Chapter Twenty-One
“Baby Girl, I swear you’re glowing.” Vincent leans against the Mangler counter and bats his eyelashes at me. “He’s giving it to you right and proper, isn’t he?”
Oh, he is, but I’m not telling Vincent. “I see what all the fuss is about now.”
It’s been three blissful weeks since Roy and I returned from St. John. I had no idea I could be this happy.
“Saw your aunts at Safeway, telling the cashier about how you’re engaged and how Roy talked with them first.”
He insisted on asking their permission upon arriving back home. I have no idea what he would have done if they’d said no. Of course, they didn’t. Now they won’t stop bugging me about the wedding.
“Have you decided?”
With a heavy sigh, I drop my pencil and forget about getting anything done while he’s here. “I don’t know.”
“It’s a great opportunity.” He grabs my pencil and taps it against the counter. “They want you for test shots. It won’t take much time.”
The Civil War picture Vincent and I had a part in has been put on hold. I thought it wouldn’t be released, what with Jason’s death and all. The public can’t get enough about Jason’s darkness and the sex and drugs that led to his death. Roy says the movie will be released early next year and the studio expects to make a fortune, it being his last picture.
Anyway, the casting director was impressed with my look. Roy’s assistant sent over a contract for a photo shoot for cosmetics I’ve never heard of, which isn’t surprising given I hardly wear any. Everyone but Roy thinks I should do it.
“Roy doesn’t want me to.” I sound like I’m a child who needs parental approval. “The photographer is insistent it has to be the specified date. Roy has an important meeting.” I shrug.
“Spoke to Mum. She’s heard of the cosmetics. High-end. You’ll get a lot of exposure from the ads.”
“Only test shots, remember, and I don’t care about exposure.”
Vincent’s usual jovial manner dissolves into something serious. “I know, love. Isn’t it always the way? It’s fate how some people fall into things.”
I’m such a shit. Vincent would love to be discovered and fawned over and make a name for himself in his own right.
“Think of what you could do with the money,” he urges. “Not that you need it.” He gives my engagement ring a look.
I’d like to have some renovations done on Mae and Stella’s house. Widening the doorways and adding a ramp to the back door. Aunt Mae has seemed fragile lately and is using a cane. Perhaps increase the footprint of the house for a bedroom on the first floor. And I don’t want Roy paying for it. I want to do it myself.
“You could stay in our apartment. We could even fly together.”
Of course, Vincent’s family has a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. I watch a few tourists walk by the storefront. They’re thick this time of year, with the leaves turning and the city people driving out to Skyline. “I don’t know anything about modeling.”
He snorts. “Have you seen what passes for a model these days? It’s all celebrity kids. You do what the photographer tells you.” He poses, looks pensive, and places his hands on his hips, smiling. “Truly, it’s not rocket science.”
“Proctor would go with me.”
“Not Gavin?”
“No, he’ll be with Roy.” I’m worried about what’s going on with Roy and this meeting. A few times I’ve heard him on the phone, arguing.
“I’ve meant to ask you something.”
I know that tone. I give him a look. Seeing Vincent tongue-tied is a rare occurrence.
“Do you know which way Gavin swings?”
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “He’d break you in half.”
“Love.” He walks around the counter to stand beside me. “Put me back together before you bury me.”
“Vincent. Don’t even joke about such things.” I match his body language; we’re like two bookends with hips against the counter, facing each other. “I assume he likes girls. I don’t know. Have you asked?”
The bell above the door rings. We’re caught like gossiping teenagers as Roy walks in.
I give Vincent a poke with my elbow. “Ask him,” I say, meaning Roy, under my breath.
He evades me and walks over to Roy. “Doesn’t she look positively radiant? I swear she’s glowing.”
I am now, bright red.
“I have noticed.” Roy gives Vincent a nod and comes around to kiss me.
“Whoa.” Vincent’s fanning himself with his hand. “Are you going to Stoke Castle?”
“We are.” Roy gives me a quick look. “A business function.”
“You’ve been there before?” Vincent is all questions.
“A few times.”
“Well.” Vincent gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “I expect a full report tomorrow.” And marches out the door like he’s suddenly remembered an important meeting he’s late for.
“What was that about?” Roy wraps his arms around me.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He searches my face. “We need to get you home and ready. We’re to be there at six o’clock sharp.”
