by W Winters
I love that. The façade fades as the seconds pass.
She’s still the same girl I know, even if she wants to appear otherwise.
Her hair is curled, meticulously so when she still sat in her car. But the wind has seen to ruffle her blond tresses. I like her even more with her hair slightly messy. She should aim for that next time, a “just recently fucked” look.
I want to ask her why she did it, why she dyed her hair. It’s gorgeous on her; she has the tan in her skin to pull it off. I love the memory of her from before more though. She was perfect before.
Her nails are painted a darker shade of red than the short dress that hugs her curves. Even her makeup is flawless. It’s obvious this look—this sex kitten appeal, is deliberate.
I would like to pretend she did it for me. But two weeks ago, she looked similar. Perfectly put together and dressed with an edge of a vixen. The thought hits me as she glances up at me: this is who she is now.
Is it a lie? Is she still the woman I fell for?
Laura turns the moment my eyes read hers, preventing me from imagining running the tip of my finger along her skin. From the crook of her neck, all the way down her back. I could see myself doing it again and again until she begged me to unzip her dress. “Did you decorate it yourself?” Again, she’s polite.
I fucking hate niceties.
“I hired someone,” I say and my answer comes out flat as my eyes gauge her expression. Her knuckles are white from her tight grip, but her smile is forced. The longer the seconds draw out, the tighter her grip gets.
Maybe she’s realizing what I am. Maybe she’s come to the conclusion that she doesn’t trust the man I’ve become. I wouldn’t blame her.
I take my time, slipping off my jacket and folding it neatly before placing it over the arm of an amber leather executive chair in the corner of my office. The cufflinks are next to go, sitting them on the end of the antique bookshelf to the left of my desk. I focus on them, avoiding Laura’s prying eyes although I can feel them on me. Every step I take circles her as I move closer to where she is until I finally look up at her, feet away, but I feel miles apart with the way she looks at me.
“Are you scared of me?” I ask her and take a step forward. She doesn’t move from where she is in front of my desk. “Maybe of what I may tell you?” I take another step forward, blocking the light from the floor lamp in the far corner and causing shadows to darken her face. “Or maybe what I may do to you?”
“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have already,” she answers me with such certainty, although it’s practically whispered.
She doesn’t say anything else; she doesn’t give a hint of what’s she’s thinking or feeling. She doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t ask me for anything. The tension thickens as she waits for a response from me.
How long would she have lived without me and been perfectly fucking fine? All the while, I’ve died inside.
“You stole from a criminal,” I practically hiss. “So many others would have killed you simply to set an example.”
“You didn’t tell them,” she responds without letting a second pass. I had so much left to say, so much to make her feel the anxiousness I feel. It vanishes when her gaze softens with agony. “You didn’t tell them I took the money. Your crew never knew.” The sound of her swallowing mixes with the desperation in her voice. My gaze falls to her slender neck and then drifts down to the dip below her throat. She must have difficulty breathing now, because her lips part just to inhale and she leaves them that way. Her chest rises and falls and finally she takes a half step back.
“Derrick?” I ask her and she nods slowly, bringing my attention back to her face. Her expression gives nothing away, even if her posture gives away everything. “What else?”
“What else what?” she questions, again evenly.
“Tell me everything Derrick told you.”
“We haven’t spoken in a long time,” she says then breaks my gaze as the corners of her lips pull downward. Looking behind her, she rests against the edge of the desk, setting her purse beside her. Her hands tremble slightly until she clasps them together, hiding her emotions as she pretends to relax in front of me.
What a lie she’s become. Or is it only for me? Sucking in a breath, I rip my gaze away from her and wait for her response. “Tell me.”
“The last time I talked to him was a few years ago, when you first moved here.”
“So you’ve known—” I start to say, and it comes out like an accusation.
“That you’ve been here?” she says as she cuts me off and I only nod. “I knew when you started working with the Cross brothers because of the whispers. I called Derrick and he confirmed it.”
“What did he say?” I shouldn’t feel this heat in my blood. This apprehension that she may not like what Derrick told her. I’m not here to soothe her or comfort her though. That’s not what this is about.
I will never let her in like I did before. Never again. I learned my lesson. She made sure of that.
“He only said you heard about the Cross brothers and how quickly they were taking over… I asked him if you came for me.” Her voice hitches for the first time and she has to swallow thickly before continuing. I watch pain flash across her expression and she doesn’t try to conceal it. “He said you didn’t.”
Tap, tap. My pointer finger rests on the desk as I lean my thigh against the side of it opposite from her. Tap, tap. I wonder if that hurt her. Tap, tap. I watch her face as she waits for me to say something, but I don’t.
“I came up with a plan when I heard you were here,” she confesses.
“A plan?”
“I had information I thought you’d want.” I don’t respond to her comment. I merely stare in her doe eyes, watching the way the gentle gold flecks among the blue brighten with emotions in their depths.
“Like a deal? You wanted to make a deal with me?” Anger roils inside of me, overwhelming my focus. A deal to get me to leave her alone.
