A Harem of One

The Moreland Brothers 3

A Harem of One Marques Moreland is a man with sexual needs that go beyond the norm. Just like a miser hides gold, he kept his penchant for sex on camera to himself. He knows that something is missing from his usual encounters, but cannot force himself to acknowledge his own desires for love and romance. Jamison Richards found herself a product of a faulty foster care system in her teens and after nearly being sexually assaulted no longer can trust another person, let alone herself. She knew that she wasn't happy with the course her life had taken over the years, but she didn't know how to change the status quo. After Marques catches Jamison in the midst of her morning yoga session, he knows he has to have her. There is more to her than meets the eye, and he is determined to show her what they are capable of experiencing together. Note: This book contains drug use. Genre: Contemporary, Interracial Length: 70,220 words

A HAREM OF ONE The Moreland Brothers 3

Jennifer Willows

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

A HAREM OF ONE Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Willows E-book ISBN: 978-1-61926-728-2 First E-book Publication: July 2012 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers Dear Readers, If you have purchased this copy of A Harem of One by Jennifer Willows from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book. The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment. This is Jennifer Willows’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Willows’s right to earn a living from her work. Amanda Hilton, Publisher www.SirenPublishing.com www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION This book is dedicated to some truly wonderful people. I really need to thank several special readers first: Narci, Royia, Lisa, Didi, and Carol. Your e-mails always made sure I got back on track, even when I didn’t feel alive enough to push forward. To the real Jamie, thanks for your willingness to be an inspiration to me and for allowing me to borrow your blog. Thanks to my ex-husband, I can now pursue every dream that I never thought was possible. My mom goes without saying, as without her help and advice I wouldn’t have the time to fight for my dreams. To Siren Publishing, thank you for helping me make this story and the tales of many other authors come to life on E-readers and cell phones everywhere. And of course thanks to my editor for helping this story along so that it makes logical sense. I really could have used you when I wrote that very first short story. Enjoy!

A HAREM OF ONE The Moreland Brothers 3 JENNIFER WILLOWS Copyright © 2012

Prologue January 1998 “Hey look, ya’ll. It’s Shamu.” The laughter that followed her descent to the street from the school door was cruel and the tones mocked her, but no more so than yesterday. Or the day before that. Actually, being called a trick killer whale was the least of what she had been called over the years. Life was rough. She already got that. But what sixteen-year-old Jamison Richards didn’t understand was, why her? It seemed misfortune followed her in a black, smoggy cloud that tainted everything she so much as admired. Even from afar, as this last debacle showed clearly. She couldn’t even have a crush on a boy without stupidly falling over in his lap. Literally. She had let go of everything a girl would care about, just to avoid daily torment. She had perfected the green shade of the walls and wore green tops nearly every day. If it wasn’t green, she liked brown. It matched the earth outside and gave her a break on laundry, as she was face-first in mud half the week and the other days were spent in hiding. At first the library became a place to hide her shame during

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the social hours of the day. There she would enter other worlds through all types of literature. Jamison was alone enough to the point that even the AV nerds looked like they were having a better time than she was. Until one afternoon she overheard a heated discussion about a new movie and the cinematography in it, and she couldn’t help but to put her two cents in, and then she found out that they really had fun. Those hours locked in darkened rooms splicing film and dissecting classics with other pimpled freaks and geeks were the best hours of her life ADD, better known as “After Dad’s Death.” She learned about how movies worked, and soon she found herself critical of the myriad imperfections when she had a rare opportunity to watch TV. As she walked from school, she stopped at the grocery store and used her last quarter to buy a trinket from the machines in front of the store. Today’s treat was a sticky octopus, and she had several of those, but she kept the egg it came in in memoriam of her dad. When she arrived at her foster home, she wished her father was still alive. He used to give her a quarter and watch her awe at whatever treat would spill out of the gimmicky machine. The memory hurt, just as it always did, but she embraced the pain of loss to enjoy the bittersweet feel of her father. So tall, strong, and proud. Now he was nothing more than ashes she prized as her sole valuable, aside from the handful of eggs similar to the one in her hand. Mr. Foster opened the door as she ambled along the driveway. Her feet shuffled against the concrete driveway. The front yard was perfectly manicured for the Stepford family that lived within. “Hey, come on in.” Mr. Foster wore an excited mien, and his smile seemed smug somehow. The grin on his lips didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Oh, okay. Where’s Mrs. Foster?” Jamie felt a little nervous, as if something was terribly wrong and every instinct she had begged her to run as fast and far away as she could. But where could she go? For an orphan, nowhere was safe, and there was no place to hide but the

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streets. She had quite a few friends she’d lost to runaway status, and for those considered wards of the state, few people bothered to look. There was no manhunt, missing posters on telephone poles, or any flashing messages to interrupt the daytime TV experience of the average household for a foster kid. “She is still at work.” At this point, it was too late. Something about Mr. Foster didn’t look right, and his eyes seemed to carry an unusual light in them. When she strode through the den, he pounced, and she found her balance was gone as she hit the ground headfirst. “Stop! Don’t—” But the man seemed to care less about her pleas. First, he tore her grass-green shirt off and groped at her chest painfully. Jamison felt the fierce grip of his hands and knew she was going to be in a world of hurt if she lashed out without a plan. “You want to be a part of the family, right?” The words hurt even more than they should because deep down she did want a family, even if she was too jaded to say the words aloud. But even as she remained quiescent, Jamison’s thoughts turned to her next course of action. Random objects nearby flickered through her mind, and she remembered where she was next to the couch, where Mrs. Foster liked to sew scraps into quilts as she watched TV. If she could only reach the mending basket, it was only a handful of feet away, and she could use it to hit him. But a surreptitious tug on the basket spilled the contents to the floor next to her, and she was unable to reach the weighted rattan. There wasn’t much time left, Mr. Foster had nearly succeeded in his quest to remove her jeans, and after that? Her virginity, the sole thing she kept for herself, would be buttered toast that her rapist would have for breakfast. Her hands rubbed across the nubby, beige carpet in a blatant attempt to find something, anything that could help her save herself. Her right hand located something. It felt like a metal pencil. All she knew for sure was that it was long, but she didn’t care what it was and fisted her grip around the cold metal, her only salvation.

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**** Marques Moreland was an outcast, plain and simple. There was nothing physically wrong with him, but mentally he was in another place that other people couldn’t occupy. Here he was, the last day of school before his freshman year in college, and he was the only senior not making a vain attempt to get melanoma on Senior Skip Day. To him it seemed like the world danced to a pop Michael Jackson album and he gyrated to Bach. There were girls who told him they thought he was cute with his slightly overlong hair and lithe frame. He got a bunch of comparisons to a slimmer-built Nick Lachey, but he had no idea who the guy was and didn’t really care. He just didn’t mesh with other people well. His saving grace was that he was born with a proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, but even among other children of his fiscal background he was different. He didn’t care about his clothes or the newest cars or expensive vacations to luxurious and exotic locations. He had a stutter in previous years, but a little therapy went a long way, and by the time he turned sixteen, his diction was that of upper-crust perfection. His humor was vaunted as droll, but what others mistook for jokes was the truth. He didn’t really give a fuck what anyone else thought and let them laugh. That was fine with him, as he really didn’t have the time to soothe anyone when he gave the cut direct. Aside from that, his free time was monopolized with computers and home movies with bad plots and campy wardrobes, but it was more fun than anything his peers like to do, which mainly meant drink and smoke weed or cut class. He had smoked before, his mother was a big fan of marijuana, and she grew her own in the greenhouse behind the main wing of the mansion. So it was there if he wanted it, but he didn’t find the same pleasure that most of his peers did in it. He liked to work with his hands, and no computer was safe within fifty feet of him. He’d already received contact from a couple of colleges about early admission in the last three years. But he wasn’t

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ready for that yet. He had enjoyed being a high school student, and at the time he had a date for the prom already. Ergo, he determined he may as well wait until graduation before he went to college. The only problem was his father wanted him to give the early acceptance a trial run or at least accept some of the classes being offered to him. But he didn’t need them, not really. At the rate he was going, any professor would be irritated with him as he already knew more than they could teach. He had enough of that now, and there was no need to be a small prepubescent fry on campus and annoy his teachers like he had done already. He only went to three classes for the last couple of years. The rest were on paper only as he could pass those in a coma and the teachers were sick of dealing with a know-it-all. So the afternoons were spent in the AV room, and he did the school a favor each afternoon as the unofficial IT guy on campus, while he bided his time. As he dug in the belly of a Mac PC and started the process to create a hybrid computer for his room, he wondered if he would ever fit in anywhere or with anyone. He’d met girls he liked, but none of them rang any bells. Not like his parents did for one another. The ladies he met so far were of the appropriate background, equally attractive, and knew what fork to start their meals with, but they all seemed…vapid. It was as if they were blank disk drives without programs and their parents filled the memory banks of their blank slates with unimportant garbage files versus anything of real importance. The girls could have conversations about world topics, but the words spoken were opinions provided to them from dinners with politicians and they had no inspired thoughts of their own on any subject. It was a hard thing to want to belong to another person in that way when he didn’t understand what he wanted exactly. Or even an inkling of what she would be like. But then again, he thought to himself, I’m a bit young to meet Mrs. Right when Ms. Right Now is happy to have hot teenage car sex with me. Even if the thought

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niggled and tugged at some small part of him, but he dismissed the urge as he didn’t understand quite what he felt at the moment.

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Chapter One: The Rice Paper Yogi Current Day Marq felt a vague sense of irritation. Here he was the only single man left in his family. He’d just watched Charyn fall for Makenzie last year, and now this? Deven, too? Those uncharitable thoughts plagued him as said eldest brother waded through piles of fabric, peering at his soon-to-be bride. They were currently in the boudoir of the family manse, hiding in the shared master and mistress’s suite closet. The closet spanned both rooms with one side the master’s bed chamber, and the other was for the mistress of the house. For whatever reason, Deven had to get a peek of his future wife’s gown, and Charli thus far refused to let him see hide or hair of the dress. As Deven knew the final fitting was taking place, he’d practically dragged Marq along. Marques had barely arrived this morning to the family home, just outside of Hartford, Connecticut. He had spent most of the night on the road, and he was rank and raggedy. Not his best look. But there were a few loose ends in the wording of a contract, and Marq wanted to pin down the fine points before leaving work last night. He didn’t get out of the office until after eight and, combined with the long drive, it left him exhausted and lank. His Oxford tee had seen better days, grayed with age and worn at the seams. The cargo shorts were just as limp as he felt, and the olive green fabric carried a multitude of wrinkles from the confines of his car. His feet were the only thing refreshed as he wore a pair of leather flip-flops to keep them cool.

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“Marq, if you ever loved our mother, you’ll come with me.” “What the deuce?” Marq mocked a convincing British affectation, sounding similar to his favorite cartoon. He even had the Stewie boxers on right now to prove it. “Our rat-faced fink of a mother told Charli it was bad luck to see the gown.” “Why the need to see the gown? I’m fairly sure that she’ll be in the thing on August nineteenth.” Damn the man had it bad. The auspicious moment was only a day and night away. “I refuse to wait that long.” Deven’s face showed he meant business. Although Marq had no idea why it was so important. That aspect of the event seemed trivial. As long as she showed up for the ceremony, it shouldn’t matter if she was in a burlap sack. Apparently, the pair of them weren’t as quiet as they needed to be to get Deven the coveted look. Marq was wedged toward the back half of the master’s closet when he felt a quick tap on the left shoulder. Angling his head to the side, he saw little, just a flash of golden skin and a skein of soft, fluttering waves. “I don’t think the two of you should be here.” The mass of hair kept him from seeing the face of the owner of the gentle voice. He wasn’t sure who it was. Maybe she was from the dress shop. The woman behind him smelled vaguely of spice, a mingling of patchouli and cinnamon. He assumed she came in the closet to keep them from an unlucky peek of the gown. A gasp to the front of him forced Marq to look forward and revealed Charli standing at the other closet door, arms akimbo, lips pursed. They were in trouble. “Deven, you know that you can’t see me in the gown! Why are you hiding in the closet?” Her face spoke to her mood, stormy and itching for a spat. Deven was putty in the minute woman’s hand. It was written all over his stance. Marq shook his head. Poor schmuck, balls in hand by a woman the size of a twelve-year-old. But Deven’s next words showed Marq he had her whipped just as badly.

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“Pixie, if I end up seeing the dress for the first time at our wedding, the guests will get a public consummation.” Marq saw Charli shiver visibly as she opened the closet door wider. Marq watched his brother’s stance change from defense to offense in a split second, and decided to leave them alone. His quick decision to back away was confirmed as the correct one moment later. “Take it off, or you’ll walk down the aisle naked.” Deven’s voice was near a rumble. Marq turned away as a zipper was lowered, he didn’t know whose, and it didn’t matter either. Once the master’s door was closed, he walked out the room altogether. But even the walls and closed doors failed to keep the sounds of the affianced lovers at bay. That Charli had to be a tough one, or she would be wheeled down the aisle after his brother got done with her. When Marq reached the east wing, he stopped by his usual bedroom when he was at the family home. His mother had gone off on some East-meets-West kick, and now the room was filled with delicate Japanese Tansu chests and embroidered silk Shantung draperies. He found the room annoying, as it was bordello red and gaudy in the extreme. The last few years found him in Japan more than stateside, and it looked as if his mother took every item he’d sent her over the years and tossed them in the same space. It was so bad he still thought in Japanese at times. They had a way with phrasing. But he did need to get his tux and set it out for the next day’s ceremony. The yacht would be ready to disembark at ten and head for the first docking off the Carolina coast. When he finally reached the newly redesigned red room and opened the door, he heard a shuffling noise. It took a moment for his eyes to begin adjusting to the light, and when they did, Marq saw a figure behind the modesty screen across the room. The person behind the rice paper and fabric didn’t realize it, but the early morning light showed every curve of her body. The unknown woman moved sensually, each motion lithe and fluid. He

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knew he was staring, a raunchy voyeur with debauched vision. Even though he was getting his thrills from an innocently initiated faux burlesque show, Marq felt no guilt. He watched her strip off each garment, from toed off socks to shirt and everything between the two. Her mass of hair was whipped swiftly into a ponytail, and Marq watched the shadowed feminine form gracefully stretch and a small moan emerge from the smooth column of throat bared to the early dawn. His cock grew turgid and semihard. He rubbed the front of his worn jeans. He wondered who the shadow siren was. She called his name with her innate grace and fluidity of movement. The bared breasts were a generous handful, probably a small D cup. The siren had thick hips and ass, and when combined with the hourglass shape of her profile, made for a sensual mix of seduction with a dash of earthiness. **** Jamison was exhausted, and with the rising of the sun, she had been awake the entire night. She looked like crap. Her hair was lank, her skin sallow instead of its usual bright coloring, and she felt like leftovers must when microwaved. It really didn’t matter what she looked like. No one would see her anyway. Nobody ever did. It wasn’t that she was unattractive, but she wasn’t an exceptional beauty and her shy demeanor didn’t win her awards either. Jamie was in dire need of Zen at the moment. After a harrowing hour of helping with last minute fittings and listening to the husky tones of the lovers pounding away, it was no wonder she felt a smidge short-tempered. It had been over two years since she had sex, and solo lovemaking lost its nostalgia long ago. But she had made some headway with her movie-themed blogs along with added traffic on her website and found herself too busy to make more than a token effort at meeting another lover. Really, was there any point? Most men didn’t give her a second glance, and the

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ones that would weren’t appealing to her libido one bit. But that was for the best. If she hadn’t broken up with Aiden, then she would be right back at square one right now. She still worked at Southern Wireless, as she had the last two years, but with Aiden in her life, nothing would have been done to fulfill her personal ambitions. Aiden was a good one to make things as hard for her as he could. When she wanted to go on site for a film, he would pitch a fit. When she worked on her scheduled blog, he would obnoxiously turn the volume up on every TV in the house. He liked to call it his surround sound. He denigrated her, told her she was bland and fat. Yeah, she carried a few extra at the hip and breast regions, but she was fairly toned and her yoga kept her flexible. Shoot, he did her a favor by cheating on her with their neighbor. That was why she was so willing to leave their shared apartment and move into Makenzie’s vacated one. There was no way she wanted to have to look at the smug faces and corresponding smirks over awkward meetings in the hallway or at the mailbox. After stripping her clothes off behind the conveniently placed screen, Jamie found herself finally free. Free of expectations and the trappings of respectability, able to be what anything she imagined. There was much she longed to be brave enough to do, but would never balk convention to try. Either way, the sunrise called to her, and answering Mother Nature with a series of sun salutations would bring a coup de grâce to her long night. Not to mention the start of an even longer day. After she slipped the buds of her MP3, fastened to an armband, in the well of each ear, Jamie let herself go. Hands in prayer carried her to a seamless flow into mountain pose, and from there her body took over. The motions long ingrained as muscle memory allowed her to center her mind. All the worries melted away in the moment angling from plank pose forward, snaking into a cobra next. By the time she hit downward dog, she felt more at peace and let a groan leave her chest. Her favorite mix of music made an exceptional soundtrack to the movements.

