The Mistress (32 page)

“We let go,” he said. “And we get on with our lives.”

She nodded and took a hard breath.

“You let go first.” She inhaled deeply, wanting to take in as much of his scent as she could. Summer. Warmth. Clean laundry hanging out to dry. Wesley.

“I can’t.”

“I can’t either.”

“Same time, then?”

“Okay. On the count of three. Ready?” Nora asked, trying to steel herself.

“No, but we better do it, anyway.”

“All right. One...” she said.

“Two,” whispered Wesley.

The met each other’s eyes and together spoke the final count.

“Three.”

They let each other go.

Nora forced herself to stand there in the hall and not move. After all she’d put Wesley through he deserved this much from her. He deserved to be the one who walked away first.

He took a step back and turned around. As he neared the end of the hall Nora called out to him.

“We can still be friends, right?”

Wesley didn’t turn around to answer but the word was all she needed.

“Forever.”

Nora laid a hand against the wall to steady herself. Wesley...her Wesley... This time she knew he was gone for good. It was okay. It was all right. As much as she loved him she knew she never intended to marry him. She knew he wanted things she would never give him—children, monogamy, an undivided heart. He deserved all that and she prayed he would get it someday. Sooner rather than later, she hoped for his sake. For all their sakes.

After a minute Nora felt strong enough to go open the door to her bedroom. Grace was there. She would talk to Grace about it all. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Talk about man troubles to a woman? What a novel concept...a female friend who wasn’t in the Underground. She could get used to that, maybe. More women in her life, less men. More stability, fewer adventures. Maybe she could get used to a quieter life, less kink, less craziness...

Worth thinking about. Settling down with Søren a little. Might be all right. People did that. They got older, they calmed down, they stopped sowing wild oats and started sowing...what? Domesticated oats? Something like that.

Nora started to back into her room but paused with her hand on the doorknob when she saw someone slipping into the darkening hallway.

Laila...she’d know those long legs anywhere. Instead of her usual jeans and tee, Laila had on a little slip of a white nightgown, girlish and innocent. She must have stolen it from Anya’s closet. Perfect fit. And Laila didn’t even look her way. She seemed a girl on a mission and that mission involved leaving one room and going into another room.

Wesley’s room.

Nora couldn’t help but smile, proud of Søren’s niece for doing something so foolhardy as to attempt to seduce the almost unseduceable Wes Railey. She must get that from Tante Elle.

“Good girl,” she said to no one. Nora walked to the end of the hall and listened a moment at the door. She heard nothing, no voices. Hopefully Wes would let her down easy and not hurt her feelings. Hopefully Laila would take the rejection well and get back into her room before her overprotective uncle discovered what she’d been doing...or attempting to do. The only man who’d sleep with Søren’s virginal eighteen-year-old niece was a man with a death wish. Crazy kids.

Nora heard the front door open and close and she peered around the corner of the stairway. Søren had returned from his run.

“Hello down there,” she called from the top of the stairs. “I snuck out of my room.”

“I see that.” He stood at the bottom of the steps looking sweaty and sexy and absolutely overjoyed to see her standing up and smiling down at him. “I think I ordered you to get your rest, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“You think I won’t punish you because you’re already bruised?”

“I’m willing to take that risk. Speaking of risks...”

“Eleanor...”

“Catch me.”

She swung her bottom up onto the banister and without any further warning slid down it toward Søren. He caught her with far more grace than her awkward dismount warranted, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“Eleanor, how old are you?” He sounded utterly disgusted by her childish behavior.

“Fifteen.”

Søren shook his head.

“You’re too young for me,” and he moved as if he would drop her.

“I’m thirty-four, I’m thirty-four, I swear.” She clung to him and he pulled her back up.

“Are you going to act like it?”

“Do I have to?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“Could you at least try to behave yourself for a week or two? My heart could use the rest.”

“I am. I’m going to be a saint from now on. No more wild partying, no more drinking too much, no more running off with younger men, no more wild craziness.”