I lock up and follow him out to the waiting Suburban.
“Do you know what he means to tell us?”
“I assume it’s about my inquiries regarding Elizabetta.”
“We could ask Mr. Stanwyck; wouldn’t that be better?”
He gives me a hard look. “No, it would not. You’ve promised to stay away from him.”
“Not really. I mean, I wasn’t thinking straight when I promised.” Roy had been nibbling on my neck and doing magical things with his fingers.
“All’s fair in love and war.”
“Doesn’t matter, Aunt Mae says he and Bobby have gone to their house in the Hamptons.” Unbeknownst to Roy, I went over to Willoughby and walked right up and knocked on the front door, intent on confronting Mr. Stanwyck. Only to be told they were on an extended trip. “Doesn’t it seem strange how long they’ve been gone?” We’ve reached Roy’s estate. The fence is up. The landscaping planted. Maybe in five years or so it will blend better. Right now, it looks out of place given the stacked stone and plank rails of the other estates.
The initial renovations are done. The kitchen needs more work, and the pool won’t be started until the spring. I was worried he’d strip the home of its charm, but I shouldn’t have. Everything has been restored until it looks almost new, with enough imperfections to give it character.
“Have you eaten?”
“Turkey club.” I only ate half and I felt queasy afterward.
He snorts and follows behind me with his hand where I like it, at the nape of my neck. “Are you sure you want to do this? Proctor is convinced you’ll receive no more gifts. Does it matter how you came to be here?”
We’ve had this discussion numerous times. “I need to know.”
“Alright.” That’s all he says, but I know he doesn’t like it. “I trust Mr. Barnes. I’ve heard the stories about Stoke Castle, but it’s not true. He’s eccentric. The people there are…”
I turn to face him at the landing. “What?”
“Different. A bit off. Can’t put my finger on it. I’ve made it worse, haven’t I?” Roy lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his hips. “Mr. Barnes is a gentleman. Trust me—he wouldn’t have invited us unless for a reason.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent. “I want to know, and I don’t.”
His kiss is light. “Now, we need to get dressed.”
I don’t want to get dressed. I most definitely want to get undressed. “I have something I want to try tonight when we get home.”
He kisses my neck. “You make me weak.”
I reply, “You make me happy.” I love how he needs me physically. “Do we have time?”
“Make time,” he grunts out, and carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the counter.
I lean back against the mirror and look across at the matching one on the opposite wall. I see myself and the back of Roy, while he does the same in the mirror, he’s facing. We haven’t had sex this way before, and my adrenaline spikes in anticipation.
“Take off your shirt,” he orders.
I do.
“Your bra.” And grunts when my breasts are free. “Those fucking tits of yours. Can’t get them out of my head.”
If I wasn’t wet before, I am now.
“I want to cum on them.” His look is questioning and a little sheepish. He hasn’t asked this of me before.
“Why?” I taunt.
He drops his hands on either side of my thighs, boxing me in. “Because they’re mine.”
“Yes, baby.” I cup his face in my hands and guide his lips to my nipple. “All yours.”
He’s rough and sweet and hard and tender, and I love all of it. “Ouch!” I pull back.
“Baby?”
“They’re sore today.”
He looks them over and lifts them with his hands like he’s weighing produce. “They do seem bigger.”
“Probably because you never give them a moment’s peace,” I smirk. “Are we going to do this or not? I’ve got to get dressed.”
“Oh, we’re doing this.” He rips off his shirt. Buttons go flying around the room. I unzip him as he yanks my leggings off. “Do the splits for me.”
I don’t know what he loves more, my flexibility or my fucking tits, as he calls them. With ease, he lifts me up, and I slide my legs over the long bathroom counter until I’m flush with it. I swear he had the counters made to the exact height, so his cock would be level with my pussy. He cups my ass and slides me onto him.
For days after St. John I was sore, front and back. Even now, when we have a particularly intense round of sex, I’m deliciously tender. He’s always concerned about it, and I wish I could reassure him better, but all I know to say is I love it, being used by him for my pleasure and his, and the consequences make it all the better for me.
Now, I think no more as he glides in and out of me, filling me, completing me. He’s gentle, and so is my orgasm as it blooms through me until I’m limp.
