by Cynthia Dane
How liberating it was to give herself away, freely and without reserve. The heavy breaths hitting her skin were laced in an aphrodisiac that made Monica’s legs spread around Henry’s hips and her head fall back against the arm of the couch. Her chest heaved toward his mouth, which descended to her bodice, ripping apart the buttons of her dress and kissing both mounds of her breasts. Every time he thrust against her thighs, Monica whimpered, her hesitations unraveling the longer Henry Warren showered her with comfort.
Isn’t this what she expected when she invited him into her room? A part of her certainly hoped that her flirtations would lead to this. To deny that she wanted Henry was a grievous mistake. Monica knew herself too well to know that she could fool her heart like that. I won’t call it love. She wasn’t looking for love… but she needed passion. She needed to know that there were men out there still willing to take her how they pleased, their bodies using hers while still thinking of nothing but the woman they held in their arms and pushed into with every famished movement. Monica begged for him to have her, to rip away the one thing separating them and let her know him. Carnal knowledge was the next best thing to enlightenment.
“Mr. Warren,” she whispered, her skin bruising from the forceful way he kissed her throat and the shoulder that quickly emerged from her tearing sleeve. “Henry!”
He was too strong, too eager to deny any longer. Monica melted around him, her legs locked around his waist as he thrust against her. He’s hard already… And unless Monica was mistaken, Henry Warren had a lot to offer. Now. Right now. Her hand pushed between them, determined to open his zipper and pull away her lingerie so he could have her as he liked. I know men. I know what they like. Lucky for them that she liked it too.
Monica wouldn’t stand to wait another minute. “Take me, Henry,” she whimpered again, her breaths ragged as he sucked her nipple through her bra, his tongue dipping into the padding in a futile effort to taste her intimately. “Ravage me.”
She wanted it like she wanted to breathe the sweet air flooding her bedroom. For the first time in months, maybe years Monica looked forward to the fearless pleasures of sex. Not just any sex. The kind that made her scream into a man’s ear that he was tearing her apart, and to not stop until she was incapable of feeling a damn thing anymore. Henry could take her like this, right on her couch, but she would rather he take her to bed and mount her there. And it had to be now. Quick. Even forceful. There was time to serve him better as a sub later. Now was about sating the desires fueling her like mad and making her fantasize about Henry Warren throwing her down on her bed and defiling her body – and not only with some hair pulling and dirty, disgusting words.
“Deep down you’re a wild one, I see.” Henry took her wrists and held them above her head, his demeanor primal as his stony blue eyes drank in the skin she showed him. Her skirt slipped down her leg, exposing the white of her thigh and the black satin underwear she wore that day. They’re wet already. Now, damnit! He could have his fill of her in fewer than five minutes. Even at his biggest and roughest he could probably enter her with no hesitations. The more she thought about it, the more Monica wanted to claw his arms and scream at him to fuck her. “Like a sweet, pretty wolf.”
Now he pulled her arms back down, pinning them to her sides as her back arched and she presented her chest to his mouth again. Henry did not indulge.
“I’ve trapped you, queen of the wolves. Right here in your den.” His voice, low and vibrant, sent shivers throughout Monica until she nearly wept from frustration. “Do you know how badly I want to shoot you in the heart?” His lips ravished the valley between her breasts, his tongue wetting her skin, caressing her nipple, and making her pelvis shudder against his hips. “Do you know how much I want to leave my mark in you?”
His words were so delightful that Monica could barely form any of her own. “Be a menace. Hunt me down and claim my body.” She pushed her hips forward, rubbing against the hardness straining against his trousers. “I’m yours for the taking.”
Monica almost got off on the situation alone. Her, the dangerous she-wolf, chased into her den in the lonely woods, her hunter too strong to resist. Truly, her only hope was that he would mount her well and good, a mate worthy of calling her alpha. Based on what she felt between her legs right now… The odds are good.
She thought Henry would fuck her there and then. His breath was harried against her breasts, his hardness still rubbing against her clothed, wet slit. Monica wanted to reach between them and show him what he had done to her, but her arms were still stuck to her sides. Hold me like this and take me. Being immobilized was one of her biggest turn-ons. Henry was doing a fantastic job speaking to her kinky mind.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Or do you want me to struggle?” Like a wolf who would bite until the end.
“I want you.” If that was so, then why wasn’t he doing it? What did Monica have to say or do to get him to have her? “I want you so much that I know now is the wrong time.”
He released her, sitting up on the couch and doing his best to ignore the response between his legs. Monica also sat up, covering her chest with her torn clothes and the hair that fell out of her pristine bun. “What do you mean it’s the wrong time?”
“You said so yourself that you’ve been through so much. I’m the first man after that, aren’t I?”
