His warmth disappeared, replaced with the chill of the A/C vent somewhere above her. She remained still, tried to follow the rustling sound of his jeans.
Whack.
Pain fired over her ass. Holy fuck. Didn’t he say he didn’t need to hit her—
Crack. Crack.
Both thighs. Low and sharp. Damn it hurt good.
The hollow sound of wood clattered to the floor. The bamboo pole? The scratch of his zipper lowering produced a clench between her legs. The velvety head of his cock rubbed against her folds, and she pressed her ass against him, needy and impatient.
Leaning against her back, his body engulfing her from head to toe, he must have caught his weight with a hand on the bedpost. His lips skid over her shoulder, his breath hot and rushed, his free hand squeezing her breasts and lowering over her belly, between her thighs, and guiding him to her center. Right there. Oh God.
He pushed in, and the sure-fire stroke shot ripples through her womb.
“Aw fuck. Your pussy just lets me right in.” His hips moved into a pounding rhythm. In and out in driving circles, his pelvis slammed into her backside and her mound rubbed against the unforgiving wood post. “Jesus, you feel good.”
The absence of sight intensified the scratch in his voice and the burn of his lips on her neck. He kicked her feet farther apart and his hands were everywhere, yanking her hips against him, squeezing her breasts, tugging on her clit. His torso, taut and smooth, glided over her back, flexing against her, controlling her movements.
He pinched her clit, and she sucked in a breath. His teeth sunk into her shoulder, and he pinched harder. The pressure was overpowering, demanding, pulling her in until nothing existed but the mounting stimulation.
She clenched her inner walls, tried to hold back the orgasm, to suspend the sensation, to savor the moment.
His tongue flicked across her skin between the brace of his teeth and his thrusts rolled and bucked. When his breath caught, she lost her self-control, her release pouring over her in powerful waves. “Ahhh, Jesus. Oh fuck.” Her body tingled, slumping in the clutch of his.
He rocked once, twice, and rammed to the hilt, grinding as he moaned a delicious cacophony of noises.
Hands slid over hers, and the shackles released. The blindfold followed, and she squinted against the brightness of the room. He scooped her up, arms behind her back and thighs, and tumbled them into bed. He positioned her on her side, tucked her chest into his, her head under his chin, and caressed a palm up and down her back. “Okay?”
“Mmm. More than.” She angled her head back and fell into his heavy-lidded eyes. “You used the pole to keep me guessing, didn’t you?”
His smile softened the strong lines of his gorgeous face. “If the threat isn’t there, if I never hurt you, you won’t anticipate.”
Hurt. The way he whispered that word reminded her of what it cost him. “Thank you.” She stretched her neck and covered his mouth with hers.
He parted his lips and rolled his tongue with hers. Tilting her head, he deepened the kiss, shifting her to her back and blanketing her with his body. His hands raked her hair, jaw working and tongue stoking a low burning fire.
When he slowed to a gentle slide of lips, she touched his cheek, smiled. “Good lord, you know how to kiss.” His head jerked back, and his eyebrows crawled together. She guessed he’d never tried to please a woman before, never needed to. But, holy shit, he was good at it. “What’s wrong?”
He rolled them to their sides, face to face, and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “When I kissed you in my room in New York—” he smiled, traced the shell of her ear “—that was my first kiss.”
Her heart gave a thump. He had intimacy issues, but surely he’d kissed someone at some point. “Ever?”
He shifted close, so close their noses touched. “Ever.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
‡
Charlee emerged slowly from a content sleep. The bedside lamp shed a soft glow through the bedroom. She was alone in bed, but not alone. Jay’s silhouette reclined in a lounger on the veranda, the back of his head a smudgy shadow against the winking lights of the L.A. skyline.
The waning moon drifted beyond the open doors. She must have dozed off in his arms an hour or so earlier. She snagged one of his t-shirts from the closet in case of a chill in the evening air, shrugged into it, and swiped her cell phone from the desk on her way out.
