His Dark Secret - Part 1 (Erotic Romance Serial Novel)

by Lovelace, Harriet

  I nodded. “I understand that, I see what you are saying and I think I can accept that. But the tapes: if you keep recording us, what’s to prevent one of them getting out again? I can handle all the rest of it, but being hounded, being reduced to that in front of everybody, strangers I hardly know, that is too much for me.”

  He sighed, grabbing me and laying me down across his lap. I could feel the bulge of his lap digging into my back. Where once his face was fiery, his look was filled with kindness now, well suited to the green of his eyes. A strained smile crossed his lips.

  “It won’t happen again. I slipped up, made a mistake, but I’ve learned from it and will be more careful. In that regard, I will do my best to protect you from another scandal. But this is something deep in me that I need, an honest to God need.”

  With one hand he was caressing my hair, the other was pulling my panties further down, massaging my thighs, my hips, the cheeks of my butt.

  “Are you recording us now?”

  He gave a small laugh. “Don’t be silly.”

  His inflection could be read either way, but I was hard pressed to see where a camera could be hidden in the trailer. His palm was resting on my stomach now, his fingers playing with the hair between my legs. They were inching further down, parting my lips. Reason told me to stop him, to bring things around to my terms. But the touch of his hands on me that sent shivers through my legs and the feel of his desire against my back felt too good. My body was responding. I could hold off our conversation for later. My body needed him.

  I laced my fingers behind his head, pulling us together in a kiss. All pretense and hesitation, his exacting coldness of before melted away in that embrace. The hand that had parted me he now placed at my lips. I could smell myself on him, taste the tangy residue on his fingers as I licked each one after the other. Taking me by the hand, he led me out of the booth only to throw me on the fold out table. As it quivered underneath me, I was afraid I would slip.

  I looked up at Scott. “Won’t the table give out?”

  A wry smirk crossed his face. “Not on your life.”

  And he was on me, undressing me. My panties were slipped to the floor and my dress was hiked up around my waist. The top of my dress was pulled down around my shoulders, and with a quick flick of his fingers the front of my bra was undone, leaving my chest bare to his gaze. I reached up to pull the dress off but he stopped me with a shake of his head.

  “No. I want you just like this.”

  He reached into his blazer, throwing the condom onto my chest. Hands at his sides, he didn’t say a word, just gave me an imperious look.

  I shifted my body to where my breasts were hanging over the side of the table. The condom in one hand, I tried to undo his buckle. After a few failed attempts, I freed up my hands by biting the edge of the wrapper. His pants undone but still around his waist, I pulled him out, gripping lightly with one hand. I went to kiss it, but he pulled back a bit to signal “No.” I felt like I was going to tumble forward. Careful not to pull down on him, I ripped the wrapping open with my teeth and slowly rolled the rubber around him. He rose then settled at this touch.

  The next minute I was on my back, splayed out as before. He pulled me to the edge and entered me. I almost let out a protest out of fear he would hurt me, but gasped in surprise and pleasure as he slipped in with ease. In each thrust I could feel the weeks we’d been apart, his overwhelming desire that had built up in my absence. He wanted to make up for the time, the dozens of such moments that hadn’t occurred. My knees were bent, held against his chest. I was gripping the sides of the table, trying not to be pulled off, the metal digging into my fingers. My back arched, further opening my dress. I wanted to hold him, have my fingers dig into the skin of his arms, but the best I could do was to hold myself up by the front of his lapels.

  In an instant I was airborne, one of his arms supporting my waist. I scrambled, arms and legs locking around him. I was kissing him, his mouth, and his neck. I burrowed my face into the folds of his shirt, seeking the warmth of his chest. An especially arduous thrust from him, and I bit into the skin of his shoulder. He gasped and I pulled away, afraid I had hurt him. But he only smiled and kissed me all the more.

  There was a click and a thump, and I looked around startled. With his other hand he’d undone the support of the table, which had slapped against the wall, leaving a space open between the two benches. I was pressed against the wall now. One leg slipped but made contact with the bench. On a whim, I brought my other leg to the opposite bench. It was a strain, but left me wonderfully open and Scott was supporting me, his fingers wrapped almost to the inside of my legs.

  Clutched in his taut arms, the weight of his strong chest against me, his sex deep within me, I was utterly in his control. I was merely riding the wave of his desire, with little say in the outcome. This ferocity on its own would have frightened me, but the flash of his green eyes as they stared into my own, how they sought out the lines of my exposed breasts; all of it was for me. I exulted in being the object of his desires, having given myself over to the force of his lust.

  He pulled out, lowering my feet to the ground and pushed me across one of the benches. The back of the seat dug uncomfortably into my chest, supporting the weight of my breasts. Scott spread my legs wide. Once again, my wrists were held crossed behind my back with one hand, the other holding tightly to my collarbone, lightly choking me. I gasped as he entered me again, moaned as his stomach pressed rhythmically against my butt. I struggled to free my hands, tried to twist into a better position, my breath escaping in equal parts pleasure and frustration. I felt too much a plaything in his hands, bending to his whims. Before he had talked of his rules, his needs, but what about mine?

