Sexual Persuasion

by Sinclair, Maryn

  She winced from the glorious, needle-like pain surging through her as she released her engorged nipple from her mouth. A quick breath, followed by a satisfied whimper, escaped her lips. She had suckled herself often―one benefit of breasts her size―but never before had another person controlled her fantasy in such a clear vision. She moved to the forgotten breast, taking the nipple aggressively as her growing need beckoned to the throbbing fire below.

  She slid her free hand down the silk of her gown, over her flat belly, found the hem, and raised it to slip her fingers under the ridge of her panties into her swollen lips. One finger, then two, deep inside, massaging the walls of her vagina as her thumb rubbed her mons. The tension built within her. She spread her slick juices, slowly rubbing, filling her aching desire.

  Her hips rolled to the rhythm of her contractions, and she lifted them up off the bed as a new stream of liquid surged from her opening.

  Legs stretched taut.

  Back arched.

  Heart pulsing in a frantic, primitive beat.

  Breath in short puffs.

  Convulsions cresting in waves, one after the other, taking her to a distant place. Alex straddled over her. She saw him as she had in her haunting dreams, his hand hot between her thighs before he slid his delicious cock into her.

  Gasping, she buried her head deep into her pillow as her trembling continued for a few moments more before subsiding. She lay still for a long while, catching her breath. Now, fully awake, she faced the truth that she lay alone in her bed, her damp hand resting on her tender, contented mound. The image of Alex Andros a wisp of memory.

  She wanted to go back to sleep because her dreams were better than reality.

  “Dammit, Charlotte,” she said aloud. “What’s wrong with you? How can you be celibate when you keep thinking about men? A specific man. Enough of this!”

  She threw back the covers. If nothing else, the last ten minutes proved she needed only to picture a man to satisfy herself. She possessed all the equipment to go it alone. And in all modesty, she wasn’t half bad at filling her physical needs.

  Then she thought of Jack, and her skin crawled. He could ruin her. Alex said he’d take care of the problem and call her this morning. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe Jack wouldn’t give up the photos. And if he didn’t want to give them up, how could Alex make him?

  She’d make herself crazy thinking about this. She got out of bed, brushed her teeth, and prepared a good breakfast. First a glass of orange juice to take her vitamins; then she scrambled some eggs and ate them with raisin toast and coffee. In the middle of tidying the kitchen, the buzzer rang. The clock in the kitchen said 8:45. Would Alex come over here without calling? Jack? She froze at the thought.

  One way to find out. She pressed the intercom. The locksmith Alex sent to change her locks answered. In the midst of her self-satisfying sexcapade, she’d totally forgotten. She quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It took a little more than two hours to change both the street and house locks and wire an alarm system and keypad. He left, claiming the bill had already been paid.

  How nice, she thought, but it was almost eleven, and Alex still hadn’t called. She could call him, but he said he’d call her. He probably got tied up. Maybe he didn’t get the pictures, or he changed his mind about calling. He seemed conflicted last night.

  Then she thought about that kiss and the heat of the moment when he’d her pinned to the wall. She’d already decided Alex was bisexual at worst, because no gay man could have been turned on enough by a woman to shove an erection that hard against her or plant a kiss on her lips that rumbled down to her toes. Or was Charlotte an experimental foray into the straight world? Maybe the thought of what he’d done had so turned him off he went home and threw up. Either way, she wouldn’t sit around and wait any more than she already had. No longer. Not for any man. Gay, bi, or straight. If he called while she was out, she’d get the message.

  She dressed in her walking clothes―a sports bra and shorts―put on her shoes, grabbed her fanny pack with her house keys, and barreled out the door. As she unbolted her double lock and set the keypad to her new alarm system, she thought of the reason she now had them, and a sick feeling roiled in her stomach. The photos and what Jack could do with them. And Alex. Had he told her what she wanted to hear before fleeing the apartment as if he were going to a four-alarm fire? Was he one more lying man who couldn’t be trusted?

