Just 15 minutes of sleep, and then I’ll get up.
Saturday used what little drive she had left to remove her clothes, and then finally, zapped of all energy, she lost consciousness and slept soundly in Mark’s big, beautiful bed.
***
Mark wasn’t as quiet as he intended to be when he slinked back into his bedroom.
Saturday roused from where she was sleeping on top of the sheets and started to sit up. When she cleared her vision, she was able to make out Mark by the door, taking his jacket off.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She smiled drowsily up at him. “Hi.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He sat his jacket on the dresser.
“It’s fine,” Saturday responded, her voice heavy with sleep. She began to move to the side of the bed to create space for him, but Mark just stood there… watching her.
Her eyes were finally adjusting to the dimness of the room and now, she could see it.
There was lust in his eyes. He wanted her.
And despite just waking up from a deep slumber, she wanted him, too… just as much… maybe more.
Saturday had undressed shortly after Mark left. She was only wearing her underwear…and she decided to use it to her advantage.
She sat forward on her knees in the middle of the bed, motioning for him to join her. Mark started shedding his clothes immediately. He pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side.
He started to unbuckle his belt, and Saturday couldn’t stay still any longer. She moved to the edge of the bed, taking the belt off for him.
She unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, where Mark kicked them away. Next to go were his boxer briefs, and then Mark’s hands were on Saturday, removing what little was left of her garments.
They grabbed one another on the bed with an urgency that they never had before, the anticipation of this moment lighting an uncontrollable blaze within them both.
They crashed into one another in a maelstrom of lips and tongues and limbs. Flushed and breathless, they kissed and tumbled about on the bed with Mark on top, then Saturday… then Mark again.
Finally, they settled down with Saturday sitting atop Mark, his hands on her hips. She writhed with unfiltered need.
“Ride me, baby,” Mark commanded… and Saturday obeyed.
She had never ridden a man before (hell, she had only had two lovers before), but Mark guided her, showing her how to move.
He clutched Saturday’s waist, rocking himself upward and into her repeatedly as he piloted her smooth slide onto his now-glistening shaft.
Mark skimmed his fingers back down again to sink into her soft hips, helping Saturday maintain a steady bounce on top of him.
Soon, she got the hang of it and was maneuvering Mark in and out… over and over again. It was starting to feel really good… for her and obviously for Mark, too. He leaned his head back and groaned whenever she would sink back down on him.
She was starting to climb towards the peak of an orgasm, and she began to pick up pace. Mark sat up from where he was laying to accommodate her.
They were now face-to-face, clutching each other tightly as Saturday’s rhythm turned frenzied. Nearer and nearer she drew to her climax when, surprisingly, Mark flipped her gently on her back, taking over the stroke of their movement together.
He braced himself over her, leaning in to taste her lips: lips that pleaded, lips that called his name. Mark’s hips moved relentlessly, driving every inch of him into Saturday to the very hilt… and then back out again.
Saturday was close… so close… her body turning into a verifiable tsunami of sensation, ready to crash. She dug her fingertips into his broad shoulders, bracing herself for her own body’s warm eruption.
And just when she was on the edge of ecstasy, Mark looked into her eyes and told her he loved her… before swallowing her cries of pleasure with his kiss.
His own groans joined hers shortly after, their moans melding into one. He rolled her once again, resting on his back and bringing her closer into his embrace. They lay there, intertwined, letting the lingering waves of bliss wash over them.
Saturday wanted to move, to say something, but she didn’t want to ruin this moment. She just wanted to savor this feeling and the knowledge… that what they had was actually real.
She loved him. And he loved her.
And together, they could make it work, now that they were laying themselves bare to one another. Now that they were shedding the barriers that had once weighed them down.
So, with that affirmation, Saturday closed her eyes, letting Mark’s hands soothe her into a soft sleep.
***
Saturday woke up startled and disoriented…and in a strange bed.
She felt a movement beside her; it was Mark, of course.
It took her a few seconds to remember that she was in Mark’s house, Mark’s bed.
She turned to look at him more closely. He slept so peacefully. She reached over, touching the shadow of the beard on his face. Saturday wanted to kiss that face… but right now, nature called.
She reached beside the bed for her purse, rummaging through it to grab her phone.
3:17 AM.
Saturday cursed softly. It was going to be a verrryy long shift at the Greenhouse the next day. She picked up her bag, carrying it to the dresser. She opened the top drawer, snatching Mark’s flannel pajama shirt out of it and pulling the large shirt on. She dropped her phone in its front shirt pocket.
The bedroom and hallway were pitch black. She didn’t want to wake Mark by turning on the lights. She decided that her cellphone was the next best thing. She crept out of the bedroom, using the phone’s light as a guide to find the bathroom. She found it halfway down the hall.
The bathroom was swanky, decorated in shiny chrome and black marble. Her eyes made their way around to the large glass-enclosed shower. What Saturday wouldn’t give to experience the showerhead in there.
She used the bathroom, washed her hands and cut the light before leaving. When she reached the hall, however, she paused.
