The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) (10 page)

“I’m a rich man,” he says, rolling his eyes,
“in a city that runs on money. It’s not hard for me to learn things. This isn’t
the first time I’ve visited your dad, as you’re well aware. I doubt he’ll find
anything profane in my being here.”
He’s right. Dad always did like him, and Mark
was the one that helped to transfer Dad to Glenvale after all. He had as much a
right to visit Dad as I had.
“I’m sorry, Mark,” I’m acting like a harpy
when the truth is I just don’t want him to know how deeply he’s affecting me.
I’m just not ready to give him that yet. “I’m just overwhelmed, you know.”
“I understand. I’ll be in the waiting room.
Take as long as you want.”
“You don’t have to wait, I don’t need you,” I
say without much conviction.
“Says you.” Mark walks away leaving me alone
with Dad.
I feel Dad’s hand squeezing mine and look down
to see him smiling again.
“Julia,” he whispers. I lean to hear him. “I’m
so glad.”
“What, Dad?”
“I’m glad you finally found a man worthy of you.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
 
“I love you,” my father says.
His head leans back and eyes close once more. I
wait for a while but he doesn’t stir again.
Mark’s in the waiting room fussing with his
cell phone when I walk out. I want him to hold me and tell me that everything
is going to be okay. My vision blurs at the thought of sharing my pain with
him, but I turn away and wipe my eyes.
I quickly dart across the hall and take the
side elevator out. Hopefully by the time he realizes I’ve left, I’ll be home in
bed and he will get the hint that this part of my life, my pain, is off limits.

Walking down the hall to my apartment door, I
feel the weight of the past few days fold around me like a straight-jacket. Not
just the relationship, the magazine, the arrest or my dad–but a combination of
everything drains me. I look up to see a person standing by my door. I don’t
bother calling the police or security. I know that shape, in darkness or light.
It’s Mark.
“How dare you follow me here,” I seethe,
expecting him to withdraw or wither or apologize.
He just smiles. “Follow you? I didn’t follow
you. I beat you here! I need to get you a better map of the city.”
“You need to leave me the hell alone,” I
strike back. “I gave you my body and my compliance, not the title to my life
like some cheap ass car you bought on a second hand lot.”
“Julia, that’s not fair,” he says sternly.
“There is not one thing about you or your life that is ‘cheap ass’ or ‘second
hand’.”
“Well I sure feel wrecked.”
“Let’s go inside and talk this out.” Ever
rational, Mark has no idea he’s just stepped onto the rollercoaster ride from
hell.
“I’m not letting you inside–my life, my body
or my apartment. Take your map and your money and your shining armor and get
the fuck away from my door before I call the cops.” I reach out and push his
shoulder, tempting him. I don’t know if I want him to fight me, hug me, or push
me back. I just want something to happen.
“The way you’re acting, it’s you the cops will
be taking into custody. Want that to happen again? Are you starting to like the
feeling of zip ties, because I can bring some over if you like them.” His
sarcasm cuts through me. Whatever I’m trying to manipulate him into being or
doing, it’s not going to happen.
I glance at his face, his jaw firmly set,
clearly ready for the argument he expects from me. But I don’t have the energy
to fight anymore, not him, not now.
“Just go, please.” I say half-heartedly.
He sighs. “Let’s both just go. Inside. Because
I have some things to tell you and I’m not really sure you want your neighbors
to hear any more than they already have.”
I nod and let him in. He looks around my place
and I realize I haven’t been home or cleaned very much. My table is covered
with Paul Fries legal documents and notes. Two blouses and a bra hang over the
back of my couch and an empty bottle of wine sits on the coffee table. If I had
any sense at all I’d be mortified. But right now I’m so tired I barely care at
all.
“Well, have a seat.” I point to the couch. He
walks over, picks up my bra, folds it and places it neatly on the coffee table.
He does the same with my blouses and then pats the cushion beside him.
“You too,” he says casually, as if he just met
me at a café and is inviting me to join him for tea.
“Mark, I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically,
emotionally exhausted.”
“Sit down.” His voice is stern. I obey in an
instant, plopping down beside him.
“You could have stopped our deal at any time.
I’ve given you chance after chance to say you don’t want to submit to me. But
every time you continue to give yourself to my instructions, my desires and
directions. Every time you keep the deal. Do you know why I even offered you
our deal?” He looks directly at me, his beautiful eyes trying to make contact
with my soul. For a moment, I feel myself opening to him and then before I can
speak, the hard protective shell covers my heart and mouth.
“Oh, I don’t know. Free sex for a change?”
“I’ve paid for a lot of things in this world,
but I’ve never had to pay for sex,” he counters, batting away my bitter retort
like a horse swats a fly. Even when I don’t want him to be, he’s perfect.
