Unbind (Sub Rosa Series Book 1)

by Lynch, Sarah Michelle

  “Ugh. Such a boy!” I mock-thumped him, and he shot me a set of desperate eyes that soaked my underwear. “Hmm. Alright, if you can swing by the hotel so I can get some things?” Namely some clean undies. It was a good job I carried a spare pair, but I knew there was no guarantee on those lasting either! “Then drop me downtown by nine a.m. sharp Monday?”

  “Can do.” He kissed me again.

  “Then… I’ll stay.”

  “Good. I can spoil you.”

  I narrowed my eyes and warned, “I’m not the kind of girl who needs that.”

  “No, you’re just the kind of girl who doesn’t know it’s good to be spoiled… now and again,” his eyebrows wiggled.

  A compromise? I could deal with that.

  I squeezed his buttock hard and he had to tell me off, again. “You’ll kill me doing that all night. Behave!”

  I laughed raucously and wondered where the hell I was—in a dream? It was so easy between us. So wonderful. We walked to his vehicle and climbed in.

  “I love your car.”

  “You’ll love it better when I fuck you in it upstate one time.”

  “I thought your thoughts needed to be off sex,” I giggled and squeezed his cock over his jeans. He was semi-hard. It was admirable after our workout earlier.

  “We’ll get arrested doing this in public,” he warned.

  “Oh, would that be bad?” I sucked my finger, retracting to show him the moist digit.

  “Chloe,” his voice warned, “I will toss you over my shoulder and take you back up there.”

  “I’m stopping. I’m too hungry!” I spluttered with laughter.

  He took a deep breath and shook his head from side to side, his eyes squeezed shut. “Old lady pants… wrinkled hosiery. Shit, it’s not working.”

  I doubled over with laughter in the passenger seat and he gripped the steering wheel as we left the underground garage. “Chinatown, hmm?”

  The sound of that had my mouth watering. “Then?”

  “The night is ours.”

  I reached across and kissed his cheek and while we rode to Manhattan, I watched other cars and their occupants. I pictured their lives and wondered, were our true destinations other people?

  Chapter 19

  WE ATE THE best dim sum I’d ever tasted while sat at the counter pressed together, kissing and murmuring in each other’s ears. I wondered what Kayla might say if she could see me, or what my Dad would come up with to let me know it’d not last, so I might as well give up now.

  My father hadn’t ever told me he disapproved of my life choices, but his lack of compliments and grunts over the years had sealed my belief that he thought I was barking mad for pursuing a career in writing. For pursuing anything outside our hometown, in fact.

  Cai broke my reverie when he slid his credit card across the shiny red countertop, nodding to the attendant.

  “I want to pay half,” I pouted.

  “No way,” he shook his head and handed me a fortune cookie.

  I broke mine in one hand and slid the paper out with the same fingers, managing to keep both halves from falling while I slid the paper into my free hand.

  “What talented fingers my missus has,” he joked, in a bad put-on English accent. He’d been making fun of my accent all night. I secretly adored it however, and I adored his accent.

  “Hmm. It says, ‘the prospects aren’t clear’. Well, that’s not good.”

  “Gimme it. It doesn’t say that.” He shook his head.

  “See for yourself then.”

  “Oh, it does,” he frowned. “Bullshit. These are rigged, rigged.”

  He laughed so loud everybody looked. I joined in for solidarity and read his. “Okay, here goes. ‘All things good come to those who work.’”

  I failed miserably at hiding my laughter and mouthed what the fuck—some bad translator had surely written them.

  He took me to the Empire State after that and we spent a good hour looking out over the lit night sky, Cai showing me where all the major sites were.

  “It’s a dream to be here,” I told him as we stood by the railing, his hands around my waist, his front against my back. Even up so high and with a strong wind, it was still a balmy night.

  “You made it on your own steam, too.”

  “I did,” I admitted, grinning. I didn’t tell Cai that I’d spent so many years never hoping for more, despite knowing it was in me.

  “What now? The choice is yours.”

