The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) (7 page)

Sitting at a sidewalk café in the East
Village, I squint against the sun and discover I’m staring right at Janice even
though I barely recognize her. My normally neat and professionally dressed
friend is wearing old jeans with an oil stain on one leg, a football
sweatshirt, floppy hat, and sunglasses. She makes an effort to look up and down
the street then slides into the seat across from me.
“You couldn’t pick an inside place?” she
whispers. “Why didn’t you wear something unusual? You look just like you always
do. They can spot you a mile away!”
“Oh, I don’t know Janice. Maybe I thought
looking like a drug dealer or international terrorist would attract more
attention than it would repel,” I reply with a sarcastic smile. “Are those even
your jeans?”
“They are my sister’s. You don’t understand,
Julia. You don’t know what it’s like there. They keep your office door closed
and locked unless Kenneth All-Slime is there poking around. They changed the
password to your computer and put in a privacy program to protect it on the
network. Then they made everyone change their own password. John Kellen thinks
they are using some kind of tracking software to read everyone’s new password
as it was put in.”
“Jeez Janice, what’s next? Kenneth is going to
peel off his face like they do in Mission Impossible and turn out to be Cameron
Diaz?”
“Ha ha, very funny. I’m glad you’ve kept your
sense of humor. It must be nice to be you. I have two ulcers and an eye
twitch.” Janice pretends to be teasing but I can see she’s really under a lot
of pressure.
“Yep. It’s great to be me. I’ve lost my job,
my magazine, my life work, been escorted by security guards not once—but twice,
had two conversations with the cancer treatment center about how I’m going to
pay for my Dad’s experimental treatment which may or may not be working, been
arrested for assault, and been notified my lawyer’s retainer runs out at the
end of the month. My life is just peachy keen!” I respond.
I nearly blurted out “became a sexual slave”
in the laundry list, but didn’t. I trust Janice, but I don’t think Mark would
enjoy that part of the deal becoming public, and I’m not sure how she’d react.
I don’t know what I think about giving myself sexually in exchange for help,
let alone what she might think. Plus, there’s no way I could describe the
incredible pleasure his rough thrusts have been providing me.
“I know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tense.
The whole office is abuzz at you punching Blake the Snake right in the eye. How
is your lawyer doing? Have you found a way back?”
“I’m working on a plan. I can’t tell you
anything about it, but I may call on you and need your help,” I reply, adding a
hint of mystery. It works for Mark, maybe it will work for me. “And, for the
record, I slapped Blake’s face. Although I’m sure by the time it gets to court,
I will have crippled him.”
“You know, there are some things I could do.
Kenneth is asking me to run the office when he isn’t there interrogating people
or searching through things. I could find a way to jam the copier, stall
contracts and slow things down further, trip the breaker and shut the system
down claiming brownouts. Heck, no one at the office does anything real at work
anymore. They keep their real writing at home.”
“Thanks for the thought, but I don’t think
that’s the best idea.” I’m a little taken back by Janice’s offer. She’s as meek
as a mouse and once cried when she got a warning for speeding because it was
her first ticket and she didn’t like the fact she broke a law. Now she’s
willing to sabotage the system for me? It must be terrible there.
“I’m serious, Julia. If you need a ghost in
the machine, you can count on me. In fact, the whole office is behind you. No
one quit because they keep thinking you’re going to come back. But, I’ve heard
a lot of people say they’d rather become internet bloggers than work for that
hack Valerie James.”
“Janice, when you said, ‘when Kenneth is not
interrogating people’ what did you mean?”
“Well,” she leans over and whispers louder,
only drawing more attention to us. “Kenneth calls them interviews and says he
and Blake are just trying to get an idea what everyone’s talents and projects
are but it’s clear they are looking for something. They keep asking people what
they’ve written about, what they are working on now, and if you assigned them
anything that isn’t in the system. Everyone is stonewalling them.”
“Have they found anything?”
“No, and they’re pissed. At one point Blake
shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘I am truly amazed you people have an
award winning magazine when none of you seem to be working on anything
interesting!’ People just laughed at him, and he slammed the door and started
poring through your files again.”

“What are they looking for? Did they mention
the Wall Street piece by name?”
“No,” Janice squints when I say the words out
loud. “But I think they know something about it. They were asking if anyone had
done a ‘political or financial’ piece. And they requested all your payouts,
personnel files, and have been going over your source lists. The first thing
they did was block my access to accounting, but they keep asking questions
about money.”
“Is the Wall Street piece still secure?”
“They will never find it.”
“Is the source secure?”
“She’s out of reach and out of touch. She’s
safe.”
“As long as we keep it that way we are okay. Listen
Janice, one more thing,” I try to find a non-suspicious way to clue her into
Mark’s presence on my side of the war. “You know Mark Stone, Blake’s brother?