Monica didn’t say anything.
“I don’t want to be patronizing, but I wouldn’t feel right doing that until you were sure it was what you wanted. And I mean sure. Not from the heat of the moment, but because your heart and mind are also ready, not just your body.”
Monica didn’t argue with him. A part of her knew that he was right. When he came to visit that day, she had no idea that this would actually happen. That it would feel so good. After her last relationship, she had vowed to eschew all future ones unless she was absolutely sure she would not be as hurt should something happen. For as much as she wanted Henry, Monica knew it wasn’t enough.
“I won’t come back here,” he said, and for a moment a flutter of panic struck Monica’s heart. “Not until it’s the right time. If that time ever comes.”
He kissed her, not with the ardor of earlier, but with a warmth that said “No hard feelings.” Henry straightened out his clothing before seeing himself to Monica’s door.
“This isn’t farewell,” he said, hand on the door. “Only goodbye for now.” He left.
Monica had never felt so alone in her room before.
Chapter 7
Love Letters
When Monica received her first letter a few days later, she thought she was losing her mind. Nobody sent letters anymore. Certainly not to her.
But that was definitely what she received the morning a courier deposited a thick envelope in her hand before asking her to sign for a package containing better knives for the kitchen. “There’s no return address on this,” she said, signing the courier’s device but not looking away from the letter. “I thought you couldn’t accept those.”
The courier merely tipped his hat and wished her a good day. As soon as the front doors to the Château closed, Sylvia said, “That means someone paid him to personally deliver that.”
Monica could only think of one person who would do such a thing. She handed Sylvia the package, told her to take it to the chef in the kitchen, and darted upstairs to her room.
She never thought she would hear from Henry like that again. In the back of her mind she had pushed him aside as a momentary fling – the type of man who had wanted her one moment and then rejected her the next. When he never even bothered to call her, Monica assumed the infatuation was over.
Not so. The moment she tore open the envelope, a piece of paper fluttered to her desk. She snatched it up, eyes devouring every word.
***
“It’s been three days since that small amount of time we spent together, and since then I’ve done nothing but think of you. My intention was t
o put some space between us so we could sort out how we really felt. In truth, we’ve only met a handful of times. I admit that I pushed things too quickly by sending you that gift. From the moment I laid eyes on you, Monica, I’ve thought of nothing but making love to you.
“Although we need space, I don’t want to give it to you anymore. You’re beautiful, yes, but you are also so much more. Since getting to know you better, I see a brilliant woman with a shrewd mind and a great sense for business. Not everyone could be in your position and do as well as you do. When you told me your harrowing tale of that other man, I felt my heart break on your behalf. There are foul men in this world. I like to think I am better than that. I also need to think about whether or not I can give you what you need.
“You’re not a woman who can be won with flowers and jewels. I’ve known women like that. You’re the type who must be won with deeds and reassurances. I can reassure you that I only have the best intentions in my heart. If I have ever wronged or offended you, or if I ever do so in the future, know that you are free to chastise me so that I may become a better man.
“Even so, my need for you burns. Your beauty caught me so off guard that it took me days to process your soft skin, sweet dimples, and hair enveloping your body. The other day I wanted nothing more than to make love to you, like an animal, like a man, everything in between and something that transcended both at the same time. You’re a woman who deserves only the finest sexual pleasure. I want to deny you it until you feel as if you’re dying. Then I want to give it to you until we both appreciate what this life has to offer us.
“It’s not that simple, is it? The other day I came to your Château with every intention of seducing you into bed. Yet after you told me what you did, I knew that it couldn’t happen. I won’t tell you how you feel or how you’re recovering. All I can do is prevent myself from becoming your next mistake. Now, before you protest, let me explain.
“Years ago I had a lover who was also heartbroken from a previous relationship. Not the same exact situation, but close enough that you reminded me of her. We were together for about a year. She wanted to use submission as a way to forgive herself for the pain she had been through at the hands of another man. One night I was too tough on her. Not only did I rip open her wounds again, but I scared her away from me, a man who had said he loved her.
“I don’t know where she is now. I hope that she’s happy, wherever she is. I hope she found a man that could give her what she wanted better than I could. I think about her often. Mostly because I wonder what I could have done differently to make her understand what I meant when I did the things I did to her. I was trying to help her heal too.
“So you see, I can’t escalate a relationship between us. Not when it’s like that. I don’t want you until you’re ready for me to take you. I want your heart completely open, your mind blind to the past, and your body prepared to accept what I have to offer. I won’t deny it, Monica, but I often fantasize about what I want to do to you. I want to make you feel like it’s only you and me in the world. Like we’re alone in the universe, if only for a little while. I don’t think I would disappoint you. I do think I might hurt you.