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Gregorian monks chanted and lent a sense of serenity to the red bedroom, turning the girlish pinks of dawn to blush against the walls and screen shielding her. Being naked gave the sensual slide of postures an even greater depth of erotic weight. Her breasts were freed and bared to revel in warm light. The normally ignored spare flesh was given a chance to brush her in strange places even lovers never bothered to touch. Her nipples pebbled to peaks rimmed with taut areolas as the sun kissed them. The simple exercises never felt this naughty when doing her morning workout at her house. **** Marques found himself stumped. The beautiful show he watched left him with a hard shaft and eyes in awe. His hands clenched, and he wished that he could film her, right now, and there was no sex needed to spice the tape up. Her movements were innately graceful without pretense or artifice and would show well on the camera. No hesitation, as if the changing screen gave the woman it shielded modesty and allowed her to be more shameless than any exotic dancer. Each sway of limbs brought him closer to breaking her fragile peace by announcing his presence. He shook his head and backed away for the second time that day. The door snicked closed, and Marq steeled himself against the desires he didn’t have the time or patience to indulge. Marques was still lost in thought as he wandered the halls of his ancestral home. The east wing was devoted to the Eastern cultures, and priceless tapestries graced the hall at eye level. The one he passed first was owned by a sheik before his father won it in a game of dice years ago. Another was the story of Scheherazade enchanting her husband for a thousand and one nights. That particular piece was actually four separate mats woven by hand. They each told a portion of the tale, complete with characters from the stories the woman used to save her life. It happened to be his favorite, especially the tale from

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the last hanging. It depicted what happened to Scheherazade after she had no more tales to tell. This version had her husband initially giving the order for her death in anger, a gruesome seating by elephant, a process which had the condemned tied down and an elephant was commanded to sit on the person. But the prince couldn’t watch her die and ordered her to be let go. Once he reached the intersection for the south wing, Marq decided to walk outside. The grounds were lavish at any time of day, but something about the blush of dawn lent a feel of childhood nostalgia to the beauty around him. Aimless wandering led him to the small studio he’d cobbled together his first movies in. At that time in his youth, they were regular movies, with a plot, screenplay, and extras. At best the movies were D-list. Not even straight to DVD, but they gave him the ability to understand the workings of film. It was muchneeded experience that helped him make the best of shots, lighting, and his setting to this very day. But with his first forays into film on his mind, he reminded himself that his last film wasn’t very good, and he nearly scrapped the entire thing. Not that it was Dakota’s fault. She was wonderful as always. But his performance was lacking. His heart wasn’t in it. His body barely was. He even faked coming after Dakota received her pleasure. His cock went soft, and the presence of her copious juices and condom aided in the deception. But when she left, he knew Dakota was adding two and two. Her expression said she had four as the answer, but she was willing to let the lie stand. When he watched the playback later, Marq saw fucking and nothing else. There was heat and two sexy people, but no spark. Tawdry and lewd, he’d been wearing blinders, and it was his brother’s fault that he was no longer satisfied with the status quo. Three months ago, Charyn asked him for a favor, and it changed his life. “Marq, I need your help.”

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“Sure, what is it?” Marq would give Charyn anything he asked for. Especially after Charyn helped to free him from the guilt that sent him into self-imposed exile in Japan. “I want you to film a movie for me.” Charyn’s grin let Marq know what he was asking for. “You want me to make a movie with you and Makenzie? A flick?” Marq knew he rambled, but the shock kept him speaking until his thought expressed itself clumsily. “Yes. Why does that shock you?” “Well, I would have thought that you would prefer to keep Makenzie to yourself. I know you can barely hold back jealousy if I speak to her, let along watch you and her together in bed.” “I want to give this to her. Watching our lovemaking in the mirror is good, but I think she would love seeing us on film even better.” Marq thought about options for the film, mentally fluttered over settings and angles. “Where and when?” “As soon as you can is fine. I want her in our bed for this.” Charyn sounded excited about the newest addition to his sexual tool kit. Marq let his imagination fly and found several angles that would work well. He could use several cameras at different angles to get the fullest effect. One focused on the mirrored wall, one above the bed on a ceiling mount. He could do another on a tripod across from the bed. He could set it all up and let them activate it later. Then Marq planned to splice everything together and make the movie that way. And the extra tape would make the movie a good length, at least an hour. Or he could do vignettes, depending on how creative they were. “You still here, Marq?” Charyn raised a brow slightly, emphasizing his query. “Yes, I was just putting together a few ideas for the flick.” “I could tell that.” “I’m thinking I can set everything up in advance and collect the tape later on and construct the movie out of the footage.”

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“Sounds fine to me. When will you set the cameras up?” “Most likely tomorrow, after I check what each angle will do to the movie. I can have everything hanged and ready to go by Friday night.” The angles he’d envisioned were perfect, as the playback attested to that Saturday afternoon. He’d given his brother a remote to activate the cameras when they were ready. Charyn gave him the all clear to pick the camcorders up the next morning. What he saw on the footage made him miserable. The pair made love for hours that night. There were three hours of nonstop, sweaty sex in numerous positions. Afterward, Charyn cared for his wife, massaging sore muscles and bathing her sex with his tongue. What made the footage so eye opening was the apparent emotion between the pair. The love they felt made the sex so hot, he carried a hard-on for the rest of the weekend. He was disgruntled with himself and the envy he felt while he worked on their film, and Marq didn’t make an attempt to meet any of his usual lovers for a while. Not for the last month at least, and that was the last time with Dakota where he didn’t come. But he’d brushed the rest of his stable off with stories of him being too busy with work to make time for sex. But in reality, he was obsessed with the lovemaking of his brother and sister-in-law. He had never done that, made love to a woman. He simply fucked their brains out. Marq sucked at his back teeth as his jaw tightened and walked inside the tiny cottage on the backside of the grounds. When he opened the door, a cloud of pungent smoke wafted out and fresh air rolled in. “Hi, Marques darling, come in.” “Hey, Mom.” “Have some?” She was sitting on a chaise by the tiny window of the four-room house. Through the dim lighting filtered dimmer by smoke, Charlotte held out a fat joint. The smell let him know it was one of her hybrids, grown in a special green house on the property.

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His mom had two loves now that her husband had passed on. One was horticulture, the other horses. Marques took the offered joint and puffed hard twice, sucking the taste of pineapple and haze into his chest. He hadn’t had any Mary Jane in a while and nearly choked on the strength of it. He held his own though and handed it back to her after sitting in a small chair next the lounge. His eyes had adjusted well to the gloom and dim, and he saw his mother scrutinizing him. She was still amazingly beautiful, with long golden hair to her hips, and a face barely lined with wrinkles. Even in her late fifties, she had to fight men off with a stick. Charlotte claimed her agelessness came from smoking her special stash and good living. She never was one to lie about, even in the lap of luxury, so even now didn’t carry much spare fat on her body. Charlotte used to be a model but, after meeting his father, left a life of glamour for a simple one with her husband. They lived in an idyll together here at home and let the world pass them by, riding horses and making love. His father, Jackson, was a plain man. In all aspects. He wasn’t handsome by any conventional standards, but his smile could stop traffic. He was tall and well built, and all his sons inherited their build and height from him. Charlotte had retreated further into isolation after his passing five years ago. She rarely left the grounds. But with the wedding, she left her shell little by little. Charli took her skydiving, compared growing techniques, and Mom loved it. Makenzie showed her how to paint the beach at dawn, and Mother was actually pretty good at it. She had grown several types of flowers for the weddings, and with the added activity, she now seemed serene and happy to be alive and a part of the world. He was glad she seemed to be back to the land of the living. Marq took the offered joint and hit it again, waiting for his mother to speak. She had something to say, and he knew she was concerned about him.

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“Marques, are you all right?” “Yes, I am, Mom.” No he wasn’t, but how did he explain the unexplainable? “Marq, I don’t mean physically. It seems like something weighs heavily on your mind. I don’t know what, but you do.” “It’s hard to explain. I want something more than what I have and don’t know how to get it.” “That’s life, Marq. You have to take whatever you can get and grasp it with both hands. I think you know what you are looking for. It’s that you don’t want to admit it to yourself.” “That’s deep, Mom.” Marq laughed at bit, more at himself than anything else. Mom was correct of course. He needed a lover, not a fuck buddy. Somebody that made his heart beat faster and his cock hard on sight. He wanted—love? Marq laughed at himself and watched Charlotte pin her long braid up into a chignon at her nape. “I know you think I’m pontificating, and maybe I am. But I do know you are bored with endless meaningless sex. Marques, you were given much when many others were given little in life. It’s easy to succumb to ennui when you have everything life has to offer. You are handsome of face and form, rich beyond belief, and you were indulged by two loving parents. But for someone who is barely surviving, life presents them with numerous challenges and boredom is the least of their concerns. You can’t waste what has been given to you, and in order to feel more, you must give more. Of yourself. Share what you have been given with others.” Marq understood what his mother meant. She was a philanthropist even today. The only thing she had left the house for was charity after his father’s passing. Whether it was as simple as chairing an event or donation of her time, Charlotte still found a way to give something of herself even as she gave to other people. It wasn’t that Marq was selfish. He gave his fair share of money. But he didn’t give his time. Not the way his mother did. Charlotte found ways to make her donations personal and worthwhile, fitting

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the needs she saw around her. She was happiest when she fed a meal to the homeless or in times of disaster travel to give aid, although the last trip she’d made was to New Orleans after Katrina hit. “How did you like the view from the red room this morning?” When the words left her mouth, he knew his meddling mother had done it again. She was the reason he encountered the sensual yogi this morning. How she did it, he had no idea, but Marq felt to his bones Charlotte was somehow responsible. “It was beautiful, Mom. The dawn shows well in the space.” With his response, Charlotte laughed until tears came to her eyes. “You have always hated that room since the renovations. But what the devil was I to do with all of the Japanese textiles and art you sent? Hence the red room was born…So you met Jamison this morning, I presume?” “That was Jamison?” He never thought the girl had it in her. Nine times out of ten, she was hidden behind a curtain of hair. He could barely pick her out of a lineup, and if he was right when he did, it would be due to luck, not knowledge. Marq would have never thought she had that much grace in her soul, that verve for life. His surprise at the development showed him that people could sometimes surprise him, even after he pigeonholed them into stereotype and a neat little mental box. “Yes, it was. She is capable of more depth than you could imagine. Very sensual and lithe, but she hides it well.” “That couldn’t be truer. She seems rather…quaint.” “Marques, you always turn a pretty phrase. But when I tell you she is a beautiful woman, believe me.” His mother called a spade a spade. If she saw something of beauty in the woman, there was. But he wasn’t sure what. She had no selfconfidence, and the lack of the simple ingredient made her into a wallflower. By the time Marq made his excuses with his mother, there was much fodder for his thoughts. All of them centered around the graceful yogi he watched give her sensuous shadow show behind a

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screen of rice paper and bamboo. All to serenade the dawn and him, even if she didn’t realize the latter was witness to her brazen glory.

