by Ember Dante
Before any of us could say anything else, Tyler stuck his head in the door.
“Yo, Emmy Lou. What’s the hold up? The meat’s ready, and the manly carnivores are starving.”
“Okay. Yeah. We’re coming,” I said, putting my questions about Caitlin on the back burner for the time being.
Tyler grinned. “That’s what he said.”
Jules burst into laughter. “Hey, that’s what I was saying just this morning.”
“TMI, Jules...TMI.” I laughed, but it was a stilted, unnatural sound, even to my own ears.
Bailey cleared her throat and grabbed the potato salad and corn bread. “I’ll just carry this stuff outside.”
Jules moved closer and spoke in a low tone. “Are you okay?”
“I will be after I talk to Ian about it,” I murmured, wishing it was already time for our guests to leave.
19
Ian
What started out as a damn good day turned into a transit through hell.
Emmy was sullen and withdrawn, regardless of any attempts to lure her into conversation. It was like she had something on her mind, something big. I also noticed that Bailey was avoiding me, and I was pretty sure those two issues were related.
After everyone left, Emmy immediately started carrying things inside. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with me, and an uneasy feeling settled in my gut. I watched her for a few minutes, thinking she’d break down and talk to me, but I was wrong. Knowing I wouldn’t get anywhere with her until the immediate obstacle was cleared—namely, the after-lunch clean up—I gathered the remaining utensils and other shit to join her in the kitchen. As soon as the last dish was loaded in the dishwasher, I was over it.
“Okay. Enough is enough. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m fine—”
“Emmy, I know you’re not fine. You’ve been acting weird since before we ate,” I sighed. “Babe, I can’t fix the problem if I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s just…”
I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms in front of my chest. She fidgeted with a dish towel, twisting it in her hands. A myriad of expressions flitted across her face as if she were having an internal debate about what to say. When her gaze finally met mine, the trepidation was gone, replaced by the same confidence she displayed during our interview.
“What happened with Caitlin?”
A-ha. Things were starting to make sense.
“I guess that explains why Bailey wouldn’t look at me this afternoon. What did she say?”
“She just said it was good to see you happy again after the incident with Caitlin,” she muttered.
“Bailey needs to learn to keep her fucking mouth shut.”
“Why? What’s the big secret?” she asked, her volume escalating with each word.
I was officially in hell. I really hadn’t wanted to go there yet.
“What do you want me to say? We both have a past, and you know you’re not the only woman I’ve been with. Help me out here, because I’m at a loss.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. Her voice was clipped and almost businesslike.
“Bailey made it sound like Caitlin really meant something to you, and that whatever happened to cause her death had a profound impact on you.”
“I was planning to tell you about Caitlin,” I sighed. “I just didn’t want to do it this weekend, especially after Blaire’s bullshit on Friday.”
“You were planning to tell me?”
“Yes. When I was ready.” I released a rough exhale. Fuck. “Why is it everyone else in the known Universe gets to decide when they reveal shit about themselves except me? Can you tell me that?”
I took a deep breath, counted to ten, then let it out. My story would most likely tarnish that shining armor Emmy imagined for me.
“Our fathers are close. I’m not certain, but I think her father used his political connections to advance Connor’s career and got him appointed to the bench here.”
“And?” she asked, arching one brow.
“If there’s one thing my father loves more than money, it’s power. He could be the poster child for the corruption that comes from having too much power.”
I stepped to the fridge and pulled a bottle of water from the shelf on the door. It gave me something to do, something to focus on while I revealed one of my darkest secrets. My last secret, in fact.
“He pushed me into dating her. His ultimate goal was for us to marry and produce more Walshes.”
She shook her head, incredulous. “You mean like an arranged marriage?”
“Exactly like an arranged marriage.”
“This isn’t the 1800s for fuck’s sake,” she scoffed.
“Yeah, well, that’s just how the Walsh side of the family has always done things. I think marrying Caitlin was political payback.”
“How long were you together?”
“About ten months or so…I’m not really sure.” I shook my head. “It was less than a year.”
“Did you love her?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper.
“No. She was never going to be more than a friend.”
“Why didn’t you just break up with her?”
“Who the fuck knows? I didn’t see her that often, so I suppose it was a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Before you say anything, yes, I realize that makes me sound like an insensitive prick,” I sighed.
“So, you ... what? Used her for sex?”
“I’m a guy, Emmy. How many men do you know that would turn down an easy piece of ass?”
Emmy flinched, and I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.
“Let’s get something straight,” I said, wagging an index finger. “I was always very clear with her about where we were headed—which was nowhere. Never once did I make any promises, or lead her to believe things would change. She knew exactly where I stood from day one and that I was only trying to appease my father.”
I took a step toward Emmy, and she backed into the counter. Okay.
“I told you I’m not perfect, Emmy. I know I sound cold and heartless, but I’ll admit I acted like a dick toward her more often than not because the longer we dated, it became obvious that she was playing the same fucking game as my father. The only difference between them was how they played it. So don’t think she was some innocent damsel. I never took advantage of her.”