“Because I’m so hot?” I ask disagreeably.
“Because you’re so sad,” he says, all humor
falling from the sky. “So lonely, so… lost.”
“That’s not your business.”
“I think it is. I’ve watched you bully
employees, push your weight around, shut out honest offers of friendship and
stoke the fires of rage and regret. Lynx isn’t a job; it’s a battleground where
you pit your passion and talent against anything you can find. You win. You
always win because you give it everything you have, and you have so much. So
when I saw you in my office that day, ready to tear the building apart with
your bare hands, I knew you needed help.”
“Of course I needed help. I was robbed.”
“Not help with Lynx. Help with life. Help with
love. I knew you needed at least one person in your life who was willing to
tell you ‘no.’ You need someone gentle enough to listen and strong enough to
give you direction. You didn’t just need another man to push against. You
needed a man who wouldn’t be pushed and who would give you the freedom to
accept what’s given to you, not just the ability to get what you want. You need
submission, Julia. It’s not just a game, it’s a gift. For both of us.”
The hot stinging tears forming in the corner
of my eyes threaten to fall. I stare at the ceiling, willing them back but it’s
too late. I drop my head and try to look away but he puts his hand under my
chin and catches my tears in his palm.
“Don’t hide these,” he says, showing me small
wet dots on his hand. “Tears are honest. Real. And they are part of you too.
Don’t fight them. Let them fall.”
I try to push his hand away but he brings it
back, holding my shoulders then brushing my hair off my forehead.
“You don’t understand,” I gurgle. “You’ve
never needed anything in your whole life.”
“That’s not true. I have needs, just like
everyone,” he says quietly.
“Really?” I pull myself back, forcing him to
lower his hands from my face and drop them to my shoulders. “Name one thing you
have ever needed.”
Mark reaches up and lets his finger run across
my cheek following the path of my tears. He looks directly at me, no
distraction, no diversion, just truth.
“I need you.”
His eyes are open wide, looking into mine, his
face open and soft, a sheepish grin crinkling the corners of his eyelids. I
consider the vulnerability on his face, realizing for the first time that his
strong exterior protects a heart that is just as capable of feeling as my own.
I lean forward to kiss him, praying he will
take charge again. He does. His lips cover mine and his arm pulls me closer
toward him. He envelops me and kisses me deeply, pulling back just long enough
to give me a few small kisses, then embracing me with his lips once more.
Reaching out, I put my hands on his chest
rubbing it and pulling at his buttons. His hold on me is so strong and I feel
such comfort in his arms. I want to be even closer, held tighter. I want to be
part of him and I want him in me. I place my hand on his pants and begin to
rub, hoping to see arousal in his eyes.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m the boss in that
department, remember? I’m the one who gets to say.”

I continue rubbing and pushing against him,
moving my kisses across his cheek to his ear where I speak clearly.
“Then, say. Because I really need this now.”
“Not too tired?” Mark asks, his smile
returning.
“No. Not at all.”
“Good,” he says. Mark puts his strong left arm
under my legs and with his right arm looped around my shoulders he lifts me
into the air, kissing me lightly as he carries me toward my bedroom.
Placing me on the bed, he begins kissing and
touching me gently. It is so different from his rough thrusts, and so much like
the gentle man he usually becomes afterward. I try to hurry him a bit, reaching
down to lift my shirt, when he puts his hand on mine.
“Before you do that, I need a decision. A real
one. If you think your sexual submission to me is profane, then we should call
it off. That doesn’t mean I’ll leave, or even that I’ll stop needing you. It
just means we have to go about this differently.”
Refusing to answer the question with words, I
pull my top over my head and unhook my bra, dropping it dramatically on floor.
He smiles. I place my hands under my breasts and lift them to him–the most
fitting offering I can imagine at the time. He accepts my desire, lowering his
chin and taking my nipple in his mouth, sucking and pulling on it rhythmically
while his hands continue to undress me.
When he is naked too, he positions his body
between my legs but continues to knead and nurture my breasts. Eventually he
runs his tongue up and down my stomach and side, causing me to quiver all over.
Placing my hands on his sides as he hovers over me, I begin to slide down,
hoping to take his cock in my mouth, but he stops me.
“Tonight, it’s for you. Just you.” He guides
my head back the pillow. He continues to lick and caress me until his tongue
finds its way to my mound. He licks both sides of my lips, his tongue
occasionally diving deep inside, feeling the wetness bubble out of me. Finding
my clit, he sucks and licks around it, pulling it from its hood and enlivening
my body until I feel I may spontaneously combust.
My hips are rising as my breath begins to
quicken. I am so close to release when he slows to a stop.

