Her Master's Kiss 4 (Erotic Romance)

by Sparx, Vivien

  “Thank God you’re safe,” Tink whispered, and then saw a shadow of awareness come into Renee’s eyes. They stared at each other, and then Tink saw the grief come to the surface, and she let her own show. The tears began, and Renee’s shoulders shook silently. Tink opened her arms to her, and Renee leaned into them so that Tink held her to her chest. Neither of them spoke for a long time until Renee’s sobs became muted and soft.

  Peter came silently and slowly to the bed. Renee saw him through teary eyes and she made a little mewling sound in her throat and then tried to dab at the tears that glistened on her cheeks. She tried to smile, but the swelling of her face made her wince instead. She began to shake, wildly and uncontrollably, and then she screwed her eyes tightly shut. Peter reached for her hand and held it in his own. She felt light and frail as a child.

  They clung to each other, Peter, Tink and Renee until Renee was finally able to control her tears and trembles.

  “Stefan?” she asked softly.

  Tink shook her head, and a deep furrow of concern creased her brow. “I don’t know where he is.”

  Renee stared blankly for a moment.

  “He left a message on my answering machine,” Peter explained softly. “He told us what happened, asked us to come as quickly as possible… and then asked us to take care of Jeffrey.”

  “He’s not with you?” Renee looked confused. Everything felt vague and blurred. She pursed her lips, forced herself to concentrate through the fog of the drugs and her despair.

  Tink shook her head slowly. “Renee, we don’t know where he is. Peter called your house from his cell phone on the way here. There was no answer. And we’ve called his cell. He’s not answering.”

  Renee’s eyes grew slowly wider. She felt a wave of alarm and fear wash over her. She moved in the bed carefully, grimacing as a sharp pain stabbed at her shoulder.

  “He was devastated,” Renee said softly.

  Tink wiped at the tears in her eyes. “We all are, Renee. But the main thing is that you’re going to be okay.”

  Renee shook her head slowly. She licked at her dry cracked lips. “But Stefan… I don’t know what he will do,” she whispered, and the fear within her rose. “He doesn’t know how to deal with these kind of feelings. His first wife…. He never…. got over the way…”

  Peter clutched Renee’s hand reassuringly tighter, and smiled into her face. “Don’t worry about Stefan,” he said softly. “You just worry about yourself. When we leave here I’ll call him again – and I’ll keep calling him until he answers. He’ll be all right, Renee. Just focus on yourself, and getting better.”

  Renee nodded and tried to smile again. But this time it was fear and a new dread that stopped the expression reaching her lips.

  Stefan had disappeared – and she suddenly felt very alone and very frightened.

  Thirteen.

  Stefan drove through the night, haunted by the ghosts of his past, shaking with frustration and impotent rage – seeming to die inside as the emotions ravaged and tore at his soul and his conscience.

  He thought about Renee, and he was overcome by the sense of his betrayal. He should have stayed with her. He should have been the rock she would need. He should have been the hero she could rely on. But instead he was fleeing – and in the torment of his thoughts he tried to rationalize.

  He needed space. He needed time to come to terms with the devastation that threatened to shatter him. He needed to channel the rage and anger into something he could fight against. He needed answers – or at least to understand.

  Without them, he was no help to Renee. Without understanding and clarity, he would self-destruct.

  But as he drove deeper into the night, it was his guilty betrayal that hung like an executioner’s blade over his head.

  It was only when a soft blinking light on the car’s dashboard caught his attention that Stefan suddenly clawed himself from out of his tormented haze, and blinked with surprise.

  He was low on fuel. He cast his eyes ahead. Through the windscreen in the distance he could see a small cluster of lights. He drove on until a sign appeared in the night.

  ‘Welcome to Mears. Population 1465.’

  Stefan eased his foot off the accelerator. There was neon ‘Motel’ sign by the roadside. He pulled into the driveway and climbed stiffly out of the car.

  There were lights glowing in the reception area. He stepped through the glass door. On one wall was a wire rack stuffed with daily newspapers and postcards. There were framed prints on the other walls. Stefan paid them no attention. He glanced at a woman sitting behind a high timber counter.

