“So do I get to know where we’re going yet?” I ask as we enter through the front doors to a room full of equally well-dressed men and women.
“It’s a performance,” he says. “Some fancy artsy bullshit. I thought it would make me seem sophisticated to bring you here.”
I give him a look of disbelief even as he cracks a small smile. “You know,” I say, “it might have worked if you hadn’t just admitted your plan.”
He shrugs. “I’ll take sympathy points for going to the trouble of impressing you.”
I laugh, distantly aware of how we must look together, how I must look standing beside a man like Dean. It’s like looking at a dream--some impossible snapshot from a life I never even dared to hope I might live. In that world, I’m looking uncharacteristically elegant in my black dress and supremely comfortable in my own skin. My hand is on Dean’s shoulder as I laugh, and he smiles back at me with eyes that leave no doubt to anyone in the room that I’m his. Any man with half a brain would know from the other side of the large hall that he’s made his claim over me, and to challenge that would be a mistake.
His words bring me out of the surreal moment, back into my own body and my own mind where I have to constantly remind myself this is real. This is me. “Sorry, what did you say?” I ask.
“I said you look ravishable,” he says.
I clear my throat, cheeks burning red. “You mean ravishing?”
“I mean what I said. Ravishable.” He punctuates his words with a touch to my lower back that makes his meaning completely clear.
I smile to myself as he leads me through the room like a prize, holding me possessively with that large hand of his. It’s strange how much I enjoy feeling like he’s taking control of me, especially considering when Sean did the same thing it always made my stomach sick. I guess it’s not surprising, because Sean wanted control over me in a cruel way. Dean’s touch only speaks of lust and appreciation.
“Dean Sharp,” says a deep voice to our left.
I turn as Dean does, watching the well-dressed man with gray at his temples approach. The crowd parts for him slightly, it’s almost so subtle that I don’t notice, but it’s there. Every time he comes within a few inches of someone, whether they are facing him or not, they shift out of his way. I get an uneasy pit of worry in my stomach as I watch him approach. Whether it’s his unconscious command over the crowd or the hint of cruelty in the way one side of his mouth curls up, I can’t say, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at us.
“Barry,” says Dean coldly. His hand tenses on my back.
“So,” says Barry with a sneer. “Is this little minx the real reason you stepped away from the company?” He reaches to touch a loose lock of my hair as he speaks. “Keeping you busy in the bedroom, is she?”
Dean’s hand snaps out and knocks Barry’s hand away before he can touch me.
My heart thuds against my ribs as I watch the two men trade stares. Barry finally breaks the contest with a contemptuous laugh through his nose. “Always on edge, aren’t you, Sharp?”
“Excuse us,” says Dean, motioning for Barry to get out of our way so we can go into the theater.
“No,” says Barry. “I don’t plan to excuse you for what you did.” He makes a show of looking thoughtful, even though it’s clear he knows exactly what he’s about to say already. “You should keep the ones you care about close, Sharp. There are people who would be happy to see you lose the things you love.”
“You’re threatening me?” Dean asks in a low, dangerous voice.
“Me?” asks Barry, laughing too loud and throwing his head back. “Of course not. You think I would dirty my hands over the likes of you? The moment you stepped away from the company was the moment you became an insignificant has-been. No, I’m not threatening you, Dean. I’m giving you a warning out of courtesy for the years we worked together.”
“Yeah? Let me return the favor. If anything happens to the people I care about, I’ll happily kill the messenger.”
Barry’s confidence falters just for a split second. His smile flickers into a frown and his eyebrows rise, but he recovers smoothly with a knowing smile. “Enjoy the show, Sharp.”
“Fuck you,” says Dean, shoving past Barry, leading me up a carpeted staircase that winds around the edge of the theater.
I follow beside him in silence, puzzling over the exchange until we pass a few doorways along a gently curving hallway and enter a private balcony overlooking the stage and the public seating below. Dean and I take our seats and accept drinks from a server, but my mind is elsewhere.
“You left your company?” I ask after a few moments of silence. I honestly hadn’t even put much thought into what he did to make his money. I guess when people are wealthy enough, I just assume they make their own rules and could take a week off work if they felt like it.
“Something like that,” he says.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I got my priorities straight.”“Should I assume your vague, cryptic answers mean you don’t want to talk about this?” I ask, feeling a little annoyed. He can kidnap me and uproot my life, but I’m not even allowed to ask him a personal question?
He sighs, gripping the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turn white. “I was putting work before Jen. Once I realized that, I stepped away. I only have one daughter. And it isn’t like we need the money.”
I reach out and squeeze his hand, still feeling a flutter of excited nerves at the innocent gesture, even after I let the man sleep with me, reaching out to touch him feels forbidden and thrilling. “It sounds like you did the right thing. I don’t see what there is to be ashamed of.”
“I didn’t say I was ashamed. I’m just surprised Barry took it this badly. He was always ambitious. He was the first one to agree with me, the first one to come in early or stay late, the first to offer to take on projects no one else wanted. But I never trusted him. I think it was his eyes. I’d catch him watching me like I was a perfectly cooked filet sometimes. So when I left, I passed control of the company to someone else. And now it looks like leaving may be worse for my family than staying.”
