by Shayne Ford
Deftly, he slides the back zipper down and lets the garment fall. I step out of it, his palms steady on my skin, his touch igniting a storm inside me.
“Eyes,” I murmur.
He swivels to his side and picks a patch of silk off a table. Gently he covers my eyes with a mask.
“On your knees,” he orders, not a hitch in his voice.
I kneel in front of him, my hands tied together, my eyes covered, my chest bare.
Sebastien was never smooth as him. He also never loved me. Unlike the man in front of me.
A warm hand comes to my face. It’s tender and gentle, and I give it my trust. So much different than Sebastien’s hand.
His fingers trace my face, stroke my cheeks, comb a few stray locks away.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters sincerely.
It’s more than a compliment, I can tell. And I can also tell, it’s not only the artist in him speaking. This thing between us, although it started as a game, it’s much more now.
His thumb sweeps my lips, smudging my lipstick. I smile beneath his touch.
“Your red lips around my cock,” he mutters to himself, the soft sound of skin rubbing against skin coming to my ears.
I imagine him stroking it.
“I want to touch it.”
“You will, but not now. Have patience,” he says, a smile getting sucked into his throaty voice.
My nipples steel.
He must’ve noticed them as well. He palms my mounds, one by one while he keeps stroking himself.
The scent of his arousal travels to me, making my mouth water.
His hand leaves my chest as he pulls closer to me and probes my mouth again. I welcome his thumb between my lips.
On cue, I start to suck on it.
“Easy, beautiful girl,” he murmurs as I get all passionate about it.
He pulls his fingers out and positions himself against my mouth. His smooth, chiseled crown, slowly pushes forward, his hard length sliding between my lips.
My mouth wraps around his girth, my lungs expanding with more air as I breathe only through my nostrils.
I press my tongue against his flesh and start to bob my head.
He quietly growls. I feel him pulsing.
“Damn... It feels so good,” he says.
He pulls back a little and rock-hard, he enters my mouth again, pushing deeper.
I take him deeper. As deep as I can.
He starts moving, and I start sucking.
His grip tightens on my cheek as he begins to edge. The closer he gets, the more control he exerts. He cups both cheeks with his hands and chooses the rhythm, guiding my mouth against his shaft.
He gets closer. I start dripping. Without any clue from me, he lifts me and tosses me on the bed. He rips my panties off and spreads my legs, entering me with a long deep thrust that pushes me over the edge.
I shudder under him while he pounds me with force. The orgasm sweeps through both of us like a twister of pleasure. He grunts. I moan. Both getting drunk for a moment.
My mind goes blank for a few seconds, and only later on, when our breaths begin to settle, I think of him again.
Fuck you, Sebastien Rockford.
SEBASTIEN
“Sir?”
The valet holds the door for me as I walk out of the club through the back door and slip into the driver’s seat. The air is warm inside the car, infused with a scent of leather mixed with scotch.
The door closes with a muffled thud. My eyes swing to the board clock. It’s almost 3 AM.
Smoothly, I steer the car and glide away from the club.
Ice covers the trees.
I drive slowly, taking my time. There’s no place I need to be. The car rolls through downtown, leaving the streets and the tall buildings behind. The store windows glow, the intersection’s lights blinking lonely.
I veer the car toward the park, and soon, I roll onto her street. Glazed with snow and ice, the place looks like a Christmas card. The park sprawling on my left, the houses looking all alike, at my right.
All the windows are dark except for hers. I turn the lights off, and let my ride glide in silence, smoothy bringing it to a stop across the street from her place.
I turn off the engine and climb out.
The lights are on, but she’s not in her room.
Her dog starts to bark, and moments later, she enters her office, holding it in her arms, and quietly scolding her.
Long, waving locks the color of the gold and wheat fall freely on her back
She wears a red plush robe and an absent smile.
For a moment, I see her even better as she tucks the dog in her bed near the window. She talks to her pooch before she spins around and takes a seat behind her desk.
Her eyes move to the screen of her computer but I can tell that her mind is not there. Her lips curve into a smile, her gaze rooted to the screen.
Her lips move as if she’s talking to herself, and then she leans back in her seat, grinning.
Her eyes sparkle with unbridled joy.
Quite a change from a few weeks back when all I saw on her face was dread and gray.
My phone vibrates, flashing a message.
Scott: She’s on her way home.
I type back.
Me: Did she go to the same place?
Scott: Yes.
Me: Thanks.
I slide my phone into my pocket and lift my gaze, a surprise waiting for me.
She’s no longer at her desk.
Standing at the window, she looks at me. Her fingers splayed on the glass. Her eyes filled with questions.
She waves at me slightly when I lock eyes with hers. I slowly nod and smile.
Something, a noise perhaps, makes her break her gaze away from mine. She spins around, and dashes to the door.
