His Dark Secret - Part 1 (Erotic Romance Serial Novel) (8 page)

I nodded. “I understand that, I
see what you are saying and I think I can accept that. But the tapes: if you
keep recording us, what’s to prevent one of them getting out again? I can
handle all the rest of it, but being hounded, being reduced to that in front of
everybody, strangers I hardly know, that is too much for me.”

He sighed, grabbing me and laying
me down across his lap. I could feel the bulge of his lap digging into my back.
Where once his face was fiery, his look was filled with kindness now, well
suited to the green of his eyes. A strained smile crossed his lips.

“It won’t happen again. I slipped
up, made a mistake, but I’ve learned from it and will be more careful. In that
regard, I will do my best to protect you from another scandal. But this is
something deep in me that I need, an honest to God need.”

With one hand he was caressing my
hair, the other was pulling my panties further down, massaging my thighs, my
hips, the cheeks of my butt.

“Are you recording us now?”

He gave a small laugh. “Don’t be
silly.”

His inflection could be read
either way, but I was hard pressed to see where a camera could be hidden in the
trailer. His palm was resting on my stomach now, his fingers playing with the
hair between my legs. They were inching further down, parting my lips. Reason
told me to stop him, to bring things around to my terms. But the touch of his
hands on me that sent shivers through my legs and the feel of his desire
against my back felt too good. My body was responding. I could hold off our
conversation for later. My body needed him.

I laced my fingers behind his
head, pulling us together in a kiss. All pretense and hesitation, his exacting
coldness of before melted away in that embrace. The hand that had parted me he
now placed at my lips. I could smell myself on him, taste the tangy residue on
his fingers as I licked each one after the other. Taking me by the hand, he led
me out of the booth only to throw me on the fold out table. As it quivered
underneath me, I was afraid I would slip.

I looked up at Scott. “Won’t the
table give out?”

A wry smirk crossed his face. “Not
on your life.”

And he was on me, undressing me.
My panties were slipped to the floor and my dress was hiked up around my waist.
The top of my dress was pulled down around my shoulders, and with a quick flick
of his fingers the front of my bra was undone, leaving my chest bare to his
gaze. I reached up to pull the dress off but he stopped me with a shake of his
head.

“No. I want you just like this.”

He reached into his blazer,
throwing the condom onto my chest. Hands at his sides, he didn’t say a word,
just gave me an imperious look.

I shifted my body to where my
breasts were hanging over the side of the table. The condom in one hand, I tried
to undo his buckle. After a few failed attempts, I freed up my hands by biting
the edge of the wrapper. His pants undone but still around his waist, I pulled
him out, gripping lightly with one hand. I went to kiss it, but he pulled back
a bit to signal “No.” I felt like I was going to tumble forward. Careful not to
pull down on him, I ripped the wrapping open with my teeth and slowly rolled
the rubber around him. He rose then settled at this touch.

The next minute I was on my back,
splayed out as before. He pulled me to the edge and entered me. I almost let
out a protest out of fear he would hurt me, but gasped in surprise and pleasure
as he slipped in with ease. In each thrust I could feel the weeks we’d been
apart, his overwhelming desire that had built up in my absence. He wanted to
make up for the time, the dozens of such moments that hadn’t occurred. My knees
were bent, held against his chest. I was gripping the sides of the table,
trying not to be pulled off, the metal digging into my fingers. My back arched,
further opening my dress. I wanted to hold him, have my fingers dig into the
skin of his arms, but the best I could do was to hold myself up by the front of
his lapels.

In an instant I was airborne, one
of his arms supporting my waist. I scrambled, arms and legs locking around him.
I was kissing him, his mouth, and his neck. I burrowed my face into the folds
of his shirt, seeking the warmth of his chest. An especially arduous thrust
from him, and I bit into the skin of his shoulder. He gasped and I pulled away,
afraid I had hurt him. But he only smiled and kissed me all the more.

There was a click and a thump, and
I looked around startled. With his other hand he’d undone the support of the
table, which had slapped against the wall, leaving a space open between the two
benches. I was pressed against the wall now. One leg slipped but made contact
with the bench. On a whim, I brought my other leg to the opposite bench. It was
a strain, but left me wonderfully open and Scott was supporting me, his fingers
wrapped almost to the inside of my legs.

Clutched in his taut arms, the
weight of his strong chest against me, his sex deep within me, I was utterly in
his control. I was merely riding the wave of his desire, with little say in the
outcome. This ferocity on its own would have frightened me, but the flash of
his green eyes as they stared into my own, how they sought out the lines of my
exposed breasts; all of it was for me. I exulted in being the object of his
desires, having given myself over to the force of his lust.

He pulled out, lowering my feet to
the ground and pushed me across one of the benches. The back of the seat dug
uncomfortably into my chest, supporting the weight of my breasts. Scott spread
my legs wide. Once again, my wrists were held crossed behind my back with one
hand, the other holding tightly to my collarbone, lightly choking me. I gasped
as he entered me again, moaned as his stomach pressed rhythmically against my
butt. I struggled to free my hands, tried to twist into a better position, my
breath escaping in equal parts pleasure and frustration. I felt too much a
plaything in his hands, bending to his whims. Before he had talked of his
rules, his needs, but what about mine?

I wanted to hold him, look at him,
see the pleasure I was giving him, and could have none of this in this
position. Taking me in this manner, I could only think he was proving how much
stronger he was than me, more control of my actions than I was of his. I
thought back on his refusal to stop taping our sex, his need to control every
aspect of our situation, to control me, and it made me angry.

