Learning to Trust Part 1 (3 page)

More importantly,
reporters
who assumed things usually ended their careers fast. That definitely wasn’t about to be me.
I fel
l asleep quickly and slept
soundly.

***

“Oh, so lovely to see you again!” Roland said as he watched me climb onto the porch.
Today he was wearing a lavish silk bathrobe, one that probably cost more than all of my clothes combined.
It was
casual attire
, that was for sure.
The second his eyes hit me, I was flooded with that pang of weakness, that tingle that would grow into a roar.

“Good afternoon, Roland,” I said, the words tight in my suddenly-dry throat. I had to fight to speak.
Damnit, Marisa. Get yourself together!

I had awoken that morning to calm, lounging around in bed watching television, my mind free from the tension of the previous day. I felt good, just as long as I kept my mind a clean slate. I went
down, ate some breakfast in the lobby,
and noticed the gym.
Great, I could start now!
I decided that some exercise might be good for me and spent some time on the treadmill. It felt good
to
jog, even though I didn’t last very long.
My body had ap
proved of my decision, releasing a flood of feel-good chemicals
.

Despite my unusual morning
routine (I never lounged around;
always up and
right
to work), one thing remained constant—Roland wasn’t polluting my mind. Maybe I had just needed that
release
last night. I was confident that I had broken his spell, freed myself from his grasp. I’d be able to pull off a beautiful, unbiased report. I’d uncover facts that would change our world! I’d—

Nope.
Ten seconds in and I was already losing it.

“You look lovely today, much more comfortable than yesterday. I bet you
feel
more comfortable as well.” He smiled as his hands danced in the air, motioning me to follow him inside.

“Thank you,” I said, doing my best to suppress the redness in my cheeks. I had worn a black and white day dress, one with horizontal stripes—the most casual thing I had brought along. I hadn’t predicted his insistence upon comfort; I would have to go out and buy new clothing if this wasn’t going to be a quick process.

“Coffee again?” he asked.

“Sure,” I blurted out, just
responding
to him. Actually, his coffee was so good that I didn’t think I’d be able to resist. My instincts had proven to be trustworthy.
I sat down in the same place I had yesterday.
I hadn’t noticed yesterday, but one of his halls was adorned with framed awards and certificates of accomplishment.
I couldn’t see very well, but it looked like most of them were from StarChem.

“I think we’ll do Irish coffee today,” he said, chuckling as he walked with long strides into the kitchen. I heard the usual clanking of machinery in his kitchen, the opening and closing of the fridge, the steaming sound of boiling water. I hadn’t tried to watch him prepare it, worried that I’d witness a man fumbling around the kitchen
, spoiling his aura of precision
. But again, just like before, he emerged wi
th two glasses, full of perfectly prepared drink. “Here you are. I hope you like cream.”

I took it from him and sipped, immediately floored by the sweetness of the cream, the coffee warming me as I swallowed. There were no hints of alcohol at all. “Delicious,” I said.

“This is a special recipe,” he said, sipping with great appreciation. “Mmm, turned out just right.
”
He finally sat down, his duties as host fulfilled. “So how are you feeling today, Marisa? You look like you’re doing much better. Still jet-lagged?”

“I slept well last night,” I said. “Went to bed early. Slept late.”

“Ah, my sort of night,” he said, laughing. “You’re not out at the bars all night, huh?”

“
I’m too old for that. My professional career has made me feel older than ever.”
I was surprised at how quickly I had opened up to him. I sipped the coffee again, finally feeling the whiskey start to hit me. I felt lighter, my nerves softening up.

“I know how that feels, Marisa.” He looked around at his accomplishments—a giant house, more money than most could fathom, a wall covered in praise and accomplishment—and sat quietly, absorbing the seriousness of it all. He continued: “If you run the show all the time, it burns you out. It tires you, ages you. I had to relinquish some of my control to others that I trust—so that I could enjoy my life.”

Something about what he said really resonated in me. I had been moving so fast for so long, drowning myself with
un
ending drive
, never slowing down to take in anything but the fact that I had more to accomplish
.
I pushed myself all the time, so hard that I usually
didn't
even had a chance to think about it. I gazed at him, transfixed by his words. I suddenly felt vulnerable again.

“Marisa, you’ve fallen silent. Have I struck a chord with you?”

I suddenly snapped back to reality. “No,” I said immediately. “Well, maybe…”

“Marisa, it’s best that we don’t lie to each other. I’m in a different position that you in this world, so my decisions carry a different weight than your own. But I still know tension when I see it—you look like you’re going to snap like a twig if anyone pushes you just a little.”

And again
,
we had arrived at me being totally vulnerable, open, exposed. I sat in silence, my head h
anging low
, trying my best to avoid eye contact.
I felt like he was reading pages from a diary I never kept, like he had gone through and torn out random pages from the last ten years of my life—and he noticed a theme.

