My right hand clenches his girth while my left reaches into my open lips. I slide his cock in my mouth just as I slide my fingers inside of myself. I moan with pleasure as I play with myself and take him in my mouth. I look up, seeking his approval, but his eyes are on the mirror enjoying the show. Then his fingers claw into my hair as he guides my pace, making it hard for me to breathe as I let out little choking sounds interspersed with moans. It only causes him to firm up even more in my mouth.
He rests his head back on the wall, and I hope he doesn’t release. I want that loaded cock inside of me, violently impaling my pussy. If he’s going to be angry, well, he should at least use that rage productively.
“Fuck,” he mutters in his husky sex-voice. “Get up.” He pulls my hair just slightly to guide me to my feet.
Taylor gives me a longing, insatiable look as his lips curl into a sensual snarl. He pulls the v-neck open and exposes my breasts, pert with arousal. Plunging into my neck, he sucks hard, little gusts of pain cause me to flinch and my hips to slither against him. His hand firmly cups one of my breasts and he squeezes so hard, I release an involuntary yelp.
He wraps a strong arm around me, dragging me over to the toilet and pushing me back against it so that I trip back over it and brace myself on the tank lid behind me, extending my hips out to Taylor so that they make themselves available like a peace offering. Taylor drops to his knees and runs a finger along the bright red pumps, the silkiness of my stockings and then to the shimmering wetness between my legs.
Here he is not ferocious. He taunts, his lips barely grazing my clit, but even still, I am on the edge. If he speeds up even just a little, then I will explode all over his tongue.
“Taylor, may I? Please.”
“Not yet.” Yet? Sweet Moses, he is going to let me come! He stands up, his dick as tall and rigid as his athletic build and he rubs the smooth head of his dick right along my lips and then rolls small Os on my clit.
“I am going to fuck you. And you will only come when I tell you that you can.”
I nod frantically. As he enters me, I cry out, thrashing my head back. My body extends to him, welcoming his dominion over it. He grabs my outer thighs and pulls them up, and my legs wrap around his hips.
My body hovers on his cock, my only points of support are my hands bracing my weight and my legs wrapped around Taylor. He supports my legs with his powerful grip as my arms shake under the weight of my body and the surge of desire. Each pump causes the porcelain lid of the tank to grind, adding a backtrack to our moans.
My pussy hugs his dick, and he never leaves me once he is inside of me, stimulating the walls as the base of his firmness rubs on my clit. It only takes a few seconds before I am wailing, begging Taylor.
“Please! Please!” I call out, unable to hold on even a few seconds longer.
He scoops me up in his arms, cradling me tight to his body, our frenzied breaths trying to find a rhythm. My temperature rockets as soon as our bodies meet. I whimper into his ear as he presses my body against a wall. Nose to nose, Taylor glares at me with the ferocity of an angry beast.
“Fucking come on my cock,” he commands. I cry in ecstasy and grip his hair as I loose control. The waves of electricity shatter me, like a mirror hit with a sledgehammer.
My wails are so loud that Taylor presses his hand over my mouth and nose, but it only makes the intensity of my orgasm peak even higher as I am unable to get any air. I claw at him and kick my legs, overwhelmed with physical euphoria, desperation, and frustration.
He presses against me, putting one of my arms behind my back and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting until we are both a sopping, messy, panting collection of parts.
I dismount Taylor after a few seconds and dissolve against the wall behind me, certain that without it, I would keel over.
Unlike most times after a sexual release, Taylor does not soften. He collects himself and looks in the mirror, straightening himself out as I watch him thorough blurry eyes. Once he is presentable, he marches over to me and whispers in my ear.
“I know you went through my fucking phone last night, Shy. I know you called Céline, you fucking little sneak.” Without waiting for a reaction, he flings the bathroom door open and leaves me a befuddled pile of flesh and velvet leaning against the wall.
Chapter 12
“It’s occupied,” Taylor says firmly to another patron as he exits and I run over and lock the door behind him. I rest my hands on the sink and lean forward, absorbing my disheveled reflection in the mirror.
He knew? He knew all day and he fucked with my head? He waited to tell me? Did he speak to Céline? Did he know last night when he came to the bathroom?
My mind races to find justifications to bring to him. I want to explain to him that I was just worried, that I love him and I wasn’t being a snoop; I was afraid of losing him.
And then I stop.
Why am I the one building a case? Why am I standing here like a scolded child when he is the one who lied to me to begin with? And here he was, making me think I was a “good girl,” letting me come in exchange for my compliance, all the while using his sex as a weapon. He wore me out like some boxer going the distance and then when I was exhausted and overwhelmed, he swooped in with an uppercut, leaving me dumbfounded.
He owes me an explanation, not the other way around! My fists ball with anger. I promised myself I wouldn’t be reactionary, but he has backed me into a corner from which I feel I must claw out.
There is a knock on the door. Shit.
“Just a minute!” I call out, knowing the man behind the door must be wondering why a woman’s voice is on the other side.
I put my hair back in its place, grab some tissue and scrub the red off of my face. I fail miserably at cleaning the mirror, only succeeding at smudging the lipstick over a greater surface area, and then meekly open the door.