He’s the Co-president.”
“Yes, he used to handle our account until he
bailed like a cheap rat fleeing a sinking ship. Loser.”

“Well, he’s a friend of mine. No one can know
that. He’s been helping me try to get back in. I can’t tell you anything now,
but someday he may call you and ask you to do something—I don’t know what—but I
want you to do what he says if he calls.”
“He’s a ‘Hi, how ya doin?’ friend or a ‘Let me
make you some eggs for breakfast’ kind of friend?” Janice raises her eyebrows
with a side smile.
“He’s just a friend. For now.” How could I
possibly explain he’s my friend who routinely bends me over desks and cars,
enters my body with a thrusting force that makes me wet every time I think
about it, fucks me like I’m a whore then holds me like I’m a precious egg? I
don’t even understand it; there’s no way on earth she would.
“Do you trust him, Julia?”
The moment she asks me, the last few weeks
pass before my eyes. I see my anger at him for handing off our file to Blake,
and my desire when he took me that first time, his frustrating absence that
made me do something stupid, and his caresses on the couch after he bailed me
out. I see myself embracing his cock in my desiring wet mouth as he told me he had
a plan, and I see that text—that damn text message—saying ‘Do not trust him.’ I
saw it all and I had to make a decision.
“Yes,” I tell her, wanting to believe it
myself. “Yes, I trust him.”

Tom Petty was wrong. The waiting isn’t the
hardest part—the boredom is. I spend my time hanging around my apartment
waiting for something to do. Half the time, I feel like Mark is stringing me
along and I want to run out and do something, anything, to get my magazine
back. Then I remember what happened the last time I went running out with a
head full of steam. The other half of the time I find myself reflecting on the
different ways Mark has used my body, and reliving the pleasure of it all. At
all times, I’m waiting for the phone to ring. But when it finally does, I
almost miss it.
After carrying my silent electronic leash
around with me all day, the one time I set my phone on the table and go to the
bathroom, it rings. Panicked, I nearly fall off the toilet seat, and end up
jogging to the phone with my pants around my ankles and my underpants at my
knees. Standing in the kitchen, I find it an appropriate way to look when I
realize it’s Mark on the line.
“Come to me,” he says, his voice causing my
clit to swell and tingle.
“Excuse me? Mark? What did you just say?” I
ask just to be sure I’m not hallucinating this whole event. I hear his heavy
sigh, and realize that’s the sound he makes when I disappoint him.
“When I want you, I will tell you to come,” he
explains slowly. “But, we’ll have to work on that. In the meantime, I need you
to come to my apartment. I haven’t found anything definitive on Blake yet, but
I have some promising leads, I think.”
“Really? What? Did he fire me without cause?
Did he take out a loan on the magazine’s assets without approval? Tell me!” I’m
so excited to hear there may be a weak link in Blake’s carefully planned coup.
“Not on the phone, Julia,” Mark replies in a
tone meant to show me exactly how dumb I can be sometimes. “Come to me.”
“What’s the address?” I ask, realizing I have
no idea exactly where his building is and only a vague memory of how I got
there the first time.
“You were here before,” he responds with
another sigh. “255 West 94th Street, 27th Floor. Don’t park here. Blake doesn’t
live in the city, but Kenneth is only a few blocks away and Valerie lives in
Central Park West. Park at the public on 96th and Broadway. Walk over to my
building, go to the service elevator and tell the bellhop your name is Lucy
Conway. He will send you to me.”
The words Blake used still sting me and I find
myself rebelling against his directions and fake name, “Lucy Conway? Who’s she?
Your current company whore?”
Mark kept the edge in his voice to let me know
he was displeased, but answered patiently and clearly. “No, we don’t have one
of those. Lucy Conway was my former cleaning lady who quit when she got married
several years ago. I never took her name off my visitor list, so you can use it
without raising suspicion.”
“Oh, so I’m coming over to clean your
apartment?” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mark replies giving me a
deep-voiced chuckle that sends chills up my spine. “You’re going to do so much
more than that.”
His plan works perfectly. The bellman doesn’t
even look twice at me. He just checks his list, puts me in the elevator and
sends me up. My hands shake with anticipation of seeing Mark again and
hopefully getting another look at his beautiful place. I am so excited I nearly
fall out of the elevator when the doors open.
“Easy now, Lucy,” Mark says with a smile. His
earlier edge seems to have been replaced with confident cheer. Some light jazz
is playing in the background and he hands me a wine glass full of something
white. I don’t bother to ask what it is—I just take it and drink. That makes
him smile and nod. “Everything okay getting here?”
“Yes. I was worried I was overdressed. You
know—for a poor housemaid.”
