by Kyra Davis
Keeping my eyes locked on him I step forward, reach out, and unbutton his shirt, carefully, meticulously, and once exposed I place my hand against his bare chest, feel the smoothness of his skin over the hardness of his muscles.
Slowly, my fingers begin to curl until my hand is not so much a hand as it is a claw. With precision I rake my nails over the tender skin, marking him, letting the world know that he is mine.
This is a different kind of need.
I back him up against the bed, and when I push he relents and falls back, but only after grabbing my arm, pulling me down with him so that I tumble over him. My kisses quickly find the marks of pain as I straddle his waist, then slide lower, unfastening his pants before pulling them lower and finally tossing them onto the floor with the rest of his discarded clothes.
His erection is straining against his Calvin Kleins.
I look him in the eye, letting my fingers outline the contours of what is waiting for me under that thin layer of cotton. “That’s for me.” It’s not a question. I’m not playing that game anymore.
I pull off the boxer briefs and then kiss his thigh as I move back up his leg. I feel his hand reaching into my hair as I kiss the hard bone of his pelvis.
“Adoncia,” he says, but I lift up my hand and place a silencing finger against his lips. I can see his erection becoming stronger, waiting for me. He is mine.
He has to be.
I let my tongue trace every ridge, every vein, and his groan only spurs me on as I finally trace a path around the tip with my tongue.
“Do you want me, Lander?”
“Yes,” he breathes.
I wrap my lips around him, taste the salt of his skin as he shudders beneath me.
And I continue, slowly, steadily, until the shudder is practically a shake.
When I pull away he grabs me and whips me around so that I fall hard on my back. He tears off my panties, literally ripping them and throwing them to the floor. He kneels before me on the bed, savage, dangerous, perfect.
My eyes lock with his, almost defiantly. “You’re mine,” I say.
Lander responds by grabbing my legs and holding them firmly over one of his shoulders. He kneels before me on the bed, his chest pressed against my calves as he thrusts forward, entering me. By holding my legs together he makes me tighter; his angle hits new nerve endings that I didn’t know I had. I’m writhing against the sheets as he watches me.
He doesn’t tell me I’m his. He doesn’t ask.
He just proves it.
I call out his name, my hands reaching for him, only to fall back onto the mattress, empty, knowing that he’s in control. Slowly he begins to rise, pulling me with him. I press my hands into the mattress to support myself as my back lifts up into the air. He’s now essentially standing on his knees; my legs are still over his shoulder, my lower body leaning into him as now only my shoulders and head are on the bed. He’s holding my hips and I find myself grasping his thighs for support, the muscles of which are taught and trembling.
And he’s still inside me.
The blood rushes from my thighs to where he moves inside me, intensifying everything, making me throb and whimper as he continues to move. This shouldn’t even be possible, but it is . . . Lander has once again shown me how many rules we can break when we’re together. How successful we can be.
When he pulls away and allows my body to fall gently back onto the bed, I moan in protest, but he’s not done with me. In an instant he’s inside me again, riding me hard, as I claw at his back. I want his blood, I want his soul . . .
I want his love.
“Lander,” I cry as the orgasm comes, and with the utterance of his name he comes inside me, filling me, giving with his body what he won’t give me with his words:
Confirmation, fulfillment, satisfaction.
This man, my prince, he can bring me to new heights of ecstasy. His body loves my body.
I wish I was as confident about his heart.
chapter twenty-two
* * *
Lander and I are standing on opposite sides of the bed, getting dressed. We’ve barely spoken since we made love. That was almost an hour ago. It’s not like us. It’s not like him.
“You’ve gone quiet,” I say.
“Have I?” he asks, buttoning up his shirt. “I was just thinking.”
But there’s something heavy in his voice. I know it’s not my imagination. “What are you thinking about?”
He pauses, his shirt still only half-buttoned. “I didn’t tell you this, but last week I put in calls to the DA and to the Innocence Project.”
“The Innocence Project?” I repeat.
“I . . . I want to prove that my family was behind Nick Foley’s murder. I want to exonerate your mother. I want to do that for you.”
My mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out. No one has ever been willing to help me with that. Not the police, not my mother’s public defender, no one. And here is this man, volunteering to do this, just for me. I start to walk around the bed, to throw my arms around him, to kiss him, to let him know how much this means to me, but he holds up a hand to stop me, freezing me in my place.
“I haven’t gotten very far at all. I’m not even sure if I should be mentioning it at this point. I don’t want to give you false hope. The Innocence Project is intent on getting wrongly convicted people out of prison, but your mother isn’t in prison.”
“No,” I say. I’ve thought of this before. I know her suicide makes her look even more guilty and makes clearing her all the harder. “I like that you’re trying,” I finally say. “It means the world to me.”
Lander holds my gaze for a moment before returning his attention to his shirt. “I owe you at least that.” He fastens the button at his wrist. “So you’ll go to HGVB now?” he asks, although it doesn’t exactly sound like a question. “You’ll hand in your resignation to Travis?”
