by Dark, Aubrey
“Are you going to sleep with me?”
He opened the door with a blank face. I couldn’t read his eyes. Did he still want me? I needed to know.
“Please—”
“Not right now, Lacey. Now, I need you to go to sleep.”
Sleep. As soon as he said the word, it was like a command. A yawn rose from my chest, and my eyes watered sleepily. I rubbed one eye with the back of my hand.
He set me down in the bed, and the covers were on top of me before I could even reach for them. He tucked the blanket in around my shoulders. God, it was soft. And warm. So warm…
“Sleep,” he said. And then, the last thing I heard from him before I passed out completely. “You’ll need your rest.”
***
I woke up before he came into the room. The blankets around me were so soft. The room was dim, the only light was a thin stream of lamplight from the hallway.
Beautiful, I thought in a daze. The painting in this room across from my bed was lit slightly by the hallway light. It was a pastoral scene, one of the old masters. Lambs on a hillside. They reminded me of the farm back in Iowa.
A hand pushed the door open and I blinked again sleepily. It was Jake in the doorway. Jake, who’d fed me pancakes this morning. I smiled.
He was holding something, and as he came closer to the bed I saw what it was. A dress, a long evening dress. It was blue and silken, flowing over his arms like a waterfall.
“Waterfalls are white,” I mumbled. That was something I’d learned while painting. Water isn’t blue, really. It’s every color of the rainbow. All it does is reflect the world around it.
“Are you awake?” Jake asked. He sat down next to me on the bed and lay the dress on the foot of it.
Ha. A dress. He’d brought me a dress. But of course, he couldn’t know that I didn’t wear dresses. I never wore dresses.
“I wanted to take you out to dinner,” he was saying.
“Dinner?” I blinked. His eyes shone green even in the dim light. I blinked again.
“Yes.”
All of my senses came back to me in a sharp flash. I sat up in bed, my hands still clutching the covers.
“What—what time is it?” I asked. My mouth felt like cotton.
“It’s seven o’clock.”
“At night?”
Jake raised his eyebrows, and I yanked the covers off of me, not caring if he saw my robe open up. Then I remembered. He was supposed to call.
“Did you call them?” I asked, panic still choking my throat.
“Call who?”
“My work. To say I wasn’t coming in.”
“Oh, right. No. I’ll call them now if you like.”
“What?!”
Oh my God. My boss would be furious at me. Not Casper, although I’m pretty sure he’d be wondering why I had left the back door open and taken off without saying goodbye. But my boss at the diner… she was much, much less nice.
My mom told me not to say anything bad about anyone else if I could help it. If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.
So I never talked about my boss much.
I was pretty sure, though, that the man standing in front of me with a sexy smile had just cost me my job. And, mean boss or not, it was the best job I had.
“How could you?”
“What?” Jake frowned slightly, cocking his head. I tugged on the covers, but he was sitting on them. I couldn’t get out of the bed.
“You let me oversleep and you didn’t even call up my work to say that I was sick!”
“I thought you needed your sleep.”
Argh! He sounded so… so reasonable! Like I was the one who was crazy!
“I need a job more than I need my sleep,” I said, explaining it to him slowly.
“For what?”
For what. He really said that.
“For what? For money. Hello?”
“I already wrote you a check for your rent,” he said, tilting his head. I tugged again at the covers but they held tight. I blew air between my teeth.
“That’s not… I have to have a job!”
“Why?”
“Well for one, that money won’t last forever. And what will I do when it runs out?”
“I can write you another check,” he said, squinting at me like I was an alien species. God, he was so handsome. A stirring inside of my body made me even angrier at myself. And at him. Mostly at him.
“That’s not what I want!” I cried.
“What do you want?”
I plopped back down on the bed, my mouth loosely parted. The pillows billowed around my head.
“I don’t understand you at all,” I said.
“What do you want? You don’t want to work as a waitress forever, do you?”
“Well, no, but—” I stammered.
“Then think of this as a gift to help you along to something you actually want to do. You want to make art. Whatever you need to pay your bills, you can have. It’s fine.”
“I can’t just take your money,” I said. I felt like I was speaking another language to him. Like we were tribes from opposite sides of the world, and money had a different meaning.
“The money doesn’t make any difference to me,” he said gently. “And it obviously makes a difference to you. So take it and use it.”
I slumped back against the pillows, looking toward the ceiling. I breathed in and out. It was weird. I actually felt rested. I didn’t remember ever feeling like I’d gotten enough sleep before.
“This is ridiculous,” I said.
“You’re ridiculous for being so stubborn. Will you take the money?”
I looked at him and opened my mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. Then closed it again. He obviously wasn’t going to give in, and I obviously wasn’t going to get out of this bed without him letting me take his money. I sighed.
“Yes. Fine. Thank you,” I said. “I… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I just don’t… I’ve never been offered anything like this before.”
I swallowed hard, clutching the covers under my fingers.
“You’re welcome,” he said gently.
“So. Uh. Dinner?” I asked, echoing his words from before.
