by Nara Malone
She shivered remembering. But the marks she’d expected to wear for a week were gone this morning. Had she been so hyperaware that she only imagined the intense bite and sting that drove her out of her mind? How much of what she thought happened had been real?
Real is a point of view. Reality only exists in one mind at a time. That thought came to her in his voice, but she couldn’t recall when she’d heard him say that.
She wanted all of it to be real, the edginess of his lovemaking and the tenderness. Marcus in the moonlight, his hands cupping her face, the soft glow his eyes took on when he looked at her. The way he called her precious just before he kissed her goodbye. He had a golden tongue and magic fingers. She pressed her thighs together, thinking he would use both tonight.
He hadn’t said anything about meeting her. He had left Jake to deliver her to her bed. She refused to see that as a warning. He’d told her he had to go, just before she fell asleep. She had pictures to redo. She could use that as an excuse to talk to him, to see him again.
She picked up her phone and dialed the number Jake had given her. No answer, not even voice mail picking up. She tried the diner, asked for Maya.
“Hi, Allison, what’s up?”
“Call me Allie. Everyone does. I just need to retake a couple of the photos I did last night. Any chance I can get in there?”
“Um, no, not really.” The warmth in her voice evaporated. “Jake jumped on me for sending you there without clearing it with Marcus or Adam so they could check their schedules and be there.”
“Oh, well I don’t want to get you in trouble. Could you ask Marcus?” Another doubt crept in. She still didn’t have a phone number to access Marcus directly herself.
“Sure, I’ll ask him when I see him. Not sure when that will be.” And there was something hedging, elusive in Maya’s voice that had Allie’s stomach dropping to her toes.
“Okay. Well…when you can then. Maybe ask Jake. I want to redo the shots while the moon is still close to full.”
“Jake can be as hard to pin down as Marcus. He won’t okay it without Marcus’ approval. I need to get back to work, but…” The pause lingered for an uncomfortably long spell. Something was wrong, off, and Allie had the impression Maya was working up the nerve to spill it. “I’ll do what I can.” Maya was gone.
Allie dropped her phone in her purse.
Something sane in the back of her mind warned that she knew very little about Marcus, that her romantic experience was so limited she was skill-less at interpreting the intentions of men.
While she’d had one teenaged lover as inexperienced as she, she’d never had love. She’d never been loved. So she was one hundred percent vulnerable and one hundred percent incapable of deciding how close to love things with Marcus were getting and how far she should let her personal feelings go.
Lila’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “Earth to Allie. Wouldn’t I love to be a fly on the wall inside that fantasy?”
Allie’s blush heated her face. She ducked her head to conceal the reaction. Lila slipped into the office, closed the door and leaned against it.
“You got it bad, girl.”
“I don’t have anything. I barely know him.”
“You just hold on to that thought, Allie girl. The pretty boys are fun in the sack, but hard on the heart. Enjoy them but don’t get attached.” Lila slipped back out the door and left Allie to her work.
Don’t let him in where it mattered. That was the plan. Could she stick to it?
She looked her ad over. Once she’d let her self-doubt go, stopped overthinking, the composition had come right. She saved and closed the file, logged the time she’d spent on it and picked up the next job on the task list.
She needed to stop overthinking the situation with Marcus. The relationship would work itself out in the end. He’d said he could help her. She believed he would try, almost believed he could. She had to let the details find their own arrangement.
Images of Marcus floated back up as she started to sketch some ideas. A sketch of his face took shape in the corner of her layout, or rather his eyes, the gleaming spark at the edge of a pupil, a catlike angle in the way upper and lower lids joined, arrested her attention and she went with it, a leopard’s head taking shape around Marcus’ eyes. It felt right, made perfect sense. There was something of a feline aloofness about him, an arrogant grace that could dissolve into an aggressive demand for petting and attention if ignored.
