“Blaine… Blaine… Blaine… Oh, god…” she whimpered and I felt her body shudder, spasming in delight and gripping me hard. I gripped her in return as I felt myself release, my cock twitching and pulsating inside of her, releasing my essence. I felt her stretch, groaning around me as she receive me, trembling.
Finally, I slid out of her and lay next to her. It was evening by now, with New Orleans lit only by the lights of the French Quarter to one side of us and the downtown to the other side. The light filtered in through our open windows, bathing us in its willowy embrace, revealing my tanned body and Morgan’s pale flesh.
“You really want to deny this?” I said finally. “Everything we just had?”
I felt her hands on me again.
“No, Blaine, no… It’s just… You need to understand. It’s important for both of us. For our careers. People… People expect things from us.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Who expects anything from us?”
“Blaine… People do. My students. Your clients and employees. The other professors in my department.”
“Morgan, I don’t give a damn about any of them!” I roared. “Damn it, I’m falling in love with you.”
I stood and stalked over to the terrace, stepping out onto the balcony even though I was still naked. I felt the cooled night air wash over me and sighed. I glanced behind me and saw Morgan rise, following me.
She wrapped her arms around me and I felt her breasts press into my back.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But we just… We can’t. It’ll destroy my career.”
I sighed.
“It’ll destroy me,” she said, pressing her lips to my neck. I turned to her, pushing her back into the room as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders once more. I scooped her up easily, and then bent her over a coffee table.
“Then I’ll destroy you a few more times first,” I whispered into her ear as I entered her.
17
Morgan
I’ve never felt so exhausted and conflicted after coming home from a vacation.
On the one hand, I had collected reams and reams of fantastic material about Maribeth Wilson. I was ready now to start writing on her. I was positive. I knew so much about her, about her inner life, her thoughts… Everything.
But…
But on the other hand… Blaine.
I sighed. I was back in my office at Silliman. Classes had just finished for the day. From my window, I could see students streaming to and fro across the campus, giggling, smiling, happy to be finished with another Monday of classes. They had no idea what things would be like when they were older, even a few years older—when they found themselves needing to choose between a career and… And a love. A life.
But that wasn’t what was on their minds now. What they found themselves thinking about? Whose bed they would be sleeping in tonight. Whether or not they could finish their calculus problem sets in time to get drunk at a fraternity. If they could scrape together enough pocket change for beer. Who got the main part in the musical.
Their minds didn’t dwell on the things that my mind dwelt on, that Blaine’s mind dwelt on.
We agreed, reluctantly, to leave our relationship in New Orleans. He was dark and brooding our second day there as I insisted we try to take in some sights. We made love again that morning and once more before checking out of the hotel. And, then, in the limo on the way to the airport.
And then… Again in the limo that picked us up in New York and drove me to my condo. I figured we should get as much as we could out of that magical southern weekend.
I was set to have a call with him to actually discuss how we would administer the fund, something we never quite got around to in New Orleans. In between sex, sightseeing, and the restaurant reservations Blaine had managed for us—Emeril’s one night, Galatoire’s the next night—we never really got around to talking shop.
He had offered to come up to Silliman for our talk, but I figured a phone call would be safer. After all, we couldn’t have sex over the phone.
Less of a chance for distraction.
But first, I was set to have a meeting with Masha. She glided in, giggling, still in weekend mode. She got serious when she saw my glum face.
“I guess you saw the tabloids, huh?”
“What?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “What tabloids?”
Masha bit her lip. I knew that she had a guilty pleasure habit of eating up nasty tabloid gossip. She reached into her bag and pulled out a rolled up copy of the New York Inquirer.
The front page showed a very familiar face kissing an unfamiliar one: a skinny white girl in a barely-there black dress. It was Blaine.
The headline loudly proclaimed: “BEAUTY AND THE BILLIONAIRE.”
I snatched the tabloid out of Masha’s fingers and began to digest it: Blaine Stone, apparently, was seen at a chic Upper East Side bistro with his ex-wife, and shared a kiss with her as they left. This was last night. Literally hours after we had made love in the limousine on the way home.
My fingers trembled. I knew I couldn’t show any discomfort to Masha. I bit my lip, trying to fight back the tears.
“It would be nice for Mr. Stone,” Masha offered. “If he could patch things up with his wife. It was a really messy divorce.”
She blushed.
“I read all about it in the papers.”
“Of course you did,” I murmured, rolling my eyes. I shoved the paper back into her hands.
“Listen, I’m not feeling well. I was out of town this weekend and I think I had something to eat that didn’t really agree with me.”
I sent Masha away, telling her that we’d reschedule. As she left, I rose, closed the door to my office, and sank down to the floor heavily, leaning against it. I let out a loud, hard sob that racked my chest.
No, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t get torn up over a man. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t what I was about.
