by S. Quinn
In one huge giant wave, my body pushing and pulling all around him. Pleasure flows over me from my scalp all the way down to my feet, and my whole body melts into the bed. Everything feels electric – my scalp, my neck and between my legs.
As I feel wave after wave of pleasure, I hear Marc’s breathing go sharp and hear something between a shout and a moan as he comes.
He pushes his body against mine, forcing himself harder between my legs, against my chest.
I feel his breathing soften as his body releases into me. His nose is nearly touching mine now, his eyes lightly closed, eyelids flickering. His lips fall forwards, giving me the softest, sweetest kiss. I feel warmth all over my body.
Marc wraps his arms around me and pulls me onto my shoulder so we’re lying side by side. He moves a hand up to gently cradle my head where he was gripping my hair before, his fingers stroking back and forth.
‘Not too much?’
‘No,’ I murmur. ‘It felt good.’
‘I knew it would.’
There are no more words. I’m too tired to talk. To think. All I can do is feel the warmth of Marc’s arms and body. I press myself close to him and fall into a deep sleep.
9
I wake up the next morning to feel sun shining on eyelids, and know instinctively that Marc is no longer lying next to me. My eyes flicker open and I roll over to see an empty, cold space.
It’s a beautiful, crisp winter day, and the sky is white through the criss-crossed townhouse window. The sun is pale overhead.
I pull myself up in the bed, feeling the silky duvet fall down over my bare legs. I’m still wearing my panties and a black vest with coloured stars all over it. As memories of last night come back to me, I feel warmth travel up my abdomen.
What does Marc have planned for me today?
I shiver at the possibilities.
There’s a brown trunk in the corner of the room, and I see underwear and a change of clothes laid out on it. My underwear and my clothes. I smile.
Marc had my clothes couriered over from Ivy College after the whole Giles Getty incident, and he arranged a room in the townhouse to store them all. There’s a bed in that room too, but of course I’ve never slept in it.
I’m always in Marc’s bedroom.
Some mornings, I wake up and find Marc lying beside me. He’s always awake and watching me intently, like I’m made of china and about to fall and break. Other mornings, Marc wakes up before me and lays out my clothes. Then I meet him downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast.
When I wake to an empty bed, I find it a little strange. I think, in Marc’s case, leaving me sleeping is a habit left over from the days when he couldn’t let go. When he absolutely had to stay in charge at all times. But he can let go now. At least, most of the time.
I’m about to climb out of bed when the door creaks, and I’m treated to the sight of a bare-chested Marc Blackwell in grey sweatpants.
He’s carrying a silver breakfast tray and his floppy brown hair looks a little damp. As he comes closer, I smell shampoo and cologne.
‘Awake at seven on the dot.’ Marc smiles his quirky, deadly smile – the one that has female cinema audiences weak at the knees. His teeth are so perfect, and his lips, the way they curve in that devilish way, are so ... I don’t know the words, but let’s just say that smile does things to me. ‘Your routine is very predictable Miss Rose.’
‘Marc, I haven’t showered yet.’ I’m feeling sleep dirty and wish I could brush my teeth before he comes any nearer. When we wake up in bed together, I don’t care that I haven’t washed. But if he’s already showered, I want to take a shower too.
‘I like you when you haven’t showered.’ Marc places the tray on the end of the bed. ‘I love the way you smell.’ His low voice hits me in all the right places. ‘I want you to eat well this morning. You’ll be needing your stamina.’
‘Oh?’ I raise a teasing eyebrow. ‘What for?’
‘What would be the fun if I told you? Eat.’
On the tray, I see a bowl of porridge topped with crispy bacon, maple syrup and pumpkin seeds. There’s also a plate of Eggs Benedict decorated with a sprig of parsley, under a glass cloche. And a bowl of fresh strawberries and yoghurt. Wow. There’s a lot to eat.
Next to the porridge and eggs stand two cut crystal glasses – one full of pink grapefruit juice, the other holding a stem of ivy.