She let the fantasy take shape, the pair of them circling each other like big cats, stalking, studying, simmering with desire. He pounced first, but she quickly dodged, leading him on a breathless chase through a snow-crusted mountain forest. The tang of evergreen popping like spark in cold air, the crunch of crust breaking under his weight as he tried to follow. She was just light enough to skim over the surface without breaking through, and then she skidded to a stop just at a cliff’s edge, could hear Marcus scrabbling on the icy surface behind her before they collided and went over together. Her landing on a ledge just below, but him hurtling past, falling. Falling.
She snapped back to her surroundings with a start. What had just happened? She had the same sweaty, trembling, heart-hammering reaction she had when she woke from a falling dream, only she hadn’t been falling. She had to work for each breath, as if strong fingers circled her throat and squeezed. Her reaction beyond what made sense.
She hadn’t been asleep. She must have been asleep, or so tired she slipped into a waking dream. Possibly a form of the sleepwalking that had plagued her as a child? Wake-dreaming?
More coffee, she decided. She’d need a lot—it was going to be a two- or three-pot day.
* * * * *
He didn’t say he would drop by tonight, but she believed he would. That’s why she took more time choosing what to change into after work than she had before work. That and a fresh supply of choices. Allie lifted a simple lilac sundress from the cardboard carton. The color vibrated in her hands. Lila had pressed a box on her when they were leaving work.
“I’m never going to wear this stuff, but it suits you and someone should enjoy it.” Allie hadn’t wanted to be rude, but the idea of wearing all the color Lila loved made her skin hurt. As she sorted through the items, making a pile of possible and a pile of impossible on her bed, she noted that while there was color, it was of the soft pastel variety, often on a pale charcoal or white background. Delicate clothing in soft, flowing styles meant for spring weather. The lilac sundress landed in the impossible pile. She couldn’t bring herself to go that far from the familiar. She settled on faded jeans and a loose, feminine white top sprinkled with tiny lavender blossoms. It showed off her shoulders, a little more skin than she was comfortable revealing, but she decided it would do.
She sniffed a flowery perfume, too dainty for Lila’s taste, and set it aside. She wasn’t agitated by perfume in the same way color agitated. Eddie’s assertion that her nose was so sensitive she could smell trouble coming was misguided. She didn’t smell trouble, she tasted it. To her flowers emitted a flavor, the same way she might taste coffee lingering in the air, or soup simmering on the stove. She’d licked Marcus all over last night, and she still couldn’t decide if he was trouble.
Danger was definitely a spice used heavily in the brew that made up Marcus. But dangerous to her wasn’t a conclusion she could make. Dangerous to anyone should be a non-starter. And yet he was the only spice she’d allowed into the bland life she’d put together, like a splash of Kahlua in a cup of black coffee. How much could a little splash of Marcus now and then really hurt?
A light flutter stirred her stomach when she looked at her clock. It was seven, the time he’d met her for dinner the other night. Surely he would turn up soon. She’d take a book out onto the porch, read casually as if she did that every evening.
She finished the book three hours later in the faint yellow glow cast by the porch light. Closing the cover and hugging the book to her chest, she went inside and closed the door on h
opes of Marcus showing up. She refused to let herself consider it a bad sign. He hadn’t said he’d be there. Maya said he was out of town. Obviously he hadn’t returned yet.
She busied herself putting the sorted clothes back in the box and sliding it all under the bed. When that was done, she had to face the other reason she’d been hoping Marcus would show up. A familiar wooden box, what she thought of as the lesson box, sat on her desk where it had been when she woke up that morning. She still hadn’t looked inside. Hadn’t had time that morning. Hadn’t had courage this evening.
Given where they had already gone, what could he possibly ask next? What could be more extreme than what had happened last night? Or the night before? All the reasons she was afraid to look were the same reasons that she had to look.
