Jordan's Shadow

by T. R. Cupak

  I hate that I haven’t seen The Shadow’s face, but it’s exciting at the same time. My hands have learned the curve of his trapezoid muscles down to each bicep, while my fingertips have committed to memory every intricate line that defines his chiseled chest down to his six-pack abdomen that forms into the sexy V that even a nun would find difficult to resist. The man was blessed with a cock that requires both of my hands while my tongue runs up and down the length of his hardness before I take him into my mouth as far as my gag reflexes allow, when I’m gifted the opportunity to suck him off.

  I don’t have to see his face to know he’s beautiful. My fingers have traced his strong jawline that is dusted with a manicured beard that feels fucking amazing between my thighs when he’s working his magical tongue over my pussy. His nose is perfectly symmetrical and his mouth has the softest lips I have ever felt. He heats me from the inside out no matter where he touches or kisses my body.

  He brings my wandering mind back to the now when he wraps an arm around my waist pulling my back to his front.

  “Sip,” he whispers right when I feel the rim of a glass at my lips. I already know it is champagne from the fruity scent and the sound of fizzing bubbles. Gladly, I take the drink he offers, enjoying the sweet sensation of the chilled liquid sliding down the back of my throat.

  “Mm,” is about all I manage audibly. I don’t know where he gets all of these fabulous wines and champagnes but they aren’t your typical two-buck Chuck you would buy from the grocery store. He hasn’t given me a bad wine yet, but the merlot and champagne are by far my favorite.

  His lips brush against my cheek, and then I hear him take a sip from what I can only assume is the same glass of cold bubbly. I hear him set the glass down before he turns me to face him; my hands immediately find his biceps to brace myself. My heart rate just kicked up a notch knowing that soon his perfect mouth will be on mine, possessing me in way that should be illegal.

  “Precious,” he hums my pet name after gently cupping my face, dusting his lips ever so lightly across my lips before completely claiming my mouth. The sweetness of the champagne still lingers on his tongue. All I can think about is that I want to devour this man. Each soft flick of his tongue against mine causes me to sway on my feet. I’m light headed and my legs are wobbling like they are made of Jell-O. Wetness continues to pool between my thighs from the skilled movements his tongue has mastered over our time together. He’s kissed me plenty but something is different about this kiss; it feels as though he’s cherishing it more, if that even makes any sense.

  The Shadow reads my body well, knowing just how wet I am from that mind-blowing kiss. He removes one of his hands from my face; seconds later that same hand slides up under the hem of my dress, between my legs, meeting the heat at the apex of my thighs. My body involuntarily shudders when his fingers glide over the barely-there lace fabric that separates our skin on skin contact of his fingers to my slit. Every sense is heightened when one is taken away from you. With each calculated movement The Shadow makes, he knows he has me on the cusp of an orgasm without even trying; teasing me, not taking me fully over the edge. It’s almost painful but I relish in the prolonged foreplay.

  “So fucking wet, precious. The things I want to do to you could potentially be illegal.” His voice is deeper, huskier, which is his telltale sign that he’s ready to move our two-person party onto something with less clothing.

  “Tell me you want my cock,” he hisses between clenched teeth, grabbing my hand, and placing it over the thick bulge that is restricted by the slacks he is wearing.

  “I want your cock shoved down my throat until I can’t swallow anymore,” I pant out my request while his fingers continue to work their way across my soaking wet thong. “Then I want to suck you off until you coat the back of my throat with your hot, thick—Oh dear god,” I moan, clutching onto his bicep to keep myself vertical when his fingers quickly move the lace fabric to the side, allowing his fingers to slip inside me.

  “Fuck,” he growls, removing his fingers just as quickly as he inserted them, causing a short-lived whimper to escape my mouth before I’m picked up and slung over his shoulder, completely catching me off guard. Thank god, he’s walking with the same sense of urgency that I feel too. I want this man to set my body on fire and scorch out the flame, as only he knows how to do. He makes his way hurriedly down a corridor. I only know it’s a hall by the way the sounds of his shoes make bouncing off the closed in space. It isn’t long before he swings me back over his shoulder carefully, holding me close as my body glides down the length of his until my feet connect with the carpeted floor, and I can stand on my own accord.