“Lay back, baby.” He brings my legs in front of me to hang off the edge of the counter and leans my back against the mirror. I watch, fascinated, as he works himself, violent and fast. He’s all male, my male, and I’ll never tire of seeing him thus.
“Fucking tits,” he groans, and a long stream hits them, and another and another, until he’s leaning against the counter inches from his work.
“I’m yours,” I whisper and rub his cum into my breasts.
“Mine,” he repeats. He kisses me hard and deep and puts me down, giving my ass a good slap. “What happened to the shy young woman I bedded in St. John?”
I toss my hair back. “You fucked the shyness right out of her.”
His laughing echoes around the room as he goes to dress.
I wrap my hair up and jump into the shower. What should I wear? Roy has filled a closet full of clothes for me. It irked me at first until I realized it was only a kind gesture on his part. I rarely wear any of the clothes he’s bought, but it’s nice to know I have them available.
Briskly, I dry off and walk barefoot into the closet. I decide on a strapless blue dress. It’s almost the same shade as my engagement ring and only a few shades darker than my eyes.
“Ten minutes.”
“Jesus, Roy.” I must have jumped a foot. “You have to stop sneaking up on me.”
As always, he’s devastatingly handsome in a dark-gray suit. His short hair accentuates his strong jawline.
“Let me help you.” He turns me around to zip up the back.
“Ouch!” I grab my breasts. What the hell is going on?
“Did I pinch you?” He’s running his finger along the inside of the back of the dress.
“No, my nipples are on fire.” His hand slides around my waist. “Maybe you’re playing with them too much.”
He gives me a sexy smirk and takes my hand to twirl me around. “Breasts are meant to be kissed and squeezed and played with too much.” His kiss is gentle. “Are you on your period?”
I shake my head.
“Daisy.” He lifts my chin. “Last week was the fourth week. Correct?”
I focus on his lips. “I had some spotting and a weird cramp.” I shrug. “That was it.”
His smile fades.
“I’m taking them every day.”
“I know you are.” He kisses my forehead and waits while I pick out shoes. “I’ll call Dr. Johnson and see about getting you an appointment.”
“You will not.” I place my hand firmly on his chest. “I’m sure the hormones aren’t quite right.” My aunts are always telling me most female problems are the lack or abundance of hormones. “Maybe I need a different pill or something.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “Go on.” I smack his ass. “You’re distracting me from getting ready.”
“I’ll make some work calls.” He checks his watch and turns back to me. “Seven minutes, Miss Aldridge.”
“Yes, sir,” I snap back.
Of course, he’s talking on the phone when I descend the stairs. I’ve never seen a person so connected to his job.
“Are you sure? Fucking prick…Have a mind to send Proctor. What? Never mind, I’ll take care of it.”
Roy’s pacing and doesn’t even notice until I take the last step. “The deal?” I ask. I don’t know the details. If it means him not traveling so much and never, ever going back to the Middle East, I’d be happy.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now, my lovely girl, let me escort you to the car.”
“Everything alright?” I persist and wrap my arms around me to ward off the chill in the air.
“You should have a shawl.” He scowls and opens the door for me. “Or something.”
“I don’t like coats. They’re bulky.” I slide in the soft leather seats of the Mercedes.
He takes off his jacket. “Here, this will keep you warm until the heater kicks in.”
We’ve passed through the first electronic gate and are waiting for the second one to open.
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Nothing to worry about.”
I search my mind for something to talk about, something to say to lighten the mood. I know if I keep picking at what is bothering him, he’ll close up tight. It’s best to wait until he’s ready to open up to me.
“So, about Gavin.”
“Yes, what about him?” He gives me a quick glance.
“Maybe he could come with me to New York, instead of Proctor.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you aren’t going.”
Nothing better for indecision than someone telling you it’s forbidden. “Yes.” I turn in the seat to face him. “I am.”
“No.” His voice is almost threatening. “You are not. The photographer is unreasonable. I’ve asked nicely for him to change the shoot date, but he refuses. Hate these fucking arty types.”
I’m taken aback by his…attitude, words, tone—well, everything. “I’m going,” I say calmly.
“As your fiancé, I say no.”