“We both know why you’re here. We’ll never make any progress if you don’t learn to trust. Clearly I trust you because I’ve welcomed you into my home. This is where I hideaway from the world
, my most secure place
.
You must
learn to trust
, Marisa.
You must trust
me
.
Allow me to help you
.
”

I suddenly felt turned on, literally as if he had flipped a switch.
My nerves were on fire, my heart pounding, my wetness growing between my legs. I remembered touching myself last night and how it felt, like
a blockage
had
suddenly been cleared and then
s
leep
came over me like a drug—all because of
him
. It was
as if
Roland was reading my mind—and inviting me into his world. Whatever
his world
meant.

“Okay,” I said, once again under his spell. I tried to come back, fighting it. The whiskey had softened me up, allowed him to penetrate even deeper.

How did he know that I had trust issues
? I had never thought about it that way until now. I worked hard for myself—and I was always hesitant to give up any of my efforts without a fight. I had moved from paper to paper,
job-to-job
, never settling anywhere for very long, never having an incentive to just
stay
. I always assumed something better was somewhere else and so I went after it. I didn’t even know the definition of complacency, apparently. Satisfaction was not a word in my vocabulary.

Was I interviewing him or was he interviewing me
?

Roland finished his drink and rose to his feet, his footsteps echoing down the halls with
hardwood
floors. He once again towered over me, approaching me in slow motion, his robe flowing behind him like a cape. I felt powerless as I sat there
,
waiting for him to do whatever he was going to do
, wanting
whatever it was
. He sat down beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward him.

"So much tension," he whispered.

I could immediately smell his powerful muskiness, the odor causing me to
dissolve
into him. I press
ed my head against his shoulder and i
t felt
just
beautiful.
Roland's
arm felt hot against me, his
warm
touch causing the heat to move around freely insi
de of me like a convection oven.

How far was I willing to go?
It was a question that I had no answer to.

His hands rose up and
gent
ly played with my hair, his
fingers
running
through the soft strands and sending chills down my spine.
Even with his moving fingers, he kept that firm grip around my shoulders with his arms,
stabilizing me as I felt my m
uscles quickly turning
into Jell-O.
And then, h
e turned my head with some force
and kissed me deeply, his tongue
overtaking
mine with ease.

No more guessing
.

That curious tongue
explored t
he deepest recesses of my mouth while his fingers moved along my scalp—Roland was
tracing my skull
as if he
was trying to memorize its shape. I kissed him ba
ck, our tongues twining
, dancing
a delicate ballet in our mouths
.
I locked my eyes closed, doing my damndest to get lost in the act
. I wanted to trust
and feel
, not think.

Warmth began to grow between my legs, moisture spilling forth without restraint. My mind was just as stimulated as my body, the signals flowing unimpeded to my lower belly. I ached for touch, for
attention, for release. He ran his callused hands along my face; they probably burned from the heat in my bright red cheeks.
His hardness pressed against my thighs, totally prominent under the soft
material
that covered it. It felt
huge
,
something that was as titillating as it was
terrifying
.
The fact that I hadn’t had sex in quite some time made him seem even
bigger
.

Need continued to burn inside of me as he broke the kiss, nibbling on my ear after gliding along my skin with his ton
gue.
Oh god
, it felt so good.
I relaxed even more.

His arm escaped from behind my back
and
allowed
me
to settle against the couch. Fingers
traced along my body, exploring
my curves
through the dress.
He
cupped my breasts through my dress and bra, squeezing them slightly until he
could resist no longer and reached in and pulled them out.
They res
t
ed on the
top of my bra
, fully accessible to him
.

Roland
took my nipples into
his mouth
one by one, suckling them with
his tongue until they pebbled. My body
begged for him to go further and further, to touch me, to please me. In that moment, I felt like
his
.

“Ah, your breasts are
so lovely
,” he remarked. His words cut into me in the most beautiful way, inflating my confidence, making me feel womanly. “Your skin is soft—just delectable.
Like...porcelain.
”

His tongue pressed into that soft flesh around my nipples, exploring curiously as he undoubtedly felt the powerful beating of my heart beneath my breasts.
He buried his face
in
my cleavage, soaking up the softness like a sponge. Distracted by his face, I barely noticed that his hands were creeping up the
tender
flesh of my thighs. I gasped when I noticed, almost as if I was surprised that we were progressing to
that
.

“Shh, Marisa. Just relax,” he said.

He got to my panties and lightly traced his fingers along the cloth barrier that soaked up my wetness, carefully ensuring that he brushed against my clit. That light touch made me burn even more, my pussy buzzing with excitement. I was quivering with anticipation, wanting him to move quicker, to take me
now
.

Roland’s fingers slid under the elastic
waistband
and pulled my panties down slowly, ensuring that they didn’t
just
bunch up at my knees. My core temperature seemed t
o rise hotter and hotter as he
traveled
lower
down
my legs. Wrapped around my ankles, I lifted my feet up, allowing the panties to hit the floor. His finger plunged into me, feeling huge. My muscles clenched around it.