“I won’t come around again until it’s time. I hope that you are in good spirits and that your business is thriving. The next time I see you will be to either say my final farewells or to give you what you need. Either way, it will be your choice.”
“Yours, Henry Warren.”
***
“Mr. Warren, I hope that you know it took me no fewer than three hours to track down an address to send this to. As big of a man as you are, you are equally difficult to get a hold of. My persistence was not in vain, and now here I am responding to you when I should be downstairs making sure all is ready for a busy night.
“I admit, I was nearly torn in two again when you left me the other day. You don’t understand the extent in which I want you. If you think you desire me, carnally or otherwise, then you still don’t comprehend how much I want you to dominate me. I’m not a silly little girl looking for her daddy Dom. I want a man who will be my partner in the bedroom. You said so yourself that we are two halves of the same whole. What we both bring is equal in its relevance and passion. To an outsider we look, perhaps, barbaric. I do not doubt that it’s those primal urges that make us so attracted to each other in the first place.
“I’ve been hurt, yes. Have there been times with you in which I thought of that man? Yes, and they frightened me. I won’t mince my words – I am scared. I’m scared to not only love but to also be dominated. I’m not scared to be submissive. It’s my nature to want to serve others, especially men. Do you know which wonderful ways I could serve you?
“I will bring you what you want, you need, and even put the spoon to your mouth so you don’t have to move another muscle at the end of a long work day. I will put my hands on you, gently, massaging whatever you please as I begin to fantasize about the other things you will ask of me. Serving makes me so needy. The moment you force your hand, Mr. Warren, is the moment in which I belong wholly to you and am ready for you to use my will and body in any ways you please.
“The other day here in my room I wanted you to not only dominate me, but to use my desires to fuel your own. Why didn’t you ask me to take off your clothes, to take off my clothes? You could have asked me to do anything. I would have pressed my lips and tongue to your manhood the moment you asked for it. I would have bent over, climbed on top of you, even turned myself upside down for you. Just thinking about it now drives me insane, Mr. Warren. I need you. The fact that you are not coming through that door right now to use me is breaking my heart, not you doing it.
“Nevertheless, you are right. I should not rush into anything. We shouldn’t rush into anything. Perhaps I am a delicate flower who hasn’t taken root again yet. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I wasn’t scared to know exactly how you will use me and make me serve you. Trust. That’s the word, isn’t it? I barely know you. I have your word, but I long learned that a man’s word may as well be dirt. My fantasies are only that. What do they mean when you’re hurting me anyway?
“See? I assume that you will. I’m pathetic.
“Give me some time. In the meantime, I should like to hear from you again like this. Please write to me any time.
“Patiently waiting, Monica.”
***
“Dearest Monica,
“You flatter me with your fantasies while also confirming what I suspected. Don’t think I don’t know how you would have behaved that day. I wanted it too. Tonight I came home from the office and imagined you giving me that massage before we bathed together. What man doesn’t want to imagine a beautiful woman serving him in the tub? Don’t mistake me for a man who gives nothing back. I will serve you too, in a way. Not just with my body, but with my mind. Or at least I hope you think I’m a good conversationalist. I want to know your opinions, your personality. Tell me what your favorite season is and why. Tell me what you think of recent stock prices, for God’s sake. I know you keep track of them. Maybe you have a portfolio. How’s it going for you? I love to talk business.
“I will give you my heart. It’s frightening, isn’t it? This heart exchanging business. It’s been a while since I was last properly in love. I want to make that love with you.
“I also want to ravage you, as you asked. I want to know what you feel like beneath me, your body on the other end of mine as I reach deep into you and touch your soul. Do you moan? Do you cry out? Do you whimper? I want to know. I want to know how warm you feel inside and how you sound in my ear as you cling to me and dig your nails into my skin. There’s nothing more exciting than getting to know a woman for the first time. There’s nothing more rewarding than knowing that same woman over and over again.
“Don’t take me for a man who only wants to use you, Monica. I’m not a casual love kind of man, especially at this point in my life. I want to build a life and sustain it. I’m a lifestyler, like you. An equal
partnership that expresses itself in a different way. I may tie you up and tell you what to do, but I will also turn to you as my confidant. I want you to trust me like that too.
“Trust is a funny thing. To have a woman’s trust is a bigger deal than most of my fellow men give it credit. But I want to earn it. I will prove myself to you over and over until you know to trust me wholeheartedly. Even if it takes me years, I will do this.
“Is this a courtship? Are these letters our way of working up to that moment when we truly begin? You may not have let me be your patron, Monica, but I certainly hope that you let me be your intended. However you wish to interpret that.
“Please continue to take care. I am waiting.
“Yours, Henry.