“What? No.” I’m shaking my head, but his eyes are on the road. “It doesn’t mean you have the right to order me around. I’m going, and I’m taking the money. I need it for my aunts.”
“You don’t need money. I told you I’ll pay for the addition. It’s pocket change.”
“I’m going,” I say again, “And I’m not taking Proctor. Vincent’s coming with me, and we’re staying in his family’s apartment.”
“We’ll discuss it later.”
Because he’s such an ass about this, I’m committed to going. Both of us are too hardheaded for our own good. How did we even get on this topic? Oh, I remember, I was going to ask about Gavin. We’re almost to the mountain. If I’m going to ask, I need to do it now. I twist the overused, overextended band that I wear mainly for sentimental reasons tight around my wrist. “Does Gavin have a wife?”
“No.” I let him put his hand on my thigh. “Ask me what you want to know.”
“Does he like men or women?”
Roy laughs and turns left onto Blue Ridge Mountain Road. It’s like in the heat of summer when the humidity is high, and you pray for rain so it will cool things off a bit. That’s what Roy’s laughter does to my mood. “Vincent’s eyeing to make a conquest, is he?”
“Please don’t tell Gavin about this.”
“Don’t worry. Tell Vincent that Gavin doesn’t limit himself to one gender.”
I turn in my seat. “So he likes both.”
Roy chuckles and squeezes my knee. “If he’s attracted to them, it doesn’t matter to him.”
I’m mulling this over. I’ve never felt the desire to kiss a woman. I never felt the desire to kiss a man until Roy. “Do you think he’s attracted to Vincent?”
“Do you want me to pass a note to him?”
“Alright, you don’t have to be snarky about it.”
We’re midway up the mountain when the lane to Stoke comes into view. “It’s like a fairy tale.” Gas lights flicker along either side of the driveway all the way to the castle. It’s stunning at night, lit up from within.
“Wait till you get inside.”
I’m thankful for Roy’s arm firmly placed around my waist as we walk up the stairs. A man is waiting for us. He’s average-looking, medium height, short-cropped brown hair, and, as we get closer, I see a slight smile on his face.
“Mr. Blackwood, so nice to see you again.”
“Merlin.” Roy shakes his hand. “This is Daisy Aldridge.”
“Miss.” He bows slightly to me. “If you would follow me.”
I look up to Roy, needing his reassurance. He squeezes me tighter against his body.
The colossal-sized doors make even Roy look small as we walk through. Inside, there is artificial and gas lighting, creating an atmosphere of antiquity. The hall resembles a museum filled with artwork. It truly is a castle worthy of royalty.
Merlin slows his pace. “Quite stunning, isn’t it?”
His accent is English, I think. “Yes,” I reply without taking my eyes off the paintings.
“I’ve lived here for three years now, and I still find myself in awe of this space.”
“Where is the meeting?” Roy asks in his business tone.
“Of course.” Merlin sweeps his hands toward an archway. “This way.”
I drag my feet, wanting to stay and roam the vast hall. They can’t be real, I keep thinking. They must be well-done forgeries. Roy urges me on toward two men standing like sentries on either side of a door. They’re gigantic, with eyes straight ahead, backs ramrod straight, adorned or armed—however you look at it—with swords.
Roy holds me close and whispers, “Nothing to be afraid of.”
I think fear is the appropriate response.
“He’s expecting us.” Merlin stands in front of the men who are blocking the door.
They nod in unison and step to the side.
I know I’m nervous, but I don’t see how the doors open; they just do. Maybe they have sensors?
I don’t notice him at first. His stillness is complete. Not like anything I’ve ever seen in nature. Even the Earth rotates, and the wind blows, and the oceans flow, but Mr. Barnes seems untethered. When I do notice him standing by the fireplace, I’m immobile under his penetrating gaze. His hair is dark, brushed back from his angular face, with the ends brushing against the top of his shirt collar. His posture and expression are of complete calm and control of all around him. He’s neither young nor old and looks in his mid-thirties, if I had to guess. I’m awkward and inadequate and have the absurd impulse to curtsey or subjugate myself at his feet.
As if sensing my uncertainty, he rocks back on his heels, tilts his head back slightly as if smelling the air for snow, and places his hands behind his back.
“Merlin.” His voice is deep and rich, like caramel dipped in chocolate. “Notify the Medicus his services might be needed. Tell Liam to bring Lily.”