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Chapter Two: Show Me Yours, and I’ll Show You Mine Jamison finished her morning routine, and after taking a shower, she decided some breakfast was in order. Not any of the diet crap she’d subjected herself to either. It seemed that she had been having too many crappy shakes. Half the time she felt near starvation, and the rest of the time she felt high. Like she was short on oxygen. But she was tired of being “thick.” On a good day she was a twelve on the bottom and a ten up top. On a bad day, such as the PMS bloat? She didn’t even want to think about the embarrassment she felt the time she popped the button off her khaki slacks and had to wear her shirt untucked the rest of the work day. But as today was going to be spent on the go, Jamie could reason to herself that the calories would get burned off. She wandered through the family estate, still agog at some of the art she passed. Most of the work she found was priceless. Others were unknowns. Despite the riches ensconced in the home, there was a lived in look. Like a small village could camp out and dance a genteel cotillion all night through the halls. In fact, she passed a framed collage created by Marques in grade school. Hanging amid notable artists, the child’s picture was framed with a blue ribbon, as if just as priceless as the Monet it hung next to. Seeing the stark hues of the picture made her think of winter in the north. Wild trees and void. Turning away from the wall gallery, Jamie walked through the foyer to the kitchen. Usually Marta, the mansion’s head chef and housekeeper, would make breakfast buffet style. But today, she was working on the menu for the wedding with the catered help. Jamie

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decided to take a bagel with cream cheese and yogurt. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it would have to do. There was a ton of things to do today, and she still hadn’t packed back up. Or done her hair. As she placed the freshly sliced bagel in the toaster, her nipples drew taut and her skin prickled. Jamie felt eyes on her skin, eating the flesh from her bones. Unable to resist the urge to look, she turned around, and Marques was behind her. He was so self-assured and damned sexy, Jamie felt her heart beat faster. His demeanor was wild and slightly untamed. His T-shirt clung to his frame, his hair dark and tousled. The haircut was a multipurpose one, right now a Mohawk of sorts, but would make a sleek preppy cut when combed right. His hair was the color of midnight. His eyes were similar to hot cocoa, dark and warm when she usually saw him. He was tall just like his brothers, maybe six three or so. Marq was at least six inches taller than her five foot eight, she knew that for sure. Even his feet were handsome. The main difference between him and his brothers was his looks. Marques had a lithe and lean build, more swimmer, toned and roped with lithe muscle, than the large linebacker stature of his brothers. Jamie knew she was out of her depth here. He was more man than a woman like her could tame. He was too handsome for words, even in his overly rumpled clothes. She assumed he drove most of the night, and that was the reason he looked out of sorts. His hair was skewed slightly, but the quality of the haircut shone through anyway. There was a hint of shadow around his lips and jaw. Jamison wondered to herself how it would feel against her face and between her thighs. Her history with the opposite sex showed her that she was wasting her time, even if she thought to try again. She knew she was being rude, as is she hadn’t greeted him yet. He must have read her mind and decided to speak first. “Good morning, Jamison.” Even his voice was seductive, left her thinking of tangled sheets and early morning sex. Her body agreed, and the beaded nipples turned into hard points that begged for a

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thorough handling. Marq noticed them pouting at him, Jamie knew it. His eyes darkened even further and became deep brown, mossy and earth rich in color. “G–good morning, Marques.” Damn, couldn’t she have even spoken without a stammer? She spent too many thousands of dollars of her hard-earned money at speech therapy and elocution to do this now. Jamison could only drop her head, and the pop of the toaster behind her back saved her from meeting his gaze full on. She felt confused, her body begging her to arch forward and present her charms to him. Her mind begged her to run as fast as she could, damn the need to eat. One deep breath and Jamie turned her back to him, planning to eat on the run. But Marq apparently had other plans. She felt rather than heard him approach her. The hairs scattered along her body stood at attention, and if she relaxed her posture any, their bodies would meld together. “You’re having a bagel for breakfast?” “Th–that was the p–plan.” Jamie gritted her teeth. She really didn’t have time in her schedule to make a fool of herself. “Wouldn’t you rather have a Belgian waffle? Maybe some bacon and eggs?” Ugh. Jamie didn’t like the sound of that at all. Not the bacon at least. “I’m a vegetarian.” Good, now she could speak normally. Marq smiled. “Do you eat eggs?” “Yes, I do.” “Well, let me make you a real breakfast.” “I don’t want to impose.” Each word Jamie spoke was with care and enunciated clearly. “It’s no problem. Have some juice and sit at the counter.” Jamie did as requested, sitting down on the small stool in front of the island. She watched Marq pull down different things, flour, sugar, and eggs. When he reached to the top of a cabinet, his shirt rode up his back. Jamison’s eyes widened as she gasped. He was covered with ink. She didn’t see any on his arms or legs, but the entire visible

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expanse of back and sides of his torso was a patchwork of skin art. He didn’t seem the type, just a smidge too preppy. But none of the family seemed to be the type of people they were. Then again, she didn’t appear to be the type to wear ink either. By the time Marques turned back to face her, Jamie had her gaze tucked down to her phone. She needed to update her blog today. As it was, she was nearly at her self-imposed deadline. Usually her blog, NCindieseen, was posted by ten a.m. It was nearly nine now, and she still didn’t know what to think of the filming she watched. The movie was a short film about two gay lovers and the morning after the pair’s initial one-night stand. She had her notes, but she may just need to eye it once more before sending a review out. She decided to feature the film after the Pink Sheep Festival during Wilmington’s unofficial GLBT weekend. “It will take fifteen minutes or so if you don’t mind waiting.” Marq’s tones seemed as if he tried to keep his tone gentle, like she was a wild forest creature he didn’t want to send fluttering away. The tone was generated to soothe her, but instead she felt inflamed and off balance. His sheer magnetism made her feel the urge to bolt, as if she were hunted prey and the hunter had scented her on the wind. Her senses told her that he wouldn’t hurt her, but she felt as if any pain this man could deal her would be all mental anyway. **** She reminded him of a butterfly, lovely and demure. Jamie was really beautiful, just as his mother told him. Her hair was longer than he imagined, and the hasty ponytail she made earlier skimmed and bobbed at her shoulders. The color seemed sandy, an almost brown with hints of a tawny gold scattered throughout the locks. Today she was sans glasses, and with her hair pulled back, the classic features shone. She had an exotic cast to her honey-brown eyes, just a hint of slant at the corners and framed with incredible lashes that seemed

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long enough to comb. Her lips seemed to carry a hint of natural brightness, and as she nibbled her lower lip, he watched the color deepen to a raspberry red. He could tell she was tired though. Her eyes were a bit weak and puffy, and her color seemed to carry an ashen cast. She reminded him of someone. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember who. Maybe it was because he had seen her before, but never paid her much attention until today. “That’s fine. I need to grab something anyway.” Marq watched as Jamie stood and walked away. It only took him ten minutes to whip together a batter and begin making a stack of waffles. While the waffles cooked, he dished up omelets and a few slices of bacon for himself. By the time he finished the last slices of salty meat, Jamison was back with a tablet PC. She was watching something, and her earbuds were in, so Marq couldn’t hear what was playing. She was making notes, tapping on the screen every few minutes. The huge tortoiseshell frames that she normally wore were back, perched on the tip of her nose. When he waved the spatula under her nose to grab her attention, Marq smiled as Jamie complied with his unspoken request with wide eyes and a nervous shiver. He pulled the headphone from the ear nearest him. “You ready for a plate of breakfast deliciousness?” Marq had to get her to smile more. He wondered what the expression would look like on her face. “Sure, thank you. It smells nice.” “Hope it tastes better than that.” Marq grinned and began dishing up two plates, one with bacon and one without. When she answered his smile with one of her own, he hoped that she would grant him another when he gave her an orgasm. The small lift of lips made her eyes crinkle intriguingly in the corners, and Marq saw that she was more than beautiful. She was a stunner. During the meal, he attempted to draw her into a conversation. But none of his tactics worked, and Marq found himself disgruntled

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with her one word answers. In a childish antic to grab her attention, Marq stood and cleared his plate. “Are you finished?” “Yes, I better not stuff myself.” With her consent, he took her plate as well. “Do you have any ink, Jamison?” He had to ask her something, get her to talk to him. The only thing that came to mind was his tats. He’d seen her reflection in the window when his massive tattoo must have shown partially beneath his worn shirt. He saw her in the window, unbeknownst to her. Her body language said more than any words she could have spoken. He saw her duck her head and slickly insert her earbuds again as if she were going to tune him out. He used one soapy hand at the shoulder and tugged at his T-shirt and gave himself an unsatisfactory scratch of the skin there. The newest addition of inked birds on his shoulders itched a bit, and the niggling reminder of his body portrait reared in the form of his dumb question. Since he decided to hold the naked yoga exercises as ammo for later, better he’d asked her what he did. Marq slowly washed the dishes they used earlier, waiting for his answer. Marq saw how she ignored the question. Although he wasn’t facing her, the window in front of the sink was an excellent reflective surface. So he saw most of her reaction, how she shifted in her seat and looked up at him warily. He took the cues from her posture to mean that she did have a tat. At least one, but there could be more. Now he needed to figure out what the ink was of and where she’d chosen to place it. A few minutes of silence left Marq with more questions than answers, and he planned on finding a way to get the burning queries acknowledged. “Thanks for the meal.” Jamison stood up and took her leave. “Welcome.” His answer was quiet but audible. The single word was a dismissal, and Marq was sure that he would find the answers he sought. She was attracted to him, he knew it. But apparently she was

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willing to ignore the chemistry between them. Lucky for her he was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. **** After Jamie left his presence, she did the only thing available to her. She ran. She ducked up the stairs and headed for the spare room she was lodging in, planning to pack and take care of the missing installment of her blog. Things didn’t quite work out that way, as when she got back to the red room it was already occupied. Charlotte was in the room, folding clothes neatly into Jamie’s suitcase. Why in the world would the matriarch of a huge home like this pack clothes for one of her guests? “You didn’t have to do that. I was getting ready to pack up now.” “I know, but I’m finished. Plus, I wanted to give you the opportunity to eat. Did you enjoy your morning workout?” “I sure did. You should join me next time.” “Nah, that’s too early for me. The only thing I am capable of is a ride at six in the morning.” “It’s easy, and you know it.” “Pish posh, Jamie. Did you know that this was Marq’s old room? He sent me some artifacts from Japan, and I had to do something with them.” “Oh…okay.” Jamie had no idea what she was supposed to say, if even she should say anything. “Did you have a good breakfast? I know you usually have fruit or oatmeal, but Marq can really cook. He just doesn’t very often. All my sons can, well, except for Charyn. He can make the basics, but an authentic meal still eludes him.” “Breakfast was wonderful, thanks for asking.” “I’m glad that you enjoyed your meal, Jamie. What do you think of your bridesmaid dress?” “It’s all right, but a bit revealing for my taste.”

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“Really? I thought it a bit demure in front and sensually risqué in back.” “That’s true, but the back is cut terribly low and requires time to drape properly.” Not to mention the half hour it would take to cover her back in airbrush makeup. But otherwise the low swag of the gown’s back was wedding appropriate, although its style would show best at evening rather than daylight. But Jamie had kept her extensive inked pattern to herself and had kept the secret at all costs. The only person who had ever seen the art aside from herself was the man who carefully etched the pattern over a span of several months. Even with the aftercare, Jamie used a paddle sponge to bathe the scarred skin and used a cotton cloth on a stick to apply the needed unguent to keep the skin moist during the healing phases. But she was going to have to have help to cover the tat, as there was no way she could spray her own back. The question was who? Charli was too busy with the lastminute finalization of wedding plans, and Makenzie wasn’t here yet. Even when they did board the yacht, Makenzie would be lucky to have thirty spare minutes to dress. Charlotte was too ladylike, and Jamie didn’t want to offend her with the personal request. Jamison looked back at her hostess, who was watching her carefully. As if she was seeing something else, someone else perhaps. “Are you afraid to have someone see your tattoo?” Jamie’s breath caught. How did she know? It was, until now, a closely held secret. “H–how?” “I’m not blind, Jamie. As a matter of fact, I have twenty-fifteen vision in both eyes. The day you arrived, I saw a peek of the tattoo through your white shirt where you had sweated through it at the shoulder. You hide it well, and most people wouldn’t believe you had one.” “I didn’t want to have a full shot of my back out with ink on my friend’s wedding photos.”

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“Makes perfect sense. Did you bring something to cover it up? I’d offer some of my makeup, but it’s not quite your coloring.” Jamie laughed. Charlotte was hilarious. One minute she thought her a prim and proper woman, and the next moment she was a hoyden. Charlotte’s laughter joined hers, pealing through the high ceilings and around the room. “Yes, I have an airbrush for the cover-up, but because of the location, I can’t quite manage it alone.” “That’s fine. I can help with that. Just call my cabin about an hour before you need to get dressed. Is there anything else I could help with?” “No that seems like plenty.” “Good, you are packed and ready to go.” “Thanks for the help again, Mrs. Moreland.” “It’s Charlotte, Jamison. I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony, and Mrs. Moreland was my mother-in-law. Even though she is long gone, I can’t see myself being her, and she was the dowager of this castle. I just lived in it.” **** With a small smile, Charlotte leaned in and hugged Jamie, who awkwardly accepted the affection. The return hug felt as if she was unused to loving embraces from another person. When Charlotte left the room, she found herself thinking that the shy beauty was the one for her youngest son. He would nurture the needs inside the girl until she blossomed as a woman, and Jamison would show him what he was missing. The girl walked around innocent of her own allure, and Charlotte knew just how to throw the pair together. Poor Jamison wasn’t going to know what hit her. Hell, even her son was about to be thrown for a loop. Marq didn’t completely realize it yet, but he was already intrigued with the oxymoron Jamison posed. The girl was a

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true lady, with the potential to be sensual behind closed doors, and even as now she was a shy maiden out of them. As any smart woman knew, intriguing a man was half the battle to begin with. All men desired the unattainable, needed a mystery to maintain interest. It was how she kept Jackson ready for her all those years, even when she was aging and fast becoming yesterday’s news. Oh, Jackson, Charlotte thought. If only you were— the train of thought was cut off by laughter ringing around her upstairs. Must be Deven and her newest daughter, Charli. They were full of every emotion when it came to their relationship. Either they were fucking or fighting, and every now and again, both at once. But their fire and zest for life was remarkable, and that facet of them fit the pair together. Almost as if not just puzzle pieces meshing together, but as if two halves of a puzzle were made whole. They fit like two different puzzles that somehow, miraculously coalesced in the middle and merged a dichotomy of opposites and similarities. Makenzie and Charyn were beautiful together, and they fit together like a lock and key. Made to be one whole from creation, and they fit together in all ways neatly, seamlessly, and without hiccup. The pair of them fit together so well, the bi-racial aspect of their relationship didn’t exist in their minds. Her sons had chosen well. The women they chose were much like her in spirit. Plus, they were blessed to feel the blazing passion she felt with her soul mate. But Charlotte only shook her head as it was too early for this train of thought. She needed some alone time with Jackson and her horses. She definitely needed Zen, as Jamison called it. By the time everyone was ready to board the yacht, the scheduling was off by at least two hours. First the ship wasn’t furnished properly, even though it appeared to be just fine to Jamie. Then some of the food was still being loaded, even though that should have taken place earlier in the morning. The wedding party boarded after three p.m. and they should have been sailing halfway to Wilmington by now.

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Charlotte took the delays with equanimity, saying only, “That’s why we are doing this on the ship. Everyone is stuck on board and will attend, no matter the time.” But really the Moreland matriarch was busy with plans for the wedding of her last son. Her baby. And once he was happily wed, she could be patient and wait to be reunited with her true love, even if that meant no more than to share his plot six feet under when she was called home.

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Chapter Three: Seasick on the Love Boat Jamie silently disagreed with Charlotte, not with her statement, but with the position it may leave her in. Without someone to cover her back with airbrush for her dress. However, by the time she walked into the opulent state room provided her, she knew that she didn’t care. She didn’t feel so well. If her last meal had of been closer to now, she would have already cast it up on the side of the ship. Deciding a nap was in order, Jamison laid down and curled into a small ball, resting in jerks and starts. She must have slept that way for hours. When Jamie rose from her nap the sun was dropping low on the horizon. Her head felt stuffed with cotton and her stomach still bothered her, but she rolled out the bed regardless of her body’s wishes on the matter. Brushing her teeth and a shower worked a minor miracle on her perception. The rest was left as is. Her hair was plaited into a thick French braid, and she barely felt like taking the time to get dressed. Twenty minutes after she started tugging on the first sock, Jamie finally got the rest of her clothing on. A knock at the door startled her, but she called out for the person to come inside. When the door opened, Marq walked inside as if he owned the room and everything in the space. Including her. But come to think of it, he practically did. Jamie mentally laughed at her own joke. Marq merely walked over and put one hand to her forehead. It was the first time he really touched her, and she felt electrified as if he scraped his feet over the carpet and shocked her with static. But the discomfiting sensation was quelled with gentle way he

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touched her, as if she would break. No man since her dad had laid his hands on her that way. Not that she had too much to make a comparison to. But her two prior lovers were gentle, with too smooth hands and limp fingers. Conversely, Marq’s hands were masculine as the rest of him, just a shade firm and lightly callused. She knew the strength of a man was there, but no malice was carried in the brush of hands on her skin. She never imagined the way a simple caress given to another person to soothe and heal could feel this way. “W–what are you doing?” Although, her body still cheered a chorus at his touch and she felt less queasy and more grounded now. “Checking to see if you’re seasick or actually have a bug.” “What’s the diff–fference? I wish I were dead, instead of just halfway there in e–either event.” “No fever, that means you’re sea sick. Why didn’t you ask for help, or at least use one of the remedies in the cabinet?” “Huh? I just took a nap. Sorry if I deigned to do that.” Jamie’s words held a snippet of bite, and if she felt better, she would have never used that tone in a conversation. But his eyes showed he didn’t take offense to her waspish tone. Marq smiled and walked to the small cabinet in the bathroom en suite to the room. When he came back, he rubbed a small vial of oil behind her ears. Next, a bracelet was fastened on the right wrist. Jamie watched him unwrap a piece of candy then felt him press the confection to her lips. She opened her mouth and let him pop the golden treat in. The taste was slightly acrid, ginger root. Even as she sucked the vestiges of sugar from the outside, Marq trailed his fingertip down the column of her throat. The contact encouraged her to swallow the essence of melting candy, praising her for a job well done. Jamie nearly forgot to breathe. The single digit stroking her skin surpassed any other sensation she had ever felt at the hands of another. Even the most intense sexual encounter she had didn’t compare to this.

