by Hannah Ford
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know why you can’t tell me?” Noah prompted, sounding slightly impatient. As much as I didn’t like him standing there by Clementine’s bed, as much as I didn’t like him touching her as he moved her hand away from her wound like that, as much as I didn’t like anything about this, I didn’t want him to get impatient with her. She was the only one who knew who’d done this to her, and Noah pushing her wasn’t going to help him get his way.
“No, I mean….” Clementine trailed off, as if the effort of talking was too much for her. She licked her bottom lip and then sat up, coughing. Noah reached over and picked up a cup of water that was on the nightstand, then pushed the button on the bed to raise it up. Clementine took a sip of water from the cup.
As she did, her eyes fell on me, standing by the door, and she startled a bit, as if she’d just realized I was there.
“What is she doing here?” she asked Noah, her lips setting into a thin line.
“She always with me,” Noah said. “She’s my fiancé.”
“I don’t want her here.”
“Clementine,” I said, taking a small step toward the bed. I gave her a friendly smile, even though I knew there wasn’t much I could do to mend the rift between us, especially not after I’d accused her of being the one who’d filed the ethics complaint against me at Middleton. We didn’t like each other. We never would. She was part of Noah’s past, and I was his future.
She’d been the closest he’d probably ever been to having someone close to him, at least since Nora had died. Since then, he’d had an ever-revolving door of women coming and going, and he’d kept Clementine around as someone he did business with, as someone he could trust to keep an eye on his brother, Audi. At least, he thought he could trust her.
As much as Noah trusted anyone.
I, however, wasn’t so sure.
“Just tell us who did this,” I said. “You said something about Rainier before?”
Her eyes flickered with recognition, but then her face hardened, her lips so chapped and colorless that for a moment, it looked as if she didn’t have a mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I didn’t know what I was saying. I was unconscious.”
“You weren’t unconscious, you were talking,” I said. It was impossible not to get annoyed with her, at least a little bit. I felt sympathy for her plight, I did. But I couldn’t believe that she would keep this from us – or at least, from Noah. It was incredibly selfish and irresponsible.
“Get her out of here,” Clementine said, sitting up straighter in bed now. Her hair, usually sleek and perfectly styled, was now hanging in limp strands, pooling on her shoulders. “Get her out of here!”
“Calm down,” Noah said. “We just want to make sure you’re not in danger anymore.”
“Oh, really?” Clementine laughed. “You don’t care about me.” She sounded completely in control now, completely conscious and aware of what she was saying. “You care about her.” She looked at me then, and even though she only had one good eye, the look she gave me sent a chill up my spine.
“Clementine,” Noah said, and sighed. “Of course I’m worried about you.”
But it didn’t work.
Clementine sat up all way, her face contorted as she pushed the button that would summon a nurse.
Then slowly, deliberately, she took the cup of water she was holding and threw it across the room at me. It hit me on the side of my cheek, hard, and then fell to the floor, where it rolled into the corner.
Noah rushed to me, hustling me out of the room, but not before I saw Clementine begin to claw at her bandage, the one that was over her eye. “Get out of here!” she screamed, looking right at me.. “GET HER THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
The corner of her bandage had fallen off, and I could see the edge of the bloody cavity that was now her eye.
“GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!” She shrieked it over and over again, and even though we were in the hallway now, I could still hear it.
Her voice echoed in my ears as we walked out of the hospital and got into the car. And it stayed with me all the way home.
“Stop moving,” Noah said.
“I’m fine.”
“Then stop moving.”
We were in the guest bathroom of our apartment, the bathroom that we never used, because we always used the master bathroom. But the guest bathroom had a first aid kit under the sink, the kind of thing that wouldn’t be kept in the master bathroom, because it would take away from the opulence, as if even the whisper of something being less than perfect was offensive.
Not that this bathroom was anything less than insane, with its marble countertops, deep claw tub, separate shower, and television hanging on the wall in the corner.
Noah was dabbing at the wound on my cheek. The cup Clementine had thrown at me had been plastic – thank God – but the edge of it had clipped my skin and now I had a tiny cut right above my cheekbone.
“This is going to sting,” Noah warned.
“Thanks, doctor.” I rolled my eyes as he dabbed at the wound with peroxide.
“It’s deeper than I thought.”
I was sitting on the counter and I turned to look over my shoulder at the mirror. I winced at the way the skin under my eye looked, shiny and swollen. It was already started to turn purple.
Noah placed his hand on my chin and tilted my head back toward him. He dabbed at the peroxide again, then reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a band-aid.
“No way,” I said. “I’m not wearing a band-aid on my face. Not to a meeting with Penn Dylan.”
Noah ignored me, pressing the bandage to my face. “Trust me, a band-aid on your face is going to be the least of your worries.”
I pulled it off. “I’ll put it on after I shower.”
Noah’s jaw twitched at my disobedience, but then his face softened. “Does it hurt?” he asked and cupped my chin, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“Not much,” I said honestly.
