Beauty and the Baritone (3 page)

His cock stirred below the duvet. He could see the peak of a hard nipple as she bent over, on her hands and knees, doing something next to him that he couldn’t see. Only by letting her know that he was awake could he watch what she did.

Instead through slit eyes he saw the nipple, the curve of her stomach, the shadow between her legs.

She moved again so that she was turned onto her back, and she manipulated herself and he opened his eyes wider to see if she was doing what he figured she was. And indeed, she was.

It might have been the tie from her wrapper or a tie abandoned by an ex-lover that she bound herself to his bed with. She had tied one hand and then looped a knot that she fastened by pulling her other hand through. She was naked and bound on his bed, her offer so complete that momentarily he was humbled.

She didn’t speak and he couldn’t think of a word to say.

He was going to send her away. Let David deal with the living and he, Mateo, would return to the dead. He didn’t need a woman next to him, he didn’t need to try and understand someone else’s twisting roads.

This wasn’t for him, he wanted to say. It didn’t matter that he wanted to touch her, to feel her flesh. Her temptation was easy to ignore.

She moved and her leg, above the cover, touched his below.

The need to touch her was stronger than the need to prove he could resist. He’d curse later; despise his body for yet another reason.

She made no sound as he skimmed his hand over her heat. He touched for no reason except to feel her flesh.

She was hot, her body burned darkness.

He couldn’t imagine tenderness and he offered none. As he felt the hard edge of her nipple he tightened his fingers over it. If he intended to cause pain, he was unsure. He wanted to feel her. Damn it, he wanted to remember the joy of female flesh. Remember the pleasure of sex.

She arched and a sigh escaped into the night around them. It was a catalyst, an open door, an invitation that screamed to be heard.

Mateo shifted so that his weight was off his side and more on his arms and stomach. Her body was his for the using and he was determined to try and ignore the woman and only enjoy her flesh.

He squeezed her breast, pulled the nipple. It was a beacon and he needed to taste, to swallow the light.

She was more than he dreamed of asking for. She was a mythical creature come to him who would fade into the darkness when she was through. She was Venus, she was Medusa, she was Persephone trapped in Hell.

And he was in Hell with her.

He wanted to taste and he did. Moving his body up, he took a breast in his mouth and suckled it. She arched into his mouth, her breathing louder and quicker. He was giving her what they both wanted.

He didn’t want to deny himself the pleasure of her body. It was so warm and lush, her breast filled his hand and the hard nipple jutted to his mouth. Few women had bodies made for such pleasure, they starved themselves to bones and men were supposed to find that exciting.

She was lean and he would have her softer but she had the softness in her breast and belly that he craved. Her long legs parted as invitation and he could smell her musk as he drew her other nipple to his mouth.

She wasn’t lying when she said she knew what she wanted.

He wasn’t worried about gentleness when he touched her. He wanted to feel her wet and she was, beautifully and delightedly warm and wet in her core.

His leg twinged, the muscle was already straining. If he fucked her the way he wanted to, he would be in pain. She was the kind of woman who should be taken hard, who needed virility and ferocity in her fuck.

He was so hard, he didn’t know how he could possibly stop. The pain would be formidable but the pleasure even more so.

He touched her as deeply as he could, his fingers delving inside, reaching for that place where she would stop thinking. Reaching to find where she might not care that it was him in the bed with her and not a whole man, an uninjured lover.

She tensed and cried out, her voice sharp and clear. She’d been so silent but at that moment he felt how willing she was to be lost in the moment. Her entire body poised for more pleasure, more taking.

It was time to stop thinking and to allow himself whatever his body could take.

She was tight and wet and although his muscles strained to hold him atop her, he didn’t care of anything but the warm wet that surrounded him and tightened around his aching cock. Thrusting into her, hearing the soft exhalation of breath, the tiny whimper of pleasure and he was lost to everything.