“A miracle has been wrought today. And I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Of course if I stop sleeping with other guys...and gals, that means you can’t play with other submissives anymore.”

“Well...” he said as he hoisted her into his arms and started up the stairs with her, “let’s not get carried away here.”

41

THE PAWN

L
aila knew she would fail even before she slipped into Wes’s room. She also knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t try. Her mother was frantic on the phone, wanted her back home immediately. She’d talked Freyja off the ceiling, reminded her that she and her uncle had discussed a short trip to the States earlier that summer. But her mother was adamant. She had to come home as soon as possible. So tomorrow she flew back to Denmark. Everything that had happened had been hushed up, hidden, swept away. No reason to get the police involved or freak out her mother any more than she already was. The people who’d kidnapped her and her aunt were all dead and gone. Kingsley’s people had “cleaned up” the mess. At least that was all he said about it, and she certainly didn’t want to know any more.

She didn’t want to know anything tonight, didn’t want to think about anything. She only wanted to be with Wesley in every way he would let her before she returned home and probably never saw him again.

When she entered his room, she heard water running from the bathroom. He was in the shower. Good. That gave her a few minutes to collect herself. She sat on the edge of the bed facing the window. The sun had set and night was rising and taking over the sky. A few stars peeked over the tops of the trees. The world seemed to be waiting for something wonderful to happen. She hadn’t felt this way since she was a child, resting her head against the wall and listening to her aunt and uncle tell secrets to each other in the dark and feeling that she would die, absolutely die, if she couldn’t be part of that enchanted world they seemed to inhabit.

Now she sensed the enchantment tiptoeing in through the window and spreading its tendrils through the room. They danced over the Persian rug that lay atop the gleaming hardwood. They whispered across the white linens on the bed. They spiraled up and down the black bedposts of the old sturdy New England bed.

A summer breeze tickled her bare ankles.

Laila had never felt more calm in her life.

The water stopped in the bathroom and she closed her eyes. She heard movement and a door opening. Footsteps...and then the footsteps faltered.

“Laila?”

She didn’t speak, not a word. She only waited.

Wes came around the bed and stood in front of her. He wore nothing but jeans and the water that dripped from his hair onto his strong and sturdy shoulders. He had such a beautiful body—his flat stomach, his muscular arms, his chest she wanted to kiss so badly she could taste his skin on her tongue....

She met his eyes and saw that he looked at her with more than just confusion. The confusion was there, the question, but also desire. She saw it and knew it the moment she saw it. She’d been waiting to see that look all her life.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said.

“I know that.”

“You’ve never done this before.”

“I don’t care.”

“This is such a big deal. We have to talk about birth control—”

“I’m on it.”

“And what this means for us.”

“We can answer that question later.”

“Laila...I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting,” she said.

“That’s why it isn’t a good idea. I’m not strong enough to say no to you tonight.”

“It’s not weak to say yes.”

Wesley heaved a breath. Laila gathered her words and put them in order. She wanted to get them just right.

“Wes, I know you’re hurting,” she repeated, her voice tremulous and low. “Don’t be afraid to hurt me, too. I know you want to let go. Let go with me. You need comfort. Let me comfort you with my body. Lose yourself inside me. Forget what you’ve lost, forget what you can’t have. There’s no shame in trying to forget for a night even if you know you’ll remember in the morning.”

The words hung in the air and vibrated like the final notes of a symphony.

Wes raised a hand and gently cupped her neck. He bent his head and kissed her.

At first Laila couldn’t even believe it was happening. What she wanted and what she believed would actually happen were two opposite things. But no, his mouth was on her mouth and she opened to him and gave herself over to the kiss.

She rose off the bed, wanting to press her body to his but not quite ready to drag him down on top of her yet. When she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he pulled her close and hard against him. Warm...so warm... She almost groaned as the heat of his body seeped into her skin. His lips moved against hers in gentle, seeking waves. She thought she’d be terrified at this moment, on this night, but every kiss, every touch, felt so natural, so right.

