by L. B. Dunbar
“If you have on a garter, this game is over.” She reached between her legs and wrapped the material of her dress firmly over each thigh, covering her secret. “Why would you have one on without stockings?”
She simply shrugged. “It’s your game. Is this what you wanted to play?” I blinked at her boldness and chuckled softly.
“No, I wanted to ask another question.” Her brow rose, curious, but she remained quiet. “If you had to pick a new animal to dance to, which would you pick?” Her brows pinched, recalling how Garvey demanded I learn some native ritual of dancing to express what I’d learned from an animal.
They can teach you things you’d never see, he said, and I thought of The Little Prince “What is important is that which cannot be seen.” I could not see love, but I felt it when I was near Juliet.
“I’ll start,” I said, sitting back on my ankles and rubbing up her thighs, temptingly close to that hidden lingerie. “I learned from a vixen, that friendship is important. Being responsible for another is more gratifying than being responsible for only me. That I must learn to appreciate and ask permission, not just take.” She stared at me as my hands stilled at her knees. I pressed up, leaned forward and kissed her. Then I crossed to the couch and sat, perching my arm on the rest. She watched me, and I could see the wheels spinning behind the beautiful violet eyes.
“Are you still seeking redemption?” she asked, looking over at me, the loose material to her dress slipping over one thigh, exposing what I considered she was wearing. The clasp to a garter belt dangling against her inner thigh—white, pristine, and tempting me to do sinful things.
“I am. And I will, for the rest of my life.”
“Is that why you want to marry me?” She sat comfortably in the chair, the distance too far from me.
“No, I want to marry you because I love you. I want to be wild with you.” The comment made her smile, and she stood slowly. Seduction personified, she was an island goddess as she took the short step to stand between my knees.
“Well,” she began, flipping her loose hair over one shoulder and straddling her thighs over mine. “I learned from a snake, that as dangerous as he can seem, he is only trying to survive. He doesn’t wish to be a lone creature. Despite his bite, he has a soft side.” She sat on my lap, the dress parting, exposing the high-waisted ribbon to a sheer garter and the lacy covering over a part of her I treasured. “A snake has taught me that I don’t want to be alone any longer, and if I care for him, he will care about me.”
“I care about everything connected to you,” I said, reaching up for her jaw as she settled over the length straining at my zipper. She slipped back, and a purr rolled from her throat.
“I know,” she whispered, lowering to kiss me. “I trust you.” The words meant more than her love, and in an instant, my mouth crushed hers. I flipped her to her back, spreading her wide against the cushions as I rubbed against her. The dress peeled open, proving the slit rose as high as the tie at her breasts. With a tug it was loosened, and she lay under me, lacy underthings in virginal white. Breasts hardly covered in a demi-bra were ripe for my taking as her nipples poked over the top ruffle.
“Holy shit,” I hissed, staring down at her. My mouth watered, not knowing where to start. She was a delicacy, and I wanted to ravish her. I tugged down the barely-there cups of her bra, forcing her breasts up in the air, nipples already at attention. My mouth lowered to one, sucking on it as I fumbled with my belt. I sat up, and the sharp snap of leather removed from the loops startled her.
“I’d never hurt you,” I said, lowering again to her.
“I know that,” she said, peering up to me with innocent, willing eyes. My fingers slipped aside the lacy nothingness covering her heat, and I slid one inside her, listening to her breath hitch.
“You’re going to be my wife,” I stated, as my finger slipped deeper, feeling the warmth of her surrounding me before dragging back to tease the spot that would push her over the edge.
“Yes, I am.” Her fingers reached greedily for my neck, but I remained perched above her, looking down at where I entered her with my fingers. I unzipped my pants, pushing them to my hips to expose I wore nothing underneath. She gasped as her delicate fingers reached for my dick. Tugging gently, I leapt in her palm.