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Marq was silent for so long she was nearly asleep. “I used to have a stammer, when I was a kid.” “Really? Doesn’t sound like it now.” Not at all, she thought. Maybe that was just part and parcel of the benefits of being rich. “Believe it or not, the best trick I learned was to focus on something else and not my speech.” “What did you focus on?” Jamie had to know. She would have never imagined he had a dreaded stutter. “I rubbed my thumb over my index finger or the inside of my palm and focused on the way it felt. Worked like a charm.” He smiled and looked at her one last time. **** When dawn crept over the gentle froth of waves, Jamie felt good. Almost normal in fact. Good thing as the ceremony was to take place in twelve hours or so. She still had to do her hair, but even as the thought crossed her mind, she entertained the idea of going to the salon instead. When she finished freshening up, Jamie decided to see if she could leave the ship for a few hours. As there wasn’t much left to do, Charlotte waved Jamie off with a smile and suggested a few styles for her to try. Jamie picked her way across town in a taxi and headed to Seattle’s. The shop was one of her favorites, mainly because they were quick with getting clients out of the door. There was a shampooconditioner station where she started at and then cycled through three people before she was done. But each station had its own specialists. The shampoo girl was great, massaging her scalp and throwing in a free deep condition on the side. By the time the last stylist finished, Jamie’s hair shone with health and vitality, which she desperately needed. When she paid the driver and walked into the hallway of her apartment, she picked the mail up from the box, looking at only the most important items, and carried Charli’s few misdelivered letters

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back to the car in case she wanted to read them sometime soon. By the time she arrived back aboard the ship, Jamie was preparing herself to get sick again. But apparently there was something to the homeopathic medicines that Marq gave her. The only issue she had was a slight sensation of vertigo. Although disconcerting, the feeling was endurable. This was a good thing as the bridesmaids were wearing flats to compensate for Charlene’s small stature. Otherwise, Jamie thought, she may embarrass herself by falling down during the ceremony. Although, she was more worried about Marq seeing her doing a face-plant more so than anyone else. No sooner than Jamie thought of the sensual male did he walk beside her and match her quickly paced stride. “Like the hair, it fits you.” “T–thanks, your mom suggested it.” Damn it! She was so close to having a stutter-free day. Jamison felt blindsided and nervous. She was never like that, even on her worst day. The style was a mass of small, straw set curls, hanging to just below the shoulder. The good thing about the style was the control it gave over the frizzies. Those would definitely be an issue on the yacht with the sea spray from traversing open water. Jamie found herself daydreaming, and the visions playing in her mind’s eye were of the sensual man caressing her skin and her spread over sheets brightened with moonlight. She shook the thoughts from her mind. As it was, time was dwindling down to nothing. There was only enough time for a late lunch, and she needed to help Charli get dressed. Hopefully Deven didn’t rip the garment to shreds yesterday. Otherwise, Charlene would be walking down the aisle in a burlap sack. Although she didn’t think Deven would give a damn, as long as his fiancée showed up for the dog and pony show. Secretly, Jamie felt that was the reason for the location. Deven didn’t give a damn about the guests arriving, just the bride. She didn’t blame him. Charli had the personality to be a

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runaway bride with her skittishness and frigid feet. But if her friend could love any man, it was Deven. “Have you eaten?” Marq asked as she walked toward her cabin. She was hungry, but she didn’t want to ask him for anything or spend too much time in his company. “I’m all right.” Jamison heard the crisp enunciation of letters and sounds as she tersely clenched her jaw to control her speech. “Liar.” She had no idea how he knew she was lying, but he seemed serious, as if her next meal was of the utmost importance. “Come with me.” No sooner had he spoke the words than Marques tugged one hand below deck, forcing the rest of her along for the ride. They went somewhere midship, and Marq opened the fridge located in the belly of the ship’s kitchen. He pulled out a loaf of French bread and several bags of chips. Sitting the armful on the counter, he unwrapped the yeasty loaf, slicing then filling the split halves. Before Jamie knew it, she was watching him finish off the sandwich with an olive on a toothpick. He sat the sandwich halves and chip options between them. “Ladies first.” “What is it?” “Just taste it. Its vegetarian approved, so you should be all right.” Summoning up the courage to eat the unknown food took a moment. But when Jamie took the first bite, the flavors left her punch drunk. The bread was amazing, light and dense at the same time. She could taste corn and spice, followed by alfalfa and vinaigrette. “It’s a corn and black-bean salsa with southwest faux “tuna” salad on French beer bread.” “It’s—” The words were cut off as she could only smile and take another huge bite. “I’m glad you like it.” She didn’t respond as her mouth was still full. Marq watched her eat one half and then eye the other. He slid the plate closer and let a healthy smirk play around his lips.

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“Have some more.” “I shouldn’t.” The words were guilty, and Jamie opened a bag of kettle chips. She ate a few and mentally calculated how much time she had left until she needed to be in Charli’s room. Mak should be on board in a few minutes, and then they could have a gossip session first. Usually they talked, and she listened. It was what she was good at. After she put away a few more crispy chips in her belly, Jamie took a bottle of water offered by her handsome host. She drained half then made her excuses. “T–thanks for lunch.” “No thanks needed, Jamison. Feel free to ask me for anything. No matter how big or small. I’m going to wrap the rest for you to have later. If you don’t eat it by the evening, I can make you another one later.” Marq stood and took the half sandwich, wrapping it up and placing it back in the fridge. Jamie left the kitchen and found herself wandering in circles. The ship was huge, nearly the size of a cruise ship, and when she found herself passing the same picture for the third time, knew she needed help. But instead of asking, Jamie walked the circuit again and found a door leading above ship. When she met the light of day, Jamie blinked scratchy eyes, once again wishing she had her glasses on. The contacts would work in a pinch, but her eyes always felt dry and slightly itchy when using them. By the time Jamie wandered back to her cabin, she was tired and sorely wished for another nap. But there wasn’t time at this point really. The wedding was scheduled for sunset, and the reception was opening the event. Kind of backward, but Charli decided participants would have more fun on the yacht by day than at night. Plus with the event finished earlier, the honeymoon could begin immediately. Some guests had already milled aboard and were dipping toes in the pools or Jacuzzi tubs sprinkled throughout the deck. Several of the waitstaff

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already mingled with the handful of guests, offering champagne and canapés. Jamie walked on. She wanted to avoid the random conversations that tended to occur at these types of functions. As she was a listener, strangers tended to take advantage of her nonjudgmental ear. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up conversing about someone’s last bout with gout or eyeing photos of children and grandkids she would never meet. Let alone the one time she had a random conversation with a guy she thought was cute. “Was cute” being the operative words, as the conversation took a weird turn, and Jamie found out Mr. Right had a nasty case of syphilis he was battling with the aid of modern medicine. Ugh. Definitely not the man for her in any shape, form, or fashion, Jamison thought. The next turn led her to the interior of the yacht where the bridal party and immediate family were to sleep and change clothes. The reception was to take place on board at six that evening, and the wedding ceremony would follow at eight. Jamie dropped her Sac hobo bag on the bed and took enough time to put a cap on the curls scattered across her scalp. It was a vain attempt to keep the style fresh until showtime. After that was over, she could give a care less what happened to her hair. Jamie was a no frills, no fuss type of girl, and the constant primping needed to look fierce or chic was not her style. Put her in a T-shirt and jeans, that was all she needed to be comfortable and content. Only settings like this one, lavish and beyond her own, left her scatterbrained and prone to stammer. It was now four hours and counting for the wedding of her best friend’s dreams. A quick rap against the door had Jamie calling out to come inside. Even as she wanted to dismiss the thought it was Marq, she couldn’t help but to hope it was. It wasn’t, and the disappointment must have shown, as the entrant frowned back. Makenzie. “Hey, boo, what’s wrong?” Makenzie was peering around the door, afro puff filling the air around her.

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“Nothing, come in. I was thinking we could have a dish session this afternoon.” “Hope you’ve got nothing bad to spill, ’cause last thing we need is Charli flipping on her wedding day.” “Nah, just wanted some conversation, that’s all. Between the film festivals and this blog, I barely have seen either of you in the last year. Only for the weddings…” Jamie’s face tightened then smoothed out blankly. Her usual face. “It’s all right you know more than anybody. I want NCindieseen to succeed. Great gains come with sacrifice and risk. So don’t think that you are pushing us to the back burner. I know I haven’t been the friend I used to be either. Now that my paintings are selling like hotcakes and I’ve gotten hitched, I don’t have the same amount of time I used to either.” Jamie smiled and walked over to her friend, who snatched her up promptly for a hug. Makenzie smelled good, almost like everything warm and homey lived in her skin. “Come on. Let’s go get Charli.” Makenzie smiled broadly and tugged Jamie out the still ajar door. When they reached the hallway, Mak finally realized she had no idea which room was Charli’s or where that room might be. “Where are we headed anyway?” Mak asked, looking back at Jamie. “You’re asking the wrong one. We need to call her. I got lost looking for my own room.” Mak pulled out her beloved smartphone and pressed the number two for Charli. “Hey, boo, where are you at?” The response was audible in the small hallway, but muffled. “Forget that. Come and get us, girl. I can’t follow the directions you’re giving me.”

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Mak hung up the phone and walked to the end of the corridor. No sooner than they reached the hallway did Charli pop her head through the stairwell. “Hey, ladies, come on down.” Charli propped the door wide and let them into the aisle. Two minutes later, they reached the room Charli claimed in the lower berth of the ship. Deven had his own room, but it was wasted as he was apparently lying in his fiancée’s bed, barely covered with a sheet across his lap. “Boo, can you get out for a few? It’s time for some girl chat.” Charli looked at the love of her life with a telling, tear-wet gaze. Three pairs of eyes watched Deven grin smugly and quirk a brow. “I can, but I don’t think you want your friends to get that much of a look at me. Maybe you should use my room.” Charli’s face burned red, the blush evident around her ears and nape even with the deep color of her skin. She herded the gaggle of giggling friends out in front of her and shut the door. “Stop laughing at me.” “Jamie is even laughing at you. I’m sure not going to stop.” Makenzie laughed harder, and even Charli joined in. They walked a scant fifteen feet and made themselves comfortable in the well-appointed room. Charli flung herself across the bed, Jamie found a floor cushion, and Makenzie sat straddled across the bench catty corner to the others. “Oh…wait a sec, ladies.” Charli jumped up and sauntered over to the small bar, taking three glasses and a bottle of Ciroc. Every one received a glass and a nip of liquor on the rocks. When Charli sat down this time, she took a deep breath and laughed. “What’s so funny, Charli?” Jamie asked. “I can’t believe I’m marrying him.” “Why not?” Makenzie asked, and Jamie seconded mentally. The man was richer than Croesus, sexier than Matthew McConaughey, and was head over heels in love. What more can any woman want? Jamie sure knew who she wanted though, and it wasn’t Deven.

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“Everything is too perfect. I don’t have a single zit, the wedding planning went seamlessly, and I love his mother. Something has to—” The words were cut off by Mak, who clamped a small hand over her friend’s mouth. “Uh-uh, don’t go inviting trouble. If it is good, be grateful. When it’s bad, pray.” Charli nodded her head in agreement and smiled. “You’re right, Mak. I just can’t believe how perfect he is. The last months have been heaven. I just don’t know how to feel. Sometimes I find myself giddy, and I don’t know why. Other times I’m paranoid that I will end up a Stepford wife because I’m too desperate to keep him.” “I know. Those Moreland men have a way about them.” Mak put her glass over to her friend and gently clinked the rims of the two snifters together. “Jamie, if you only knew.” Charli just shook her head. “I know enough.” Jamie let the words speak for themselves, complete with a knowing look. Charli pursed her lips and looked abashed for a split second. “No way, I can’t believe I’m that loud.” Charli looked dumb for a moment then appeared to reconsider. “Maybe I am. Hell, he works hard to make that happen.” Jamie laughed. She never felt like screaming with frustration and joy at the same time. Maybe some women were not made to orgasm during sex. The only time she got off was alone with a trusty toy, and even then that didn’t feel like much worth the effort. “Makenzie, you don’t have a leg to stand on, girl. So I suggest you stop cackling like a hen ova there.” Makenzie turned beet red and laughed harder. “Girl, shut up, I can’t help he’s hung like two horses.” Makenzie shuddered and sipped her liquor slowly. “Mmm…that sounds appropriate.” Charli smirked a bit and swallowed the rest of her glass.

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Jamie still sipped hers and let the mellow burn to her belly. She should tell them. She had finished the tat months ago. To give herself a dose of courage, she downed the rest of her glass back in a long gulp. Jamie spoke up. “I have something to show ya’ll.” Both Makenzie and Charli looked at their friend in unison, eyes searching her for a hint. “What is it?” Charli busted out and asked. “This.” Jamie stood and pulled her green T-shirt off. Her friends gasped aloud, and she hadn’t even turned around yet. “Wow…” Charli and Makenzie spoke in unison. They walked over and circled Jamie, each looking at the detail on the ink bisecting her belly and back. “It’s awesome. I love it!” Charli jumped up and hugged her friend. “That took some balls, girl. Who would have thunk it? Our Jamie tatted up like sailors on shore leave.” Jamie laughed. Only Charli would say that. Makenzie looked thoughtful for a moment and started searching out the detail with her eyes. “Would you let me paint you?” Makenzie’s hands clenched slightly, and Jamie could see she was itching to sketch. “Sure, why?” “Just the dichotomy of duality. The tattoo brings you a depth that I have to capture on canvas. Do you mind being topless? Or maybe nude?” The question seemed to come from left field as Makenzie’s gaze was glazed over, and Jamie realized that her friend wasn’t all there at the moment. “Uh—” Jamie was shocked by the idea, and she knew her expression had to be that of a deer caught in the headlights. “I don’t think our Jamie is game for that, Makenzie,” Charli interjected, and Makenzie’s face showed she agreed. The fact that her friends even thought she didn’t have the balls to do it made up Jamie’s mind.