  I turned into his arms so we were facing each other and we shared a deep, sensual kiss, our arms tight around one another. I knew what I wanted to do so I pulled away and stroked my nose along his, knowing as I knew my own name that I was falling harder with every second we spent together.

  “Take me by my hotel to get my things. Then back to yours.”

  “Good plan, but are you sure?” he asked, stroking my hair down my back. “I did say you’re the boss. Don’t humour me just ’cause you know this On the Town shit bores me.”

  I laughed out loud and gasped, “You’re just—”

  “Being honest,” he told me, a sly smile displaying his sarcasm.

  I chewed my nail and muttered, “I love On the Town.”

  He shook his head and swatted my hand away from my mouth. “I do too, but for different reasons. Anytime you suffer insomnia, just ask me about cinematography and I’ll get you to sleep.”

  “We’re both secret geeks, hmm?” I winked.

  He looked serious. “Shit, Chlo. I don’t wanna ruin things… but can we go back to the apartment and watch Star Wars. I really wanna watch Star Wars with you.”

  I gawped, wondering if he was serious. He was.

  “You fucking weirdo, no! Not this early on in our relationship. What a dick, sheesh,” I sniggered under my hand.

  He pointed at me. “A-ha! A-ha! Got you! A-ha!”

  I slapped his arms playfully, unrelenting until he said, “I love you,” right out of the blue.

  He had me then and I kissed him, plunging my tongue deep in his mouth. I clutched his collar to pull him in as close as possible.

  I blinked my way out of a daze and got my bearings. “Do you have some candles, wine, things like that back at yours?”

  He licked his lips. “Umm, no. I have beer but… we can stop by a market.”

  “Ooh, goodie.”

  In the elevator back to ground level, we kissed despite the company. We ran to the Mustang in a nearby parking facility and in a dark corner, I pushed my seat right back and reclined it. Hidden under my skirt, he ate me out while he knelt in the large foot well. I almost shattered the windows with my screams as his tongue explored me ravenously. I wanted this to never end. I wanted to go dancing and party the night away, but I also wanted to be with him. Just be. I’d never had that before and I wanted it more than anything else.

  THE iPod streamed a playlist of film soundtracks, the music beating calmly around the room. I recognised ‘Latika’s Theme’ from Slumdog Millionaire as I straddled his backside and massaged his thick back muscles. We were both naked and his face lay buried in the pillow, his arms spread out underneath the cushion. I ran my fingers over his body and soaked up the sight and the feel of him beneath my touch.

  “Oh god,” he moaned. “Don’t stop.”

  “We’re not making love yet, dear.”

  “You sure?” He caught a glance at me over his shoulder. “Fuck, that’s erotic… the sight of you like this, rubbing me.”

  “Better than chocolate?”

  “Hell, it’s better than… lemme think… beef jerky.”

  “Hmm,” I laughed. His world, his life… were all so much different to mine. “I bet you don’t like beef jerky. You’re saying that because you don’t think I know anything about American culture.”

  He sniggered. “I fucking love beef jerky. I’m anyone’s with a packet of beef jerky… how do you think I maintain my studliness? Fruit salads?”

  “Oh my god, you didn’t just say that! You are suc
h a freak.”

  He buried his laughter in the pillow while I pummelled his spine with my fists—but surprise, surprise—he groaned louder when I did that.

  He’d already rubbed my body and I felt languid and relaxed, my whole being loose and sated. On the nightstand were two glasses of very good merlot and on every other surface of his bedroom, we’d lit candles. Sights didn’t get much better than that, especially as while I sat on his succulent and very biteable arse, I could see right out into the night through his one-way windows. Bridges were lit and lanes of traffic queued on FDR.

  I was too lost in thought to fight back when he unexpectedly rolled over beneath me and caught my wrists in his hands. He sat up and chafed my breasts with his stubble, deliberately going wild kissing and gnawing. I tried to fight him but he was too strong and had my wrists. Eventually I gave in and he let me free so I could wrap my hands around his head. He nibbled my mouth and murmured against my lips, “Wanna see some of my art?”

