Insidious

  I felt the blood again rush to my cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me what you see.”

  “It’s me. It’s my come.” I hated saying the crude words, yet I knew instinctively he’d settle for nothing less.

  “Yes, it is, and the next time you come, it won’t be in a bath. Although, let me tell you, it was fucking amazing. I know it’s been a long day, but if we’re going to get the world talking, we need to be seen together. I want you to get dressed. On your bed is a dress that just arrived. Will you let me take you out for dinner?”

  Though I wondered about Lisa’s plans, I didn’t have the strength to question. Instead, I nodded. Was no even an option? My insides twisted. There was something about being seen in public that made this situation even more real than the stupid contract. With his hand again gently caressing the side of my face, he leaned closer.

  “Let me tell you about tonight.” He didn’t wait for me to approve. “I want you to wear the clothes on your bed, only the clothes on your bed. There’s a dress and a pair of matching shoes.” He reached into the water and possessively stroked my slit from back to front, leaving my swollen clit suddenly wanting. “I want to know that this warm pussy is waiting for me, uncovered by any obstacles. I want you to know that when you look in my eyes, I’m thinking about what I watched you do, and I’m thinking about your come floating in this water. Do you know why I’m thinking about it?”

  Speaking seemed out of reach. Thankfully, he allowed me to shake my head.

  “Because after I share my beautiful fiancée with the world, I’m going to bring you back here and bury my face in that perfect pussy. The next time you come, it won’t float in a tub. No, darling, it will cover my tongue, my lips, and my chin. I’ll be dripping with your sweet juices.”

  Oh my God!

  “And you will not be sighing contently, as you just did. No, you’ll be calling out—screaming out—my name. Because as of today, that’s your job—to come, to show me how amazingly sexy you are. Because this little orgasm was nothing like what will overtake you when we get home.”

  I was shocked and appalled at his candor, and, at the same time, I was freaking turned on and hot as hell.

  “Tori,” his voice washed over me with more of his velvety tone. “Will you do that for me? Will you wear only the dress and shoes? Will you let me go down on you and make you scream my name? Will you wash my face in your juices?”

  What does someone say to that? I’d never been asked something so intimate so casually.

  His warm breath bathed my neck. “Tori, will you indulge me this evening, fulfill my desires, knowing that you too will receive yours?”

  “Yes.” It was the only word I could possibly articulate.

  I TOOK ONE last look in the mirror and smiled approvingly. My long hair was curled at the ends, allowing it to flow freely down my back, and I’d done my best to replicate the makeup from the day before adding a bit of blue to highlight my gray eyes and complement the dress. It was the dress Stewart had mentioned and was the color of cobalt, with a flowing skirt and a halter bodice that accentuated my breasts. With the open back, I couldn’t have worn a bra if I’d wanted, and thankfully, the skirt was lined and showed no hint of my lack of panties.

  When I stepped into the foyer, Stewart’s appreciative gaze gave me the strength to continue.

  “My darling, you’re stunning.” He leaned near my ear and whispered, “And I hope you’ve followed my instructions.”

  Maintaining my need for a semblance of control, I stared into the depth of his eyes and replied, “Yes, Mr. Harrington, to the T.”

  He nuzzled my neck. “Then, for good girls, I have a surprise.”

  Unknowingly, my eyes drifted to his slacks. His deep laughter filled the entryway. “Yes, I have that surprise, but I believe I’m waiting for someone to ask.”

  I fought the reddening in my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to look, but once I did, I recognized how truly close I was to asking.

  “Tonight,” he continued, “I have another surprise, before we make our dinner reservations.”

  Stewart helped me to the car, where Travis was waiting. As we approached, his driver scanned me up and down, almost as if he knew I was nude beneath my dress. My mind told me it was absurd, nothing more than a combination of paranoia and my overactive imagination.

  A little time later, the car came to a stop in front of a well-known, exclusive jewelry store in downtown Miami. The sign near the entrance indicated that the store was closed. Undaunted, Travis opened the car door, and Stewart helped me out. Before I could question his motives, the door to the store opened and a slight gentleman in a very nice suit came our way.

