Ten
Amelia
Iwake from a dream to a strange sensation.
Someone is in my bed with me, stroking me, the back of their hand running along my arm, down my side, along my spine. It’s gentle and unexpectedly soothing.
He’s still here.
I expected him to leave after he’d finished with me, and well before morning—which it clearly now is, with the light streaming in through the curtains.
“Morning, Little Stray,” he says, far too chipper. His hand doesn’t stop running along my skin, sending tingles through me. “Sleep well?”
Concerningly, I did. Maybe I was too exhausted from the night before, but that’s not an excuse. Sleeping with this man in my bed? Very, very dangerous.
“I slept okay,” I grumble. A pause. His comments on civility come to mind. “You?”
“Yes, thank you. Very well rested.” His hand slips around, palming my breast, teasing the tip of my nipple. It sends little shocks through me. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I can’t remember.” It was something nice, I think.
“You were making noises,” he murmurs. “Cute ones.”
Shit. Was I?
“And moving your hips against me.”
I can’t have been. He must be lying.
Except that doesn’t fit Van Wyk. His word seems so important to him.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Not at all. I liked it.”
He presses his hips forward and his cock pokes into my ass, then slips between my thighs, rubbing against me. It’s very clear he liked it.
It also makes me realize that he’s not the only one aroused. I am, too, and I don’t know why. Some dream.
“I’m sore,” I say quickly.
“Oh dear.” He doesn’t sound like he means it. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”
Fuck.
My body tightens at the memory of his tongue, nipples aching, stomach clenching, my arousal spiking.
“It’s Monday,” I try desperately, remembering in time. “I need to go. I’ll be late for work.”
“It’s only 6:15.”
“Shit, is it?” I sit up and slide toward the edge of the bed, keeping my back to him. Luckily, he releases me. “I’m going to be late.”
“Really? Where do you work, California?”
“I have to shower, get dressed, open the gallery. I’m usually there by…” Nine. “…seven.”
“Early start.” He rolls onto his back, sitting half up against a pillow, watching me. The duvet falls across his hips, leaving an expanse of chest and stomach that makes me hesitate. But no, I am not getting back into bed with this man, merely because his body made a pact with Satan.
He runs a hand through his hair, showing that chest off to perfection. Nice arms, too.
There’s a tent in the duvet where his morning wood must be. I quickly glance away.
Cold shower. That’s what I need.
My robe is in the living room, where he stripped it off me. At least he didn’t make me sleep in the cuffs. They’re still dangling from the headboard, managing to look menacing even in their dormant form.
I settle for a T-shirt from my dresser, pulling it on so at least I’m covered.
“Shall I make some coffee?” he asks.
Is he serious right now? He wants to make me coffee after what he did to me last night? Like this morning after is somehow not as awkward as it sure the hell feels to me?
“Uh… sure. French press is in the cupboard.” I walk for the door, pausing after three steps. “Thank you.” Damn him and his civility.
“My pleasure.”
I run.
The bathroom door doesn’t have a lock, because I never bothered to ask the landlord to replace it when it broke.
I shower quickly, the water as cold as I can bear it, half expecting him to enter at any moment. But when he hasn’t after a few minutes, I turn the water warm and shampoo my hair. There’s a smell of coffee coming from the kitchen when I’m done, and I wrap myself in the biggest towel I have.
He actually did it. The man who forced his way in here, stripped me, cuffed me, fucked me after spanking me and licking me, ignored all my protests and told me I liked it, has now made coffee for me.
Like we’re in a goddamn relationship.
I don’t know what to make of that. I’m still confused about last night, and the things he said.
“Strays often bite… until they’re broken in.”
“I’ll never have enough of you.”
“Why would I harm what’s mine?”
“Your eyes. So very green, so very expressive. I could gaze at them for hours, and never get bored.”
I can’t decide whether Van Wyk is a psychopath with an unhealthy obsession, or a romantic with a willful misunderstanding of phrases including the words ‘no’ and ‘never.’
He’s in the kitchen as I walk out, leaning against the counter, wearing only boxers. Sipping from a cup of coffee with his phone in his other hand. He clicks the screen off as I come out, and looks up.
“Nice shower?”
“Yes, thank you.” I can’t help but run my eyes over him, then look away as I feel my cheeks heat.
“I need to leave too.” He sets his cup down and crosses to me, moving so smoothly I don’t have a chance to turn and flee. He grips the top of my towel and draws me into him, a finger coming up beneath my chin, angling my face to him.
Then he kisses me.
At first, it’s soft and gentle, tongue teasing its way between my lips. He tastes faintly of coffee, mostly of him. Then his kiss deepens, his other hand sliding to the back of my neck, holding me helpless as is his preference. He hasn’t let go of my towel.
