He hung up and then he smiled, reaching out a hand in a gesture, and she came closer, leaning into his caress.
“Hi,” she said, looking out where his gaze landed, catching on a bird, some trees. “How long was I asleep?” She was curious about the call, but her attention quickly shifted to his hand and how he was stroking her body through the sheet, his fingers warm and skillful.
He put one arm fully around her. “About an hour. Your usual.” He smiled and gave her a light slap on her ass through the sheet.
“That was the best ever,” she told him, planting a light kiss on his cheek. “Seriously. Of my life.” He didn’t reply, but tightened his arm around her body and both of them looked out the window for another minute. She added, “I thought the other ones were good? But this one? Phenomenal.”
Myka’s heart felt full, and there were so many things she wanted to say to him. But she didn’t know his feelings, so she stayed quiet. She pulled away to grab the book. “Here’s your present. It made me think of you. “
He laughed at the title. “Oh, Myka. Sexual irregularities. I hope he has some good ideas.”
“Have you ever read it?” Myka was curious.
“No. I got you something, too.” He got up and felt around in the pocket of his jacket, which was tossed over a chair. He handed her a small brown bag, folded over. “For you.”
Myka felt pleased and shy. “What is it?” She opened the bag and took out a small piece of art, no bigger than a postcard, framed with unvarnished wood. It was a painting of a Tibetan sand mandala and there was a quote inscribed on the frame: The Journey Is The Destination. She touched the wood, looking at the swirls in the grain. “It’s gorgeous.”
She glanced at him. His gaze was soft. “I remembered our talk about Tibetan sand paintings and capturing joy. And the quote, that’s what we are, right? Enjoying our journey together.” He touched her face.
Myka felt chagrin. “I didn’t know you got me something so… nice. Mine is silly.” She flushed as she gestured at the book. She couldn’t be sure, but this picture, small as it was, looked expensive. And meaningful.
A tiny spark of something unpleasant rose in the utmost recesses of her mind, something about how she wanted their journey to have an actual destination, instead of being simply a journey. Then she remembered Lourdes and the hotel comment, but pushed those intrusive ideas away, so she could enjoy the moment.
He laughed. “I like the book. I’ll put it on my desk next to some technical journals. When I get bored I can look up and remember some of the more, ahem, exotic things we’ve done.”
Myka smiled, her heart happy, and Gabriel glanced at his watch. “We should get ready. We’re meeting my colleagues in an hour.”
Myka bit her thumbnail. “I hope they like me.”
“Of course they’ll like you. Why would they not?” Gabriel had already showered; Myka could tell from his damp hair and the fact that he smelled like cologne, not sex. He got up and started assembling a suit, underclothes.
“I don’t know.” Myka didn’t want to meet them; she wanted to stay here with him in this magical cocoon of sex and relaxation. She spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m not—I don’t want you to make me wear a butt plug to dinner, or anything. Or spank me first. Let’s just go out this time, okay?”
Her voice held a pleading tone she didn’t like. The begging didn’t match her internal image of being strong and self-reliant, and neither did it match what Gabriel told her about refusing the things she didn’t want. Why was she acting like such a wishy-washy supplicant?
Gabriel turned away. “They’re my work friends,” he replied. “Business. I wouldn’t mix that up. You wear what you want.”
The local restaurant boasted cozy mismatched furniture and the most excellent seafood, and over drinks and dinner Myla relaxed. Gabriel’s colleague Matthew had presented a technical paper, and his wife Janet, an ER nurse, was along to enjoy the trip. The talk ranged from politics to current events, and Myka laughed and argued in turns, feeling at ease. After dinner the group ordered coffee, and Myka was almost deliriously happy to be here, Gabriel’s arm loose around her shoulder, her day already full of beach, playful exploration, incredible sex, and a sweet gift. It was almost everything she wanted.
Her smile faded when Janet asked, “So how long have you two been together? Seriously, you’re the cutest couple. So perfect together. You’d make the cutest babies!”