There were two ways this could go: she could go back to the bedroom and lay down beside her beautiful man or… she could take a quiiiick peek at the rest of his place.
Her decision took but a minute. She opted to take the peek.
The pull of exploration was too great, and Saturday just couldn’t resist. But it wasn’t just that, she realized. On some tiny level, nagging in the back of her mind was the thought that Mark would disappear again.
The last time she slept in his arms, she had woken up to an empty space in her bed… and heart. They hadn’t even talked about why he had left.
That was Saturday’s fault.
She hadn’t wanted to know yet, preferring to enjoy her time this weekend without interference. But now they were back to their regularly scheduled programming, and the curiosity was currently souring in her gut.
So… Saturday, in her large red flannel shirt, made her way across Mark’s long and immaculate hallway in search of clues.
There was another bedroom on the floor; it was clean but inornate. It was a guest bedroom, no doubt. The bedding was royal blue in color, the walls white. She looked inside. Nothing to see here.
Saturday continued walking. The next room was (surprise, surprise) a library that resembled a smaller-scaled version of his parents’. Theirs was a well-read family.
She reached a flight of hardwood stairs. She stopped at the top, marveling. It was a loft, not an apartment, and assuredly expensive.
Financed by the Riches, of course.
Saturday’s bare feet crept down the wooden flight. When she reached the floor below, she took it in with wide eyes. This lower floor seemed HUGE, with light grey walls extending to extremely high ceilings.
The floor contained a large open space with a multitude of halls, and Saturday drifted through it, gaping at the beautiful artwork on the walls, the eloquent layout of the entire floor. She skim
med her hands along the kitchen’s marble countertops; touched the plush black couch; dug her toes into the luxurious rugs.
It was just beautiful. Everything. The house… all of it. It felt like Mark: clean, simple, a bit dark… with touches of warmth in the most unexpected places.
Saturday shone her light toward the far wall. There was a narrow hallway in the back almost completely out of sight. She walked toward it, peeking in the other hallways as she passed. When she reached it, she saw that another full bathroom was in the hallway, followed by a large closet. A door lay beyond those at the very end of the small hall.
This door was a slightly different color than the others, and had a bolt lock on the front. She placed her hand on the door, testing it out. It seemed heavy. She pushed on it. Surprisingly, it was open, and it really was as hefty as it appeared. There were wooden stairs directly beyond the door.
Saturday’s heart beat faster.
It was deathly black below.
She turned her phone light on once more, curiosity driving her legs forward, and descended. She searched for a light switch, and found it near the bottom stair. The light was red. She surveyed the room.
It was a dark room… for photography.
Saturday thought back to when she asked Mark if he worked as a photographer at James’ party. He said he didn’t. It was awfully interesting to Saturday that a self-proclaimed “non-photographer” would possess a dark room.
Very interesting.
Photos hung from a clothesline above square pans placed on long tables. She squinted at some of the pictures. There were pictures of people on the street, taken at the sidewalk and at a view from above.
She looked at the closest line of photos. There were pictures hanging, from the past weekend at the Riches’ home.
Saturday had seen one of Mark’s male cousins hand him a Nikon camera late one afternoon, but she never saw Mark take a picture. Not once. How?
She was in some of the pictures, a smile on her face as she chatted with his family or fell in the sand during a volleyball match. She had to grin at the candid moments that Mark was able to capture with his camera.
Mark must have been in this room…tonight. There was no other way that those pictures could have been developed.
In the back left of the room, there was another doorway. The hallway was small, and Saturday strode down to the room located at the end of it. She turned on the light and gasped softly.
The walls were covered… almost every stitch of paint concealed… by photographs.
Almost floor to ceiling. Pictures of people. Everywhere. Coffee shops. Rollercoasters. Fairs. Restaurants. Bars.
She turned to gaze at the wall behind her and her knees buckled, almost causing her to collapse.
Slightly from center, about a foot above her head on the wall… was a picture of Saturday, her back to the camera and her arm outstretched as she spoke animatedly to a Clairvoyage patron.
To the left was another picture.
And another below that.
And another next to that.
The entire section. An entire section was of her.
Just HER.
Most of the pictures were of her in a window. She recognized the window, the curtains.
It was her bedroom window.
But it wasn’t just that. Those curtains…
She had changed those months ago. Before she ever even knew the name, Mark Rich…
Saturday turned at the sight of the picture and emptied the entire contents of her stomach onto the floor. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over as she ran past the bile on the ground and into the hallway leading to the dark room.
Her vision blurred by tears, she slammed into one of the dark room’s tables, knocking over an empty developer pan. She kept moving despite the pain that shot into her side.
Her brain was chanting now, over and over: Go. Get out of here. NOW.
Saturday made her way upstairs to the main floor, her bare feet slapping against polished tile as she scrambled to keep her footing. She felt the weight of the phone in her front shirt pocket.
She called the first person she could think of: Kara.
She prayed that Kara would pick up.