“Clearly.” Mark laughs. “You’ve never had to
pay for a cleaning service. There’s nothing poor about it!”
“So, what is there to tell me?” I’m so ready
to hear good news. All the way over I tried to imagine what Mark was going to
say and prepared for it to give me a good night’s sleep for a change.
“I do have something important to tell you.
It’s something that has the potential to give you back your magazine or cost me
my company. It’s not a game, and it’s not something we can handle without
discipline and planning. So if I’m going to tell you, you cannot go start World
War Three in our employee lounge. If I tell you, I need to trust you. And, to
trust you—I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you, Mark,” I say, looking
directly in his eyes. “I made some mistakes and I’m sorry but I do trust you.”
Mark looks at me for a second, as if he is
trying to read my thoughts. He smiles politely, stands up and looks me over
from top to bottom.
“You were right before,” he says, holding his
hand out to me.
“Before?”

“You are clearly overdressed.” He takes my
hand and walks me out of the living room into a spare bedroom. It’s nice with
fancy bed-coverings, beautiful headboard, and lovely armoire. Beautiful, but
clearly not his bedroom. “Take off all your clothes, fold them neatly, and
place them in the chair. Sit on the edge of this bed and I’ll be back in a
moment.”
“What are we doing?” I ask hesitantly. What
could he possibly have to tell me that requires nudity?
“Trusting,” he replies with a smile and takes
our empty glasses out of the room. After he leaves, I disrobe in a hurry and
follow his instructions to the letter.
Butterflies fill my stomach as I sit here.
However, unlike the unpleasant nervousness of the unknown, this feeling is
something I can only describe as delicious. Excitement combined with fear and
the desire to please him all combine to create an energy that is irresistible.
As Mark walks into the room, his easy smile
lets me know I’ve pleased him. At least so far.
“Good, good girl,” he soothes as he reaches
out running his finger down my cheek and then kisses me deeply. I thrill at the
touch of his lips on mine. He reaches to his back pocket and pulls out a long,
thick silk scarf. Getting very close to my face, Mark looks me in the eye.
“I want you to focus on my smile,” he says as
he begins unfolding the long scarf and twisting it between his hands. “It will
be the last thing that you see, for a while. Remember it.”
My heart is beating so fast I feel like I’m
going to pass out. I look at his gorgeous face reassuring me that everything
will be alright. I smile back, wanting his lips against mine again. Then the
world goes black as he places the scarf across my eyes. It’s thick enough to
keep all light out and it offers not even a corner for me to cheat with. I keep
focusing on his smile and the feeling of his closeness to my body.
I feel the rough tip of his finger slide down
my cheek, pausing over my nipple and circling it, sending an electric current
straight to my brain and lower regions. His hands guide me back until I’m
reclining against the headboard propped up by pillows. I feel his weight shift
as he gets off the bed.
“Don’t move, don’t speak,” Mark whispers. I
obey. His absence from the room gives me a few moments to reflect on this
sensation. Not the sensation of being blindfolded, but the sensation of
submission. I’ve been the strong one all my life and Dad always taught me the
value of self reliance. Yet, giving myself to him in these moments of intimate
trust is a feeling unlike anything the pride of standing on my own could
produce.
I hear a bowl clink on the bedside table and
some other sounds, but can’t make them out. Surely he must know of my
excitement, I feel the goose bumps on my arms rising. His large hand holds my
chin up and the air is filling with the smell of a cut orange. Sweet and ripe,
my mouth waters for the taste of it. I open up instinctively and he squeezes
some juice for me to taste. He leans into my ear again. My eyes blind, the
energy of his presence is overwhelming.
“You know how you wanted that orange? Mouth
open begging for the taste of it? That’s how you should receive my kiss, open
and ready for it.”
I nod, feeling the desire for him to be in me
growing stronger, my wetness building and my mouth feeling empty without something
in it. Then as he shifts again I hear the bowl clink and the sound of his teeth
biting something with a distinct crunch. He waves the object under my nose and
my eyes begin to water at the bitter acrid smell.
“Habanero pepper,” he says. I keep remembering
his smile and focusing on that, praying he doesn’t expect me to take that into
my mouth. I never could handle the hot stuff. But he doesn’t. His finger traces
its way down my nipple again, still erect from his former touch. He circles it
once, and then rubs the pepper around my areola in circles. The heat of the
pepper creates a fast and stinging sensation. By the time he is coating my
other nipple in the juice of the pepper I am squirming desperately.
I whimper and begin to fidget as the burn
increases. My inclination is to pull off the blindfold, push him away and get
water, milk, honey, anything to take the rising burn off my chest. But I don’t.
I sit on my hands to keep them from moving. I swallow deeply, the pain
increasing with the heat.