Gabriel pursed his lips and removed his arm from Myka’s shoulders, and she tried to act unconcerned. “I don’t know,” said Gabriel. He drank some coffee.
Myka hurried to fill the gap. “Um, we met about three or four months ago. So.”
Janet looked at Matthew and mouthed something, and he nodded in agreement. “Well, I was thinking,” Janet added. “There’s the next conference in the Florida Keys in three months. I’m going to join Matthew, and I want to do some snorkeling. Why don’t you come along? We can hang out during the days, and we can all four have dinner. I’d love to have a friend along.”
Matthew’s voice was warm. “Myka, have you been to the Keys?”
At Myka’s mute headshake, he continued, “Oh, the water is amazing. So clear, full of fish and life. They have lessons for beginners.”
Janet nodded. “It would be so much fun. Give it some thought, okay?”
“Sure.” Myka replied automatically, stealing a look at Gabriel. “I’ll keep it in mind. That does sound amazing.”
Gabriel’s face was blank, and he turned a sugar packet in his fingers. He didn’t say anything. The silence stretched, and Janet played with her fork. Matthew wrinkled his brow and spoke. “Well. How about we call it an evening. It will be an early start tomorrow morning.”
Gabriel stood up. “Sure.” His voice was warmer again as he exchanged goodbyes.
Janet gave Myka a quick hug before they departed. As they made their way back to the cottage, Myka’s confusion grew, along with an ember of anger. So his colleagues assumed they were a real couple. Was that such a horrible thing? As they entered the cottage, Myka asked, “Are you upset about something?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“You are.” Myka didn’t care for the accusatory tone of her voice, but she couldn’t stop. “You were mad that they thought we were a real couple.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “If it’s that big a deal to you, why don’t you notify everyone up front.” She wrinkled her brow and said in a pissy voice, “Just so you all know, this woman isn’t my girlfriend. She’s not my lover. I have no special plans to still be with her in three months, so don’t bother inviting her. She’s only here to fuck me. Don’t forget it. I never do.”
“Myka. Please. Let’s not do this.”
“Not do what? Talk about how I’m your walking blowup sex doll?”
“That’s a low blow, Myka. That’s not what you are, and you know it.” He ran a hand through his hair.
Myka shook her head. “You’re right; it’s not worth discussing.” Butterflies arose in her stomach. Was he going to punish her for being bitchy? She steeled herself for a fight, because she wouldn’t accept that, not tonight, not over this.
He took off his shoes and watch and poured a glass of water, then sat down with his laptop. “I’m going to do some work before I go to sleep.”
“Sure, whatever.” Myka tried to match him with a flip tone, but as she changed into her PJs she wanted to cry. “I guess I’ll read.” She picked up her tablet, but her eyes blurred on the words, and eventually she put it down and curled into the bed. She fell asleep to the faint staccato of his keyboard, and when she awoke in the morning, he was already dressed and packed, ready to go.
Neither of them mentioned the episode, and the trip back was quiet. It was now clear to Myka that Gabriel was serious about keeping them casual, and she was more careful than ever not to let him know her true feelings.
She wanted to treasure the picture from Gabriel, but it was unclear what it meant now, if anything at
all, and so she kept it wrapped in the small brown bag, tucked into a drawer. But sometime she took it with her in her purse, wanting to keep a piece of him close by. And once in a while, late at night when she was unable to sleep, she took it out and rubbed the frame with her finger, wondering when he would end this, because she knew it now: She never would.
She was too deep down the rabbit hole of sex and passion and laughter and witty conversations; it was mixed into in one heady concoction and she was addicted hard. He was heroin in her veins, and she’d slink into any dark alley of his choosing to get a drop of what he offered.
Trying not to think of heroin, because that made her think of Kylee with worry and concern (not that Kylee was doing any illegal drugs, but there was still something off about her behavior) she adjusted her lip gloss and tugged on her newest tight mini-skirt the next Friday night and paired it with an off-the-shoulder silver top. No panties, and she was shaved per Gabriel’s request.