It could be him.
No longer smiling, I slide into my car, turn on the ignition and pull my ride away. It all remains behind me, wrapped in the story of the frosted winter.
He won’t be there for long.
I can promise her that.
10
TESS
The cold air bites at my legs as I keep my eyes on his car until it vanishes around the corner.
How long has he been watching me?
He smiled at me.
The thought alone puts a grin on my lips. Shivering, I spin around and enter the house, quietly closing the door and locking it.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, I flip my eyes up, my hand flying to my chest.
“God, Allan! You scared me.”
Clad in pajamas and a navy robe he looks at me from the top of the stairs.
“I thought I heard a noise,” I say, managing to keep my voice clear and even, such a contrast to the panic exploding in my veins.
He quirks an eyebrow.
“And?”
A shudder goes through me as I sense the hostility in his voice.
“It was nothing,” I casually say, turning the lights off in the hallway and heading to the kitchen. “A car passed by,” I add as I round the bottom of the stairs. “Do you want some tea?”
His eyes follow me, yet he doesn’t move.
“No, I’m good,” he says with a dry voice. “I’ll go back to bed. I need to be up in three hours.”
I listen to his steps as he heads to the bathroom. A sigh of relief leaves my lips the moment the house turns quiet again.
And then guilt punches me in my chest.
I feel torn.
Torn as if a part of me was carved out, and now I’m bleeding everywhere.
How can I do this to him? When did I become that kind of person?
And why can’t I stop that man?
I suddenly feel angry. Angry at him and me. Even at Allan for being so good to me while I am so ungrateful to him.
I feel a lump forming in my throat and then the tears ready to trickle down.
And the pain that holds me hostage.
Why do I
need that man so much?
I wipe a few tears away from below my eyes and shift my focus to the stove.
Absently, I prepare a mint tea.
I pour a few drops of cream and honey into the cup and stir it with a teaspoon. I take a sip. It’s fresh and fragrant, sweet and creamy.
The hot tea rolls down my throat, warming me up.
I enter my office, fish off my phone from my desk, and tuck myself under the covers, my sofa becoming my new bed.
Luna lifts up her head, giving me a foggy glance before she goes back to sleep.
The lights are low, the blue screen of my phone glowing in the dimness. My thoughts start dancing in my head. All kinds of thoughts. Some laden with emotions. Others barren. Some loud. Some quiet. Some screaming. Others whispering.
I slide my index finger onto the screen and go back to our last conversation.
The screen stares at me while I gaze vacantly at it.
I start to type.
Me: You’ve been following me for a long time.
I read my message a few times, going back and forth before I finally decide to send it.
My eyes stay rooted to the screen as I take another sip of tea.
Me: Why?
Silence greets my question.
I flip the phone and slide it onto the table.
Head sunk into the pillow, I stare at the ceiling, registering every little noise. Luna’s rhythmic breaths, and the wind moaning outside. Even Allan, snoring upstairs.
After a very long time, my brain is no longer scattered.
In fact, I’ve never felt more focused in my entire life. My perception is sharp, registering every little detail, with so much intensity and clarity, and yet the most important thing I’d like to learn I cannot see.
Why?
Why is he following me?
What made him come to me?
How did he even know about my existence?
No matter how much I spin my mind, and try digging for the answers, I cannot see that very thing.
The rational side of my brain doesn’t help at all. Perhaps because nothing seems to make sense.
Nothing.
Why me?
Of all the women he has crossed paths with, why did he choose me?
A married woman with a good husband.
Why does he need me?
Does he?
What makes him so hungry for me?
I ponder for a few moments, and then I flick my hand annoyed as if I want to chase that thought away.
I can’t even explain my own attraction to him.
Not that it’s hard to be attracted to him. No, no. That part can be easily explained. It makes a lot of sense, and anyone can see it.
He has everything a woman could want in a man.
But the way I feel for him goes way beyond that. When I think about him, it’s not only his face and eyes and lips that shackle me to him. It’s something much deeper and stronger than that. It’s a pain I feel inside, a longing that’s been with me for some time. It’s his flesh calling me, and his heart luring me, and his mind whispering to mine.
It’s a force I cannot fight.
What am I saying? He is more like an addiction.
“But he is married,” I mutter bitterly, quickly becoming angry again.
Why, Sebastien?
Why?
There must be a reason for all this, but I cannot see it.
For the very first time since I’ve started doing this, analyzing and dissecting, the thread that connects everything eludes me. I can’t see the big picture. I feel lost, and yet I love that feeling when it comes to him.
It’s all a storming chaos with him the central figure.
The man I am connected to and watches me. The man who knows my life better than I do. The man who knows my moves, my heart and everything that spins inside it. I bet, he knows exactly what I think this moment.
It’s early morning when I fall asleep, and even then, caught between the blurred edge of awareness and my sleep, I dream of him.
