by Angela Price
He moves, putting one arm around my shoulders. He grabs my hand, and places it between his legs. I can feel the stickiness of my blood there, along with fluids and semen. Lucas forces me to look at him, deep in his eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, Sadie, you’re bonded to me now. You’re mine. I love that no other man has touched you. I cherish it. I’d like to end all my other entanglements, if you’ll say you’re mine.”
I blink, surprised at his candor. “I’m not sure. We may not have enough in common, Lucas. You come from such a different world. I’m not sure I have the skills to navigate it.” He laughs cynically. “You would be a breath of fresh air in my world, Sadie. Why do you think I’m so mad for you, after three days? No one I’ve met in years has your talent or your sweetness. Why don’t we just try to make this work? I’ll do whatever it takes?”
I pause, considering his offer.
“Let’s take a shower. We can figure everything out later. I love being with you. I mean it, Lucas. I just don’t see how we can keep seeing each other long term.” Yeah, and you’re going to wake up in about five minutes and realize I’m not a model. That I’m normal. Well, mostly normal. I kiss him, reveling in the feel of his lips against mine. My brain almost feels like it’s short-circuited. Touching him has that effect on me.
I pull him to the en suite, turn on the hot water full blast, and laugh as he joins me under the stream. I can’t keep him interested. I know it. So I love him the best way I know how, on this overcast Saturday afternoon. We talk and laugh for a few hours, asking questions about each other’s likes and past experiences. He stays until the day goes into early dark, caressing me on the bed until his driver signals him with a text that it’s time to leave. He kisses me so hard on his way out that I almost swoon. Geez. He’s sex personified.
When he’s gone I lie on the bed, thinking about today. I’ve just had sex with the most beautiful man alive. Yep! Me. Sadie Graves. Jenny has disappeared for the evening. She’ll probably read me the riot act when I see her, and I know she probably heard some giggling or something coming from my room. How embarrassing. She knows how celibate I am. Ugh! Almost as well as I do. I wonder idly how big of a mistake I’ve made. Can I recover from this one?
Do I even want to?
I don’t even realize I’m skipping dinner. I hug my pillow, breathe in Lucas’ scent, and fall
asleep.
Chapter Eleven
“She Runs Away”
Duncan Sheik, Duncan Sheik
I wake up at 2:00 A.M., disoriented.
Oh, yeah. I fell asleep at a weird time. It isn’t morning yet.
I realize something must have woken me, and after a couple of beats I realize my phone is on vibrate. It’s shimmying across the floor, lit up with an inbound call. Who could possibly be calling me at this hour, I wonder, my eyebrows knitting together. Lucas’ number flashes across the screen. I pick the phone up, accept the call and bring the handset to my face. “Hello?” Crap. I sound breathy. I hate that about myself.
No one responds. It takes me to the count of seven before I realize his phone has called me inadvertently. I’ve been butt dialed. Nice. And I wouldn’t have a care in the world, except I can tell from the background noise on his phone…Lucas Sutton is not alone. There’s some soft music playing. The phone must be either under something or in his jacket pocket. The sound is muffled, but I can make out the unmistakable timbre of his voice. He’s talking to a woman. I listen closely until I realize its Violet Emery. I’m not forgetting her voice anytime soon. For about one split second, I wonder if I’m being ethical by listening. But then I see a mental image of his face, telling me he ‘wants me to be his’. Well, C’mon baby. Let’s hear this. I’m ready for him to disappoint me. And something tells me I’m going to get exactly what I expect.
I breathe softly, and the next thing I hear is Lucas telling Violet that she’s being ridiculous. She should want to model something he recommends. It will help her career. She complains. I can only hear the tone but not the words. He laughs at her attitude and then she laughs, too. She’s baiting him, flirting. He asks her if she wants more champagne. His tone doesn’t sound tired at all. He’s his competent self. He says something else, and then there’s silence. And then, a soft sound. My brain makes the connection immediately. They’re kissing. The sound is her, appreciating his kiss. Fuck. I probably made a sound like that earlier today. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Wasn’t I just saying the worst wouldn’t happen today? Wow. Was I ever wrong. I’m being replaced within hours of being intimate with someone; with a famous model. I feel the most crushing hurt descend on me, like being buried under tons of bricks.