  “I thought I had?” I felt puzzled.

  “They were for people to hang in their holiday homes or their kid’s pool house… they were not my art.” He kissed me quick and planted me on the floor, tossing me his white shirt to put on.

  I watched while he slid his Batman boxers over his thighs and he held out his hand for me to follow him. His underwear reminded me he’d once revealed he did graphic drawing too, but I didn’t know for sure if that was what he was referring to.

  We went downstairs, through the living space and to a red, heavy-duty door hidden away in a corner.

  “You have the whole top floor, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. Are you ready?” The look on his face was worried and I wondered why.

  “Yes, of course.”

  He held my hand and never let go as he walked us through the door, into his space. He flicked on the lights and wow. Just wow. That was all I could muster in my mind. I was staggered.

  The light was overpowering. Floor to ceiling windows all around, covered by light-grey blinds. Barely any metal in the whole room. It was a gallery with lots of photographs pinned up, designed as if this place were ready to showcase his work should anyone ever come round. I let go of his hand and wandered between the white dividers, getting lost as I floated around Cai’s work.

  He stood in the distance, in my periphery, his knuckle against his lips as he waited pensively for me to give him my opinion.

  Yes, there were a lot of images of models. Too many perhaps, my jealousy inwardly groaned. The artistry was undeniable: beauties captured at just the right moment, when they thought the cameras weren’t on. Most of the poses were casual and not for magazines, but for Cai’s imagination. Some of the men and women looked thoughtful, but their backs weren’t straight and their cheekbones didn’t carry masses of powder. I imagined Cai’s finger on the shutter, clicking away several shots a second to get just the right image.

  The models were all kinds of ethnicities, all kinds of clothes hanging off them. There was no distinction, no prejudice, the only common factor being these people were captured off the job. I viewed at least 50 of these models before I got to his other stuff—the bits he had sort of referenced a few times before.

  A carrier bag tumbled down an empty, unrecognisable street. Nothing distinguished the country or city he’d taken the shot in.

  A frail, old woman’s fingers touched her face, the focus on the pressure against her withered cheek.

  A mother nursed her baby in Central Park, possibly unaware her fraught facial expression was the focus of someone’s attention. From the looks, she had taken herself to a dark corner she thought she wouldn’t get caught in! Not in Manhattan would you normally see a nursing mother I imagined!

  All manner of other pieces arrested me: A half-eaten apple sitting on an old-fashioned sprung bicycle seat. A scruffy doorway to who knows where, with a gnarled stick holding open a splintered wooden door. A starved dog asleep in a dumpster, using the waste as its bedding. An airport scene featuring a mother and daughter embracing in arrivals. A homeless man sat keeping himself warm on a freezing day, the warmth of a sidewalk grate floating up around him.

  I didn’t get round half of what he had because his footsteps caught up with me. I just gawped, unable to read the meaning behind the pictures.

  I felt a bit sick. This man was really talented. He probably had a lot more where this came from. With some direction, he could be huge and I just knew there was something waiting to be unlocked in him. He was hard to pin down but I knew that he saw life. He was more mature than his years.

  Suddenly I was at a loss—why was he bothering with me? It didn’t make any sense. He stood beside me and explained, “That dog… one of the saddest.’

  I couldn’t catch my breath, alarmed at how this was all playing out. The surface Cai was a dude, a guy, full of jokes and boyishness, but the one beneath was so different.

  “Cai, these are… breathtaking.” Tears stung the corners of my eyes. He saw the world so brilliantly and to see it through his eyes was gut-wrenching. He had real empathy.

  He slid an arm around my waist and I absorbed the scent of massage oil still present in his skin. The memory of our earlier intimacy yanked me back to reality, back to the man and not the artist I was meeting in his work.

  “I favour bokeh more often than not. See the use of focus… the background blurred… the dots, splashes of light. I love that. It fascinated me when I studied photography. The haziness can add something extra… give the subject more prominence, or take away from it, too. Give it speed, distance, life. It gives you so much to work with and sometimes the result is so unexpected.”

