by L. S. Scott
“Why?”
“Because I’m interested.” A troubled look started to cloud his blue eyes.
“In what,” I asked hatefully.
“In you,” he said softly as if I should already know.
I swallowed hard, trying to push down my agitation and diverted my eyes from his.
“I’m really tired. I think I’m gonna call it a night.”
“Alright,” he said as he rose and left without looking back.
I closed my door Friday afternoon and collapsed spread eagle on the bed. I had made it half way through the rotation from hell and was looking forward to a couple days off. I was so tired I had turned down Nina’s invitation to go dancing, and planned to meet up with her Saturday night instead.
I kicked off my shoes and scrunched and stretched my toes, wishing for another foot massage. I popped some left overs in the microwave, took a real quick shower and curled up under my shabby ole quilt. After I called to check in with my brother, sister in law and baby, I was asleep almost instantly.
After receiving my first paycheck, I headed out Saturday morning to do a little shopping. I found an awesome little boutique that mixed custom fragrances for body washes and lotions. I had them make me a unique blend of coco butter and lavender that smelled absolutely heavenly.
I moved onto the shop where I purchased the barely there little black dress that I still had not worn. I picked out a sweet but sexy little dress for salsa night and a new pair of wedges, before make my way back to The Flynn. Crossing the lobby, I heard Alan call my name.
“Natalie, hello dear,” he waved from the hall leading to his office.
“Hello Alan,” I smiled, finally comfortable with calling him by his first name as he insisted.
“I was just about to give you a ring. I have a new schedule for you; there have been a few changes.”
“Oh, okay,” I met him at the desk and took the schedule from him. “Thank you.”
I scanned the schedule as I rode up to the twenty-ninth floor. By the sixth floor, I realized what the change had been. Fuming I reached for my phone.
where are you?
my office
I dumped my shopping bags inside my door and jumped back on the elevator, pushing the lobby button angrily and repeatedly, as if it would make the ride down quicker. I stormed toward Mr. Flynn’s office without a word to anyone, thankful Jessica did not work on Saturdays so I didn’t have to deal with her pissy attitude toward me.
I blew the door to his huge office open and let it slam behind me. He was staring into his computer with his chin propped on one hand. He looked up at me with raised brow when I slammed the crinkled paper on his desk.
“Change it back,” I demanded.
“Change what back,” he asked innocently.
“My schedule. Change it back!”
“I have nothing to do with your schedule Miss Mills. You will have to discuss that with Alan.”
He propped his chin back in his hand and returned his attention back to his computer screen.
“Connor,” I growled through gritted teeth. “Change! It! Back!” I picked up the paper and threw it in his face.
“Why are you so mad,” he asked.
“Because I don’t want people thinking that I’m skating through my internship because I’m fucking my boss! Now change it back.” He winced at my bluntness.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want the girl I’m fucking, to be too tired to fuck.” He answered gruffly.
I huffed. Snatching the tattered paper I turned on one heel and stomped to the door. Just before I slung it open, Connor’s hand slammed against it just above my head.
“You hated the kitchen. I thought this would make you happy,” he said quietly, his mouth just inches from my ear.
“Well it doesn’t,” I answered, staring at the door.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to change it back?”
“No,” he answered with finality.
I pushed him aside with my shoulder and stormed out.
“I’m ready to pay out,” I told the waitress at Havana’s. It was close to 2:00 a.m. and, still feeling my week of kitchen duty, coupled with the new wedges I was wearing, my feet were killing me.
“Oh, all your drinks were put on that gentleman’s tab,” she said, casually pointing to a dark corner of the bar.
“What gentleman?”
“He’s at the table in the corner. Good looking, expensive watch,” she described vaguely.
I sat for a minute to finish my drink, deliberating on what to do. I didn’t want to cause a scene, especially with one of my co-workers there. So, what do men hate worse than fighting? Being ignored. I grabbed my things and made my way to the front door.
One of the many cabs that waited in front of the bar to drive drunk patrons to their next destination, pulled up to the curb for me. Before I closed the door to the cab, it was pulled from my fingers. A large, warm hand wrapped around my bicep and pulled me from the seat. Without releasing me, he tossed a twenty to the cabby for his trouble.
“What the hell, Connor?”
“I’ll drive you. Come on,” he ordered, pulling me down the sidewalk.
I jerked my arm loose from his grip and stopped.
“I can take a cab.”
He turned to me with a resolute glare. His shoulders were squared, his fists clenched at his sides, his body rigid. His faded navy blue Ralph Lauren shirt was open at the collar, enough to see the veins popping in his neck. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tensed muscles in his forearms. Add to that the worn out blue jeans he was wearing, and he had me wanting to tear his clothes off right there, in spite of my anger, or maybe because of it.
He took two steps toward me, to stand right over me. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me in odd silence, almost daring me. I cocked my head to the side.
“How long have you been here,” I asked, curious to how long he had sat and watched me grind my body against various dance partners.
“A few hours,” he answered flatly.
“You’ve been watching me the whole time?”
“Yes,” he gritted out. I smirked, amused. “Can we just go? I don’t want a scene right here on the side walk.”