I hear the soft patter of Merlin’s shoes across the stone floor and hear the door close. I’m aware of Roy standing at my side. But my total focus is on Mr. Barnes. I’m shamelessly staring at him, and he is doing the same to me. And I’m unable to break eye contact with him.
“Mr. Blackwood has told me you are searching for information regarding your birth mother.” He has an accent, though I can’t place it. “Thank you,” he nods to Roy, “for accepting my invitation.”
I realize I’m leaning in and adjust my posture. I should be afraid, but I’m not. It’s like a balm has soothed over my nerves until I’m left with a profound curiosity.
“You’re otherness is quite a surprise.” Mr. Barnes motions his head toward a grouping of chairs. “Come, sit and warm yourself by the fire.”
“Yes.” I hear my voice like it’s not my own. What did he mean by otherness?
He waits until I’m settled, and Roy takes the seat next to me.
“Elizabetta stayed here for a short while. I can’t say I knew her, but she was known to me.”
He said knew. She’s no longer here, or dead? “My mother?”
His eyes are gray as a winter sky when snow is in the air. “I can’t say for sure. Merlin prepared a folder with his research. Perhaps something in there can help you.” He looks to Roy. “If looks are any indication, she is the image of Elizabetta.”
I hate how he’s looking at Roy instead of me. I want to be one to hold his attention. “So you knew about me?” I sigh with relief when he blinks and our eyes meet. “I mean, she must have said something.”
He tilts his head back, ever so slightly.
“I knew of only her. No child. She rented the house by the road while she worked for the Stanwyck family. The association did not last long; I assume she was not well-equipped for their kind.”
Their kind? “You mean the wealthy?” And I realize Mr. Barnes probably has more money than all of Middleburg put together.
He doesn’t smile, but his face softens. “I’m told Elizabetta was shy but wild, a contradiction in personality. It did not serve her well.”
I shiver.
Roy leans his elbows on his knees and takes my hand.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Mr. Barnes takes the seat across from us and nods to his desk, where a leather folder with a black band sits on the corner. “It is all I have to offer regarding Elizabetta.” He lowers his eyes and dips his head a fraction. “For she is, indeed, dead.”
“How?” My mother was here, maybe even in this room. I have so many questions. “When?”
“Daisy.” Roy is rubbing my hand. “You’re ashen. Let’s get you home.”
Not taking my eyes off Mr. Barnes, I plead, “Please, I need to know.”
“She was found in a gas station bathroom with her wrists cut.”
His words hit me like a hammer, knocking me senseless. I’m floating and hearing voices around me. It’s freeing and frightening, and I don’t know if I’m still sitting or time has shifted and I’m somewhere else. He said Elizabetta cut herself. She committed suicide. Like me, my mind jumps. She cut herself just like me.
“Daisy…Daisy.” Roy’s frantic voice cuts through my haze.
Another voice is talking, not Mr. Barnes or Merlin’s. “She’s fainted. Not uncommon…”
I struggle to stay present, but my mouth won’t move, and my eyes won’t focus, and the blackness takes me.
I have no recollection of how long I’m out. I only know my eyes flutter open to see a face that surely can’t be real. Skin pale as new fallen snow. Hair fanned around her face, white and thick. Eyes a shade of purple, not false and harsh, yet nothing I’ve ever seen in nature.
“Are you an angel?” I ask.
“No,” her soft voice reassures me. “I’m Lily.”
“Lily,” I repeat.
“Daisy.” Roy’s voice is strangled with emotion. “Thank God.” His hands clutch mine.
“What happened?”
He helps me sit. “You fainted.”
Mr. Barnes and Merlin are by the fire. Lily glides to stand next to Mr. Barnes, who puts his arm around her waist.
A man I don’t remember walks toward me. “You gave your fiancé quite a scare. This happens to most—”
“Now is not the time.” Mr. Barnes cuts him off.
“Yes, of course, as you say. I’m the medicu…the doctor. Let me check your pulse.”
When he’s done, he releases my hand and steps back to stand beside Merlin. “All’s well, dear. Perhaps eat something when you get home.”
How can I think of eating?
Roy has me in his arms, carrying me from the room.
“No, there so much more I need to know.”
