by Rayne,Amber
I had given him everything and it wasn’t enough.
My mother pressed her lips together and waited a few minutes, with a prim demure look as she waited for people to stop shooting furtive looks in our direction.
“Well, I hope you handled disagreements with him better than you did just now,” she said, taking another drink from her glass.
Luckily the server came, the conversation mellowed, or maybe it did because of the two martinis I had downed.
The dinner came to an end; I didn’t want dessert. My mom wasn’t a bad person; just pragmatic, something I established long ago. She didn’t instill in us love, fairytales and white knights but qualities that we should look for in a man that would make us happy. But I don’t think she knew what happiness was. My parents had been married for close to thirty years and as long as I could remember, it seemed like a business arrangement rather than a marriage and we were treated as assets. It was like she was saying, “Look at me, we have two beautiful daughters: they play instruments, sports, have good grades and went to the best colleges”. We were the trophies of their union that they put on display for their friends to prove their greatness. Their oldest daughter graduated with honors, left her flourishing career to stay at home with her two children while her husband, Riley Simms, MD, orthopedic surgeon worked. But it was the youngest daughter that knocked some of the shine off their trophy case. I didn’t have a glamorous job, I graduated with honors with a double major, but I was missing that other piece that I was expected to have—a successful husband. The fact that my fiancé left me somehow had become my fault.
I held the sigh as my mother gave me cautious glances over her the wine glass that had been filled again and was constantly at her lips. Before bed she would probably have another one or two.
Her sigh was weighted with quiet resolve, “He called me today. Josh wants me to get the ring from you.”
And there was the kill. I was wounded, embarrassed and abandoned, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to take the knife and twist it in me and have my mother help gut me.
I took another sip from my glass and nodded my head, putting on a brave face, as I grabbed my purse off the chair, and took the box out. In silence, I placed the ring in front of her.
Good riddance to you Jason. Go to hell.
My mom didn’t seem to mind when I declined a ride home. The tension had heightened to a point it was uncomfortable, we were being mechanically cordial to each other and I just wanted some distance before I said something I would regret or she gave me another of her thinly veiled insults. When I told her that I need to go to the office, which was fifteen minutes from the restaurant, she dropped me off and I promised I would catch a cab home. We departed with the typical perfunctory hug and kiss.
Instead of taking on the unnecessary expense, I decided to take the train home. The walk to the station would clear my head.
I navigated through the crowd that wasn’t as heavy as I would have expected on a late Thursday evening. The cool autumn air was what I needed, it felt like it started to cleanse away the bad feelings left from dinner with my mother. Or so it should have. I couldn’t get her words out of my head. That ever existing doubt was there. The last three years of our relationship went through my head and I second guessed everything about it. The moments went by in slow motion as I considered the relationship: the fights and arguments outweighing the laughter and joyous times. The numerous times I found strands of hair on his clothes that wasn’t mine. The time I walked in on him in his office with a woman on her knees in front of him. All the times I ended up at my parent’s home and my mother telling me that it was just that time, and I had to forgive him that one time. But was it just the one time? I was so focused on my thoughts that everything around me became a dim blur as I walked down the street distracted.
I was trying to shake off the memories when someone grabbed me and pulled me into the alley just about a block from the train and pushed me against the wall. I started to scream, but a hand covered my mouth before I could. The person blocked my legs when I attempted to knee him in the groin.
“Shhh…it’s okay,” the low, deep voice said softly. My eyes were clenched tight and I was panting, unable to calm. Fear had overtaken me and I couldn’t catch my breath. After a few moments it stabilized and I opened my eyes to find narrowed amber eyes looking back at me.“You weren’t paying attention,” Aiden said.
“I usually do…I…just,” I sputtered out.
He was right. I should have been paying more attention. What if it weren’t him but a stranger—a real stranger—a dangerous stranger? It was a couple hours after rush hour and I was usually overly cautious when the streets were filled with busy people bustling about. It was easy to become a victim of a pick pocket, a purse snatcher or worse. I usually did everything to keep safe and not be a victim of it: kept my bag near my body, didn’t wear headphones, was always aware of my surroundings. And I was even more cautious when the streets were empty because at least when it was busy someone could hear me scream.
“It only takes one time Ella,” he said softly, regarding me for a long time. It was hard holding his gaze and I dropped it several times before I rested my head against the building, taking in slow draws of air that were unobtainable just minutes ago. He continued to watch me. When I pulled myself from the wall, his warm hand slipped around me and rested on my low back. “Come with me.”
He led me about a block away to a Cuban restaurant, one I had passed so many times with the promise to visit it the next time I passed it but I never did.
“I already ate,” I said.
“Fine, we’ll just have dessert and drinks,” he said. “You seem like you could use a drink,” he said.
His hand rested on mine as the host led us to our table. After we sat down, I mirrored his silence though his held a level of intensity. His long look roved over my face, then my breasts where it lingered and finally rested on my hands that were fidgeting on the table.
“What’s the matter?” he finally asked.