The phone rang for three long rings before Kara answered sleepily. “Hell… hello?”
Saturday whispered fiercely into the phone. “Kara… please come get me.”
Saturday heard rustling on the other line, and then Kara’s voice, clearer and louder this time.
“Saturday?” Kara asked. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” Saturday wheezed. “Mark’s house…. I… I don’t know!”
“Saturday…calm down. Do you have a map on your phone?”
Thanking God, Saturday shook her head vigorously.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good,” Kara responded. “Use the GPS in your phone to gather your location, and then tell me where you are. You can text it to me, if it’s easier that way.”
“Ok, ye… yeah. Kara, please hurry up. I need to get out of here.”
“I’m almost at my door. Grab the address. Now. I’ll be there.”
Saturday nodded instead of responding, terror gripping her chest and throat, making it hard to breathe. The idea of a taxi or Uber car had entered her mind, but she had already called Kara at that point. Besides…she was alone with nothing on but a flannel shirt. She was going to need company.
She ended the call and opened the GPS, texting the details back to Kara. Luckily, Kara lived pretty close. Turns out that Mark’s loft was in Manhattan, and Kara’s place was as well.
Nine agonizing minutes later, Saturday’s phone buzzed to life with an incoming call, nearly scaring Saturday half to death. It was Kara.
“Come outside right now,” Kara said. “I’m almost there.”
“Yeah, ok, thanks,” Saturday rasped quickly.
Saturday had second thoughts about retrieving her purse from upstairs, but quickly pushed those aside. Leaving this place was priority number one.
Boy, was she dense. She actually thought that she was beginning to know Mark; beginning to know this beautiful, complicated, creative man who, hours before, she had taken pride to call her own.
But she wasn’t. She knew nothing.
Saturday dashed quietly to the black couch, grabbing the small blanket she saw earlier to wrap around herself against the November chill. She knocked over a kitchen chair in her haste.
Frantic, she left the chair there, turning to make a break for it when a realization hit her, causing her stomach to drop.
Just where… the hell… was that front door?
Saturday hadn’t been awake when Mark carried her in. She had no clue where the entrance of this elaborate expanse was. She had only briefly seen the den area in which she now stood, merely breezing through it on her way to the back.
She was utterly lost… and it was pitch black. She pulled her phone out, attempting to illuminate the way.
She tried the next hall that she saw. The line of it was long, leading to other halls, other rooms. The space seemed vast, the twists and turns seemingly endless to a panicked Saturday. She rounded another corner, touching walls as she made her way through the cell phone-lit corridors.
She opened almost every door she passed, winding up in extra bedrooms, offices… even a closet. Tiptoe-ing turned to brisk walking, which turned to semi-sprinting. The clock was ticking…
Time is running out, girl. It’s only a matter of time before…
Saturday stuttered in her step, halting stone cold in her tracks.
She was rendered motionless…stopped…by the sight of Mark.
Standing at the end of the hall.
Directly between her and the front door.
***
November 27
I’m living a lie. I wish I could show Saturday the real me. I’m tired of hiding it. Tired of holding back. I tell myself to be patient, but the anxiety is killing me. No more.
&
nbsp; I’m ready. I’m going to reveal the truth about myself to her.
Soon…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Continue on to the next page for a SNEAK PEEK of Behind the Blindfold: Volume II
From: Behind the Blindfold: Volume II
Chapter 1
And as for Axe? Well, Saturday liked him…a lot; she really did. It’s just that…some puzzle piece was missing from their interaction, some…part that would make the picture whole.
Saturday figured that she was the reason. It was she that wasn’t fully vested, fully involved. Yes, she had shared bits of her life with Axe, but the information flowed from her like a drizzle.
With Mark, she experienced involuntary outpouring of her thoughts, her soul. Even the way Axe looked at her left something to be desired. He was almost always sweet and attentive, his eyes reflecting what she truly believed was genuine affection for her.
But Mark…the way he looked at her…
He observed Saturday like a hunter watches its prey, glaring as if he wanted to devour her, his bright eyes turning a deep olive as his irises seemed to soak her in. She shuddered involuntarily.
When he looked at her that way, his gaze unblinking, she felt bared…and ready to give him anything. Mark was so raw…and unfiltered…and…
Psychopathic? Yeah…possibly that, too.
To my fellow book lovers:
To any reader picking up this book, to anyone who enjoyed one second of this book, wrote or said a positive or constructive word about this book: I absolutely, positively, irrevocably love you.
This girly, geeky, glasses-wearing nerd couldn’t have done it without you.
I’d love to hear what you think about Behind the Blindfold: Volume 1, so if you have a second, PLEASE leave a review on Amazon.com or GoodReads.com.
And I LOVE to talk shop (a.k.a. books), so PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE do not hesitate to e-mail me at [email protected] OR leave a comment on NatalieWrye.com OR on my Facebook page under Natalie Wrye (where I’ll keep updates on Volumes 1 & 2 as well as the other works I’ve got in the mix!).
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 14