I hear a glass chime against the dresser then
feel an amazing cooling sensation as Mark leans over taking my nipple into his
mouth, rolling it around with something cold he took in. Maybe water? Or is it
milk? The soothing liquid combined with the sensation of his rough tongue on my
raw nipples elates me. I start twitching and trying to get him to notice the
other nipple is still on fire. Again, he takes a drink and washes my breast in
kisses and tongue laps at my nipples, coating in something soothing. When the
pain is gone and I’m breathing normally, he whispers to me once more.
“Feel that heat? That’s the way I want you to
feel when I touch you.”
His hand travels down, toying with my belly
button then rubbing the top of my mound. The fear of the pepper inside me
terrifies me but I have to trust he will not harm me. His touch is comforting
and yet inciting me to ache and tingle for him all the more. I move my hips
slightly, praying he doesn’t consider me to be violating his instruction. It’s
a risk. I don’t want to do anything to stop this feeling.
He leans down, his tongue sliding across the
top of my vaginal lips. The sensation charges my entire being with desire.
Although the pepper juice has been neutralized, the burning need of my breasts
continues. I want to move my arms so badly—to reach out and embrace him as his
tongue dodges in and out of my pussy, teasing and drowning me in my own juices.
He pulls away and I want to scream. But I don’t. I don’t move at all. I must
obey.
I sigh loudly enough for him to hear my
longing for his body. His hand rubs my mound, spreading my legs wider. I feel
his finger dive in for a moment and then withdraw, leaving me achingly empty. I
start to move back and forth, seeking out his finger. Soon I am out of control,
humping his hand with tears of need and frustration soaking the blindfold.
I push my hips against the dry air, biting my
lip and gasping. The longer my pussy is empty the greater my need grows. I hear
a plastic cap open, and then his fingers, coated in some heavenly oil or lube
or something, slide into me, filling my need completely. I slam my body down on
his hand over and over trying to ease the need created inside me. It’s only
after some time that I realize I’ve been humping Mark’s hand like a mad woman.
I blush under my blindfold.
“Feel that need? That’s the way your pussy
should need my cock,” he says his voice strained with passion of his own.
“It does,” I gasp. Realizing I spoke out of
turn, I am terrified he will withdraw from me for doing it. I feel the pressure
of his hand, his fingers still wet from my juices pushing me all the way down
on my back, as he pulls on my legs, adjusting me perfectly in place. I breathe
deeply, in part due to the effort I put into indulging my relief on his
fingers, and in part due to the thrill of the promise of him inside me.
I feel his cock hovering over my lower lips as
he suspends himself on strong arms. It moves over me back and forth, barely
parting me. I keep lifting myself up to him, wanting him, inviting him, needing
him until new tears fall beneath the eye covering.
After what seems like an eternity of his
teasing, he enters me. The darkness only heightens the pleasure. Not being able
to see him, or know what’s coming next, existing on feelings alone—all of this
is amplified by my loss of vision. The head of his shaft sits in my opening
almost hesitantly, then without warning he pushes all the way into me, spearing
me.
“Oh!” I gasp then bite my lower lip. The fast
entry is followed by equally fast and hard thrusts, rocking me and pushing my
body forward. I reach out slowly with my hands, waiting to see if his voice
will command me to stop. It doesn’t, and I wrap my arms around his ass, pulling
him as deep as I can, wanting him farther and farther in me. But instead of
following my grasping, Mark changes pace, slowing down and moving in long
strokes.
A master of control, he changes everything
right as I am building to an unforgettable climax and keeps me hovering in
frustrated glee at the top of that clinching feeling. A sharp pain shoots
through my breast and I realized he has leaned over and taken my nipple in his
mouth, sucking fast and hard, sending me into a bucking frenzy underneath him.
I pump my hips faster and faster on his cock trying to increase his speed.
Finally, as I am about to break, he releases my nipple and pushes me hard
against the bed.
Jamming his shaft back into my pussy at full
speed, he rams me, harder and harder until I am nothing but a receptacle of his
power. I can’t hold on any longer. Letting go of his amazing body, I grip the
bed spread and buck wildly underneath him. As I am riding the waves of pleasure,
I hear him growl like a wild wolf finishing his prey and his cum releases into
my raw swollen channel.
He collapses beside me and starts laughing
loudly. Cradling my head against his chest he covers my face with soft kisses.
Gently, he removes the blindfold and looks into my eyes; evidence of my tears
still fill the corners.
“Mark,” I start to say something but I’m too
weak, too spent to do anything but nestle on him and feel the reassuring warmth
of his body.
“Shhhhh,” he nurtures me. “You did well,
Julia. You did so very well.”
It’s the last thing I hear before blissful
sleep takes over.