“Yes.” I grab my shirt off the floor and pull it over my head. “And I’ll tell him we broke up. I guess we’re going to have to be more sneaky from now on. Do you think it’s still safe for me to come here? Or will Travis be watching? Maybe it would be better if you started coming to my place instead? I’ll spruce it up for you. Maybe even put up a poster,” I say with a light laugh.
“Adoncia, it can’t be like that.”
I look at him, not understanding. “Be like what? You want me to leave the place a mess?”
“We can’t risk being seen together. Anywhere.”
“But . . . I don’t understand. Do you think we should meet in a hotel or something? Or maybe we . . .”
“Anywhere,” Lander repeats, putting new emphasis on the word. He turns to me, looking so incredibly sad. “We can’t see each other for a while.”
I stare at him, one hand on the belt I’ve just now wrapped around my waist, my tongue pressed against the back of my teeth as I try to absorb this. “How long is a while?”
“Adoncia—”
“How long is a while, Lander?” I demand.
“These things can take time. The FDIC will have to do their own investigation, there will be hearings—”
He continues to talk but I can’t hear him; his words have become part of a pervasive buzzing that is consuming the room. I know what he’s telling me . . . but I can’t know. He can’t be saying these things.
“You don’t get to take everything from me.” It’s my voice, but I barely recognize it. It’s deeper and much more powerful than I’m feeling right now. “You don’t get to tell me that I can’t be there when Travis falls and I can’t be here to hold your hand. Revenge has been my life. My life,” I say, hissing that last word for emphasis. “And then you . . . you added on to that. You gave me something new. You gave me . . .”
. . . love. You placed love in my heart.
“You . . . you gave me more,” I stammer. “And now you want me to hand over my revenge to you and I can’t see you either? No! Just no! You are not allowed to take everything from
me!”
“Adoncia,” he says, his expression so somber and so very, very sad. “I don’t have the power to take everything from you. No one has ever been able to do that, and God knows they’ve tried.”
“I don’t understand you—”
“You are more than your revenge—”
“Why are you doing this? Do you really think—”
“I can’t be your everything!”
The words slap me across the face. I can physically feel the sting. When I look at him the wild look in his eyes actually makes me take a step back.
His hands clench up into fists as he presses them against his temples. “I am not worthy of that! No one should ever be worthy of that!”
“Lander—”
“My father was my mother’s everything!” he snaps. “She made her life all about her husband and his children. We weren’t just her life, we were her identity. Look where it got her!”
“I’m not your mother, Lander.”
“Of course you’re not but . . .” His voice trails off and he takes a deep breath. Slowly, before my eyes, I see him regain his composure. He straightens his posture, his fists unclench, his expression becomes calm. “I’m just trying to explain to you that we can’t be seen together for a while. This isn’t forever, just . . . a while. Use this time to figure out what you want to do once this is all over. You have a whole life ahead of you. A life that won’t just be about one thing. Take this time to expand. Figure out what you want.”
I want you!
But I don’t say it. I feel utterly and completely lost.
“Adoncia,” he says gently. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“We can’t be seen together,” I say mechanically. And then look up at him, my eyes pleading. “But afterward; we’ll come back to each other afterward, right?”
He meets my gaze, locking me in with his eyes. “Assuming you still want me. You may not.”
“Why would you even say that?”
“You may decide to move on,” he replies. “Once you have perspective you may begin to see me as who I am rather than what you want.”
He’s telling me something. Something that lies between and underneath his sentences. It’s something important and something worrisome, part of me knows that.
And another part, a much bigger part of me, simply doesn’t want to hear it.
“You’re not breaking up with me,” I say firmly. “When this is over we can be together.”
“If you still want me,” he qualifies.
It’s enough. It simply has to be enough. I step forward again. Trembling, I place my lips against his. The kiss starts out so gentle, almost hesitant, but then, slowly, his hands move to my lower back, pressing me into him and I’m pulling him to me. It’s the kind of kiss that you see in black-and-white posters, the kind that defines Hollywood’s most passionate love stories.
And then I pull away again, stepping backward, toward the door. “I will never stop wanting you,” I whisper.
And then I gather my things and I leave.
I leave before he can tell me that he might stop wanting me.
chapter twenty-three
* * *
Walking into HGVB this time feels so different than the first time I did it. I remember that day so clearly. Travis had just hired me and I had felt very clear about my purpose. I knew I had the upper hand because he didn’t know who I was and I knew exactly who he was.
That’s still true, but the clarity is completely gone. I don’t know what’s happening between Lander and me. I don’t even have a full grasp on what’s going to happen with my revenge. In the beginning I had total control over this process. Now I feel like I don’t have any control at all.
Once I announce myself to security it only takes them a few seconds to get the order from Travis to send me right up. When I get to the floor where his office is his secretary escorts me to his office immediately.