I folded my arms over my chest and began walking.
“I don’t want anyone to see us walk in together,” I said as we neared The Flynn.
“I don’t care.”
“I do!”
“Fine. I’ll park the car and meet you at your suite,” he grumbled, letting me out at the curb.
“I appreciate the ride, but I don’t need you to tuck me in,” I snapped.
“Hpmh,” he snorted and shook his head, staring straight ahead.
I stripped and jumped in the shower, assuming I had pissed Mr. Flynn off enough that he would probably never speak to me again. I closed my eyes and let the warm water beat down on my neck. I was only half surprised when two strong hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me back against a warm rigid body. I jerked and tried to turn out of his grasp, but he wound his arms around me. One arm over my stomach, one across my chest, settled between my breasts, his fingers lightly encircling my neck. Every time I squirmed, his hold would tighten around me.
“I’ve watched you grind this ass into other guys all night,” he growled in my ear.
Aw, there it was, that venomous tone of jealousy that turned me inside out. Just the tone of his voice in that moment had my body arching into him.
“Do you want me to come after you, drag you back here, make you submit to me? Is that what you want,” he hissed in my ear. My fingers dug into his thighs and I began to pant.
“Answer me,” he demanded, tightening his fingers around my neck.
“Yes,” I gasped, mildly shocked by my body’s reaction to his hostility but completely at its mercy, at his mercy.
Clutching my jaw, he pushed my head to the side and dug his teeth into my neck, than b
egan to gently suck and lick away the sting. His other hand slid down my stomach. His fingers plunged deep inside me.
“Mmmm,” he groaned. “You’re already so wet. Being a bitch turns you on, huh?” he sneered against my burning skin.
I raised my hands to brace myself against the wet tile and squeezed my thighs tight around his hand as he pumped his fingers in and out of me.
“That’s right, grind that ass into me baby.”
I moaned and rolled my hips faster, hurdling toward my release. He pulled his fingers out as abruptly as he had put them in. I whined at the loss.
“You don’t come yet,” he growled.
He slapped the handle, turning off the water. He walked us out of the shower and to the bed, his hand still firmly wrapped around my neck. He released me, turned me to him and kissed me forcefully, fisting his hands in my hair. My moans filled his mouth as my scalp prickled with stinging pleasure.
Our lips still connected, we fell to the bed. My legs wrapped around his waist and my fingers dug into his back, trying to pull him closer, aching to have him inside me. He jerked away, pinning my wrists to the bed. His head dropped to my breast, capturing my nipple between his teeth. I gasped and arched and fisted my hands in his hair. He raised his head, slammed my hands back against the bed and glared down at me.
“Keep your hands above your head, or I’ll tie them down,” he ordered. I swallowed hard and nodded.
He returned to his sweet torture, first one tit, than the other. He nipped and sucked and licked my ribs, my stomach and my thighs. My body trembled with restraint and need. I pressed my feet into the mattress, lifting my hips toward him. He pushed me down. I rolled my hips but he wrapped his hands around them to still me. I began to whimper with every shaky breath, desire starting to pull me apart at the seams.
“What’s the matter Natalie, hmm?” he taunted cruelly and flicked his tongue once across my clit.
“Please,” I began to beg, he chuckled, low and sensual. He flicked his tongue again.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes! Please, please make me come. Please,” I begged shamelessly for my orgasm.
Finally, he began lapping at my pussy with his tongue, sucking and flicking my clit. Within in seconds, my body tightened and shuddered as I arched against him, bucking and riding his tongue through my release.
When the last wave ripped through me and I lay panting, he climbed up my body and hovered above me. His eyes were softer as they looked down on me. He kissed me and as he took my mouth, he took my body, pushing deep inside me and withdrawing slowly, a pace he set and kept, all the way in and all the way out. He trapped my wrists under his hands and rose to hover above me, still pumping, in and out slowly. I closed my eyes to the thrill of him sliding against my inner walls.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered. I forced them open and stared up at him. “Does it feel good Natalie?” I nodded, biting my lip.
“Tell me,” he coaxed.
“It feels good,” I answered breathlessly.
“Who makes you feel good Natalie?”
“You,” I breathed.
“Say my name,” he looked down at me with a furrowed brow, his demand sounding more like a plea.
“You Connor, you make me feel so good,” my eyes misted and I bit hard on my lip to stop the trembling.
Connor lowered to his elbows, cradling my head in his hands, he rocked us slow and steady until we climaxed, first me then him.
He rolled to his side and pulled me to his chest, where I rested only minutes, before retreating to the bathroom to pull myself together. I washed my face and stared at myself in the mirror, unable to reconcile all my raw emotions. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to face Connor, to tell him he had to leave. When I opened the door, he was already gone and I knew it was because he understood. He knew what I needed and how I needed it and that began our somewhat twisted affair.
In the weeks following, I fell into a steady routine, work, gym, salsa with Nina and angry, passionate sex with Connor. We played out a similar scene repeatedly. I ignored him, was a total bitch to him, tried my damndest to make him jealous, and he would do his best to break me, make me submit to him; make me scream his name over and over. And whether it was in the alley behind Havana’s, a dirty public restroom or bent over his desk, I always did.
