Secrets: Web of Sin

by Aleatha Romig

  My tongue darted to my lips as I gaped, mesmerized by the sight. I’d never before watched a man pleasure himself. It was beautiful in more ways than I could have imagined.

  I wanted to reach out, to help him, but the vision was too perfect, and yet my body cried out to come. I’d been so close. All at once, it happened. Stream after stream spurted toward me. The flames of desire that had been burning within me were doused. Now rage rose from the ashes of desire.

  His cum coated my exposed breasts and onto the front of my dress.

  The scent of musk filled the room as I jumped from the bed, my high heels landing on the floor as I sent lasers from my own dark eyes. “What the actual fuck?”

  His posture straightened as he finished and casually worked to confine his still-large cock back into his jeans.

  His sneer was directed at me. “Good girls get to come. You asked for a punishment, there it was. You got it.”

  “What about the damn dress?” I asked, reaching for the blanket and wiping the silky liquid from my skin. I could clean my breasts and chest. I could move the dress into place and cover my breasts, but that wouldn’t hide the deep red stain as the luxurious fabric absorbed his seed.

  He shrugged. “As I recall, you decide what you wear and when. Wasn’t that what you said? It’s up to you, but once again, you might consider changing into something more comfortable.” He tilted his head and scrunched his nose. “Something...cleaner.”

  Slapping my hands against my hips I looked from the dress to him. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? If this weekend is about getting to know you, I think I’ve learned enough already.”

  The tips of his lips curled upward. “Araneae, you were the one who told me to fuck myself. You also told me you chose punishment over fucking. The person it seems you should be angry with is the one who gave those orders. Maybe next time you’ll let me be the one to decide. You see, my plan had been to watch you come.”

  As I began to respond, loud recurring pounding upon the bedroom door diverted our attention.

  “I said we weren’t to be disturbed,” Sterling called.

  “Sir, unless there’s an emergency.”

  The response got the attention of both of us.

  Patrick continued, “Mr. Sparrow, you haven’t answered our text messages.” His voice held more than a hint of urgency. “There’s a situation. It needs your immediate attention.”

  Sterling reached for his phone. As soon as the screen came to life, his countenance changed. From the beautiful man I’d watched come or even the smug asshole who’d demonstrated just how far he’d go to prove his point, he morphed into someone different. The man before me now was a granite statue like the man in the parking lot, one who currently radiated both power and rage.

  “Sterling, what is it?”

  He didn’t answer, taking two long strides toward the door. Just before opening it, he turned my way, his stone expression still sculpted and unmoving. “Grab that blanket and cover your dress. I’ll have Patrick bring you more clothes.”

  I momentarily looked down. I’d moved the dress to cover my breasts. The only thing about my appearance that was unacceptable was his doing. Fuck him. I wasn’t going to pretend that we were in here playing poker.

  When I didn’t move, he shook his head and reached for the doorknob.

  Patrick’s eyes opened wide, going from Sterling to me. Ignoring the ten-ton elephant in the room, he asked, “Sir, did you see the messages?”

  “I need more details.”

  As they started to walk away, I called out, “Patrick.”

  Turning, his eyes stayed steadfast on mine, not on the dress. “Ma’am.”

  “I need my suitcases in here as soon as possible.”

  Patrick’s gaze moved from me to Sterling.

  “Whatever she says,” Sterling said, “listen to her.”

  My hands went to my hips. “Then after you get my suitcases, tell Marianne to turn this plane around. I want to go home to Boulder.”

  “Anything except that,” Sterling replied to Patrick, before turning my way and adding, “One day you’ll learn to refrain from making uninformed demands. Obviously, today’s lesson wasn’t enough.” With that he turned, and with his long strides, disappeared from view.

  With a quick nod, Patrick followed one pace behind his boss.

  Fuck them both!

  Sterling

  “Sir, I apologize you didn’t know sooner. We tried numerous times to reach you,” Patrick said.

  “I was...occupied.”

  Was that an acceptable excuse?

  No.

  Araneae McCrie had been in my presence for only a few hours and already she was diverting my attention and messing with my head. The last few hours flashed before my eyes in less than a second. Everything about her set my soul ablaze, from her apprehension when she boarded the plane to the defiance burning in her eyes when she refused to cover the dress.

  Apprehension was expected, but what woman would refuse to cover a cum-stained dress?

  The answer ignited my skin and brought my half-mast cock back to life.

  The kind of woman who was stubborn, outspoken, and proud. A kick-ass woman who refused to be anything less than the person she’d been born to be, even if she didn’t know what that meant. Araneae’s regal attitude radiated about her as if she’d been raised to understand her place in this world, which she hadn’t. Whether working at Sinful Threads, protecting her friends, or standing in a stained dress, she fascinated and intrigued me like no other woman.

  My head shook as I recalled her making demands—of me.

  No one did that. No one told me what to do. My father had tried.

  The thought of him prompted me to glance down at the ring on my right hand, the one with the family crest. The difference was that with my father I strived to possess what he flaunted. With Araneae, my desire was for her to share it.