“We’re going to leave all this on,” I said, admiring her skimpy attire, the dress splayed under her, draping over the couch. I slipped the panties to the side and thrust into her. Balancing above her, with one knee on the couch and the other extended to the floor, I watched as I entered her over and over again. Her white lace contrasted with my black pants only removed to my thighs. She was pure goodness, but I was not evil. I was only a man—a man who wanted a woman. My thrusts increased, and she met me with equal haste. I fell forward as her hands reached for my ass, forcing me into her. She didn’t speak, but the pressure of her fingers told me—harder, faster, deeper. I’d never get deep enough.
“Mouse,” I hissed, warning her I was close, the euphoria of the day mixing with this moment. I reached between us, stroking at her as I pummeled into her. Her signs were present—a soft gasp, a hard clench, thighs stiffening around mine. “That’s it, baby. Take it from me.”
She burst with my name on her lips, and I responded by filling her, pulsing inside her, relishing the heat. A thought crossed my mind that she was in a better position to hold my seed. I silently prayed for a family one day.
26
Juliet
I was getting married. I still had trouble believing he’d asked, and I said yes. Next, he wanted to take me to meet his parents.
“I don’t care if they approve or not, but I’d still like to introduce you,” he said, the following morning.
“Don’t approve?” I questioned, my forehead furrowing. “There’s going to be an issue because it’s me, right?”
“My mother couldn’t forgive me, but she didn’t disown me, either. She wouldn’t risk displeasing my father by giving her opinion. However, I think she’s noticed I haven’t been on an actual date in nearly two years. My father doesn’t care about love, but he does care about prestige. The Goodwins are that type of family, but I’ve already explained Abby. She’s a friend.”
“She’s not going to like this arrangement. She’s not going to like me,” I clarified, picking at my breakfast. He reached across the table and took my hand.
“I don’t care if she likes you. I know that seems harsh, but true. The only one who needs to like you is me.” He chuckled. “We aren’t living near them. We don’t have to interact with them, but I think meeting you would smooth things over a bit.”
“But I’m the girl,” I said, lowering my voice and looking out the window. Another sunny, blue sky greeted us, but I felt cloudy inside. A storm brewed under my skin. I didn’t want to meet these people he distrusted, but were still important to him.
“And I’ll explain that, too,” he said, not sounding as confident as he typically did.
“We could elope,” I offered, knowing I didn’t want a big wedding, and I definitely couldn’t tell Miller yet, or he’d go all wedding planner crazy on me.
“I already have a plan.” He winked. “But we see them first.”
+ +
As the plane landed, my hand gripped Tack’s. Sweat suctioned our palms together. My nerves caused my heart to skip a beat. After collecting our bags, we were met by a driver. The division I feared upon returning to the physical States was happening. Minute by minute, he slipped away from me, like one of those dreams where you are reaching for something, and it’s sliding just out of reach. Tack sat a little farther from me in the backseat. He still had my hand, but it was my palm placed on his thigh with his hand over mine. He stared out the window as we passed through the city. To my surprise, he took me to my home in St. Michael’s.
“It’s been a long day. Get some rest. I’ll have a driver pick you up tomorrow and meet you at the club.” The information seemed rather dismissive and that divide grew. He carried
my bag up to my apartment above The Mouse Trap, hardly taking note of the place, and kissing me briefly before he left. I wanted to ask him to stay, to reassure me that the dream wasn’t going to crash. But I didn’t. He seemed as out of sorts as me.
It felt odd to sleep without him, although I’d done it for nearly two years. I’d grown as comfortable sleeping with him in the last weeks as I had easily fallen into sleeping next to him two years ago in a warm tent. The separation left me with an eerie feeling. My skin prickled with negative thoughts of things to come.
The next night, I dressed in a gorgeous dress he’d sent by messenger, stating he’d taken the liberty because he loved me in white. The dress was beautiful, with a low-cut lace bodice and a short skirt. I worried it was a bit risqué to meet his parents in something so high cut. I pulled my hair up and added more make-up than I’d normally wear. My hands shook as the driver pulled up before at an address I recognized, even if the building looked different.