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“Sure, Makenzie, I’d love to pose for you.” Jamison spoke before she realized it. The pair of mouths facing her went slack, and their lips gaped wider than their eyes did. “Word’s bond, Jamie?” Makenzie wasn’t going to let her squirm out of her promise. “Yeah, word is bond. And don’t worry, Charli. It will be covered in time for the reception.” Jamie smiled and thought that it was a bit fun to spoil other people’s expectations of her. “Down the hatch, ladies.” Charli came back and poured a small shot of Ciroc in each glass. They all clinked glasses and tossed their drinks back. “Charli, boo, it’s time to get you hitched, girl.” Makenzie tugged her to the bathroom and applied the base make up to make Charli glow even brighter, and Jamie tugged off the Gucci scarf covering her hair up. The hair was finished for the most part, as Charli had the extensions and roller set earlier. The only thing left was to let the rollers out, brush to a side ponytail at the nape, and make a chignon. The front of her do was a Farrah Fawcett inspired bang and side part. Charlotte would pin the flowers later, and Charli’s mom, Geraldine, would be in to help her dress. Makenzie finished the makeup with a bit of time to spare and gave Charli a robe. “Put this on then have these.” She handed Charli a pack of crackers and a cold bottle of Jamaican ginger beer from the fridge. Jamie walked away with Mak, the pair splitting up at the stairwell headed for their own rooms. When she made it back to the room, Jamie found she didn’t have too much time left. Opting to call Charlotte before getting ready, she got the voice mail instead and opted to leave a message. First Jamie undressed, putting on a pair of PJ pants and a robe from the closet to keep her clothes clean while she made her face up. She then put on a light coat of base makeup and powder, mascara, and smudge of liner on her eyelids. A matte lipstick was last.

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When she put on earrings, she heard a knock at the door and, assuming it was Charlotte, opened it wide. But it wasn’t Charlotte. Marq stood there instead, half-dressed. He wore a wifebeater A-line tank with his tuxedo pants and shoes. The pants were a more modern cut and clung closely to his thick thighs and slim hips. His hair was combed in a classic side part, making him look even more yuppie and even more yummy. If the man wasn’t sex on a stick, then Jamie had no idea who was. After it became apparent she was a deer in the headlights, Marq smirked slightly and walked inside as if he owned the joint as usual. “Mom told me you needed some help.” Jamie was stunned. Charlotte sent him? “W–w–what?” “Yeah.” “But she promised–d–d she would h–help.” Damn the stutter. Jamie had something to say. “Something about a tattoo? Covering it up ring a bell?” If anything, the initial smirk on Marq’s lips became an ear-to-ear grin. Jamie could see he was enjoying her discomfort, and her anger rose even further. The fury made her next words very clear and left no mistake as to how she felt. “Why are you here then? Your mother is supposed to help me. There was nothing in that discussion to lead me to believe you would be here in lieu.” “But didn’t you get her message? She had to get the champagne for the toast and won’t be back until just before the reception starts.” “Well, then I’ll wait.” “No can do. Mom needs to get dressed just like you do.” No way was she going to let him see her nude, even partially. “T–th–hanks but n–no thanks.” “Come on, Jamison. I do bite, but it feels good. Promise. Plus, if you show me yours, I’ll be sure to show you mine.” The comic leer

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on his face combined with an exaggerated wink made Jamie fall halfway over in laughter. But even as she laughed, Jamie’s curiosity got the best of her. What did he have on his back? **** As he stood in front of her door, Marques felt his hands shake slightly, and he wiped the moisture off of his palms onto his slacks. He had the feeling that Jamison wasn’t going to appreciate that he showed up instead of his mom. But, he thought smugly, at least he had a valid reason for it. Marq was in the process of getting ready when he got a phone call from his mother. “Hey, Marq, I need a huge favor.” “Sure, Mom, what is it?” “I just called Jamison, but she didn’t answer the phone. I left her a message, but there’s no telling if she will check the room extension or not. I promised her that I would help her do some airbrush on her back before she got dressed today, and I’m not going to make it. The wine order is still screwed up. Can you help her for me? You’re the only person I can ask.” Airbrush Jamison’s back? That sounded like a recipe for either a really good time or a severely awkward moment. “Sure, Mom. When are you supposed to be there?” “Give or take, ten minutes ago.” “I’m not dressed, but I can get to her in ten minutes.” He couldn’t wait. It took a moment for her to answer the door, and he wisely used the extra seconds to put on his best poker face. He explained why he was there, but even with the legitimate reasoning, he felt like a pervert due to his excitement to see a partially nude woman. Well, he amended, not just any woman could make him this nervous, but his dawn yogi somehow did.

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“O–okay.” Jamie backed up to walk into the bathroom. “Where are you going?” “To put on a shirt.” “None needed. You can’t wear one when we apply the airbrush anyway.” Marq sauntered the handful of feet needed to reach her. He made a twirling motion with his hand. Jamie complied, and his hands wrapped around her waist. She trembled, and he spread his hands across her belly in an attempt to soothe her. “Sh. It’s all right.” He kept moving and unbelted the robe, sliding the plush fabric from her shoulders. Gravity took over, and the heavy garment whispered to the floor. Jamie crossed her arms over her breasts, their ample weight bound against her body with forearms. Marq sucked a heavy breath then held it, inhalation sharp in the silence of the now too-small cabin. His cock rose to full mast in seconds even as he leaned back to catch the full view. Even as he noticed the sinuous wraparound of the pattern, Marques walked a circle, eyes torn between the band splicing her belly and the swell of breast above it. The mounds of breast were barely covered and too large for his hands and mouth. His cock grew even stiffer, and the length of him stretched down his now-too-tight pants leg. Marq was aroused. His blood rushed from every direction to converge in one place, and he knew she could feel the spike of his erection against her body. Her hands fisted tight, and he fantasized that she really wanted to touch him but couldn’t free her breasts without exposure of the very thing she worked to keep hidden. “How far does it go?” Since he couldn’t see all of it, he had to ask. Marq was sure that she wouldn’t appreciate being fully disrobed yet. “The tail—” The words were cut off as Marq decided to find out for himself. He stepped behind her and tugged the right side of her pants low enough to see the tail of the snake curl over the rise of buttock. He had a sudden urge to fuck her into muscle spasms so he could watch the snake tattoo slither.

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“Consider yourself lucky.” “W–why?” “If there wasn’t less than an hour for the reception, I’d be inside you right now.” “N–noo you—” He could see what she was thinking, the concern mixed with lust in her eyes. Jamison was unnerved because she didn’t know him. Not really. “Yes, I would, make no mistake. The way you’re trembling tells me you’d love what I’ll do with you.” His mouth perched next to her ear, even as his arms wrapped below hers, supporting the lower curve of breast. “Is this the airbrush kit?” Jamie looked over at the bed, where the bag waited. “Uh, yes it is.” “Sit on the edge of the bed for me.” Jamie let him lead her to the corner of the bed. She watched as Marq expertly screwed together the various nozzles and mix paint. “The color should be okay.” “Yes, but you want it perfect, right?” Jamie shut her mouth and let Marq proceed. He first wiped over the skin with an alcohol wipe to ensure she was totally free of natural oils. Next, his fingers trailed over the head of the snake at her left shoulder. When the airbrush touched her, the spray mist chilled against fevered skin. Jamie felt goose bumps pebble over her, nearly head to toe. Occasionally, he would stop and mix more paint before beginning the application again. When he finished, Marq helped her stand and walked her to the mirror on the wall and let her look in a smaller hand mirror to check his handiwork. “Thanks, you did a great job.” “My pleasure. It will be about a half hour before you can put on the dress though.” And he would like nothing more than spending the time with her. There were several positions they could try out and not mar the finish of her freshly covered skin.

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“I have some powder to finish it off right here.” Marq stuck his hand out for the brush and compact. He took the large puff and used it to jab at the compact. Jamie giggled and took it from him. “Swirl it gently, like this.” She showed him, rubbing the brush in a sweeping circle over the translucent powder. She only had one arm to secure her breasts, and Marq swallowed. He had to get a taste of the nipples she barely concealed from him. “Then pat it on like so.” She showed him, using her clenched forearm for demonstration. Marq’s temple throbbed as the brush lovingly caressed her upper swell of breast and arm. He wanted nothing more than to latch his lips on the dusted spot and suckle the powder from her skin. But he instead took the brush and used it on her freshly painted back. He couldn’t wait to take off the paint for her tonight. His teeth ground together as his jaw clenched tightly, need riding him hard. When he finished, Marq skimmed his hands over the supple skin of Jamison’s back, wishing he could touch more of her, all of her. **** Jamison was still shuddering against the dresser when Marq left, the door snicking closed the only hint of his exit. Getting the dress on only should have taken a few minutes, but Jamie found her fumbling fingers hindering her. She wasn’t even fully dressed, and she needed to be above board in ten minutes. Finally the quaking in her hands ceased, and Jamie pulled the dress around her and zipped up the garment. She slid on the flat, jeweled, thong sandal and fluffed her hair. It was time to make nice with the wedding guests. The event was lavish, with gilded tablecloths and sparking table settings. There was a soul-train line that started compliments of the bride. Jamie couldn’t dance, not one lick, and had no desire to shimmy her stuff. Even if she was the only black woman without rhythm in America, that was best kept to herself. But the devil was

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coming for his due, and Jamie found herself holding up a ship wall watching as usual. She saw many things while observing. She saw wives who drank like fishes, never seen without a glass of some stiff liquor in hand. She saw dissatisfied men, eyeing their next conquest. There were single socialites all hoping to snag the attention of the last single Moreland brother. Marq’s countenance seemed stiff, so unlike the man she glimpsed over the last days. He appeared to keep everyone around him laughing at pithy retorts and witty ripostes. The quintessential gentleman, he transformed into a man of leisure after sucking the world of all its pleasures. She tried her best to look at him with a distanced eye, almost as if seeing him as a reflection and not standing before her in the flesh. It didn’t work. If anything, he was more attractive to her. His looks were debonair, just as at home in the tux as in his own skin. Her thighs quivered as she remembered his hands over her skin just an hour ago. She tried to forget the way he mapped her flesh with the touch of his skilled hands. Jamie tried not to look. She really did. But he drew her gaze like a magnet, and she couldn’t help coming back toward the pull. It seemed like he was watching her, too, at least when she looked in his direction, he was looking in hers. Nah. He couldn’t be, could he? The question was answered shortly after when he made his excuses from the small group that flocked around him. Jamison looked away as quickly as she could, hoping that her “don’t see me” trick worked. Now. Before anyone else had the opportunity to notice her and engage her in unwanted conversation. “Dance with me.” Jamie felt her cheeks pinken and ducked her head slightly. “No thanks.” “I’m not going to let you disappear. If you don’t dance with me now, you’ll regret it.” “How so?”

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“Let’s just say I owe you something that you won’t get if you don’t dance with me.” Ohh. Jamie remembered now. She was so flustered that she forgot he owed her a peek of the ink striping his back. “But I can’t dance.” “I don’t believe that, not one bit.” “Why should I care if you believe me?” How dare Marq think he was going to egg her into this. “You do. You just won’t admit it. Plus, dancing is all about leading and following. It’s simple.” “For a person with a right and left foot maybe. Not to mention a dash of rhythm.” “Watch.” Marq swept Jamie up, using one hand at the small of her back and the other clasping her at the wrist. He looked her in the eyes, and Jamie felt her knees loosen. He swayed with her at first, just acclimating her to the feel of him. She felt herself moving along, almost naturally. Then his left hand skimmed over her spine, the path he took as if he felt the ink under the body makeup. She began shuddering, her breaths choppy and harsh. The stuttered pant was audible and even to her own ears sounded labored. Marq maneuvered his head lower and whispered, “You feel me? The way we move together is so sweet, feels better than fucking.” It did. The sway of their bodies was that of two lovers sated with sex but needing the contact of their bodies to affirm they were awake. That the sensations were real and not imagined. Jamie was so hot all over her skin felt tight, like a sausage casing under pressure. The hand Marq clasped hers with wrecked devastation. The thumb stroked idly, rubbing the creased skin at the wrist, then in tight circles inside her palm. “So good, to watch you tremble for me. Do it again.” Jamie’s mouth was dry, and she felt him stroke her at the base of the spine and palm simultaneously. The circles rubbed over her skin were maddening, and Jamie felt her nipples clench tight, rubbing holes in

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the gown she wore. Marq had to feel them through his jacket, the nubs of flesh painfully erect. The sensation was akin to being rubbed with ice then let thaw, only to start over again. Jamie felt herself ready to lose control and knew if Marq didn’t stop, she would embarrass herself in a public venue. “Please M–Marques.” The words were a susurrated begging so low, Jamie couldn’t hear herself, only hoped he could. “Ahh…please what, Jamison?” “Please stop. I’m close.” She hated with every fiber of her being to be so weak, but she couldn’t come in front of hundreds of people she didn’t know. On the deck of a megabucks yacht at her friend’s wedding nonetheless. “Then why stop now? I want to see you come for me.” “Please, Marq, don’t make me. Not like this.” “So shy now? The woman wearing a snake tattoo wouldn’t let a little thing like location bother her.” But he steadily danced her backward until they reached the small alcove leading to the hallway. Jamie was shocked to see they were in a semiprivate setting. With the way she felt, she didn’t know or even care if they were in the midst of the throng of dancers. Jamie ducked her head lower, tried to control the quickening of her slick sex and the shaking of limbs. But she couldn’t. She was gone. “You need it, Jamie, need to come for me?” The tone was still a whisper, but the words were harsh. “Yess–ss,” Jamie hissed. His hands were back with a vengeance. Instead of the innocent caresses from the dance floor, he now was a man on a mission. His hand slid into the hollow at her spine and clenched a buttock. The right hand plucked a nipple, leaving the other wanting and even stiffer as if pleading for attention as well. He cocked his head to the side, using his nose to nuzzle her neck free from curls. When she was left on display for his lips, Marq latched on. He bit her gently at first, digging deeper as she went further under.

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When she heard herself stutter uncontrollably, Jamison knew she was his for the taking. “G–gg–ggood god–dd!” Jamie was in turmoil. She wanted to scream, and the effort to keep her pleasure secret cost her. Robbed her of any sense the lord gave her for life. Marq took his hand from her nipple and put the fingers over her quivering lips. When she opened her mouth, he slid the fingers inside and stroked his fingers over her taste buds. What he did next sent Jamie into orbit. Marq turned his fingers upward and stroked the pads of his fingers over the roof of her mouth. She started convulsing, jerking uncontrollably as she sucked his fingers dry to keep the groans of pleasure from emerging to the light of day. “What about you?” Jamie knew enough to know his needs were unmet. “Later. After this is over, I’m going to suck the ink outta that tat while I take my fill of you.” Jamie was still shaking when he walked away, headed into the throng of guests. Not one hair was out of place, Marq appeared nearly unaffected by their impromptu indiscretion. But she felt…disconcerted, adrift. Her back was still propped along the wall when Makenzie ducked inside the small alcove head first. “You alive back here? It’s about fifteen minutes till showtime.” “Y–yeah.” Jamie wasn’t composed. Not at all. “You look—frazzled.” But Mak must have taken a closer look as she gasped. “Whoa! That is one big-ass hickey, girl.” “Where!” Jamie couldn’t believe it. He gave her a hickey? “Hold your horses, I’ll show you.” Makenzie handed her a small antique compact mirror from her clutch bag. Jamie angled it and gasped. It was more than a hickey. It was a bruise with teeth marks. No wonder she came so hard. Shuffling her hair forward over the shoulder, Jamie smiled at the reminder of his hands on her.

