by Emerson Rose
“I was just getting used to everything being one color scheme and now… all this blue.” I motion around us and recall his bedroom is completely decorated in blues as well.
“Like I said, I don’t know.” And he genuinely seems not to have a clue. The water moves in gentle swirls from the pumps circulating it through a filter and the gentle sound is hypnotic.
The pool is very long but only three lanes wide, tropical plants surround several clusters of similar chairs and there is a table catty-corner to us across the room. The lighting is dim; the brightest coming from inside the pool where both ends are lit with a large bulb under the water.
A large photograph hangs at the opposite end of the lengthy pool and I squint in an attempt to make out what or who the subject of it is.
Marcus has his back to it and takes my chin between his thumb and finger returning my eyes to his.
“I want to show you something. Do you promise not to… overreact?” Uh, hell no, I don’t; he can’t just say that to me and he knows it. I sit up more erect and move his hand from my face.
“Why? And, no, I won’t promise. You know better than to ask me that.”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t ask. It’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s my favorite possession next to you. Come.” He rises and pulls me to my feet.
“Lose the shoes.” I step out of my stilettos and am instantly dwarfed standing next to his six foot four frame. He takes my hand and turns it over to press a soft kiss to my palm.
Normally that would have melted me on the spot, but I’m buzzing with curiosity about whatever it is he thinks I may overreact to.
We begin a lazy stroll toward the other end of the pool, my dress too long now, swishing against the tile and making it difficult to walk so I step carefully. He’s leading me toward the photo I was trying to decipher and every step closer it becomes clearer. It’s a woman with her head thrown back. A few steps closer I stop abruptly, it’s not just any woman; it’s me.
There I am, larger than life with my wild hair hanging down behind me. Tendrils of hair are sticking to my forehead and jaw with sweat from exertion. Marcus’s large familiar hands cover my shoulders.
Three steps closer and I’m standing at the foot of an enormous portrait of me mid-orgasm. I whip my eyes to him but he’s not looking at me; he’s gazing with utter adoration at the monstrous photograph. I look back, my heart pounding in my chest, breath coming quick. I drop my mouth open and try to make sense if it all.
“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” he says, his voice is hushed and reverent.
I can’t speak, I just stare.
Narrowing my eyes and leaning forward I examine the fantastic detail of the photo, every thread of the sheets, every pore of our skin and drop of perspiration can be seen. Incredible emotion and desire are captured in a moment of unbridled love. It is beautiful, but it’s me. I step forward, dropping his hand.
“How?” I breathe, reaching out to touch a portion of my own hair on the wall and I realize it’s encased in a thin glass.
“It’s covered in glass to protect it from the humidity in here.” “Not that how! How was this taken? By whom, when, where?” The questions tumble out now that I’ve finally realized why he was worried that I may overreact. Hell, yeah! Somebody took my fucking picture when I was having sex, climaxing, unbeknownst to me!
“Shush, Imani. No one was taking your picture but me. The video from the cameras that monitor the house can be stilled and the photo was taken from a piece of footage from my bed, in Seattle, a month ago.
I have a copy hanging in the same place at home.” He’s looking at me now, our magnet pulling stronger than is imaginable.
This, albeit strange but lascivious picture is another way he claims me. I’m starting to understand this irrational trait and, with that understanding, I calm and take a deep breath before I set him at ease. “It’s breathtaking.” Stepping to me, he turns my body to face him and begins to back me toward the wall next to his symbol of ultimate adoration and connection. When I’m pressed against the cool stone, he places his hands on either side of my head and touches his forehead to mine. “I want to see your face like that again and again… and again.”
Sixty-Four
I close my eyes and allow myself to be taken away. His lips softly press against mine. He alternates agonizing control with quick moments of frantic need like the EKG reading, steady with small leaps away from the baseline.
Just when I think we’ve passed the point of foreplay, he reins it back in and we begin again; it’s maddening.
