by Joey W. Hill
She did have choices. For the first time in her life she was aware that choices existed for her, Savannah, and she was free to make them. Peter, Lucas, Jon and Ben had helped her see that. And Matt. Matt.
“I want to see,” she said sharply.
“I want you to think,” he responded. “I need you to think very carefully about something, and I want you to have no distractions.”
When he was delivering a deal breaker, his voice would change, modulate, and just like a regular poker opponent, she recognized it. This was dead serious, no bullshit, no games.
“Here are your choices. Choice number one. You’re obviously in need of physical release. Jon has brought a larger invention, something that will fill you as fully as a man’s cock. Every man here would enjoy watching it give you the level of orgasm your body is ready for.
“Choice number two. You can choose to call it over. We’ll clear the room. I’ll untie you, help you dress, and tonight will never be referred to again, by any of us. Or…” There was a slight pause, and she waited, not sure how she felt about either option and hoping there was another, one that this straining need in her would recognize as the right one and eagerly embrace.
“Choice number three. Your final choice. You can choose one of us to do what Jon’s invention will do.”
It took a minute to sink in. “You mean…”
“Any one of us.” His voice was firm, resolute now. “The rest of us will go. The man you’ve chosen will stay with you, meet your desires, whether they be physical or emotional. He’ll make sure you get home safely afterward. No demands after that.”
“No demands,” she said hollowly.
“None.”
Unexpected pain landed like a load of bricks on the shuddering waves of pleasure still gripping her, which made her feel like a dog that had been kicked by a beloved master, uncomprehending of why, making the pain that much worse. But the analogy cleared up the source question, and she struggled to channel the pain into fury and lash out.
It built in her, so suddenly that she felt lightheaded, all the blood rushing to her face, but at the same time she was swept by a desolation so exponentially fierce that she couldn’t draw breath from anger, or control the direction of her thoughts or words.
“So you don’t want me,” she said.
“What?”
It was a very rare moment to catch Matt Kensington by surprise, to the extent it could be heard in his voice.
“This was all…a nice game. Fun…amongst colleagues.” She managed to create a sharp laugh, like a razor blade along her own skin. “I can’t thank you all enough for devoting your evening to fulfilling every woman’s erotic fantasy.”
She was at an atavistic level of need, to the point where action could be the only communication, but Matt had restrained her so there was nothing she could do to influence events. Roused to a painful, raw state by Ben’s pearls and clever fingers, Peter’s mouth, by everything they’d done and shown her tonight, her insides were like the slopes of a California hillside under pummeling rain. Mudslides were roaring to life, revealing the primal underside of her earth, smothering her civilized façade. The images still flickering on the wall stimulated her body still, even without the benefit of her sight.
Anguish squeezing her lungs, she choked against the hard, relentless force of strangulation. There was nothing left but a burning ache, desire and loss come together in a head-on collision at fatal speed. She tasted tears on her lips, and knew she should be horrified by her weakness, but they had forcibly dissolved that concern an orgasm or two ago.
“Savannah.” Gentle hands removed the blinders, and Lucas was there, his eyes thoughtful, a little sad, but with a light that suggested he had hope for them all. “You’ve rendered him speechless. I think he’s one step from apoplectic.”
She looked at Matt through her tears and suddenly wished she was untied. Out of a sense of self-preservation. Matt looked more angry than she’d ever seen him. Not a cold controlled anger, either—the enraged passion of a man pushed past some boundary of restraint.
“This is your own fault,” Lucas said, unperturbed.
She glanced back at him, startled, realized he wasn’t talking to her.
“Just tell her straight out, for Chrissakes.”
“Leave us, then,” Matt said.
Savannah felt a sudden surge of fear, but Lucas laid a hand on the tender area between her shoulder and neck. He lowered the harness so she was on the table. Ben helped him free her legs. Hands straightened her, caressing her thighs, bringing her feet back to the floor. The suspension device and all its components were removed from around and beneath her. With gentle pressure, Lucas kept her upper body on the silken mahogany. He slid off her mask, though, laid it aside and smoothed her hair back, his thumb brushing over the path of a tear. He leaned down, kissed her temple. “You’ll be safe with him.”
“Lucas.”
“Going.” He straightened, made a quick gesture with his head and they all left, melting into the shadows and stepping out the door, four men who had profoundly altered her reality in the space of an evening. Now she faced what her destiny would be tomorrow.
Despite Lucas’s not-so-subtle hint, she pushed her body up. Naked though she was, she felt less vulnerable facing Matt with her back straight. And her clothes were folded over the chair not more than a yard from her.
She discovered two things immediately. One was that Lucas had had a practical reason for encouraging her to stay down. The body she had walked in with several hours before had suddenly become heavy and unbalanced, her knees trembling, her vision blurring and tilting as blood rushed back into her torso.
The second thing was that Matt moved a lot faster and more silently than she anticipated. With her head spinning, she wasn’t even aware of his approach, but suddenly he was there, the heat of his hands on her hips, the faint scratch of his slacks pressing against the back of her bare legs, his white shirt against her shoulder blades, the silk of his tie a caress against her spine.
