Chapter Twelve
It’s...a bedroom? A very minimalist, stark bedroom, painted gray, and in the center is a huge four poster bed. The posters at the head of the bed are taller than the ones at the foot. The wood is painted black with the knots still visible. The bedsheets are satin, a deep, gunmetal color. The bed is flanked on either side with a black nightstand and each has a lamp consisting of a silver post with a frosted globe on top. I have to admit, I am disappointed. This is what he has been hiding? I can only assume this intense need for bedroom privacy has to do with his quirks. Perhaps his bedroom is sacred to him or something. This explanation does not satisfy me. I look at the clock on his nightstand. Shit, it’s 2:20! I have at most ten more minutes before I should be in the car speeding back to H.I.
I enter his closet. It is a huge walk-in, practically the size of my bedroom at home. His clothes are perfectly pressed, folded, and broken up into color categories: gray, black, white, blue, beige, more gray. Something on the far side of the closet catches my eye. It is a black door hidden behind some clothes. I hastily walk towards it and find that it is locked with a keypad. The door is metal, similar to a giant safe. Whatever is behind it must be very important. His bedroom has to be a coverup for this other room! Exasperated and frustrated, I slide the clothes back in front of the door and begin to dash towards the exit but stop suddenly in my tracks. I get a strong hunch to look in his nightstand dressers. It’ll only take a second and chances are nothing will come of it, but I put my ass on the line so I might as well be thorough. The left one is empty, save for some pens and a notepad. He must jot notes down before bed like me, I think fondly. I run over to the second drawer expecting to find some more innocuous items, but I discover something that makes me pause. Inside the right nightstand drawer is a black leather journal. It has a flap with a button fastening it closed. There is an emblem on the cover that I vaguely recognize, but cannot place. It is a circle with three identical symbols curling out of the center. Shit it’s 2:32. I pop open the flap and flip through the pages.
Each page has the name of a woman, dates, and random pieces of information about each of them. My legs weaken and cause me to seek out the stability of his bed. Is this some list of conquests? Is he really a serial killer? Oh fuck. As I flip through to the last page of writing, the name shocks me like a cold bucket of water: Emily Brown. His last assistant. Am I part of some twisted collection of assistants? My mind is so scrambled that I can’t make out what all of this means. No one at H.I. ever mentioned Taylor changing assistants frequently, but maybe they are all sworn to secrecy like I am. I try to make sense of the text but they are in fragments, like a collage. Then my eyes begin to well up and reading becomes even harder. I don’t know if I am anxious or angry and I can’t settle my thoughts enough to find out which. I can’t see him right now. I need time to gather my thoughts. The documents! I call Harrison.
“Ms. Ball, is everything okay?”
“Yes...well not really. I am suddenly sick, could you please come get the document from the house, and deliver it to Taylor?”
“Of course, I will be there shortly.”
“I will leave it on the entry table since I will be resting in the guest room.” I don’t want him to see me like this.
There are 35 filled pages in the journal, but they provide no answers, only more questions. Has he slept with all of these women? Are they okay? Did he hurt them? All the notes are so cryptic; there is some contact information and numbers that appear to be codes. Scribbled dates appear to be ranges of time, of what I don’t know. Sentence fragments litter the pages, clearly so that only the reader knows the meaning of the reference.
“Pictures.”
“Video of Toronto.”
“Screamer.”
“Clamps and shock.”
The dates could be the duration of his relationships with these women. Oh my god -- what if they are in the hidden room? While all the clues point to something sinister, I just know in my heart he is not dangerous, this has to be something else. It is about 4:30 when I get a text from Taylor.
Mr.Holden:
Are you ok? I had to go right into a meeting, but Harrison said you were ill? I usually like to keep him out of moving documents.
I can tell he is trying to make this sound like business, but really, he just wants to check up on me.
Shyla:
You’ll have to tell me if I am okay. I need to talk to you right away, in person and I would appreciate Harrison not being around.
Mr.Holden:
I have no idea what this is about, but I’ll leave the office in 25 minutes. I have no other meetings.