“Yes,” she whispers this time and her fear isn’t something she can hide, judging by how she inches away from me.
“You thought I came to hurt you?” I question her.
“At first.”
I ignore my immediate reaction to hearing her admit that. “I have a deal too. I’ve thought of a lot of them over the past few years.”
“What’s your deal?” she asks and lifts her chin slightly, her bright blue eyes boring into mine. Back to business maybe. I’m not sure what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers.
“You do everything I say.”
Her eyes search mine until she blinks rapidly and looks past me, shaking her head. “That’s not a deal.”
My words echoing in my head sound more and more inviting. “Yes, it is.”
“What do I get in return?” She licks her lips quickly, leaning forward as if she’s scrambling to hold on to something before adding, “Deals have two parties.”
“You get to live,” I offer her in all seriousness. I don’t care who she’s become. Laura’s mine. I will get everything I want from her. I need it.
“I’m already living.”
“You stole from me. There’s a debt owed and a corresponding punishment. I would never let someone else steal from me and live.”
“Just kill me then,” she says and her voice cracks although she’s quick to clear her throat. “Just kill me if that’s what you want.” Despite her shattered veneer she holds her head high. She accepts my glare and doesn’t falter, her eyes brimming with tears.
Before I can respond, she says something else. I don’t hear it though as I take a seat; I simply watch as she pulls herself back together. She’s damn good at it. At not needing me.
I take my time, giving her a moment to breathe. At the head of the desk, I grip the armrests, waiting.
“Did you hear what I said?” Her composure is back, although her breathing is ragged.
“You said you wanted an exchange. You want to change the de
tails of our deal.”
Her doe eyes beg me to consider, and they hold a vulnerability that her tense curves fail to deliver. As she takes a step forward, I think she wants to sit in the other wingback chair, but her legs give out. She grips both arms of the chair across from me as her chest rises and falls with a quickened pace. She can’t hide the fear of coming back to this life. Of coming back to me.
As her bottom lip slips between her teeth, I note that she can’t hide the desire either.
“I’ve wanted this for too long to consider your proposal,” I tell her, spreading my legs wider and leaning forward in the wingback chair opposite hers. My elbows rest on my knees as I lean closer to her, only inches away as I whisper, “You know what I want. I want you.”
“I can give you something you want more,” she speaks clearly, although her last words waver when her gaze drifts to my lips.
Lies. There’s nothing I want more.
I would have told her that and meant it with every bone in my body, but then she tells me, “I can give you Marcus.”
Laura
What would he do to me?
Even as I reach in my satchel for the notebook, my hand trembles. I can’t imagine Seth hurting me. I can’t. Even as he looks at me the way he does. That’s not what scares me.
I’m scared to go back, back to him and all this shit he comes with. I don’t want this life. I’ve never wanted it.
A voice in the back of my head whispers: you’re afraid to fall in love with him again. I ache for him. So deeply. Agony shreds me when I see who he’s become. I want to cry more than anything. I don’t know how I’ll survive this. All I have to cling to is a collection of photocopied pages, as if they’ll save me from this.
“You’re lying,” he says and his voice is firm.
“I’m not; I haven’t lied. I can give you information on Marcus.”
“Yes you have,” he bites out quickly and for the first time since I’ve been in here, I see a flash of sadness in his dark cobalt gaze. I can’t respond to him. Not even when he turns away from me, leaning back and tapping his index finger on the desk again. He’s so broken. I didn’t do this to him. It’s not because of me. With the notebook of photocopied pages between my fingers, I lie to myself again: I didn’t do this to him.
“There’s a patient at the Rockford Center. She’s been in and out of there for years although she’s not a resident currently,” I explain as I hand over the notebook. It’s a hardcover, black and nondescript, of her first collection of memories. Holding out the bound pages, I can’t look in Seth’s gaze. I can’t and I won’t, but he doesn’t take it. He doesn’t accept it and with every long second that passes, it only hurts more. “She’s been with Marcus. She knows about him.”
“Many people work for—”
“Been with,” I interrupt him to emphasize, “she was his lover.”
His fingers graze mine as he takes it. A hot and longing need for him is threatening to consume me. With my eyes closed, I try to ignore what the rough feel of his touch does to me. It’s like a sparkler, hot and brightly lit, yet quickly extinguished. A part of me yearns to move forward, to light my entire body. I’ve always been weak for him. My soul in love with his, needing his. I keep my eyes closed even when I hear him turn the pages.
I left this man years ago but in this moment, it feels like I’m leaving him again. Simply because I refuse to give in. It feels like I’m running although I’m merely standing still in front of him.
“She wrote detailed descriptions of every location he took her.”
“We have intel on his habits and the locations of his businesses.” Seth speaks calmly, as if the information gathered in front of him is nothing new. With my eyes widening, I finally look at him, and then my body jumps when he tosses the heavy notebook down on his desk. The slap ricochets through my body.
“Like I said,” he says and my gaze falls to his throat, watching the cords tense as he swallows and adds, “you’ll do everything I say.”