A shiver runs through me, heat following in its wake. The man can kiss; I have to give him that.
I’m breathless when he finally straightens, gazing down into my eyes with satisfaction in his.
Then it fades, and he looks serious. “I have to leave for a few days.”
“Okay…?” Like I care. I’m getting a gun and not opening the door to anyone, ever again.
“I’ll come and find you when I get back.”
Not if I’ve skipped the state. Or maybe the country.
I search around for something to say. “Uh… where are you going?”
“Switzerland. A work thing.” His expression has drained of all emotion, eyes hardening. I don’t think it’s directed at me, but it might be. I won’t be probing any further, that’s for sure. I didn’t want to know anyway.
“I need to… uh… get going.”
“Sure. I’ll get my clothes too.” He tugs my towel and it comes loose. I grab at it. “Go on. We can leave together.”
Uh-huh.
“May I have my towel?” How’s that for civility?
“No, it’s mine now. Just like you are.” He pulls it, and it’s either fight him or let go. I know I won’t win.
I let him have that petty victory, turning quickly to give him my back, and head for the bedroom. He can watch if he must; it’ll be the last time he sees me naked.
Behind me, he draws in a long, slow breath. I glance back as I pass through the door; he has my towel held to his nose, his eyes closed.
Okay, that’s a little weird. Right?
I hurry to my dresser, pulling on underwear before he walks in. He’s not far behind me and watches me as he dresses himself. I skip makeup, even though I could really use some. My face is drawn and wan; I wonder why. But I’d rather be out of here as soon as possible, and away from him.
We’re both ready together. He walks me to the door, then pauses before it.
“Here,” he says, holding a business card out to me. It’s blank, save for a phone number and an ‘NC’ logo in one corner, the letters curled together. I’ve seen it before, and it takes me a moment to remember where: at the gala. Northbridge Capital. “Any problems, call me.”
I take the card, because refusing will only delay him leaving. “What problems could I possibly have?”
He waves a hand. “Running out of Cheerios, a body to bury, suddenly arrested for treason—whatever.”
I wonder how many of those he can actually fix. “Thank you.” Still practicing civility.
“Then I’ll leave you to your day.” He gazes at me for a long moment as if he’s memorizing my face, nods once, then opens my door and walks out.
I suppose I should follow him, but I don’t. Instead, I lean against the wall, trying to remember how to breathe.
Part of me wants to shut that damn door and go back to bed. The only reason I don’t is that there’s a chance he’s waiting to see if I do go to work. That, and because Van Wyk has left his damn leather cuffs hooked around the bars, sitting innocuously like a scorpion in the sun.
I’m going to cut them up later. Put them in the trash in pieces.
The hallway is empty when I step out, and one elevator is heading down. I hit the call button, shaking my head at my life.
Did he really just leave like we’d spent a pleasant weekend together?
One moment, he ties me down naked. The next, he’s acting like we’ve been steady for months.
He inhaled my scent on my towel. He’s claimed me, like a dog claims a streetlamp.
Why me? What did I do?
An echo of what he said to me comes to mind: “Some might be drawn to you for that.” What had I said? I was talking to Serranto… threatening him… telling him to stay away. That I’d destroy anyone who tries to…
Shit.
Exactly the sort of thing that would draw the attention of a man like Van Wyk.
It wasn’t me calling him impotent that led to all this. That was just an excuse. He’d already decided, before then.
He came back for more. I have every reason to think he will again.
I pull my phone out with trembling fingers. Scroll my favs. Hit the button. It rings twice.
“Hey sis. Everything okay?”
“Sorry it’s early,” I say. “Just wondering how busy work was. If you could maybe take the afternoon off?”
“Uh… might be tough today. Why?”
Damn. But then, Lukas is catching a flight out of the country. I have time. “One day soon? Shopping.”
“Shopping?” Lucy’s tone conveys her disbelief.
“Yeah, shopping.” I pause, hissing through my teeth, then ask my sister to commit a felony. “I need to buy a gun.”
There’s a long pause. “Do you have a license?”
“…No…”
“Ah. So what you mean is that I need to buy a second gun, then accidentally leave it at your place.”
“You’re the best.”
She sighs down the line. “Do you even know how to use one?”
“Point. Shoot.”
“Sister, dear, I despair. Wait one minute.”
I bite at my lip while she keeps me on hold, wondering if I’m asking too much of her. But she’s back in less than the minute she said.
“There’s a handgun dealer on West 20th with an indoor range, just down from your gallery. Wednesday at two? And I’m going to want explanations.”
Two days. “It’s a date.”
Plenty of time to figure out what to tell her.