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“Who was it, Jamie? Was it Marques?” Mak’s face spoke that she understood with a grin that curved her lips smugly. Jamison knew that smile well, and she smirked back. Jamie shook her head. The cat was out of the bag. “I bet he fucks like rock star, Jamie. Have you seen the tattoo yet?” “No I haven’t.” “Ohhh…girl, you have no idea. Its sex on a stick.” Makenzie was damn near drooling. “What is it of?” “I’m not going to tell you. Your mission is to tell me tomorrow afternoon after you ride him like a rodeo bronc tonight.” “Woman, you better be talking about me back here.” Charyn stood in front of the doorway and frowned, even though the words carried no heat. He was a large man and blocked all light from the drooping sun. Jamie took that as her cue to leave, and Charyn backed away, allowing her out. She heard Charyn say something, Makenzie giggle, and a zipper lower. Didn’t matter whose, as Jamie just kept walking. Jamie took up her original post and held up the wall, waiting. She didn’t have long as Marques and Charyn assembled the guests to form an aisle for the bride and party to walk through. Charli had already changed her dress and only needed to hear the music for her entrance. Charlene chose both her mothers to walk her down the aisle. Deven looked as if he were near tears the whole time, and Charli openly welled up. Charli was a diva, but she had never shone as she did today. Her skin glowed from hourly orgasms and sun. The dress was beautiful and unmarred. Thank heaven for small favors. The gown was cut simply in front, skimming Charli’s lithe frame to the ground. The back was dangerously low and sported a small train. The veil was a tiny one, just long enough to frame her eyes. And the flowers were spectacular. Tiny rosebuds barely open clustered to a tiny fall over her clasped hands. When Charlene reached her soon-to-be husband, he

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pulled her close and kissed her breath away. Jamie watched him mouth “Thank you” as the ceremony began. At the end of the ceremony Jamie was alone, and she didn’t like it. But she accepted it as her due. A person like her didn’t deserve to be happy, but she had to let her musings go as the event was over and there was work to be done. Marq cornered her without much effort after the last tipsy guest was assisted off board. “Let me come home with you tonight.” The question took her aback, even as she consciously expected the request. He wasn’t satisfied earlier, and she owed him one.

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Chapter Four: What’s Love Got To Do With It? Jamie only nodded to give consent to her desires and gave him her body without hesitation. How trite of her, for the bridesmaid to walk away from a wedding to hot sex with the groomsman. But she found that she could care less and let him help her to the car. The drive went by in silence for the most part. Marq was a controlled, yet impatient driver and had them at her house in no time. He escorted her out first and carried their luggage in the foyer, then inside. The moment the door closed, Marq dropped the bags, a glint in his eyes. Jamie still felt apprehensive about having sex with Marq. She knew she wanted him, so bad she could taste it. Why shouldn’t she let him have his way with her? He would certainly be better than the man she wasted years with. Even though Jamie had decided to give in to her body for this one night, she felt hunted. The natural response would be to run, and she tried to. Every step he took, she backed up one to match. “Stop running, Jamison.” “I–I’m not.” Yet even as she spoke the words knew them for the lie they were. She ran, but she couldn’t stop herself. She tried to. He was more than she had ever handled. But her pussy throbbed and ached for the man strolling over to her. He started undressing, in one motion taking off his shoes, another step his jacket. When he reached his undershirt, he tugged that off as well. “So you’re just going to—” “Yep, I suggest you do the same. If you want to keep the dress, that is.” The expression on his face spoke to the fact that it didn’t

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matter to him either way. Jamie couldn’t strip for a man she had never slept with. She tried to give him her best stern face, but she was too confused and aroused to succeed. She was poleaxed and stunned stupid. He had gotten close enough for Jamie to really see his tattoo. She was amazed. His whole chest and washboard abs were inked up and she suspected the back of him matched the front. She felt her pussy spasm. Jamie needed to feel him skin to skin and, desperate to feel their mutually inked flesh touch, she unzipped the dress from the side and let the sleeveless princess neckline hit the floor. Her lip was gnawed swollen from her teeth. Marq grinned and tore the wrapper off a condom, the gold packet hitting the floor even as he rolled the sheath on. He was hard but so heavy the length of cock never rose higher than his thighs. What did I get myself into? No wonder my friends are always screaming. After that moment even her thoughts felt stuttered. She couldn’t help it, but found herself backing away until her back hit the wall. Marq’s eyes glinted brightly, and he walked the two steps needed to crowd her in. “So you want to start in here? That’s just fine with me.” His face dipped low, and Jamie’s lifted to meet him. When their lips met, a matching set of groans clashed. Marq apparently had no intentions of keeping his hands to himself and spread her legs to peel her sodden panties off. Her mound was smooth and only had a tuft of hair above her slit. She was soaked, juices clinging to her parted thighs. Her panties were just as juicy, still wrung wet from her last climax. Her tongue was probing his, soft and sweet. Marq’s tongue tease showed her he wanted her hungry and desperate. “Wrap your arms around my neck.” No sooner than he spoke, she clasped him at the base of neck, interlocking her fingers. Marq used his heavy shaft to probe at her opening. He didn’t enter her, and each pass of his head over her blossoming sex left them both longing. He

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stopped playing with her damp folds and finally wedged the thick mushroomed head at the mouth of her. Jamie let gravity take her hips lower, gaining inch after inch of him. “Yeah, Jamie, take it. All of it.” Marq’s voice was hoarse and low, his forehead propped against hers. Her only response was a bone-deep shudder as he filled her inch by inch, leaving her wanting and groaning for more. The sensations were delicious, too much to take, even as she longed to feel the rest of him. She hadn’t had many men in her life, and the couple she had in the past were nowhere near this potent or hung like Marq. God knows he was so much man. But the heavy press of cock took her thoughts elsewhere in short order, and she merely allowed his possession to eat at her until she couldn’t think only feel. He seated the remaining inches inside her, letting her get accustomed to him and the need. She spent long moments groaning and angry, needy and begging. “Want more, Jamie?” His voice was lust dark and inflamed her with heat. “Yesss.” The singular word whispered over her, and she let it, neither clarifying nor expounding on her statement. There was no need to. “Good. I want you hungry.” His statement was clear and left no doubt he was being anything other than brutally honest. Marq shuttled his hips in tiny rotating motions, gouging digs of cock, similar to scraping a spoon in the belly of a bowl for the last vestiges of ice cream. “Oh!” She felt his cockhead butt her cervix when she jerked and shuddered in his arms, before her back scraped along the wall. Jamison was lost, and need burned through every vein she possessed. He was too large, more than she’d ever taken. His thick cock seemed immense and angry with blood as she watched each retreat from her spongy sex. The back and forth riposte of thrusts left her gasping, and for once in her life she didn’t make the attempt to control her stammer. The only words that she spoke with any clarity

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were for more of his punishing strokes. With every plea from her lips, Marques only responded with his hips. His gaze was brutal, as if she were stripped bare for his every desire. But he never once spoke other than to vocalize a groan or grunt in cadence with their vertical mating. Jamison knew she was chatty enough for both of them. Every touch made her crazy, needy, and wanting more of it. Each thrust left her begging for mercy, even as he refused to give quarter. The best part was she wanted no mercy from his drilling strokes, digging deeper with every pass of cock and slurping wet snatch. She shuddered and laid her head against the wall as he popped her with his motions. The next sensation she registered was the wall as her back scraped the rough drywall softened only by the beige paint that coated its surface. Marq shimmed hotly against her in one full-body pass ending with his lips meeting hers roughly. His hips moved nonstop, sibilated inside her. She was lost, and her body was his for the moment. There was no work required on her part at all, and gravity took care of most of the job for her. She merely followed him, let his body push her farther up the wall. She couldn’t even look at him, and the way he made her feel was too intense for words, let alone to experience. **** Marq was engrossed in the wet clasp of walls and stunned at how vocal she was. He loved it, listening to her groan and stammer for more. She was a turning out to be a bit of a mystery. With her nearcloistered life, she dressed to camouflage every appealing trait she had. But beneath the skin she was ready to burn. He could see the real Jamie crawling to get out. Jamison made him nuts, and he found he was unable to even speak to her now. She was a woman on fire, flamed over and around him with passion. But unknowingly she refused him the one thing he needed to make this moment Kodak worthy. He needed to see her worse than he required another breath.

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The look in her eyes would complete the gritty fuck he served her. Marq swallowed, opening his sandpaper dry mouth to speak for the first time since he sank in her sword-swallowing sheath. “Look at me.” She complied, giving him what he waited for. Her gaze was wet, burning him through. God she would be beautiful on camera. The word was too weak to describe the look in her eyes, it couldn’t capture the way her eyes spoke volumes. Her eyes were starving, needy and he let the heat in her face burn through him. He watched her bite her lips as if trying to hold herself back from him. When his mouth touched hers it was an automatic response to quell the abuse to the ripe, red, plush skin. But he was less gentle than he wanted to be and treated the lower lip the same way she had. Roughly. But the gasp that she squeaked into his lips told him how much she liked the harsh need carried with his kiss. The sex became too good, and their kiss became a mutual groan eaten by their hungry mouths. He listened to her beg him to end it. “Stop–p…please.” He would comply, just to fuck with her a little. Then with the next breath she would ask him for the opposite. “P–p–please, don’t–t st–top.” “What do you want, Jamison?” Marq let the smirk boiling beneath the surface emerge with a curl of his lips and a nip of her pouting mouth. “You sound a bit confused.” She didn’t respond at first, and he slowed the pace of his strokes. Her mouth opened to speak, but no words left the bruised pout. She followed his prior demand and still fixed her molten chocolate gaze with his. She was amazing in every way, wet walls gripping his cock as they fucked. Her lack of rhythm was exposed with her responding motions offbeat and jerky. The fix was simple, and Marq employed his hands at her hips with firm pressure to coax her into following his lead. A scant fistful of deepening thrusts later, she was in flawless sync, hips matching his. But the way he worked her was too good, and he knew he was going to spend like a wet-behind-the-ears prepubescent. She had to come soon to salve his ego.

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He had to stop himself, but it was nearly impossible. Even as he stilled for control, Jamie’s wet pussy suckled and rippled around him, though he had pinned her hips to the wall. Marq bit his tongue in a pathetic attempt to keep himself from coming. It may have worked if she didn’t take the pause to draw a deep breath and lick her already moist lips. The quicksilver flash of tongue was enough to make him lose it, and he came in her before he bucked his cock again. The five harshly scraped thrusts were enough to bring his twitching lover with him. She screamed and seized around him, and the sensory overload forced his orgasm to linger. He leaned against her slick flesh to keep from sinking into the floor. His forehead butted hers, and Marq panted in an attempt to breathe normally. He had to have her again, but first he needed to learn how to use his legs. When every nerve in his body stopped tingling, Marq pulled his still-turgid length from the lockjaw grasp of her pussy. His departure made them both gasp as a flood of hot sex-slick fluid ran down her legs before her juices puddled to ruin the fabric of her dress, crushed beneath his feet. When Jamison’s feet hit the floor, her eyes shuttered to a nearly perfect blank, and Marq knew she was attempting to come back to reality. But she didn’t know he wasn’t going to leave her there for long. She was going to give up her too-tight panties tonight. He saw her walk away from him, as if he were dismissed. She wasn’t going to get away with that, especially as he’d just been ballsdeep inside her cloying heat. Marq followed her so closely he thought he could feel the skin pebble and the brush of raised hairs along his skin. Abruptly she stopped. “Do you know the meaning of personal space?” Her words were clipped, and the cadence staccatoed her usual velvet speech. “Well, since we just made a puddle on your dress, I would think I’ve already been in your space.” “Ahh–hh excuse me.” Her grunted reply was mismatched by the shiver of inked scales along her spine. The shimmy of permanently stained flesh made his cock rise to the occasion again. But before he

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fucked her again, he had to figure a few things out first. He waited until she walked in the shower before he started his campaign to ruffle her now too-collected demeanor. “How long have you been a yogi?” The simple query left her stunned. He saw the disbelief in her eyes when she stumbled over the tub ledge. Marq caught her before she fell and hurt herself. “How?” Apparently she thought better than to finish her question. But he knew where she was headed. “How did I find out you mean?” He smirked as she nodded once, no, twice, before she simply looked at him as if waiting for his response. “Mom put you in my bedroom without telling me.” Marq smiled at the look she unwittingly made, an incongruous mixture of perplexed and embarrassed at the same time. He let her take a shower alone as his mind raced a mile a minute. He thought about her reaction to him the night before when he stroked the smooth column of her throat. Marq had watched her melt easily beneath his simple touch. She would be a goddess in bed. Her head tipped back with eyes closed as if basking in his worship of her, and she bit her fat lower lip. The caught rim of mouth didn’t capture her groan completely, instead muffled and banked the sound deep down. The aborted sound was begging for a triplet of moans like it to follow the first. But he heard it, and now wouldn’t give up until he had her begging beneath him. Scenes so vivid they resembled flashbacks played through his mind. What she would feel like under him. What she’d taste like in his mouth, sound like when she begged for more of him. But he thought to himself that she was in a foul mood and his lascivious thoughts were a waste of energy. When the shower was finished, Jamison made her impatience for Marq to leave known. He followed her through the house, watched her dig through a closet and dresser for a plain set of night clothes. The set was a basic cotton tank and capri cotton bottom complete with drawstring. If nothing else spoke to her need to evict him from her

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space, the choice of no frills beige garb drove her message home. While she puttered about, he did as well, intent on being nosy and not in the least covert with it either. “Wow, it’s already eleven?” She hemmed and hawed, the wordage was at first polite, just a vague murmur about the time. At that moment, Marq opened her dresser then closet door in quick succession. There was a bag with faux Easter eggs, the plastic novelty ones that either were used in a treasure hunt or fell out of the quarter machine in front of any chain department store. His gaze darted over the impeccable closet, filled with monochromatic garb. Shit, he thought as he peered at the contents of the closet, no wonder he never really saw her before yesterday. Her clothes were milquetoast and less interesting than watching paint dry. Every garment was a neutral, designed to either wash her out or make her fade into the woodwork. Even her underwear, which were all folded neatly and arranged by color, were simple. There were no frills or fuss, and the lack of feminine fripperies made him want to show her what she had been missing. There was an untapped well of passion that simmered within her. Marq knew it. What he really wanted to know was how she survived living a half-life, washed free of excitement and color. The woman was sensual, and she burned inside and out with cravings. They were written in the way she fucked him. Her motions were clumsy and fraught with lust. She wanted him, as badly as he desired her. She was a woman of mystery. What made her tick? Why did she hide herself from the world? He was game to get the answers, but he was surprised by the fact he wanted more of her. She wasn’t the type of woman he usually went for. “Well, tomorrow is a full day for me, I know you must have plans.” Her gaze was pointed at him, as if hoping her wording penetrated. It did, but it was his prerogative to avoid her line of attack. Her next pointed words alluded in detail to her busy schedule the following morning. Marq just pretended to ignore her poorly veiled references and decided to keep her on her toes.