“You. Are. My. Queen,” he says, breathing heavily into my ear, pausing between each word. He turns me to face the wall and slowly unzips my dress.
I grip two pieces of stone and hold on, savoring the experience of being adored by my soul mate. Every inch of skin that is exposed, he traces with his finger until my back is bare.
“Not even a smudge.” He’s talking about his artwork from this afternoon scrawled all over my back.
Gathering my hair, he wraps it around his wrist and loops it into a messy fat knot, draping it over my shoulder then he pushes my dress forward off of my shoulders.
It’s not easy to remove skin tight sequins that extend to my wrists but he manages, slipping his fingers under the material, letting it bunch along the tops of his hands. I push away from the wall and drop my head back onto his shoulder. A moan echoes around the room, bouncing off of the walls, causing a pang of desire to hit me between my legs.
The dress drops in a heavy heap when my arms are free. I slide one hand back behind Marcus’s neck and he wraps one of his around my throat gently and caresses my breast with the other. He pulls and teases, sliding it between his fingers and finally pinching it causing a whimper to escape my lips.
He turns me to face him. Drawing me close he lifts me off of my feet and kisses me while he walks me toward the edge of the pool.
Too soon for my liking, he sets me down at the edge of the pool turning me toward the water.
“Sit.” I lower my bare ass to the tile and ease my legs into the warm heated water. I feel at home without clothes around Marcus. I lean back on my hands kicking my feet in the water lazily while I watch him undress. God, I love watching him undress.
Toeing off his shoes and socks while simultaneously sliding off his tuxedo coat, I take it all in, every graceful movement, every serious look. Button after button, my hungry eyes eat him up until he slips his shirt off and ambles to a nearby table where he drops his cufflinks and buttons clinking against the glass.
His chiseled chest and abdominal muscles are exquisite, nothing short of a perfect male body. Next his belt is unbuckled, zipper lowered and I’m finally satisfied seeing every inch of him, every muscle, scar, perfection and flaw. I delight in them all, especially the steely length of his cock pointing straight at me.
My unsteady heart lurches into my throat as he unabashedly advances and takes me by surprise, diving into the pool in a perfect arch disappearing into the navy-blue water. Seconds later, he emerges and shakes the droplets of water from his hair and face, shooting me down with his one-sided smirk.
I sit up and lean forward, holding the edge of the pool.
“Stay there, gorgeous.” I wait while he sinks under the water reappearing between my legs, smiling up at me. He watches his hands slide up and over my feet to my knees. The ink is blurring and smearing all over my skin. He glances up at me but returns his focus to my body.
My skin burns under his gaze, screaming to be touched everywhere at once. I can hardly be still. I fidget, which earns me another smirk.
“Open your legs, scoot to the edge.” No problem, I’m there in an instant, eager to have his hands and mouth on me. My ass is perched on the very edge of the pool as he sways in the water between my legs. He begins the tormenting ritual of rubbing his name from my skin. He cups water in his hands, pouring it onto a specific area and removing the ink. I’m going to die if he doesn’t move it along.
“Marcus…”
“Shush, Imani. Let me undo what I’ve done.” His words are intentionally loaded; he knows nothing will undo what he’s done to me. The problem is he is talking about undoing all the bad and I am thinking about the good.
He lit a fire in me that can’t be extinguished. There is nothing that can make me stop cherishing every aspect of him, even the awful ones. I accept him, every fucked-up crazy molecule that makes up Marcus Dante Castillo is loved by me.
I try to behave but I’m getting very impatient. With no ink visible on my legs, he looks up at me through his thick long eyelashes, only a thin ring of green surrounds his large dark pupils, bedroom eyes.
Laying his cheek against the inside of my thigh, he moans softly and moves until I feel his breath against my wet core. His arm snakes from the water and wraps around my ass, pulling me even further to the edge as he slides his tongue along the outside of my slit. I arch my back, my body begging for more, and reach to tangle my fingers in his hair. At the same time, he slides a long finger down my center and inside of me and begins circling my clit with his tongue.