I smile at the ivy. ‘Did you pick that from your garden?’ I ask.
‘Your garden,’ says Marc, sitting beside me on the bed and arranging my hair around my shoulders. ‘There’s no question who it belongs to now.’
I feel myself grinning. ‘I love it out there. There’s so much more I’d like to do.’
‘Write a list of any plants you need. Equipment. I’ll have Rodney take care of it. Now eat.’
‘It looks amazing,’ I say. ‘But ... there’s so much. I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage everything.’
‘Last night was a long night, and you need to replenish yourself. I have plans for you this morning. Plans that require stamina.’ Marc raises an eyebrow.
My stomach flips over, remembering the ‘plans’ he spoke about last night. When it’s finished flipping, I slide the tray of food towards me.
I pick up a silver spoon with square edges and dip it into the porridge.
‘Mmm,’ I say, taking a mouthful and realising how hungry I am. ‘Delicious.’ The porridge is laced with cream and warm maple syrup. More like a dessert than a breakfast, but it feels like exactly what I need this morning. Marc’s right – I used up a lot of energy yesterday, one way or another.
‘Try the bacon with it,’ says Marc, holding up a crispy strip.
‘I’ve never had bacon with porridge before,’ I admit. ‘Does it go?’
‘Better than you’d imagine.’ Marc holds the bacon to my lips and I take a little bite. He’s right, of course. It goes perfectly with the rich porridge and maple syrup. I lean closer, taking another bite that snaps near his fingers.
‘Careful Miss Rose,’ says Marc with a smile.
‘You’re allowed to hurt me, but I can’t hurt you?’ I throw back, playfully.
‘I don’t hurt you. I test your limits to heighten your enjoyment.’ Marc’s eyes darken and fix on mine. ‘I’d put you over my knee and spank you at the slightest opportunity. Do you know why?’
‘Why?’ I squeak, swallowing bacon.
‘Because it would make you come over and over again.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I can see it in your eyes right now. And by the way your neck and chest have flushed, and your voice has gone up a key. But I’ve got more planned for you today than just a spanking. Believe me. I’ve had a length of silk rope ordered especially.’
Oh. God. My desire is written all over my face, I know it is. Part of me hates the fact Marc can turn me on so easily by talking about spanking and tying me up.
I have no idea if I’d be turned on by all this dark, subversive sex if I hadn’t met Marc, or whether I like it because of Marc. I guess it doesn’t matter. I love him and loving him has awakened things in me.
Now that Marc has let go with me, I love him so much that sometimes I can hardly breathe.
When we’re making love, I feel like we become one person. I trust him completely. Totally. I want to be part of him, always. The fact he takes pleasure from dominating me, and the fact I love him dominating me, well – it just shows how much we’re made for each other.
There’s a bleeping sound, and I see a flash of white through the grey cotton of Marc’s sweat pant pocket.
Marc frowns and slides out the phone, glaring at the screen.
I feel myself frown too, because he looks so serious all of a sudden. A world away from that beautiful, sexy grin he gave me when he came into the room.
‘Marc?’
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his eyes flick back and forth over the screen.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.
Marc s
tands. ‘Finish your breakfast. I have to deal with this. I’ll be back soon.’ He stalks out of the bedroom.
I stare at the door as it bangs shut, wondering what on earth is going on.
10
I sit watching the door for a while, puzzling over what Marc’s message could be. But after a few minutes, delicious breakfast smells start teasing my nostrils and hunger prods and pokes at me.
God, I’m famished. I really am.
I begin spooning up porridge and crunching on strips of streaky bacon, feeling warm maple syrup and creamy oats roll around my mouth.
When the porridge is done, I lift the glass cloche from the Eggs Benedict and dig in with a silver knife and fork.
Wow. The poached eggs and Hollandaise sauce taste so good, and underneath salty, warm ham tops two soft English muffins. I don’t think, when I start eating, that I’ll be able to finish the plate, but I do with ease, mopping up the Hollandaise with a square of bakery fresh muffin.