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“Are you happy, Jamison?” The question surprised her, as she only blinked wide eyed for several long moments. The wait was long enough to make him think he was way out of line and he might get rudely rebuffed. Then he’d get put out of her house, and not necessarily in that order either. “No, I’m not.” He was surprised at her honesty. If he were a betting man, he’d have thought it would take at least an hour of debate before she conceded the easily discerned point he made. “Are you willing to let me take control of your life for a month?” “What do you—” The words stopped abruptly, as if speech were water from a dry well ended all at once. “I mean what I said. One month, thirty days, and I will help you to see what you really keep hidden underneath the bland garb you use to veil yourself.” “H–hide myself?” “Yes. You act as if you don’t want to be seen. You hide yourself behind those glasses you like to wear paired with plain clothes to be ignored. I know there is more to you. There is a little sparkle in your eyes when you watch the world pass by. I want to taste that spark, Jamison, on my tongue when I make you scream for mercy. You would be perfection on film.” He would bet everything he owned that he could turn her from the bland person she showed the world to a confident sensual beauty worthy of the world. All the makings were there. She was a diamond in the rough. “F–film?” Her face showed her interest was piqued, even as the features were distorted from nerves. “Yes, film, Jamison. I would like to record us together, and I think you would love it.” “You mean during…” She let the words trail from her lips as if she couldn’t say what she knew. Or at least what she thought he was alluding to. “Fucking? Is that was you were going to say?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at her hesitation to complete the query verbally, instead

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letting her eyes ask it. Apparently, she took exception to being laughed at and attempted to push him away. But she wasn’t getting away with it that easily. He grabbed both of the hands pushing at his chest and walked her to the mirror resting atop a chest of drawers. “Look at yourself.” His words were forceful, but that couldn’t be helped. It was apparent that she didn’t think too much of herself. “You are incredibly passionate, but you bottle your needs up. Hide them and yourself like a chameleon along walls in plain view. I’m surprised that you haven’t exploded and gone postal yet.” He felt her shiver and arranged her to his liking, wrapping his arms around her. “You act like I’m r–repressed.” “Shhh…” He rubbed his hand over her throat, quelling her mutterings. “You are in some ways, but I think you can be so much more than this. Don’t you?” She seemed to agree, closing her eyes and nodding once. He took the inch her concession gave him and used the gained ground to take the full mile. “So can I take that to mean you’ll let me have you for one month, no holds barred?” Her agreement was slow in coming, but long minutes later she gave in to the demands his words and presence made and looked away before giving her consent. “Yes, Marq, I will give you one month. But there are no expectations for the end of that time, and this is not a relationship or ending as one.” He could let her have the arguments posed, as he was going to get his way in the end anyway. He always did, and even his mother would claim he could talk birds from trees. He crooked a brow and grinned. He was going to have the time of his life with her. There was so much she was innocent to, and he was going to film every moment going forward of their mutual exploration into decadence. She was going to be a new woman after he finished with her. His Pygmalion, although something told him that she wouldn’t be schooled alone. There was an inferno inside her just itching to climb out, and maybe he could finally learn what it meant to be intrigued by a woman. Really, he’d never had to work at getting

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women in his bed. After he’d had sex the first time at thirteen, Marq never went longer than a few days without sex. But if he wanted, Marq could fuck every hour of the day with different women. He’d been tossed too many pair of panties and until recently couldn’t conceive of doing without his daily dose of sex. **** Jamison was in shock. She’d never expected to have Marques offer her a month of his time. He could be fucking anybody he wanted with his looks and wealth. Then his prior words came back to her. Filming them in bed together. She could see it, him over her, riding her into oblivion. He would make her scream for more and every bead of sweat would be immortalized for posterity on camera. The thought was slightly sobering. She was a behind-the-scenes kind of girl, and she dressed the way she did deliberately. What was the point? Why bother putting on garments to catch the eye when she couldn’t even deal with the attention they would garner her? Most of her life had been spent hiding her desires. She could talk on the phone, but the moment someone spoke directly to her face-to-face, she would shut down and become incapable of the simplest conversation. The major part of her life was keeping her problem silent and minimalizing her association with others. The only reason she even had Charli and Mak as friends was that they forced their way in her life. Otherwise she’d be friendless and single to boot. But she was lucky to have them both, as they loved and took care of her even when she didn’t want their attention. Between the two peacocks they made with their opposing beauty, she looked like a homely wren. But little by little, she grew to trust them. She spent time with them and got to know them. The next best thing to sliced bread was having them for friends. They brought out the best in her. Having the two of them in her life let her know what it was like to belong somewhere.

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After years spent orphaned, she now knew what it meant to have some kind of family, some sense of fitting in. That was why she loved film so much. The industry was vibrant and ever changing. From one project to the next, she could find a way to mingle and make temporary associates. For the most part, she worked on various projects and enjoyed herself learning more about the industry. It was the reason NCindieseen was so popular with her grassroots fan base. They got more than a dry recitation of a film. The readers got to know behind-the-scenes aspects, too. They could see how the movie became and not just the finished product. Plus, films were bustling with other information, and even if her blog didn’t refer to gossip, she had made a pretty penny with tabloids for small snippets of info about the actors involved in the production. But she wasn’t sure what his angle was. Why did her want to help her? She was an orphan who held up walls and spoke with a strong stammer. He was a trust fund baby with the world at his fingertips. But he was too delicious to say no to. If she didn’t use this opportunity to get her brains fucked out, she would regret it for the rest of her life. The caveat she made was to remind herself that this was a temporary fix. It wasn’t about love, or romance, or anything associated with hearts and flowers. None of those things were for her anyway, and there was a term for women just like her. Spinster. If that was her calling in life, so be it. There was no way a man like him would accept her and the baggage from her childhood she carried along to boot. She wanted him to screw her senseless, hot, wild, and powerful. Makenzie was right. That tattoo was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. It was impossible not to be turned on by its design. She closed her eyes, remembering what the skilled rendering portrayed. The Garden of Eden. He was Adam, the features and build were a close match for him, and Eve was…definitely not white, blonde, or blue eyed. The few moments she got to see it were enough to make her want to know more about it.

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“Why is Eve black?” The question came out so quickly after the thought occurred that she didn’t even stammer once. “Because I don’t believe that genetically, two white people could give rise to our civilization of multicultural people. One of the two had be something other than white then, right?” He laughed slightly, and she was left with more questions and no answers to go with them. She found herself holding yawns at bay, and when Marq heard her, he immediately escorted her to bed. All she could remember is how good he smelled next to her, masculine scented even with the use of her shower gel. She was asleep in moments. Jamison dreamed of their first fuck against the wall, the way he tormented her with his thick length of dick. The way he grunted at her, nipped her flesh as he rode her. Only this time she could see herself and him in plain view. The vision was nearly better than the fuck for some reason she couldn’t explain. The only thing missing was the audio. It was as if it was off somehow. The best description she could get was that the dream was poorly dubbed. Similar to when she watched foreign films before the review and the mouthing motions didn’t match the words spoken. Instead of the grunts and groans Marq uttered during their steamy wall fuck, she heard lusty phrases. “You feel so good, damn near virgin tight.” Then he followed with, “That’s right, toss that pussy back at me.” She had no idea where the words were coming from. Sound seemed to come at her from all directions, bombarding her sense of hearing in stereo sound. She felt so good all over, and the scene before her grew more explicit and aggressive. Her nocturnal avatar was receiving something she’d never had before, a slow, mouthwatering screw that left her panting out of control. But something was niggling at her, similar to a pesky fly buzzing around the ear. The sensation, if she could call it that, was pulling her from her dream, and she desperately didn’t want to leave the sensual tableau.

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By the time the fog of sleep began to lift, Jamison was truly snared. She panted and felt needy, but she didn’t know why. Her hand was moving toward her clit before she could even think of the action. But there was a hand there already, insistently plucking the nerveladen bundle into a pebbled erection of female flesh. She could feel puffs of air bathe her neck and ears, followed with erotic mutterings hot enough to sear steaks on a grill. She couldn’t make sense of half he said, but all of it made her cream around the intrusion of cock speared within her delicate walls. She was turned on her side. He was behind her, around her, as he aroused her. None of her body was ignored by his hands, and everywhere he caressed was given equal attention. It was all she could do to rock against him and clutch greedily at his grasping arms. She was so thoroughly entranced with his clasp, encompassing every inch of her it seemed. Even his leg was wrapped over her hip, crisp male hairs rasping over her newly shaved skin. Her feet even possessed sensations. He used his toes to rub against the arch of one foot. God it felt so good, she needed to scream. The stronger the multitude of sensations grew, the tighter she curled inward, and now she was nearly in a fetal position. Marq was curled around her, his upper arm pillowing her head. Jamison used the tense bicep as a gag of sorts, opening her mouth wide and biting him. “So you want to fuck, is that it?” The syllables rasped over her ear, forcing a protracted shiver along her spine to end around his cock, even she felt the ripples of satisfaction pulsing from her walls. “Uhh…god knows, this is fine.” Jamison’s voice trembled the same as her skittish body did and carried a suspiciously hoarse pitch. “I would hope so since I’m inside you right now.” His hips moved infinitesimally slow, making every nerve-laden millimeter of motion count. So good. Her sex was so wet, she put rivers to shame. He told her that, and the words nearly sent her over until he pinched the clit he still fingered. The flash of pain just sent her blistering higher, burning

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harder until she gave birth to the scream that she worked so hard to keep within her chest. “Ahh—” The sounds burned within, kept buried deep, made her long to bite, scratch, and claw at him until he gave her what she needed. It was so close, but the teasing strokes he bestowed her clingy sheath were enough to raise the bar of her orgasm, yet not enough to send her headfirst into it. The submissive position she allowed herself to fold into made interaction with his dick impossible. Only experiencing was feasible. And there was so much to dive into. As though he could feel her spiraling away, he rolled them over. Now he was mounting her like a recalcitrant animal, and she loved it. There was something primal in the position that gave her the ability to be free in her possession. She laughed and let him guide her. By the time they finished juggling limbs, she was in child’s pose with Marq mirroring her posture. His fingers were clasped between hers, his soft palms riding the back of her hands. Each motion was still gentle, subtle waves throbbing inside her. But the angle of entry and the depths he reached were enough to make her rock back and forth in sensual madness. The dark allure of being covered and mounted was enough for her to let go, and Jamison bit at the soft cotton sheathing her bed. The wads of fabric gagging her did little to hold her gasps of pleasure at bay. She felt Marq pull away and ripple through her walls once more before groaning and latching his lips over the head of the snake tat poised sentry-like over her shoulder. The skin there seemed more sensitive, as if the ink left the sensory organs it permeated bare. His mouth was enough send the whispers of her fading pleasure into orbit again. Only this time her cries of pleasure were allowed to escape and envelop the room in a symphony of sound. Marq refused to let her hide the wails using one hand beneath her chest, cupping her throat with the palm and forcing the column upward to face the ceiling. When her shaking finally stilled, his next words were to tell her how well she did. How beautifully she succumbed to him and their

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lust. When each breath released against her ear had lowered to a normal pace, he rolled them over once more. Now she was on top, only she was facing away from him. Her chin was cocked ceilingward, hair a scattered tangle in every direction. Her legs splayed over his, arms flung away from her body. Unlike her sprawled limbs, his were contained. He merely thumbed a puckered nipple and rubbed circles over her belly with the other hand. His legs were tucked neatly between hers using them to keep her rubber limbs akimbo. She felt so open and so ready for anything he could offer her in this moment. After long minutes spent shivering under his hands, Jamison looked toward her window, watching the sky begin to brighten. Instead of draining her, the surplus of early-morning, Marquesmanipulated orgasms left her energized and ready for anything. She felt ready for her sun salutations and whatever the day brought her. He must have read her mind as he asked her, “Can I watch you? Greet the sunrise like you did in my room?” She nodded her head and sat up, stretching as she stood upright. When she padded to the bathroom, she couldn’t help looking back at her bed and the übermasculine man atop it. Jamison should have never stopped to catch one extra glance of him. At least then she wouldn’t have been distracted enough to smack herself in the head with the door frame. The worst part of it wasn’t the small pain from her injury, but watching the wince scroll across his face after the loud cracking smack the collision created. Not her best look and sadly enough not the worst either. There was that time in band class… The decades-old memory embarrassed her even now. It was the year before her dad died, and she was twelve. She was an avid participant in band class, finding her friends amidst the band geeks and misfits. Until one day she came into class and picked up her school issued bassoon. Somehow she tripped over one of the steps and dropped her case, unable to stop herself from falling. Even at that age, she was a busty girl, and her burgeoning breasts bounced her at least twice off her chair before she fell in the floor in front of Brand,

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her crush. After then, she was the butt of many jokes for months, most of the students calling her names like “boobs-a-bouncing” or “busty big bounce.” It was those moments that quickly taught her the value of melding into her environment. Then after the passing of her only parent, the foster homes finalized the rest of her education about hiding in plain sight. To be unseen was sometimes the best protection from people with bad intentions. But even then, being unseen was the one thing that can create an instant victim. The one and only time her anonymous demeanor didn’t save her was the day she ended up in the group home until she graduated from high school. Perturbed at the turn her thoughts took, Jamison decided to clear her head with a quick shower. By the time she finished and applied a light mist of body oil in a spray bottle, it was time for her morning workout. She put on the sports bra she normally wore for these occasions. Otherwise she would end up slapping herself in the eye as she transitioned. As she padded to the window, she tried to pretend Marq wasn’t there, but of course he watched every move she made. Yet, within five minutes of her initial stretch, she was grounded enough to forget his presence and the day felt nearly the same as any other she’d had in the last year. Over the last months she had perfected the art of finding Zen anywhere. Crowded trailers, cold desert sands, freezing tundra, and a few other places she found herself during her working career. She was at the point now she could leave the wireless game entirely. The only thing that held her back was her best friends. Once she pulled stakes from her day job and Makenzie’s apartment, no more Wilmington. She may just post up in California this time. She’d lived a little of everywhere, from sunny Florida to bustling New York. But for now, she enjoyed her ability to bask in her first real, adult female friendships. Before Charli and Makenzie, she was a self-proclaimed occasional beard for some of her closeted buddies at professional and personal gatherings. So it was needless to say that she didn’t want to throw away her relationship with Makenzie and Charlene. But she

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didn’t really feel…satisfied. There was more out there for her, she knew it. Whether or not it was here remained to be seen. As she transitioned through the asana, Jamison let her mind roam as it would. It seemed with these moments each day, she learned more about herself. She understood what she wanted and needed from life. She knew where she wanted her path to lead her and what she required to be happy. For most people, they already knew or at least had an inkling of what they needed from life. For her it was different. She never expected to be joyful, and content was enough to keep her alive and in the moment. As the poses progressed, Jamison found she attained then held the positions a bit too easily and decided to up the ante on her workout. She finished the few variants needed to end her round of salutations and moved to a free form of postures designed to push her flexibility to the max. She adopted a corpse pose first for a moment of rest and reflection. When she finished, she bent her knees and brought them to her chest and rocked from left to right, giving her spine a supple stretch. Using her weak but present abdominals, she forced her lower half into the air and rolled her back upward. When that stage was complete, she was a propped into a full shoulder stand. It took her a moment to melt within the pose and fully relax while engaging every muscle. Her hips lowered in degrees and, once her lower half of her body was perpendicular to the upper, gave one deep push to send her feet to the floor. Her flexibility only allowed her to touch her toes to the ground here, but it was enough to achieve the posture. Lastly, she bent her knees to the floor, one on each side of her face. She could feel sweat roll from her skin. This was exactly what she needed to challenge herself today. Marques had remained so silent that Jamison had forgotten he was watching her just across the room. Until she attained plow posture as the pose was called, and then she heard a gasp and choking sounds. The muted noises were enough to break her concentration and the natural endorphins gave way to adrenaline-based fire boiling through

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her veins at the realization that she let him watch her. Due to the nature of her stance, she was unable to see him, but she heard the heightened breathing and movement. She pushed off with her feet, and unwound her body from the awkward posture. When she was sitting upright again, her head swam with oxygen and a drugging sense of awareness mixed heavily with arousal. The totality of her night and day with her own McSexy was too delicious, amazing in a way that left her breathless. She waited long moments attempting to soothe herself, keep the yearning at bay. It surely wouldn’t do to let him see how much she craved him. For goodness sakes, she had just climbed off the man not an hour ago. But when she looked over at him, he ogled her in a way that she’d never been looked at before, dick hard and already sheathed with a rubber. Before she could remark on the ready erection, he cocked a brow upward before his eyes dropped to his length of pipe and back up to her gaze. She bit her lip before she licked over it and let his gaze pull her to where they both wanted her. On his dick.

