Pervade London
Page 9
Oh, yes. “Why isn’t he here?”
“I’m a master at saving the day.” He stood between my thighs glaring down at me. “Do you want me to make it right?”
What?
“How much do you want this, Emily?”
“Take a wild guess.”
His long fingers hoisted up the hem of my skirt until it was above my panties.
Raising my head to look at him, I said, “What are you doing?”
“Making your dream come true.”
Surely, he wasn’t going to…
He eased my panties away from my crotch and leaned low.
Oh, God.
His tongue flicked between my folds, circling and masterfully lapping until I was writhing in pleasure, my jaw slack from surprise, my groin grinding against him as I took short, sharp breaths.
My moans echoed around us.
I was letting him touch me.
Him, the bringer of all my heartache.
“Don’t stop,” I burst out.
This is what a girl looks like when she’s lost everything, when she’s given up and wants to have the pain fucked away.
“Like it?” His warm breath purred against me.
“Yes.” I spread my thighs wider for him, not caring if someone walked in and caught us. From the way James was focused on me down there, he didn’t care either.
What the hell was I doing letting the enemy close? Yet this forbidden seduction was wiping out all those thoughts and fears of failure. All I wanted was this…him teasing me, his tongue flicking my sex with a fierceness that sent my mind reeling. We’d fallen into the abyss of other possibilities.
I arched my back and rocked against his chin as his mouth possessed me completely.
Xander no longer wants me.
And that wasn’t even his name.
It didn’t matter that James was overpowering me. I no longer cared. I had lost everything…my dream…my lover. My world had crashed and burned, leaving only memories that brought nothing but hurt.
All I had left was this impending climax.
James raised his head and looked at me. “Want me to continue?”
“Yes.”
He suckled my clit with that dangerous mouth of his, keeping me poised on the precipice.
I may hate the man, but damn he’s good at this.
The enthused noises he made down there as he lapped away sounded taboo. I suddenly felt embarrassed by our reckless tryst. I focused on the ceiling’s ornate plaster, the design a beautiful thing.
My back arched violently. This pleasure is a beautiful thing.
A sigh escaped my lips, and then I flinched as negative thoughts of self-loathing consumed me. There was no talent in my hands. I didn’t deserve to have my dream realized.
My body went rigid.
James stood up straight. “Well, there’s your problem, right there.”
I looked at him, feeling dazed. “What is?”
“You’re not letting go. Not surrendering. Not allowing the moment to steal you away so your soul can sing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to try this again, Emily. Only you’re going to give yourself to me completely. Let me own you, and in the depths of your soul believe it. Offer your pussy to me like it’s all you have.”
“It is. I failed.”
“Your dream is a heartbeat away. You’re going to step back on that stage and give yourself over to your instrument and forget yourself. You are inconsequential.”
This audition process didn’t allow for second chances. There were too many applicants. Still, my clit throbbed wantonly for more of his artful mouth, and he must have read my lustful expression.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
“Thighs wider, please.”
I obeyed.
“Let go, Emily.” He leaned low between my thighs again and passionately savaged my pussy with pouty lips and an exploring, feverish tongue. The deep affection of his mouth made me believe he might even know a thing or two about love.
It wasn’t easy to believe—with my thighs spread open we’d had an artful conversation with me exposed erotically like a dancer from the Moulin Rouge.
I’d consented to this act even after he’d destroyed my life.
Yet I didn’t want him to stop.
He raised his head. “Let the pain devour you, the agony of loss consume you until it’s all you are.” He slid two fingers inside me. “Play like this.”
I flinched when he spread his fingers and the pressure inside me grew, bringing a rush of pleasure. He was doing something remarkable with his touch and I stilled for a moment, overcome by bliss and wonder. I inhaled sharply when his other hand went for my swollen nub, strumming it as he finger-fucked me in brilliant unison.
My jaw clenched as the tension built between my soaking wet thighs.
I wanted to tell him I hated him…but blinding pleasure stole my words.
“Play as though you are no longer confined.”
The air left my lungs as his fingers continue to pump inside me and I felt his mouth crash down on my sensitive clit again, his tongue swirling and flicking, possessing me with a skill that made me shudder violently.
I felt too lightheaded to fight.
The notes found me…
Mozart…
A brilliant symphony, ingenious in its creation, destined to leave my strings as the music in my head rushed through me until I was nothing…the endless pleasure possessing me, freeing me until I vanished from the room.
The notes reached a crescendo.
I became aware of his hand as it covered my mouth, suppressing my moan as I came hard, shuddering violently, my body wracked with erotic pleasure.
I’d been so wantonly his.
My fingers ached from where I’d gripped both edges of the table during an endless orgasm.
It was in a daze that I felt him pull me up and straighten my skirt. I sat on the end of the table with my legs dangling and my heart thumping.