  “Goddamn, I want to be buried deep inside you. Precious, forgive me—” but before he finishes his sentence or I even have time to ask why he would need forgiveness, my brand-new dress is shredded down the middle, stripped from my body, and leaving me in only my black lace thong, matching strapless bra, and red “fuck me” heels. That one swift move he has used to remove my dress triggers the nightmare that is my past. I haven’t had an episode in nearly two years, and here comes the part where I know for a fact that I will lose the only person I feel any sort of connection with, because this is what I can’t control without medication.

  I drop to my knees on the floor, bending at the waist, and covering my ears to block out any harsh words that could be said. My body is shaking uncontrollably as I beg for him to stop, to not hurt me.

  “I promise I won’t tell. Please don’t hurt me,” I cry out while pulling myself into a tight little ball on the floor, completely disconnected.

  I repeat those words over and over, but when I feel hands touch my back or try to unfold me from my protective position, my breathing escalates to a faster pace, and all I hear is the rush of blood thundering through my ears. I won’t come back from this any time soon. My breathing will eventually cause me to black out and they will have their way with me, again. This is what happens every time, even if it’s only in my fucked-up mind, I relive my attack like it’s actually happening to me in the present rather than through the memories of my past. Without drugs, my mind can’t tell the difference between reality and my imagination, once the darkness falls. The medicine that will help is in my purse, but he doesn’t know I need it. No one knows I even have it.

  I startle awake, sitting up quickly, taking in my surroundings. The blackout curtains don’t offer me a view out of the windows but there’s a dim light, like it is set in nightlight mode, coming from the lamp on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed from where I sit. The filtered light allows me to take in what is around me. I’m sitting on the left side of a large king size bed; one I haven’t seen before. There are six overstuffed pillows lining the black suede headboard behind me. The lower half of my body is blanketed with light gray silky soft sheets along with a black and gray ombré faded comforter. What surprises me most is the fact that I’m dressed in a man’s white undershirt with a pair of men’s black silk boxers. My blindfold is lying on the dark walnut nightstand next to a glass of water along with my anti-anxiety medication and over-the-counter pain medication.

  Quickly, I take my pills with a couple of aspirin, and then swing my legs over the edge of the bed. After glancing around the room, I notice a uniquely designed dresser that is placed against the wall across from the foot of the bed with a very large wall-mounted television hanging above it. The armoire that is set off to the right, against a separate wall between two closed doors, matches the nightstands on either side of the bed. The dresser is definitely a statement piece, but since I know zero about design or home decorating, I have no idea what that statement could possibly be.

  I make my way over to one of the closed doors, opening it slowly. The lights turn on automatically, lighting the massive space that is a walk-in closet. To my left, on the upper rack are designer and custom-tailored suits in an array of colors and patterns. On the lower rack is every color and type of design, button up shirts. Straight ahead is a floor
to ceiling shoe rack that house everyday use, to tuxedo, and running shoes. The right side of the closet boasts different size cubbies that hold sweaters, gym clothes, and everything else that doesn’t require to be hung on cedar hangers. Dead center of the closet is an island with drawers on each side and a gray granite countertop. Sitting atop of the granite is a low profile, black velvet rectangle. Being nosy, I open the first drawer directly below the rectangle. There is an assortment of cufflinks as well as about thirty or so designer watches. My guess, the rectangle is to place his accessories on while he finishes getting ready. The next two drawers are filled with dividers that have a rainbow of colors and styles of perfectly rolled ties setting cozily in their proper space.

  “OCD much,” I whisper to myself.