“I should have been watching you more closely.” His voice caught.
“Noah, you can’t protect me from everything all the time. That’s not… the world doesn’t work that way.”
“I made you go outside in the middle of the goddamn night.” He shook his head and got a faraway look in his eyes as he scrubbed at his face with his hand. “I was trying to keep you safe, but the problem is I’m so fucked up that I …” He trailed off in frustration.
“Hey,” I said, taking his hand and entwining my fingers with his. “You have to let that go.”
“No, I have to stop being so fucked up that I need to go running in the middle of the fucking night.”
“No.” I shook my head. I pulled him toward me, wanting to feel him against me, to feel his body, to calm him and comfort him. “You’re so smart and yet you’re so stubborn that you can’t understand some of the simplest things. You’re insane to think you can control every little thing. You have to know that the world doesn’t work that way.”
“It doesn’t work that way because you don’t listen.” He leaned down and kissed my lips softly, slowly. I shivered.
“No, it doesn’t work that way because you can’t control everything,” I repeated. If he wanted to be stubborn, I could be stubborn too.
“I can’t?” I asked, his tone teasingly sexy, as if my words were some kind of test or dare.
“No,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “You can’t.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.” He was kissing my jaw now, and he moved closer, his hips pushing my thighs open. His hands found my legs, moving up over my thighs, his touch leaving goose bumps in its wake.
“What can I control then?” he whispered against my neck, his breath warm, his tone sultry.
His hands slid all the way down my legs until he reached my feet, and he began to knead my arches slowly. The sensation was nothing short of incredible, as if his touch was er
asing every inch of stress in my body.
“What. Can. I. Control?” he persisted.
I shook my head, knowing what he wanted me to say, but not quite ready to say it.
His nostrils flared with disapproval, and he grabbed my waist and slid me down the counter toward him until my open legs were flush against him. He still wore his jeans, and I was in my yoga pants, but I moaned as he pushed against me, hard and ready.
He kissed my lips, still soft and slow, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and tried to deepen the kiss, needing him, wanting him, harder, faster, deeper, more. I was addicted to him, to the feeling of being with him, of wanting him and needing him to erase everything that was going on in my mind.
But he pulled away, sucking softly on my lower lip as he broke the kiss.
He pulled me off the counter then, so I was standing up, but he didn’t let me move. Instead, he pushed into me again, letting me feel the stiffness of his erection.
His breathing was deepening, and I reached up and ran my hands over his shoulders.
Then I reached down, my eyes locking on his as I grabbed the bottom of his sweater, letting my hands slide up over his bare stomach, lingering over the strip of skin right above the top of his belt, the soft line of hair that started at his navel and dipped down.
The ridges of his abdomen were hard and defined, and I let my hands rest there, enjoying the feel of his strength under my fingers.
He let me touch him for a few moments, then he turned me around so that I was facing myself in the mirror.
He pressed into me again from behind, and his cock pushed against my ass.
I gasped, remembering how it felt when he fucked me there, stretching me with his girth. The air stole from my lungs and a soft whimper escaped from between my lips.
Noah saw my reaction and he smiled devilishly.
He reached down and tugged at the waist of my yoga pants, pulling them down so the fabric sat right under my ass, plumping up my exposed cheeks. His ran his palm over my ass, then pulled back and delivered a stinging slap, so hard that my skin jiggled.
I moaned and he pushed into me even harder, his erection hard against my ass.
“I love you,” he whispered, and then he began to slide my pants down over the curve of my backside, loosening the material from my thighs slowly, his hands roaming and taking their time before he finally had in just my panties. “I love you so much, do you know that, Charlotte?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded breathless and my pulse leapt.
He took my hands and pulled them up over my head, then slid my shirt off until I was topless.
I stood there, in front of the mirror, in just my bra and panties.
My breasts swelled out of the demi cups of my bra, and I reached up to adjust the straps but Noah held my wrists.
“No,” he breathed, his words tickling my neck. “No, I like you like this.”
I stared at my reflection, Noah behind me, his shoulders broad and strong, the front of his sweater soft against the back of my bare shoulders.
He eyed me hungrily in the mirror.
I inhaled shakily as he pulled me back toward him and I let my knees go weak, my body melting into his.
He was fully clothed while I stood there in front of him, my bra and panties slightly askew, showing off my body to him in the way he wanted. It was another way for him to have control over me without having to do it physically.
He ran his hand up my sides, and I shivered, then closed my eyes and turned my head to the side.
“Open your eyes.”
“Noah,” I pleaded. He knew I didn’t like looking at myself like this.
“Open. Your. Eyes,” he demanded, grabbing my chin and turning it so that I was faced with my reflection.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Look how sexy you are.” His hands found the straps of my bra, sliding them down slowly, the silky fabric skating over my skin. I arched my back slightly, as arousal pooled between my legs, leaving my pussy slick with want.
He grinned as he brushed my hair back from my shoulders and kissed them, his lips warm.
“Noah,” I whispered. “God, Noah.”