It got very quiet between them, and Savannah could only hear the sound of her own harsh breathing, the echo of her words, obviously laden with hurt, lingering in the room. She had no choice but to lean, but in truth, it was a relief to feel him there. That he was still angry she’d no doubt, but he obviously wasn’t intending to take it out on her in some frightening way. She hoped.
“I don’t know you enough to trust you like this,” she mumbled, but still she didn’t move. If anything, she settled back against him as he took a more secure, possessive grip on her waist, his hold sliding forward so his arm was over her abdomen, his palm over the opposite hip as he raised his other hand, applied gentle pressure until her head was on his shoulder, the upper slope of his chest.
“Yes, you do,” he said quietly.
He’d gotten her to admit she wanted him, not as a moment of passing lust, not to act on a curious attraction. All the desires he had roused through his men had culminated in one raging truth—that it was him she wanted, him whom she now leaned against, the only one she trusted enough to reveal such a need. From the very beginning, she had denied it in every way, that he was the culmination and solution. He’d exposed the lie by not offering what she had expected him to offer to close the evening’s deal. She’d been outmaneuvered, and now there was just the frightening truth between them. He held all the poker chips, and he could tear her to shreds. But she still had his desire for her to bargain with, shift some of the balance to her side of the table.
“So what does Lucas want you to tell me?” She leaned her head into his touch, nuzzled him with her lips deliberately. He pulled loose, lowered his grip, closed it over her throat. Feeling her fragile pulse beating against that powerful hand made it beat harder.
She looked up into those dark eyes, sensual lips, imagined them moving over her. That’s it, Savannah. Focus on what he could give her on the surface, two bodies satisfying each other. What was beneath didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.
“Did you?” He cupped her chin and held it so she was locked into looking up at him, into his unfathomable gaze.
“You know I did. It was a slip, that was all. It won’t happen again. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy each other—”
“And keep all our commitments tomorrow, meet every appointment. Savannah, I am not your bloody fucking father.”
Her body went rigid. The anger was still there, blasting her with its heat, but his eyes held something else, something close to pain, that she’d never seen in his eyes before. A part of himself he was deliberately revealing to her. He turned her, his hands closing over her shoulders.
“Well, I certainly hope you aren’t him,” she managed. “Otherwise, what just happened in this room—”
His grip tightened further, nearly dragging her to her toes.
“Matt—”
“Just shut up, before I decide to strangle you.” He placed his finger on her lips. “Listen to what I’m saying. Look into my eyes and stop being afraid of what this is. It wouldn’t have hurt you so much, my proposal to let you choose anyone, if it weren’t real, what you’re thinking.”
“Let go of me,” she said.
“Never again.” He shook his head. Shook her. “We wouldn’t want you to go all female on us, would we? Hell, don’t stop there. Let’s not be human while you’re at it. Why should you have needs, desires and, God forbid, express anger or pain where someone else can see it? I want a human woman with a healthy mixture of weaknesses and strengths, who sometimes laughs inappropriately, or gets in real fights with me. Someone from whom I beg for forgiveness, even if I know I was right, because I know making her happy is more important to me than being right. Someone who doesn’t want to be alone.”
“I’ve been alone all my life.”
“Lonely all your life.”
“Yes, goddamn you.” She shot it back savagely, and there was a rough, tearing quality to her voice, somewhere before a shout and a snarl. She startled him enough she managed to pull away, back up several steps, and snatch up her blouse. “Yes, I have been, Matt. Boohoo for me. The princess in the tower, given everything she wants except her daddy’s love. So what? You’re going to make it all better? Is that what the hell this is all about?”
“Yes.”
“Well, tough, because it doesn’t work that way.”
“Yes, it does. It can. It should.” He took a step toward her, like a man approaching a wild and dangerous animal, not with fear, but respect and caution, not wanting to harm the creature. “I love you. It’s as simple as that. And if you’re willing to give that a try, even give it just a moment of belief in your heart, I promise I won’t let you down. You won’t feel lonely anymore.”
“You’re out of your fuck…idiotic minds, all of you.” She nearly screamed at the amusement that came into his eyes at her avoidance of cursing. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Matt Kensington.” She snatched the belt off the table, flung it at his chest. He caught it, the amusement turning into annoyance. Good.
“You’ve stripped me down, great. You blithely tell me you love me, without taking off one piece of clothing, metaphorical or otherwise. For all I know, it’s just a good con, the whole thing, because as far as I can tell, you haven’t even broken a sweat tonight. So, tell me what Lucas wanted you to say. Get off of your high horse and tell me what this is all really about. “
“It’s about asking you out on a goddamned date.”
He shouted it so fiercely it echoed through the room. She even imagined she heard the windows of the high-rise rattle.
“What?” It was such an unexpected statement, she had to grope for something to say, particularly when he continued to glare at her without further explanation. “Matthew, this is not your average first date.”