“If you would like. Lacey, I didn’t realize… you’re younger than I expected. I’ll understand if you want to take the check and leave.”
I shook my head, my cheeks flushing. I’d been called young my whole life. I’d gotten a fake ID when I was thirteen so that I could work with my brothers at the neighboring farms. Everyone knew, but the money was under the table and it was an excuse for the people who were hiring me.
When I moved to New York City, the fake ID came in very handy. I didn’t try to get into bars with it, but bar work—that was a different story. At twenty-one, I’d done more bartending jobs that most thirty year old bartenders I knew.
“If it’s about the money… if you need more, I can give you more. It’s no problem.”
I should have taken it. Just grabbed the check and ran. It was a year’s rent, and I could scrounge up another job without too much trouble. Even in this economy, a young girl could make her way as a bartender in NYC.
But I didn’t want to go. I was curious. I—I wanted to have dinner with him.
“I’ll stay,” I said, shrugging in what I hoped was a casual manner. “I came back here, didn’t I?”
“Are you sure? I won’t ask you again, Lacey. You’ve already gotten two second chances with me. Most don’t receive that luxury.”
I saw his throat muscles tighten. Another glimmer in his eye. God, he was attractive. I didn’t care if he was more than ten years older than me. He looked like he had more than taken care of himself over those ten years. His muscles were broad, his chin dark with stubble. His mouth—
I tore my eyes away from his beautiful face.
“Yes,” I said, staring down at his belt. Leather, with a silver buckle that reflected the decor of the room. As he stood up, I wa
tched the reflection shift, twisting me along with the rest of the bed inside of it.
His hand reached out. Mindlessly, I took it. He pulled me up from the bed and I stood in front of him.
“God. Lacey, you’re beautiful,” he said breathlessly. His eyes were palpable as they moved down over my skin.
My paint-spattered skin.
“I have to wash up before I get dressed for dinner,” I said.
“I know. The bathroom is just this way.” He gestured, tugging my hand so that I would walk over with him.
“I can figure out how to work a shower,” I said, a bit irritated. I was young, but I wasn’t a child.
“I know you can. But this week, you’re mine, and you will follow my orders.” His hand clamped down on my wrist and I followed him.
Mine. The word coming out of his mouth sounded like a cage around me. A gilded cage, shiny and new, decorated with the most beautiful ornaments.
A cage I wanted to be in.
Chapter Six
Jake let my wrist go and stepped forward into the bathroom.
The room itself was all white marble, but the tub looked as though it had been carved out of a huge slab of volcanic rock—it was black, and as he turned the faucets on, white steam rose from the splashing water.
He adjusted the temperature of the water, then turned around, still sitting on the edge of the tub.
“Take off that robe,” he said.
I flushed. He had already seen my naked breasts—heck, he’d put my shirt on last night after I passed out, hadn’t he? Still, it felt strange to undress in front of a man. It was something I’d never done before.
I tugged the robe off of my shoulders. He drew a sharp breath as he looked over my body. I tossed the robe onto the ground.
“Now your panties,” he said.
God, his voice was something else. When he told me to do something, it wasn’t even a thought in my mind to disobey. It was like he was controlling my movements. More than that, the low growl of his words sent shivers through me.
My eyelashes fluttered as I shimmied my panties down to my ankles and then stepped out of them completely. I took two steps to the bath, wanting to get in the tub and out of his eyes.
He caught me by the wrist before I could step in.
“Wait just one moment,” he said.
I felt awful. In the bright light, he could see all my lumps and creases, all of the parts of me that bulged out where they shouldn’t. But in his eyes, I didn’t see the disgust that I feared.
Instead, I saw nothing but desire.
His tongue dipped out against his bottom lip. Goosebumps rose on my arms, not because of the chill. The way he was looking at me—I wanted him to look at me that way forever. I would do anything for him.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Get in.”
The water steamed around my legs as I stepped up and into the bath. I lay back against the obsidian edge of the tub. It was rounded. I sighed as the heat seeped into my pores, warming me through and through.
“Give me your foot,” he said.
My jaw dropped.
“What—”
“No questions,” he scolded gently. “Give me your foot.”
I raised my leg and he took my foot in his hand. He reached for the washcloth on the side of the tub and began to wash me. The white washcloth scrubbed the acrylic paints easily off of my skin.
It was strange to feel him rubbing between my toes. The feeling was oddly sensual. He massaged the soles of my feet and I couldn’t help letting out a soft moan of pleasure.
“I’m glad you like this,” he said.
A foot massage in a steaming bath with a sexy millionaire washing me? What’s not to like? But I didn’t say anything. I just let him wash me, the washcloth moving across my skin. He moved up to my legs and washed me there, the paint flaking away and settling to the bottom of the tub.
“It’s a shame,” I said idly.
“A shame?”
“To wash off all the paint. It was nice while it lasted.”
Jake smiled at me. He motioned for my other foot. I bit my lip as I lifted it up for him to wash. As his hands moved up along my ankles, my calves, I held my breath and wondered what he would do once he moved up all the way between my thighs. The thought sent burning pangs of arousal through me.