“Well,” I say. “You have all those security guys, right? And I’m sure you could afford more if you wanted.”
“I don’t want my daughter to live in the center of a private army. And her summer break ends in a week. She’ll be at school most of the day. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I had snipers on the rooftops surrounding the playground.”
I frown, chewing my lip as I think through the possibilities. Beneath us, the seats are nearly filled now and the lights are dimming for the show. A massive red curtain ripples slightly in front of the stage, and I can hear muted footsteps from behind as the performers get ready.
“Giving him what he wants isn’t an option either, is it?”
Dean meets my eye. “No. I’m not going to reward this fucking asshole for threatening my family. Even if I could, he’s not getting what he wants.”
I nod. “I’d feel the same way in your position.”
He flashes a faint grin. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
“You’ll find a way,” I say. “I know you will.”
“With you at my side, I will,” he says, putting his hand on my bare thigh and sending a shiver of excitement through me.
“Dean,” I say carefully. “I still don’t know about all this. I mean, I want to dive in head first, and maybe that’s what scares me.”
“Sweetheart, if you knew this was a good idea without any doubts, that’d probably mean it was boring. The risk and the excitement is part of what makes it worth doing.”
“Didn’t you say you had no doubts about us? Does that mean this isn’t worth doing for you?”
He laughs. “Damn. You caught me.” His hand slides up my leg until his fingers are against my panties. “I was just trying to talk you into letting me have you right now. At least a taste.”
I gasp, reaching to grip his wrist and push him b
ack. “Dean,” I breathe.
“Keep saying my name all sexy like that, and I really won’t be able to stop.”
“There are people everywhere. Someone might see.” It’s true, too. Everywhere I look I see people waiting for the show to begin. The chances of someone from the general audience seeing us clearly enough to tell what’s going on are minimal, but the nearest booths would have a pretty good chance of figuring us out if they paid close enough attention.
“I don’t care about them. I only care about you,” he says, kissing my neck.
“God,” I gasp. My fingers tighten around the armrest of the chair. Something about his touch overwhelms me. All the doubts and questions bouncing around in my brain slow down to a crawl and eventually fade into nothing when his hands are on me. My worries fall silent. My fear that I’m going to get too emotionally invested only to have him ripped away from me fade. All that’s left is the blindingly strong desire to have his hands on me and to have his attention all over my body.
I lean into the kisses, pushing my hips against his touch. He’s breathing heavily against my neck, and his other hand roughly pulls down the shoulder strap of my dress, exposing my breast. I reach to cover myself, but he stops me, bending to kiss my nipple, which immediately hardens against the warmth of his lips and tongue.
“The server,” I say. “He could come back.”
“He could,” agrees Dean.
“He would see,” I protest half-heartedly, losing even my will to care about being exposed as Dean’s touch awakens every nerve in my body.
“He would.”
I reach for Dean’s zipper, and he takes his hand from me briefly to help pull his pants down and then his briefs. I grip the base of his thick cock, shuddering with the intensity of my excitement.
“The show’s starting,” I say. I steal a glance down toward the stage where the curtain is rising to reveal a man and woman in a spotlight who are dressed in Victorian era clothing. They are saying something to each other, but the pounding blood in my ears makes me deaf to the words.
Dean looks up from kissing me with a smirk. “Are you going to keep talking, or are we going to fuck?”
“The second one,” I say.
With something close to a growl, he pulls me from the chair, bending me over so that just the top of my head is above the railing circling our balcony. If anyone were to look now, they won’t see anything but my face and the upper half of Dean’s body, but it won’t take much imagination to figure out what’s about to happen.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this here,” I say.
“That’s the only part you can’t believe?” he asks, yanking on my panties and tearing them off in a single, powerful motion.
The brutality of it pulses through me in a hot burst of arousal. “I’m so wet,” I say breathlessly.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, fingers exploring my pussy, plunging inside me.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
“You’ll have to keep it down, kitten,” he says with a hint of playfulness in his voice. “People are trying to enjoy the show.
“I’ll try, bu--oh!” I clap a hand to my mouth, cutting off the exclamation that I half-shouted.
He thrusts far more of his cock inside me than I was ready for. He took it slow our first time, but I guess he’s past that now. He pumps himself into me, burying more of his length mercilessly into me with every movement, not caring how it’s making me gasp through the hand I have pressed hard against my mouth, not caring that we’re probably only one sound away from drawing the attention of the nearby balconies.
I buck against him, pushing my ass back against his hips, searching for even more of his impossibly huge cock. Every thrust is an explosion of pleasure that threatens to take the strength from my legs and send me sprawling to the ground. His hands are on my hips, strong and commanding, pulling me into him.
He groans with pleasure, and I smile a little to myself, loving that he’s enjoying using my body like this. It feels good to make him feel good, but it’s hard to focus on that when his pace increases and the explosions of ecstasy become a constant blur. My eyes roll back into my head and I cry out, “Fuck!”
