Reaching out, I put my hands on his chest rubbing it and pulling at his buttons. His hold on me is so strong and I feel such comfort in his arms. I want to be even closer, held tighter. I want to be part of him and I want him in me. I place my hand on his pants and begin to rub, hoping to see arousal in his eyes.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m the boss in that department, remember? I’m the one who gets to say.”
I continue rubbing and pushing against him, moving my kisses across his cheek to his ear where I speak clearly.
“Then, say. Because I really need this now.”
“Not too tired?” Mark asks, his smile returning.
“No. Not at all.”
“Good,” he says. Mark puts his strong left arm under my legs and with his right arm looped around my shoulders he lifts me into the air, kissing me lightly as he carries me toward my bedroom.
Placing me on the bed, he begins kissing and touching me gently. It is so different from his rough thrusts, and so much like the gentle man he usually becomes afterward. I try to hurry him a bit, reaching down to lift my shirt, when he puts his hand on mine.
“Before you do that, I need a decision. A real one. If you think your sexual submission to me is profane, then we should call it off. That doesn’t mean I’ll leave, or even that I’ll stop needing you. It just means we have to go about this differently.”
Refusing to answer the question with words, I pull my top over my head and unhook my bra, dropping it dramatically on floor. He smiles. I place my hands under my breasts and lift them to him–the most fitting offering I can imagine at the time. He accepts my desire, lowering his chin and taking my nipple in his mouth, sucking and pulling on it rhythmically while his hands continue to undress me.
When he is naked too, he positions his body between my legs but continues to knead and nurture my breasts. Eventually he runs his tongue up and down my stomach and side, causing me to quiver all over. Placing my hands on his sides as he hovers over me, I begin to slide down, hoping to take his cock in my mouth, but he stops me.
“Tonight, it’s for you. Just you.” He guides my head back the pillow. He continues to lick and caress me until his tongue finds its way to my mound. He licks both sides of my lips, his tongue occasionally diving deep inside, feeling the wetness bubble out of me. Finding my clit, he sucks and licks around it, pulling it from its hood and enlivening my body until I feel I may spontaneously combust.
My hips are rising as my breath begins to quicken. I am so close to release when he slows to a stop.
“No,” I whine, fearing he might just leave me in the heightened state until I go mad with lust. He chuckles a second and pulls himself up, placing his cock between my engorged lips, right at the entry point. Knowing the power of his thrusts, I bite my bottom lip and wait for it, but, instead he moves slowly, deliberately, into my body.
He surges into me in small strokes, then pulls out slowly, only to surge again. The back and forth motion of his cock inside me sets my whole body to his pulse. My hips come up to meet his thrusts and descend with his pull. In my mind I am lying on a raft in the ocean, the deep blue waves crest against me gently as I float on the rippling water. Just floating there, without a fear, or a care, in the world, each wave as steady and pleasing as the next.
Then I feel his thumb resting on my clit rubbing circles on it as he pushes in me and presses downward with his movement out. Now my mind, body and soul are on the raft and the ocean underneath me is building in speed and volume. I hold onto the sides of the bed for fear the waves will topple me and I feel it–a giant tsunami of pleasure–churning towards me. My cry starts so softly, like a dove’s coo, but by the time the power of the wave is ready to crest I am moaning loudly, begging for it to crash down on me and take me out to sea. Then it hits me.
The spasm is deep inside me and long. I move with the sensation, my entire channel pulsing with the rhythm rocking up and down as my mind explodes while the pleasure takes me under, quivering and throbbing on the end of him. I don’t know if he is making sounds or not, I am drowning in my release when I feel his seed spurting within me.
He stands after he withdraws from my body and lifts me a few inches, moving me to the center of the bed, out of the wet spot. He lies in my place and pulls me close to him. I want to tell him I don’t really mind the remnants of our encounter, but discover I’m not ready to speak quite yet.
He runs his hands through my hair, and moves his finger over my body. I collect myself in time and finally am able to find my voice when he speaks before I can.
“I think I might have missed your answer,” Mark says with his usual confidence. “What do you want to do about the deal?”
“Why Mr. Stone, Sir,” I say doing my best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation. “I’m yours to command.”
~~~
Twenty days ago I never would have been awakened by the sun streaming through my window. Most days, by now, I would have been showered, dressed and in my office at Lynx looking over writing samples and editing first drafts. But now, I’m curling under the covers enjoying the sleepy morning moment. Stretching, I reach out and jump when I feel something unexpected.
“Mark!” I exclaim, trying to recall exactly what day of the week it is and why there is a man in my bed when last night’s sensuous lovemaking returns to my mind.
“You were expecting someone else?”
“No, I…um…well…” I stammer a moment trying to think of something to say other than I woke up in a fog and didn’t remember the love we made last night, even though it was one of the deepest experiences of my sexual life. “I’m just surprised you’re still in bed. I expected you to be making breakfast or something.”
