Chapter One
The metal bounced against itself and his right hip with each step. It felt good to be
out again, the fresh spring air on his face, warm enough to leave the front of his leather
trench wide open.
Tiny bits of gravel crunched under the hard soles of his boots as it was ground into
the sidewalk. He smiled at the thought of her, how her eyes had always lit up whenever she
saw him, the sound of her voice in the dark, the smell of her hair. Would she remember?
Would she even want him now that they were so much older?
“You are too young, my flower,” he’d whispered against her cheek, tasting her tears,
feeling the desire of her ripening body pressed too close, too tight.
“Please,” those lips had murmured back, like a punch to his stomach.
“I cannot.” He’d drawn back, light filtering through the curtain from the street
below and gazed down at her warm skin, smooth, flawless, untouched by adolescent acne. “I
will return,” he’d promised. “And then, if you are still interested…”
The scent of girlish perfume touched his lips into silence. “I’ll always be
interested,” she said with a maturity beyond her virginal years.
That’s when he’d left her. She’d been stretched out on her single-sized bed dressed
in plain white panties and a tank top, one strap falling off her shoulder and the swell of
her breasts too delicate to touch.
What if he’d waited too long? The years could easily have stolen him from her memory,
pushed his existence back into the nothingness of childhood fantasy. The thought made him
shudder until he lowered his hand to the cold steel and thick chain resting on his hip. He
licked his lips, lifted his chin and inhaled the heady aroma of the city as it settled in
for the night: dirt, exhaust, sweat, the drifting moisture of the river, fried foods and
her. He’d know her scent anywhere, warm and spicy like ginger and baby powder.
The streetlight across from her apartment flickered and buzzed. So close, so close he
could almost taste her again. He’d kept a respectable distance all these years.
The brownstone building was only a slight improvement over her childhood home in
Forest Hill on the other side of the James River. Both places were chipped and worn and
slightly grimy around the edges. Above him, trees rustled their tiny buds in the shifting
breeze. It would rain tonight. The ozone was already tainting the air, lifting the fine
hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.
Standing on the opposite side of the street, his gaze reached the top row of windows.
The one on the left was the living room, then the kitchen and all the way to the right,
her bedroom window. It was cracked open a few inches at the bottom. The shade was half
drawn, just as she’d done in another place and time. Filmy, pale curtains caught and
released the wind.
He’d been here once before, right after she’d moved in. He stalked back and forth in
the protective darkness cast by the trees. The ache between his legs tightened now as it
had then. This time he let himself feel it.
Blue-white light flickered around the seam of the drawn shade in the living room. He
smelled steak and wine, red and sweet, her favorite lambrusco, no doubt. Glancing at his
watch, he paced, ran his fingertips over the handcuffs again and let the desire spread
even deeper, until his lips parted in a soft moan.
“Do you remember me?” He sighed with the movement of her bedroom curtain as if his
breath alone had touched it.
A shadow shifted from the bedroom to the kitchen then into the living room.
It was time.
He crossed the street.
The entry hall stank of pine cleaner trying to conceal urine. Beneath her last name,
the same name she’d always had, a tiny button of light waited. She had never married.
He held his breath and pushed the button.
“Yes?” It was her voice; deeper, older, more sensual, but hers.
“It is me,” he said.
Silence rang in his ears, matched by the audible tick of his wristwatch.
“Me?”
“Your… your friend.”
Lightning licked at the clouds, chased on the heels by distant thunder. He cleared
his throat, shifted from one foot to the other and stuffed his hands deep into his
pockets, fingers of one hand brushing against a tiny key. She didn’t remember. Ten years
had erased everything.
The inner door emitted two beeps like a car alarm being set, then unlocked with a
click.
Three flights up her scent flared his nostrils, forcing him to stop and breathe, hand
resting against the plaster wall. His eyes opened and closed in slow motion, sex pressing
along the inside seam of his black leather pants. The door he wanted was in the center of
the hall, directly across from an identical door that led to what was probably a mirror
image of her street-facing apartment.
One hand slid from its pocket to knock. The other flipped the handcuff key between
nimble fingers. Muffled sounds slipped from under the door, bare feet on a rug. She must
be looking at him through the peephole. He pretended not to notice. Metal slid over metal,
a chain bounced against wood. The deadbolt was turned.
When the door opened, hot and cold shot though him. She was more beautiful than he
ever could have imagined. Her shoulder length hair was the same mahogany brown. Her eyes
still held a hint of emeralds mixed with cobalt and flecked with gold. The orbs that had
just been forming when he’d left had grown into the firm, plump breasts of maturity. She
drew her pale blue bathrobe closed.
“It is you,” her mouth hung open with surreal disbelief.
Looking beyond her, he tipped his head slightly to one side. “May I come in?”
She nodded, stepped aside, let him pass into the room lit with nothing but the glow
of the television and a small sofa side lamp. The half-eaten remains of her steak dinner
leaked a watery trail of blood. The plate rested on a tray near the arm of the chair she
must have been sitting in.
“You,” he looked around, drinking in the details, the limp curtains, the stained rug,
the secondhand furniture and the smell of slow decay. “You live here alone?” asked as if
he didn’t already know.
She nodded again, stepping closer, eyes wide and questioning. “It is you,” she
repeated, reaching out to touch his face.