  “Mr. Harrington, welcome! And Miss Conway.” He bowed respectively. “I was exceptionally pleased to receive your call. Please, if the two of you will follow me.”

  I looked around the interior. Though it was closed for business, the cases were lit and members of the staff stood at the ready awaiting their directions.

  “Would you like to peruse our cases, or would you prefer to see the private collection?”

  Stewart didn’t hesitate. “Alfred, the private collection. I don’t want my wife wearing a ring that just anyone could purchase.”

  A ring? I tried to keep the look of shock from my face. Of course, I’d have a ring. I was getting married.

  We followed Alfred into a regal private office, complete with a large desk. Stewart and I sat on one side, as the jeweler settled on the other. Before he could begin, a woman entered, carrying a tray bearing crystal fluted glasses and a bottle of chilled champagne. “Excuse me. May I pour you each a drink, something to celebrate this monumental occasion?”

  I looked toward Stewart. I wasn’t old enough to drink, not legally.

  “Thank you,” Stewart said with a nod.

  I waited, wondering what would happen when they asked me for identification. However, they never asked. Instead, Alfred began, “Mr. Harrington, from our brief conversation, I believe I’ve selected the finest gems our company has to offer. I must tell you, one of these rings was already promised to another client, but for you, I’ve postponed our meeting.”

  Stewart’s lips formed a straight line. “I assure you, Alfred, you don’t need to apply high-pressure sales tactics or I’ll willingly take my business elsewhere. If my fiancée likes what she sees, we’ll buy it. It’s that simple.”

  “Of course,” he muttered, as he pulled a black velvet case from a drawer. Fixing his eyes on me, he said, “We can have any one of these rings sized for you by tomorrow. Please concentrate only on the unique settings, quality, and flawless stones.”

  My heart fluttered as he opened the case. There were only four rings, each with a stunning center diamond. The one that caught my eye had a beautiful emerald-cut yellow diamond.

  Stewart looked at me. “What do you think?

  “I-I think they’re astounding.” I looked from the case to my fiancé. “Do you truly not want more information before I choose?” Like maybe the price?

  “Alfred, are any of these rings doubles? I emphasize the need for an original.”

  The jeweler’s eyes opened wide. “No, sir. Each creation in this collection has been made by one of our world-renowned designers. Each one is as unique as the love the two of you share.”

  So they’re all fakes? I couldn’t help but think; however, before I could turn toward Stewart, he squeezed my hand. A not-so-subtle reminder that this was another step in convincing the world we were real.

  “Alfred,” I said, “I think the yellow diamond is beautiful.”

  The jeweler’s grin grew. “Miss Conway, you have wonderful taste. The center stone is a flawless 4.7-carat yellow diamond, surrounded by another 15 carats of white diamonds. This is the ring that I mentioned. I say that,” he clarified, “because it has already been sized, but it too can be readjusted.”

  He removed the ring and handed it to Stewart. After a brief inspection, Stewart aske
d, “Would you like to see if it fits?”

  It was the closest thing to a proposal I’d hear.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, extending my left hand. Slipping snuggly over my knuckle, it was as if it had been made for me. “It fits. I love it.”

  Stewart turned back to the owner. “Do you have the matching band?”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Harrington.”

  When he handed the diamond-embedded band to Stewart, he also handed him a note that I assumed contained the pricing information. Stewart barely looked at the paper, placed it on the counter and extended the band in my direction. “Do you like this, too?”

  “Miss Conway,” Alfred informed me, “the band has another 16 carats of white diamonds.”

  I didn’t respond to Alfred as I positioned the two rings together and secured them both on my fourth finger. The sparkling band fit perfectly, accentuating the large yellow diamond. Looking up to Stewart’s watchful gaze, I smiled. “I do.”

  Stewart extended his hand to the jeweler. “Thank you, Alfred. We appear to have made our decision.”

  I handed both rings back to Alfred who placed them into a velvet-lined box and handed the box to Stewart. “Thank you, Mr. Harrington…” He nodded and reached for my hand, lowered his lips to the top and said, “…and Miss Conway, we’re honored that you came by our humble establishment.”

