by Palmer, Dee
I close my eyes, if only for a second, to try and regain my sense, my sanity. I must be losing it. Reading signs from a damn drawing, searching for this to be real. I must be beyond desperate for any fragment of hope, if I’m reading shit like this into a piece of fucking paper with some pencil marks on it.
I skim the rest of the pad. It’s pretty much full, and judging by the change in my facial hair and muscle tone of my body, it has been compiled over the entire time she’s lived here.
The last picture knocks the wind from my sails and demolishes my last reserve in one monumental hit. Two naked bodies, entwined and enraptured, lust and love rise from the page, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sensual drawing in my life…and it’s us.
There’s a Christmas tree in the background of all things, snow on the window ledge above our prone bodies in front of the open fire, in a mound of soft fur rugs and cushions. She drew this before I kissed her that day, before she told me about her rape, before she gave herself to me. She drew this before she left.
She wanted this, she wanted us and that makes this about as real as it fucking gets.
“I need leverage, so just do it. I don’t really care how at this point but preferably before she wakes up.” Clarke gives a tight nod to my request. He’s been my driver, personal security and general-man-that-gets-things-done for the last three years. Before that, he was in some South American private army, and that is the main reason I hired him, flexible morals and loyal to one thing, his paycheque.
“How long have I got?” He checks his watch, and I can see the calculations already working through in his expression. I hope he’s on the same page, and I don’t actually have to spell it out.
“A few hours.”
“Jesus, a few hours. How much did you give her?” The crease in his thick brow deepens with concern.
“If I wanted to discuss it with you, I think we would’ve had this conversation by now, don’t you?” I don’t attempt to hide my irritation; he holds my glare and stiffens his already ramrod-straight posture.
“Sir, it’s just—” He swallows and I interrupt.
“It’s just what, Clarke? You suddenly have a problem with taking orders? Developed an untimely case of conscience?” My tone is piqued with sarcasm. He shakes his head before speaking.
“No, nothing like that. I mean she seems nice and all, but actually, I was more concerned with going to prison for kidnapping and murder,” he replies flatly.
“She came here voluntarily.”
“I don’t like that you haven’t said no to the murder thing, Mr Kruse.” Clarke seems to be pushing all my buttons.
“Then it’s lucky I’m not paying you to like…I’m paying you to do!” I rise up from behind my grandfather’s desk in the old study and walk slowly to where Clarke is standing. He looks directly ahead, stiff and alert. I can see his fingers twitch, ready for me to make a wrong move.
It’s possible I already have.
I have a good few inches in height advantage; however, he’s built like a brick shit house, and I’m not stupid. Besides, this isn’t up for negotiation. This is his job. I speak quietly since there is no reason to shout. “Now go and get my leverage.” He hesitates, and his eyes flick to catch mine. ”Would it help if I said her life depended on it?”
“Sir.” He blinks, and with a curt nod acknowledging everything I said and everything unspoken, he turns abruptly and walks briskly from the room.
I let out a heavy breath. This is such a fucking mess; I’m not sure how I’m going to fix it. I walk from the study and make my way back up stairs. Time to check on sleeping beauty. The ancient floorboards creak beneath me, and the echo of my footsteps bounces off the thick stone walls and oak panelling as if there are a dozen people racing along the corridor. The entire length is dimly lit, and tiny leaded windows let little of the mid morning sun inside. It’s chilly, and I guess most people would find it gloomy, even eerie, yet this is my home. The only time I ever felt what that word truly meant, was when I was living here, at Tartarus Hall. I pause outside of my grandfather’s bedroom and rest my palm flat as if trying to feel the heartbeat inside. I have to correct myself; the only time Tartarus felt like home was when she was with me. I press the handle and crack the door wide enough to slip inside.