Whoever was waiting either gave up or went to the ladies’ room instead, thank god. With every step my blood boils one degree higher and then it shoots up when I find Taylor coldly sipping his wine as if everything is just hunky dory.
My eyes well up with tears of rage, but I won’t let them spill as I stand over him. His demeanor changes, my very blatant display of dominance does not go unnoticed.
“I’m going back to the condo.”
“Are you angry with me? I would think you would be pleased, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
Ugggh. He can be such a cock sometimes.
“Don’t you dare try to make this about something else.”
“Are you referring to your blatant invasion of my privacy?”
“No, I am referring to your blatant fucking lies. Who is she? An old sub? A current one?” My whisper may as well be a shout. Taylor slides out of the booth and stands so close to me, I can feel his chest expand with angry breaths. On the exterior he remains calm for public perception, but I can feel the singe of his hollow blue stare. “None of those things. And who she is is none of your fucking business.”
And that’s what stings. I fully expected an apologetic confession, but it’s the fact that he will unapologetically hide something from me that makes me turn my back and march out of the restaurant.
I go out onto the street, looking for the car that should be waiting for us, but Taylor catches up quickly and grabs my arm. “Listen to me,” he says firmly. He sighs and softens his tone. “Listen. Look at me.” I turn and the dam cracks, but I only let a single tear fall. “No. Please don’t. There is nothing you need to worry about. But I AM upset with you. Very, actually. We’ve had this discussion about snooping around before.”
“Don’t talk to me like I am some sort of child. We have also had discussions about lying.”
“You’re right, and if I recall, they were about you lying to me, Nancy Drew.”
“Well that was then, this is now.” I say as we make our way to the back of our car.
“And now includes you going through my phone.”
“What did
you expect? For days I wracked my brain. I didn’t just go into your phone for shits and giggles. I already knew you were lying. I know Henry wasn’t in Russia and I know he wasn’t with you in Geneva. I am pretty sure there was no H.I. business there at all.”
Taylor’s eyes narrow as he puts the pieces together. “Were you digging around when I left to Geneva?”
“No, but it wasn’t hard to accidentally stumble onto the truth. Frankly, I expect more from you.” I lean in and whisper: “I hope you weren’t this careless about Eric.”
“Don’t go there,” Taylor says sharply.
“I was lonely and I texted Lizzy who was having a lunch meeting with Henry, and she wasn’t in Geneva. I gave you so many chances to tell me the truth, but you kept on lying. I had to know. You would have done the same.”
“Well, I’ll confess I have a better understanding of why you did it, but you can imagine my frustration when I woke up last night to what I thought was my phone ringing from the bathroom. I thought I had dreamt it at first but you aren’t as good at hiding things as you are snooping around. I gave you all night and day to tell me what you were doing, but you didn’t say a word. You called someone in the middle of the night from my phone? What were you thinking?”
The question still looms. Who is Céline and why is Taylor hiding her identity?
“Taylor, what are you hiding from me? Is she—?”
“No! I have never in the past or present had any sort of physical relationship with her. I just can’t tell you who she is right now.”
“She visited your apartment in Geneva!”
“She did. It was not for any sexual or intimate reasons. I swear to you. In time, I will tell you. I promise. I just can’t now.”
“But why? Do you not trust me?”
“Of course I trust you and I need you to do the same.” He slides his hand over mine, warmly clutching at a few of my fingers. “I need to know that you believe me. That you can trust me on this. It’s important.” He softly pulls my face towards his. His eyes are questioning, his need for my understanding usurping any anger he may have had about my prying.
I shake my head softly. Again I am in a position where any person would watch from the outside and tell me how naive I am, but I believe him. I do. “And I am supposed to just blindly follow you like some fool? What kind of person does that make me?”
Taylor runs his thumb across my bottom lip, smiling longingly for a moment, and then sits back. “Shy, sometimes I think about my father and the position he was in when he got me. He had a son who saw him as a stranger, who wouldn’t speak to or hug him. He did everything money would allow: brought me to therapists, hypnotists, lord knows what else. But after a year, he made the decision to stop. He felt I was in there, and that maybe instead of pushing so hard, he would give me room to grow on my own. To build trust in my family my own way. He couldn’t know that it would work, he simply did what he believed in his heart. He had no proof, only his faith in me. His faith that I could be the one to find the keys to my strength. What you’re doing is not blindly following me, it’s having faith in me. And I need you to have faith in me. You are the only person who matters.”
He shifts closer to me. “I had faith in you these past few weeks. Even when I saw you in the depths of your intense sadness, I knew you would emerge.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I promise you, everything is fine, but I need this from you. And soon, you will understand.”
I sigh, relieved that our car has a barrier between us and the driver for this very revelatory conversation.
“Taylor, of course I do, but you really scared the shit out of me. And I hope I don’t have to wait too long, because as you know I am the cat that curiosity killed at least four times now.”
He smiles.
“How long are we talking now before you tell me?”
“Less than months.”
I roll my eyes in resignation. “You are going to kill me.”