He doesn’t even ask what this is all about and I think it’s because he already knows. When you have something to hide, everyday you wait. You wait for the day when someone finds out your secret. I think Taylor knows this might be his day.
A wave of nervous energy unlike any I have ever felt comes over me. While I don’t feel like I am in danger, he has an incredibly intimidating presence whenever he is firm. He will no doubt be angry at my snooping around, but I cannot let the conversation stray from what is really in question. I take a bottle of wine from the cooler and pour myself a glass to help calm my nerves. I notice my hand shaking as I raise it to my lips. It only takes Taylor about 45 minutes from his text until I hear the front door open and hear his footsteps. My entire body tenses up and my stomach twists and turns. He walks up to the great room and stops abruptly when he sees me leaning at the breakfast bar, facing out towards him in silence. I can barely see his face. I hadn’t realized that the room had slowly darkened with the sunset. I want to scream, I want to barrage him with questions, but all I can do is lift up the book and utter “What is this?”
He flips the light switch and when his eyes register on the journal, his expression goes from baffled to something I have never seen. His eyes light on fire, his nostrils flare. I stand erect, feeling the tension rise in the room and wonder if confronting him alone was a mistake. He runs his hand through his hair, pulls the knot on his tie, takes a hard gulp and does a few paces back and forth. The wait for him to say something is torturous.
“Shy...How the...fuck...did you get your hands on that?” He removes his hand from his hair and points at the journal on the table. I look down, ashamed at what I did to come upon this. “You had no fucking right Shy!” It’s the first time I have ever heard him scream. “You snooped around my bedroom?”
“What is this Taylor? Is this some sort of list? Emily is on here! Am I next?” Tears start pouring down my cheeks. My lips tremble. “There’s notes about screaming. Did...you...do something to them?”
“What? Shy? God no! No, no, no. You have this all wrong. You don’t understand. They are all alive and living their lives wherever they are now. Anything that went on was consensual and I have no intentions for you in there. That’s why...Nevermind. I don’t have to answer this, you were not ever supposed to get your hands on that. That is a private journal!”
“Are these all your former assistants?”
“No! That would mean I had a new goddamned assistant every other month. I am fucking done with this discussion. I am very fucking pissed right now and you need to get out of here. I trusted you.”
“I trusted you too, but clearly you have lots to hide!”
“What are you talking about? I have been completely honest with you Shy! There are things I can’t tell you. For fuck’s sake, look at how you are reacting to this!” He turns to walk down the hall. “Shy, we tried, but we cannot work together. It’s my fault. You’ll get a generous severance package. And don’t forget, you are still bound by the NDA.” He snatches the journal off of the counter and disappears into the hallway. My tears flow freely as I gasp for air. I may never see him again, at least not in any real way. My invasion of his privacy was wrong, but never have I been tempted to do something like that until today. His mind games gave me no choice but to use the opportunity to find information about him. I grab my bag and run to the elevator to get to my car in the garage. The elevator doors ping to announce its arrival to the lower level. They open to reveal Taylor standing in front of me. He took the stairs.
We stare at each other, his eyes lit like blue flames, fiery with emotion and remorse. He shakes his head slightly and bites his lower lip. He looks so raw, his hair a frazzled mess, his collar disheveled from pulling on his tie and his breathing is heavy. Despite the argument, I don’t feel threatened, but instead drawn closer to him. I slowly reach forward for his silver tie. I barely tug on it and he takes a hesitant step forward. My eyes never leave his.
“Shy,” he says, barely getting my name out. I look at him and nod my head, which ignites a powder keg. He grabs me by my backside, pulling me just enough off of the ground so that my toes graze the floor and drives me so hard onto the backside of the elevator that it nearly knocks the wind out of me. I run my hands through his soft hair as I pant for air. He kisses me so intensely, I think he might devour me. I have so badly wanted to do that since the day I met him. I can smell his clean scent filling up my nostrils, as he kisses my neck, sucking on it, hard. There is a slight pain behind it, but it feels so good. I know where he is coming from, there have been so many pent up emotions, and this is our chance to finally let it all go.