A couple of weeks pass by.
They bring calm at home and a blizzard in my soul. Things are steady with Allan. He travels a lot, no longer holds anything against me, and generally speaking, he is less and less preoccupied with the state of my mind.
We sleep separately, and although we haven’t made a verbal agreement we avoid being intimate as well.
He seems distracted lately, and as a noticeable change, he started to go out alone.
Mom says it’s an ominous sign, and possibly an indication that he might be seeing another woman. Viola dispels her theory, saying that it is biased and based on her personal experience with my dad.
I tend to agree with her.
Allan was, and still is above suspicion.
Anna says that everything is possible and while I do agree with her, Allan is not that kind of man.
“The signs are there,” she says as I place a plate with chocolate cookies on the table in front of her.
“What signs?” I ask, plopping on a chair.
She takes a swig of lemonade before she speaks.
“He leaves you alone, and no longer talks about your problems.”
I disagree, so I raise my hand.
“There are no problems. Not lately anyway,” I say, assuming that she solely referred to me.
“You two no longer share the bedroom, Tess.”
“We never did,” I toss back at her, munching on a cookie.
She shakes her head suggestively.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah... I know.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
I shrug.
“I’m okay. I’m not even thinking about it.”
My voice is quieter this time.
I tip my head down to hide my eyes.
“What are you thinking about then?” she asks after a few moments of silence.
I munch slowly on a piece of almond.
“Have you heard from that man?” she asks.
I shake my head.
I run a napkin across my lips and swallow a few times, pushing my emotions back.
“Have you tried to contact him?” she asks.
I finally lift my gaze.
“No.”
Taking a long breath, I push the plate away from me.
“Have you had the chance to talk to him?”
“Talk about what?” I shoot back at her, my frustration speaking.
She’s visibly taken aback by my reaction.
“I don’t know. There are so many things you don’t know about him.”
“I don’t know anything about him,” I mutter. “Other than his business and his public persona, I know nothing about his private life.”
“You said that he called you a while back.”
“Yeah, he did. And we talked, but there was nothing important really,” I say, hoping to put a stop to the conversation.
The last thing I want is to delve into the details of my encounter with him.
“He’s not important,” I say as I push out of my chair, collect my plate and head to the sink.
I turn the faucet on and wash it.
She stays silent until I finish washing the dish, turn off the water and dry off my hands.
“How can you say he’s not important when he affects you so much?”
I stop by the kitchen counter and lean against it, my arms folding over my chest.
“It doesn’t matter how he makes me feel. He was nothing but a tease. And I was nothing but a game to him,” I say, my words heavy with frustration. “I shouldn’t have left myself dragged into that story. It was all fueled by my imagination.”
She studies me in silence.
“You’re angry with him,” she says silently.
“Yes, I am. But more than that I’m angry with me. I let this whole thing get out of control.”
“What thing?”
I go back to the table and take a seat.
“I’ve b
een thinking a lot these past weeks,” I say, not looking at her. “I don’t know why Allan acts the way he does. And I have no idea why I thought for a brief moment that Sebastian Rockford could be obsessed with me.”
“I’m sorry, but If I were you, I would’ve thought the same way.”
I flick my gaze up.
She nods and continues.
“Only someone obsessed with you couldn’t have done what he did.”
“He didn’t do anything,” I say.
“How can you say that? He stalked you.”
I raise my hand.
“Okay. Even so,” I say and pause for a moment. “I don’t think that I meant anything to him,” I say no longer looking at her, my voice drowning in sorrow.
I pause for a few moments as my true feelings surface now, yet I shy away from sharing them with her.
I can’t tell her what happened that night on the alley, and how he watched me from across the street a few hours later.
I can’t tell her how good he made me feel, and then, how bad he made me feel when I haven’t heard from him.
I can’t tell her that I gave in and let him have me.
I can’t even tell myself all of that without getting crushed under the mountain of guilt.
I flick my hand up.
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” I say, checking the time on my phone. “I have to get ready. The party is at nine o’clock.”
With these words, I slam an invisible door over the topic.
11
TESS
Allan calls me at the last minute and tells me that he’s late and plans to meet me there.
It’s a corporate party hosted by the bank he works for in one of the most expensive skyscrapers in town.
He goes on and on about the last minute meeting that he needs to attend. I pay little attention to his excuse as I walk into the closet.
We end the call, and for a few good minutes, I ponder over my attire options. From a couple of hangers, I retrieve my top choices. A flowing red dress with open back and criss-crossed straps and a tailored, black dress with long sleeves.
I try them on and go with the red dress.
It’s slightly more revealing, given the spaghetti straps and the silk chiffon molding to my silhouette, but the color compliments my complexion better. I slip thigh high stockings underneath and a matching set of red lace lingerie with garters.