Chapter Thirty
“Hey Tiff.”
“Hey girl, how’s it going, haven’t heard from you in a few weeks.”
“It’s going good. More importantly, how are you and the baby?”
“We are great. We get to find out if it’s a boy or girl next week. We’re excited. Jake’s beside himself. He’s worse than a kid at Christmas,” Tiffany laughed and it made me smile.
“I bet. I can’t wait to find out so I can start buying baby stuff.”
“Yep, so how much longer are you gonna be out there. Are you staying after your internship is up? We were kind of hoping you could be here when the baby comes.”
“Oh, well, I haven’t really decided. I’m pretty sure I’ll have a job here if I want one, but I don’t know. It does kind of seem like home here.”
“You do sound happier than you have in a long time Natalie. I mean, you were closed off for so long. You’re actually making friends and living out there. I am a little jealous, but, if you’re happy,” she trailed off.
“I am. Even the nightmares are gone.” I contemplated telling her about Connor, but I still wasn’t sure how to define our relationship.
“What is it,” she asked, knowing me all too well.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying, and you are so bad at it. If it’s about your rich boss, save it. I already know you’re screwing him. Even over the phone I can tell when you mention him.”
“Tiffany!”
“What? It’s ok Natalie. You are a young, beautiful, single, woman. I think you paid your penance for whatever it is that you think you did wrong. You deserve to be happy.”
“Okay Dr. Phil.”
“Okay, I can take a hint. I gotta go anyway. I love you Nat.”
“Love you too.”
“Oh, Hey Natalie,” Tiffany almost shouted into the phone just before I hung up.
“What? Something wrong?”
“No, I just forgot to tell you, you know Jason Holbrook got out on parole a year or so ago and moved into the apartments in Layton?”
“Yeah, so?” My voice fell flat at the mention of the sicko’s name.
“Mom called last night and told me they found him dead in his apartment.” My breath caught in my throat. “They’re calling it a suicide.” I could hear the skepticism in her voice. “Apparently, he fell on a huge hunting knife, like samurai style, through the chest and left a note that said, and I quote, ‘I’m a piece of shit and do not deserve to live.’”
My mouth went dry and my breathing became labored. I felt like I might pass out.
“Natalie, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Well, no big loss right,” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“Nope, okay well gotta go.”
Leave it to Tiffany to drop a bomb like that with a smile.
“Okay, bye.”
I dropped the phone on the table and buried my face in my hands. It’s not possible. Tiffany would know and she would’ve told me. A knock on the door interrupted my melt down. I opened it to find Connor standing in the hall. Even though he was dressed in his laid back casual Saturday attire that I loved, he looked anything but relaxed.
“What’s wrong with you,” I asked, my forehead scrunched.
“Can we talk?” I noticed his fingers tapping nervously against his leg.
I pushed the door open and turned away to walk into the room. I heard the door close and when I turned to face him, he was right in my face. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. He cupped the side of my face and kissed me longingly.
“Wow, I thought you wanted to talk?” He took a deep breath and backed away
from me.
“You and me, we’ve been playing this fucked up game for a while now.”
He paused and looked to me for a reaction, but was met with a deadpan stare.
“I want us to go to dinner together.”
“What?” I laughed at him as if it were a silly request.
He frowned, and looked as if his feelings were hurt.
“Dinner. I want to take you to a nice restaurant and sit down and have a nice meal, a glass of wine and a conversation.”
“Hmph,” I snorted. “Afterwards we can have a sleep over and brush each other’s hair,” I derided insensitively.
“Why are you like this with me?” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I watch you with other people, you’re so sweet, and kind, and sincere, but with me, you’re hateful and sarcastic. Why?” I turned away. “Look at me,” he pled. “Natalie, I don’t fuck you anymore.” I turned away again from his verbal slap across the face. “Look at me,” his voice became low and demanding. A tone my body responded to automatically. “The next time we’re together, I want it to be more, to mean more. And that starts, with dinner.”
My eyes began to mist. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t. He cupped my face in his hands understandingly.
“Eight o’clock, Ellis will pick you up at the side exit, if you prefer.” I nodded. “He will bring you to me. We will enjoy dinner and conversation and see where it goes from there. Is that okay?”
I nodded.
“Please answer me Natalie.”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. That sounds nice.”
A sincere smile lit up his face. He kissed me softly and turned to go. When he reached the door he turned back to me.
“Tonight would be the perfect occasion for that little black dress,” he smiled and winked and closed the door behind him.
After a couple stiff drinks and a lot of pacing, I went down to the salon and begged Clarinda to squeeze me in. A couple hours of cut, color, and torture, by way of hot wax, later, I was back in my suite completing the last leg of beauty boot camp. Plucked, shaved and lotioned, within an inch of my life, I slipped the little black dress and hooker heels on and stood in front of the mirror. My inside quivered with nerves. Connor had stripped me, spanked me, and screwed me every way imaginable and yet I was as nervous as a teenage girl waiting for her prom date. At least that’s the way it was portrayed in the movies. I wouldn’t know. I never got to go to my prom.