The slight gap in the window allows a shard of sunlight to slice the darkness and strike the end of the bed. Her bare feet are bathed in light. The rest of her sleeping form is as I left it, curled up on one side, her hands cupped together under her cheek. She looks so peaceful. Her soft lips are pursed, letting the gentle flow of air in and out through the tiny opening. Her long lashes fan against her pale cheek, and strands of her thick chestnut hair have fallen to partially cover her face. She’s so damn beautiful. And she’s going to go ballistic when she wakes up.
I slip the handcuffs from my back pocket and sit carefully beside her. My breath catches when she moans, struggling against the heavy blanket of the sedative I gave her no doubt. I may not know this woman like I knew the girl, but I don’t doubt she’s still a fighter.
My stomach churns that I’m the reason she’s needed to be so strong. That and the knowledge that I think I’ve just fucked up my second and third chance with Tia. Everything is slipping like warm sand through my fingertips, and as tightly as I grasp, I can’t contain the inevitable flow. I’m not ready to let it go, not the company, not this place, and not her. I want it all. Unfortunately, I’m not remotely confident she was ever going to give it to me willingly, and I’ve run out of time. My fingers find themselves entwined in her hair, absently twirling the long silky strands. My mind drifts to the last time I saw her here, five and a half long years ago. It may as well be another lifetime so much has changed between us.
I’d managed to persuade my uncle to let me hitch a ride on the company jet, told him the arranged engagement was off unless he agreed to smuggle me back into the UK without my passport. I had to see Tia. I had to explain.
“Then let me remind you.”
“Cass, I want you so bad, I’m afraid I’ll believe just about anything you say, and that terrifies me. I sometimes hate that you’re all I have.” She’s breathless and trembling in my arms. My body is carefully aligned to hers as we lay together on her small bed, my torso is pressing over hers and she’s holding my gaze. Doesn’t she realise she holds my heart too? Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I know I’m causing all that pain with my absence. I hate it too. I know it’s not forever, but she doesn’t have the luxury of my certainty; she has blind trust. She has no choice but to believe every word I say, and I know, for the most part, she does. Even so, with everything she’s just learnt, I can feel the doubt tearing her apart.
I need to fix this, even if I can’t make love to her the way we’d both imagined. I know I can make her feel good, perhaps feel a fraction of my love with the pleasure I’m going to tease from every fibre in her sweet body.
“I love it that I’m all you have, princess.” She closes her eyes, and I wait for them to open. She needs to see my absolute honesty when I say what I’m about to say. “You’re all I have too, Tia, always.”
“I love you so much.”
“Heart and soul, right back at ya, princess” My whispered words cause her lips to spread to the widest smile. Her tongue darts out, scooping her bottom lip into her mouth. It’s too fucking tempting, and I swoop my mouth over hers to claim those lips for myself. She moans into the kiss and writhes against me, careful to keep her wantonness away from my injury. This is possibly going to be the most excruciating make-out session in all history, with swollen, bruised balls and fresh stitches to contend with. However, I need her to understand that I want her just as much as she wants me. Simple.
My tongue dives and takes what’s mine, my lips meld with hers, our tongues dancing, entwined and urgent for more. When I break the kiss, I’m rewarded with bright, wide eyes and frantic panting.
“I want you Cass, please. It hurts, I want you so bad.” At any
other time her begging would be music to my ears; at any other time I wouldn’t be risking a return visit to A&E.
“Shhh, baby, I’ll do what I can. And trust me, this is going to hurt me much more than it will hurt you.” I smile at her pout, even as she flashes an apologetic glance down between our bodies, where my jeans are stained with dried blood. Her expression changes and she stiffens under me. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay. I just can’t—”
“I know. Maybe we shouldn’t do anything. I mean you look pretty swollen down there.”
“I am pretty swollen down there, and it’s got nothing to do with you kicking me in the balls and the stitches bursting.”
“Oh god, Cass!” Her cheeks might be flushed a glowing hue of pink, but she looks mortified at my predicament.
“I can take the pain, princess. The jeans are actually helping, and I want to do this. I want to devour you in any way I can.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that.” She exhales the breathy words and bites back an overeager grin that pleases me.