I paused, letting that sink in before continuing the story.
“We were invited to a Halloween party hosted by one of her friends. I didn’t like the guy and didn’t want to go, but when I tried to talk her into going by herself, she threw a fucking tantrum, so I gave in and went.”
Emmy lifted her head. Her eyes were red, but at least she wasn’t crying. “Then what?”
“We fought all the way to the party. Once we got there, I’d had enough. I had already decided to break it off, but when I started to bring it up…”
“What?”
I took several deep breaths. “She told me she was pregnant.”
Emmy paled, turning white as a sheet.
“You think she was trying to trap you?”
“Yes.”
“What made you think so?”
“She started making demands, issuing ultimatums before we went inside—the kind of shit she’d been pushing me for all along. After we’d been there a while, she disappeared, and I found her huddled with her girlfriends—drinking. So yeah, just in case she was telling the truth, I jumped her ass about it. She promised she wouldn’t drink anymore, and stayed by my side for a while. A bit later she excused herself to go to the bathroom, and when she didn’t come back, I went looking for her. She was hanging all over the douchebag that invited us, doing tequila shots. She was fucking hammered when I dragged her out of there. What sane woman would do that?”
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
I nodded. “She fought me all the way to the car, bitching at me, trying to pick a fight. It wasn’t long bef
ore she passed out. When we were a few blocks from her apartment, some asshole ran a stop sign and t-boned us. Hit and run. The impact was on her side, and along with a few broken bones, she had severe internal injuries.”
“Was she ... dead?” Emmy asked, her voice thick with trepidation.
I squeezed my eyes shut and gave a slight shake of my head. “She almost choked on her own vomit in the ambulance.” I dropped my chin and pinched the bridge of my nose. “They rushed her into surgery as soon as we got to the hospital and she died on the table. I learned later that her blood alcohol level was point two-six.”
Emmy’s eyes flooded with tears and she clamped her hands over her mouth.
“The cops didn’t test me at the scene, so they did a blood alcohol test at the hospital. I wasn’t worried because I’d only had a couple drinks at the party, but I tested well over the limit. I couldn’t believe it. In all honesty, I was probably drunker the night of Mason’s wreck.”
My right hand found the back of my neck and squeezed, trying in vain to massage away the tension.
“I knew I was screwed, especially after her parents arrived and found out about the blood test. At the time I felt I had no choice but to call my father. To this day, part of me wishes I had taken jail time rather than ask him for help.”
“Was she really pregnant?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Dad diffused the situation, but her parents refused to tell me anything. Parker checked into it for me, but he couldn’t access her medical records.” I paused. “I didn’t know what to believe. The entire evening was a total mind fuck. Even though the accident technically wasn’t my fault, I’ve always wondered how different things would be if I hadn’t been driving. I don’t even know if there really was a baby. If there was, am I responsible for my baby’s death?"
A jumble of emotions crossed Emmy’s face, and she stepped closer. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”
“The uncertainty is what eats at me, not my feelings.” I cupped her face in both hands and caressed her jaw with my thumbs. “I cared about her, but I was never in love with her. You are the only woman I’ve ever been in love with.”
I lifted her onto the counter, and her legs parted automatically, allowing me to close the gap between us. My hands rested on her hips.
“Please don’t shut down like that again. The next time you have concerns about anything, promise me that you’ll talk to me. I’m not going anywhere unless you make me. Get it?”
“Yes. I promise.” She leaned close and pressed her lips to mine. “We need to make up now.”
“I thought we just did that.”
“Well, sort of. But now we need to seal the deal.”
I pulled back and saw her impish grin. Hell fucking yes. Houston, we are back in business. “And how do you propose we do that?”
She didn’t flinch. “Sex. Lots of sex.”
It was time to push some of her buttons. “But it’s Sunday afternoon.”
“And tomorrow is a holiday, so you are all out of excuses, Mister.”
“Hmm ... so it’s not a school night.”
“Nope.”
My lips brushed against hers with the lightest touch I could manage. Her breathing picked up, and I knew I did it right. All I really wanted was to devour her, but I held myself back. I needed to tease her just a bit more. I pulled the ties on either side of her bikini bottom and pushed her legs farther apart, allowing the fabric to fall away. A devilish grin spread across my face.
“You know, I never did have dessert.”
Emmy leaned back against the cabinet, releasing a long exhale. “Do you want cream on that?”
Fuck. Yes.
20
Emmy
Walking into Release was like entering another world. That was the only way to describe it. Ian had told me very little about the place, but even with his accurate forewarning, I was woefully unprepared for the experience.