“I had a rough day.” He nodded and waited. It was obvious the simple platitude wasn’t going to satisfy his curiosity.
“Tell me about it?”
“I had dinner with my mom,” I blurted.
That wasn’t what he expected. His brow rose in curiosity, but his voice stayed low and even. “Dinner with your mother constitutes a rough day?” he asked leaning into the table. Did he know how intense he was? His eyes pulled me in, I felt like the people in room had disappeared, the soft music that played in the background—simply nothing else existed. The servers moving around the room, bringing orders while people conversed in the crowded place, all seemed to diminish in that moment. The cognac gaze left me feeling more intoxicated than the martini I had earlier.
“Not all the time,” I stopped speaking when the waitress came to the table; he ordered a bottle of wine and Copa Lolita.
I shrugged, “Usually it isn’t,” I said when the server left. Although there wasn’t a lot of truth to the statement. Meals with my mother were pleasant enough but every one of them seemed to be laced with a subtle mask of disappointment. I was a disappointment and she was incapable of hiding it.
He waited with ardent curiosity for me to continue; becoming distracted for only a moment to test the wine presented to him before giving them the okay to pour it. I needed the few moments to compose myself. I was having dinner— well, dessert and wine, with the stranger from the café who had caught my attention for the greater part of the year. Café Americano was sitting across from me and curious about my life and all I could offer was front row seat into the dysfunction of my family.
“Finish,” he urged, relaxing back in his chair as he took a drink from his glass.
“We were just finalizing some last minute wedding stuff,” I said.
His brow furrowed. “I was under the impression the wedding was off.”
“It is. Last minute wedding cancellation things.” I looked down at my bare hand
s. “I gave my mother the ring to give back to him,” I said.
He nodded but remained silent.
Finally, after I had finished my glass of wine, he asked. “What are you going to do now?”
“Drink,” I joked as I took another sip from the glass he had refilled. “A lot, until things don’t seem so crappy.”
He studied me, long lingering looks roved over me while a hint of a miscreant smile fell over his lips. “What about the honeymoon, what were your plans?”
“Can we not talk about this,” I snapped. I looked down at my hands embarrassed at my outburst.
“Don’t do that,” he said softly.
“Do what?”
“Ever feel embarrassed with me or deny who you are just to make me comfortable with whoever you think I want you to be,” he said. “Be who you are, at least with me. If you’re angry—it’s okay. And if you’re frustrated—” he shrugged. “It’s okay to show it.”
“I am being me. I don’t usually snap at people. I’m sorry.”
He frowned as he took a drink from his glass.
I looked down, dropping his gaze. The intense amber eyes bore into me, studying me with intent. I took another long drink and just when I was going to go for another, his hand covered mine.“Tell me about you, Ella.”
Heat blazed at my cheeks; embarrassed that he made me feel like this—vulnerable. His requests seemed like softly word commands. A firm entreat for compliance. I felt strangely at ease, but nervous.
“There’s nothing much to tell. I have a sister, six years older. I have two nieces. A B.A. from the University of Illinois. I started on my MBA but quit after I got engaged.”
“Why did you quit?” he asked. The truth made me feel stupid. What would he think if I told him I did it for Jason? He said it was a waste of money since once we started with a family, he wanted me home. But really, he wanted me home for him, to cater to him.
“It just wasn’t for me.”
His thumb stroked over my hand, so gentle, and it made me wonder: was his touch was always this way? But there was something predacious about his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the lingering looks he gave the impression that he wasn’t.
“I’m gentle sometimes,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
He chuckled, a dark playful sound. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very expressive face? Don’t ever play poker,” he teased, as he moved his hand away and sat back in his chair. “What do you do for fun Ella?”
I loved the way my name rolled of his tongue, sensual, commanding, and deep. It took my mind to places, naughty places. Warmth crept up my cheeks.
It had been years since I had done what I wanted for fun. Jason’s needs had taken over my life. I used to dance, hike, bowl and despite being terrible at it, paint. And I loved going to go to any and every museum I could find. I’d travel to Indiana, Kentucky and Michigan because I had visited the ones in Illinois so often and I needed something different. And taking a flight or train to D.C was something that I did occasionally. But once my relationship with Jason started three years ago, those things slowly played back seat to his interests. He liked sports, so we went to games a lot. Dinners with friends and people we needed to meet and parties, fund raisers, and country clubs. I hated it. Sometimes I just wanted something simple. Simple was good.
We finished the bottle; or rather, I completed the bottle and Aiden finished his glass. He kept his arms around me and I was aware of how close he held me and when he spoke his lips brushed against my face. His hand wrapped around my arm, he guided me to the black Maybach waiting for us in front of the restaurant. I stumbled into it and rested back on the plush leather and when he slipped in next to me, I rested my head against his shoulder.
“You’re drunk,” he whispered into my hair.
I shook my head.
He smiled. He lifted my chin to meet his eyes, “We are going to have to work on that,” he said against my mouth as his tongue brushed against my lips before he kissed me. He pulled away mere seconds before I could respond.