“Good, because I’m starving.” I pitch up onto my side and, with my free hand, begin to unbutton her shirt, picking it free from the waistband of her jeans. The light material falls to either side, exposing her taut and trembling tummy and her pink bra. Her nipples are hard as pebbles, pressing against the delicate fabric, taunting me. I dip and lick over the material that feels rough against my tongue, her soft flesh teasingly elusive in its pretty lace cage. I squeeze and mould her breast in my hand, loving the way she presses into my hold, soft, mewing sounds escaping with every breath. I pinch one nipple a little too hard, and her eyes fly wide open on a sharp gasp. Her pupils are so wide, her eyes look like the darkest night, pitch black with endless possibilities.
“God you’re amazing.” I press kisses to her exposed neck and up to her ear where my whispered words can be heard above her panting. My hand and fingers continue to massage, squeeze, and tweak each breast until she is hoarse for pleading.
“Please, please, Cass, anything, do anything but please, I need more.” Her hands switch from tugging my hair this way and that to gripping my shoulders and giving me a frustrated shake.
“God, you’re adorable when you’re horny.”
“I’m not joking here, Cass. I’m going to explode soon if you don’t…” Her face flashes bright red, and I can’t help chuckling that she’s too embarrassed to finish that sentence.
“Don’t…?” I ask with as much seriousness as I can muster.
“Don’t…don’t…” she flusters. “Please don’t tease me.”
“I wouldn’t do that…well, not tonight at least.” I kiss her lips, tender at first. In response to her needy moans, I release several years of pent up passion and teenage desire. I flick the clasp of her bra, mentally thanking bra designers the world over for the front release, as I start to work my way down her body. Reverently caressing every undulation, worshiping every swathe of heavenly skin with my mouth, kissing and tasting, sucking just hard enough to get the right kind of cry and doing it all over again until I reach my goal. I quickly pop the button on her jeans, and she shifts her hips to allow me to pull them effortlessly from her legs.
I let my legs slide to the floor, and she squeals when I roughly drag her body down the bed, so her own legs are over the edge. She lifts her feet so they are perched on the bed-frame, just in front of me. I tap the inside of her ankles, and she peeks up, staring at me through the too-tiny gap between her legs.
“Need a little access here, princess.” I flash a wicked grin and draw in a deep sniff that sends a fresh flash of colour to her cheeks. She smells so fucking good, and I dampen my lips with a slow draw of my tongue across them. Her feet shuffle away from each other, and I hold her gaze until they stop, then grab her knees and push them as wide as I can. The tendons in her thighs are stretched taut to the point of shaking, or maybe that’s the anticipation. I place my hands-on the very top of her thigh so my thumbs can lift the crotch of her panties. She’s drenched, and I’m so fucking hard it’s only the fear of causing irrevocable damage that’s preventing me from diving cock first into heaven.
I bend and trace a line of kisses from her inner thigh to where her panties are soaked through. Blowing out a puff of air, I hear her whimper. Her bottom muscles tense; her thighs shudder, and I force myself not to groan in blissful agony with the knowledge I evoke that reaction with a simple breath. I pull back, and with surprising speed and very little effort, I snap her knees together just enough to rip her panties down and off her legs, and quickly re-position my body at her apex. Spreading her legs wide, my grin is wider.
I swipe her silky folds with my tongue, set to drink in her wetness. She gasps and wriggles so much I have to grip her arse cheeks with strong hands, fixing her firmly to my face.
“Oh, Oh, Cass!” she cries out, and her hands instantly grasp fistfuls of my hair. Her grip matches mine, the pain a mild distraction to the agonising ball ache in my pants.