  She had a friendly smiling face, glowing with a natural cheery happiness that Stefan envied. She had strawberry-blonde hair that framed her face in soft golden waves. She was reading a book on a kindle device. The woman looked up at Stefan and he noticed a nametag pinned to her blouse.

  ‘Barb Johnson’.

  Stefan tried to return the woman’s smile but it slipped off his face. “Do you have a room for the night?”

  Barb Johnson narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. This was her family’s motel, run by her and her husband. Over the years she had seen plenty of travellers – but none quite like this man. Often, late-night guests were young couples looking for a place where they could sneak a night of passion together, or gaudily dressed hookers on the arm of middle-aged businessmen. But the man standing before her didn’t fit into any of those boxes.

  He was tall, and ruggedly handsome – and yet his face was etched with deep lines of fatigue. He was tanned, and yet the color of his face seemed grey and ashen. He carried himself with a natural athletic gait, and yet his posture as he leaned on the counter was heavy and fatigued. He looked like a wealthy man, but the clothes he wore were paint-spattered and dirty.

  Barb frowned, curious and puzzled. “Sure,” she said softly. “Just for one night?”

  Stefan nodded.

  Barb opened a leather-bound register on the counter and handed Stefan a pen. “Just your usual details and your vehicle registration,” she said.

  Stefan wrote quickly. He felt himself swaying as he stood. He took a deep breath and held the air in his lungs until he felt steadier. Then he dropped the pen on the counter and held his hand out for the key.

  “Room 103,” Barb Johnson said.

  Stefan flinched. He looked at the woman. He felt his heart begin to thump in the cage of his chest like a war drum. “Please,” he said, his voice sounding pained, “Can I have a different room?”

  Barb Johnson frowned quizzically, but then smiled. “Sure.” She handed Stefan a key to another room. He turned to go, but then stopped suddenly.

  “Is there a bar somewhere nearby? A place I can get a drink?”

  Barb nodded guardedly. “Of course,” she said. “But it depends. Are you drinking to celebrate … or drinking to forget?”

  Stefan’s eyes began to mist. “To forget,” he said quickly.

  Barb handed him a business card. “Marty’s Bar is down the road about a mile.”

  Stefan took the card and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.

  He wanted a drink.

  He needed to forget.

  Fourteen.

  There was a small suitcase in the trunk, packed with a spare shirt, trousers, shoes and toiletries. It was a case Stefan kept in the car when called away on business trips. The shirt was rumpled, the trousers creased. Stefan shrugged as he changed. It was better than jeans and sweatshirt.

  Marty’s Bar was made gloomy by soft lighting and cigarette smoke. A long counter ran the length of the far wall, behind which were glass shelves stocked with bottles of spirits. All the tables and chairs were made of simple dark timber, like the furniture in a saloon from the old west. In one corner was a jukebox. The crowd was a mix of sullen serious drinkers and a raucous group of women celebrating a birthday. Stefan found an empty table in a quiet corner.

  A waitress was hovering between the tables, chatting busily with the regulars as she jotted
down drink orders and handed out change. She acknowledged Stefan with a wave and crossed to where he was sitting.

  She was a tall woman, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked to Stefan to be in her early thirties. She had the willowy frame of a dancer, and the all-American smile of someone who might have been a cheerleader back in high-school. She was wearing a tight-fitting grey uniform, cut high on her thighs.

  The waitress’s smile was friendly. “Hi, I’m Tammy,” she said. “What can I get you?”

  “Whisky,” Stefan said. He threw a handful of crumpled banknotes onto the tabletop carelessly. “A bottle – and a glass.”

  The waitress picked up some of the money and jotted down his order. She turned away from the table, and then spun back suddenly. “You’re new here. Are you just passing through?”

  Stefan nodded. The woman looked him carefully up and down, appraising him. There was something incredibly sad in his eyes and Tammy felt a stab of compassion. “You look tired.”