He launches me into another galaxy. Writhing under his expert hands and mouth, the initial contact causes me to yell out and every stroke thereafter coaxes another gasp until I’m not sure I can breathe anymore.
My eyes roll so far back into my head it’s painful and I grip his hair savagely when I come.
He scoops me from the edge of the pool and holds me firmly against his face until the electrical currents zapping my nerve endings begin to settle and I catch my breath.
I slide down until my knees are hooked over his shoulders and my pulsing center presses against his chest. Arms linked behind his neck, we bob in the water together until both of us have caught our breath.
“Again.” I adore his caveman one word communications. I remove one leg at a time from the awkward position and slide down his body into the water brushing the head of his thick, ready cock as I go.
He hisses a long breath and I wrap my legs around his waist. He enters me easily throbbing and twitching along with my aching sex.
Fuuuck, Imani… ah.” His head drops back and he pushes his hips, further deepening our connection. His words propel me into motion. I yearn for fast and hard but I know that isn’t his way. He likes to start slow and work me until I’m insane. Then he will give it to me hard until I combust. That’s Marcus’s way.
I slide along his length easily. I watch the erotic sight of his cock slipping in and out of me under the water and he lowers his eyes as well until he removes my hands from his shoulders with his and, supporting my back, he lays me down on the water in front of him.
“You’re so beautiful, Imani. Relax your arms; let me take you somewhere else, away from our world, away from the pain, the fear, the worry. Baby, let me make it all go away.”
I close my eyes and drift to that place with him while we find a rhythm that is so satisfying I would drown if he weren’t holding onto my back with both hands.
The warm water rushes past my ears with every thrust, my hair floats around me, tangling and flowing like a mermaid in the ocean.
He picks up the pace in his own good time and, when he does, he lifts me back up against his chest. Our wet skin glides together and our mouths collide in his last-ditch effort to hold onto that raveling thread of control.
I dig my nails into his back and yell his name for the second time and soar over the cliff of sanity plunging downward into a pleasure I can’t imagine most people ever experience.
Sixty-Five
Marcus gave Maria the afternoon off. I’m watching him move around in his kitchen like a professional chef despite his intermittent visual disturbances. After a blissful night of sleep, fully drugged and wrapped in each other’s arms, we puttered away the morning until I got a phone call from Dr. Carlson. He informed me he would be arriving this evening.
I think Marcus wanted to busy himself by cooking while we wait. He’s been acting different since I got the call. I have mixed feelings about the doctor’s visit, too.
I’m thrilled at the thought of having that tumor removed and possibly living a long and fulfilling life with Marcus but the more I examine the facts the more doubts I have. How do you weigh the good and bad of this situation when neither is clear?
Of course, I want him to live, but what kind of life would he have if the tumor was removed from his brain and he returned to his old self? From what I’ve learned, the monster Marcus was before his car accident isn’t someone who is missed or someone who would be welcomed back.
I have so many questions and concerns for Dr. Carlson. I can’t wait for him to arrive. Marcus, however, isn’t so enthusiastic. He’s made it clear he has low expectations concerning surgery but he will go through with it for me.
Dr. Carlson isn’t the only visitor we have coming today. Marcus’s lawyers are meeting here to add me to all of his accounts, his will, and whatever else a billionaire entrepreneur stamps his name on. I can’t decide if I’m more stressed about the lawyers or Dr. Carlson.
I know about medical conditions and physicians, and Marcus knows business and finance so we are going to have to trust each other a lot today.
“Can you go through with all of these legal transactions while you’re…?”
“Crazy?” he finishes my sentence for me.
“Well, I wasn’t going to say that.”
“What were you going to say then?” The music on my iPad changes to a more upbeat tune, contrasting with the conversation and making it even more uncomfortable.