  I turned and saw him, in his entirety. He was dazzling. His blue, blue eyes searched mine and I suspected he knew I was crazy-hot for him. I could feel my cheeks burning a hundred degrees.

  “Cai, take me. Right here.”

  We reached for one another and slammed together, our kiss powerful and hungry, our arms tight underneath each other’s. There was an old, scruffy couch tucked in a corner and he steered me there, laid me down. He pulled my shirt up so that his chest was against mine and I slid his boxers off. He was inside me within a moment.

  I watched his eyes the whole time he made love to me, his mouth always against mine though not always to kiss me. To whisper his fervour. To tell me, “I’m in love with you.”

  “You’re beautiful, Cai,” I told him and he poured himself into me for the last time that day.

  We went back to bed and he fell asleep straight away. While I laid on his chest, I stared out of the window and thought this place wasn’t real. Not my territory. I still wanted to wake up. I was actually frightened by the talent of this man. Having a studio like that, hidden away in his own house, told me things I didn’t want to know. He clearly had an incredible talent for people and their most captivating attributes. He saw spirit in objects and ordinary things. I just had to wonder—how long had he concealed his capabilities, like this?

  Chapter 20

  I DIDN’T SLEEP well that night but at least I had his face to look at while I lost hours staring into space, wondering who this extraordinary young man was. I knew already—I wanted to carry his babies and marry him, to never leave his side. I was totally in love with him. I felt so sick, the thought of leaving him already killing me. I laid there orchestrating my line of questioning for when he woke up. I didn’t want to stop him having a lie-in but I was also impatient, just waiting for a moment to ask him why he wasn’t yet famous for his work, not just the fact he was an heir or Jennifer’s nephew.

  I tossed and turned for as long as I could bear it before I wrenched myself out of bed, wearing only his shirt. I padded downstairs to the kitchen and found some coffee, dropping some in a cup before pressing the instant hot water dispenser. Some milk from the fridge and a touch of sugar, and I was out of there, happily sipping away while I wandered his living space.

  In my eagerness to have him inside me yesterday, I hadn’t taken the time to observe h
is place or what was really inside. The sleek walnut stairs in the centre of the living area were freestanding, a lightweight metal rail each side leading straight up to his bedroom above. The upstairs consisted of only his bedroom and bathroom—both situated on a suspended metal platform. From downstairs you could see all the nuts, bolts and poles used to keep everything up there together. Whilst upstairs, all you saw was a plush bedroom area, not this industrial backdrop holding it up. It was unusual, I thought. Which probably suited Cai.

  Chunky red-painted pipes came down from beneath the bathroom area, likely they delivered water and extracted waste. Right over our heads, if we were downstairs anyway. Definitely a boy’s pad.

  I thought back to the gallery and the ceilings in there were very high, so he’d had this part of the house cornered off for his home, with all the intention of using that other massive space just for his work area.

  The mixture of metal, exposed brick and wood flooring wasn’t off-putting. When I looked around, I discovered bookshelves hidden within nooks cut into the walls and took to browsing. There were loads of hardbacks on photography: famous photographers’ collections and books on the study of photography, the techniques. Everything to do with photography. No fiction. I decided he possibly kept his personal reading choices on a tablet or Kindle. To have books in physical form was becoming something rarer, I guessed. He loved photography so at least he had appreciation for something—and he once said he loved Games of Thrones. Most other guys I’d dated had appreciated beer, the gym and at a push, perhaps the cinema. Maybe I’d just always gone for the wrong kind of guys.

  It was then I had the impulse to go back to his studio and have another look, so I did. It wasn’t just my euphoria the previous night (the day of marathon sex, good food, wine and massages). His work was still amazing in the daylight.

  As I wandered, I recognised I may have been on London time—perhaps one of the reasons why I slept uneasily. Yet as the daylight surrounded me, even through the soft blinds of his studio, the truth of my restlessness was awakened. Cai’s pictures were wonderful and showed me a piece of his heart, which he was clearly hiding from all the world, except me.