“Come, Cherry. We leave.” William’s tone was curt.
She stood tall, gave Tyrone a parting, assertive glance, then left with a very terse, business-like William.
“The nerve of that man—touching what’s mine! That would have gone worse than south if I had not been there to protect you!”
“What is the matter? Truly?” She sighed.
He helped her into the motorcar. “That was a mockery of you—a trick to seduce you. Where was the director? Where was the script?”
“I already had the script and memorized my few lines,” she answered.
His grip on the wheel tightened, but they sat motionless. He wasn’t starting the vehicle or taking them home.
“He told me it would be only he and I and a few stagehands, so I was aware of how it would be.”
“And you accepted? Fuck! Clarissa—you are too naive! See why I must be there with you? He will take advantage.”
She chuckled.
“This is humorous to you?” he asked through his gritted teeth.
“No, but you are. He is the director of this play, so the essentials were in place. No one else was around because the music hall was shutting down for a few days for minor refurbishments and deep cleanings, or have you forgotten? He did me a favor by allowing me to come today. I asked this of him because I was hoping it would be quicker to be in and out of there without a lot of people to contend with. I wanted to get back to you quickly so we could perhaps spend the day together. Or so I could at least be at your beck and call. Isn’t that what you want?” She blinked a few times as he sat there stoic, holding his breath. “For my availability? I know it’s what I so desire. Did you listen to the words of my song? That was us. It was what you do to me—what you mean to me.”
He dropped his head, ground his teeth together and when he finally looked at her, his eyes welled up.
“I love you—more than any man can ever love a woman. That man makes me crazy, because he dazzles women. And with you aiming for the stage, he is something you probably think worth knowing. But he’s a monster. I was, too, so I know what he is.” He gripped her hand and put it over his heart. “No one wants me—that’s the truth. No one could bear to be near me, not really. I cannot lose you. I need you to be with me and to know you always will be.” He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed her ring. “This is all I know anymore.”
“Oh, sweetheart . . .” Her eyes softened right along with her heart. “I feel the same way. But Tyrone was right in one respect—you are an important man. You have things to attend to. You cannot possibly be here with me at all times if I am in rehearsals. There will be others around. Have I given you a reason to distrust me?”
“You run from me. That is what you do. What if I cannot find you when you hide away for good? What if he takes you away?”
She leaned in and placed her cheek on his heart. “Inside this brutal act is a scared little boy. Who has hurt you so badly? Who has rejected you? You know why I run, why I hide and why I want to be someone else on the stage. What is your story?”
He shook his head and held her head to his chest. “No—I cannot speak of it. Don’t ask me to.”
“Then you are the one hiding again.”
His fingers ran through her hair. “I am, but I have good reason. Please . . . Cherry, let us just be in peace. Let me manage all this. Let me protect you from the demons that flock around you.”
She took a deep breath and lifted her head, staring at him while keeping her cheek on his breast. “I will allow you to hide for now, but if you are to be my husband, then I don’t want this deep secret creating a gulf between us. The small things you can keep from me, but not this. If I am to let you in all the way, I must know what’s been barring me thus far.”
“Time.”
“Yes, I will give time, but if you are to ever trust me not to leave you, it means you have to share this.”
He nodded, and tears dripped down on her face.
“Please, Cherry, just love me.”
“I do.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it and closed his eyes.
The next thing she knew, he was caving in on her, weeping silently, and she was the one protecting him from prying eyes.
She pulled his head down into her lap and she stroked and held him as he cried.
Someone had broken this man at one time worse than she could’ve ever imagined.
And now her heart was shattered for him, too.
“Oh, Will. You mean everything to me, and I’ll never leave you. Never.”
Chapter 16
William ended his phone call with Tyrone. It was insufferable in so many ways.
When he went in search of Clarissa, she was in the kitchen as usual, helping the cook with her chores.
How many times had he taken her away from Pauline, Elizabeth and even from Mrs. Garrity as she all but did their tasks for them?
The woman liked to work her fingers until they gave out with all the scrubbing she did.
He steered her out through the kitchen without a word by grasping the back of her arm.
Several times she glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fright.
“I’m sorry—I can’t keep from helping them,” she said as they passed through the door into his office.
“We’ll discuss that later.” He frowned.
“I know you say your money is here for my use so I don’t have to labor this hard, but I . . .”
He sighed with a frustrated grunt at the end and dragged his hands down his cheeks and jaw. “Tyrone called, and I spoke with him. Scala Theater is not good enough for you.” He paced, cocking his head at her.
“It’s one of the biggest,” Clarissa replied. “Stop fuming about this. Be happy for me, please.”
She tugged him over to his office chair, sat him down and then took her place on his lap.
How did she know exactly what he needed? He snuggled into her and hummed.
His shoulders relaxed, his constricting chest loosened and her warm, inviting scent enveloped him.