“Actually,” he replies with a tone of good humor to his voice. “I did get up to make us some breakfast but unless you want a meal made of half-opened expired yogurt, a cracked egg, some cabbage and teriyaki sauce we’re out of luck. Don’t you eat?”
“Not lately,” I confess. “I’ve been a little busy, you know, saving my magazine, supporting my father, being a sex slave, getting my car washed—”
“Speaking of the sex slave thing. We should talk.”
“I thought we cleared that up last night.”
“We did. But I wanted to make sure it was your brain and heart talking and not just the waves of orgasmic bliss. We’re progressing farther into the deal and things are going to get more challenging, more serious, and I need to know you’re fully up to the tasks.”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, trying to imagine just what we could do that would challenge me more than he already has. “I’m ready for whatever’s next.”
“Good.” He nods as we endure an awkward silence so painful I start yammering to fill the room with something besides static.
“It’s been tough, you know. Submitting. I’m so used to being in charge of everything. To be told, and to do what you’re told—hasn’t been in my world for a long time. In fact, it wasn’t really a part of my world even when I was young. My dad always encouraged me to challenge the system. My mom always wanted me to beat it.”
“That’s part of the problem. It’s good to know when to take, but it’s crucial to know how to give. Pushing people around isn’t the same as relating to them.”
“In college they drill it into you that reporters have to be aggressive. You have to take what you want, you have to rip the story out of the shadows, and you have to control your environment. I thought I was doing my job. I actually thought it was a compliment when I found out the staff secretly called me Miss Shark.”
“Miss Shark?” He laughs at the nickname.
“Yes.” I blush. “But lately I’ve realized it’s not who I want to be. When Kenneth Allen referred to that name in my office I actually cringed. Hearing it come out of his mouth just showed me what an ugly image it could be.”
“The line between aggressive and assertive is blurry.” He leans back against the headboard to wax philosophic.
“I s
uppose so, maybe it was too blurry for me and I crossed the line a long time ago. I was just afraid, I think. Afraid of being seen as weak, being walked over, so I did anything I could to appear strong.”
He is silent. I’m not sure if he heard me or if his mind is somewhere else. He sits straight up and looks at me. “Wait a minute. When did Kenneth Allen call you Miss Shark?”
I blink, unsure of where he’s going with this question. “The day he fired me. He sat right behind my desk and mentioned how the staff refers to me as Miss Shark.”
“But how did he know that?” Mark grows urgent in his questioning, his eyes lighting up. “He’s Blake’s lawyer. He never worked with you after the acquisition until recently. How would he know what they call you?”
His tone with this line of questioning sets me on edge and I prop my back against the headboard, “Blake probably told him, I assumed.”
“And how would Blake know?” Mark says in a stern, direct fashion. He isn’t accusing me but it was clear he senses something is wrong.
“I don’t know,” I say, climbing out of bed and putting a robe on. My body feels delicious after the night together but this line of questioning is dramatically increasing my tension. “I don’t know how Blake knows my nickname, how he stole from my company or how he knows what stories we ran. All I know is he took my world away!”
“I think those questions all have the same answer. How did you find out they called you Miss Shark? I mean, I’m sure they didn’t call you that to your face.”
“Janice told me over tea one day. At first it was just a few employees. But when I started reviewing their inter-office communication I noticed it all over. I’d see things that said, ‘Miss Shark is going to yell when she sees my word count’ or ‘Meeting with Miss Shark, scary!’ and I would smile. They don’t know I can see their inter-office IM’s so I just pretend I don’t know what’s happening.”
“How do you see the messages?”
“Through the software from you guys. About a year or so ago the IT guy from Sandstone Ventures came by and put software on my computer. He said the company had a policy that all properties have to use it and monitor the online activities of staff. So, I can actually open up anyone’s computer from my office and see what they’re doing, or what they’re writing. When I started seeing ‘MS’ and realizing what it meant, it made me laugh.”
“We don’t have any software like that! And we don’t set policy for our properties. We just handle the capital.” Mark jumps out of bed and starts frantically looking for his clothes. “That’s it! That’s how he did it.”
He gets dressed and heads toward the door mumbling about techs and codes and backdoors. I jump in front of him to stop him from leaving without saying goodbye.
“Breakfast will have to wait.” He pats my shoulder, attempting to push me to the side. “I need to get to the office. Better yet, I need to get to your office.”
“What are you talking about?” I block the door until I get some kind of reasonable response.
“That’s how Blake’s been embezzling money. He’s using your system, your software. The program that lets you see into your staff’s computers is letting him into yours. It’s got a backdoor that links him to you. He got more money than Lynx has, but I’m sure with the right records, we could track his transactions through your office.”