She ran her fingers over the intricate carvings of animals on the lid. In the center was a strange seal, a triangle and wreath interwoven, a tiger’s eye inlay in the center. She summoned her courage and lifted the top, the fragrance and taste of sandalwood enveloped her senses. Her fingertips savored the red silk lining. The contents were concealed by a folded sheet of buff-colored stationery. The paper had a rich, heavy quality that demanded respect. She lifted it gently, turning it over to discover a wax seal, stamped with the same image in the center of the box.
She plucked at the seal with a fingernail, trying not to think about the wax she’d plucked from her nipples…had that been yesterday morning? It felt as if she’d done a month’s worth of living in the three days since Marcus had planted himself in her life.
The seal broke. She smoothed the paper flat on her desk. Touching Marcus’ handwriting was a lot like touching him, the twist and angles of lines was electric, as if a remnant of his energy lingered in the lines on the page. She pulled her hand back. Even without touching, the writing held power, turning and dipping in curves and loops that replayed his voice in her mind.
Turn off your thoughts. Be still. Be present.
She turned back to the contents of the lesson box, wanting a clue where his words might take her before she read further. A stoppered glass bottle drew her attention next. She worked the rubber stopper free and smelled trouble. Trouble that made her mouth water. An aromatic blend of cinnamon, ginger, anise—Marcus in a bottle. In addition to the bottle, there was a moss-stained marble candlestick that brought to mind the patio in the moon garden. Naturally, Marcus included a fresh black candle to go with it. Inside a velvet bag she found a slim gold lighter, etched with the same seal that decorated the box and note. Together the items were a combination of old and new—something from each previous lesson woven into the new element.
She held the bottle close to her mouth, sipped the scent by inhaling through pursed lips, flavors of cinnamon and licorice played over her tongue. An image of Marcus in the park wearing that red shirt flashed in her brain. As it had that first morning, the shirt lured her now.
She still had it. A lone spot of color in the rickety wardrobe that contained most of her belongings. She took it out and held it to her cheek, certain the sense and warmth and safety she drew from it were related to its connection with Marcus. She continued to hold it against her cheek as she returned to the desk to read the rest of his instructions.
To begin, he wanted her naked and kneeling in front of a mirror, imagining it as a window to wherever he was, allowing him to watch her. She could swear sometimes that he had compiled an idea file labeled “Things Allie Would Never Want to Do” and everything he asked her to do was based on that file’s contents.
The candle was cool and slick in her hand. It was licorice black hair she was thinking of when she set it on the holder. It was the fire Marcus ignited in her that she thought of when she touched flame to wick.
She turned off the overhead light, undressed, and knelt. Sitting back on her heels in the center of her rag rug, she duplicated the position he’d shown her previously—knees wide apart, backs of her hands resting on the tops of her thighs. Closing her eyes, she could see a clear image of a candle, the rise and fall of flame with her breath. As he’d instructed, she put her fingertips gently over her eyelids, stilling eye movement and lightly pressing her thumbs against her throat until she felt the faint beat of her own pulse against the right thumb. The candle was just in front of the rug and the instructions beside it. Without opening her eyes to look she could see a perfect mental image of the listed steps, the sweep of Marcus’ handwriting.
She inhaled the scent of wax and recalled his presence the night he’d taught her to see with her skin. Her mind repainted a picture, not of his face, but of his hand holding that candle.
She reached for the stoppered bottle and opened it again. As instructed, she tipped a drop onto the tip of one finger and placed in on her forehead. Opening the third eye he called it. She could use all the visual help she could get. Next she placed a drop on her tongue, thought of that moment in the moon garden when he’d kissed her to silence, the moment when his lips lingered over her, their breath mingling and the taste of cinnamon, a hint of the fire to come. Fire and shadows.
The room was growing warmer.
She faced away from the mirror. Unable to bring herself to completely ignore his instructions, she’d left the wardrobe door open so that the mirror inside could reflect her image, but she kept her back to it. She was looking at her front door instead, where the mirror reflected the light of the candle, casting a warm glow over the peeling paint. In the center of that glow, a vision of Marcus took shape. Just his face. Those silver eyes drilled into hers. Her jaw dropped and her heart hit her tonsils.
