“I know I have been pushy about this issue, but I want you to do what you think is right for you. I can’t promise she won’t try to contact you if my mother gets to her. And she will. But, I support whatever you want to do. I love you the way you are. My only motivation in telling you about her was to give you the option of seeing her if you wanted to, knowing that her death was not the end, that a door has reopened. I know you are strong, you don’t have to prove that to me or anyone. And seeking your mother out does not diminish your strength. Remember what you told me? It requires far more strength to be vulnerable than to be hard.”
“Are you suggesting I take my own advice?” he says with a hint of playfulness. I know his heart is heavy, but this is the lightest he’s ever been during one of these very tough conversations.
“I am only telling you that the need to seek answers from your mother does not make you weak, it makes you human.”
A cool breeze sweeps underneath my sheet and contrasts the warmth of Taylor’s skin against mine.
“Shyla, I suppose that we should practice this whole husband and wife thing.”
“How so?” I ask, assuming he’s trying to trick me into another roll in the hay.
“We’re a team, right? That’s what marriage is about.”
“Yes, we’re a team. We’ve always been a team,” I say, laying my head back on his shoulder to look up at the night sky as I prop my feet up on the balcony railing. Ever since the proposal, I can’t look up at the sky without smiling.
“Do you think our family, by that I mean you and me, should open that Pandora’s Box?”
“My mother knew her and loved her. Your mother stood and faced Alan so that my mother and I could have a chance to escape. If she did what she did for good reasons, she deserves a chance to meet the amazing, beautiful man her son has become. And if she did it for the wrong reasons, she deserves to look you and my mother in the eyes and give you both the answers you deserve. I want to know why we were forgotten.”
Taylor lets out a huge sigh that moves the baby hairs on my hairline. “I can’t believe I am about to say this. What have you done to me?”
“Say what?”
He sits up tall underneath me, and softly caresses my shoulder with his large hand, stopping to pat my shoulder as he says: “Okay. Let’s get some answers.”
Chapter 19
Satin. Silk. Taffeta. Lace.
Roses. Tulips. Calla Lilies. Ranunculus.
Navy. Fuchsia. Crimson. Plum.
A-line. Trumpet. Mermaid. Princess.
Indoor. Outdoor. Open Air. Tent.
So many decisions.
Someone. Save. Me.
Jill Beauchamp’s hair has at least three gallons of bleach in it. Her lipstick is a shade of pink I made an immediate mental note to cross off my list of potential wedding colors. Her suit is an icy blue and ivory damask with metallic threading. She’s as perky as a pair of A-cups, and she talks at a rate of 100 words a second. I’m not sure she even requires oxygen since she seems to go forever without taking a breath.
But she’s the best, and her portfolio proves it.
Maybe it’s not too late to elope. This thing is supposed to be simple and intimate, but it feels like I am planning a goddamn royal wedding.
It’s only been a couple of days since returning from my mother’s. The time away with Taylor was a dream, but I was so friggin’ ready to return home and start rebuilding my life, this time knowing that Taylor will be part of it for as long as we both live.
We told my mother we were ready to reach out to Lyla. After some discussion it was agreed we would go to the town where she lives and then contact her. If she wanted to run away and avoid us, this would minimize that risk. It was clear to me that my mother was battling with the pure joy of the news that her friend was still alive and anger that Lyla deserted her. Mom wasn’t going to let Lyla slip away so easily this time.
Taylor was content to let my mother take the lead on approaching Lyla. After all, he is a voluntary, but unenthusiastic participant. He has agreed to confront her, but is approaching it all with his rational and reasoned side. He wants answers, it is as simple as that. He is not excited, or seeking to establish her as a mother-figure. There will be no leaping into each other’s arms, or joyful tears on his part. And so, his discussions about the topic since he decided he would go forward with the confrontation, had the same tone as the weekly strategy meetings I was privy to when I worked at H.I. This was the business of finding Lyla. Just another mission, just another way to diversify his portfolio.
I flee from Ms. Beauchamp’s office, my arms bursting with giant binders filled with swatches, stationary samples, venue brochures and god knows what else, and let myself into Taylor’s BMW. We retired Ladybug after her devastating crash when I tried to stop Eric from kidnapping me. RIP my sweet angel. Seriously though, it was really hard to say goodbye to the first gift Taylor ever gave me.
Right now, all I care about now is getting home and dumping all this wedding stuff out of sight for a while.
“This will be good for you, planning the wedding. It’ll get you focused on a goal. It’s like a job,” Taylor said to me when I told him I had an appointment with the planner.
“Taylor, I am not some Real Housewife that considers planning her wedding a job,” I snickered. Clearly, I had forgotten just how bad of shape I was in just weeks before.
“Sorry, Bridezilla,” he quipped, “but, you are putting words into my mouth.”
The stress of planning the wedding was already starting to get to me. To top it off, we decided we would make it happen in a couple of months. Taylor didn’t want it to be in the news and the longer we planned, the greater the possibility of a leak. His work schedule was also about to get insanely busy with the Russian and Chinese projects both launching and he didn’t want to be distracted.