“Shy, I have wanted you since the moment I saw you.” I nearly pass out, even his words arouse me. He kisses me again. He tastes amazing. “Do you want this Shy?” He asks, his voice is so low and raspy. I nod. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, Taylor. I want this.” It is like I set a wild animal free. He pauses just for a second to take me in and rips open my blouse. The little buttons dance on the floor until they become still. He pulls down my bra cups and begins to suck on my nipples, hardening them. I let out a groan. I can’t contain myself anymore. He tugs one between his teeth.
“Oh Taylor!”
I can feel his hardness pressing against my stomach. I want him inside of me so badly. I grab for his belt and unbuckle it ferociously. I unbutton his pants and they drop down onto the floor.
“Hold on,” he says, his voice low and breathy. I see him go for something in his pocket, it’s a condom. He comes back up and kisses me all over my neck and chest. We are enveloped with each other, clawing, kissing, biting, sucking, as if we want to become one with the other person but can’t quite figure out how.
Taylor pauses and looks me right in the eyes. They are hooded and he looks so incredibly sexy, almost hypnotized. He pulls up my pencil skirt, so my entire lower half is exposed. His eyes never leave mine. He pauses for just a few seconds, and every single moment is agony. I pull his hips towards me, signaling that I want him. He pulls my lace thong to the side and rubs my labia, and gently caresses my clitoris with his fingertips. I nearly come because the mere idea of him doing this is enough to take me over the edge. He stops.
“Not so fast.” He grins his crooked grin. He dips his hips just a little bit and enters me. We both let out a gasp and my eyes roll up. The feeling of him inside me is like a million fireworks exploding. The tension of every waking moment that I have experienced these past few weeks all culminate here. It literally feels like I am floating, a euphoria I can only equate to being on drugs. I feel so full and he is so deep inside of me. I use one of my hands to support myself on the elevator railing, my other hand grabbing the back of his head, a fist of his hair in my hand. One of my legs is up and supported right under the knee by his hand. He thrusts slowly, pushing deeply, each entry and exit almost unbearable. I moan, my voice quivering, one might think I was crying.
“You are so fucking beautiful.” He whispers in my ear. I can’t believe this is happening. Please god, don’t let this be a dream.
I feel myself peaking. I begin to quiver. My hand tightens, pulling his hair.
“Oh Taylor. Oh my god.”
“Come for me baby.” He whispers in my ear. And all at once, the tension down below explodes and ripples into a thousand electric cascades. I moan loudly, crying out his name, and I don’t care if Harrison is upstairs. It is a victory cry.
“Shy!” I hear the muffled version of my name being uttered into my neck as he comes.
***
We lay side by side on the elevator floor in silence. Everything we had to say tonight, we said with our bodies. He tucks a ringlet behind my ear.
“Thank you,” he says with complete sincerity in his voice.
“No, thank you.” I say with a big smile.
“Seriously. I have never been with someone whose touch I could tolerate.” That’s right! I forgot about his quirks. He used the word “tolerate” and I wonder if that is what my touch is to him, something he must bear. I have to admit, the word choice stings a bit.
“What did you do before?”
He leans to his side and props his head on his hand in response to my inquiry. “Oh, maybe I’ll show you one day.”
“Did you tie them up or something?” I ask jokingly, I am still in a euphoric haze and barely know what is coming out of my mouth.
“Shy, I would love to take you upstairs to my bedroom, if that’s okay with you. I know you are already familiar with its ins and outs.” He grins, but I can still feel a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“Yes. Oh my God. Is Harrison here?”
“No, I gave him the night off. I had a feeling things would get crazy in one way or another tonight.” He rolls his eyes and stands up. He reaches out a hand to help me up and we ride back to the main level. I know I am in for a world of pain and confusion tomorrow, but much like an addict with her drug of choice, I choose to enjoy the moment and deal with the consequences later. Taylor is a living, breathing drug.