Her lips moved down to his neck and she kissed the water drops off his shoulders.

“Laila...”

“What?” She pulled back immediately. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He took a ragged breath. “Not wrong at all.”

“Something right?”

He nodded. She stepped forward again and dropped another kiss on his right shoulder, a second slow kiss onto his left. She feathered more soft kisses over his neck and chest and to each end of his collarbone and back again.

“I love how tall you are,” he said, dipping his head to kiss under her ear. He brushed her hair off her shoulder and she shivered at the light tickling sensation of his fingertips touching such delicate skin. “Not used to that.”

“I like looking you right in your eyes.” She met his eyes then and saw desire and concern in his gaze. She ached for the desire. She adored him for the concern. “I never liked being this tall before. I do now.”

Laila ran her hands up and down Wes’s arms and then over his chest and stomach. When her hand came to the waistband of his jeans, she hesitated.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing her again. “You can touch me.”

With shaking hands, she unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them. Straight from the shower he had on nothing under his pants. She tried not to stare or gape but she’d never seen a naked man like this so close before, so close she could touch him. She wrapped her hand around him and stroked upward.

“You’re big,” she said, blushing against her will.

“And you’re a virgin.”

She shook her head as she continued to trace the length of him with her fingertips.

“Don’t. Don’t think of that. I want to take care of you tonight. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m not going to forget that you’re a virgin, and you better believe I’m going to try to take care of you, too.”

“We’ll take care of each other.”

“I like that idea.”

Wes reached past her and yanked the covers down on the bed. She sat down and scooted back as he crawled in and on top of her.

They kissed again for a long time, long enough for Laila to truly start to relax underneath him. Everything he did to her sent reverberations through her whole body. The kiss he placed on the center of her chest she felt in the backs of her thighs. His hand sliding from her knee to her hip caused her lower back to tighten.

“Anytime you need me to stop or slow down, tell me,” Wes said as he came up on his knees and looked down at her.

“I will. But I don’t want you to stop. Not now or ever.”

“Good.” He gave her a wide grin before raising his hand and crooking a finger at her. She sat up and waited. He gathered the edge of her nightgown in his hands and started to pull it upward. For a split second, Laila froze in a moment of sudden self-consciousness. But she forced herself to raise her arms and let Wes undress her.

Now wearing nothing but her panties, she laid back down on the bed and looked at anything and everything but Wes.

“You have amazing breasts,” he said. Laughing, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you dare.”

He took her wrists in his hands and forced them to the sides of her head.

“Wes...”

“I let you see me and touch me. My turn.”

He let go of her wrists and she kept them at her sides as he brought his mouth down to her chest. He kissed her over her pounding heart.

“You’re beautiful, Laila.”

She shook her head. “You’re the pretty one.”

“English lesson, little Danish girl. I’m a guy.” He looked down at her. “Guys aren’t pretty.
I
am not pretty.”

“So my English isn’t perfect. What are you, then?”

“I’m stunning.” He winked at her and she burst into laughter, laughter that turned to a gasp as he dropped his head and took a nipple into his mouth. The heat from his mouth on her breast caused her entire body to tense. She felt like a knot inside her was tightening with every kiss, every touch, every new intimacy. How did people get anything done when they could be doing this instead? She wanted to do this for the rest of her life, lay in bed with Wes and touch him and be touched by him, kiss him and be kissed by him, give herself to him and take everything he had to give her.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift into the pleasure of his hands and his mouth on her. He stayed at her breasts for what felt like an hour—kissing, sucking, teasing her nipples in such a way her hips lifted and a muscle deep inside her twitched with need.

When Wes finally pulled away from her swollen breasts, her nipples ached and a light sheen of sweat covered her body.

“Please...” she whispered, not even knowing quite what she begged for, only knowing that whatever it was, no one could give it to her but him.

Some part of her felt a woman’s pride when she felt Wes shaking under her hands, panting with his own need.

