4
ADRIANA
I stared up at the ceiling as I went through the events of the day. Sherry, Mr. King’s assistant, had let me know that Mr. Knight was very adamant about not taking me on. He was going to make it almost impossible for me to work with him. I had figured that much since he had been so obviously inhospitable earlier.
It turned out his offices were located in his own personal penthouse suite. You needed a special key to come up to see him and the elevator doors opened right into his loft. It was a big space with large windows that encompassed the entire floor, offering a beautiful view of the Chicago waterfront. I made my way down a hallway and found him hovering over a stack of paperwork in an office that was in complete disarray. His workspace seemed to be a reflection of his chaotic mind, and the contrast between the clutter and his neat and tidy appearance nearly made me laugh.
Mr. Knight himself was even more handsome than I ever imagined he would be. From his pictures, he looked to be a dominating man, dark and soulful, but he was beyond magnetic. His eyes were like dark golden honey that radiated intensity. When they were on me I could feel my whole body respond. I wasn’t sure how to handle that feeling, it was both unnerving and stimulating. He was definitely the type of alpha you would picture in one of his books, tying women up, scolding them, and making them cum.
Getting to meet my favorite author was one thing, but actually working with him had been a more profound experience. At first, he wasn’t being receptive and when I tried to come around to see what he was writing, he quickly shut his laptop. Our conversation was short, and he was avoiding my questions at every turn. He wouldn’t even tell me where he was in the story.
I tried everything to get him to open up and then finally he gave me a glimpse into his world.
“You ask a lot of question, Miss Montes.”
“I’m just trying to help and I want to understand why it is I’m here.”
“Didn’t they tell you?”
“All Mr. King told me was that you needed assistance. That was all. I’m not here to meddle into your thoughts, Mr. Knight. I wouldn’t dare. My own would never compete. I’m only here to assist you with anything you need. I would really love to go through the first few pages of your work, give you a few tips.”
“A few tips? Ha!”
He wandered off to the window, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked so attractive to me as the last rays of sun filtered in, highlighting those honey colored eyes. He also looked solemn and worried.
“The reason you are here, Miss Montes, is because I haven’t been able to write not one word down in the last three months.”
He looked over at me, his eyes narrowing on me. I wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.
“I didn’t come here to judge you, Mr. Knight. I don’t judge. You can trust me.”
“Can I?”
“I hope so. Eventually. I hope you’ll be able to see that through my work.”
“And what makes you think I even want to work with you.”
“Because you don’t seem like the type of man who would let a girl like me falter, without giving her a chance.”
He snorted and turned back to the window. “And what do you have in mind to help me, Miss Montes?”
“I’m new to this, but maybe we can jot down some thoughts. Run through an outline, see what we can both come up with. I’m willing to help you, Mr. Knight, but you need to open up to me.”
He walked over to the couch and perched on the edge of it, staring at me. “Don’t take offense to this, Miss Montes, but I don’t trust anyone.”
“Adriana.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Please, call me Adriana. I’m not used to being addressed by my last name on such a constant basis. And if we are to work together then I want you to feel as comfortable as possible with me.”
He nodded at me and rubbed at his chin. “I’d say you can call me Michael, but I’m afraid that might get too personal for me.”
“I’m fine with addressing you properly, Sir.”
The last word hung between us and I watched as his eyes darkened. For an instant, I could feel the heat rising in the room and I had the instinct that he liked that word coming from my lips.
Sir. If I were his sub I’d say the word adoringly.
Having him so close was surreal. His intelligence was sexy, and he had this obscure charm that appealed to me. After a few hours of talking, I managed to break down some of his walls until he eventually accepted my willingness to help him. I loved his thought process and the more he prompted me, the more I gave back to him. His ideas were fascinating and his proximity-intoxicating.
My hands drifted across my breasts, fingertips softly wandering along my nipples as I pictured his mouth there. He had such firm lips and every now and then when he smiled at me, it was this lopsided grin that made me melt.
I couldn’t help but close my eyes and picture him above me, his hands roaming along the swells of my breasts, caressing down my ribcage and molding to my ass. I pictured his mouth on my neck, licking along the curve as his hands wandered along my thighs, parting them so he could gain access to my heated center.
I pictured his fingers on me as I delved across my own wet core. My hips lifting as I touched myself, whimpering his name into the empty room. My frenzied neediness, mine alone, as my orgasm came swiftly, my body lifting as I circled my clit picturing his weight on my body.
I lay there for a moment, a bit perturbed at what I had just done. I’d just met the man and here I was picturing his mouth and hands on me. I turned to my side and dragged a pillow over my hip, hugging it against my chest as my body slowly calmed down.
This is all I was ever able to do. Imagine a man like Michael Knight touching me, making love to me, fucking me. I hadn’t been touched in nearly ten years. Not ever since Edison. He’d ruined me, taken my heart and stomped on it, and when it was lying broken on the floor he’d stomped on it some more for good measure. After that, I never wanted a relationship, never trusted a man again.
My scars were a constant reminder of how ugly I was, how unwanted. I didn’t want to go through that again. I wouldn’t be able to handle that rejection again. When I got sick I didn’t expect what followed. A series of unending surgeries, throbbing pains, and damaged scar tissue. I nearly died through the whole process. Two years of doctors examining me, seeing me as a “special case” that needed to be prodded and observed. My scars ran along my backside, damaging my muscles and protruding out, extorting the roundness of my flesh.
When my Ex had witnessed it he decided he’d go find someone else to fuck behind my back. Someone who was healthier, prettier, who could give him what I couldn’t. I should have known when he slowly stopped coming by, he’d rarely call, and when I finally confronted him he’d screamed at me, asking me how I could ever possibly think that he could be with someone as deformed as me. My heart had been beaten. He’d swung a bat to it and continued to swing with no remorse, with not even a semblance of pity. He made me feel like the vilest of creatures. And when he was done, he’d walked away.
After that period in my life and after I had somewhat recuperated, I decided to dedicate myself to my work. To other authors works. Retreating into their words, into their stories, it was how I came across Michael Knight and his Wicked Games. If I wasn’t able to have it, then at least I could get lost in his imagination, picturing myself as his heroine and him as my lover.
I was so involved in my work I didn’t even realize anyone was even paying attention to me. I’d heard about Christmas parties and other co-workers going on dates, and I ignored it all, knowing that was never going to be an option. Not for me, anyway. Sure, I missed it. I missed the soft kisses, the late-night talks, the sweet nothings whispered in your ear as you cuddle together.
It wasn’t all bad, not all the time, not until the scars.
I closed my eyes remembering him. His eyes, such kindness ran through them, and a bit of pain. Maybe loneliness.
Loneliness.
That word alone made me cringe. Made me long for something more, something I couldn’t have. Yet here I was dreaming of an unattainable man. A man I could never have.
It was better that way. I needed to stay focused. I’d keep to myself, do my job, and then leave. He’d never know what I thought of him or if I felt anything for him. My thoughts would be my secret and mine alone.