I must have fainted again because one moment I was looking at Mr. Barnes by the fireplace and the next he’s blocking Roy’s path.
“Daisy, if I may call you that. You are welcome here always and at all times. Come back when you are better, and we can talk further.” Mr. Barnes hands Roy the folder.
“Thank you,” Roy says, and waits for him to move out of his way. “You understand I have to get her home. She’s had a shock.”
I don’t want to go. Lily is watching me, almost like she’s waiting for me to do something. How can someone be that beautiful? I blink, thinking she’s not real; I’ve made her up. Roy strides out of the great room with the paintings and sculptures, and Merlin opens the grand doors as Roy carries me past and takes the stairs two at a time until he’s bundling me into the sedan.
“This was a mistake.” Roy is behind the wheel, driving too fast down the steep lane. “I fucked up. I should have never taken you.”
“My mother’s dead.”
“We don’t know this woman was your mother.” He gives me a quick glance. “I think you’re in shock. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No.” My voice is weak but determined. “I will not go to a hospital. I want to go home. I need to think.” I slump in my seat.
“You need to see a doctor. The therapist. Remember, you promised me. Fuck!” He takes a turn too fast and uses the emergency brake to straighten out the car. “I’ll call and have her come over tonight.”
“Please, you aren’t doing me any good like this.” At first, his forearm is as hard as rebar, but after a moment the muscles soften. “You’re right, and I want to talk with someone. It’s a good idea.”
“I never thought he’d be this abrupt.”
“Mr. Barnes told me what he knew. Maybe there’ll be something in the file.”
Finally, we’re at his estate, waiting for the first gate to open, and in the waiting area, and through the last one, and pulling up to the house. He opens my door and lifts me up, using his hand and foot to open the front door.
“Undress me and take me to bed,” I murmur against his shoulder. Gently, he unzips the dress. “I need you.”
“Let me get you something to eat first. A sandwich or…Evelyn can make you something.”
“I’m queasy. A Coke.”
“Maybe caffeine isn’t the best idea. It’s late.”
“Roy.” I cup his face. “It will calm my stomach.”
I fall apart while Roy is gone. Cutting oneself is nothing at all like committing suicide, is it? Is it genetic? Could Mr. Stanwyck really be my father? And Charlie, my brother?
“Sister,” I hear his voice say in my head.
What if I misunderstood Charlie? What if he was lashing out that night? Not intending to hurt me? Trying to figure out this whole fucked-up situation? Was he a cutter? What if I could have helped him?
“Brother,” I whisper.
“I added ice.” Roy interrupts my thoughts and walks in carrying a juice glass with barely any Coke.
“Seriously, you couldn’t find a larger glass?” I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. “Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s been a shitty evening for both of us.” I take a sip and place it on the bedside table. “Take off your clothes and hold me.”
Aunt Stella says life is all about perspective and even in the darkest hours we are blessed. I think of things worse than finding out my maybe mother is dead, from suicide, in a gas station bathroom. My aunts could be ill, or dead. Vincent could die. Something could happen to Roy on his missions overseas. I let that steep like a strong pot of coffee. There are worse things. My life is a happy one.
Roy slides in next to me and wraps his arms around me. I’m tucked in safe and warm against his chest.
“Did you know what he was going to tell me?”
Roy runs his hand up my arm. “Fuck no. I would have never taken you there. I would have insisted he provide me the information first. Tonight was a mistake.”
I turn in his arms to face him. “It wasn’t. I want to go back. I felt…calmness in his presence.”
“Calm?” His eyebrow arched. “You were definitely in shock. I’ve met him numerous times, and that’s the last word to come to mind.” He runs his index finger over my cheek and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Lily was kind.”
Lily, the woman I thought was an angel. “Her eyes.”
“Yes, purple and blue and violet. I’d heard of her. Mr. Barnes’ woman. She’s from here.”
“His woman. You make her sound like property.” I lean back in his arms. “Is that how you think of me?”
He takes my hand and kisses my palm. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“I want to see the file.”
“You will, but not tonight. You need rest.” He brushes my hair away from my face. “I’m worried about you. You’ve always been thin. You aren’t dieting, are you? For the photo shoot.”
I’ve never dieted in my life. It’s like asking if I’m refraining from coffee. Not gonna happen. “No. I haven’t had an appetite.”