Travis is notorious for making people wait. It’s a power thing for him. So yesterday this kind of immediate access would have been incredibly encouraging. It implies that I’ve become important to Travis, maybe even that I’ve regained his trust.
But today? Today I’m not even sure if any of that matters.
“Sir, I have Ms. Dantès for you,” the secretary says as she opens the door.
Travis is sitting at his desk on the phone, waving me in with one hand without bothering to look up. It’s not until the secretary leaves that he wraps up his call. Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, he takes me in, but this time his gaze isn’t leering or even appraising. He’s studying me the way a doctor might study an X-ray, looking for anything irregular, any sign of a problem.
“Do you have the flash drive?” he asks.
“What?” I had almost forgotten about that. “Yes, wait, I have it.” I search in my purse and then walk over and slam it down onto his desk.
The hostility of the gesture causes him to raise his eyebrows. “Is there a problem?”
“A problem?” I parrot, and then tap my finger on my lip as I stare up at the ceiling, making an exaggerated display of thinking about the question. “Well, I guess that’s a matter of perspective, Travis.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever called him by his first name and the shift causes his raised eyebrows to dive down into a furrow.
“You see,” I continue, “that flash drive is as empty as it was when you gave it to me. So that might be a problem for you. But for me?” I shrug. “I’m fine with it.”
“What the hell is going on with you?”
“Your fucking brother broke up with me!” The words come out before I really have a chance to think them out, but I realize immediately that they work.
I also realize that talking like this to Travis feels good. And at this moment I desperately need that. Less than an hour ago Lander made me feel weak and vulnerable. But Travis? He makes me feel angry. And God bless him for it. God bless him for reminding me of what a healing balm rage can be.
“He . . .” Travis shakes his head as if to clear it and then gets to his feet. “That’s not possible.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it is,” I snap. “He’s had his fill and now he’s moving on.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Travis insists. “My brother is in . . . What I’m trying to say is . . . There’s just no logical reason for him to do this.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I say dryly.
“Excuse me?”
“Life,” I say between clenched teeth, “is not about logic. It’s about people. And people aren’t logical. Not where their emotions are concerned. Now, I realize that the ways of us humans are foreign to you, seeing that you’re some kind of demented creature from hell, but just so you know, that’s generally how we work.”
All this time I’ve been playing a part. All this time I’ve been kowtowing and kissing Travis’s ass for the cause, and now I’m not going to be there to see it through? Fuck it, at the very least I will have this.
“Are you angry with me?” he asks, somewhat baffled.
“No, Travis, I’m just tired of you.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to blow up in a rage, but I can tell he’s too shocked for that.
And this silence is all the permission I need to let it all come roaring out.
“I’m tired of all of it!” I declare. “I’m tired of your brother’s games. I’m tired of your wife, who is so fucked-up she would make Hemingway look like a model of sobriety. And I’m tired of you and your pathological need to demonstrate control over those you perceive to be weaker than you. I’m not familiar with what you’re compensating for, but if it’s that small, buy a pump!”
I stop, somewhat surprised with myself. I look at Travis, waiting for some kind of confirmation that I said what I think I just said.
And the confirmation is right there on his face. I have literally never seen Travis look this angry. For a second I think he’s going to leap fo
rward and strangle me, which would be great because I’d love nothing more than to get him on an assault charge. Plus then I could punch him back. Oh God, Travis, do it, do it, do it! I feel my fists clenching by my sides, anticipatory, hopeful.
But Travis, being Travis, manages to rein it in and hold on to his cool composure. Damn.
“Your pride has been hurt,” he says testily. “I understand that. But I promise you, if you continue to work for me—”
“You still want me to work for you?” I ask, honestly taken aback.
“—if Lander sees you,” Travis continues, ignoring my interruption, “and knows that you’re still available to him, he will not be able to stay away from you.”
“You think you know your brother that well?”
“I think I know men that well,” Travis counters.
“You don’t seem to have a problem staying away from me . . . At least you didn’t last night,” I point out. “Don’t get me wrong, I am infinitely thankful for that.”
“My feelings about you are different from my brother’s,” Travis says, his voice straining for control. The possibility of being strangled is definitely still there. “Lander is planning something and I need to figure out what it is. He’s much more devious than our father gives him credit for. I realize that I may have . . . offended your sensibilities—”
I let out a derisive laugh.
“—but if you stick with me I will help you win Lander back. I guarantee you it won’t be hard. All I ask in return is information.”
I lean back on my heels and shake my head. “You’re scared of Lander.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he snaps.
“You’re so afraid of him that you’ll continue to employ me after everything I just said, all because you think I might be able to protect you from him.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Mmm”—I cock my head to the side—“kinda think you do. You wanted me to be your Paul Revere and let you know when the attack is coming, because you know it’s coming, don’t you, Travis?”