  At least he didn’t try to get in her pants, because, dammit, she would have let him, and she’d be kicking herself this morning when he didn’t call. Her head filled with the fear of Jack and fought the desire to see Alex again. Stop thinking about them, Charlotte. They’ll only cause you heartbreak and pain. She hustled down the stairs onto the street, determined to speed-walk them out of her mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Dirty, Rotten Scoundrel

  Alex left his apartment late on purpose. Let Davidson wait. He’d be hung over, regretful that he’d talked too much at the Pussy Club. He might even be a little scared.

  People milled up and down Charles Street, looking in the shops, stopping for coffee or a cold drink. Many of them were tourists taking in the picturesque scenery of Beacon Hill and across the street, Boston Commons.

  The coffee shop inhabited a converted old bank building. Alex checked his watch: 10:50. He climbed the few steps to go inside. Davidson sat at a table, his wrinkled form hunched over a large coffee. Anyone who didn’t know better might think he’d just stumbled in off a two-week bender. He probably had the same lousy night’s sleep Alex did.

  Alex ordered the coffee of the day and took it to a seat at Davidson’s table. This would be quick, unless the hotelier was in the same foolish mood to talk. Then Alex had all the time in the world.

  Davidson looked up, his red-veined eyes small over deep pouches, like a basset hound’s. He slid a slim packet toward Alex.

  “All of them?”

  Davidson nodded wearily and stared at some far-off point.

  Alex wondered if he’d started his drinking early. He didn’t smell liquor, but Davidson looked worse than rough. Alex opened the envelope and flipped through the photos. The negatives were there too. He wanted to gag from the images. If they weren’t in public, he would have used the son of a bitch as a martial-arts refresher course. The S&M photos were vile, worse than the one he’d already seen. The fact that Davidson drugged Charlotte to take them made him even more despicable. Alex wouldn’t show them to Charlotte. She’d seen one, enough to last her a lifetime.

  “You sick bastard,” Alex spit out. “Anyone can see she’s out cold.”

  Davidson massaged his temples as if finessing away a headache. “I was wasted and got carried away. I didn’t do anything to her.” He cocked his head toward the envelope. “I was drunk but not that drunk. Charlotte is Miss Goody Two-shoes.” Davidson’s eyes shot open as he looked at Alex. “Oh, wait. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Or maybe she does things with you she wouldn’t do with me.”

  Alex’s blood went from slow simmer to full boil. His fists clenched, and his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms. How many other pictures had Davidson collected on the good citizens of Boston? And what did he have on his boss?

  Alex leaned across the table. “You’re playing with fire if you think you can blackmail Max.”

  Sweat beaded on Davidson’s face. “Again, I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was saying. I have nothing on Max.”

  “Is booze your excuse for everything?”

  Davidson squinted, ran his sleeve across his forehead. “I say things I don’t mean when I’m drunk and do things I shouldn’t. I’m fucked up.”

  “Add your drinking problem to a gambling one, and you’d do yourself a favor to get into a program. I doubt you’d find one that addresses all your vices, though. And while you’re at it, find some smarten-up pills, because being stupid could have detrimental consequences.”

  “On top of dipping your wick into both my old girlfriend a
nd into Max, you’re my friendly shrink too?”

  Davidson’s mention of where Alex dipped his wick infuriated him. “Once more, don’t fuck with Max.” He flipped through the photos. “And you’d better not do anything to hurt Charlotte. You’re already up to your neck in shit. Don’t get in deeper.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  Alex leaned over and spoke in a low, steady voice. “No, asshole. Thanks to you. Stop blaming everyone for your fuck-ups. You gambled; you lost. No one made you do it.”

  “You should know how it goes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Your old man’s gambling sent him to jail, didn’t it? I should think you’d have more compassion.”

  “I’ve plenty. If I didn’t, I’d kill you.” He tucked the photographs into the back pocket of his jeans. “If you ever bother Charlotte again, I will.” He rose and left the coffee shop, his hands shaking. He’d never threatened a man in his life.