But no. It was too late. I was in love with him and I was broken now, broken to see him with someone else. If only he had taken his time, taken time to let the relationship end, to cool, to mourn it like I was.
But no.
Again. That very night. With his ex-wife. A woman I knew was five years younger than me and at least twenty pounds lighter.
It hurt bad. It cut deep. It made breathing hard.
And he was going to be calling any minute. How the hell was I going to be able to talk to him? There was nothing I wanted to say to him. There was nothing I could say. I had insisted, demanded that we end things, that we keep our relationship in New Orleans and let it die there.
But, no. It didn’t die in New Orleans and it didn’t die on the plane back or even in the limousine.
It died on the front page.
18
Blaine
I should have learned long ago that meeting with Liana in person was a recipe for disaster.
After I had my driver take Morgan back to Connecticut, I set off back to New York. There were a few final details regarding some shared assets that Liana and I had to iron out. We had agreed several weeks ago to meet that Sunday evening for dinner. Her lawyer was supposed to accompany her—mostly to keep her in check and make sure she didn’t go wild, didn’t drink too much.
And, honestly to make sure she actually showed up.
But instead, it was just Liana who met me there. I should have known that it was a bad sign but I was lonely. I couldn’t make myself walk out of the restaurant. Instead, I sat down with her.
I should have walked out but I just couldn’t. There are always times in your life when you know you should leave but you just can’t. You just can’t.
The meeting was surprisingly civil at the beginning and even… productive.
But Liana kept ordering drinks. She disappeared to the bathroom for fifteen or twenty minutes at one point and came back in a daze, trembling and sniffling. She moved her salad around, not eating it, barely even making an attempt to act like she was eating din
ner. She was looking painfully, sickeningly skinny.
Finally, as she was slurring her words, thrashing a bit in her chair, becoming incomprehensible, I decided it was time to call an end to the meeting. I got the check, paid it, and had the host call her a cab. As I accompanied her outside to make sure she got in and pay the driver (since Liana never has money on her and often forgets her purse and wallet), she threw her arms around me and pressed her familiar lips to mine.
I tasted the clammy, cold sweat on them and the liquor and something that I suspected was cocaine. I pushed her away but not before the street scene seemed to erupt in flashes.
Paparazzi. Perfect ending to a perfect weekend, wasn’t it?
I gave it no more thought, until I called Morgan the next day.
“So, how’s Liana doing?” she asked coldly before I could even say hello.
“What?”
“I saw the tabloids today. My only question is whether you called her before or after you took me to Connecticut.”
“Morgan, that was a meeting to finalize some aspects of the divorce…”
“Well, it looks like there are still parts to be finalized,” she growled and hung up.
I slammed my own phone down. Fuck.
I spun around in my chair, looking out over the city. I hated this—hated this dance we were doing, hated not being in control. I wanted to get away—get away from this city, from the forces that were keeping Morgan and me apart…
I gritted my teeth and made a fist. I dug my nails into my palm, dug them so deep that they almost drew blood. I growled. I wanted to scream.
But no. I don’t quit. I fight. I fight till I win. That’s what I’ve always done.
I’m coming for you, Morgan.
19
Morgan
As if striving to match my mood, it began to rain: a perfect late autumn storm. I gazed out at the Silliman quad, my eyes clouded over with tears just like the sky.
I knew I should leave, get away from campus before anyone saw me so distraught. But it was already the end of the day and I didn’t have any energy left. I stayed in my office, trying to read, trying to work, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. And so I stared out over the perfectly manicured lawns, watching students dart through the storm.
And then I saw him.
I knew him by his confident, striding walk immediately.
Blaine. He had come here.
“Bastard,” I growled, dashing downstairs.
Without any consideration of the water streaking down out of the skies, I ran to him. He was wearing one of his fine suits but it was plastered to his body, his gorgeous, powerful body, showing off the tight contours of his back, how his back narrowed to form a V at his waist… Nothing about the way he wore fine suits would hint that his body was covered in tattoos beneath.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I demanded, screaming into the storm as he saw me. The sad, pathetic look he gave me melted my heart almost immediately, but I tried my best to keep a cold sneer on my face.
“I love you!” he yelled back, the rain swallowing up his words even as they reached my ears.
“Then why were you kissing her?”
“Morgan, it’s over between us. She kissed me. She’s a drug addict and an alcoholic. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She didn’t then. I had to send her home before she puked all over the restaurant.”
I knew, at least, that the part about Liana being on drugs was true. I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to trust him.
I wasn’t sure if I did. But that didn’t matter, because I found myself going to him, throwing my arms around him, kissing him in the rain.
We staggered back into my department building, all but falling over each other as we made our way up the stairs. I didn’t even peek around to see if any of my colleagues were around. Somehow, this seemed more important.