Her fingers were warm under his, drawing her hand to his lips. “Yes,” he said kissing
the tips of her short nails. “You remember?”
“How could I not?”
“You were just a child.”
“I was almost fifteen and you…”
“Much older. Your parents would have had me tossed in jail. It would never have
worked then, my flower.”
Her cheeks turned a rose pink at the sound of the pet name.
He stepped in closer, releasing her hand and letting her touch his chest, his bare
throat and jaw. His hands moved around to encircle her waist, pressing his thickening sex
against her warming body.
“I waited for you,” the blush darkened.
He bent down, kissed her trembling lips, tasting the richness. “By all that is
unholy,” he hissed between her teeth.
Her mouth was hungry, eager, arms twining around him, her breasts pressing against
his chest. And then he was lifting her off her feet, carrying her down the narrow, dimly
lit hallway and into an almost pitch black bedroom. His head swooned, arms threatening to
weaken and drop her as he was assaulted by her intoxicating scent of baby powder and
ginger. Only now, it was woven with her ripened and leaking sex.
He moved to take off the knee-length leather coat, watching her slip out of her robe,
panties and filmy pajama top. “No,” she stopped, suddenly reaching out to touch his hand.
“Leave it on?”
A smile spread over his face.
“I like the smell,” she said. “And it reminds me of…”
“Of course,” he murmured, slipping his fingers to the handcuffs and unhooking them
from the clip. “Turn around.” Her eyes flickered, saw the glinting steel. He could almost
feel her heart skip a beat. “Have I ever harmed you?”
“No.”
“Do you believe I ever would?”
She swallowed hard, looking from his face to the handcuffs now in full view, “No.”
“Then, turn around.”
As soon as she turned, he reached out, snapped the first cuff around her wrist and
drew her arms behind her back. From behind, he drew aside her hair as his lips trailed a
kiss from her earlobe, down her neck to her collarbone. Her body shivered, nipples drawing
to tight peaks. The other cuff snapped into place with a sudden parting of her lips.
Turning her back to face him, her breasts jutted out, presenting themselves to his desire.
His eyes closed again, nostril flared, inhaling her.
“You are certain?” He looked down at her.
Tears had formed slowly and spilled down her cheeks, “I waited for you.”
“Yes, you said that,” then it dawned on him what she meant. That was why she smelled
so rich, so saturated.
Her eyes looked away.
Under his hands, her face was fever hot. “It will hurt,” he said quietly.
“I don’t mind.”
Gently he lifted her into place on the bed, her hands pinned behind her back. He
stepped out of the leather pants and silk briefs, opened the front of his shirt but left
the trench on as she’d requested. His cock was rock hard as he pressed his knees to her
shoulders, pushing his member to her mouth so he could watch her suck it. “Do you know
how?”
“No.”
“Just open your mouth then.”
She obeyed and let him enter her, her eyes closing.
“Close your lips and suck. That is all you have to do.”
The hold her mouth had on him tightened. He pushed into her slowly then drew back.
Repeated it again, going just a little deeper the next time. And again until he held a
steady pace, filling her and pulling back, pushing to the back of her throat and holding
until her chest hitched for air. Her features grimaced as she tried not to gag.
Drawing back, he slid from her completely then pulled her to an upright position. The
twin-sized bed squeaked as he sat down beside her. “It has been a long time since I have
had the pleasure of a virgin.”
“I would have waited forever for you.”
He touched under her chin, “You need wait no longer.”
Thunder growled. Lightning streaked and flared, rippling electricity through the
room. His hands turned her, positioning her in the center of the bed, spreading her long
legs up and out. Her sex was swollen. Crawling onto the bed, leather trench spreading out
behind him he kneeled between her legs, stroking his cock.
Her opening clenched. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps, shoulders pushed back,
chest thrust forward. “After tonight, everything will change,” he told her. “It cannot be
taken back.”
“I understand.”
He leaned forward, licked her rosy nipples, sucked them into his mouth and nipped at
them with his teeth. Her skin was damp and salty under his lips. There was no mistaking
the racing of her heart now, the pulsing of her throat, the quickening of her breath as he
kissed her mouth. “Do you, my tender flower? Do you really understand what I am about to
do?” He breathed into her ear, instantly feeling the shiver that ran the length of her
body.
There wasn’t time for her to answer. She was tight around him, so tight he had to
force the entry, feeling the soft pop of her hymen and the delicate trickle of blood that
followed. She let out a faint cry of pain-tainted pleasure. Then he began to pump. Gently
at first; just as he’d done with her mouth, easing in and back, letting her body lubricate
itself. As the tempo increased and he plumbed her untouched depths, her head tipped back,
eyes closed while grunts of breath were forced from her chest.
The assault intensified until his own eyes rolled up and back and his jaw unclenched.
This was milk and honey to his lonely soul. This was what he’d waited for all his wretched
existence. He bucked harder, forcing himself painfully deep, ignoring her whimpers and
erupting tears. She had been warned and now it was too late. Too late to take any of it
back.
He bent down again and kissed her throat, sinking into her deeper, drinking in the
scent of ginger and baby powder, sucking on the hot taste of salt and copper, feeling the
blood that trickled around the opening he’d broken through. The ozone of the storm spiked
and it began to pour down rain.
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