  Nevertheless, I needed to stay focused—and not on her.

  My goal—her—was accomplished.

  I had her. It was time to think about business. I hadn’t gotten to my status in this world by letting anyone or anything distract me. I needed to push her out of my brain, if only until the current emergency was handled.

  Out of my brain was difficult—out of my re-hardening dick was impossible. Just the thought of her bent over that bed...the light-blonde trimmed hair near her core. I was glad she wasn’t bare. Some men liked that, but not me. It was like fucking a child. No, Araneae was not a child. She was all woman, an intelligent, determined, beautiful one at that.

  It took every ounce of self-discipline for me not to take her when she was there, bared to me. I wanted her more than I’d wanted any woman—ever. Her pussy was wet, so damn tight, and quivering. She was on the edge. We both knew it. Araneae wasn’t the only one. I was there, too, hard as steel and ready to blow.

  One pinch of her swollen clit and she would have begged to have me inside her.

  I would have rather come in her tight pussy than over her tits and dress. A small smile tugged at my lips. I’d marked her—made her mine. It may be animalistic. That didn’t mean it wasn’t true. She could use whatever she wanted: shower, lotions, or perfume. None of it mattered because the moment I showered her in my cum, I’d secured what had been promised to me almost two decades before. I’d claimed what was mine.

  As that slide show of memories replayed, I knew she was going to be a handful. Fuck yes. Each tit fit perfectly in my hand. Her ass was made to cup and hold. With each step it was clear; I was up for the challenge.

  Gritting my teeth, I stormed through the cabin of the plane. Everything that happened in that bedroom was her doing. She wanted it. Araneae made her decision to avoid fucking. No matter how much punishment it was on both of us, she’d gotten what she’d requested. Eventually she would learn to be definite and certain before making demands—of me or anyone else.

  Regaining her name as well as being my wife will give her more power than she�
�d ever dreamt of having. That kind of authority required self-discipline.

  While the emergency was serious and required my input, I was thankful that Patrick interrupted us when he did. As accurate as my thoughts were in trying to teach Araneae a lesson, my restraint when it came to her was about gone.

  Her scent lingered as I ran my hand through my hair, a million questions coming to mind. My feet continued determinedly until I reached the round table near the cockpit of the plane. I hit the button on the table as a computer screen rose before me, and a small panel opened to a keyboard and mouse.

  My fingers began typing as my lips simultaneously demanded answers. “This wasn’t the flight we had originally booked?”

  “No, sir. It’s the one that Ms. Hawkins was changed to this evening.”

  “Tell me that Reid is on this.” Reid was still in Chicago, on one floor of my apartment that was devoted to the Sparrow outfit. He had every resource at his disposal.

  “He is,” Patrick said, taking the seat to my right and activating his computer.

  “How many people on the flight?”

  “One hundred and thirty-seven seats plus crew. The manifest hasn’t been released to know if the plane was full.” Before I could comment, Patrick continued, “Reid is looking into it. You know he’ll get it.”

  I did. He was the best. “What happened?”

  “The official statement is that the crash is still under investigation. Some sources are speculating birds. The aircraft was flying lower than normal to avoid a building weather system. However, at that stage of the flight, their altitude should have been too high for a bird encounter. Those usually occur at takeoff or landing. The airline isn’t willing to claim aircraft or technical malfunction or even pilot error without a thorough investigation.”

  My chest tightened at the thought of the emergency landing that jeopardized over a hundred lives. “The pilot saved them.”

  “Like the miracle on the Hudson. He and his copilot landed in a cornfield in north-central Iowa. Thankfully the area was unpopulated and open. The closest town has a population of less than a thousand people at last census.

  “The crew evacuated the plane immediately. Moments after the captain disembarked, the plane exploded. The wreckage is still burning and too hot to get near. It will take the NTSB years to sift through the debris.”

  “I want a complete list of passengers, the ones who were scheduled and missed their flight, those on the flight, and whose luggage was on board. I want to know if the flight was transporting anything else—packages, mail, commerce. Anything.” A thought punched me in the gut. “No casualties?”

  “Not yet. There were a few injuries with the landing and evacuation. They’re being transported to hospitals. Des Moines is a thirty-minute drive. It’s taken some time to get enough ambulances to the crash site.”

  “I want the names of every passenger who is injured and a detailed description of the injuries. What about...our decoy?”

  “She’s safe. I received a coded message as soon as she was released. She made a statement to the authorities and refused medical attention. I hadn’t gone to the trouble of assuring similar blood type, just that she visually appeared to be Ms. Hawkins.”

  “Whatever she earned, double it. Be sure she keeps quiet.”

  “She’s a professional and would like to work for you again. She won’t say a word. Her decision to refuse treatment was the best option and demonstrated her ability to think on her feet. Their likeness is truly remarkable. It’s my opinion that she could be useful in the future.”

  The screen before me came to life with live reports from outside Maxwell, Iowa. The chaotic scene flashed with a multitude of lights from the sirens of police and ambulance vehicles as, in the background, the wreckage of the 737 continued to burn. The reporter was speaking about the topography of the land. While known for its open fields, this area of Iowa also had a large portion of uninterrupted forest.