I walk through the front door, and before I can drop the binders on the entry table, my phone rings. Fabric and card stock fall every which way as I rummage through my purse to find my damn phone.
“Hey!” I say, happy to get an unexpected call from Taylor in the middle of the day. We’ve spent nearly every waking hour together these past few weeks, and I miss him more than ever when he goes to headquarters.
“Finally, you’re home,” he whispers. I look around to see if he’s hiding somewhere. Panic jolts through me.
“Are you here? Is something wrong?”
“No, I’m at H.I. and everything is fine. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
One of the the scars that remain: When in doubt, I assume bad news and danger lurks.
“Why are you whispering, then?”
“I’m in the bathroom.” It is then I notice the distinctive hollow echo in the background.
“Wait, how did you know I’m home?”
“I had GPS tracking installed in all of my vehicles after the incident. For security purposes.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Taylor.”
“What? I wasn’t spying on you.”
“Suuuure. Tracking my vehicle to wait for me to come home is pretty much spying. What’s all this about anyway? You’re still whispering.”
“I can’t stop fucking thinking about you today. I don’t know what it is. But I think the idea of you becoming my wife is making me even hotter for you somehow. I didn’t even know that was possible. I also miss having access to you all day.” I smile, but don’t say anything. “I’m in the bathroom because I was in a horrendously boring sales meeting and I got a fucking raging erection, Shy. It won’t go away. I am all the way on the other side of the building from my office, so I slipped out and found the nearest empty bathroom and locked the door.”
I erupt with laughter. Taylor is always so composed at H.I. He always has his game face on, and here he is, completely unnerved.
“You’re not gonna be laughing when I get home,” he says firmly.
My laughter halts and I stiffen.
“Well, Mr. Holden…sir…how can I he
lp you?”
“You are going to help me get rid of this until I can get home and fuck the shit out of you.”
I dump the contents of this afternoon’s meetings on the table sloppily, so that half of it falls on the floor, and make my way into the bedroom.
“Tell me how.”
“What are you wearing?”
I stand in front of a full length mirror. “A maroon sweater dress, it has a low collar, black stockings, black boots.”
“What kind of boots?”
“The ones you like. They go up past my knee, with the skinny heel.”
“Fuck. My dick is so hard right now.”
“Are you stroking it?”
“It’s in my hand, but I am waiting until you do a few things for me.”
“Okay…”
“Take off your dress, and your bra.”
I lay the phone on the dresser after placing it on speaker and obey. “Okay. It’s off.”
“Don’t take off the boots or the stockings. Now suck on your fingers and then play with your breasts. Tell me exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m playing with my nipples. They’re really sensitive today. There must be something in the air.”
“Take one hand and play with yourself through your stockings.”
I moan.
“Are you doing it?” Taylor asks.
“Uh huh,” I say in a breathy tone. I snap a photo and send it to him.
“Don’t come. I want your orgasm waiting for me when I get home. Fuck, thinking of you topless in your fuck me boots and pantyhouse is making my cock throb. Tell me what you would do to my cock if you were here.”
My voice hums with abated pleasure as I play with myself just short of climax. “I would push you into a stall and get on my knees like a dirty slut and put my lips around your big fucking cock.” Even I surprise myself with the filth that emerges from my mouth. “I would take it all the way to the back of my throat, choking on your length.”
Taylor’s heavy breathing floats out of my cell phone speaker.
“I just got that picture. You better be ready to finish what you’ve just started. If you were here I would bend you over the toilet and fuck the shit out of you. This whole floor would hear you screaming.”
“I wish. If I was there I would beg you to bend me over and fuck me until I cried. Until my pussy couldn’t take it any longer…”
“Fuck Shyla,” Taylor moans. “Keep going baby.”
“You are making me so creamy, I want you inside of me.”
“Just you fucking wait,” Taylor grunts.
“Taylor I want you here now, my pussy is so fucking wet. My fingers aren’t enough. I need your cock inside of me.”
Taylor lets out a lingering groan. He has found his relief. He clears his throat.
“Shyla, thank you for the afternoon phone sex. I need to get back. Listen to me. Take off all of your clothes. I don’t want a single piece of fabric on that tight body of yours. I’ll be checking in on the hour and you will send me a photo as proof. I want you waiting for me all day. I am going to be thinking about fucking you all day. And when I get home, I want you waiting with your legs open. Understood?”
Well, thank goodness I have no other plans for the day.
“Yes, sir. I say softly.”
“You can play with yourself, but you may not come. I will take care of that, future Mrs. Holden.”
“You are such a tease.”
“Not quite, teases never deliver. I always bring the goods, Shy.” And with that, he ends the call.
***
Taylor:
I’m serious about the photos. And I don’t appreciate tardiness.
1:30pm- Me, naked, laying in bed.
2:30pm- A shot of myself in the mirror from behind.
3:28pm- Me, spread eagle, on top of his Porsche in the garage.
4:29pm- A close-up between my legs, per Taylor’s request.
5:30pm- A pic of me sucking on a dildo on the bed in the darkroom.
Taylor:
That last one just made me cancel a phone call. You. Naked. On my desk. Spread Eagle. Waiting.