He chuckled at that, but it was a harsh sound. “You’ve got that right. ‘Didn’t break a sweat.’ Jesus Christ. I ought to wring your neck.” He rubbed a hand over his face, through his dark hair until it stood on end in a very appealing tousle. “This entire night, the idea of it, started because I wanted to get involved with you, and I didn’t think anything short of something this dramatic would work.
“If you’d accepted my invitation to go out on a date, and treated me in that clinical, detached way you do those other losers I’ve seen you attend political functions and movie premieres with, I think I’d have had to kill you.”
She stared at him a very long moment, and there was no motion in the room except for the flickering light of those many different screens, showing the story of her life for the past few hours.
She lowered her gaze to the blouse she was holding. It was an odd contrast to her pale naked body, and the soft glitter of the lovely chandelier nipple jewels. She liked the way those looked, and how Matt’s eyes kept straying to them. Savannah struggled past those thoughts, to what was going on in her own head. To what she knew she had to be brave enough to say, if she truly wanted to believe Matt’s words.
It was five minutes before she found the courage, and to his credit, he waited, motionless, through the extraordinarily long pause.
“You know,” she said, her voice thick, not her own. “One day I was in the elevator with this young girl doing summer work in the mailroom. She had on the prettiest pair of sandals. I kept staring at those shoes, and I thought… ‘I bet she really enjoyed buying those. I bet she likes looking at the way they look on her feet.’ And it made me feel so sad…”
“Savannah.” He took a step toward her, but she closed her eyes, shook her head. “And I knew then, though I didn’t admit it to myself. I’ve never bought clothes, shopped for fun, done anything out of a sense of spontaneous whimsy.” She took a deep breath, raised her head and met his eyes squarely. “You’re right. You’re all right. I was Geoffrey Tennyson’s cyborg, from the day my mother died. So you are all absolutely right. As much as I’ve fantasized about you, and wanted you, I would have treated you exactly that way. I wanted to be cruel to you tonight, finish up with all this and walk away, but I can’t. I want you, Matt. And admitting that terrifies me.”
“And love?”
She lifted an uneasy shoulder. “I don’t know what that is. I do know…” her voice lowered and he came to her, so when she raised her head, she was looking directly up into his face, her bare body erotically almost pressed against his fully clothed one. “I know you’re the ‘someone’ in the fantasy to comfort myself. Every time. You always have been, since the day I met you.”
Reaching down, she picked up his hand. After only a brief hesitation, she brought it to her lips, pressing her face into his palm. Something seemed unusual and she raised her face enough to look at a wound on his palm. A deep wound, like a puncture. His blood had coagulated, but the wound was hot to the touch, sticky. “What—”
His other hand touched her face, tracing the light impressions she could feel where the mask had pressed against her face.
“I kept digging my hand into the screw set under the table to keep myself from breaking down and releasing you. I almost broke, every time one of them touched you, every time you came, every time I heard the fear in your voice. I wanted this to be the right thing. And I told myself I was sure. But every time you got upset…” A tremor ran through his hand, amazing her. “Don’t ever make me go through that again.”
“Make you—” She saw the trace of a smile in his eyes, a moment before her knees gave out on her.
“Whoa.” He caught her at the waist as she gripped his coat lapels for balance, and before she knew what he was about, he’d lifted her off her feet and was headed to the couch.
“I didn’t feed you enough, I think,” he observed.
Not to mention what three or four mind-blowing orgasms in one night can do to someone.
He laid her down on the couch and then straightened, retaining one of her hands in hi
s, studying her.
“Matt,” she whispered. “Matt,” she repeated softly, seeing what was in his dark, intent eyes. She was afraid to put her arms around him, afraid to stroke her fingers through his hair, afraid to do anything. Struggling against all her natural instincts to curl into a protective fetal ball and deny what she was so scared and hopeful was the truth.
Never lose control. Her father had told her, from her very first tantrum. You give the enemy the advantage when you lose control. And it took her very little time to understand he meant that to apply to everything, because to him there wasn’t any time that wasn’t about business, the business of life, the ultimate corporation. You ruled your life and everyone around you with iron control, or you opened yourself to defeat, to takeover. To failure.
To the disappointment in her father’s face.
Oh, God. To think that her whole life, the compass she followed each day, had always pointed to that. One tyrannical man’s expectations, a man who was dead.
Nobody could possibly understand how hard it would be to let that go, when her whole life had been structured on it. The idea of turning to something different was the same as detonating a bomb that would blow up her foundation, her world. She’d been called a Daddy’s girl, but that implied something soft, with golden curls, like Lucas had described. She’d been his weapon, his tool.
But tonight had been about who she was, Savannah. And by making it about that, Matt had told her clearly, through action, that it was her he wanted. Not the weapon of Geoffrey. Her. And though she might not have much of an idea of who Savannah Tennyson was, when she looked into Matt’s eyes, she saw he knew. As if his eyes were the mirror she’d never been able to find to show her what her true face was. And there she finally had the truth of why he was always the center of her comfort fantasy. Of every fantasy.