I finish up the strawberries and yoghurt too, washing them down with the freshest, cleanest glass of pink grapefruit juice I’ve ever tasted.
As usual, Marc knows what I want and need better than I do.
When I’m finished, I slide the tray away and lie back on the firm mattress. My body feels relaxed and happy and full of food, but pretty soon my mind begins running an obstacle course again. What was Marc’s sudden exit all about?
I just can’t imagine that Marc could ever slip back into his old, dark ways. We’re so close now. My heart tells me not to worry – at least not on the ‘Marc growing cold’ front.
My head, on the other hand, begins its usual run through of all the reasons why it’s crazy that Marc and I are together. After all, he could have pretty much any woman he wanted.
I remember the pictures of Marc with gorgeous models and Hollywood actresses on his arm. Of course, that was way before we got together. But god, I wish I’d never seen those pictures. Compared to those women, I’m nothing.
Shut up Sophia. You’ll drive yourself crazy.
I snap my eyes closed and try to chase all my horrible, ugly insecure feelings away. But sometimes it’s tough. Coming from where I came from, it’s hard to believe that I can truly stay where I am now – in the home of a billionaire, who also just happens to be drop dead gorgeous. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget that I’m also playing a leading role in a major West End musical beside Leo Falkirk.
God, life is crazy sometimes.
I hear the bang of hard feet on the staircase and sit up straighter.
The bedroom door springs open.
Marc strides towards me, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
‘Marc?’ I swing my legs from the bed.
‘Sophia, there have been some developments. I think now would be a good time for you to visit your father for a few days.’
‘I’m going to stay with him tomorrow. After the Christmas Eve performance. Leo and I were planning on going over a few songs today. At the theatre. Remember?’
Marc’s face darkens. He stalks back and forth, then turns to me. ‘Fine. But when you finish your performance tonight, you’re to go straight to your father’s house. Keith will drive you there. I’ll have your things sent over today.’
‘Marc, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing for you to be concerned about. But it’s best you stay at your father’s place right now. What time did you arrange to meet Leo?’
‘I didn’t. You know Leo, he’s a “let’s wait and see” kind of guy. We said we’d play it by ear.’
‘Phone him now and see if he wants to meet in the next hour. If he agrees, I’ll have you taken to the theatre. You’re to stay there until after your performance.’ Marc begins pacing again.
‘Marc. This is crazy. You want me to go and spend time with Leo? Last night, you were acting sort of jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ Marc’s eyebrow twitches. ‘Of Leo Falkirk? Do I have something to be jealous about?’ His voice is low and foreboding.
‘No. Of course not.’
‘I’m protective of you where other men are concerned,’ Marc growls. ‘Especially irresponsible men. I didn’t like Leo putting his hands on you last night. And I don’t like the thought of him entertaining you in his dressing room, away from everyone else. Anything could happen.’
I laugh. ‘But it wouldn’t.’
‘You might not want something to happen, but he might.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning all I know of Leo Falkirk is that he’s a boy in a man’s body. I don’t trust him to behave responsibly.’
‘Well I do,’ I say, standing. ‘He’s a good guy.’
Marc comes closer to the bed, towering over me. ‘If he ever touches you against your wishes, I’ll kill him.’
I feel Marc’s hand come into my hair, but I turn away so his fingers slide free. ‘He wouldn’t. I told you. I know him.’
A frown cuts into Marc’s forehead. ‘How well do you know him?’ His words have a dangerous edge to them.
‘Well enough to know he’d never hurt me.’
Silence. It takes me a moment to realise how Marc could have taken those words, and by the time I see the pain in his eyes it’s too late. I’ve lost him, at least for the moment.
‘Marc—’
‘Call Leo and see if he’ll meet you. I need you to leave the townhouse as soon as possible. There are things I have to take care of.’
I feel sick. ‘I didn’t mean ... about hurting me … you’ve touched parts of me that no one has.’