  The despicable photos brought back something he’d said to Max about Jack’s access to filming and recording people in sensitive situations. The Regent had a stellar reputation because Jack had good people working for him, holdovers from his father’s regime. Politicians and movie stars stayed there; local bigwigs conducted business meetings in the rooms. Alex imagined the trysts that went on under the guise of privacy.

  He put the key in the ignition, about to start his car, when he looked up to see Jack emerge from the coffee house and swagger toward Copley Square and the Regent. Halfway down the block a tall, muscle-bound guy came out of nowhere. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap and looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in his prime and lost. Even at that distance, Alex saw a jagged scar cut diagonally across the side of his neck. The guy grabbed Jack’s arm, and by the surprised look on Jack’s face, this was no arranged meeting. The two men exchanged words. Angry words. Alex wished he could hear.

  After a minute, the man jabbed his finger in Jack’s neck. Jack stumbled backward and would have hit the ground if the man hadn’t grabbed him and held him up. Alex knew that move. Mountain Man stabbed a pressure point. Pain depended on how hard he pressed. He could have rendered Jack unconscious. Jack looked pissed. They exchanged more words. Then the man with the steel finger did it again, this time in Jack’s kidney. Jack went down. The man walked away in the other direction, leaving Jack writhing on the sidewalk.

  Alex couldn’t resist. He hopped out of the car and jogged the half block to where Jack now teetered to his feet. “What the hell was that all about?”

  Jack braced himself against a tree, holding his side, gasping for breath. “You ought to know, sending that maniac after me.”

  Alex shook his head. “Not me.”

  “Then your boss. Didn’t you say I wouldn’t know when lightning struck? Well, lightning just fucking struck. You reported back to Carpathian and told him shit I said when I was too drunk to know what I was saying, and out of the blue I’ve got this gorilla warning me that if I didn’t mind my own business, I’d be using a wheelchair the rest of my life. Sound like Max, Andros?”

  Alex couldn’t deny the possibility. Subtlety had never been one of Max’s strong points.

  Davidson tried to walk and winced. “Jesus. That guy might put me in a chair yet.”

  “I don’t know anything about this, but maybe you should take his advice. This isn’t Kansas anymore, Dorothy. This is the big game, and you’re not on a dirt lot. You’re playing in Fenway Park.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means whoever sent him is trying to tell you something. Knowing you, you won’t listen.” Alex started to walk away, then turned. “I’d take a taxi from now on, Jack. Walking can be dangerous.”

  “There’s something else, Andros.”

  “What?”

  Davidson looked truly conflicted. He waved Alex off. “Nothing. Forget it. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Rather than press, he’d enjoy whatever time he had before finding out. If it had to do with Max, his boss wouldn’t hesitate to let him know.

  But first, he needed to take care of business. He got back to his car and dialed Tom Scruggs. Alex had used Scruggs before. An ex-spook, he knew everything about electronic surveillance. He also knew every pro working in the Boston area and beyond. Alex figured Scruggs would have to call in someone else to complete the job, but he felt confident he’d choose wisely. He always did.

  “Got a job for you, Tom. It’s a big one. Might even be dangerous, but I’m paying top dollar. Are you free?”

  “As a bird,” Scruggs answered.

  “Good. I’ll get back to you.” Alex checked his watch: 12:45. Where had the time gone? He told Charlotte he’d call in the morning. He should have called as soon as he had the photos, but he didn’t realize the late time. He was always punctual, except this morning. He tapped in her number, and after it rang five or six times, it switched to voice mail. If he hadn’t seen Davidson minutes before, he’d be worried. He waited for the beep.

  “Charlotte, I have the photos. You don’t have to worry about them anymore.” Was that all he wanted to say? No. But that was all he would say. That was all he promised. He hung up and drove toward the harbor.

  He turned on the radio loud, hoping it would capture his attention. Stop thinking about her. Concentrate on something else. Anything other than Charlotte. But it was a lost cause. He pictured her last night, blonde hair cascading onto her shoulders, tears filling her innocent blue eyes and tumbling onto her cheeks. And the red dress that would stop an army in their tracks. He got halfway home, made a U-turn, and headed to Newbury Street.