I reached behind me and felt his cock through his pants. He allowed me to take it in my hand through the fabric, to feel its thickness as I squeezed.
Then he took my hands and placed them on the counter of the bathroom sink, bending me over.
His hand slapped against my ass again, harder this time. The pain cut through me, raw and burning. “Do you know what it does to me when I feel like I can’t keep you safe?”
I bit my lip and closed my eyes.
“Eyes open.”
I opened them just in time to see him land another slap on my ass in the mirror. Usually when he spanked me like this, I couldn’t see it, since he was behind me.
But now I saw it in the mirror, saw my ass jiggle as his hand slapped against the sensitive flesh.
“Answer my question.”
His hand was on my ass, rubbing softly, the rhythm hypnotic. Our eyes met in the reflection, and the image was so heady – me bent over in just my bra and panties while he stood behind me, still fully clothed even though I was desperate to feel him, to touch his body, his skin, his cock.
“What was the question?” I asked, my voice meek. My head was swimming and I couldn’t focus.
“Do you know what it does to me when I can’t keep you safe?” he repeated as he reached reached down and unhooked my bra. I watched as my breasts swung free, heavy and swollen with need.
“It makes you crazy, sir.”
“Yes, it does,” he said. He was pulling my panties off now, taking his time, sliding the fabric down over my ass, my thighs, stopping to breathe in the scent of my arousal.
“You’re so wet, angel,” he said, using the new pet name he’d chosen for me. “Tell me why.”
“Because I need to be fucked,” I said, as I lifted my right leg, stepping out of my panties.
Noah stood up and pulled me up and back toward him. He placed his hand around my throat gently, not squeezing, not cutting off my air – I knew he would never do that when I was carrying a child – just holding it there as he grabbed my other arm and pulled me toward him, forcing my back to arch.
I watched the reflection of us, his hand around my neck, the way he was holding me. He didn’t have to exert pressure, and I realized now that was why he was making me look at myself, why he was doing that here, in front of the mirror. So the visual would be enough for me to know he was in charge.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed again, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I began to believe him. I didn’t see that my breasts weren’t standing up perkily, didn’t see that the curve of my stomach wasn’t just because I was pregnant.
Instead I saw a beautiful, sexual being, with curves and soft skin, a woman who became beautiful because she was so loved. This was how Noah saw me all the time, and emotion welled in my chest.
Noah tipped my chin up until his lips were almost touching mine.
I wanted more than anything to feel his mouth on me – on my pussy, on my nipples, on my mouth, anywhere.
Instead, he smiled devilishly.
“Tell me what you want.”
“To be fucked.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” I was trying to sound certain, to let him know how badly I wanted it, but it came out as a whimper.
Noah stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes locked on mine, his gaze swirling with a twisted hunger.
Finally, he took my hand, led me out of the bathroom and into the dressing area that was off the bathroom. It wasn’t as large as the one that was attached to the master, but it was still opulent, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors on every wall of the octagon shaped room, and a black leather bench that was pushed up against the wall.
He led me to the bench and sat me down.
He stood in front of me, facing me, looking down at me, then reached behind him, pulling
off his sweater until he was naked from the waist up.
I breathed out as I gazed up at him. Every muscle was perfectly sculpted, his biceps cut and strong, his stomach a perfect six-pack that flexed with every move. He was a god, made from stone, seemingly not of this world.
He was so breathtaking that I groaned.
“Noah.”
“Yes, baby?”
“Noah, please, I want to be close to you.”
“How close?”
“I need you inside of me.”
“Take off my pants, Charlotte.”
I stood up, and reached for his belt, but he shook his head. “On your knees.”
I got to my knees and he took a step back, making me crawl until I reached him. I scrambled to unbutton his pants, and pull them off. His cock sprung free in front of me, and I remembered what he’d done to me earlier, how he’d made me suck him off without using my hands, allowing me to only use my mouth to make him come.
I reached for him eagerly, hungry to have him back in my mouth again.
But he stepped back, out of my reach.
“Please,” I said, my cheeks flushing with humiliation at the way I sounded. “Please.”
“No, baby.”
He didn’t say “not yet” and I began to get nervous, wondering if perhaps he wasn’t going to let me come at all.
Instead, he brought me over to the bench and sat me back down. He still stood in front of me, only he was naked this time, his cock at the height of my mouth. It was the worst kind of torture.
“Hands on your knees,” he said. “If you don’t leave them there, you will be punished, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
I watched as his hand wrapped around the shaft of his cock and he pumped it once, slowly. It was so erotic, watching him touch himself like that, that I let out a moan.
“Put your feet up on the bench,” he said.
“Sir?”
“Put your feet on the bench so your legs are spread.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about, and it made me nervous. I tried to pull my knees up, but I couldn’t quite balance that way.
Noah sat down on the bench, then pulled me onto his lap so that I was facing away from him. I hardly ever got a chance to be on top of him, facing away from him or not, and I knew he was allowing this only because he was worried about me losing my balance.