We barged into my office, and I slammed the door behind me. In seconds, I was stripping off Blaine’s wet suit, kissing his powerful chest, tasting the water and sweat and tears on his skin as he stripped me, tossing my blouse on the floor, and then my jeans and then my underwear.
And then his mouth was on my sex. I gasped, my butt on my desk as he held me there, hungrily devouring me. He slurped and suckled like a beggar at a feast, tasting me, tasting me deep, working his fingers into me, stretching me and making me moan.
“Blaine…” I gasped hard, running my fingers through his soaked hair, molding it into shapes as he licked me. “Blaine… Blaine… I love you too…”
He answered me only with his licks and kisses, slurping away at the center of my pleasure, at my throbbing node of delight as I shuddered and whimpered, my hips shaking as I got closer and closer.
“Oh, god!” I moaned, thrusting my breasts forward passionately, every cell of my flesh alive with desire for this man as he pleasured me. And suddenly, I was losing my mind, shaking and squealing with delight, spasming beneath his practiced mouth as he continued his delicious ministrations.
And then he was on top of me and his cock was sliding into my sopping hot center. I groaned, still aching from our loving over the weekend as he claimed me once more, penetrating me deep.
“Blaine…” I groaned as he took me, working his hips deeper and deeper into me, my body responding in agonized delight as he labored over me, grinding our flesh together, rainwater and sweat mixing together into a delicious cocktail of passion.
“Morgan, I’m close,” he whispered and I felt him twitching inside of me, felt his passion coming to an end.
“Please…” I whispered in reply, kissing him hard, dragging my teeth over his lips. “Please, fill me up.”
And then he arched his back, his beautiful, handsome face contorting in pleasure as he released himself inside of me. I gasped, feeling it pump inside of me, his shaft spilling his seed deep into me.
“Remember my fantasies about you?” he asked after a few minutes of quiet touching.
“Bent over just about everything in existence?” I asked teasingly.
“That’s right,” he growled, guiding me over my desk, my ass up in the air, like an animal in heat. He kissed the back of my neck and I groaned in delight as we began to act out those very fantasies…
20
Blaine
We lay together on the floor of her office, our spent passion surrounding us. The air was thick and hot even though it was cold and wet outside.
“So, have you reconsidered this whole relationship thing?” I asked finally. Morgan lay on her belly and I had been stroking her back; long, uninterrupted strokes down her perfect, unblemished skin, feeling the sweet sweat separate under my fingers as I massaged her flesh.
“I don’t know, Blaine. I just… I don’t know. Give me time to think.”
I sighed. I suppose that was all I could hope for.
“I haven’t been in a relationship since Liana and I broke up,” I admitted finally.
She lifted her head to look at me.
“Really? Is that true?”
I nodded.
“It’s hard. Work and life got in the way. I would see friends from school getting married but I just never found time for it…”
“For love?” she asked suddenly. I nodded.
“I mean, there’re always…”
“…women who want to take you to bed.”
I smiled ruefully.
“Of course. I mean, there’s always mindless sex.”
“I’ve been there.”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
“I’ve got a personal trainer who’s been blowing up my phone for the last few weeks. He’s dumb as rocks but he’s even got a better body than you do.”
I grinned.
“Now, consider what you’re saying…”
“Oh, I know what I’m saying,” Morgan said with a sweet smile. “I’ll admit… He doesn’t have your stamina.”
“At least I’ve got that.”
“At least.”<
br />
We shared one more kiss and then began to slough our damp clothes back on. They were cold, sad, wet. I didn’t want to get dressed. I wanted to stay with her, stay naked with my woman, make her my woman.
But real life called, I suppose. It was time to return to the world.
Our clothes felt somehow uncomfortable, like they no longer fit. I wanted to tear Morgan’s clothes off once more, rip them from her skin and make love to her all over again.
But that wasn’t to happen.
We chatted amicably, like friends, as we ducked out of the centuries old Gothic building, one of dozens adorning Silliman’s gorgeous campus. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and at one point, I turned to glance back at the building where we had just made love.
There was a single light on still, on the third floor, the floor where Morgan’s office was. Where the English department was.
I saw an older man in the window. I squinted. He saw us.
“Morgan…” I whispered, grabbing her by the arm. She stopped and we both gazed at the man gazing at us from across the wet quad.
“Is that…”
“It’s Gary Towson,” Morgan whispered, her voice cold as daggers made of ice.
21
Morgan
I was only in my office for fifteen minutes the morning after my evening tryst with Blaine when Gary appeared at my door.
“Have a good evening, Morgan?” he asked coolly.
I glowered at him.
“What do you need?”
“I was just curious as to what Mr. Stone, our gracious benefactor was doing on campus last night…”
At His Mercy: A Dark Billionaire Romance Page 10