“Two days, though? He insults us by waiting so long to give you the call back.” He shook his head and licked his lips.
“It’s not criticism, silly man. He’s being a shrewd businessman. Most call backs take weeks. If anything, he expedited it so you would not come after him with your fists.” She turned around, straddled him, spread her skirts out and then wrapped herself around him.
The heat of her, the sound of her breath and feel of her pulse settled him like it always did.
“What is this power you have over me, darling girl? Hmm . . . ?” He stroked her hair and wanted to scream that she was his so Tyrone and everyone else would stop coming after this treasure he’d found.
“Only the power of two souls united—because you do the same to me.” She sighed. “Now, we have his party to attend tonight. It’s for the entire cast, and I am to be there.” She sat up and blinked at him with an open, trusting expression.
“Yes, yes—how can I forget?” He groaned.
Her chest lifted, drawing his eyes to her breasts.
“But first . . .” He reached around her, unlaced at her back, releasing her from her dress.
“Is there time for this? Mustn’t we be getting ready?”
“There is plenty of time. No more discord. Only pleasure . . .” His body hummed with a different type of energy—a type that was slightly vicious, very erotic and heady, making his head buzz.
When he had her in her brassiere and panties, he set her on his desk.
The door was closed, but once more, unlocked.
“I have a message for you, dearest,” he lilted. He spread her out on his desk, and she smiled, her chest flushing.
He pulled out his double-sided, monogrammed wax seal with his initials W. F. on it.
His jaw pulled tight as he smiled widely. “My package to open.”
He poured some ink into his palm, pressed the seal into the ink and then stampe
d her navel with it.
“Mine—oh yes, you are mine—all mine.” He bent down and kissed next to it, then blew across the ink on her belly.
Her abdomen rippled with her laugh.
“Pull your cups down. I want to see those gorgeous breasts,” he told her.
She did it and then set her hands on the desk. He edged closer to her, and sat on the edge of the furniture, then dipped the wax seal back into the ink waiting in his palm.
He stamped one breast, then the other, and this mischievous smirk took over his entire body.
“Beautiful—absolutely stunning with a more indelible mark on you. This will take days to wash away.” God, that felt perfect, knowing she would wear him on her skin in some way. Not that Tyrone would ever see it, but the idea it was hidden away like a secret crest over her heart, a shield of his to protect her, made him growl deep in the back of his throat. “Fuck! It’s perfect.”
His cock tightened when her fingers lifted and roamed delicately over the marks he’d put on her.
He yanked out his hankie, wiped his hand dry and set the wax seal on the desk after wiping it dry as well.
“Lie still,” he said a moment later as he pulled his cock out and then climbed up on the desk.
She was at his mercy, beneath him, eyes wide and breaths ripping out of her with utter excitement.
He pumped himself, allowing his eyes to roam over every luscious inch of her. “This is how we get ready to attend his party. You will smell of me, and only me.”
Her breath hitched, and her fingers flexed on the desk.
He gripped both of her hips, then rubbed his erection all over the mark on her belly.
“Oh God—oh, Clarissa, you don’t know how good you look with my initials on you.” He rubbed a little harder and pressed his bodyweight into his hands.
When he removed his hands to stroke his cock once more, there were faint black hand prints left behind from him. “Oh Jesus! That’s . . . You will kill me now, wearing the proof of my touch, too.” He tossed his head back, moaned like he would expire and then her little hands were on him, yanking him furiously.
When he dropped his head to watch, she pushed herself up so her mouth was straining toward his cock.
He scooted forward and her lips brushed his tip each time she tugged on the upstroke.
His leaking head made her cry out. Did she want more? Did she want to taste him?
He wiggled his hips to run his head back and forth across her parted lips.
When she extended her tongue, licked off the creamy beginnings, she pulled the jets of milky come right out of him.
She tried to suck and got a little for her efforts, but as she licked it off her lips, he jerked back and made sure it squirted all over her neck and on her breasts.
He wanted to scent her where it would be most noticeable.
She dipped her fingers in it and licked it off.
“Christ—see why I worry? I cannot lose this—cannot lose you. This is why I can never get enough of you.” His cock twitched as the last of his fluids dribbled out.
He sighed, and so did she.
She wore a sated, finished look.
“You will reek of me,” he said with pride evident in his voice.
“When do I not? If it’s not from your manhood spilling on me, then it’s from your soap or cologne.” She beamed at him. “I would not have it any other way.”
He smeared his slippery come all over her chest, rubbed it in and enjoyed every second of it.
She was not the only one that enjoyed being this naughty.
He pulled the cups back up on her brassiere, climbed back off the desk and tucked his cock away.
She lay there, watching him patiently.
He helped her up, kissed, hugged and giggled with her. “We are so frightfully bad.”
“Yes, yes, and we both are probably in need of punishment. Think of how fun that shall be.”
“Oh.” She pepped up a little, her eyes zinging with a zest for it. “I like the sound of that.”