“Are you sure?” He pulled her close and she melted against his body. She couldn’t get enough of his skin, his warmth, his touch, couldn’t get enough of him.

“Yes.”

With a ragged breath, Wes rolled back onto his knees again and slowly dragged her panties down her thighs. Laila stared up at the ceiling and tried to stay calm even as Wes stood up and stripped out of his jeans. With every moment that passed it become more and more certain, more real, more irrevocable...they’d gone too far. They couldn’t, they wouldn’t, go back.

Wes lay with her again, this time at her side. He slipped his hand between her legs and nudged her thighs apart.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m going to use my fingers first.”

Laila nodded as she opened her legs more for him.

“I want this so much,” she said as he traced the curve of her hip with his hand. “I’m nervous. That’s all. Please don’t think I want you to stop.”

“I understand nervous. And I won’t stop unless you tell me to stop.”

He cupped her between her thighs and she pressed into the heel of his hand.

“Is there a way you like to be touched?” Wes asked as he made slow circles against her with his palm.

“I don’t know...I’ve never done this with anybody before.”

“With yourself?”

Laila laughed and stared at him.

“Don’t laugh. I lived with Nora for a year and a half. Trust me. I know what you women do in the privacy of your own bedrooms.”

“Okay...so we do. Sometimes. I’m not saying, I do, but...”

“You do. I do it, too.”

“Fine. I do.”

“Good. Then show me.”

“Show you?”

“Show...” Wes kissed her quick on the mouth. “Me.”

Laila sighed.

“Please,” he said. “Use my hand. Teach me how you like to be touched.”

Tentatively she covered his right hand with hers. His hand became her hand’s shadow as she guided his two fingers to her clitoris.

“Does that feel good?” Wes kissed her neck, nipped at her shoulder.

“Yes...so good.”

“Good,” he said, and slipped a finger inside her.

Laila arched her back as his touch sent a wave of pleasure through her entire body. She opened her legs a little wider, inviting more of him. He responded with a second finger.

“Too much?”

“No, I want more.”

“Greedy,” he teased, kissing her on the mouth again. He slowly moved his fingers in and out of her. She’d grown so wet she could hear her own fluid on his hand. But Wes didn’t seem to mind, didn’t seem disgusted or even amused. She’d fantasized about this night as long as she could remember and she felt nothing but gratitude she’d chosen to do this with someone who knew what he was doing.

He pushed his fingertip into a spot inside her and her vagina twitched around his hand.

God, did he know what he was doing.

He rubbed her clitoris with his thumb. Rising up on her elbows, she stared down the length of her body and watched his hand moving inside her. She’d never seen anything so erotic, so beautiful, as Wes’s fingers disappearing into her and pulling back out again, shining with her own wetness.

He took her nipple in his mouth again and sucked deep as he pushed a third finger into her. This time she felt her body’s resistance. Still she breathed through the slight pain and in a few minutes the pleasure, all of it, had come back.

His hand moved faster inside her and her hips pushed in time with his hand. She’d come whether he wanted her to or not if he kept this up. Closing her eyes she relaxed against the pillow and let the sensations wash over her. Something built inside her. It felt like a river pushing against a dam and any minute the dam would break. She wanted it to break, needed it to break.

She panted as her fingers dug into Wes’s back and the sheets. So close...almost there...

Abruptly Wes pulled his fingers out of her and covered her body with his.

“Laila?”

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him.

“Ready,” she whispered.

He reached between her legs, parted her folds with his fingers and kissed her mouth. Her last kiss as a virgin...she almost didn’t want it to end.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Never.”

With arduous slowness, Wes started to push into her. She wanted it so much, wanted to feel him filling her, but she couldn’t stop herself from flinching as her body protested against him.

Wes kissed her again, kissed her cheek, kissed her forehead, all the while barely moving inside her. She breathed because she forced herself to breathe. It burned inside her and part of her wanted to push him out of her, anything for relief from the pain. A cry of pain escaped her lips.