The location was the spot of the original Front Door. My breath hitched as I stared at the dark green doors to the newer club. Despite Tack telling me he’d burned the building to the ground, the location alone made me tremble. I stared out the window a moment longer.
“Are you certain this is the address?” I asked the driver, Henry.
“Yep. Everyone knows Mr. Corbin owns the finest club in town.”
Consequences. The ironic name was stated in bold letters over the double doors. The valet opened my door and assisted me in exiting the backseat. I continued to stare at the club with its cold glass panels, three stories tall, the hint of low lights within. Irritation grew that Tack hadn’t met me at the curb. I entered and waited as I texted Tack. Trepidation was spreading through me like a wild vine.
A text returned. Introduce yourself to the hostess, she will direct you upstairs.
I didn’t like this response. I wanted him to come down and walk with me. With trembling hands, I stepped toward the hostess stand.
“Juliet Monte,” I introduced. The young girl in a skin-tight black dress which hardly covered her backside nodded and directed me to follow her. We walked up three flights of stairs, and my heart raced as I realized we would be entering the third floor. The scene of the crime might have been redressed, updated, renovated, but I felt sick being here. Tack stood outside the door of a small room and boisterously announced, “Here she is!” The pitch of his voice was too high. His tone false. He held out a hand, and his green eyes looked wild. He’d already been drinking.
Shaky fingers reached for his, and he tugged me to him. The motion was so sharp I stumbled in my heels and fell against his chest.
“You look beautiful,” he mumbled into my hair before placing his lips against my forehead. The greeting was so unlike him, the touch of his lips no more than a brush of air. I pulled back and looked at him. Once again, he had transformed into a Tack I didn’t know. Wild eyes. Crisp suit. False smile. He looked more like the man I saw when I entered a private room over two years ago—disconnected and dispassionate.
“Different but the same,” I muttered almost a question.
“What?” he snapped at me, as if I’d insulted him. I let his tone slide as he led me inside, feeling myself slip into a role as well. The one where I was quiet and reserved, and observing my surroundings but not part of them. A mouse.
The first introduction was to a woman who looked frail from drug use. Prescription or not, the look was the same. Her appearance matched the occasional woman my uncle brought home. Her skin was a pale gray color, heavily disguised with make-up. Her lipstick a touch too bright, contrasting the thick pearls at her neck. She was too thin.
“Mother,” Tack addressed her, kissing her cheek. “This is my Juliet.” His mother eyed me before stepping forward and air-brushing my cheek.
“You’re very brave,” she whispered before pulling back. Her eyes flicked from her son to me. A touch of sympathy and fear mixed with her statement.
“Thank you,” I answered, uncertain what she meant or how to respond. Tack’s hand had slipped to my lower back and he patted it in a patronizing manner. I didn’t care for the touch.
Next, my attention was drawn to a man who was clearly Tack’s father. The touch of gray at his temples only enhanced the striking appearance of a man who reflected what Tack would look like as he grew older. Confident. Cocky. Composed. Unfortunately, Terror was the appropriate nickname for Terrence Jackson Corbin III. His glacial blue eyes turned my blood cold. While I shivered under his gaze, sweat pooled under my arms.
“So this is the girl,” he said, sizing me up with those frozen eyes. I smiled slightly in response, but there was no approval in his glare.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I offered my hand, but his father didn’t take it, lifting his drink for a sip in obvious disgust at my presence. His glare said everything. You gave up your freedom for this. You went into banishment because of that. You split from my company for her.
“This is her,” Tack replied, again too loud, almost too cheerful. Falseness surrounded us. A drink suddenly appeared in his other hand, and he took a hearty sip.
“Tack, where are your manners? Perhaps you should get your date a drink,” his mother suggested, sipping her wine.
“Fiancée,” Tack announced, correcting her and holding up my hand for his parents to see. The announcement was apparently the official statement. His father’s eyes narrowed, taking in the size of my ring. His mother’s eyes widened. This was our engagement party, and they had no idea.