  Stefan shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”

  Tammy jotted another note on her pad and handed it to Stefan. “My name’s Tammy Lowe. My family owns an all-night diner just outside town. If you need a decent meal…”

  Stefan folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

  When the whisky arrived, he unscrewed the cap and filled the glass.

  Then he began to drink.

  For a long time Stefan sat darkly at the table, drinking quietly, watching the level in the bottle steadily dip. He wasn’t aware of anyone or anything – until he heard a young woman’s voice at a table to his left.

  “Well, well, well…” the woman said to her friends loudly, turning in her chair to face Stefan, her flashing green eyes admiring the broad shape of his shoulders with open interest. “A man.”

  There were two other women sitting at the table. Instantly they changed, each of them moving in their chairs. One of the women tugged at the hem of her short skirt, crossed her legs and smiled brightly at Stefan. The other touched at her hair and licked her lips.

  All three of the women were young and sleek – glossy with youth, and keen for any distraction from the small town boredom that was their lives. The woman who had spoken was the prettiest of the group, with long shiny black hair, wide painted eyes and perfect white teeth as she smiled.

  Stefan turned towards the women, remote from their stares until the dark haired woman slowly uncrossed her legs to change position in her chair, successfully flashing a wide triangle of white panties before crossing her legs again.

  She blew Stefan a soft pouty kiss and said quietly to her friends, “Back off, girls. He’s mine.”

  She stood slowly, with languid feminine grace, and carried her drink to Stefan’s table. “Hello,” she said softly, her voice breathy and her gaze simmering as she stared at Stefan with a steady appreciative sweep. She turned to draw out a chair and Stefan noticed the swing of her hip as it swayed beneath the tight fabric of her skirt – and saw the cheeky teasing way she rolled her backside as she set her drink down on his table.

  “My name is Samantha,” the young woman introduced herself. She was drinking a cocktail and she made a display of taking the straw between her bright painted lips and sipping.

  Stefan nodded. He upended the glass of whisky in a single burning gulp and refilled the tumbler. “Stefan,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  He glanced quickly over the young woman’s shoulder. The group of women celebrating together had spread out onto the dance floor. Someone had thrown coins into the jukebox and the haze of smoky air in the bar swirled in long tendrils around the women’s heads as they danced and chatted over the jazzy blasts of saxophone on an old Joe Cocker number. Around the fringes of the dance floor, men turned in their chairs and watched the women with hungry eyes.

  Samantha’s two friends were glancing at him over their drinks. One of the women lit a cigarette and turned away, her attention drawn to the long counter where a man in a business suit was eating peanuts and chatting to the barman. She elbowed her friend in the ribs and whispered something in her ear. The women giggled.

  “And it’s nice to meet you,” Samantha purred, drawing Stefan’s eyes back to her smiling face. She leaned over the table and reached out to rest her hand lightly on Stefan’s forearm. “We don’t get many good-looking men around these parts. You look like a gift from Heaven.”

  With a blur of quick movement, Stefan snatched the girl’s wrist, restraining her and pushing her palm flat down on the tabletop instead. He covered her hand with his own.

  Samantha gasped in surprise, and then her eyes became enormous with a reckless flash of erotic excitement. The breath hitched in her throat and she felt a thrill of something sensual and wicked tie a knot in the base of her belly.

  Stefan recognized the look. It was an expression he had seen in dozens of women’s eyes when they had come to him for submissive training and caught a glimpse of the dominant that lurked hidden within.

  Stefan tossed back another shot of whisky. He stared at the girl, his eyes smoldered. She was slim, with large breasts. She wore a high collar, but the gossamer stuff of her blouse was almost sheer. Stefan could see the shape and a shadow of her nipples through the silk. She wore heavy make-up, but she wore it with rare skill, so that her skin looked flawlessly smooth with just the right amount of color on her cheeks to emphasize her features.

  Stefan stared at the woman, his mind beginning to fuzz and thoughts becoming dulled from the alcohol. He refilled the glass tumbler and the woman watched him carefully from the corner of her eye under artificial eyelashes. She dipped long tapered fingers into her glass to pick out a slice of fruit and nibbled at the morsel. Then she dabbed slowly at her lips with the pink tip of her tongue, transforming the gesture into something unmistakably sensual.