There are a few sharp intakes of surprised breath from the nearby booths, and even as I look toward the sounds through blurry eyes and the height of my climax, I feel the warm pulse of Dean’s cum filling me.
“Sir!” says an alarmed voice from directly behind us.
Dean turns, cock still plunged in me to the hilt. “Excuse you,” he says with a level of indignance I can’t believe he can muster with his pants off.
To my surprise, the man in the doorway almost apologizes, but he clenches his jaw and takes a step forward. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.”
“Sure, get the fuck out and we’ll leave. Or were you hoping to catch a glimpse of my fiancée’s ass?”
The man stumbles backwards, yanking the curtains shut. “I’ll be waiting just outside,” he says in a shaky voice.
Dean helps me to stand, which is a mercy because my legs are wobbly and weak.
“This is so embarrassing,” I say, biting my lip and finding myself not caring as much about the embarrassment as I should. Yeah, it’s embarrassing, but it’s fun. It’s reckless in a carefree kind of way I can’t say I’ve ever really experienced as an adult, and I think this kind of thing could become very addictive.
He pulls his pants up and does his button and zipper with a smirk. Then he gently pulls my dress down over my bare ass, taking his time and copping a few feels as he does. “You may want to come to terms with that, because I’m not done with you tonight.”
I start to smile at his joke, but the look on his face makes it clear he’s not joking at all. “What do you mean?” I ask, reaching to grab my shredded panties and then dropping them when I realize they’re completely useless.
“I mean the night isn’t over,” he says, leading me out through the curtain and past the nervous attendant who looks to be deciding between escorting us out and letting us make our own way.
Dean doesn’t give him an option. He stuffs a hundred dollar bill in the man’s jacket pocket and pats him on the shoulder. “Enjoy the show,” says Dean.
“You too,” says the man, trailing off when he realizes his mistake. “I mean, have a good night,” he says.
Instead of leading me back the way we came, Dean goes farther down the balcony hallway until we reach a door marked “Staff Only”. He opens it without a moment’s hesitation, revealing a series of rafters and platforms from which the stage lights dangle.
“Dean!” I say in a surprised whisper. “We shouldn’t be back here. Aren’t there stage workers or something up here?”
“Doubt it,” he says, leading me toward a narrow wooden bridge that spans the entire stage and leads to another door on the other side.
I look to my right, and from this height, the top of the raised curtain actually blocks us from view of the entire audience. All we can see is the backs of the performers as they work through the scene--which at this moment seems to be a murder. Two men in petticoats are stabbing a woman with plastic knives, splattering fake blood to the ground.
Dean sits down, letting his feet dangle over the edge of the bridge, beneath the railing. I give him a nervous look and a quick shake of my head.
“What?” he asks quietly. “Afraid of heights?”
“It’s not a phobia or anything,” I whisper. “I just have a reasonable level of caution when it comes to precarious positions where I could fall and pull a Humpty Dumpty.”
Dean laughs and the sound is so loud I glance down to the stage, half-expecting all the actors to be staring straight up at us in anger. But they are arguing about where to hide the body, completely oblivious to us. “How is that any different than being afraid of heights?” he asks.
“Okay, here’s an example, I say, sitting cross-legged beside him and making a point of refusing to dangle my legs over the edge like he i
s. My voice is low as I speak. “I’m not afraid of snakes, but if I found a rattlesnake in my bathtub, I wouldn’t dangle my feet over the edge of the tub and read a magazine.”
“This is different,” he says.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because that’s like eighty feet down. You know when people fall from that high they bounce after they land? I think if you are high enough off the ground to bounce after impact you should show a little caution.”
He raises his eyebrows, looking down with curiosity. “Bounce? I’d like to see that.”
I sigh. “So what are we doing up here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “We got kicked out of the balcony before I had a chance to have you all the ways I wanted. Besides, I think it’d be fun to fuck you with nothing but a curtain keeping us from being watched by a thousand people.”
“Fun might not be the word I’d use,” I say. “Maybe terrifying. Reckless. Stupid? Should I think of more words?”
“No,” he says, smirking and pulling his legs up to lean closer to me. “I’ve got other plans for that mouth of yours.”
He kisses me and steals away all my inhibitions in a single moment. I spear my fingers through his hair, wrapping my legs around him as I climb onto his lap, pushing my hips into him. Knowing I still have his cum in my pussy is insanely hot, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve hiked my dress up and I’m reaching for his belt and zipper, struggling to free that massive cock of his.
Once he helps me get his pants down, I push myself against his length, rocking my hips against him and enjoying the friction. I kiss him still, tongue swirling with his even as the actors below carry on with the show and the audience claps and gasps.
“You’re incredible,” he says.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, laughing a little as I pull at his buttons so I can feel the smooth hardness of his body. I start with his chest, loving the way he feels so much that it knocks the air from my lungs in a surprised sigh of excitement. His skin is warm and the curves and hard lines of his muscles are endless. And his abs… God. I’ve never been with a man who had abs before, let alone the masterpiece Dean calls a stomach.
Single Dad's Hostage: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 9