A puff of smoke billowed above him. With his back to her, he seemed lost to a million thoughts, or perhaps just memorized by the view of the distant lights. He lowered a cigarette and scattered the ash to the breeze.
The smell of tobacco permeated, kicking in the urge to share it with him. “You smoke?”
He flinched, facing her, and fumbled for the ashtray, cigarette aimed to be squashed.
“No, no. Don’t put it out. Here.” She curled her fingers back and forth. “It smells delicious.”
He held it out, reluctance in his wide eyes. “You smoke?”
“I asked you first.” She plucked it from his fingers and climbed between his spread legs, back to his chest. Cigarette poised between two fingers, she swiped through the screens on her phone. Lebanese Blonde by Thievery Corporation. Perfect. She set it to play on a low volume and placed the phone on the side table.
With a hand on her tummy, he pulled her close and leaned them back in the lounger. “No. I don’t smoke.” His tone was deep and teasing.
She pulled a drag through her lungs and exhaled. “Me neither, but over the past couple years, I’d get this lofty feeling of nostalgia and buy a pack.” She took another pull and passed it to him. “Ask me why.”
He accepted it, fingers lingering over hers. “Why?”
“You stayed after I inked your outline, smoking your cigarette, waiting for me. I didn’t give it much thought then.” There was so much on her mind that night. Marrying Noah. Running from Roy. She fought a shiver and caressed the denim-clad thighs bracing her, reveling in the strength of the man and his heart. “You liked me, and you weren’t ready to let me go. I figured that out months later. So I’d smoke and try to touch that moment in time. I’d imagine myself waiting with you. Waiting for you.”
The cigarette butt skipped over the concrete patio. He flipped her, chest on chest, and stared into her eyes, his expression stripped bare. “I love you.”
“Mm. I can’t relate love to writing music or personal experience, but I have this terrifying and wonderful sensation flowing through me.” Making decisions for her, consuming her. “It’s more powerful than any label I could give it, but if I had to name it, I would call it love.”
He pulled her up his chest and buried his face in her neck. A comfortable silence whispered over them.
“I quit that night.”
Quit? Quit what? His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her. She waited.
“I quit smoking. Drugs. Booze. Sex. I wanted to be clean and worthy of you.”
Her heart soared. Drug free and celibate? For her? Oh, what a soothing balm for her jealousy.
“I was a reformed man for two months. Then I flew to St. Louis to see you…”
And she was in the penthouse, grieving Noah and clawing at her chain.
“I only made it two weeks after that. Two weeks.” His tone was low and thick with regret.
“You thought I was dead. And never mind that. You owed me nothing. I was just a girl in a one-hour blip on your way to a successful life.”
“No, Charlee. I was just a boy who was too low to find success. And too high to care. One hour with you showed me how to succeed.”
The rumble of faraway planes passed above. Water splashed in the pool around the corner. She snuggled into him, no longer needing the nostalgia of tobacco, no longer waiting. She suddenly wanted to wash away the nicotine lingering in her mouth. “I’m going to go get something to drink.” She lifted off him and moved toward the corner where the pool deck lay beyond. “Want anything?”
�
�Not dressed like that, you’re not.”
His t-shirt reached her thighs. Seriously?
“I’ll go.” He rose and stretched that fine muscular frame. “Share a bottle of Merlot with me?”
“Mmm. Yes, please.”
He scanned the pitch black acreage, probing the perimeter hidden by the night. There must’ve been half a dozen guards out there, strolling the grounds. If she couldn’t be left alone in his supermax fortress, she couldn’t be alone anywhere.
His gaze strolled over the roof’s edge, pausing above the door, the windows, and the corners of the wing. Cameras. Probably dozens of them.
The corner of his mouth curved in a half-smile. Shaking his head, he disappeared around the corner, his black shirt and jeans reflecting a silver glow in the moonlight.
“I love you.” She marveled at how good that felt on her lips and wished she would’ve said it before he left.