She slammed her eyes shut, put her hands over her face. It had been so real, detail beyond anything she’d ever managed to assemble when she tried to recall his face, or anyone’s. She half expected to hear him speak. She peeked through her fingers to find the vision gone.
She didn’t know what to think. A mental phantom of some sort? Was this how memory worked for normal people? Did misty clones of people they were trying to recall appear in front of them?
If so, she wasn’t sure this was a skill she was willing to develop. She wished Marcus were there beside her, telling her what to expect, telling her what to do. She picked up the instructions. He had told her. She’d just follow it one sentence at a time, as if he were there tossing out orders in that imperial tone of his. She smiled. She didn’t know any royalty, but there was an air of royalty about Marcus. A dark prince accustomed to being obeyed.
Running a finger down the page, she picked up at the spot she’d left off. In her head she could hear Marcus speak them as she read.
Pour the oil in one palm, then rub your hands together. Slide those hands lower, over breasts, over that taut belly, down between those soft thighs.
She did what he instructed, careful to keep her eyes on the paper and away from any mystical apparitions that might sneak up on her. She could imagine his breath against the back of her neck, his voice something she now felt more as a vibration in her skin, rather than heard in her head when he continued.
Spread your pussy lips with your left hand and press your right thumb over that slick, sweet pearl.
It was slick. And sensitive. The cool air against it nearly made her come. Made her pussy clench, hungry for something hard to hold on to. She pressed her thumb to her clit.
Feel that pulse, the beat of your passion, the untamed you, the essence you work so hard to contain. We’re not going to let it go. But we are going to expand your boundaries.
Her breath caught. She knew what was coming and it still didn’t prepare her for the physical sensation, for the mental surrender, the hold sentences scrawled on paper could have over her.
Or the fire. What started as a warm tingle where she’d spread the oil leveled up to buzz and moved on to all-out blaze. She folded over, both hands pressed over her burning pussy, knees together, forehead to the floor.
The pulse beat under her thumb rose and the sensation of Marcus, in the room, was physical. Energy sizzled and popped in t
he air around her. She was certain if she looked she would see him. She was so terrified she might that she couldn’t look. The humming sensation, like a cat’s purr, started softly in her clit.
Let that pulse get stronger, raise the energy just like you did with the candle. Let it radiate out through your body, each breath expanding its reach.
Purr turned to thrum and then to thump. Extending up through her belly, into her chest, pulsating at the tips of her nipples. Her heart took up the beat, a primal drum getting faster and faster, spiraling outward. Eyes squeezed shut, she felt for and found Marcus’ shirt where she’d left it on the bed. She buried her face in it and moaned like an animal. Sweat sprang from her pores, drenched her body. When she tried to get to her feet, a wave of chills hit, bringing her back to her knees.
“Fucking hell,” she swore, not caring who heard. Through it all the pulsing in her pussy intensified, a raw ache deep inside. She tried reaching it with her fingers, only succeeded in spreading the fire to more sensitive places. Making her pussy weep as if it could put out the flame. She couldn’t reach the spot she needed to reach. She needed something. Needed it bad enough that she risked looking around, her eyes scanning the room to find she was indeed alone. Her search skidded to a halt at the candle.
She couldn’t.
She closed her eyes, curling on her side. The ritual ended here. Marcus could threaten all he wanted the next time she saw him. She was done playing his games.
But the idea had already taken root. It would feel so good.
“The man is a fucking sadist,” she gritted out between chattering teeth. The wild thing inside clawed for release. Simmering blood seared her veins on the inside. Throbbing in her pussy threatened to send her screaming hysterically into the night.
She tried to ride it out. The chills passed and heat spread again. With the heat, the gnawing in her pussy grew intolerable.
She crawled to the candle, blew it out and grabbed it from the holder. The scald of hot wax over her fingers nothing compared to the burn inside. She was on her knees, rubbing her fevered pussy with the candle.