Even though we are alone he closes the door behind him to the bedroom. He still has his shirt on. My skirt has been pulled down and my blouse is barely hanging on thanks to his earlier assault on it.
“I want to take you slowly this time.” His eyes are hooded again, he almost looks possessed when he is ready. For someone who barely emotes, he wears his sexuality so strongly. “I am going to undress you slowly, I want to admire your naked body. I have imagined daily what you look like underneath your clothes.” He says these words with the same confidence he carries into a meeting or presentation at work. It is hard to believe this is the same man that needs me to help him through a gala.
“Trust me, I have done the same. Luckily you gave me a sneak preview on my first day of duty.” He grins that devilish grin and pulls his shirt over his head so that he is only wearing his boxer briefs. The dim light of the lamp casts a shadow on his torso, highlighting his abs. He walks over to me slowly. I stand there, feeling like a teenager, with a much older boy, not knowing what to do with myself. He stares me down and walks behind me, I can barely feel his lips graze my neck as he unzips my skirt and lets it fall to the floor.
“You smell so good and I can’t wait to find out how you taste.” I draw a deep breath. It’s like he was born for this. He slides my shirt down my shoulders and it falls to the ground. I suddenly feel very exposed. He is so perfect and I doubt my appearance matches his. He runs his hands down my arms.
“Your skin is so soft.” He kisses my neck and unclips my bra at once. His hands glide down my arms, triggering goosebumps, as he runs the bra straps down my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. I stand still, nervous with anticipation. He walks to my front, no rush in his pace, much like the day he interviewed me. I can see his erection through his underwear and it makes me hot. “You have the most beautiful breasts Shy. They fit your body beautifully.” He gently kisses them, careful not to kiss the nipples and areolas, which make me crave more. I have never felt so craved, so desired, in my entire life. It’s as though I never really had sex until Taylor had me in the elevator. I was right, he is showing me something I didn’t know I was missing. He grabs my hand, and my heart warms, knowing in a way, this is a first for him too. He takes me to the bed.
“Lie down.” I sit back on the cool satin sheets and lie on my back. I feel his fingers pull down my panties. Then he raises my left leg, followed by a trail of soft kisses from just inside of my ankle, then leg, then inner thigh. His pace is agonizingly and gloriously slow. Then he kisses between my legs. His tongue feels like a master painter is creating a beautiful mural. Is there anything this man isn’t good at? It is so slow, like one of his games. I writhe underneath the delicious ecstasy and he uses his strong hands to still me. I moan his name over and over and over. The world could literally crumble around me, and I wouldn’t care. My moans get louder and more passionate and he stops. He pulls off of his underwear and his perfectly hard erection pops out like a gift. “Turn onto your stomach. I want to make you come from behind.” Yes, please, I’ll take you anyway you want. I lay on my stomach and I hear the sounds of a condom being fumbled with. His warm body presses against mine, then there is the pressure of him sliding inside of me.
“Your ass is amazing,” he says, making me feel like a goddess. In this position, he feels so deep and firm and again he goes tantalizingly slow. I can feel his breath on my neck. My hands are laid out in front of me and he glides his over mine, intertwining our fingers. He moves rhythmically, patiently, the build up is slow, much like the feeling of climbing up to the first drop off on a roller coaster. I moan into the satin sheets, completely intoxicated by the experience.
“You feel so wet Shy.” His low voice is in my ear. “I want you to come with me again. Come for me baby, let it go.” And I do, and while the build up was slow and almost agonizing, the release is strong and sends shockwaves through my body. He holds my hands down and I relish having almost every part of his naked body touching mine. “Fuck,” he says, his voice throaty, as he releases with me.
He rolls off of me. I stay on my stomach and look over to him, laying on his back. Every cell in my body feels heavenly, as if I am floating on a satin cloud. He looks at me and I smile. There is no one in this world but Taylor and me. “What am I going to do with you Shy?” he says as he pushes a lock of hair out of my face.