“Just don’t think about it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Trust me, it’s not.” I feel so much easier now that he knows what I know. Then the hardness returns in his tone and his light touch clamps down on my hand for effect. “Don’t look through my things again. I was really fucking pissed at you. Confront me, but don’t fucking sneak.”
“I didn’t want to fight. I know that seems contrary, but I wanted to choose my battle.”
“Well you chose it. Didn’t you?”
“I could tell something was on your mind, but who knows why with you half of the time.” Taylor leers at me out of the corner of his eye, but his lips reveal a slight turn up as though my honesty humors him. “Can I be honest?”
“I think it’s too late to ask. Indulge me.”
“You are really hot when you’re pissed. I like it when you treat me like a bad girl.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you leave me no other choice most of the time.”
Chapter 13
Our conversation during the flight to our next stop, Helsinki, is loaded with tongue-in-cheek references to this mystery woman, Céline. Every time his phone rings or chimes with a email or text alert, I cannot help but passive-aggressively taunt Taylor.
“Oh is that Celeeeene?” I ask in an over-the-top French accent.
“C’est Céline?”
“I wonder who THAT is.”
“Shyla, I have a good mind to jump out of this plane and end it all if you keep this shit up,” he says.
I know it seems odd that I would joke about something that just days ago had turned me into an anxious mess, but I promised Taylor I would have faith in him. And if I am going to believe that Céline is not bad news as he had promised, then there should be nothing to worry about. Right?
Of course, this won’t stop me from making Taylor miserable until the moment I find out. My curiosity is my greatest asset and my worst flaw. It makes me thirsty for answers, but it also gets me caught up in some awesomely terrible shit. It’s something I can’t help, and of course, I hope Taylor will wear out and tell me sooner than later who in tarnation Céline is.
But if there is anything stronger than my curiosity, it’s Taylor’s will.
To my dismay, about three-quarters of the way through the flight, Taylor receives a call. “Bonjour!” he says uncharacteristically cheerfully, as if to ruffle my feathers. In a stroke of gamesmanship, he covers the receiver of the phone and mouthes, “C’est Céline,” with a satisfied smirk on his face.
I cross my legs and arms and cock an eyebrow as he walks into another section of the plane.
The motherfucking nerve.
***
The frigid air bites my skin as we disembark the plane. While Taylor divulged that Finland would be our next stop, he would not give me any further details.
Upon our arrival to Helsinki, we transfer from Taylor’s larger jet to a small commuter plane. We fly over the white landscape for some time and then come to lush hints of green and brown that peak out from underneath mounds of powder as we fly over miles of forest. An hour and a half later we land, and our vehicle is waiting for us to take us to our final destination. As we pull up to the reception area of the hotel, my eyes almost bulge out of my head and I clasp my hands over my mouth. I recall the name in the signage and my eyes well up with joy. The physical response is unexpected. Honestly, I bitch and moan and cry a lot these days, but tears of joy have always been rare for me.
Months ago, I had mentioned to Taylor in passing that on the top of my bucket list was to stay in a glass igloo and watch the northern lights. When I say in passing, I mean literally: he brushed past me and pointed at the screen of my laptop.
“What are those?” he said, pointing to my Pinterest page.
“Oh they are these igloo hotels in Greenland. It’s my dream to go to one of those and spend the night. I would die a happy woman,” I swooned.
“Hmmmm…”
Then he went on his merry way and we never discussed it agai
n. The caption by the person who originally pinned the pictures was wrong, so being in Finland, the thought never occurred to me that this would be where we were staying.
“Heeeey,” Taylor says tenderly, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close, a grand gesture of concern coming from him. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I nod, still covering my mouth. “Thank you. I didn’t think you’d remember.”
Taylor looks down at me, his eyes nearly the color of the blue sky peering through the window. “I remember everything you tell me.”
“You don’t understand how happy this makes me.”
“And you don’t understand how happy that makes me.” I bury my head in the crook of his shoulder. Fuck Céline, whoever she is. This man loves me, he does. He wants to make me happy. I truly believe that. “It’s getting late, the sun will be setting soon. I was thinking we could hang out in the igloo tonight and rest up. Watch the aurora, and of course, perhaps something else,” he winks playfully.
“Taylor, if I wasn’t already willing to do whatever you wanted, you just sealed the deal, my man.”
“Well, it’s settled.”
“You seem pretty certain we’ll see the lights tonight.”
“Of course. I am going to summon them for you,” he says with such certainty that anyone else would think they were talking to a madman.
***
After a quick dinner at the hotel’s main log cabin, Taylor and I trudge through the snow to our igloo. This place is certainly charming, but by no means is the experience luxurious. If not for the driver, who Taylor hired to stay with us during our time in Lapland, we would have to drag our own luggage to our room on a sled, but everything we need is already waiting for us when we settle into our room—igloo.
“I also rented a private log cabin, since that way would could have some privacy instead of sharing the saunas with other guests, so the larger bags are over there,” Taylor informs me. The concept of renting out multiple rooms at the same time just for minor conveniences had never occurred to me until tonight. After a shower and sauna in our log cabin, we march back out into the frigid night air which feels like an explosion of energy on our heated skin.
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