I sit there, with the phone held to my ear, for another 10 seconds. There’s more audible appreciation in the background, from both of them. And then I disconnect. I sit on the bed, processing for a few minutes. My face feels hot. I feel a surge of nausea, followed by an immediate and powerful chill. My teeth are suddenly chattering.
I walk gingerly into the bathroom, take off my nightgown, and sink down on my knees by the lavatory.
And then I gloriously, unceremoniously throw up.
At 7:00 A.M., I take a hot shower. I choose a black tank top and leggings, my cowboy boots, a charcoal grey hooded tunic, and a long sweater coat for my outfit. I blow my hair dry so it hangs down around my shoulder blades to keep me warm. I apply make-up, feeling better with a little color on my face. After packing my black rolling duffel and stuffing my handbag full of all sorts of necessities; I strip my bed and leave it unmade. And at a little after eight, I head toward the subway.
I make a quick stop by Mr. Alvarez’ store, grinning at him over racks of snack crackers and potato chips. He laughs when he sees me. “Sadie! What are you doing about at this hour on a Sunday?” He comes around the counter to check me out; looking disconcerted somehow. “Mr. A, you know I’m okay. I’m taking a little trip. I’ll be back quickly. Will you look after Jenny for me?” He smiles, relieved. I must look out of sorts. He promises he will. I buy a banana and a bottle of water, hug him, and he waves me out the door.
I hit the Orange Line to Columbus Circle, and then the Red Line to 34th Street. I buy an Amtrak Ticket to D.C. at Penn Station, and I’m boarding in no time. It’s eighty-two dollars, one way. I call my dad’s cell and leave him a message that it looks like I’ll be seeing him today.
I stow my duffel in the overhead bin, and put my purse under my seat. I don’t feel like sleeping. I don’t know what I feel like anymore. I’m knocked off course, and I desperately need something to get me back to myself. There’s no better answer than my dad.
The train pulls away from the gate, and begins to speed up.
Distance. That sounds perfect. Right now I don’t care about work, or the future. I don’t even care about wasting myself on some damned playboy. I disconnect and just let my mind wander.
And then I’m gone, moving so fast the scenery is whipping past me and everything is a blur.
After about thirty minutes a guy who could easily bench-press three hundred pounds moves into the train’s cabin and elects to sit by me. His shoulders take up the entire two-seat area, but he’s compressing himself somehow so his body doesn’t touch mine.
I look at him sideways. He’s shaved his head. He has on a black suit, very well-cut, and a skinny black silk tie. His shoes are Ferragamo, if I’m not mistaken. I’m no shoe maven, but I appreciate a good pair when I see one. He settles in next to me, without making eye contact.
I scrunch myself into my seat and pull out my IPod. I’ve contentiously kept myself from being close to men for a long time. Right now, I feel like I’m in overwhelm. Being this close to a virile man (again) makes me relive yesterday.
I’m daydreaming, when my seat companion clears his throat. He reaches over, and softly touches the IPod earbuds in my hands. “Ma’am”, he says quietly, turning his face towards mine, “I work for Lucas Sutton. My name’s Calvin Eads. He’s asked me to accompany yo
u wherever you go. I followed you today, and I know you weren’t expecting that. I don’t want to upset you, or make you feel afraid. Mr. Sutton will meet us in D.C.”
My eyes open up wide. Then they narrow.
“You have got to be kidding me. Seriously? Is this legal?” In one second, I’m so pissed off I can barely see. The same guy who can fuck or kiss any woman he likes can send a security detail after me, like I’m property. Since when can I not do as I please?
“Miss Graves, I’m here to take care of you and ensure your safety. Mr. Sutton posted me at your door on Saturday. I’m simply here to be sure you’re protected and not bothered by anyone.”
Jesus. And to be sure I don’t follow your boss to his next assignation. I swallow hard. “And what if I say I don’t want to be followed?” I whisper, irritated. He pauses, dips his head, and replies. “Ma’am, Mr. Sutton is very clear to his staff. We’re to protect whomever he feels needs our services. We defend against security threats and corporate espionage, commonly. Mr. Sutton has put you on high alert, Miss Graves. I’m assigned to you ‘round the clock.”