  I wanted to hold him, look at him, see the pleasure I was giving him, and could have none of this in this position. Taking me in this manner, I could only think he was proving how much stronger he was than me, more control of my actions than I was of his. I thought back on his refusal to stop taping our sex, his need to control every aspect of our situation, to control me, and it made me angry.

  For a second his grip loosened and I took my chance. I twisted my arms free and broke our connection as I turned around. Sinking into the cushion of the bench, I pulled him back inside me, ankles locking behind him, hands gripping his hair with all my strength, forcing him to look on me. He shuddered, his mouth going slack with the surprise of my reversal. Through my grip and the steel of my eyes I wanted to drive into him the truth that, yes, he had control of my body, to do with it as he wished, but only because I had chosen him just as much as he had chosen me, that our fucking, and that was the best word for it, was as much for my pleasure as his. For the moment, I was in control, under him, but driving the rhythm of our movements. My legs and hips moved in concert to force myself around him, to draw him in. He leaned back, his eyes rolling closed as he gave over to my exertions.

  When they snapped open, they were filled with a newfound intensity. I had rebelled and he would punish me for this. In a single movement he broke my grip, a few strands of hair sticking to my fingers, pinning my arms above my head. I struggled, but he brought the full weight of his chest down on me, crushing me further into the bench. I rocked my hips to maintain control of our movements as he drove into me in opposition, the opposing forces driving us closer together. I was hurting, knew that that I would find bruises after we were done, but a thought of searing pleasure told me Scott would end up just as bruised and beaten, and that it would be because of me.

  He came down, kissing me, and I became breathless against his lips and tongue. I locked harder around him and in the intensity of my anger and pleasure, I bit into his lip, drawing blood. He pulled away, then wrapped one hand in a mess of my hair and pulled my head back exposing my neck. His lips crashed down onto mine, his teeth leaving marks against my bottom lip. Without a thought I reacted in turn, putting all my strength into a slap.

  For an instant I was afraid I had gone to far, th
at I had crossed some boundary in our agreement. But all the anger melted away from his face, his head thrown back in a sharp laugh of pure pleasure.

  Together we rolled onto the floor, the impact driving the air out of my lungs. The rug burned the small of my back. Having reached the height of our ferocity our energy turned to joy. We were rough with each other, but no longer in an attempt to goad the other, to hurt them. We were pushing each other, exploring a new set of sensations.

  Scott bit into my breast, just above the nipple. Not as hard as I had bit his lip, but enough to draw a gasp from me. When he did this, I could feel a change in his breath, his movement. This was an action special to him, but he was cautious to continue. He’s afraid of hurting me more, I thought.

  “Do it again,” I breathed.

  He did, moving from my breast to my shoulder, leaving a trail of moist love bites. He was kissing my neck now, very lightly, his lips barely brushing my skin. A cool expectation filled my body, broken when the next kiss turned into a quick bite. I giggled, my fingers raking across his back, sending a shiver throughout his body.

  Scott was handling me with a domineering tenderness. His breath had grown more labored, his grip still strong, but his touch and caresses soft. We had burned ourselves out during the earlier power play and were giving in to the simple feel of our bodies together. On the floor of the trailer, under the slow rocking of Scott inside me, my body gave out in a silent shudder. Begging him to be careful, that every part of me felt hypersensitive, Scott assured me that he was close. Moments later he had collapsed beside me, his body spent, his breath coming out in haggard gasps.

  Settled in the crook of his arm, I was tired and happy. In the back of my mind I felt a swirling mass of triumph and fear, but let it slip away in the moment of relaxation. With a sigh, Scott turned over to look at me.

  “The whole shoot today, all I could think was how I wanted you. Especially the way you were dressed today.”

  I got up on one elbow, responding with a tired smile.

  “Was that get up your idea?”

  “No. That was more dictated by the script. Really it fits with the continuity of your previous scene as the slave girl. But did I think you would look good in it? Yes. This whole time here, while we were talking, I thought to myself how great you looked earlier today.”

  “You want to see me wear it again?”

  “I can easily arrange that.”

  I leaned in for a kiss. “I’d like that.”

  We righted ourselves, getting dressed, gathering together our things. Scott said he had a few more things to finish up at the studio before he left, but assured me he would call again soon to see me. I believed him. The whole bus ride home I was glowing from our time together and expectant of our next meeting. I twitched in my plastic seat, thinking of how my body had been touched not long ago. When I got home, the glow had faded and the concerns I had pushed away began creeping back to the forefront of my mind.

  The apartment was dark, and decidedly empty. Jenny had left a note, saying not to worry, she’d be working late tonight, and to give her a call if I needed to talk. I reached for my cell and then decided against it. I needed to order the conflicting jumble of emotions in my head before trying to tell anyone about them. I dragged myself back into my room, ignoring the stagnant air, and fell heavily into bed.