  “How old are you?” Stefan asked. His voice in his ears sounded thick and woolen.

  “Twenty-two,” Samantha said brightly and then she leaned disconcertingly close, enveloping Stefan with the heady scent of her perfume. “Old enough to be fun, and young enough for you to have fun with.”

  Stefan sipped his whisky to distract himself. When he looked up again suddenly the woman was gazing openly at him, her huge eyes slanted with sexual invitation, her glossy lips parted slightly.

  Stefan swallowed the rest of his drink quickly.

  He knew what was happening. And he knew what was about to happen – even though he had concealed the certainty of it from himself until now. It was as though the alcohol had dulled his will to resist, leaving him without the desire to avoid the inevitability of it. The woman’s face was just inches from his, her mouth a soft wet promise of oblivion. Stefan’s sense of right and wrong – his moral compass – spun out of control. He sighed and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  Samantha turned round to the table where her two friends sat and winked with sly cunning. Then she spun back to Stefan and her smile was bright and breathless with triumph. “Sure!” she said. “I have an apartment right around the corner.”

  Fifteen.

  The first-floor apartment was small and dingy. The carpet in the living room was threadbare and stained, and there was paint peeling from the walls. Samantha pushed open an adjoining door and Stefan saw a big double bed, the sheets unmade and clothes and shoes scattered on the floor. Samantha ducked into the room, threw her handbag on the floor and came back to Stefan smiling.

  “Drink?”

  Stefan stared at Samantha for long moments. Her face was flushed, her eyes glittering. She was breathing with quick excitement so the swell of her breasts rose and fell. Stefan nodded.

  Samantha went through an open archway into a small kitchen and filled two glasses with whisky. Stefan glanced around the room looking for somewhere to sit. There was a lumpy sofa against one wall, its pattern faded and worn. On the armrest was an ashtray, stuffed with discarded butts. On the floor beside the sofa
were empty beer bottles. There was another ashtray, brimming full, on top of the TV set.

  Samantha came back into the room and handed Stefan his glass.

  “To memorable adventures,” she said, arching her eyebrow provocatively.

  Just then another door opened and a second young woman stepped into the room. She had a dazed, dreamy look on her face, walking as though she were still asleep, barefooted and stepping silently. Stefan saw that she was young – perhaps just eighteen – although her face was heavily covered in cosmetics that had smeared and smudged on her face. There were dark rings of mascara under her eyes and her lipstick had been blurred around her lips.

  The girl was completely naked, her dull blonde hair a tangle down her back, her breasts small but firm and well-formed, with tiny ruby-colored nipples. She smiled wanly at Stefan and crossed to the sofa. Between the cushions she found a pair of pale blue lace panties. She stepped into them without a word, and pulled them up onto her waist. Then she smiled at Stefan again, this time her expression more interested, her lips curling into a grin that was somehow depraved and secretly knowing.

  A whore’s smile.

  Samantha touched Stefan’s arm. “This is my flat-mate, Veronica. Ronnie, this is my friend, Steven.”

  Stefan didn’t bother to correct the woman. He glowered at the new girl, his face grim, his expression equally knowing and understanding. The young girl waved her hand at Stefan and yawned – then disappeared back into the room she had come from.

  “You don’t have to worry about her,” Samantha said with reassurance. “She’ll sleep until midday. She won’t disturb our fun. I promise.”

  She stepped away from Stefan and kicked off her shoes. She walked to the bedroom door and then without turning to look back at him, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it slip off her shoulders and drop to the floor. She reached round behind herself, drew down the zip of her skirt and wiggled it over her hips until she was standing in just a pair of red lace panties. For a long moment she stood staring at the bed. Her back was shaped narrow at the waist with a womanly flare to her hips, her buttocks firm and neat and rounded. Then Samantha bent to pick up her clothes. Her feet were spread slightly apart and she did not bend her knees. Stefan’s eyes were drawn instinctively to the long shapely lines of her legs as she folded at the waist to give him an explicit view of the damp silk between her thighs.