Pandora's Box (19 page)

And he tensed. She was desperate and eager to argue in his favor. Alistair could see it in her eyes.

But she must have realized he was stubborn enough to spar with her all night.

“I love you and I’m sure whomever wants us separated will lose interest as soon as they see that we will not fall for their lies.” She sighed softly.

Her breath made his lips tingle in awareness. Alistair dipped his fingers in her hair and combed it back, pushing a lock behind her ear. He didn’t want her to be worried about anything. He would take care of it. His eyes bore down on hers. With a concerned look on his face, he told her, “I want you to check if you know this number. On your computer and with Sarah. Maybe even with Davidoff.”

“I will. Tomorrow.”

“I want you to know that I believe in you.” He nuzzled the side of her neck and bit her softly, sending shivers of heated pleasure all over her body. He growled with desire.

And here we go again.
She fisted his hair and brought his head up, kissing his lips with a hunger that equaled his.
Not that I am complaining.

“You, Sophia, make me crave things I never thought I’d crave again. I want to be with you all the time. I want everything you have to give.”

“I want to be with you, too. I want to smother your bad memories with good ones. I want to be all you know, all you see.” She stood up, crooking her finger at him, with a devious smile on her reddened lips.

She took off her sweater, standing in front of him in a flimsy lace bra and long skirt. She was looking gorgeous, and a thousand other things he couldn’t describe because he was too horny to think clearly.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Besides, I think it’s time to retire.”

“Minx,” he said, already interested in other things than talk.

Tuesday, October 12
^th
, 2010.

5.22 a.m.

A strange dream woke Alistair. He frowned, trying to remember it but gave up as a breath fanned his nipple, steering his half arousal to a full hard-on. Lazily, he opened his eyes and peered down at Sophia sleeping soundly on his chest, completely naked, but for the sheet which did not conceal her.

He smiled. He was never one for too much cuddling and spooning, but since his first night with Sophia, they started and ended their sleep tangled in each other’s arms.

Has she rolled here on her own, or did I pull her over?
He didn’t really care as long as they kept tangled up like that.

Slowly he traced a fingertip over her spine. She murmured in Portuguese in her sleep and burrowed deeper against him, rubbing her cheek on his skin.

He marveled at what she could do to him and his body with such gentle touches. She had tamed him so easily. She put a firm stop on his path to destruction and brought him back to light.

As if summoned, sunlight streamed in from the window. Drawn to her, the beam enveloped them. It highlighted every luscious nuance of her body.

She exuded an astonishing peace. A peace he craved for himself.

She’s my Sleeping Beauty. No, not Sleeping Beauty.
He smothered a chuckle so as not to disturb her, remembering she didn’t like to be called that. His fingers lifted a strand of her midnight black hair, caressing it, feeling its silky touch. His eyes squinted as his hand wandered down to her slim waist and the small of her back in a light caress.

She is Snow White, complete with an evil woman lurking after her heart.

He knew she had more than seven dwarfs to protect her. He just wondered if, in this story, there would be a hunter; who he was and how he was going to behave.

Woe to anyone who harms her.
I’m her Prince Charming.
If needed, he would be her dragon slayer. He got up, thinking there was no better time to start than right then.

Soho. Emma Miller’s Apartment.

5.58 a.m.

Scrawny and unremarkable were the words Alistair would have used to describe the dark-haired, slender and plain young man that opened the door, dressed in pajama shorts. The man had fresh red lash marks on his shoulders and chest, and a few that disappeared under his shorts, which didn’t hide his erection.

Alistair knew he was seeing a male submissive and that the foreplay had just begun. He was well acquainted with how Emma liked to start her day.

“May I help you?”

Alistair didn’t reply and pushed his way inside Emma’s apartment, shoving the man aside.

“Hey,” he squealed, losing his footing and crashing against the wall. “You can’t—”

“Try to stop me,” Alistair snarled and bared his teeth, towering over the younger man, who was still leaning on the wall for support.

“How I love such a display of testosterone,” a female voice purred. “Come for a taste of good sex?”