“The therapist will be here at ten o’clock tomorrow. Promise me you’ll speak with her.”
I nod, knowing it’s the right thing to do. “And at eight o’clock sharp you’ll hand over the file.”
“Agreed. Now, it’s late.”
His capitulation was too quick, too easy. I press my finger to his lips. “I need it.” He knows what I mean, what I need, and I sense his resistance. I know what he’ll say, so I cut through all the unspoken words and go straight to the point. “It makes me feel loved and safe and treasured.” As I’m saying this, I realize I have no desire to hide away and slice the pain away. Maybe the compulsion is gone? No, not gone, just replaced with another. Sex with Roy is like a drug that must be administered daily.
“You are loved and safe and treasured.”
He’s worried. Afraid I’ll spiral into self-destructive behavior because of what Mr. Barnes told us. Worried I’m not eating enough and most definitely concerned about the photo shoot. My fingers wrap around his hardness.
“Baby,” he groans.
“I need you,” I whisper.
He stills my hand. “I’ll give you what you need.” Rolling over and trapping me underneath his hard body, he asks. “How do you want it?”
“Deep.” My voice is husky.
Those green eyes of his pierce my soul. The worst thing about being fucked up is how much it fucks up the ones you love. He wants to be gentle and sweet and love me slowly. The battle between what I’ve asked of him and what he deems right at this moment is clearly defined by his clenched jaw. But no matter how conflicted he may be, I know he won’t deny me, and it’s causing him mental turmoil to do so. Knowing how much he wants me. How much he needs to sink himself inside me and claim me and mark me is a sexy, powerful high.
With his arms like fence posts on either side of my face, he slips his knee between my thighs, rotates his hips, and slides inside me. For a brief moment, a heartbeat, he stills and closes his eyes. When he opens them, I’m burned by the intensity of his gaze scorching over my tits, my stomach and back up to my lips. My legs open wide, and my fingernails dig into the flesh of his ass, urging him deeper.
“I love you.” He pulls out almost to the tip and back inside.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I’ll keep you safe.”
I whimper with need as he unsheathes himself and I purr when he fills me again.
“I treasure you.”
Again, the same ritual as he reaffirms what I need with his voice and body. I should say I love him. It’s in my thoughts and heart, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words. “Please,” I beg, “harder.”
“You make me weak. Put your legs on my shoulders.” His hands slip under my ass, supporting me as the head of his cock is right at my opening.
My arms fall back above my head. This is a new position; he’s in total control, and there’s nothing but us. No worries, no Mr. Stanwyck or Elizabetta or Charlie. “Fuck me,” I urge.
He shakes his head like a stallion and digs his fingers into my thighs, spreading them even wider, and inch by delicious inch, shapes me around his cock until the head is pressing hard against the back.
“Roy,” I cry out. “More.” All artifice is gone now. No higher functioning of my brain. I’m only stimulus and response.
He’s looking at us, how we’re joined, watching as he enters and retreats from me. The muscles in his forearms are bunched. His eyes dart between my pussy and my breasts, now bouncing to his rhythm. Each time he enters he presses harder against that sweet spot inside me until he rockets me from this world to another and I cry out his name.
“Fucking tits,” he groans, and increases his speed and holds me one-handed to free his other hand as his thumb glides over my wet, needy clitoris.
I’m lost. Thrashing and crying and screaming until I’m riding my orgasm like a beast. When it’s over and I open my eyes, I’m satiated and calm, and he gently lowers me and positions my head on the pillow.
His throbbing cock in his hand, he kneels between my legs and ogles my breasts. “I want to fuck them.”
Is he asking permission? There is no need. “They’re yours.” It’s a fact.
He growls. “Press them together.” I do, and he straddles me, my arms pinned at my side, as he slides in between them.
Did he angle me this way on purpose? Yes, I think he must have because when I tilt my chin toward my chest, my mouth is ideally placed for the head of his cock to slide in.
“Fuck,” he barks, increasing the speed.
I love being used for his pleasure.
It doesn’t take long until he throws his head back, the cords of his throat muscles clearly defined. “Daisy, you fucking undo me.” He’s coming in my mouth, and it’s too much to swallow, and I’m left panting for air with it streaming down my chin.