“No,” I whine, fearing he might just leave me
in the heightened state until I go mad with lust. He chuckles a second and
pulls himself up, placing his cock between my engorged lips, right at the entry
point. Knowing the power of his thrusts, I bite my bottom lip and wait for it,
but, instead he moves slowly, deliberately, into my body.
He surges into me in small strokes, then pulls
out slowly, only to surge again. The back and forth motion of his cock inside
me sets my whole body to his pulse. My hips come up to meet his thrusts and
descend with his pull. In my mind I am lying on a raft in the ocean, the deep
blue waves crest against me gently as I float on the rippling water. Just
floating there, without a fear, or a care, in the world, each wave as steady
and pleasing as the next.
Then I feel his thumb resting on my clit
rubbing circles on it as he pushes in me and presses downward with his movement
out. Now my mind, body and soul are on the raft and the ocean underneath me is
building in speed and volume. I hold onto the sides of the bed for fear the
waves will topple me and I feel it–a giant tsunami of pleasure–churning towards
me. My cry starts so softly, like a dove’s coo, but by the time the power of
the wave is ready to crest I am moaning loudly, begging for it to crash down on
me and take me out to sea. Then it hits me.
The spasm is deep inside me and long. I move
with the sensation, my entire channel pulsing with the rhythm rocking up and
down as my mind explodes while the pleasure takes me under, quivering and
throbbing on the end of him. I don’t know if he is making sounds or not, I am
drowning in my release when I feel his seed spurting within me.
He stands after he withdraws from my body and
lifts me a few inches, moving me to the center of the bed, out of the wet spot.
He lies in my place and pulls me close to him. I want to tell him I don’t
really mind the remnants of our encounter, but discover I’m not ready to speak
quite yet.
He runs his hands through my hair, and moves
his finger over my body. I collect myself in time and finally am able to find
my voice when he speaks before I can.
“I think I might have missed your answer,”
Mark says with his usual confidence. “What do you want to do about the deal?”
“Why Mr. Stone, Sir,” I say doing my best
Scarlett O’Hara impersonation. “I’m yours to command.”

~~~

Twenty days ago I never would have been
awakened by the sun streaming through my window. Most days, by now, I would
have been showered, dressed and in my office at Lynx looking over writing
samples and editing first drafts. But now, I’m curling under the covers
enjoying the sleepy morning moment. Stretching, I reach out and jump when I
feel something unexpected.
“Mark!” I exclaim, trying to recall exactly
what day of the week it is and why there is a man in my bed when last night’s
sensuous lovemaking returns to my mind.
“You were expecting someone else?”
“No, I…um…well…” I stammer a moment trying to
think of something to say other than I woke up in a fog and didn’t remember the
love we made last night, even though it was one of the deepest experiences of
my sexual life. “I’m just surprised you’re still in bed. I expected you to be
making breakfast or something.”
“Actually,” he replies with a tone of good
humor to his voice. “I did get up to make us some breakfast but unless you want
a meal made of half-opened expired yogurt, a cracked egg, some cabbage and
teriyaki sauce we’re out of luck. Don’t you eat?”
“Not lately,” I confess. “I’ve been a little
busy, you know, saving my magazine, supporting my father, being a sex slave,
getting my car washed—”
“Speaking of the sex slave thing. We should
talk.”
“I thought we cleared that up last night.”
“We did. But I wanted to make sure it was your
brain and heart talking and not just the waves of orgasmic bliss. We’re
progressing farther into the deal and things are going to get more challenging,
more serious, and I need to know you’re fully up to the tasks.”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, trying to imagine
just what we could do that would challenge me more than he already has. “I’m
ready for whatever’s next.”
“Good.” He nods as we endure an awkward
silence so painful I start yammering to fill the room with something besides
static.
“It’s been tough, you know. Submitting. I’m so
used to being in charge of everything. To be told, and to do what you’re told—hasn’t
been in my world for a long time. In fact, it wasn’t really a part of my world
even when I was young. My dad always encouraged me to challenge the system. My
mom always wanted me to beat it.”
“That’s part of the problem. It’s good to know
when to take, but it’s crucial to know how to give. Pushing people around isn’t
the same as relating to them.”
“In college they drill it into you that
reporters have to be aggressive. You have to take what you want, you have to
rip the story out of the shadows, and you have to control your environment. I
thought I was doing my job. I actually thought it was a compliment when I found
out the staff secretly called me Miss Shark.”
“Miss Shark?” He laughs at the nickname.
“Yes.” I blush. “But lately I’ve realized it’s
not who I want to be. When Kenneth Allen referred to that name in my office I
actually cringed. Hearing it come out of his mouth just showed me what an ugly
image it could be.”
