Darkest Desire

by Darkest Desire(Lit)

  Morgan lay in the dark for long minutes, wondering if he would return or if this was some sexual game of his – for the maid to discover her tomorrow, tied naked to the bed, humiliated. She pulled half-heartedly against the belt but could feel little give in the leather, not enough to be able to slip her hands free. It seemed an age, but it was probably less than ten minutes, before she heard the click of the door and then he was there, embracing her, kissing her, reassuring her. She heard rustling in the dark and a soothing coolness between her thighs as he lubricated her inner tissues with his pharmacy store purchase. Then he was unfastening his jeans and probing her entrance again, easing into her and driving her up, and up again, until they peaked in unison, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Opening her eyes, Morgan shook the memories of that night from her head. She splashed water on her face and redid her make-up before venturing into her office where Andrea observed her curiously but didn’t say anything. Andrea had picked up on the tension emanating from Morgan and had trodden warily around her boss, avoiding personal comments or questions and sticking closely to work topics.

  Morgan felt she owed her some sort of explanation and, without implicating Marshall, told Andrea that Gus had discovered their ruse. Andrea’s mouth formed an O of dismay, and Morgan tried to reassure her that there was no blame associated with her.

  "Gus is mad at me," she said, a wry smile twisting her lips. "It doesn’t reflect badly on you and, when he calms down, I’m sure he’ll realize what a great job you did."

  * * * *

  As soon as Morgan sat down at her desk, the phone rang. It was Mary, her voice brimming with excitement.

  "Long time no hear, hon," Mary drawled as guilt welled up in Morgan. She should have phoned her friend after her sudden disappearance from the lecture at the weekend. Morgan had meant to but things had just gone from complicated to outrageously convoluted since Saturday afternoon and she hadn’t had a chance.

  "Mary, I’m sorry. It’s the job," she lied. "It’s just all-consuming at the moment."

  "Liar! You just want to keep secrets from me about the sexy Hunter Riley."

  Morgan gave an unwilling laugh. "You know me too well."

  "So?" As always, Mary cut straight to the chase. "Tell me everything. I assume you’ve fucked him."

  "Mary!"

  "So you have done it. From the look on your face and his that day, I thought you would have by now. Wow, you two looked like you were about to go up in flames in the street outside the library." She giggled. "That would have given the lecture crowd something to get excited about after Dottie Dwyer’s drab delivery."

  "Mary, I…."

  "So what was it like? From what I’ve seen of Hunter, he’s very tactile--always the sign of a magnificent lover."

  "How do you know that?" Morgan laughed.

  "Experience, Morgan. Experience."

  "Actually, it’s a bit of a mess at the moment." Morgan lowered her voice realizing Andrea was watching interestedly. "I can’t really talk, though."

  "Oh, my. This sounds too juicy. When can we catch up?"

  "You’re supposed to be concerned about me," Morgan breathed, "not salivating."

  "Call me shallow but gossip makes my world go round."

  They arranged to meet after work later in the week and Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. She needed a friendly ear. As she put the phone down she noticed that the light on her phone was flashing indicating a voice mail message. A low ache in her gut told her it was Hunter. A sense of dread settled deep in her stomach. She didn’t want to deal with it so she ignored the flashing light and hoped it wasn’t an urgent work-related query. It seemed no-one was happy with her at the moment.

  She looked at her diary. A full day of meetings with the museum’s department heads beckoned, and she knew Allison, the museum’s PR, also needed time with her. Picking up the phone, Morgan made an appointment with her to discuss a press release on the exhibition and spoke to the catalogue printer about the quality of paper stock. It had begun curling noticeably on the catalogues already delivered and everyone was on her case about it. Morgan was conscious of Andrea’s eyes on her, and when she finished her call, she looked up at the blonde.

  "They’re looking into the problem and expect to have an answer by the end of the day," she said to Andrea. "Can you make a note to retrieve the unsatisfactory catalogues from the warehouse?"