The exterior was unremarkable and looked like every other warehouse in the industrial section of Dallas, but that changed behind its doors. Music poured from the sound system, the haunting vocals of Marilyn Manson and driving beat of Beautiful People enveloping me and drowning out the thoughts in my head. The thumping base connected with the soles of my feet and traveled up my body, until finally synchronizing with my erratic heartbeat. My eyes feasted on the sights laid out before me, from the glamorous crimson and gold decor to the large video screens mounted near the ceiling. Some displayed slideshows of erotic art, while others appeared to be a live feed of the clientele within its walls.
One section of the room resembled a typical jazz club with plush circular booths surrounding a modest dance floor, an overcrowded bar, and a stage. Other areas were set up as individual vignettes like movie sets designed for specific purposes: a four-poster bed similar to the one in Ian’s studio, large wooden and iron crosses and stocks (some already in use), and a large metal framework supporting a woman suspended by ropes. The atmosphere struck me as a cross between old Hollywood and Goth, that would perhaps fit into a campy Vincent Price movie.
People mingled, dancing and partying—normal activities found in any club. The main difference, however, was the various costumes or states of undress. Attire ranged from leather to latex, corsets, cup-less bras and leather chaps to more mainstream club dresses for the women and leather pants or plain denim for the men. I was overwhelmed, yet enthralled. I couldn’t move, couldn’t tear my eyes away.
A small group brushed past us on their way toward a large wooden ‘X’ standing against the far wall. One of the Doms led his sub—a waif of a girl with dark hair styled in a pixie cut—to the fixture and bound her facing the wall, spread-eagled with restraints at the top and bottom, before tying a leather blindfold around her head. My mouth fell lax, and I gasped, unable to fight the erotic images flooding my mind.
“Emmy?” Ian’s voice was soft, his breath hot against the side of my face.
“Hmm?” I stood transfixed, unable to look away from the scene before me. The Dom removed the girl’s corset, leaving her clad in only a tiny black thong, and picked up what appeared to be a riding crop.
“We need to go.”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turned, painfully aware of his proximity and the heat from his body. The hunger in his eyes told me all I had to do was ask.
“Okay.”
He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes fell shut, his reaction to the double entendre in my reply. A brief shake of his head was his only response before he grabbed my hand and led me down a hall featuring a row of gilded ‘bird’ cages along one wall. I could only imagine their use.
We stepped into an empty room with a tufted red velvet chaise occupying the center of the space. It didn’t take him long to set up, and I watched with the same intensity I felt in the main room as he moved around the space, making minor adjustments to ensure the best lighting. It may have been Ian’s least favorite part of his job, but watching him work was a complete turn on. I should have been taking notes, but being in that environment had shut down all but the most basic, primal functions.
As soon as his clients arrived, I moved into a corner, making myself as unobtrusive as possible. He directed the couple into their first pose, his deep, soothing voice putting them at ease. Who was I kidding? His voice put me at ease.
The woman rested supine on the chaise, her knees bent, legs spread wide. Her black lingerie and stockings were a stark contrast to her pale skin and platinum blonde hair. Her husband took his place between them in standard missionary position, resting on his elbows. She twined her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth within inches of hers.
Ian pressed the camera’s button and the lights flashed. In that instant a vivid memory replayed in my mind, a similar scenario in which Ian was lying above me. It was Monday, our last day together before he left on his business trip. What began as a steady leak between my legs became Niagara Falls, and the dull hum resonating throughou
t my body turned into an intense throb that penetrated the deepest part of me. Stepping farther into the shadows, I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a groan as my other arm wrapped around my waist, my entire body consumed by need. My hand slid down to snake inside my skirt—thank God I wore my wrap dress—and my fingers slipped inside my thong. Thoughts of Ian mixed with dark fantasies of submission twisted through me as my body shuddered with release. It dulled the sharp edge of my need, but not the craving for him.
The entire session lasted about an hour, after which Ian packed his gear and ushered me from the room. Our steps carried us toward the main entrance, and hopefully that much closer to home, but he stopped abruptly two doors from the room we vacated. Without a word, he barged through the doorway, pulling me behind him. As soon as the room was secure, he dropped his equipment and forced me against the back of the door to take my mouth in a feverish kiss. Guess I wasn’t the only one affected by our visit. He pulled away, but his mouth hovered over mine, his warm breath spilling across my skin. His hands were restless, moving over me, then down to grip the hem of my skirt. He yanked it to my waist, exposing my very damp panties, before hiking my leg around his hips.
“That was the longest fucking hour of my life.” The knuckles of his other hand rubbed across my throbbing center, from back to front, settling on my engorged clit. “Do you know…” His hips rocked forward as he said the words, forcing the thick ridge of his erection between my open thighs. The friction from the rough denim had me teetering on the brink of another orgasm. “How hard it was not to grab you, throw you on the floor, and make you scream my name?”
All I could do was pant, my chest heaving with each ragged breath. Ian still hadn’t moved away from my lips, but he hadn’t kissed me again either. His finger hooked inside the front of my thong, coaxing it between my folds, creating additional friction with a slight sawing motion.