James lifted my chin as though gauging my reaction to what he’d just accomplished. He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose affectionately. It was an intimate, kind gesture…just what I needed in that moment.
My hair spilled over my face and James eased apart the strands to peer at me with a smile; the kind a tutor bestows upon a student for a pleasing performance.
I watched him walk over to the chair and pick up my Strad. He carried it back to me and placed it in my arms, keeping hold of the bow.
I had nothing left to say…all words had been stolen by him in such an exquisite way that my internal muscles clenched, yearning for more.
What’s happening?
James helped me climb off the table. His fingers interwove with mine as he led me out and down the hallway. I felt too shaken up to resist.
I pulled back when he began to climb the steps to the stage. “I had my chance.”
“Turns out you get another.”
“How?”
“You’re with me.”
Apprehension made my heart skip a beat. We were breaking the rules by returning to the concert hall.
With the confidence of a man who could steal a lover away and not show remorse, he guided me to the center of the stage where the spotlight shone upon us. I blinked into the darkness of the vast seating area below and was terrified to see the judges staring up at me.
James handed me my bow. “Play your Strad like that, Emily.”
I watched him leave with a feeling of regret. I could have questioned him, found out who he really was…what he did, and perhaps get a message to Xander.
He’d left me dazed with my legs still trembling, my thighs sticky. My sex was throbbing from the pleasure he’d brought.
Stunned into silence, I looked toward the spotlight, blinking and trying to see past the front rows of seats. It was too dark. I inhaled sharply, trying to catch my breath.
Patrick Woo narrowed his gaze on me, intrigued.<
br />
I forced a smile.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Mr. Woo.
Another judge gestured with an elegant hand. “You have another piece you’d like us to hear?”
“Mozart,” I whispered.
This…a moment that shouldn’t be.
My eyes having adjusting to the dark, I caught sight of Ballad making his way to the back of the auditorium. He slipped out of the exit.
“Let go.”His words found me again.
Lifting my Strad, I placed my jaw on the chinrest and raised the bow. The first note rose…
Closing my eyes, I surrendered.
Nine A.M. and London’s commuters were out ahead of Saturday’s tourists, who would soon be swarming the streets. The city was alive once more.
I’d made it just in time to watch Lloyds Bank open its doors to allow the queue of waiting customers to stream in. After resting that hefty bag of cash between my feet, I slipped my credit card into Lloyds’ ATM, glancing quickly behind me to make sure no one was looking before tapping in my four-digit code.
Then waiting…
There was no way I could let this situation go on any longer. What kind of person sees their loved one walk away under suspicious circumstances and does nothing?
Surely no one?
And, anyway, that wasn’t me. I’d never cowered under threats or bullying before.
There was no other option but to defy James and go to the police. First, I needed evidence. And as all our stuff was gone now, this was my last hope of grabbing something on paper. Xander and I had been a couple for six months. Our statements would prove we used this bank frequently. Like any other couple, we had a trail of payments from the life that existed between us.
Tapping my fingers on the side of the ATM, I tried to steady my nerves. It was taking too long.
Think of something else.
Anything but having my life wiped from the map.
At yesterday’s audition, James Ballad had set my world ablaze with his brash and very erotic attack on my pussy. Afterward, guilt had settled in over the fact I’d just lain on that table letting him do those things to me. Even now, my thighs tightened together when I thought of it. He’d taken advantage of my fragility after I’d failed my audition. That man went in for the kill when you least expected it.
I needed to remember that.
I stared in horror at the ATM screen, which flashed a message greeting the next customer. Punching the panel with a fingertip, I tried to get it to respond. The damn thing had eaten my credit card.
With sweaty palms and a chest tight with trepidation, I stormed into Lloyds, the heat of anger warming my face. The length of the queue had me gritting my teeth in frustration, but I fell into line and tried to reassure myself.
It’s an admin error, that’s all.
Finally, a gesture to step forward came from one of the cashiers.
I tried to make eye contact with the clerk, despite the irritating smudges on the glass between us. “Your machine didn’t return my credit card.”
“What’s your name?” Her false eyelashes fluttered.
I gave it to her. “It’s a joint account. Try looking up Xander Rothschild as well, please.”
She gave me a suspicious glare. “He’s not coming up either. Are you sure you’re with Lloyds?”
My mouth went dry. “This is the branch where we opened our joint account.” I recognized the fake tree in the corner with the large pot it stood in as though it would one day grow into it.
“Did you open it with another name?” She glanced over my shoulder at the other people in line.
It was worth a try. “Wells?”
“Sorry, no account under Emily or Xander Wells, either.”
“James, you bastard,” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry?”
I shook off my misery.“Can you check one more time?”
“Do you want to open an account?”
“I have one.”
“Then it must be under another name.”
“I need my card back, please.”
“The manager will be here at ten. She’ll have you fill out a form.”