Marc turns away from me. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed. And to make your call. Your phone is on the dressing table.’ He heads to the door. ‘Call me when you get to the theatre, so I know you’re safe.’
‘Marc,’ I say, knowing my voice sounds fragile and tearful. ‘Please. What’s happening?’
Marc turns back to me, and I see his beautiful profile. God he’s so handsome. So charismatic. I hear that horrible voice again – the voice of my paranoia. He’s getting tired of you. That’s what this is all about.
‘It was nothing you did,’ says Marc, not looking at me. ‘Just ... trust me, this is for the best right now. It’s my way of keeping you safe.’ He heads to the door.
‘Wait,’ I call to Marc’s retreating back, tears coming now.
‘We’ll talk later.’ Marc leaves and the bedroom door slams closed behind him.
11
I shower and dress, my mind swirling with unpleasant thoughts. Something weird is going on – bad weird. And I hate not knowing what.
Once I’m dressed, I call Leo and ask if he can meet right away.
Leo gives a firm ‘yes’, and tells me he’ll bring doughnuts and coffee to the theatre.
I head downstairs and find Keith waiting in the hallway. He’s in his chauffeur’s uniform, complete with grey cap, and he touches the peak when he sees me.
My hair is still damp from the shower and hanging around my shoulders. Until my hair dries, I look like a wild woman. But if I use a hairdryer it sends my hair into a wild frizz.
‘Good morning Miss Sophia,’ Keith calls out.
I smile. ‘Come on, Keith. You know it’s just Sophia where I’m concerned.’
‘I know. Just teasing. I believe I have the pleasure of taking you to the theatre today?’
It’s strange seeing Keith in Marc’s house. I’ve only ever seen him in the car or the garage before, but I guess he must come inside pretty often. Marc isn’t the sort of man to let his staff wait in cold garages.
A very loyal employer. Isn’t that what Keith said about Marc? And he’s loyal to Denise too, taking care of her over the years. And I’ve seen myself how loyal he is. To his students. To the college.
Is he proposing to me out of loyalty? says a nasty voice. Maybe he’s worried he’s ruined my reputation and now he has to do the right thing.
God, what’s wrong with me today?
‘Marc wants me to go there, so I guess I’m going,’ I say, att
empting a smile.
‘You don’t strike me as the sort of girl who’d do everything Marc told you to. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s one of the reasons Marc is so head over heels about you. You have a mind of your own.’
‘Most of the time,’ I laugh. ‘But it’s easy to lose my head when Marc’s around.’
We head down to the garage, my brain still working at one hundred miles an hour.
*****
When we drive out of the townhouse, I notice black-clothed security men around the gate.
‘Do you know why those security guards at there?’ I ask Keith, as we swing out into the road.
‘Beats me,’ says Keith, turning onto the busy main road. ‘They weren’t here when I arrived. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Marc is a “better safe than sorry” kind of guy.’
‘Uh ... Keith,’ I say. ‘Aren’t we going the wrong way?’
‘Marc’s orders,’ says Keith. ‘We’ll be varying our route to the theatre from now on.’
‘Oh.’ I chew my thumbnail. ‘Keith, what’s going on? Marc wanted me to leave the townhouse as soon as possible. And then there are these extra guards on the gate, and you’ve been told to take a different route. I thought the townhouse was safe …’
‘If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that Marc always has good reasons for his actions.’
‘If you’re sure …’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’ Keith’s eyes mist over. ‘You know, years ago, when I first started working for Marc, he asked me to take what I thought was a stupid route to one of his premieres. He was learning a speech in the back of the limo, and I thought to myself, he doesn’t know London like I do. I’ll just drive the quickest way, and he’ll thank me for getting him there faster.
‘So I took my own route, and guess what happened? Paps blocked the road, and we spent an hour stuck in traffic with cameras banging on the windows. Marc knew the paps would be there, of course. He’d planned a back route for us, but I thought I knew best.’
‘Was he angry?’ I ask.
‘No. He just said it was a lesson to trust him in future. And I always have.’