“Let’s call the cops, now!” I say knowing I’ll lose this argument for the three-hundredth time.
“It’s not enough to know it Julia, we have to prove it. I need to get inside your office.”
“Impossible. I’m sure they changed the locks when they threw me out and my contact says they have all new codes and passwords. Besides, if they catch you in my office, it’s going to tip them off you know.”
“Then I need someone on the inside. I need to meet your contact.”
At Mark’s sudden desire to meet Janice, I stall. She’s the one piece of the puzzle that I still control. Do I trust Mark enough to give her up to him? If it came down to a choice between the survival of Sandstone Ventures or Lynx, which would he choose? What would it mean for Janice and for me, if he betrays us all? My mind jumps back to the anonymous text I received weeks ago: “Do not trust him.” How would Janice take the news that I am sleeping with Mark? What would she think of my deal with him? Would she think that I am making a serious mistake?
“I need to think about it. I can’t just risk my contact for a whim,” I say with a little more defiance than I need to display right now. Mark’s jaws lock and his eyes narrow for a moment.
“That’s a pretty curious attitude for a woman who runs around assaulting people and whose whims have made my attempts to get to the truth a nightmare.” He grumbles. I soften my features and let him know I’m not trying to be difficult, just safe. “Fine, you think about it. But don’t take too long. The clock hasn’t stopped to consider the consequences.”
Mark doesn’t slam the door, but he closes it sharply enough for me to know he’s not happy with my stalling. I grab my purse and head out for a bagel and some groceries, my mind consumed with the pros and cons of allowing Mark and Janice to meet. If it weren’t for that stupid text, putting doubts into my head.
Chapter 13
I stop by the hospital to sit with Dad. That’s what the nurse calls it–sitting. He hasn’t really opened his eyes or communicated with more than a few hand squeezes since I left last night. I ask the nurse if this is normal.
“For him it is,” she says gently. I watched her come in with a cloth and some lotion. She washed his skin and then rubbed the lotion into his hands, arm and cheeks. “No matter how much fluid we give them, people tend to dry out in the hospital.”
“I feel so helpless,” I confess. I don’t know who this nurse is, but I make a vow that when I get Lynx back, I’m going to assign my best feature writer to do a story about ICU nurses and what an amazing job they do. She nods empathetically. “Is there anything I can do to help him?”
The nurse hands me the lotion and wash cloth.
“I meant isn’t there something I can do to change the situation for him? Help him wake up or get him to move around more? I know there’s really nothing I can do.”
“My experience is that when there’s nothing you can do,” she says gently squeezing the lotion into my hand and placing it on Dad’s arm. “Small things are sometimes all you can do.”
She’s right. I finish with Dad’s arm and reach for my cell phone.
“Mark, it’s Julia,” I say to the voice mail prompt, thankful I don’t have to speak to him in person. “Saturday at noon, Café San Carlo in the Village. Be prepared to pay for three.”
~~~
I sit with Dad most of the morning. He’s still breathing, but largely unresponsive. His grip is getting weaker. Yet, he did signal that he knows I’m there.
I tell Janice to meet me at 11:30 so I can catch her up with what’s happening and explain why I am allowing Mark to meet with both of us. I probably don’t need thirty minutes to get Janice into the swing of this meeting, but I have to give her at least some clues because I have no idea what’s going to come up.
“Café San Carlo?” Janice says as she sits down looking at the beautiful Italian décor. “Don’t you think this is a little pricey for a woman who just lost her job and a woman who is probably going to in a few weeks?”
“We aren’t paying. Order anything you want,” I reply, keeping pace with my friend. It’s nice to be talking about anything that isn’t serious. Of course, that’ll change soon. “I’m ordering the Seabass Marichiara and a nice glass of Lambrusco.”
“Really? Then I’ll just have one of everything and a bottle of something red,” she laughs. “Seriously, who’s coming to meet us, Rupert Murdoch?”
“Think local, less famous, better looking and much more stamina in the sack.”
“Um… wow… if he wasn’t rich I’d say the UPS guy who delivers in the afternoons, but I’m pretty sure he’s not eating here before hauling our p
ackages up from the street. Who is it?”
“Okay, okay. It’s Mark. We’ve hit a break, or a snag–I’m not sure which–with his plan and we need your help.”
“Mark Stone? You got it. Anything to get his asshole brother out of your office and off my ass.” She holds up a glass to get the waiter’s attention and orders a spicy Malbec.
“I hear you. The plan is to get Lynx back before the papers—”
“Hey! Wait a minute,” she interrupts me in mid-sentence, giggling like a schoolgirl. “How do you know Mark Stone is good in the sack?”
I blush as I realize this is not going to be as easy or smooth as I had hoped if I don’t cough up at least a few details. I plunge into the part of the speech I rehearsed, hoping Janice’s questioning mind doesn’t take me too far off the planned path.
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