Darkly (Follow Me)

by HELEN HARDT

  “I’m heating up leftovers.”

  “Enough for two?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Great. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  “In three minutes? What—”

  “I’m right outside your building.”

  “How did you— Never mind. Christopher knows where I live.”

  “He does, but I didn’t need him to find you. See you in a few.”

  I exit the sedan and head up to Skye’s apartment. A minute later, I’m knocking on her door.

  She opens it, looks me over, and sucks in a breath.

  I try not to show how pleased I am at her reaction, but I fear she sees right through me. If I can tell what she’s feeling, can she tell what I’m feeling? I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that question.

  I love that my appearance pleases her. I removed my tie in the car on the way here, and I unbuttoned the first few buttons of my white shirt. I’m still wearing my black suit jacket.

  I stride in, making the room my own. I learned early on in business that you have to own every room you enter. People take you seriously when you make it clear you belong, even if you don’t feel as confident as you act. Confidence is an illusion—one I’ve perfected. My mother told me once that I had confidence and a knack for leadership. Apparently she was right.

  Skye’s modest studio is a large closet compared to my place. Her queen bed is made, and a love seat sits adjacent to it. A small two-person table is arranged between the bed and the kitchenette.

  The place suits Skye. Simple with a touch of elegance, as she sees herself. Except that Skye is anything but simple.

  “Smells good,” I say.

  “Beef stew. One of my specialties. My mom’s recipe, a staple from my childhood.”

  My lips quirk. Funny. I’ve been thinking about my childhood all afternoon. And now…beef stew.

  “I love beef stew.”

  “Good. Though I’m sure Marilyn could prepare you a gourmet version that totally puts mine to shame.”

  “Marilyn has never made beef stew.”

  Because I’ve never asked her for it. Beef stew was a staple during my childhood, too—but only when we could get beef, and it was usually ground. Still, my mother could make a delicious meal out of a package of hamburger.

  Skye meets my gaze, her lips parted in that sexy way. “So much for small talk. Why are you here, Braden?”

  “To join you for dinner.”

  “We just saw each other at lunch.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’ll go if you’d rather I not be here.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  I say nothing. I’ll go if she asks me to, but I’m betting she won’t. I’m hoping she won’t.

  “Stay,” she says.

  “All right.”

  “I just meant…you said you didn’t want a relationship, but here you are.”

  “And…?”

  “And…we’ve seen a lot of each other in a short time. Doesn’t that make us…something?”

  I rub my jawline. “It makes you my girlfriend, Skye. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Girlfriend?” Then she shakes her head. “You saw the comment on my Instagram post.”

  “I did. I’ll ask again. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “I don’t know what I want, honestly. I only know I want more than a purely sexual arrangement.”

  “Which is why I’ve agreed to date you.”

  “Then let’s date.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

  She looks down at her feet. “No. I don’t normally date in bare feet and sweats. Why are you really here, Braden? Because I’m absolutely sure it’s not to eat my leftover beef stew.”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  She gulps. “Yeah. I have to ask.”

  “I’m here to fuck you, Skye.”

  Her knees wobble. Only slightly, but I notice.

  “Then I definitely need to eat.”

  I smile. Almost. “So do I.”

  She motions to the small table. “Have a seat. Dinner will be ready in a minute. Can I get you a drink?”

  I remove my suit coat, hang it on the back of a chair, and sit. “Wild Turkey.”

  She smiles. “I always have that.” She pulls the bottle out of a top cupboard, grabs a lowball glass, and pours me a double. Then she adds one ice cube and hands me the glass.

  I take a sip. “Going to join me?”

  “Not tonight, no.” She dishes up the stew, slices a baguette, and sets it on a plate. She pours two glasses of water and brings everything to the table.

  “Dig in,” she says.

  I nod, spoon up some stew, blow on it, and taste it.

  She watches me intently, clearly waiting for my approval. It’s fragrant and meaty with a spike of thyme. The meat isn’t ground beef, though. It’s round steak or chuck, cut into chunks. They’re braised to perfection and melt in my mouth.

  Funny. This is a hundred times better than my mother’s stew, yet I find myself missing hers. At the same time, I’m delighted that Skye is a good cook.

  “Delicious,” I say.

  She lets out a breath, nods, and takes a bite herself. “Bread?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I take a hunk. “Do you have any butter?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She rises and finds a stick in the fridge, unwraps it, and places it on the butter dish. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  A few minutes pass. Then—

  “You’re a good cook, Skye.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This is the best stew I’ve had in a long time.” No lie there.

  “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure you were a stew kind of guy.”

  “Are you kidding? My mother made stew all the time while I was growing up.”

  “Right. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well… You grew up like I did. You didn’t always have billions.”

  “You’re saying stew is a poor man’s meal?” It was the way my mother prepared it. It was also a delicious treat.