For a second his grip loosened and
I took my chance. I twisted my arms free and broke our connection as I turned
around. Sinking into the cushion of the bench, I pulled him back inside me,
ankles locking behind him, hands gripping his hair with all my strength,
forcing him to look on me. He shuddered, his mouth going slack with the
surprise of my reversal. Through my grip and the steel of my eyes I wanted to
drive into him the truth that, yes, he had control of my body, to do with it as
he wished, but only because I had chosen him just as much as he had chosen me,
that our fucking, and that was the best word for it, was as much for my
pleasure as his. For the moment, I was in control, under him, but driving the
rhythm of our movements. My legs and hips moved in concert to force myself
around him, to draw him in. He leaned back, his eyes rolling closed as he gave
over to my exertions.

When they snapped open, they were
filled with a newfound intensity. I had rebelled and he would punish me for
this. In a single movement he broke my grip, a few strands of hair sticking to
my fingers, pinning my arms above my head. I struggled, but he brought the full
weight of his chest down on me, crushing me further into the bench. I rocked my
hips to maintain control of our movements as he drove into me in opposition,
the opposing forces driving us closer together. I was hurting, knew that that I
would find bruises after we were done, but a thought of searing pleasure told
me Scott would end up just as bruised and beaten, and that it would be because
of me.

He came down, kissing me, and I
became breathless against his lips and tongue. I locked harder around him and
in the intensity of my anger and pleasure, I bit into his lip, drawing blood.
He pulled away, then wrapped one hand in a mess of my hair and pulled my head
back exposing my neck. His lips crashed down onto mine, his teeth leaving marks
against my bottom lip. Without a thought I reacted in turn, putting all my
strength into a slap.

For an instant I was afraid I had
gone to far, that I had crossed some boundary in our agreement. But all the
anger melted away from his face, his head thrown back in a sharp laugh of pure
pleasure.

Together we rolled onto the floor,
the impact driving the air out of my lungs. The rug burned the small of my
back. Having reached the height of our ferocity our energy turned to joy. We
were rough with each other, but no longer in an attempt to goad the other, to
hurt them. We were pushing each other, exploring a new set of sensations.

Scott bit into my breast, just
above the nipple. Not as hard as I had bit his lip, but enough to draw a gasp
from me. When he did this, I could feel a change in his breath, his movement.
This was an action special to him, but he was cautious to continue. He’s afraid
of hurting me more, I thought.

“Do it again,” I breathed.

He did, moving from my breast to
my shoulder, leaving a trail of moist love bites. He was kissing my neck now,
very lightly, his lips barely brushing my skin. A cool expectation filled my
body, broken when the next kiss turned into a quick bite. I giggled, my fingers
raking across his back, sending a shiver throughout his body.

Scott was handling me with a
domineering tenderness. His breath had grown more labored, his grip still
strong, but his touch and caresses soft. We had burned ourselves out during the
earlier power play and were giving in to the simple feel of our bodies
together. On the floor of the trailer, under the slow rocking of Scott inside
me, my body gave out in a silent shudder. Begging him to be careful, that every
part of me felt hypersensitive, Scott assured me that he was close. Moments
later he had collapsed beside me, his body spent, his breath coming out in
haggard gasps.

Settled in the crook of his arm, I
was tired and happy. In the back of my mind I felt a swirling mass of triumph
and fear, but let it slip away in the moment of relaxation. With a sigh, Scott
turned over to look at me.

“The whole shoot today, all I
could think was how I wanted you. Especially the way you were dressed today.”

I got up on one elbow, responding
with a tired smile.

“Was that get up your idea?”

“No. That was more dictated by the
script. Really it fits with the continuity of your previous scene as the slave
girl. But did I think you would look good in it? Yes. This whole time here,
while we were talking, I thought to myself how great you looked earlier today.”

“You want to see me wear it
again?”

“I can easily arrange that.”

I leaned in for a kiss. “I’d like
that.”

We righted ourselves, getting
dressed, gathering together our things. Scott said he had a few more things to
finish up at the studio before he left, but assured me he would call again soon
to see me. I believed him. The whole bus ride home I was glowing from our time
together and expectant of our next meeting. I twitched in my plastic seat,
thinking of how my body had been touched not long ago. When I got home, the
glow had faded and the concerns I had pushed away began creeping back to the
forefront of my mind.

The apartment was dark, and
decidedly empty. Jenny had left a note, saying not to worry, she’d be working
late tonight, and to give her a call if I needed to talk. I reached for my cell
and then decided against it. I needed to order the conflicting jumble of
emotions in my head before trying to tell anyone about them. I dragged myself
back into my room, ignoring the stagnant air, and fell heavily into bed.

Just this morning I had wanted
nothing more than to never see Scott Rushmand again. But through the shoot,
through our talk together, I was drawn back to him. I could no longer deny that
I wanted him, that there was something between us. But I was hard pressed to
define what exactly was going on. When he said that he desired me and that he
thought of me, I knew he was being honest. He had promised he would protect me
from another scandal, but I couldn’t help but think that it was more out of
concern for him than it was for me. And that was part of what had bothered me,
what I had sensed while we were together in the trailer. Our relationship was
of a purely sexual nature.

Though I could convince myself
that he enjoyed sleeping with me, enjoyed the knowledge that he could please
me, I wasn’t so convinced that he cared for me as a person. He had apologized
for the scandal, but there was no owning up to the fact that his actions
directly brought it on. As far as the discussion of how things would be between
us, it had been a number of decrees from him, and almost all of them were
concerned with sex. Everything was to be in his control, and I was merely the
object of his desire. I decided that Scott Rushmand didn’t love me.