I let this sink in, wondering at Lucas’ overwhelming God complex. It’s not this guy’s fault, obviously – he’s only following orders. I look at him, memorizing his earnest face. And then I turn away. We still have a two-hour Amtrak ride to reach our destination. I pull up the Ipod earbuds and place them in my ears. The rest of the train ride, I’m silent.
We reach Union Station without incident. When we pull to a stop, I grab my bag and head toward the exit. If Calvin’s going to keep up with me, he had better move. He looks startled, as if everyone else he’s guarded has been compliant and sweet – ready to mind. I feel anything but obedient.
I wait until the doors open and move quickly out of them when the signal sounds. I probably run over someone trying to get on the train, but what the hell. I’m a New Yorker now, right? I make the gate and head toward the outside exit, trying to beat Calvin at his own game. I don’t see him as I walk purposefully ahead of other travelers. I move past the baggage area and toward the taxi stands and DC Circulator bus line. I’m at the pickup lane when a long black limo swoops in front of me and stops on a dime.
The back window rolls down, and Lucas Sutton’s face appears. He looks at me with distinct irritation on his face. He opens the rear door, steps lithely out of the back seat, grabs my duffle out of my hand, and grips my elbow, once again, in his iron grip. He swivels me, and I’m pushed into the limo and across the bench seat ahead of him; his chest, hips and long legs behind me.
I’m livid.
Seriously livid. My face is red, I can feel it. My heart is tripping in my chest. I’m so mad I can’t even care if he’s betrayed me. What the fuck is this? Do other women actually like this behavior?
He shuts the door and picks up his cell phone for an instant. “I have it, Calvin.” He says irritably. “We’ll wait here until you’re in the limo.”
Oh. Shit. I’m going to explode. I’m an ‘it’ now.
I compose my face, looking directly at Lucas.
My eyes narrow. I scoot imperceptibly closer to him, demanding truth from him with my expression. “Lucas Sutton, you’d better answer my next two questions. Pronto.”
He clenches his jaw, angry at something I don’t understand. “Okay, Sadie. What do you want to know?”
“You called me this morning at 2:00AM from your cell. I know it was an accident. You were with Violet; I heard her voice. I know you’re seeing other people, so what gives you the freedom to have me followed?”
Lucas sits quietly for several beats.
“You’re going to have to trust me in my business dealings, Sadie.” He has a serious, unsmiling expression. “I had to attend an awards banquet last night and I’d already asked Violet to accompany me. I couldn’t renege on it. And I look out after what’s mine.” I look at him, also unsmiling. This is the fucker you gave your virginity to, I tell myself. My blood pressure is now at stroke level. I’ve made a serious tactical error. Critical, even. This guy is with a different woman every night. I feel like weeping, which is normally what I do when I’m mad or hurt. And in this case, I’m both. “Lucas, I don’t want this. Take me to Georgetown and let me out. I’m here to see my dad.”
His face is set, hard. “Ask me the second question, Sadie” Lucas says, softly. His jaw clenches and unclenches.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper. “I don’t appreciate it. At all.”
His face gets angrier. He moves closer to me. He closes the privacy window of the limo as it lurches forward, Calvin presumably in tow. “I have a place here in town. When Calvin called me and told me you were leaving your apartment with a packed bag, I knew it had everything to do with last night. I checked my phone logs; I knew what happened. I decided to head you off, once I knew where you were headed, and change your mind about what you thought you heard. Because I know; you jumped to conclusions about me, Sadie.” He’s pressed against me on the backseat with such force that I’m almost reclined. My breathing is shallow.
And I’m mad. I sure am.
He pushes me back, all the way, till my shoulders touch the armrest on the opposing door. “Do you really think I’d hurt you, Sadie?” Of course I do, I think. You already have. And I barely know you. I keep my face neutral.