  Once in the car, Stewart removed the velvet box from his jacket and extracted the large yellow diamond engagement ring. “Miss Conway.” His blue eyes softened. “Tori, in two more days this agreement will be irrevocably sealed. Thus far, I’m not disappointed. Allow me to place this ring on your finger as an outward sign of our mutual arrangement.”

  Was I expecting a declaration of love and devotion? What we were doing was an agreement—a contract—and the sooner I accepted that the better. I squared my shoulders, steeled my gray eyes, and extended my left hand. “I signed the contract, and I accept your ring.”

  His brows lifted. “You may want to work on your enthusiasm, my darling. In a few minutes we’ll be on the rooftop of the Beach Club, which I’m sure you recognize as one of the most exclusive private clubs in Miami. I anticipate seeing many associates, perhaps even some of your esteemed stepfather’s colleagues. While some of this is for show…” He leaned closer. “…because I am so looking forward to showing you off—as I’m sure you’re keenly aware—there’s more than an element of attraction. As I’m introducing you this evening, I want you to remember what I plan to do with you tonight.” His lips parted slightly and brushed my suddenly blushed cheek. “As I take a drink of my wine, I want you to know, I’m imagining drinking you.” He nuzzled my neck. “As I’m inhaling the aroma of our perfectly prepared meal, I’ll be anticipating your sweet scent. When the food hits my tongue, I’ll be thinking about my tongue inside of you, with your sexy legs wrapped around my face.”

  Oh my God! I knew I was getting wet just listening to him.

  “Tonight,” he went on, “when I have you back at my penthouse, I’ll be doing what every man whom you meet will want to do, what they will envision doing, what they will be doing with their wives but imagining my fiancée. You, my Tori, are stunning.” His hand found the hem of my dress and moved under the soft material toward my thighs. “Tonight and every night I’ll be the envy of every other man. You’ll be starring in their wet dreams while you star in my every fantasy.” His fingers inched upward. In a mere inch or two he’d learn for certain that I followed his instructions. “Spread your legs for me, Tori.”

  The car we were riding in wasn’t a limousine. There was no partition between the two of us and Travis, no sound barrier. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror. With the setting sun, Stewart’s driver wore sunglasses. The dark lenses covered his eyes and his expression, keeping the focus of his attention hidden.

  “Tori,” Stewart’s tone was more demanding. “Don’t make me ask you twice. Spread those beautiful thighs. Give me an appetizer, a promise of what’s waiting for me.”

  His words shouldn’t have been turning me on, but they did. I knew with a shift of my legs he’d find the wetness he sought. Once again, he’d gotten me totally aroused with only his words. “Oh, Stewart…”

  “Shush, Tori, moan into me.”

  I shifted my legs farther apart, as his lips covered mine. It was our first kiss, the first time his tongue danced with mine. Yet that was not what had my attention; my entire body ignited as his fingers plunged between my swollen folds. I widened my thighs more to give him better access. Within seconds, the world disappeared and all that mattered was his touch and his kiss. When he found my clit, I did as he’d said: I moaned.

  Our sounds intermingled as he removed his hand with an approving hiss, and cooed near my ear, “Yes, so wet, always so wet.”

  Oh my God! I wanted more. I wanted my mountain. As he brought his fingers to his mouth my cheeks blushed.

  He spread my arousal on his lips and licked. “Just a taste of sweetness.” His eyes shimmered. “Later, I’ll dine.”

  What was happening to me? He was making me want things I’d never even considered.

  My knees wobbled as Stewart led me from the car into the Beach Club. Then, as if nothing had just happened, he greeted the maître d’ and led me toward the private elevator. Once alone inside the elevator, he brushed his nose against my neck and whispered. “Nothing here will taste as good as you. My darling, I hope you don’t mind if we skip dessert.”