  Chapter Ten

  Lust to Lust

  Charlotte saw Alex’s car at a meter adjacent to her doorway. Sweat poured off her, and she felt like she just came out of a steam room. He got out and waited until she approached. He wore sunglasses and looked almost edible in washed-out jeans and a dark gold open-neck polo shirt. Get a grip.

  “I called, but you didn’t answer. I left a message on your machine.”

  “You said you’d call in the morning. I figured Jack wouldn’t give you the photos, so around eleven I went for my walk.”

  “Sorry. The morning got away from me. Jack gave me the photos. That’s the message on the machine.”

  “Are you going to show them to me?”

  He met her gaze straight-on. “No.”

  Charlotte’s stomach sank. “That bad, huh?”

  “Do you really want to talk on the street?”

  “I appreciate what you did, but―”

  “Open the door, Charlotte.”

  “I―”

  “Open it.”

  Her chest felt like it would explode, because she knew what was going to happen. And she wanted it to happen. She found the key in her fanny pack and pointed to the new lock. “Your locksmith came over and changed the locks and installed an alarm system. Thanks. I appreciate your taking care of that, but you didn’t have to pay.”

  “You’re welcome, and my pleasure. Can we go inside?”

  She unlocked the door, and he followed her into the small entry, wedging his body against hers. She took a tiny step back. Not from fear, but because if he got any closer, he might kiss her. More importantly, she’d be tempted to kiss him back. Not tempted, anxious. She saw the danger in his eyes, heard his raspy whisper. His gaze settled on the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She wanted him. No. She didn’t. But yes, she did. So much it hurt.

  “You’re aroused, Charlotte.”

  “I…I am not.” More lies. Could he smell her arousal? Sense her clit pulsing with the desire to be satisfied? Could he feel the throbbing against his thigh? He moved in closer. Now she was sure he could. She wanted to die, but she’d never felt so alive.

  “Yes, you are. You can’t control your breathing, and your heart is beating so fast you think it’s going to pop through your skin.”

  His hand inched from her neck to her ear, sw
irling his finger around and in and over. She purred like a contented kitten. His other hand moved down her back to cover her buttocks. He pulled her to him so she pressed against his chest.

  She wanted to move, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him get to her. Not the new Charlotte Stone. “You’re wrong. It’s because I’ve been on a long walk. Miles, maybe. I’m sweaty. I probably stink.”

  He smiled again. “You’re not sweaty; you’re hot. You’re trying not to want me, but you do.” He got close to her ear. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she blurted out. She felt weak. She also felt his hard-on, which only made her want him more. What in hell was wrong with her? He’d joked about being gay, but he never denied it.

  “I thought about you all night long. You’re why I couldn’t sleep. I would have taken you last night, but after what Jack did, I couldn’t force myself on you, no matter how much I wanted you. Now I’ve figured you out, Charlotte Stone. You’re trying hard to convince yourself you don’t want to give in, but you do. And you will.”

  God, she felt like giving in now. Steam rose off him like a simmering teakettle, and his arrogance made him hotter. She cleared her throat. Stand up to him, Charlotte. Or at least try. She threw out her jaw and tried to look down on him, but he was too damn tall. She couldn’t look down on someone who towered over her. “If you think you’ve figured me out, you’re in for a surprise.” The bastard’s still smiling.

  “I’ll chance the learning experience. Gentleman time is over. Now let’s go upstairs.”

  “I can’t. You don’t understand.”

  “You can, and I understand perfectly. You have no idea how much I understand. Let’s forget the promises we’ve made to our inner selves. It’s one afternoon. One day. You and me.”

  Could she deal with one afternoon or even one day if she knew that was all there’d be? It was sex. Lust. Then it would be over, and they could go on without any entanglements. She started up the stairs and slipped the key into the lock, opened the door, and shut off the alarm.