  "Sure. I’ll get on to the warehouse guy straight away." She hesitated for a moment. "I’m really sorry Gus found out about the meeting. Hunter didn’t seem to mind at all. He’s such a sweetie."

  Little do you know, thought Morgan, nodded at Andrea absentmindedly. A real sweetie. It was everyone’s first impression of him--an endearingly absent-minded academic type with warm brown eyes and a gift for digging up old things. Who just happened to be the very devil in bed.

  God, he was extraordinary. Morgan ached just thinking about what they had done together. Some of positions he had prompted her to try made her blush to the roots of her hair just thinking about them. When she had awoken in the middle of the night, for a moment she hadn’t known where she was, the strange surroundings of the hotel room, the warm arms and steady breathing against her rumpled hair confounding her in the dark.

  For a moment she had simply lain there amid the bunched and tangled sheets as the events of the previous evening replayed in her head. Lord! Could that uninhibited creature with Hunter in his office and then later here in the hotel bed really have been her?

  It seemed impossible, a mistake. She was Morgan McClellan, the one her old workmates had once called the Ice Maiden after she’d turned down three prospective suitors in a row. Even her best friend had accused her of being dull. Well nearly. Could she really have spent the past abandoned night with Hunter Riley, a man she barely knew? Have let him come inside her endless times without giving a single thought to contraception? At least she was already on the pill to control her monthly cramps so she was safe from an unwanted pregnancy, but that didn’t make her feel any better about her lack of control when it came to Hunter Riley.

  She moved her head fractionally to check he was still asleep. He was. Thank God. Morgan didn’t think she could face him when he woke. What did people say after having screwed like rabbits through the long, sweaty night?

  Frozen with panic that rose in her like a chill tide, she lay stiffly in his arms, her eyes darting frantically towards the shadows in the room. How the hell was she going to get out of here without his waking? Morgan knew she simply couldn’t face him. Not now. Not after the carnal impulses that had consumed her.

  Hardly daring to breathe, she had slowly untangled her naked body from the arms and legs wrapped around her, freezing when he twice murmured in his sleep. Eventually, she had extracted herself, sitting rigidly on the bed as Hunter rolled heavily away from her. Only when he didn’t wake did she dare begin breathing again. Edging to the end of the bed, she fished around with her foot, eventually locating enough of her strewn clothing to dress herself. Her bra seemed to have completely disappeared, and one boot she finally discovered lurking in a chair. Her bag was on the small coffee table and she picked it up as she let herself stealthily out of the room.

  For a moment, she had leaned against the wall outside the door, breathing deeply, before she had made her way down the fire stairs, not game to go through the lobby under the scrutiny of the night concierge. In the dim light of the car park at the back of the hotel, and she looked down at herself, nearly groaning at the sight she made. Her coat buttons were unevenly fastened, her stockings bagged at her ankles and her hair hung uncombed about her face. She looked like she was a mugging victim, or a candidate for a serious style makeover. Or like a woman who had been well and truly loved.

  The thought that Hunter, disturbed by her departure, might wake and come after her sent her scurrying from the hotel grounds and out into the street. Despite the soreness between her thighs, she ran like the very devil was on her heels, all the way to the intersec
tion where she turned left. There were precious few taxis at this early hour of the morning, and those that did cruise by took one look at her disheveled appearance and drove right on by. Dispiritedly, she walked towards home, feeling alternately like a coward and an impostor. For a while she flagged every cab that passed but when it was clear that none was prepared to stop she gave up. It was nearly three am when she finally dragged her front door key from her bag and let herself in. As heartsore as she was footsore, she pulled her clothes off for the second time within hours and slumped exhaustedly into bed.

  Morgan became aware that she was sitting unseeing at her desk as she relived the events of the night before last. That night, or early morning really, she had barely slept and last night she had managed only fitful sleep, arriving late for work and completely unprepared to face Gus’s wrath. She felt as though her organized, controlled life was slowly unraveling, and wondered desperately how she could get it back on track.