“Well?” he prods and pours pasta in a pot of boiling water.
“I thought you didn’t eat gluten.”
Not a subtle subject change but I don’t know how to tell him he’s crazy without saying ‘you’re crazy.’
“Nice try, baby, and it is gluten free. Maria makes it homemade with rice instead of wheat. Now, I believe you were asking me a question.” He's trying to make me say it.
“Okay, so do they know you aren’t always, you?” He chuckles and stirs the noodles.
“Very diplomatic of you, Miss Jefferson.”
“I try.”
“No. They don’t know. And you won’t be bringing it up either. I want this, Imani, and if you don’t let me have it I won’t let you have what you want.”
He stopped cooking and he’s eyeing me seriously across the island, bracing his arms against the granite, waiting. Master manipulator hard at work, he knows he has me.
“You’re impossible, why do you insist on this?”
“Because I need reassurance. I have to know you’ll be taken care of.” I sigh and roll my eyes as he rounds the island to swivel my bar stool around, bringing us face to face. He traces the line of my jaw with his finger and I tilt my cheek into his hand.
“I don’t need all of this.”
“Nobody needs all that I have, but someone has to have it and you’re my someone. Please, don’t fight me on this, just accept it.” He had me with please.
That word from this powerful, seemingly mannerless man is my weakness. I soften my resolve and nod in agreement.
“That’s my girl.” He plants a quick kiss on my lips and leaves me wanting more.
“Are you hungry?” I am hungry, for him, but my stomach chooses this exact moment to growl loudly.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He illuminates the room with his broad smile and I prop my elbows on the counter and cradle my face in my hands.
“So, what are we having?”
“One of my Aunt Angelica’s favorites. Penne Rigate and Vegetables Gratin, and chocolate biscotti for dessert.” A little appreciative moan escapes my lips and he looks up from his work.
“We have a big afternoon, you can’t make sounds like that and not expect me to take you straight to bed. Behave,” he says, pointing a long wooden spoon in my direction sternly.
“Yes sir, Scout’s Honor.” I hold up three fingers and then cross them over my heart.
“Y
ou were never a Scout.”
“You’re right.” I giggle and the doorbell chimes while Marcus pours a sauce over the pasta in a baking dish; the house smells divine and my mouth is watering.
Damn lawyers. I was hoping we would eat before they arrived.
“Were you expecting them now?” I ask. He shakes his head, obviously a little annoyed by the interruption, covering the dish and sliding it into the oven.
“Well, that’s that, we should go meet with them.”
“Okay.” I tap my iPad to stop the music and lace my fingers with his, allowing him to lead me to his office.
I’m not going to give him any more grief on the subject. I think this is irrational and unnecessary, but the idea comforts him. We walk hand in hand to his office where I’m about to accept responsibility for an obscene number of assets that I will never have to manage because Marcus isn’t leaving me. He’s going to be fine and he will continue running his business and restaurants like he always has.
A troubling thought occurs to me as we pass the front doors. Why not marry me? I’m not going anywhere, he knows it, I know it, and it would be a lot easier than all of this legal mumbo jumbo. I can’t think of one reason for us not to… wait, yes, I can.
Evil Marcus. He’s afraid his old self will return and I’ll be stuck married to a monster. My step falters ever so slightly with the thought and he glances sideways at me with a question in his eyes before he asks.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, of course.” With a squeeze of my hand, we enter his office and I’m taken aback by how many people are here. How many lawyers does it fucking take?
“Imani, darling, this is my legal team. Everyone, this is my Imani.”
“Jefferson, Imani Jefferson,” I correct him and they approach one by one to shake my hand and introduce themselves individually, all eleven of them.
God, what am I getting into? We all sit at a long conference table at one end of the room, Marcus at the head and me on his right. I lean back in my seat and cross my legs, feeling underdressed in jeans and a black tank top with a long grey cashmere sweater and matching grey boots.