Alistair turned his head to see Emma.

Wearing nothing but a short black leather jacket and toying with the small patch of her dark blonde curls, she cracked the whip expertly on the floor.

Alistair’s lips twisted in disgust.

The man tried feebly to interfere. “You—”

“You.” Alistair poked him hard on the chest. “Get lost.”

Trembling, the man looked at Emma, who said dismissively, “Go to your room.”

“Yes, mistress,” he replied, looking at his feet and skulking away to a plain, big room, without windows, which contained only a wardrobe and a hard wooden chair.

It was the only place in the apartment where subs could keep their private things. It also served for what she called the punishment of confinement. The sub would sit on that chair trussed up, for as long as she wanted.

The subs were also only allowed to wear the clothes she supplied, as she deemed herself the fashion expert. She always wore expensive costumes and clothes.

He knew her apartment intimately, for he had bought it a long time ago for their hardcore BDSM sex.

The once three bedroom apartment had been remodeled to a comfortable living room with an American kitchen, one huge bedroom, dressing room and bathroom and the windowless space now called the sub’s room.

It had fit the sisters’ needs very well.

And his too, at that time.

Emma had decorated it according to their sexual tastes and added soundproof walls.

He thought of it as an expensive and stylish dungeon and had spent many hours there with Emma and Heather when they wanted to enjoy hard-core play.

After Nathalie died, he didn’t care if Emma still lived there or not. He ordered his lawyers to draw up a contract for her and that was it. He had never set foot in it again.

Alistair looked around distractedly for a moment, remembering the many scenes they had played there. And, yes, he couldn’t deny, he had liked it.

Now, he knew better.

Emma couldn’t believe her luck. To have him again inside her apartment was a dream come true.

All she ever wanted was to have Alistair for herself. She wanted him to take her. The way he desired to. Every way. Any way.

She looked him over and salivated. His dark gray cardigan was buttoned to the middle of his chest and stretched over his torso. His strong legs filled the black jeans perfectly. He was wearing gray suede shoes which she wanted to take off, and lick his feet.

He was even more handsome, strong and sexy than she remembered.

Emma didn’t lose the opportunity.

She shed her jacket and her big, lush breasts with brown nipples swayed as she walked lithely to the middle of the room and dropped to her knees, whispering sensuously, “Sir, I knew that bitch wouldn’t satisfy you.”

And she bent and licked his shoes.

Alistair almost vomited. His anger bubbled and he crouched on his haunches. With a violence he thought he had controlled, he grabbed her by the long blonde hair, yanking it back with such force, a few strands were pulled out.

A moan of pleasure left Emma’s mouth, but still she didn’t look at him. “I missed you, sir.”

“Shut up!”
His ominous voice reverberated in the sparse living room as he released her instantly. “Want my money to keep flowing? Dress decently and return in two minutes. I want to talk.”
Breathe, Alistair Connor. You aren’t like this anymore. Just breathe.

“Yes. Sir.” This time the honorific title came out with a slight mocking tone.

“Emma,” he growled, irritated.

Emma had always envied her sister for having such a desirable man. She rose gingerly, a hand massaging her scalp. The gratitude that left her mouth was real when she said, “Anyway, sir, thank you. That reminded me of good times.”

What Alistair didn’t know was that Emma blamed Heather for losing him. She never considered that her tendency to constantly abuse her sister and practice those evil acts had contributed to making Heather more unstable and to turn her away from their sexual entertainment.

She stood there in a sexual trance. She wanted to suck Alistair’s penis and feel him hammering at the back of her throat.

Alistair saw desire on her face. He fisted his hands and willed them to stay by his sides, not to throttle her. “Can you hear the tick-tock, Emma? You have less than two minutes.”

That made the blonde woman rush to her room, leaving the door wide open.

From what Alistair could see, she hadn’t refurbished it.