  For a moment, her shoulders drooped. Then she straightened at her desk. She knew exactly how to handle the situation. By steadfastly plowing through her work and refusing to entertain any disruptions, that’s how she had always got through tough times in the past.

  Determinedly ignoring the voice mail alert on her phone, Morgan gathered her work diary and her to-do list, and carefully plotted out the rest of the week, allocating time for all essential tasks and meetings. When she was done she felt a little more in control of her professional life at least. She was gathering the files she would need for the afternoon’s meeting when Andrea headed towards the door, telling Morgan she was going out for a quick lunch and offering to bring a sandwich back for her, which Morgan refused. She thought she would be sick if she tried to eat anything right now.

  When she had gone, Morgan checked the office door was tightly shut. Then she picked up the phone to retrieve the voice mail message. Her gut wasn’t wrong. It was Hunter, sheer rage underlying his attempt at a calm and measured tone.

  "Morgan, it’s been two days. I hoped you would have phoned me by now." Morgan heard a faint voice in the background and Hunter’s terse reply saying something she couldn’t quite make out except that it didn’t sound polite. "I wanted to be calm and understanding when you explained to me why you ran out in the middle of the night but I’m still fucking furious, Morgan. How could you --" OK, OK, she heard him bite out to someone else. Then the message cut out. His 20 seconds was up.

  Moaning, Morgan held her head in her hands. He was all but spitting venom and quite within his rights to do so. She had run out on him without a word, leaving him lying in a hotel room that just hours before they had nearly ripped apart with their passion. But should she trust her heart, or her instincts? Morgan pressed the button to replay the message, shriveling inside at the harshness in his voice. She knew Hunter deserved an explanation, or at the very least an apology. But right at the moment, she suspected he wasn’t in the mood to listen--even in the unlikely event she managed to come up with an explanation that was worth listening to.

  Morgan ate the sandwich Andrea brought back for her even though she didn’t feel hungry. It tasted like sawdust but she knew she needed to eat. She had lost more weight over the last week, and the drawn face she saw in the mirror did little for her confidence.

  The afternoon passed in a blur of almost continuous meetings. Her print supplier had promised to reprint a batch of unsatisfactory catalogues which soothed many of her colleagues, and she concentrated acutely on the other matters that demanded her attention to ensure that neither Gus nor any of the other department heads could catch her unawares. Fortunately no-one raised the issue of a permanent home for the torque, which right now, given her relationship with Hunter, could be looking more than a little iffy.

  By the time the last meeting ended it was nearly seven but she felt more in control. She returned to her office to see her voice mail light blinking steadily and her heart sank. Reluctantly, she listened to the recordings. One was from a photo agency confirming the fee for using an illustration of another piece in the exhibition. The second was from Hunter.

  "Damn it, Morgan. Aren’t you ever in your office? I need to talk to you and it’s urgent. Just call me. OK?"

  Oh God, she didn’t want to call him but refusing to speak to him was just compounding her sins. Heart in her mouth and with no idea what she would say to him, Morgan picked up the phone and began to dial his office number. After four digits, her fingers froze and she hung up. She couldn’t do it.

  His anger wouldn’t be pleasant, she knew, but that wasn’t the real crux of the problem for Morgan. If she spoke to him she would have to face her actions of the night before and she just wasn’t ready to face up to the dark side of her soul.

  Morgan hoped that her home would be a comfort to her. Whenever she had problems in her life, she had always found an evening snuggled up on the sagging old couch with a glass of wine would soothe her worries. But tonight was different.

  The house seemed empty when she arrived home. Usually she loved the space and peace that the rambling old terrace afforded her but tonight it felt too big for her. Lonely. It was a generously-proportioned old Victorian, designed to house a family. It needed parents chatting about their day while they prepared dinner for two or three rough-and-tumble kids who raced through the rooms at top speed, yelling and laughing.