As usual, he came out the front door to meet her and looked her up and down, eyes gleaming. “You look good enough to eat,” he said, pulling her toward him for a kiss. Myka sensed something rougher, darker than usual in his demeanor. It might have been the set of his face, or the tension in his shoulders. She couldn’t tell if he was still upset about the couple argument, or whether he’d had a bad day at work, or if it was something else entirely.
As they walked into the house, his phone rang. He glanced at it and frowned, then looked at her. “I need to take this. Sorry.”
Myka shrugged and gave a ‘no problem’ gesture as he walked toward his study. When she grabbed a water from the fridge, she noticed that he had shrimp marinating in a glass bowl, and saw a bottle of her favorite white wine chilling, and felt a thrill of pleasure. She liked it that he cooked for her, asked what she wanted, and provided it. It was sweet and thoughtful… the kind of things a boyfriend would do. Except he wasn’t that.
Myka wandered to the counter and touched his car keys, flipped idly through the opened mail to distract herself from the sick lump in her throat. Bills, ads, and—a thick letter in a cream-colored envelope, with a woman’s pretty cursive on the address label.
Curious, she picked it up with a frown, then sucked in her breath at the name on the return label. Rachel O’Reilly. What the hell? She knew it was wrong, but she slipped the cut edges of the envelope apart to ease out the contents. She pulled out a sheaf of photographs and a letter handwritten in pretty, curling cursive that matched the envelope.
Dear Gabe,
If you knew how often I think of you and wish that we had never split up. Remember our fun times at the club? I’ve never had anyone take me to the places you did with your belt and your crop, and I know I was the best you had, too. You have to admit that I gave you the gift of the most expansive limits you’ve ever had in a sub. And with a man who needs such dominance, I hope you appreciated that for what it was worth. I’m still so broken up and sorry about how it ended. I can’t wait to see you.
The pictures were small stabs—Gabriel and Rachel holding hands in a vineyard; the two of them on the beach, laughing, his head thrown back, eyes squinted at the sun; the two of them dressed in evening wear at a fancy party; the two of them standing with another couple in front of a Las Vegas casino with fountains. Things she and Gabriel had never done, places they’d never gone.
She walked down the hallway, pausing outside his study, surprised by his words. “I need to see you. You know why.” She wondered what plans he was making. It was funny, but he rarely talked about what he did while they were apart. She figured he spent time at the club, time out with friends; obviously, he spent many hours working—but generally, he never talked about his social life.
His voice went on. “Fine. Yes, let me know and I’ll be there. Okay, Rach. Bye.”
Rach? Did he say Rach? Myka felt a cold chill in her stomach. Was Rach… Rachel? The Rachel? She blinked hard, the water feeling cold, like a ball of ice in her stomach, and wanted to vomit. Was this why he couldn’t commit to her—because he was still hung up on his ex? Were they going to get together, like Belline hinted? She moved to push the door, and was surprised when he came out first.
“Ah!” she cried out. “You startled me.” Then she demanded without preamble, “Who were you talking to?”
He tilted his head, quizzical. “Do you need to know?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” she countered, putting her hands on her hips. “Okay, listen. I heard you. Were you talking to… your ex?” She held her breath.
He walked past her to the kitchen and got his own bottle of water, drank deeply. “Myka, some things need to be private, okay? You don’t need to worry about my phone calls, just like I don’t need to worry about yours.”
“Well, sure, because I call my idiot manager and my psychotic pop star, and sometimes Lourdes. I’m not calling an ex who broke my heart. Don’t tell me what’s my business. Anything I’m interested in is my business.” She felt her heart beating hard at her daring, rough words. But she wanted to challenge him, to get this out in the open.
He set the bottle down on the counter and ran his hands through his hair. “Yes, my ex. We’re in touch sometimes.” His voice was hard.