  After a final glance around the closet that is probably the same size, if not larger, than my tiny one-bedroom apartment, I exit, closing the door behind me. I make my way over to the other door, turning the knob and peeking into room number two. Inside I find an elegant en-suite with rich, dark cabinetry, and warm neutral stone tiles throughout the space. The stepdown shower has a gutter style drain at the head of the shower. The floor pitches towards the drain where right above is an oil-rubbed bronze rain showerhead with eight body jets. There is a floating teak shower bench placed in the far corner of the shower, but this jaw dropping shower is nothing compared to the two-person, jetted tub that is kitty corner to the shower.

  “Now that looks like heaven,” I say to myself while running my hand along the lip of the luxurious bathtub.

  I make my way over to another door that leads into a small water closet. Of course, the toilet couldn’t be a standard toilet. No, this one is one of those crazy Toto toilets that will do everything for you, including warming your ass when you sit down to use it. Out of everything else I’ve seen I choose to think this is a bit much. Yeah, I’m completely broken.

  Once I’ve finished doing my business, I go over to the vanity to wash my hands and that’s when I see the note.

  Jordan,

  Please accept my apologies for last night. I can assure you it will never happen again.

  The Shadow

  What in the ever-living fuck? I have never once mentioned that nickname to him or anyone else for that matter. How in the hell could he possibly know that name? I re-read the note twenty more times before coming to the sad conclusion that the reason it won’t happen again is because I’ve scared him enough to stay away. I don’t blame him. I’m damaged. Not to mention the fact that I have feelings for him that I shouldn’t have. I’m an escort and he’s some wealthy something or other that is probably married to a gorgeous wife and they have two point five beautiful kids. This could never be more.

  There’s another note that says “For you” that sits beside a brand new, still in the box, electric toothbrush. What the hell? Why couldn’t he just have a regular ole toothbrush to spare? I actually chuckle to myself at this one. I finish with the rest of my morning ritual the best I can, considering the fact that I don’t have any of my belongings with me. I’ve never stayed overnight with any client, ever. It goes against my many rules. I will never allow lines to blur and my clients know and respect that, although I am guilty of blurring the lines with The Shadow on a couple of occasions. Never again.

  As I retreat out of the bathroom I scream, jumping at least three feet back into the bathroom, not expecting anyone to be in the bedroom when I emerged.

  “Goddamn you, Monte! You scared the shit out of me!” I yell with my hand clutched to my chest trying to keep my heart inside of its cage.

  “I apologize for scaring you Miss Smith. These are for you, from Boss,” he says, handing me a black bag with the word Bebe written on it.

  I take the bag from him, glancing inside at the contents. I’m gifted with a red fitted top that match my stilettos from last night, a pair of black pants, and a red bra and panty set that are embellished with black stones.

  “Is he here?” I ask even though I already know the answer.

  “No. He had an early meeting,” Monte responds. “I’ll leave you to get dressed. After you are ready, I will take you home.” And with those words, he retreats from the room, leaving me alone with my sullen thoughts.

  I dress quickly, grabbing my shoes from the floor, throwing my medicine into my clutch, and go to grab my blindfold but it’s not there. Monte must have taken it before I came out from the bathroom. After one more glances around the sheik room I head out in search of Monte. By process of elimination, and the fact that there’s a wall to my left, I take a right out of the bedroom and head down the hallway.

  Once I emerge from the hall, I see Monte waiting by the front door with a blindfold in his hand; not my blindfold.

  “For you, Miss Smith,” he says, handing me the new blindfold to put on. I cover my eyes and hear Monte open the large, darkly stained wooden door. Funny thing, that door is almost exactly how I pictured in my mind.

  During the drive to the airport Monte crushed some Dramamine to mix with a vodka cranberry drink so I wouldn’t get airsick. He also suggested that I should take one of my anxiety pills to give the Dramamine a boost.

  It wasn’t long before we were airborne. As soon as we pull up to my apartment complex I grab the handle of the limousine door when Monte grabs my hand. Fuck, what did his boss tell him to do to me?

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to hurt you, Jordan. Here, Boss wants you to wear this and only this when he comes to see you tonight,” Monte orders as he hands over my blindfold.

  “What? I don’t understand. His note clearly stated he won’t be seeing me again,” I say with confusion written clear as day all over my face.