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget I said anything.”

  “I still enjoy the simple things,” I say. “A walk in the rain, watching the sun rise, a warm bowl of stew, and a slice of crusty bread. Money doesn’t change who a person is.”

  “I didn’t mean that it did.”

  “Okay. No big deal.”

  “If you like stew so much, Braden, why don’t you have Marilyn cook it for you?”

  I don’t hesitate. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “As your mother’s?”

  I nod.

  My mother passed away before I made my billions. It’s common knowledge, so Skye no doubt knows. I don’t talk about her, though. Just eating this stew brings back a lot of memories that are better left buried.

  “Tell me about your mother,” Skye says.

  I swallow a bite of stew and dart my gaze to the side. Nope. Not going there. “I don’t talk about her.”

  “Why?”

  I meet her gaze this time. “It’s too hard.”

  She doesn’t press, thank God. “What about your dad? Can you tell me about him?”

  “You can google him and find out everything.”

  “I don’t want to read it in some rag, Braden. I want you to tell me.”

  “I don’t talk about my family.”

  In fact, all this talk has got me needing to relieve some stress, and I know exactly how to do that.

  I wipe my mouth with a napkin and stand. “Your stew is delicious, Skye, but I’ve had enough talking for one night.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I yank he
r out of her chair, pull her against me, and smash my mouth to hers. I invade her with my tongue.

  She tastes of beef stew and sweet spice.

  She tastes of Skye.

  And she melts into the kiss as I explore every inch of her mouth.

  I pull her closer, grinding my thick cock into her. In truth, I’ve been semi-hard since I read the comment about her being my girlfriend.

  It felt odd.

  It felt dangerous.

  It felt…right.

  But I’m not here to be her boyfriend. I’m here to fuck her. To give us both what we need.

  I kiss her with passion and lust. It’s a kiss of possession, of power, and she’s beginning her surrender.

  If only I could surrender to the power she has over me. I’ve never wanted that kind of a relationship. Hell, I’ve never wanted a relationship at all.

  But I’ve always known a true submissive wields great power—and I fear Skye may possess enough power to bring me to my knees.

  Not tonight, though.

  Not ever. I won’t let it get that far.

  Tonight is for fucking.

  Her nipples are hard, and I want to touch them, tweak them, suck them hard between my lips.

  She threads her fingers through my hair as our kiss deepens, and it’s like our mouths are fused together.

  I don’t want to break the kiss, but I need to breathe.

  I pull away. “Bed.”

  I drag her to the alcove where it sits and shove her down. She bounces lightly on the mattress as I strip off my shirt. Her eyes are wide as she gapes at me, her gaze sliding from my chest to my abs and then to the bulge in my pants. Good. Look all you want, baby, because tonight it’s going between those sex-on-a-stick lips of yours.

  I’ve thought of sliding my dick into her mouth since I first laid eyes on her in Addison’s office. I got a tiny taste of it the first time we were together, but tonight I’m going all in.

  I’m going to fuck her mouth.

  I kick off my shiny leather shoes and unbuckle my belt. In a flash, I push my pants and boxer briefs over my hips and step out of them.

  I’m naked, my big cock as erect as it’s ever been.

  Skye is still fully clothed. Usually it’s the other way around. I love having a naked woman laid out for my pleasure while I still wear clothes. It’s a power thing. A control thing. And it’s hot as hell.

  But damn, being naked for Skye, watching the pleasure she gets from gazing at every part of me…

  That’s another kind of power, and I’m loving it.

  Besides, I’m about to pull the ultimate power play.

  I meet her gaze. “Get on your knees, Skye.”

  “Braden, I—”

  “On your knees!”

  She sits on the bed, immobile.

  I lower my voice. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  She drops to her knees.

  Nice. She’s so beautiful on her knees, her hair falling out of her ponytail, her lips parted just so.

  My dick bobs in front of her, and she reaches toward me—

  “No,” I say. “Stay still. Don’t touch me.”

  She widens her eyes.

  “I’m going to fuck your mouth like I fuck your pussy. You stay still.”

  “But it’s better for you if I can use my hands.”

  “Maybe I’ll let you do it your way sometime. Tonight, we do it mine. No hands. And no more talking.” Not that she’ll be able to get any words out with her mouth full of my hard cock.

  I nudge it over her lips. “God, your mouth is so sexy. Open for me.”

  She drops her lips into an O, and I slide my cock between them. Fuck! Fucking paradise. Her mouth is soft and warm, and she glides her tongue along the bottom of my shaft. Then she grabs onto the backs of my thighs.

  I don’t stop her, even though I didn’t give her permission to touch me.

  It feels too fucking good.

  I pull out and then shove myself back into her mouth, going as far as I can until I hit the back of her throat. Nice. She doesn’t gag. I won’t have to ease her in.