Myka felt dizzy. “How often?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know how often. We talk once in a while.” His eyes looked past her, to a blank spot on the wall, and Myka wondered if he was seeing Rachel in his head. Maybe he still ran memories over and over in his head, little movies, all the time. Maybe he missed the more intense things he did with her. Their plans. Maybe he wanted her back. The thought made her depressed.
“Are you seeing her?” Her voice rose, and without meaning to, she glanced at the pile of mail, where she’d shoved the Rachel letter back under some other envelopes.
“No.” The answer came quickly. “Myka, stop this. Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.” He looked around, gathered up the mail and stuffed it into a drawer, narrowing his gaze at the stack as he did. When he looked back at her, his expression was harder.
Myka put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You said exclusive while we were together.”
“And we are.” His voice softened, and he came closer. “Myka, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about my ex, understand? It was a difficult time in my life, and I don’t see how sharing it with you would help what we have together. Let’s keep it separate. You and I have something special, based on our chemistry together. Let’s focus on that. We always have a good time together, non?”
“You don’t have anything to tell me? About her? About us?” Myka gestured to the room, the drawer, the space between them. Her voice caught. She wanted to ask; she was not going to ask. If he didn’t tell her on his own, it wasn’t enough.
He shook his head. “There’s nothing that needs to be said. So relax.” He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. It was a sweet gesture, but Myka felt coiled tension in his body. The pull was more rough than gentle, and the kiss came down hard, almost like he was hitting her with his mouth.
She swallowed. “Okay. I get it.” She pulled out of his arms. “I need more water.” She drank even though she wasn’t thirsty, because she needed something to do with her hands and body while she tried to calm down and get back into her happy zone.
Why were things with him so fantastic, and yet so difficult? She finished the bottle without thinking, and her stomach felt cold and crampy. She sat on a tall stool at the counter, thinking about the various dinners he’d cooked, and then back to the first time they’d been together, when he’d sat her on this exact counter and started to teach her about domination and submission. She noticed that the green apples were still in the brass basket, and touched one. It was soft and wrinkled, but not yet rotten, at least not on top. She didn’t want to push the ones beneath.
“We’ve been ignoring these apples for months,” she told him. “They’re going to get all mushy if we let them sit.”
Gabriel looked ov
er. “My housekeeper replaces them periodically. She insists on getting Granny Smith. She thinks they match the décor. I don’t like them, so they always go bad.”
Myka frowned. “It’s a waste.” Normally she’d giggle and make a joke, something about balls and hard, but right now she wasn’t in the mood.
“It is. I’ll tell her to switch,” Gabriel placated her, then he came over and wrapped both arms around her. “Are we okay?”
“Sure, yes.” She nodded, then leaned into him, because he stroked her breasts through her shirt, and his touch—as always—ignited a frenzy in her body, no matter what her mind felt.
She thought back to what Jessie had told her; how Gabriel wanted more and Rachel was unable to give it. Even though Rachel apparently had an ass of brushed titanium.
You have to admit that I gave you the gift of the most expansive limits you’ve ever had in a sub. And with a man who needs such dominance, I hope you appreciated that for what it was worth.
Then she thought about the letter, the call, and how she usually never knew what he was doing when they weren’t together in bed.
“We’re fine,” she repeated, and added, as a new idea occurred, “but I want things a little more intense. Gabriel. I’m ready for more. I want—I want you to be more dominant tonight. Rougher.”
“Myka?” His voice was curious. “Are you sure?”
“I know what I want,” she said stubbornly. “Can’t you handle that?” It was a taunt and a dare, and she felt her stomach lurch, because she was absolutely sure he could bring it. What if she couldn’t handle it? But she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and Rachel’s letter—this whole situation, in fact—sure felt like one.
“Then you shall get what you want,” he told her, and in her surprise and sudden jolt of adrenaline, Myla jerked her arm and knocked into the basket of apples, making him smile and shake his head.
Myka and the Millionaire Page 21