“What?” shrieked a female voice across the room, and I spun to see Abby Goodwin standing near an elegant-looking couple who could only be her parents. Abby sauntered toward us in a green dress that matched the front doors of the club. Her eyes remained on Tack. “What is this?” Through clenched teeth she spoke, and I realized no one in the room knew who I was, or rather who I was in relation to Tack. In that moment, I no longer knew who I was either. Had I been set up for another night of humiliation?
“Abby, you remember meeting Juliet.” Tack’s hold on my hand tightened.
“Yes,” Abby sneered looking at me. “What’s that cute name you have for her? Oh, right, your little rat.”
“Mouse,” I clarified, my voice choking on the word. I internally kicked myself for speaking and wondered why Abby and her family were even present.
“Holy shit,” a masculine voice behind me hissed and I spun to be met by a face I recognized. Rory Fontaine’s brown eyes ensnared mine. He was the spitting image of his older brother. I hadn’t seen him in more than two years, but I remembered him, and I was propelled backward in time. While his face had been hidden behind a camera, those eyes had been on me, hungry for his turn, which thankfully never came.
I spun to Tack.
“You said you’d lost touch,” I growled low, looking up at him for some explanation of this humiliation.
“Guess he came to see I got the girl.”
I squeaked in response, feeling like I fit the nickname Mouse, surrounded by so many devious cats. Tack’s expression fell as realization slowly bloomed.
“Juliet, I didn’t mean—“
“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” I said, holding up a hand and offering a false smile to his mother, whose dead eyes sparked in recognition of my pain. Numbly, I spun and headed for the hall, hoping to find a bathroom. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. As I walked out of the room, holding my head up as best I could, I heard Tack’s voice behind me. “Baby, don’t be like this.”
Every muscle in my body twitched. The anger surpassed my hurt. While I wanted to spin back to him and tell him, “No, you don’t be like this,” I just needed a minute. Finding a bathroom, I locked the door behind me and pressed against the wood, which was reminiscent of something made in a jungle. In fact, the door looked vaguely like the door of my tree house. I stared at the wood panels, a replication but too polished, too over-varnished and garish. How appropriate, I thought. Tack was the same—polished up and on
display. I felt the same way, and I couldn’t stay here.
We’re going to play this my way.
My emotions warred within me. I didn’t want to play. I loved Tack, and I thought he loved me, but this was not him. I did not recognize who he was, other than someone I knew once upon a time on an island. This Tack reminded me of that night, and I would never be with that man.
A soft rap came to the door and hope traitorously leapt in my heart that he’d come to me to explain. As I turned the lock, the door came toward me in a rush, and I was forced back into the small confines of the washroom. My heart raced as I looked up to find Rory with his back to the door, blocking my exit.
“Hello, little…what is it he calls you? Mouse?” He bit his lower lip. His eyes narrowed, the leer reminding me of his brother, a man who watched me work, propositioned me, and when I refused, decided he would use my body to teach me a lesson. Maybe he noticed how often I stared at Tack Corbin. Maybe he saw I was interested in the mystery of Tack versus the evil of Rick. My curiosity was misplaced and misunderstood, and Rick decided I would be the sacrificial lamb for slaughter. The initiation into his exclusive rooms by his most immediate friends. They would each have a turn after Rick staked his claim. He forced Tack to follow him, in what I now knew was a tactic to prove that Tack would always be second to Rick. Rory and Smack were each going to have a turn, and while all the men feigned indifference, they watched the performance, as Rick called it.
She will submit to all of us. And then she’ll ask for it again.
I’d been in over my head, but that was no excuse for what they’d done. And even when Tack recognized I wasn’t as willing as he was initially promised, he still did nothing. I’d come to terms with that, but it all rushed back to me. The night. The sounds. The look in his eyes.
We’re going to play this my way. Blink if you understand me.