposed to be thinking about this, Nightingale,” he would say. “You’re supposed to stay focused. Don’t succumb to such base desires.” The Vincent of her imagination caressed her naked body, touching her thighs and parting her nether lips with one expert finger. When Nala realized she was the one touching herself, she thought… well, fuck it. That’s what she thought.
“I’m a gross pervert,” she mumbled, snatching the detachable showerhead and directing the harsh spray of water first on her breasts, and then down to her mound.
She may be a gross pervert, but by all that was indecent in this world, she would be a sexually satisfied one.
“Oh, fuck,” she muttered, instantly awash in rising pleasure as the water pounded against her clit. Nala’s head tapped against the wall, eyes glazing over with steam before she finally closed them and gave herself over to the inevitable.
Not just sexual fantasies.
Sexual fantasies about Vincent.
Who else was there to imagine? Nala had no crushes on anyone, man or woman. It felt wrong to think of Lucian. Besides, she wasn’t interested in him – just the act he performed on a happy little Robin. Nope. Nala’s thoughts belonged to Vincent, the only man to have kissed her since one of the worst moments of her life.
Even though his kisses were cold, she knew there was life somewhere in there. He exuded a confident energy whenever they were together. He had pride. Desire. Blood, like any other healthy man his age. So much potential lurked in one man. Even though he came off as focused and determined as Nala in their mission, she wasn’t going to write off his own sexual prowess. Surely, it was in there. Waiting for a reason to come out.