In the next breath, he was there, hands on her face, kissing her until it was just him and her and the relief of her words. He laid a wet one on her lips, his smile somersaulting through her. “I love you, too. Be right back.”
She settled into the lounger, grinning like a girl. She sighed. A girl floating in a dream.
Punk Rock Girl blared from her phone. The vibration bounced it on the side table, startling her.
Unknown Caller. Weird. She tapped Decline and stared at it.
The guitar beats kicked off again. Unknown Caller. Jay? Maybe it was a celebrity thing to block the number. The obsessive fool never called her because he never left her side. Of course, he was calling her now. She pressed Accept. “Hello?”
“Ignore my call again and you won’t like the outcome.”
His voice stripped away the deterring fence line, the patrolling guards, and the security of surveillance cameras. Yes, Sir shot to her throat and stuck there, along with a barrage of violent objections.
“Walk to the northeast corner of the veranda where I can see you better.”
A chill snaked through her body. Was he nearby? Had he planted cameras? Darkness strangled her heart, raising goose pimples down her spine.
Fuck him. He couldn’t hurt her. She was safe here.
“Don’t make me wait, beautiful girl.”
Where was northeast? The urgency to find Jay powered her to stand. She moved toward the corner of the wing, remaining in the line of shadows and placing the pool area in view. The surface of the water was still, the patio vacant of life. The living room and kitchen beyond were equally empty. Jay must’ve gone to the wine cellar. Where was Nathan? Her stomach rolled. He didn’t guard her when she was in Jay’s wing.
“Very good. Now remove that hideous shirt.”
Fuck. Shit. Shit. How was he seeing her in the dark? No way was she going to run across the well-lit pool area. She spun back toward Jay’s room, slamming her knee into a chair, slipped through the door, and locked it behind her. “How’d you get this number?”
The desire to hang up was overwhelming, but somehow hearing his voice gave her a sense of traction, as if keeping him with her prevented him from sneaking up on her.
She ran to the bedside table and hit buttons on the console until the curtains hummed, covering the windows and doors. A relieved breath slipped past her lips.
“That was a mistake, Charlee. You’ll be punished severely for it.”
The curtains shifted, reopened. She flinched and recovered by hitting the buttons. Nothing. The damn thing wasn’t working.
Vulnerability crept into her bones. She backed toward the interior door. “I hate you for everything you’ve done to me. Most of all, I hate you for taking all those lives.” Heart punching against her ribs, she bolted out of the bedroom and raced down the hall. “How many have you killed? My father, your guard, his niece…Noah.”
“I haven’t killed anyone.”
Fucking liar. He excelled at distortion, built an enterprise with his forked tongue.
She burst through the double doors and into the corridor. Where was everyone? Oh God. What if he was there? What if the Craigs—
“Ah, there you are. Take off that shirt. Now.”
She glanced down. The Burn emblazoned in red flames across her chest. Her pulse raced.
If Roy were on the property, he wouldn’t have been on the phone. She turned in a circle, followed the angles of the soaring ceiling. There. A corner-mounted camera.
“Yes, Charlee. I have eyes everywhere. Come home.”
Her knees buckled. She turned back toward Tony’s door, the nearest room, tried the handle. Locked. She pounded her fist.
“Mr. Winslow and Ms. Tony are in the control room trying to recover the faulty security system.”
The security system was down? Chills ran through her, and sweat beaded on her face. She pressed her back against the wall, cringing at the storage room door and the shadows in the bends and nooks of the suddenly too-long corridor. “If you cared about me at all, you’d let me live my life.” Keep him talking. Find Jay, Nathan, someone.
“I’m so very disappointed you’re fucking him, Charlee. You belong to me. I don’t like what I saw outside his bedroom. You will be punished for that, as will he.”
A crash barreled through the phone. Oh God. She hoped he was alone. His fury never missed its mark when there was a living punching bag nearby.