  I pull out and then slide into her again. I hold it before pulling out, resisting the urge to thrust.

  I’m all about control.

  It’s the wait. The thrill of the chase. The intensity of knowing what’s coming.

  My release will be that much better.

  Besides, I won’t be coming in Skye’s mouth. Not tonight. I came over here to fuck her, and I will fuck her.

  I slide inside her mouth once more, and this time she sucks me slightly harder. I’ll give her the lead she seems to want because I’m horny and it feels so fucking good. I go faster. Faster. And she sucks me harder. Harder.

  I’m doing what I told her. I’m fucking her mouth. And damn, she’s hot as hell.

  Saliva drips from her lips, creating a slick lubricant.

  “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Your sexy lips feel so good around me. Perfect. Just perfect. Fuck!” I withdraw quickly before I explode down her throat.

  She gasps in a breath.

  “I need to come, but I want to come inside you.” I grip her shoulders and bring her to her feet, turn her around, and slide her sweats and panties over her hips before nudging her onto the bed. Her sweats are around her knees, so she can’t spread her legs. Exactly as I want her. She’ll be nice and tight.

  I thrust into her.

  “Damn, you feel perfect,” I groan. “So good.”

  She gasps as I thrust once, twice, three times—

  “Fuck!” I propel into her, plunging in as far as I can. I slap one cheek of her ass as I release.

  Into Skye I pour every frustration of this day.

  Kay Brown and the Babbler.

  Gone.

  Elise and Benji and how I wish I could do more for everyone in their position.

  Gone.

  The horrific volunteer who my mother got fired.

  Gone.

  And Skye. Little Skye, lost in the cornfield, helpless as she ran into a scarecrow.

  Not gone, but at least I can deal with it as I leave the stress of this day behind me.

  As I bury it all inside the warmth of this woman.

  I stay locked inside her for a few moments, breathing heavily, my eyes squeezed shut as the waves of euphoria crash over me and nudge all the unpleasantness away.

  Skye doesn’t move or speak.

  Finally I pull out.

  Then—

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

  I look down at my naked cock and gasp, my heart racing. What have I done? How could I be so irresponsible?

  She looks over her shoulder. “What? What is it?”

  “I forgot the damned condom.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Skye swallows audibly, and then she flattens her full lips.

  Yeah, she’s freaked out, too.

  She turns over, pulls her sweats and panties back up, and sits on the bed. “Do I have reason to worry?”

  “Not from me. I get tested every three months.” Physician’s orders. I’m always careful—present situation excluded—but my doctor knows that I engage in scenes at a private club, and she insists on the testing. I can’t fault her logic. She’s the expert.

  Do I think Skye has herpes or HIV? Of course not. But she’s a woman of child-bearing age who carries a condom in her purse, which could mean…

  “Every three months? Whatever for?” Then she clamps her hand over her mouth.

  “Because it’s good policy, Skye, that’s why. What about you?”

  “I’m good. Clean.”

  “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “Pregnancy. I don’t want a kid. You carry a rubb
er around in your purse. Does that mean…?”

  “Extra protection. I’m on the pill.”

  I heave out a sigh of relief. Still naked, I sit down next to her. “Thank God.”

  She lets out a nervous laugh. “The good news is we don’t have to use condoms anymore.”

  “I always use condoms.”

  “Why? If we’re both clean, and I— Oh.” She presses her lips together.

  “Finish what you were going to say, Skye.”

  She inhales and lets out a stream of breath slowly. “I’m not the only woman you’re sleeping with, am I?”

  “This week you are.”

  The words are true, but I know how they must sound to her. Though I desire Skye more than I have any other woman, I’m not ready to say that she’s the only one. I’m not sure there is a “one” for me. I have specific tastes, and I don’t expect a woman to put up with me forever. I’m not wired that way anyway.

  But this…

  I never forget the condom. I treat my sex life the way I treat my business life.

  A sexually transmitted disease or an unwanted pregnancy would intrude on my lifestyle, so I minimize the chances of either of them occurring, just as I minimize the chances of any chink in my business armor as well.

  Silence for a few more seconds. Then—

  I turn to her. “That’s never happened to me before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never forgotten to put on a condom.”

  I’m still naked. I should get dressed. But I’m finding it difficult to move. What does forgetting the condom imply?

  Already I know the answer to my own question, even though I can’t let myself begin to contemplate it. To do so would entail admitting something I’m not ready to admit.

  Except I don’t need an admission, because I already know.

  It’s inside me, a part of me—something I can no longer deny.

  Yes, I desire Skye more than I have any other woman. Yes, I find her a challenge. Yes, I want her to give up her control to me, to submit to me.

  All that is true.

  But there’s more. So much more that I didn’t plan on.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Skye asks.

  Is she kidding? I can’t help a huff. “Not using a condom? Hell yeah. You felt amazing.”

  “Then why use them?”