I work my tongue along her core, sucking and pulling, searching for the spots that will drive her over the edge. The tip on my tongue laves her swollen clit, and her whole body jolts. It’s the sexiest fucking thing ever. I sink two fingers inside her heat and close my eyes as my own body reacts to the tightness and quivering muscles I just know would feel fucking perfect wrapped around my cock. I start to pump and twist, searching for the spot just inside I’ve read so much about. I may not have had full intercourse, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t studied. Any idiot can stick their dick into a girl; giving pleasure is an entirely different ballgame, and learning Tia’s body is my very favourite sport.
“Cass, please!” Her body arches and she presses down against my face. My tongue works circles around her clit, and I turn my fingers and press a sensual deep rhythm inside. She so damn responsive I know she’s just seconds away from falling. I freeze all movement, and her body does the same, suspended on the pinnacle of pleasure, her climax literally at my very fingertips. The second must feel like a lifetime, but the reward will be worth it. Just before I lose her and she loses her climax, my mouth covers her clit, and I begin to suck and swirl my tongue, pressing my fingers on her sensitive flesh deep inside. My other hand presses her tummy flat, holding her firm as her inner muscles explode around me, and a riot of spasms and contractions seize her inside and out. Her body locks, her thighs clamped like a vice around my head, and her hands must be white knuckle gripping my hair. I barely move a muscle; I daren’t.
Her thighs twitch and relax, and I slowly release the breath I’ve held. The only part of my body I feel safe enough to move is my tongue as I continue to lap her release, bringing her down with a gentle glide until her whole body is lax.
“I’ll give you a minute before we do that again.” I suck her essence from my lips and snicker at her breathy reply.
“Again?” Her mouth twists with a mix of shock and suspicion.
“I said I wanted to devour you, Tia; that was just the appetizer”
“You tasted so good,” I say out loud, near silence and barely audible breathing my only replies. “I’m not sure I can make this right, princess.” I lift one hand free and secure the handcuff around her wrist and lift it nearer to the iron bed-frame. Once I check the space between the metal cuff and her skin for circulation, I lean down and kiss her hair. Abruptly standing, I turn away from memory lane, the weight of the present making me restless. I reach the door and cast a quick glance back at Tia’s sleeping form. Her body looks tiny in that massive wrought iron bed.
How much does she know?
I close the door behind me and make my way to my grandfather’s library. I always thought Grandfather and I were close, believed it in my bones. He raised me like his son for most of my life. I can’t suppress the searing pain of his betrayal.
He should’ve told me the truth, the whole fucking truth.
Squares of light fall on the stone floor of the long corridor, where the high windows on one side let the sunlight in. The dust particl
es dance in the bright beams as I stride through, disturbing the air with each step I take. The library door is open from my earlier visit, and this time, I don’t take a pensive turn around the room, reminiscing with a mess of mixed emotions. This time, I have a very particular target.
I make my way over to the oil painting of Tartarus Hall, which hangs high on the wall opposite the large open fireplace. Lifting it from the wall, I’m acutely aware that the thick layer of dust balanced on the edge of the frame has been displaced in several places. The wall behind has yellowing sunlight damage around the frame; however, the large steel family safe is exactly as it always was. My fingers hover over the dial, and I wonder, not for the first time, whether Oskar took all his secrets to the grave.
Have I just flipped a one-eighty on this? I don’t know. All I know is, with my sister in the mix, Tia is in danger, and I will have to do the unthinkable to ensure her safety. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her. I didn’t sleep at all last night. My mind is a fucked up mess of limited choices and impossible obstacles.
I stand abruptly, sending the kitchen chair skidding across the flagstone floor. I grab my coffee, and with determination in my stride, I head back toward my office. I don’t need to scour my hard drive or contact list to track her down. I open the junk email folder I set up specifically when I got the very first message from her when she was released. I don’t know why I thought she would want to hide from me. Even with the threats I made, she’s crazy enough not to care, obsessed enough to want only one thing, at any cost. I guess it was wishful thinking on my part. The daily messages from her are dumped in that folder, unread and unanswered. And unfortunately, never forgotten. She signs them Ghost, as if changing her name would somehow make her a different person. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