She crept along the wall toward the basement doorway which would take her to the wine cellar and the control room. She reached it just before the living room and a black hole yawned from below. Where was the light switch? She fumbled along the wall, searching, and brushed her hand over it. Nothing. She flicked it again and again. The darkness below held still.
The living room lights blinked out. The kitchen and hallway followed, plunging her into blackness. She gripped the phone and tried to slow her breathing. Goddamned fucking Nathan. Why had she let him take her gun? “Where are you?”
“Right here, beautiful girl. I can see your lovely tits heaving. I’m still waiting for that shirt to be removed. Every act of disobedience is a strike against your friends.”
Her eyes darted over the ceiling and locked on a solid red light.
“That’s right. Lucky for us, the cameras have infrared illuminators.”
Lucky for her, that confirmed he wasn’t in the house. Unless he was fucking with her. She eased into the stairway. Were there cameras there? Fuck, she should’ve paid attention. This was the price she paid for letting her guard down.
The estate was so damn automated. The lighting, communications, and surveillance controls must’ve been tied together. “How are you controlling the automation system?”
“RAT. Remote Administration Tool. A nasty, covert piece of software delivered by way of a spear phish. Someone there ignorantly clicked on an e-mail attachment and let my tool drop in. That overpaid security team can look for it, but they’ll be chasing ghosts. It would take electronic forensics to find the barest remnant of it, but I’m not holding my breath.” He chuckled. “Though it appears you are. Breathe, Charlee.”
How long had he been watching them? Her heartbeat roared in her ears and her fingers followed the wall as she tapped one foot in front of the other down the stairs.
“You asked the wrong question.” The sick purr in his voice must’ve meant they’d come to point of his game.
She reached the bend in the stairs. Halfway there. What was the question? She’d asked how he was doing it. “Why are you doing this?”
“Good girl. To demonstrate that you’re not beyond my reach. Your punishments can be delivered anywhere, anytime. Accept my job offer immediately and a certain amount of leniency will be considered.”
If he could break through their security, something was keeping him from just coming in and taking her. Maybe the band’s spotlight really was protecting her. If Roy kidnapped her again, Nathan and the band could hold a press conference, expose him, demand he open up the penthouse for inspection. Their fame alone could wrap him up in allegations, hurt his business
, and sever his business connections. Would Roy chance that?
Yeah. He could shut down the gossip with a flick of one of his innovative switches.
“I’m waiting, Charlee, and my patience…well, you understand the limits of my patience. Intimately.”
The last word slithered over her like cold fingers in the dark. She brushed it off. He was boasting his almighty power and attempting to control her with fear. “Fuck you.”
Silence. On the phone. In the endless black suffocating her. She inched forward, straining her eyes uselessly and waving a hand in front of her.
Her fingers bumped a shirt, a solid chest beneath. She screeched.
“Charlee?”
The lights flashed on, blinding and confusing, accompanied by the blare of a bazillion alarms.
Jay stared down at her, the skin around his eyes tight and tinged pink. His arms came around her, and the tension bunching her muscles released in shuddering waves.
His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him over the alarms. She slumped against him and looked down at her phone. No live calls. The call log showed on the screen, and the last call was listed eight hours earlier from Nathan’s phone. No unknown callers. Chasing ghosts.
The sirens silenced, but the ring lingered in her ears.
“Are you okay?” His hands moved over her, his gaze searching her face. “I was in the wine cellar. The door locked. I couldn’t get out.”
Automated door locks. She had a sudden dislike for all things electronic. She handed him her phone, anxious to be rid of it. “Roy called.” Her voice quivered, choked. “He’s hacked your automation system.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
‡
Five days later, Charlee rested her head against the window, the glass cool against her brow. The activity swarming around the tour buses filled her view from the rear of Vanderschoot’s warehouse loft. The bodyguard had moved the entire household—the band, her, Nathan, Faye, and the ten-man security team—into his two-thousand-square-foot building the night Roy hacked into the estate.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 147