“There are more,” I tell him quickly, ignoring his statement and even I can hear how begging my tone is.
I’ve fallen for this man once. If I do it again, I’ll cross the point of no return. I’m sure of it.
His gaze is hungry as he exhales with disdain. “Give me all of them,” he commands.
“I don’t have them with me.”
“You’ll bring them next time then,” he says. He’s bossing me around and telling me what to do.
“I’ll do what I please,” I bite out, remembering who I am.
Seth smirks at my response, appearing not at all flustered.
“It will please you,” he tells me and his tone is different. His cadence caresses every inch of my skin. Leaning forward, he rests his hand on my knee, and damn does my body respond to him. “I will make sure of that.”
“Seth,” I breathe his name.
“There are other things that need to be done first. I plan on taking my time.”
Seth
Hearing her whisper my name like that…
I want her more than I will ever admit. Just like I’ll never admit how dire the situation is with Marcus. I don’t have this information, but she’ll give it to me.
I burn for her to give me many things before that happens.
Her pain as I punish her. And her pleas for me to take her back.
One thing I’d planned to do since I moved back, one thing that has never deviated is sitting right behind her in the top drawer on the other side of the desk.
She watches me all the while and I wonder what she sees. What she thinks. What she feels. The drawer slides out with a creak and it’s the only sound in the office.
For a split second, I wonder if I should do it. If I should give it back to her. Laura needs to feel it though. She needs to know.
With the folded paper in my hand, I take a moment to clear off the left side of my desk, slipping a pile of folders inside the drawer. Now all that’s left is my laptop and a few odds and ends. The steel pen container is moved first. I set it on the windowsill behind me; clearing off what remains on the desk will take less than a minute. I want her ass right here, on this desk, once she’s done reading what I’m holding.
“This is for you.” I hand her the note, not going back on the promise I made to myself, although I know without a question of a doubt, that she’d get up on this desk right now with no hesitation. She needs that note first. I told myself for years that if ever I were to see her again, she needed to have it back. There’s dried blood on the edge of one side although it’s turned a dark brown now. There are other stains on the once clean paper as well. I can still see right where she’d cried and the paper took in her tears, seeping into the crisp creased folds and warping them. It’s harder to see it now though. It blends in with all the other evidence that the paper has existed for far too many years.
I watch her eyes as she unfolds the note. I watch her pupils dilate and note their glossy sheen as she rips her gaze away and looks anywhere but at me.
Her inhale is ragged and sharp.
“This isn’t for me.”
“It is. It’s for you to read. I’ve read it enough.”
The paper crinkles in her hand. The creases are so soft; I didn’t think it could crinkle anymore.
She needs to be reminded that she told me she’d love me forever.
She promised me she would. She can read it and know it every day of her life like I have since she left me.
“I want you to read it every day. It’s only fair—it’s what I did for years.”
Her voice is raw when she answers the command with, “At least you had a note,” and then tosses it onto the desk. Like she doesn’t want it.
I didn’t want it either. It would have been so much easier without it. If she’d just left me because she hated me.
“Is this what you want?” she asks as a tear rolls down her cheek, unable to hide it any longer. She angrily wipes it away.
“Partly,” I ad
mit out loud and shock myself. Her disgust shows and she grabs her purse this time, as if she’ll leave.
“Sit down,” I command as her ass lifts from the seat. She stills where she is. Debating maybe. “We aren’t finished, Babygirl.” I meant for the word to get to her. Not to me. But it settles in my chest, spreading the ache I’ve been doing my damnedest to suppress.
She’s slow to take her seat, but she does.
“Want to know what I missed?” I ask her although at this point, I’m just speaking my mind. No filter; I let it all out. “The way you say my name,” I say and close my eyes, focusing for a moment on the motions of my thumb. Tap, tap. “I missed it.”
Even with my eyes closed, I can feel hers on me. I swear my body knows hers. The vulnerability of it all wanes as I flick through the scenes of what happened when she left.
“I missed the taste of you,” I comment lowly and tilt my head when I look back at her. Her skin is a gorgeous blush color and her pale blue eyes are rimmed with a pink that matches her complexion. Desire dances between us. My cock hardens and her thighs tense as her inhale skips.
“I remember thinking one night,” I say and point to the desk, “as I read that note, is any pussy that good?” Hardening my voice, I remind her of the anger.
She needs to be punished. She has to be.
Her red-rimmed eyes fill with lust. There’s an undeniable heat.
“I want to taste you, Laura,” I say and then realize it’s not a command. She needs to be told what to do though. And every action reinforced.
Desire outweighs the rage. It outweighs everything. The image of her under me, her thighs parted, enters my mind. It’s all I can focus on. With my zipper pressing tight against my erection, I get up from the chair and tell her to strip. I add, “I want you down to nothing.”
I think, for a moment, there’s no way she’ll do it.
“Say please,” she retaliates, although it’s softly spoken and submissive, laced with a sadness too. A new roar of fire ignites inside of me.