His body no longer had limits. Aches disappeared, muscles remembered themselves and for that moment, gave him back the man he used to be.

The world became just him and her. Two bodies moving together, two people seeking to find something in the other that they lacked when alone. He wanted to hear her climax, to know he was still a man who could bring a woman such pleasure.

He wasn’t a cripple as she tightened around him. He wasn’t broken as she trembled in excitement. He was the man he was before the accident, before the body failed him and his mind became doubting and unsure. When she cried out in climax, he was Mateo Lopez once again.

The feel of her orgasm on his cock was all he needed to bring his own climax. He’d stood on the cliff’s edge and finally he fell down, that glorious fall into release.

*** *** ***

“If your leg hurts we can sit.”

She’d been woken by Mateo untying her arms. She’d fallen asleep still bound to his bed and her arms had been sore as hell upon awakening. Mateo moved stiffly and Carolyn figured that the pain in her arms might match that in his leg. If so, he’d be miserable.

He said he needed to walk the pain away and although he hadn’t invited her, she quickly dressed and joined him.

The garden was beautiful. The landscaping was as beautiful as the interior of his home, the baritone obviously spent a lot of money to keep his castle maintained. Unfortunately he seemed to be lacking the same upkeep his home had.

Mateo was walking stiffly, his leg dragging just a little more. Carolyn knew she was the cause but that was okay with her. He hadn’t given her what she needed, not really, but he’d used her body and she liked that.

“I need exercise.” His manner was as stiff as his leg.

“I really like your home. It’s all so beautiful. Picture perfect.”

“Unlike the man who lives in it.”

She stopped walking and looked at him. “You must enjoy being miserable.”

He stopped and turned slightly. His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“It’s just that we usually seem to choose what makes us happy. Singing makes me happy so I try to sing. Being fucked is a smiling event. I like wine and good food. I don’t really get into misery.”

“You believe yourself too clever,” Mateo said. He walked to a nearby bench and sunk down on it. The tiredness on his features hurt her heart. However the look on his face had a different effect. He looked at her in a way that seemed to sear into her soul.

“Sing,” he demanded.

She would have stripped at that moment if he asked her to and taken him in her mouth at his whim. She could have offered herself in any way and felt a glorious humiliation in it. But this was something that stripped at her soul.

“I can’t.”

“And in this you are unsure?” His voice mocked. “You who can lay my soul bare cannot share your voice in another way? Sing for me Carolina. Let me hear what you hide.”

Damn his soul straight to Hell. And damn the fear that coiled inside her like a snake ready to strike.

She sang. She hated the quaver in her voice, hated the uncertainty that infused the melody and stained the notes.

She wasn’t good enough and he could hear it. She would never reach greatness, never be someone that the world needed to hear.

She didn’t even finish the song. The words died in her throat, the notes refused to be sung. She was humiliated and hurt as his face remained completely passive although the accident caused sneer seemed to be so apt.

He opened his mouth to speak and she felt shame in a way she hadn’t before. She turned away and ran toward the house.

*** *** ***

Her bedroom looked like she’d never been in it. The unmade bed she left was made, its bedspread a bright flag flown over her sloppiness. Her clothes that had been strewn about the room were folded and sat on the bench at the edge of the bed. Her electronics were gathered and neatly placed on the night table.

It would be easy to leave. She dragged her suitcase from the closet and threw it on the bed. Somebody had unpacked everything and whereas it felt like luxury when she’d first discovered it, it felt like another embarrassing bearing of her soul now that she felt weak.

This was how they operated, those men with the power. They never took what you offered but rather took pieces of you that you couldn’t bear to lose.

“I did not think that you would run.”

His voice made her jump, she hadn’t heard his approach. She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want him to see her out of control.

“So the truth is of a different stripe, si? That your wish is to control and what you cannot, you run away from?”

“You don’t know anything about me.” She turned to him, knowing her skin would be red and mottled, that she would look as ugly as she felt. Let him see her as she truly was. He would discover what a beast she truly was.