“Where do you paint? Here in the city? A gallery?”
He had me. I stared down at the water, flicking the surface lightly with my fingertips.
“I paint… I paint everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, graffiti, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t have a lot of other options.”
“You use your real name, though. Lace…”
“Yeah. I like my name. Although it got me in big trouble when I was a kid.”
“Tell me.”
I looked up at him. Rather than being judgmental, he seemed intrigued by my admission. I took a breath, inhaling the sweet scent of soap.
“One time I got this painting in my head. It always starts with a blank space, you know? There was this blank space on the back of one of the corn silos we shared with the neighbors. And I thought it would be the perfect place for one of my flowers.”
“You paint flowers?”
“Silly, right? Like, I’m not a girly girl at all. But I’ve always loved painting flowers. Something about the way the light goes right through the petals. It’s like they’re shining from the inside.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he murmured.
“Oh, you have paint under your fingernails too. Right there.” I pointed to his hands which were rubbing my knee gently. There were specks of lavender under his nails at his fingertips.
“Must have gotten them dirty last night,” he said absently. He scrubbed the paint off.
I frowned. I hadn’t used lavender paint on any of the canvases, I didn’t think. Not the spray kind that was under his nails. But then he was rinsing his hands and I forgot all about it.
He moved back to my body, the washcloth forgotten. His hands slipped between my thighs before I could say another word. I gasped, jerking back in the water, but there was nowhere to go. His green eyes bored into me as I gripped his arm, startled.
“Lacey,” he said. “You promised to obey me when you decided to stay here. Do you remember?”
My heart thudded against my chest. Steam rose up and fogged the air in the bathroom, giving everything a hazy, dreamlike quality.
“Yes,” I whispered. The word soaked into the air and was lost. I could feel the tips of his fingers pressing lightly against my inner thigh underneath the water. The sensation was delicate, but the effects of his touch were not. Heat swirled through my core, aching to be released.
“Good,” he said. “Now relax and let me wash you.”
***
“Lean your head back,” he ordered.
There was a curved spot in the obsidian rock of the tub. I rested my head there. His fingers—oh God, his fingers were there, right there between my legs. I could feel his hand grazing my skin, sending lightning bolts of desire through every nerve ending.
“Close your eyes.”
I obeyed, but I shifted uncomfortably in the water.
“Why do you want my eyes closed?” I asked.
“It stretches your other senses,” Jake said. His hand moved back down to my knee, then up the other leg, only lightly touching my thigh. I shivered in the warm water, feeling myself clench involuntarily down there. He continued speaking, and now that my eyes were closed I could hear every nuance, every low rumble in his voice.
“As an artist, you spend all of your hours looking at things, seeing the lines and spaces of the world. Sometimes you have to slow down and take in the other senses.”
“How do you know? Are you an artist?”
“Of sorts.”
His hand moved up, up, then grazed my aching slit. I moaned in the sweet darkness as his fingertips slid over my wet and swolle
n sex, teasing me. My back arched, needing his fingers in me. Needing more.
He pulled away, and I whimpered.
“Now, then,” he said. “I told you to relax and I mean it.”
Relax? How could he expect me to relax when his every touch had me jumping out of my skin. But I did my best. Breathe in. Breathe out.
The washcloth came back and pressed against my stomach, rubbing gently. He didn’t miss a single square inch as he worked his way up my chest. He paused at my breasts, cupping one in his bare hands. I gasped as the washcloth rubbed over my nipple, making it harden and ache.
His mouth on my nipple, sucking. His tongue—
Oh, God, I didn’t know if I could keep my eyes closed. My imagination was too strong, and the images going through my head right now couldn’t be chased away by mere willpower. With every touch he sent ripples of pleasure through my body.
He massaged my arms, my hands. His fingers intertwined with mine, the soapy grip making me mad with lustful thoughts. I imagined his hands all over me. His fingers, the way he’d thrust them into me last night, the way he’d sent me into a shivering liquid orgasm…
As though reading my thoughts, he chuckled and rubbed my hands once more, leaving them to float helplessly in the water. He came around the back of the tub, rubbing my shoulders. I groaned as he worked my muscles, kneading them until I was a tub of goo. I couldn’t have opened my eyes if I tried, that’s how relaxed I felt.
His hands moved up to my head, and I felt his fingers begin to work their way through my hair, rubbing circles against my scalp. I breathed in and smelled the scent of the shampoo he was using.
“Mmm, lavender,” I said. The shampoo had such a delicate scent of lavender, with faint touches of honey. It was almost like being back on the farm, in the late afternoon, when the smells of the flowers rose from the fields.
His hands were strong, cupping the back of my head. I let myself rest in his palms as he rinsed out the shampoo and worked conditioner in through my hair. God, his fingertips were phenomenal. I wanted to suck on them.
Where did I get these thoughts? I hadn’t ever had sex, hadn’t gone farther than kissing a guy, but when Jake touched me it was as though every dirty daydream I had leapt to life inside of me. I ached between my thighs. Would he come back down and satisfy me, the way he had before?