  I’D NEVER BEEN so busy and yet done so little. What Lisa didn’t do for me, she had someone else who could. The next two days flew by in a flurry of rush and wait. The days were monopolized by fittings, primping, and beautification. My long, dark tresses were highlighted, not in shades of blonde as I’d imagined, but tints of chestnut and lowlights of mahogany. When sunlight hit my hair, the various shades came alive in a truly surprising array of color. My skin was moisturized, waxed, hydrated, and massaged. Cosmetologists spent hours applying and teaching me to apply just the right amount of makeup. With the guidance of Zhen, a cosmetologist, I became an expert at creating the most dramatic eyes.

  The wedding dress that Lisa had chosen—yes, she said that she argued with Stewart and won, not allowing him to see it until the wedding—was stunning. Before my first fitting, it was close to my size. By Wednesday afternoon, it fit like a glove. The flowing chiffon and fitted bodice worked together to create the perfect look for a destination beach wedding.

  I’d also learned a little more about my fiancé. Though his homes were in Miami, his hotels were all over the world, and thus he spent quite a bit of time traveling. He said there would be times he would travel alone but probably more times he’d want me to accompany him. Though he never truly demanded, the way he asked, the way he inquired, left me little room for debate.

  Beginning Monday night at the Beach Club, I was introduced to his friends and associates. Never once did he hint that our union was anything other than what it appeared. We were the topic of conversation, not only in Miami, but also around the country. Even the television gossip programs talked at length about the unlikely pairing. Of course, pictures with my engagement ring went viral. News of the wedding had yet to hit the press, but Stewart had no doubt it would be front-page news by Friday morning. That was why he’d decided upon a Thursday evening wedding. Our nuptials would hit the wire before the weekend, making an impact before being lost in the end of the week drivel.

  Though I’d kept my word and hadn’t begged for his cock, it was becoming increasingly difficult. Since Sunday night, I’d reached higher heights with Stewart than I knew existed. He’d gone down on me multiple times. It was everything he offered with his fingers and more. I didn’t fight to journey to the top of the mountain, because falling off was my reward for the hard-felt expedition. When his tongue and fingers worked together, no matter how hard my hips bucked or my thighs squeezed, I was helpless against the precipice that exploded and sent me falling, not in one piece, but in a million shards to a cushion of sedat
ion. Though he liked to watch as I began the journey on my own, not once had I seen what lay beneath his slacks. Each time I reached for his hidden erection my curiosity grew, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I did as he’d predicted and begged. My goal was to make it to our wedding.

  The night before our departure for Belize, Stewart came home from his office earlier than usual. Lisa was out and I was sitting by the pool with Susan, completing the final arrangements on another order of clothing. This one was a special selection of designer casual dresses, ones that Lisa proclaimed were a necessity for my everyday activities.

  Stewart’s booming voice echoed across the rooftop pool as we both looked up to see him approach. Though he wore his custom suit and his blonde hair fell perfectly styled over his brow, the expression he wore was unlike one I’d ever seen. “Where the fuck is your phone?”

  Susan’s eyes widened as I looked around the table, moving magazines and sketches, I replied, “I-I don’t know. In my room?”

  Eyeing Susan, Stewart’s demeanor shifted. “Ms. Jennings, I believe your services are no longer required today. Please contact my wife after we arrive home from our honeymoon.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harrington,” she replied, standing and collecting her material from the table.

  “Victoria, come to my office, now.” With that, he was gone from the pool deck in a cloud of regal perfection and fury.

  “Miss?” Susan inquired once we were alone, her eyes peeking questionably toward mine.

  I wanted to assure her that everything was fine, yet I didn’t know. Nevertheless, I smiled and nodded encouragingly: perhaps in an attempt to reassure myself. “Thank you, Susan. I’ll see you in a week. Do you need me to see you out?”

  She forced a smile. “No. If you have any last-minute concerns over this order, you have my number.”

  “I’m pretty sure the order is just fine,” I replied.

  I’d faced my parents’ wrath on more occasions than I could count; I could face Stewart’s. In some ways he’d been kinder to me than they ever had. Whatever was upsetting him, I believed I could handle. That, however, didn’t lessen the anxiety that grew with each step as I made my way toward his office. When I entered, I asked, “Stewart, what—”