“I can’t wait ‘til then.”
“We don’t have access to the ATM. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other customers waiting.”
I hoisted my bag of cash. “I’d like to open a safety deposit box.”
She studied the bag. “You need at least two hundred pounds to reserve a small box, and five hundred for a large.”
“So half a million pounds will cut it, then?”
She swallowed hard, her arrogance dissolving.
I forced a smile. “Let’s do it.”
After opening a large safety deposit box and stashing the money in it, I tucked the key into my purse and headed out. With Ballad circling my universe, there was a fifty-fifty chance the money would still be there when I came back.
The only man who knew what to do in a situation like this, other than Xander, was Harold. He’d been there for me when I’d hit rock bottom. I didn’t want to put him in danger, but I couldn’t face this alone. At least he’d believe me.
Harold’s motto was “every problem has a solution,” and it was this attitude that had dragged me out of a slump when the flat I was renting had been bought out by contractors. My eviction had threatened to leave me homeless until he’d offered me a place to stay for a reasonable rent.
And I was due a visit.
As I set out on the Tube, everything began to blur together in my mind—all the weirdness, all the lies, all the deceit.
What the hell was Xander’s real name? This deception hurt the most. Didn’t legal names come up when you went to sign a contract like a marriage certificate?
Ballad had wiped out all trace of our finances. The man I’d let touch me yesterday in an intimate way, whipping me into a frenzy, had destroyed the last fragment of proof that Xander and I ever existed. He’d arrogantly gone down on me knowing he’d just closed this account, too.
Before I could squelch it, I felt a vague sense of gratitude towards him for getting me all relaxed for that second chance audition. But still.
It was good to be back on Gloucester Street. I needed the familiarity of my old home, where I’d lived for three years. I needed a friend.
Being back in this neighborhood brought me comfort. I’d visited Harold less and less as my relationship with Xander had grown more serious. There was guilt over that, but Harold had a busy life, too, working in the accessories department at Liberty London, and spending time with his close-knit family.
Life had been harder back then and yet so simple.
The gate squeaked when I nudged it open and it was nice to have this moment of normality.
I remembered finding Xander sitting on the stone steps waiting for me after I’d rescued him at Piccadilly. I wouldn’t take back our time together for anything.
What the hell?
A SOLD sign stood in the center of the garden.
Harold hadn’t mentioned he was selling his house. There had been no email from him with a forwarding address or even a phone call. This home had been his mum’s once, and that was why he’d never wanted to leave—there were too many memories.
Peering through the front window into the living room, I couldn’t help but cringe when I saw that all of the furniture was gone. The carpet had been ripped up, exposing the century old flooring. The walls were bare. No trace of Harold remained.
And there’d be no trace of me here, either.
I walked along the right side of the house and made my way into the garden, where more memories flooded back. All those quiet times I’d relaxed in the sun, reading books and sipping tea on the rickety old lounger, which was now missing. Overgrown weeds revealed this place had been deserted for well over a month.
I should have called Harold. I’d been wrapped up in my happiness and time had dissolved around me. There was always tomorrow, or next week. And yet that had been an illusion.
My stomach flipped when I thought that this could be his doing…a stripping away of my present, the erasing of my past.
I left the place that had once been my refuge and rode the train to Westminster Tube station. Within an hour of leaving Harold’s, I was standing inside the reception area of New Scotland Yard, ready to bury James with accusations of what he’d done to me and Xander.
My adrenaline surged even as I took a seat in the waiting area. Waves of dread rose inside me when I thought of how long it might take the police to find Xander.
Or whatever his name was.
I leaned back in the chair, as I replayed James’ threat that going to the authorities would get me in a world of trouble.
Really?
Because what he’d done was going to see him locked up for a very long time.
I was escorted out of the waiting area and into a sparse interview room. If they were going for intimidating, they’d hit the mark. The scent of sweat and suspicion lingered in the air.
I tried to relax and act natural without throwing up. Others who’d waited in here had felt similar frustration apparently, as evidenced by the scratched-up table I sat at. On my right was a two-way mirror and I wondered if anyone else was watching from behind it.
A smartly dressed forty-something woman entered in civilian clothes, her ponytail twisted in on itself like an afterthought. She smiled brightly to greet me. It was the kindness I needed after all I’d been through.
“Emily? I’m D.I. Stewart.” Her Scottish accent lent a friendly air to her demeanor.
She took a seat on the other side of the table and pulled out a frayed notebook.
I smiled nervously. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“Of course. Just to confirm, your last name is Rampling?”
“Yes.”
“What brings you here today, Emily?”
“I’m worried about my boyfriend, Xander Rothschild.”
“You were living together?” She turned her notebook for me to read. “At this address?”
“Yes, and I’m here to report him missing.”
“I’m with CID. Sergeant Warren, who took your report, mentioned he was concerned about you.”