  While most reports were hailing the pilot a hero, some speculated about human error. I leaned back against the large leather seat and listened. Finally, I said, “I think we both know that the pilot isn’t responsible. We need to confirm who is.”

  “Unless the pilot works for McFadden or is connected in some way.”

  My gut twisted at Patrick’s words. I was off my game, not thinking about every possibility. He was right. It was too early to make assumptions. “Learn everything you can about this man and his copilot, too. I want to know about every investment, every cent they have, their properties, their debts, and their fucking children’s debts. I want to know if their spouses like to shop, play the ponies, or go to casinos. I want to know if there’s any connection to anything that sends up red flags: dark web, porn sites...anything. I want to know the last time each of them took a drink and when they last took a shit. I want everything.”

  Patrick didn’t answer verbally; however, the way his fingers flew over his keyboard told me that my orders were being communicated through our secure network to Reid and his team. I’d have answers soon.

  Both Patrick’s and my screen dinged with the announcement of an incoming message.

  My eyes grew wide at the new newscast Reid had sent our way. It was the crawl at the bottom of the screen: Two confirmed dead in four-apartment blaze, Boulder, Colorado.

  The table creaked as my fist landed hard upon its surface. “That’s her building, where she lived up until today. This is war. Full-out fucking war.”

  Patrick’s expression was one I’d seen before, one I’d seen as bullets flew and IEDs detonated around us, as men and women we knew were sacrificed for a cause we were told to believe in. The Sparrow name wasn’t a cause we had to be told to believe in. Sparrow and all it meant was how we were here, flying in this plane, communicating on networks that exceeded the technology used by our own government.

  Word had gotten out that McCrie was found. The implications were widely speculated, and it appeared that there were powers willing to do anything to stop her.

  “Do you think you should tell her?” Patrick asked.

  “She’s not ready to know it all.”

  He shook his head. “About the fire. The two people were her neighbors. I’ll find out their names. Our research showed that she was friendly with an elderly woman who lived below her.” His fingers continued to type. “Powell...Jeanne Powell.”

  “Is she one of the casualties?”

  “Reid is looking into it. There’s that whole not releasing information until next of kin are notified. That won’t stop him, though. He’ll find out.”

  I let out a long sigh. “She may think she does, but Araneae McCrie doesn’t have any friends. Kennedy Hawkins may have, but that life is over. She isn’t ready to know that either.”

  “One thing at a time,” Patrick said. “Should you tell her about the apartment?”

  I hated the idea of telling Araneae that her home for the last few years was gone. I hadn’t wanted her to pack the things she had. I’d wanted her to rely solely on me. Fuck, I could buy her anything her heart desired.

  The ring on my hand grew heavy as I stared for a moment at the crest. It was the same ring that bruised my cheek as a child, the one that glistened as my father conducted backroom meetings and ordered unimaginable atrocities. It was the same one that was visible from the podium as Allister Sparrow announced his candidacy for mayor.

  It was the one I was wearing when the police informed me that my father was dead.

  My neck straightened.

  No. I was glad Araneae disobeyed me and packed anything and everything that meant something to her. Mementos gave us roots. Hers had been severed by the cutting edge of more secrets than she was ready to face. She deserved to keep what she could of a time when her life seemed...normal.

  Because that time was gone forever.

  “Find out everything,” I said. “I’d suspect that soon her phone will receive a message from someone telling her what happened, not about the plane—there’s no wa
y they’ll know that was connected to her—but about her apartment building. When that happens, I want to be able to fill in the blanks.”

  Patrick’s gaze met mine. “Do you still plan to make her public?”

  “He needs to know I have her and she’s under Sparrow protection.”

  “It’s a risk.”

  “No. My men and women won’t let me down. Call your informant in Boulder—the woman. Find out what happened at the apartment. We both know that fire is used as a cover-up. Find out who was on the premises prior and how the fire started. My guess is that someone was looking for her or for something else.” Another thought occurred to me. “And double the protection on Jason, Louisa, Winifred, and the Nelsons.”

  “Even the girl in Boston, the sister?”

  “All of them. They’re not dying on our watch unless we learn they need to.”

  Araneae

  Clean and showered for the third time in twenty-four hours, wearing ripped jeans and a light sweater from my suitcase as well as a comfortable pair of ankle boots, I was ready to get out of the flying mansion. I hadn’t rewashed my hair, but the style from before was gone, transformed to a low braid and my makeup was minimal. Mr. Sparrow’s diamonds and necklace were back in their box.

  A knock came on the bedroom door. “Ms. Hawkins?”

  When I opened the door, I found Jana. We were about to land, and I needed to take a seat with a seat belt. As I entered the cabin area, voices seeped from the round-table area; however, with the partitions shut, the meaning of their words was muffled and undistinguishable. Though the content was out of my reach, the tone wasn’t. Whatever caused Patrick to interrupt Sterling and me earlier was resulting in heated discussion.

  “Will Ster—Mr. Sparrow be joining me?” I asked Jana.