  “He will see you tonight, Jordan, here, in the comfort of your own home. Be ready for him.”

  I offer a slight nod of understanding even though I clearly don’t.

  “Don’t disappoint him, Miss Smith.” And with those last few words, Monte closes the door that I just exited, and the car drives off.

  What the fuck just happened? He said it won’t happen again. The note also stated that he knows my secret name for him. This isn’t going to end well for me, I just know it.

  Chapter Two

  The Shadow

  “Boss, Jordan is home safe,” Monte informs me from where he stands behind me at the door to my home office. My back remains to my confidante while I take in the picturesque view of the acres of grape vines from my newly acquired California vineyard. I purchased this estate not too long ago.

  The family who was selling was ready to retire from the wine making business. They had no other family members to hand the winery down to. The bloodline ended with the pleasant elderly couple. The couple didn’t want to see their hard work get destroyed by some large commercial outfit so they contacted me, giving me the first chance at their goldmine of a winery. The name of the winery spoke for itself; the vineyard had matured vines and the winery was already thriving. All I had to do was come in at a decent price, promise to keep their current staff, and somehow keep the family name associated with the label in some way. It was one of the best decisions I ever made, not because it was a business I knew well, but it got me hours closer to Jordan. The added bonus is that it’s my most profitable winery that requires the least amount of my attention.

  “Thank you, Monte,” I answer. “Did you give her back her blindfold as I instructed?”

  “Yes, Sir. You know I did.” His reply is dry, feigning his ever-present annoyance. Of course, he gave her the blindfold. He does everything I ask him to without question or judgement.

  “Thank you,” I reply with a glance over my shoulder in Monte’s direction.

  “Will that be all for now?”

  “How was she?” I’ve never asked about her after I’ve sent her home, but this time was different. She was different.

  “Confused, sir,” his answer is short and now it’s my patience that is wearing thin.

  I slowly turn to face him, placing my hand
s in the front pockets of my jeans, “Are you going to elaborate or do I have to guess?” My irritated state is noticeable which encourages Monte to continue.

  “Sir, if you don’t mind, may I speak freely about her?” Monte’s question throws me for a moment. He was my father’s right-hand man until my father’s last California trip. Monte wasn’t privy to that trip, which was a first. Things changed, dynamics in dad and Monte’s relationship shifted, leaving me to think Monte somehow knows Jordan’s story. He also never cared to know anything about this fucked up situation until now, so I can honestly say, I don’t know what to expect from his line of questioning. I nod for him to speak.

  “Jordan was under the impression that you didn’t want her anymore. She mentioned a note. I know she’s just an escort, but she’s different. The sad look in her eyes when she thought you were done with her services tells me that she may feel more for you than she should. She’s a sweet girl, when she’s not all fucked up. You may want to consider ending this now, before it goes any further, Sir.” Monte gets everything out there, leaving nothing unsaid or for my own interpretation about my unique situation with an escort. He also confirmed he knows a lot more than I thought he did.

  “She is different. There is more to this story and I promise you’ll be privy to that information, just not yet,” is all I give him for an answer.

  He cocks his head, staring at me, because he knows something but is still trying to figure out exactly what it is. I wasn’t lying when I told him he will know soon enough. I need to talk to Jordan first.

  “You are dismissed,” I tell him. I need time alone to think about my next move. Going to her is dangerous in itself, but I need her to trust me. I need her to know that I won’t hurt her. I need her to feel comfortable and talking to her in her own space is the way it has to be.

  It was several years ago that my father returned home from one of his many business trips to California. I was twenty-years old and just getting my feet wet with our family’s winemaking business. My dad always had to travel to California since it’s known to have some of the oldest and best wineries in the United States. This particular trip wasn’t out of the ordinary, but his return from this trip was different. There was something off about him. He looked like shit, almost like he was partying for three days straight in Las Vegas rather than being on a business trip. The man was forty-five, unhealthily overweight; any sort of activity outside of his normal day to day routine, would certainly put his health at risk.