  Morgan shrugged out of her coat and made her way upstairs to change into warm sweats. When she came down, she lit a cheery fire and cooked a pasta dinner for one. She picked at her dinner and finally gave up. The silence seemed oppressive so she switched on the TV and flicked through the channels, but nothing caught her interest so she switched it off. She wandered aimlessly through the rooms in search of a place to settle, reminding herself of restoration projects she needed to begin or finish, and wished she had someone to discuss her plans, her passions with.

  She wished Hunter were with her. She wanted him entwined with her on the shabby couch or up in the big king bed, and wondered what he was doing tonight. Whether he was thinking of her and cursing, or whether he’d already put her from his mind. She felt dread sitting heavily in her chest, made worse by the fact that she had no-one to blame but herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The cotton sheets twisted around her body as she tossed from side to side, fragments of memories and dreams rushing through her mind in a frenetic whirl. It was as though she was spinning through time and space. First Hunter’s earnest face appeared in her restless dream, and then his strong jaw softened and faded, the glasses, short brown hair and tweed jacket slowly disappearing. Only the eyes remained, turning from amber to a burning gold, the eyes of a wild animal.

  Morgan whimpered in her sleep, her head thrashing from side to side as the shadow moved, darkened, solidified behind her eyes, morphing into another man shape, looming over her as she backed away in panic.

  "No," she whispered and turned to run, twisting on bare feet, the legs of pajama pants slapping against her ankles. A rough, scarred hand shot out, taking her arm in a bruising grip. She came to a shuddering halt, crying out as his fingers tightened mercilessly. Slowly she turned to face him and shuddered in terror.

  His molten eyes bored into hers, a lascivious smile twisting his lips as he forced her closer and closer. Long dark hair hung to his shoulders and sweat beaded his broad brow.

  "Let me go," she screamed, trying to wrench her arm from his steely grip but inexorably she was dragged forward until she found her face almost buried in the rough smattering of hair that covered his naked chest. He smelled of fresh male sweat, and his chest heaved with exertion. A droplet of sweat clung to his throat. A rush of heat enveloped Morgan’s body and she wanted to lean into him and scoop up the droplet with her tongue.

  A palm cupped her chin and then his mouth swooped, taking her mouth savagely, forcing it open to permit entrance for his marauding tongue. Morgan tried to pull her mouth from his but his hand pressed harder against her face, forcing her to accept him. His other hand left
her arm to curl around her waist bringing her up tight so she could feel the tension in the broad muscles of his legs. He pulled her between his open-legged stance, pressing her softness against the rising hardness at his groin.

  With a last surge of energy, Morgan flung her head from his, raking her fingernails down his cheek as she pushed away. Her calf muscles propelled away from him across the chilly, straw-hewn room for no more than half a dozen steps and then he was on her, roaring in fury, pushing her down to the ground at his feet. She looked back at him, a plea falling silently from her lips as she saw the tiny ivory horns protruding from his hair.

  Morgan found her voice then, a hoarse scream of fear mingled with excitement tore from her throat as the creature tore apart her pajama pants. She heard him panting, his hands probing inside her, something huge and burning pushing demandingly between her buttocks.

  "Noooo…"

  She sat bolt upright in bed as her own very real cries of fear awoke her, the dream fleeing as consciousness chased sleep away. When her terror began to subside and frustration took over, she turned her face into her pillow and sobbed.

  * * * *

  Morgan stared at the phone for a long time, summoning up her courage, before dialing Hunter’s office number. She had no idea what she was going to say to him if she did reach him. How did one apologize for running out on him in the middle of the night as though he was some demon rapist? Would he even believe her if she told him that she was running, not from him but from herself? Would he even be prepared to listen, let alone give her a second or was it third chance?

  He’d made it clear he wasn’t prepared to play games and who could blame him. Morgan mentally cursed the bitch who had strung him along and then tried to foist another man’s child on him. It was hardly surprising he didn’t want to waste time on someone who didn’t know what she wanted.