I nervously wait on Taylor’s desk for his arrival. Sure, I could have lied to him, keeping my clothes on and only taking them off for the pictures, or hanging out in the bedroom until I hear the front door to then run to the desk to greet him. But didn’t and I won’t. Taylor has a hold on me even from a distance, he makes me feel hot and craved, and I really, really like that feeling.
I waited all day like a good girl, completely naked. Even in a safe space like home, being completely nude makes you aware and alive. There is something about being so exposed that makes me hyper aware of myself: the softness of my skin, the gentle rise and fall of my curves, the slight temperature changes as I move from one room to the next. Waiting all day in the buff for my big-dicked, gorgeous, brooding, naughty fiancé makes me feel sexy as fuck.
This foreplay: the teasing, the waiting, the unresolved desire, has me on edge before he even sets foot in the house. When I finally hear the front door open, my heart jumps and then flutters. I don’t know why I am so nervous, but I am. I guess it’s because I don’t know which version of Taylor will come through that office door.
I hear the sound of his bag hitting the floor and his footsteps calmly walking towards the office. I’ll admit, it surprises me considering the frantic pace he’s indicated through our communications. Like I’ve said, I never know who I am dealing with.
His shadow creeps past the threshold before he does. Only his desk lamp is on and the sun has set since I entered the office, making his shadow appear large and menacing. He turns the corner and I gasp under my breath from the anticipation of finally seeing him.
He leans against the doorframe, crosses one foot over the other, cocks an eyebrow and bites the inside of his lower lip.
Game over. Taylor: 1,000,000. Shyla: 0.
The top buttons of his collar are undone, his tie-knot loosened and dangling on his chest, his suit jacket hanging by a finger over his shoulder.
And then he watches me without saying a word. But cautiously, I let my eyes wander to his belt line, and he doesn’t need to say anything, because the tightening of his pants tell me all I need to know.
He watches me with that grin, and he waits, like some sort of sexual standoff, as if waiting the entire day stark-naked wasn’t enough. The energy between us in the complete silence of the enormous house builds and builds.
I can’t help but squirm a little. Here I am, my entire body offered up to him, my most private parts served up to him like a feast, and he stands there clothed and knowing. I wait in uncertainty, and he waits in total control.
Finally he speaks. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you followed my instructions.”
“Then why are you standing there?”
“Because I want you so bad, I am afraid I might rip you to pieces,” he says in a smoky voice.
I shiver at his words, but just as quickly the tingly feeling shoots straight down between my legs.
“I’ve survived this far.”
“And I haven’t even scratched the surface of all the things I want to do to you.”
“We better get to work then.”
Taylor lets his jacket slide to the floor as he glides over to me in a couple of long strides.
I hold my breath as he braces my arms painfully before angrily sliding his tongue into my parted lips. His breathing shudders and his grip on my arms tightens further, like he’s restraining himself. I recoil from the pain, but he is so strong, I barely shift an inch. He rips his face away from mine and slams me down on the desk, ripping off his tie and unleashing his belt.
His eyes are hungry and I wonder if what I give will ever be enough. He always wants more of me, but how can I give him everything without losing myself? Maybe we take of each other, filling the empty spaces we each leave behind when we give of ourselves, until we become one unyielding force; until there is no him or me,
only us.
My head hangs upside down off the edge of the desk and Taylor grabs a hold of my neck, pressing it down as his mouth explores every inch of my torso: biting, licking, sucking. Then it moves to my thighs: biting, licking, sucking. I can’t see him, but I feel him everywhere, even at the spots where his mouth is no longer, like little territorial flags he has planted all over my flesh. The warmth of his pillowy lips lingers all over my skin, the sting of his bites loiter on my tender flesh, the coolness of the air as the moisture of his tongue evaporates raises goosebumps.
He comes to the end of the table where my head dangles. “I’m going to fuck you in every hole tonight, starting with the pretty mouth of yours.” He rubs the head of his cock on my lips as I softly run my tongue along the tip. “Take me in your mouth.” I open as he slides into me, moaning with pleasure as soon as my lips glide along the smoothness of his erection. His hips thrust aggressively as he fucks my mouth. He takes my mouth as his, mercilessly pushing himself to the back of my throat as I choke on him. He clenches my thighs for leverage, but it’s not enough, he wants to take my mouth harder, and so he grabs my ankles and elevates my legs, pulling them towards him with each thrust.
My body is taken, used, the V-shape of my legs exposing the heat between my thighs to the chill air of the room, reminding me that she has yet been to taken to climax. I claw at Taylor as he fucks my mouth, clenching his white dress shirt in my fists.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” he says, releasing one of my ankles to slide a few fingers inside of me.
I moan around his cock from the distracting pleasure of his long fingers massaging inside of me.
Then Taylor sharply pulls out, taking a deep breath and pausing for a second. “That felt almost a little too good,” he says with a devious smirk as he guides me up to a seated position. My head swirls as the blood rushes down and it surges my body with an even higher level of arousal.
He slides his arms under my legs and boosts me up so that my thighs rest on his biceps, and then he lowers onto his leather swivel chair. My legs stay propped up by the chair’s arms.
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