There was a tall and huge bed with chains, handcuffs and straps hanging on the corners and on its center. Neatly arranged to one side: whips, floggers, crops, canes and miscellaneous things to cause pain. He knew that she kept a chest drawer full of other sex toys and a St. Andrews’ cross on the other side.

Control yourself.
He inhaled deep, leashing his emotions tightly, and settled on the comfortable armchair, looking at his ruined Gucci suede shoes.
I’ll have to get rid of these.

In less than the two minutes he had given her, she was back in the room dressed in a white long-sleeve T-shirt and white long skirt.

She didn’t fool him. That was one of Heather’s sub costumes. Emma wore no underwear with it. He could see her big brown nipples through the shirt, and the way the skirt highlighted her sex. If she turned, her round buttocks would be delineated too. The outfit was only missing the white collar and leather handcuffs.

Even so, he wasn’t a bit aroused by the sight.

“Sir?” she pleaded demurely. “Do I look decent?”

Alistair snorted inside and didn’t deign to answer. “Sit.”

She sat at his feet, head lowered.

“Emma. Don’t play with me.” He blew an exasperated breath. “Sit.
On the sofa
.”

She obeyed instantly.

“Let me make myself clear, Emma. I know that you sent the text messages and the photo. I don’t want you to approach Sophia. Never, do you understand?” He put his elbows on his knees and pinned her with his glare. He could glimpse her uncertainty before she nodded. “I don’t want you back in my life. Or any other woman, for that matter. I’m done with that.”

Jealousy spiked her temper, making it flare out of control. She raised her eyes to look at him. Her blue eyes blazed with fire and she said daringly, “I’m shocked.”

The only word Alistair had to describe the look on her face was dangerous.

“You used to manage so much estrogen at the same time when we were together.”

What’s your problem with hormones today, Emma?
She had never used that tone with him or changed moods so quickly. Unbuttoning his cardigan, he fingered his belt buckle. Silently, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

Immediately, her stance changed and she bowed her head. “Sorry, sir.”

“If you ever approach Sophia, try to contact her in any form, or hurt her again, directly or indirectly, you’ll never see a cent from me and my lawyers will take this apartment away. Understood?” He was going to unbuckle his belt for effect but thought better.
You don’t want to give her the wrong idea, Alistair Connor.

But Emma was already aroused and when she saw him fingering the belt, she licked her lips. She wanted to feel the belt on her skin. Badly. She was getting more aroused by the second. “Yes, sir.”

Alistair had never allowed her to cause him real pain or humiliate him. A few hard slaps or whip lashes on his firm, round buttocks and on the back of his strong, muscled legs.

She had enjoyed his grunts, knowing he did that only for her pleasure. She enjoyed it even more because Heather didn’t like to see him as a sub. Afterward, she always punished her older sister for spoiling her scenes. As much as she wished it, he never allowed her to cross the line.

And more than that, more than anything, she had loved being his sub. He played by the rules and did whatever she wanted to get her satisfied, pushing the boundaries carefully. Even younger and not experienced in BDSM, he had good instincts toward his lovers’ bodies.

Alistair had been the hottest, wealthiest and most generous lover she had ever found.

Her best prize ever.

After Heather died, she had kept the apartment and a small amount of money flowing, little scraps in her opinion, due to compromising photos.

Emma wanted the man, the stud and the money back. The thoughts swirled in her mind as she planned.

“Emma,” Alistair’s voice brought her back to reality. “Mind on the task at hand. Do you understand?”

She remembered that when he had asked a question he used to like to hear the answer loud and clear. In an attempt to entice him, with a half-truth, she stated straightforward, “Yes, sir. I understand, sir. As promised, I didn’t approach her, sir.”

From the look on her face, Alistair knew she was planning something.

You’ve lowered yourself, Alistair Connor. You should have sent some else to do this. But you didn’t. Now finish it and leave.
He tsked twice. “Not good enough, you dirty scumbag. I can send a dom that likes twenty-four-seven slaves to take care of you.”

A shudder rippled through her. Emma was not a real sub like Heather was. Enslavement to a severe dom would not fit her purposes and pleasures.