Stroking away the unruly strands of hair that wouldn’t stay out of my face, he asked, “Where are we going?”.
“Home.”
“Yours or mine?” he asked with a devilish grin as though he knew the answer.
Everything in me wanted to say his, but the words wouldn’t come out. I had never had a one-night stand; I moved in and got engaged to the only person I had slept with.
Aiden told the driver to take him home, making the decision for me. It didn’t take long for us to pull into a private garage where the driver dropped us at the elevator. The moment the elevator door closed he backed me into the wall, his tall lean body melted against mine. The rigid muscles of his abs rested firmly against me and I could feel his hardness. He kissed me, hard, the scent of his cologne mixed with the oaky scent of the wine that lingered on my lips. His tongue ravished me and then traced along my lips. Warm moist kisses pressed against my cheek and moved down my neck as experienced firm fingers roved over my body, caressing the curves.
He tugged my shirt out my pants, his fingers dug into my skin as the kisses became more fervent. He removed my shirt and tossed it aside and then his fingers hooked on the top of my pants and then he tugged them off. It was a good thing it was the penthouse and no one was around to see me in just my bra and panties when the elevator opened. I started to gather my things and he snatched up my shirt and pants. “Don’t move,” he commanded, softly.
And I stayed in the empty hallway in my bra and panties while he just looked. They weren’t my sexiest, in a thousand years I wouldn’t have guessed my day would have ended like this but I’d never been one who could wear mix-matched underwear. And the underwire lifted my C-cup up enough to be pleasing to Aiden. He opened the door and guided me into his home.
As soon as we were in the apartment, he lifted me and my legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me into the bedroom, laying me on top of the large king size bed. Nestled between my legs he removed his shirt, and my imagination hadn’t done him justice. The turgid muscles wrapped around his torso, his chest hard with long delineated muscles that defined his chest. More defined muscles ran along his abs forming a V at his hips. When he laid against me, I ran my hands along the lean muscles of his back. I could feel the heaviness of his cock against my leg. The length of it made me gasp as I wondered what it would feel like to feel something so large inside of me.
Long lingering kisses ran along my neck and over my cleavage as he removed my bra and took one nipple into his mouth and then the other one. He continued, leaving moist trails as he roved down my body, stopping between my legs where I could feel his warm lips as they pressed against the thin fabric. Slipping his hand inside of my panties, I whimpered when his finger entered me at slow rhythm, coaxing a moan out of me and his thumb made languid circles over my clit. I shuddered against his fingers. Holding my gaze, he watched me. He moved up, then kissed me, tasting my lips. His tongue entwined with mine. He was delicious; sensuality and sin in an alluring package. Lacing his fingers through my hair, the intensity increased and I wanted desperately to feel his thickness that pressed against me, the impressive length of it lying across my leg. I wanted Aiden so desperately.
I grappled with his shirt, trying to unbutton it, when he took my hands in his, “Not yet,” he said. “When I fuck you, I don’t want you to be drunk. You’ll be sober and aching to take me inside you,” he said.
Although I had orgasmed, I wanted to feel him in me. He pulled away and with graceful fluid movements he came to his feet, bringing me with him as we stood face to face. He kissed me again, gently brushing against my lips before he moved the covers back and helped me into the bed.
“You’re not staying?” I asked, as he started out the door.
He grinned and touched his erection, “My willpower is only so strong,” he said before he closed the door behind him.
Sleep didn’t come immediately. I looked around the bedroom tha
t was nearly the size of my apartment. Blinds covered the floor to ceiling windows. The light textured cream walls were complemented by expensive art work and dark walnut furniture. I could only get a glimpse of the closet from the bed and it put my small walk-in closet to shame because it looked to be the size of my bedroom. Café Americano was doing well at “this and that”.
CHAPTER 4
The next morning I awoke to a gentle knock at the door, opened by a tall stout woman, whose salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a bun, “Good morning, Ella,” she said in a light melodious tone. A gentle rhythm that made it seem like she was singing my name.
“Good morning, Ms.—”
“Lorraine. Mr. Matthews had a meeting and wanted me to let you know he would be back at noon. If you would like, I can wash your clothes, have something brought to you, or have the driver take you home to get more. Which would you prefer?”
I stared at her for a moment and I’m sure she was starting to think that I didn’t understand multiple choice questions. I just hadn’t been given options like that before. She continued to smile as she waited for me to answer.
“I want to go home,” I finally said.
She nodded, “Very well. Bane will take you home after breakfast. What would you like to eat?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I want to go home now.”
The smile faded into a line as though she was pressing back her words. “Okay, Bane will take you home when you are ready.”
Bane was the same man from the night before and was expressionless as he opened the door for me and ushered me into the car merely minutes after I asked to go home. Perhaps he was so used to women doing the drive of shame from Aiden’s home that he knew how to respond. He remained silent as he drove through downtown Chicago.