“I know much.” He nodded at the bed. “I must sit. I walked quickly to catch you and it causes an ache.”

She took her suitcase and placed it on the ground. Mateo sank onto the bed where her case had been. His fingers dug into the sore muscle and his face tightened in pain.

She wanted to sink on the floor and beg forgiveness. It was humiliating in the worst way. All it would take was one wrong word and she would shatter to never be whole again.

“You are not as bad as you think,” Mateo said, his attention on his leg. “You are right that you are never going to be a star but you have the solids foundation. If you are willing, you will be a singer for many years.”

“I have been a singer,” she said, ashamed of the tremor in her voice. “I’m now an unemployed singer.”

“You do not do the necessary work, do not deny it.” He looked up and matched her gaze. “You get the job and then do the laziness. It is in your voice. If you had the desire, you could make yourself more.”

“Gene said I was a mediocre singer with a pretty face. Even David said that.”

“And these are men that show you respect? No. This is your problem. You have said you like the men who use you but you are not separating in what ways you are used.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You think not? I think that maybe you have the story and the lie but the truth is missing. You do the hiding because you are afraid you might be better than you want to be. Take off your clothes.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“I am not asking what you want. I am telling you.”

She was shaking. It was a tremble that came from deep inside. He was daring her to face her own lie: that she enjoyed debasement. What was the truth? It scared her more that a man of such notorious talent said she had ability than other men telling her she was nothing more than a great fuck.

It hurt. Having her lies taken away was more humiliating than anything another man had asked of her.

Her fingers were unsteady as she pulled her clothes off. Her skin was cold, her bones felt brittle. He could break her if he wished and she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Her clothes piled on the floor and she stood naked and shivering.

He reached his hands out and took her hands. She was pulled to the bed, sitting next to Mateo.

“You have let too many people into your head,” Mateo said quietly. “You must chase them out.”

“How are you the man to give advice?”

“Ah Carolina.” The back of his fingers skimmed her cheek. “There are many things I know. I might not always know the best for myself but I know the best for you.”

It was wrong. Nobody knew what was best for her except her. But his hand continued moving to cup her breast and play with her nipple, bringing it to a hard peak despite the dissention in her head.

She could learn to hate her body, its eager betrayal. His touch opened her, unfurled the sigh under her skin.

He touched her gently, touched her in a way she hated. She wanted to be taken, to be forced to open herself. She needed a touch that demanded, not one that coaxed. If permission was to be asked then it would be denied. She wanted to be disregarded.

He refused her all she wanted as he trailed fingertips whisper soft over her. He blew on her and she fell, he whispered and her body tightened.

She cried out when his mouth touched her. If there was any act that seemed depraved to her, it was the one he did to her. To be so opened to a man, to be tasted and teased, to be the focus of his desire was too difficult to bear.

She twisted but he caught her thighs in his hands and held her still. He didn’t bother to look at her face or even beyond the juncture of her thighs. She wanted to hide her face, not let him ever see her or her embarrassment.

He’d discover quickly what little this act did for her. Carolyn laid her arm over her face, hiding her eyes. She would lay still, stone cold until he stopped, his mouth wetting her and his fingers delving for sensation they’d never find. She wasn’t built that way.

It humiliated her to be like this. If he used her, if he tried to shame her, there would be nothing but pleasure. He should be able to see that, she thought. He should see how little she enjoyed what he did.

She couldn’t believe he remained unaware of her coldness. His tongue continued to lick, his mouth continued to move. His fingers delved inside and touched, seeking that place where she would jolt and find her pleasure.

Mateo was aware.

Never had he been with a woman who remained so closed, so unable to feel. She was a fighter, there was no question, but it seemed that she fought herself more than she fought the world.

Her body was fighting also. He knew how to bring a woman bliss but she fought the feelings. She twisted under his mouth, moved away from his fingers.