“My, my . . . What I have turned you into,” he mused.
“I think it was already there. You only found a way to bring it to the surface.” She motioned for her clothing.
He helped her dress like he always did—fondling her along the way.
When he was done, he stroked the nape of her neck. “Keep your hair up this time. There’s nothing there to give it away. It’s all under here.” He cupped her breasts. “Plus, it’ll make Tyrone insane as he tries to guess why it was down two days ago when you came in for your audition.”
She smirked. “Such the wily one, you are.”
He huffed for a moment, then pushed his shoulders back. “If I wanted a compliment from you, I’d much rather hear about how my skills in the dark room keep you up at night, wanting more.”
“Why would I ever say that? Good Lord—you know I don’t sleep.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll visit you nightly from now on.” He motioned for her to come to him.
She stood in place, studying him. “I lack control as it is around you. We need to maintain some semblance of decency. We have our moments during the day that we play, but at night, the staff needs to think me moral.”
He choked back a laugh. She was brimming over with a stubbornness he did not want to contend with, so he stifled his laughter completely away.
“Forgive me. I’m a spoiled man—when you allowed me inside your ass, I hoped it would be a regularly reoccurring experience.” He bowed.
“We had a moment rules did not apply. It was a slipup, but we have rallied and are back to being sensible.” She tipped her chin up.
“Good, good—playact that you are indifferent to it all. That will be good when you are near Tyrone.” He smirked. “This is why I admire you so.”
“Quit being my cute little couillon. I have things to attend to.” She swept past him, and he let her go.
He cleaned up the mess they’d made on his desk, then he went and let his staff know they’d be gone for this party tonight.
* * *
Clarissa was clad in a melon-colored dress that made the blue of her eyes seem almost electrified.
Her hair was pinned up in elaborate twists with a few of her loose curls sweeping around her heart-shaped face.
The pearl drop earrings she wore made him smile.
“Taunting me, my little pearl? Perhaps you’ve forgotten about the underpants I’ve made for you with one of your very own? Hmm?” His right brow inched up to his hairline.
She smirked back and went silent, waiting for him by the door.
He offered her his arm, and they strolled out to his motorcar.
“Someday I intend to fuck you in this transportation,” he said.
She flushed and wore a look of hope.
“Maybe after Tyrone’s party, eh?”
She sucked in her cheeks, then released them. “We shall see if you are in an ill humor or not. That will most likely be the determining factor.”
They drove there in silence, both relaxed and both contemplative.
Once they were there, he brought her directly inside and sat her on a settee by herself as he went to greet their host and acquire a drink for them both.
But as he was looking for Tyrone, Lenora swept down on him in a burgundy dress that screamed of harlotry.
The contrast between her brazen, loose morals in this dress made to incite a man’s lusts and Clarissa’s innocence in her melon-colored dress was fierce.
He kept a respectable distance as Lenora trailed after him. “William, we have much to discuss.”
“We have nothing to discuss, other than your disappearance from the stage. I intend to have you removed as soon as I have time to manage it. As an engaged man, I have little time to trifle with the likes of you.”
Lenora gasped and made this gurgling noise. “How dare you treat me as an inferior! I am the best female presence New York stages have ever known!”
“I
n the past few weeks, yes, but that is not saying much, now is it? We have had a dearth of talent, all until I found my Clarissa. Miss Stone can sing you off a stage any day of the week.” He grabbed a champagne glass as a servant walked by with it on a tray. “Here. Maybe this will help you maintain your lofty illusion of exactly who you are on that stage. And here”—he passed her his handkerchief—“more padding for your breasts so they’re distracted with your shapely form, rather than your ill-suited voice for the tunes required.”
She readied to splash it in his face, but he was already gone.
The second he was out of her grasp, she was surrounded by two men, leering at her and those said overstuffed breasts of hers.
He found his cherry girl sitting on a large velvet forest green sofa with Tyrone on one end of her and Michael Willis on the other. Willis was new to the stage, but he was already earning a name as a burgeoning opera singer.
Fuck—a flame of jealousy licked its way up William’s spine and pushed him toward her at an alarming pace.
Cherry girl tucked her feet up under her in a most unladylike manner. Tyrone seemed completely transfixed by her, and if he was not mistaken, Willis was also taken by her.
She spoke animatedly, her hands waving about as she discussed the merits of modern composers.
“Surely, you cannot believe Rachmaninoff as influential as Chopin or even Beethoven?” Willis leaned toward her.
As she angled away from Tyrone and toward Willis, Tyrone crept up behind her, leaned in and took a deep whiff at her hair.
William’s fingers flexed, and his jaw set in place.
“There is value from all artistic creation. I rather enjoy listening to Hoffman, Godowsky and Friedman as well.” She set her hands in her lap and clasped her fingers together.
“Your grandfather would be proud of you then,” Willis commented.
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