  Just this morning I had wanted nothing more than to never see Scott Rushmand again. But through the shoot, through our talk together, I was drawn back to him. I could no longer deny that I wanted him, that there was something between us. But I was hard pressed to define what exactly was going on. When he said that he desired me and that he thought of me, I knew he was being honest. He had promised he would protect me from another scandal, but I couldn’t help but think that it was more out of concern for him than it was for me. And that was part of what had bothered me, what I had sensed while we were together in the trailer. Our relationship was of a purely sexual nature.

  Though I could convince myself that he enjoyed sleeping with me, enjoyed the knowledge that he could please me, I wasn’t so convinced that he cared for me as a person. He had apologized for the scandal, but there was no owning up to the fact that his actions directly brought it on. As far as the discussion of how things would be between us, it had been a number of decrees from him, and almost all of them were concerned with sex. Everything was to be in his control, and I was merely the object of his desire. I decided that Scott Rushmand didn’t love me.

  His way of doing things, his assessment of my own sexual desires, intrigued and excited me, especially when we were together. But thinking it over, the idea of giving myself over to a man that did not love me was hard to accept. Whether or not I was in love with Scott, it was too complicated, too soon to tell.

  “How much better is it when they love you?” a dark voice spoke from the back of my mind. I thought of Jamison, back in Elgin. He had loved me, and I had loved him throughout our time together. Those first years together, back in high school, it had been easy, wonderful even. Hanging out with our friends, finding times to sneak off and be alone with each other had been exciting, wonderful.

  I remembered our first time together and how starkly different it had been than my first time with Scott. Awkwardly we had fumbled to get our clothes off, his coarse hands pawing at me. It had hurt, but it was good knowing that we could share this together. We eventually got the hang of things, and I could honestly enjoy myself being caressed by Jameson. But it was nothing like being with Scott. The desire there was of a different kind. It went beyond the privilege of possessing my body; it was the desire to share a life with me.

  When I went away to college, I felt lost, afraid to be away from him. Consistently we kept in touch, writing, calling when the time allowed. I was jealous of the couples on campus, able to be together whenever they wanted.

  When Jameson would come to visit, I would feel a great burden lifting from my chest. Each time, he would lift me up, holding me tightly to his chest, and I felt safe encompassed within him.

  But what had all those moments added up to in the end? For all the love we had, our relationship had turned bitter. Jameson resented everything college had given me and I couldn’t endure his torments any longer. Even apart, hiding away in the back towns of Iowa, I loved him, was scared of how much I loved him after all he had put me through. My love for him had cost me so much, I was afraid to meet anyone new. In my time alone, whenever pursued by a customer or a coworker, I was quick to stave them off.

  Then Scott comes along and I give over to his arrangement of sexual domination. No attachment, only the surrender to our desires.

  Maybe this is the best that I can do, I thought. Love, the true love of everlasting happiness, is meant only for a special few. And I am not one of them. But sex is universal. In a purely sexual relationship, Scott and I can enjoy our time without the pretense of our emotions. The chance of us falling love is nonexistent, so why try to change things? This arrangement would be the best way to explore my new concept of relationships, and who better a teacher than Scott Rushmand?

  There was still the issue of the sex tape. For all his assurances, I didn’t want the least chance of another getting out to the public. It may be all right for him, he may be able to handle the attention, but I didn’t want to go through another week like this past one, hiding away in my bedroom, waiting for the world to forget me.

  I was thinking of the event earlier in the trailer, when I had, if only for a moment, exerted something unexpected on Scott. My cell started ringing, jolting me from my thoughts. It was a private number, which was enough to tell me who was on the other side.

  “I was just thinking about you. After last time, I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

  “The girl does have a sense of humor. Listen, I’m freed up tonight and was wondering whether you wanted to have dinner with me.”

  “That sounds nice. Where at?”

  “I’ll have things prepared here at the suite. Do you
have a car?”

  “No. But I can find my way if you give me a refresher on the directions.”

  I showered and changed into a new outfit: a white blouse and black pants that Jenny had helped me select a few weeks back. I packed extra change of clothes before checking myself in the mirror again. The outfit was exactly how I wanted to be: casual, but not overly laid back. At the last minute I remembered to leave a note for Jenny, posting it up next hers, explaining I’d probably be away for the night, with details to follow the next day.

  Chapter Six

  Riding the elevator up, I didn’t know what to expect. I knocked on the door to the suite and Scott called out that it was open, so I let myself in. The suite smelled of fresh lemon and spices, and the constant bubble of a pot was punctuated by the sound of somebody working the chopping board. The image of Scott sitting comfortably on his couch, sipping a dark red wine while white clad chef prepared our meal sprang to mind. Rounding the corner, I found my assumption was off. Scott was alone, dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. I set my bag down and grabbed one of the counter stools to see what he was preparing. He didn’t raise his eyes, all concentration on the work at hand.