“The line between aggressive and assertive is
blurry.” He leans back against the headboard to wax philosophic.
“I suppose so, maybe it was too blurry for me
and I crossed the line a long time ago. I was just afraid, I think. Afraid of
being seen as weak, being walked over, so I did anything I could to appear
strong.”
He is silent. I’m not sure if he heard me or
if his mind is somewhere else. He sits straight up and looks at me. “Wait a
minute. When did Kenneth Allen call you Miss Shark?”
I blink, unsure of where he’s going with this
question. “The day he fired me. He sat right behind my desk and mentioned how
the staff refers to me as Miss Shark.”
“But how did he know that?” Mark grows urgent
in his questioning, his eyes lighting up. “He’s Blake’s lawyer. He never worked
with you after the acquisition until recently. How would he know what they call
you?”
His tone with this line of questioning sets me
on edge and I prop my back against the headboard, “Blake probably told him, I
assumed.”
“And how would Blake know?” Mark says in a
stern, direct fashion. He isn’t accusing me but it was clear he senses
something is wrong.
“I don’t know,” I say, climbing out of bed and
putting a robe on. My body feels delicious after the night together but this
line of questioning is dramatically increasing my tension. “I don’t know how
Blake knows my nickname, how he stole from my company or how he knows what
stories we ran. All I know is he took my world away!”
“I think those questions all have the same
answer. How did you find out they called you Miss Shark? I mean, I’m sure they
didn’t call you that to your face.”
“Janice told me over tea one day. At first it
was just a few employees. But when I started reviewing their inter-office
communication I noticed it all over. I’d see things that said, ‘Miss Shark is
going to yell when she sees my word count’ or ‘Meeting with Miss Shark, scary!’
and I would smile. They don’t know I can see their inter-office IM’s so I just
pretend I don’t know what’s happening.”
“How do you see the messages?”
“Through the software from you guys. About a
year or so ago the IT guy from Sandstone Ventures came by and put software on
my computer. He said the company had a policy that all properties have to use
it and monitor the online activities of staff. So, I can actually open up
anyone’s computer from my office and see what they’re doing, or what they’re
writing. When I started seeing ‘MS’ and realizing what it meant, it made me
laugh.”
“We don’t have any software like that! And we don’t
set policy for our properties. We just handle the capital.” Mark jumps out of
bed and starts frantically looking for his clothes. “That’s it! That’s how he
did it.”
He gets dressed and heads toward the door
mumbling about techs and codes and backdoors. I jump in front of him to stop
him from leaving without saying goodbye.
“Breakfast will have to wait.” He pats my
shoulder, attempting to push me to the side. “I need to get to the office.
Better yet, I need to get to
your
office.”
“What are you talking about?” I block the door
until I get some kind of reasonable response.
“That’s how Blake’s been embezzling money.
He’s using your system, your software. The program that lets you see into your
staff’s computers is letting him into yours. It’s got a backdoor that links him
to you. He got more money than Lynx has, but I’m sure with the right records,
we could track his transactions through your office.”
“Let’s call the cops, now!” I say knowing I’ll
lose this argument for the three-hundredth time.
“It’s not enough to know it Julia, we have to
prove it. I need to get inside your office.”
“Impossible. I’m sure they changed the locks
when they threw me out and my contact says they have all new codes and
passwords. Besides, if they catch you in my office, it’s going to tip them off
you know.”
“Then I need someone on the inside. I need to
meet your contact.”
At Mark’s sudden desire to meet Janice, I
stall. She’s the one piece of the puzzle that I still control. Do I trust Mark
enough to give her up to him? If it came down to a choice between the survival
of Sandstone Ventures or Lynx, which would he choose? What would it mean for Janice
and for me, if he betrays us all? My mind jumps back to the anonymous text I
received weeks ago: “Do not trust him.” How would Janice take the news that I
am sleeping with Mark? What would she think of my deal with him? Would she
think that I am making a serious mistake?
“I need to think about it. I can’t just risk
my contact for a whim,” I say with a little more defiance than I need to
display right now. Mark’s jaws lock and his eyes narrow for a moment.
“That’s a pretty curious attitude for a woman
who runs around assaulting people and whose whims have made my attempts to get
to the truth a nightmare.” He grumbles. I soften my features and let him know
I’m not trying to be difficult, just safe. “Fine, you think about it. But don’t
take too long. The clock hasn’t stopped to consider the consequences.”
Mark doesn’t slam the door, but he closes it
sharply enough for me to know he’s not happy with my stalling. I grab my purse
and head out for a bagel and some groceries, my mind consumed with the pros and
cons of allowing Mark and Janice to meet. If it weren’t for that stupid text,
putting doubts into my head.