“I told you; I’m captivated by you. Mesmerized. I want you all the time. I think about you constantly.” Lucas moves his face over my breasts, rubbing his cheeks over them. He bites softly through my tank. My nipples elongate; damnation my body is a complete traitor. Before I can push him back or away, he grabs my wrists with one hand and holds them to the right of my thighs, using his other hand to pull down my leggings. They’re around my knees in seconds, and he urges me backward - kissing my neck, pushing my sweater back to have access to my breasts, pressing me back and down with his weight. “Put your hands behind your head” he says. He pushes my clothes out of the way, so I’m naked from my breasts to my hips.
“Jesus, Sadie. Fuck.” He pulls his shirt off over his head and undoes his pants in seconds; I can see his underwear bulging through the opening of his zip and fly. He’s so serious, even I’m taken back somehow. He drops his face to my nipple, tonguing it with long strokes. I stop breathing. He drags my knees closer to the edge of the seat, pulls my boots off one at a time and rips off my leggings. He inserts one finger inside me, stroking the front wall of my sex. He watches my face for long seconds, no doubt watching the conflicting emotions traveling over it – anger, hurt, dawning realization, arousal – and then whispers in my ear. “I know you might be sore, but I want you. Now, Sadie. Turn over, and open your legs to me.”
I don’t even feel like myself. I’m taking orders from a guy who had me followed today. I feel so vulnerable. But I turn around and put my knees on the bench seat. I move without questioning anything. By now, the rest of my clothes are off. He positions himself behind me, and uses his knees to show me that mine are too close together. When he’s situated me like he wants me; my knees are three feet apart and my sex and backside are wholly exposed to him. Lucas whispers, “Holy shit, Sadie. You are so beautiful. Like a wet dream.” His hands hold my hips, but move to caress my breasts, stomach and lower back.
Lucas groans, and slowly enters me from behind. God, it feels full. It’s different from yesterday. More intimate, almost. I feel him push into me until he’s buried inside my sex. He murmurs something obscene and starts to move in me, starting slow, but increasing in tempo. He makes noises with every thrust and his fingers grip my hips tightly. He moves out of me, and in me, faster and faster. Both of us get damp with sweat. I’m suddenly very wet, and sensitive. I cry out too. Oh God. He reaches around, and rubs one moistened forefinger circularly on my clit. He pulls my torso back, and my right nipple is between his middle and ring finger. He squeezes.
Between the wet slap of flesh, his fingers, the fullness of his cock, his slick skin against mine and the sounds of his panting and cursing: I’m lost. I come,
groaning and shuddering. He cries out in triumph and does the same. He stills in me, and eases me toward him so we’re face to face. He sits back, pulls me in his lap, wraps me in his arms and kisses my lips, opening them with his tongue. He tastes me tentatively, for a man who’s just had me so completely. And then, he gives me a warm hug and softly kisses my forehead. How could someone be so angry, so hot and so sweet in the same minute? I don’t understand.
You’ve just had unprotected sex again, I chide myself. Ugh. I’m going to regret this for a long time; I know it. Plus, there are other people in this car. They probably heard the whole thing. Or saw it. Mother Mary. I scramble for my clothes, shivering, and put them on in haste. He watches me, no expression on his face.
“Lucas, let’s stop this. Take me to my father’s townhouse, and drop me there. I’ll be safe; I promise.”
“I have plans, Sadie. Text your dad and tell him you’ll have to take a raincheck on seeing him today. Tell him you’re with me. We’ll make a special trip here the week of Christmas to stay several days, so you can spend plenty of time together.”
He glares at me until I do.
Something tells me; his plans are going to give me heartburn.
I look out the film-covered window of the limo and wonder how I got into this situation. Let’s see: I’ve been with Lucas Sutton twice, and I’ve only known him since Tuesday. It’s Sunday, for goodness sake. I’ve never done anything so rash – or so obviously dangerous. I’m treading on shaky ground; inexperienced, shy, and hey let’s admit it, average. That’s me. I have no business being with a guy like him: rich, powerful, socially connected, desired by many women. I’m going to get clobbered emotionally, if I’m not careful. I don’t have the wherewithal to withstand his lifestyle, his demands or his…strange tendencies. Having me followed? Intercepting me at the station? That’s just weird. Isn’t it? No romance novel I’ve ever read involved stalking. No, honey, my brain reminds me…those were the true crime novels.