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Chapter Five: Give It to Me It didn’t take much to see where Jamison was headed. Marques was a real man and, even to her, more than enough to satisfy her hunger. As the days progressed, Marq showed her so much about herself. She didn’t even know how much she would like wearing sensual lingerie. She had never thought of herself as a lace kind of girl, but he had shown her how decadent lovemaking could be with the right garments. She had screamed and squirmed in a bustier Monday night. She had moaned and groaned in lace on Tuesday. He made her beg and weep in leather on Wednesday. On Thursday he made her faint from pleasure wearing a silk toga. Friday and Saturday were dedicated to hedonism at its finest, and he covered her in naught but fruit. Every day for the last week she had been introduced to something new. They both loved to watch campy movies and laugh at errors they found as they went along. He was one of the few men she had met who knew the ins and outs of the industry without being directly involved in the business of film. If she never had this experience, it would have been a big mistake. Who else would take her to a boutique for clothes and eat her pussy in the dressing room between clothing changes? Imagine something like that happening to her of all people? How in the world did he come up with half of the stuff he did to her? She had no idea, but she knew that he was quickly worming his way into her heart. Everything that he had done for her helped make her so much happier than she had ever been. She was able to actually able look others in the eye now, and it was a good feeling. When she thought back to before they met, there

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was a tinge of disgust for the person that let she herself become. It almost seemed like she had no spine. Even though life had beat at her badly over the years, she should have never just let all hope go. **** Marq had quickly become accustomed to molding Jamison into the best version of herself. Every day he found somewhere new to take her. Something different to show her. She was a more than apt pupil for all that he had to teach her. He even learned a few things from her, namely about the movie business and how it worked. Jamison was the only woman he’d ever met that understood him and appreciated who he really was. Since he was working on the linguistics of a couple of contracts in Dubai, he was out of the office for the next month. He was blessed with a gift for languages, and the contract only took a fraction of the time he had allotted. So he was free to squire around Jamison at will. She still had to work, but usually they ran errands in the morning. Each day he tried to find at least two sets of undergarments, one for that day and the other for that night. The major goal was to burn every ugly piece of clothing she owned. Even the shoes were bad. Not that he had a problem with Clark’s, but to own nothing but numerous bland colors of the shoes? Not good, she was too young to act so old. For some reason, La Perla was especially lovely against her skin, French fripperies highlighting the bright gold of her flesh. The color reminded him of peanut brittle, tasted just as sweet, and even spiced with freckles the color of nutmeg in odd places. Across the backs of her hands and feet, sprinkles of spots over her breasts and bridge of her nose teased him to taste the odd bits of skin. Along with the lingerie, there were new clothes for his protégé. He’d even gotten into the habit of matching the outerwear with the underwear. Red was luscious on her, brightened the light brown of her eyes to a rich amber, and in silk she was a vixen. After the first Monday, they

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decided not to spend her lunches together, due to the fact that he decided to have her for lunch and she had him for dinner with no stop between the two feasts of fleshly pleasures. Of course she never made it back to the office that day. He spent four and a half grueling, sweating, panting hours inside her that afternoon teasing her into squirming on his cock while screaming for more. The only reason they stopped was someone knocked on the door until he stopped fucking her and she stopped squealing, followed with him shrugging on underwear to answer the summons. When he opened the door, a small woman stood with her eyes and mouth gaped open. He didn’t even say anything, merely looked the nosy neighbor dead in the face as the flushed, oliveskinned woman ogled him from toes to head twice before she stammered a quick apology and made her way back across the hall. He shut the door and, without removing the unwanted boxers, reimpaled the waiting hot pussy in bed. When he finished with her, they had to go to his place. He was through with restrictions, and he wanted the comfort of his bed. The king-sized frame was much larger than hers, and he required more legroom. It was bright and early Tuesday morning of their second week together Marques woke Jamison with a contract for permission to record their sexual encounters. When he saw her sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her. Not for this. But he had the itch and, before he could sacrifice Jamison to the desires burning his veins, had to get the green light. When she opened her eyes, she smiled sleepily, the flutter of eyelashes nearly his undoing as the thick hairs beckoned him to fuck. But he tamped down the lust and thrust the now-slightlycrumpled papers before her. She didn’t seem surprised by the fistful of contracts and slid on the waiting glasses on the nightstand. Sitting patiently in one of the wingback chairs next to his bed, he watched Jamison read the entirety of the document from beginning to end and let his mind wander. It was enough to amaze him. He hadn’t fucked any woman without one since Renee. The thought sobered him

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slightly. He had relegated the episode to the deepest recesses of his mind and had nearly banished the painful memory until now. It was bittersweet to remember the youthful indulgences that nearly cost him everything. He had just really gotten into the concept of taping sexual encounters just the year prior to the incident. One night he and his friends were playing around with the video camera, and he unintentionally left it running after being distracted. Just an hour later he was having some decent sex with a sophomore sorority girl. When he decided to watch and edit the film the next day, he saw himself having sex and was hooked. It almost looked better than the fuck actually felt at the time. After that he had to do it again and again. He had never asked a woman if she would agree to being taped and childishly hid the cameras during a few choice encounters with some extra friendly ladies, not realizing what an invasion of privacy it was on his part by hiding his fetish for film. In either event, one night he had met a fellow student at a party on campus his fraternity was having. A girl there caught his eye. He’d seen her around school, and she was a lovely young woman. Renee had beautiful hazel eyes and golden hair the color of wheat twitching past her waist. She had the potential to be stunning as she aged, but at this moment she hadn’t lived in her skin long enough to reflect the confidence of a truly beautiful woman. In those days the fresh beauty she portrayed was all it took for him to hoist his cock to rampant. She threw out signals that she was interested in him, rubbed against his cock during a handful of dances, and he quickly swallowed the scantily clad bait. One of his brothers was more than happy to toss a box of condoms at him before they ascended the stairs to his room. He caught the pack, laughed as they would be too small, and tossed them back. Three minutes later he pulled his own box of Magnums from the dresser drawer before activating the camera hidden under a stray towel in the dresser and followed up by fucking the living daylights out of her. When they finished, the mystery of the

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flaxen beauty was gone. She fucked terribly, stiffer than a wooden board, and it was more work than it was worth to put on the rubber and do her. Marq had never been a die-hard slut, and now the wasted fuck meant he wouldn’t be doing anyone else until tomorrow night. He’d never liked the idea of bouncing from one woman to the next in a single evening, so if he came tonight, it would be by his own hand. He didn’t even finish, instead letting her think his soft cock was due to coming. She was so naive that she fell for the ruse hook, line, and sinker. But she somehow mistakenly thought that he was going to be her boyfriend and that they would begin dating because of the fact she gave him some. She was dead wrong, and when he advised her there was no way they would date or even fuck again, she slapped the taste out of his mouth and left. On the way out she threw a temper tantrum and tossed various items at him and his drunken frat brothers as he escorted her out. His line brother, Quinn, was hit with one of the missiles she lobbed, and as he wasn’t known to be the nicest drunk, tossed her out of the house on her ass in a pair of panties and nothing else. Of course that left her holding what was left of her dress in her hands in the way out. It had to be horribly embarrassing as the party was still going strong and half the campus was milling drunkenly on the frat house lawn. But when he looked at the burning hatred in her eyes as she walked away, he knew she was going to be trouble as he anticipated months of pathetic tricks by her and her sorors from the Gamma house. It was the following day he found out what she had up her sleeve. He awoke to the police at his front door at six a.m. and was taken from his room in handcuffs. On the way to the precinct, he was reviled by the officers, who were happy to treat him as if he were guilty of the crimes they accused him of. When they arrived at the station, he used his one call to find Deven, who in turn sent the family attorney to get him. They browbeat him for three hours while

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Attorney Cohen was in route. Marq chose not to speak even though the words that proved his innocence burned to leave his lips. The police were attempting to charge him with rape and aggravated assault as well as the delinquency of a minor, as Renee had a beer that evening and she was nineteen. The moment was the worst in his life, and to make matters worse, even Attorney Cohen seemed to believe him guilty when he arrived at noon. He’d never forget what the family friend and legal counsel had to say. “Marques, I’m going to speak to you as a friend of your father first. I know that you’ve been indulged your whole life, but this is reprehensible. Just because you come from a background of means doesn’t give you the right to take what you will. Now I’m going to speak to you as your counsel. The DA is willing to reduce the charges if you accept a deal. Now I’m going to recommend we don’t take it. If you do, you’re going to end up with something on your record no matter if I am able to seal it or not. We can take it to trial, but I will have to dig some dirt up on this girl to keep your ass out of jail.” The older man’s face revealed how he felt, a mixture of disgust and disappointment making the forty-odd-year-old man appear much older. At this point he knew he didn’t have any choices left. He had been carefully cultivating tapes for over a year, risking being caught several times by his momentary paramours and hoarding footage like a miser. He’d never shared the sex tapes with anyone, not even his own brothers. Marques remembered how bitterly angry he felt that it had come to this. He was going to have to divulge his secret. “Mr. Cohen, I can prove that I didn’t rape her.” The attorney looked stunned. “And how is that, may I ask?” Marques wouldn’t say anything further until he was home. “Just take me to my dorm.” When they arrived, his frat brothers were in a frenzy. Most were nursing hangovers combined with fury at his dawn arrest. He sent all of them away with a joviality he certainly didn’t feel. But he was

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good at keeping up appearances. It was the way of the upper crust, the crème de la crème of society, those with money so old that the funds could be traced back in centuries. When the attorney walked into the trashed room, he snubbed his nose up, but at this point Marq could give a fuck what the asshole thought. He just wanted this over with, now. When he plugged the video camera into the TV, the tape showed what happened with him and Renee the night before. It was clear she was willing and nowhere near drunk when he screwed her the night before, along with her petulant behavior afterward. Attorney Cohen called the DA, and once the footage was shared with the investigators, the charges were dropped. His lawyer told him he could press charges against Renee, but Marq saw no point. He was free and one hundred percent clear. After the truth came out, Renee disappeared. As far as he knew, she transferred to another college, and he decided he would finish his education in the law. No one would ever strip his rights from him again. He knew the law wasn’t his passion. He was an IT guy and worked better with networks than he did with the loopholes the law provided. Computers were black and white. The law had too many shades of gray to make sense to a man of logic and clear convictions. He received a few strange looks around campus, but he ignored those and kept moving. Two days after the matter was fully settled, Attorney Cohen came back to him with a single thin manila envelope and an offer for lunch. Marq accepted even though he didn’t want to talk to the man but did so out of respect to his parents, who considered him an informal member of the family. Their lunch was silent until after the meal was half eaten. “I want to offer an apology, Marques. I should have never assumed the worst of you. It’s just as someone that loves and helped raise you, I felt furious at the thought that you would do something reprehensible to a woman. The whole way here, I kept trying to tell myself that you would never do that. That you would never treat a female that way. But as an attorney, I have a hard time not posing arguments on both sides of the debate, being the devil’s advocate if

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you will. But I am truly sorry. If nothing else, I should have given you the rights I fight for others to have. The right to be innocent until you were proven guilty, along with the right to have an impartial defense. When I saw you sitting in the interrogation room, there was something in your face, your voice. It was as if the young man I watched grow up became a man overnight. The child I used to carry on my shoulders on the Fourth of July holidays was now a harsh man. The strength you showed in those moments is beyond your years. Even I could not imagine being stoic under the circumstance, so I judged you guilty, refusing to believe that a youth of twenty-one could be stronger than me and that made me foolishly believe in your guilt. Now I’m not saying anything is wrong with your preferences, but you need to protect yourself. This is something that I think you’ll find handy for your preferred habit.” The manila envelope passed over the table. When Marq opened it, it was a contract. As he scanned over it, some of it made no sense, but the older man filled him in quickly. “Basically this form will let you have your cake and eat it with the video tapes.” He smiled, and then his face took a sober cast, and Marq knew the gentleman before him weighed each word carefully before he committed them to speech. “Marq, you were extremely lucky this time. If one of the women you taped without permission found out, she could damn near bankrupt your trust fund to gag her. If it was more than one? Your parents would have to take the fall and pay your debt. I’m not judging you, but I do think you should consider having any women you are…engaged with sexually sign it. At least then you have full consent.” Marq was silent for a long time, weighing the merits of taking advice from the man who lambasted him for something that he didn’t do. But logic won over, and he accepted the packet and used it faithfully. If he met a woman and she wanted to go to bed with him, the form was the true test. The strange thing was there was no problem for most women, and only one woman ever flat out said no.

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Even she still wanted to fuck him, but her father was a well-known politician and ambassador and she couldn’t trust anyone with something of that nature about her. Marq let the fog of memory lane fade away, bringing him back to the silent, spectacled woman before him. In the last week she had taken to decadence like a duck to water. Even now she looked freshly fucked, deliciously tousled, and sheepish from her night’s rest. Her warm eyes were puffy with her former repose, face bisected with sheet marks, wild hair, and butter soft nude flesh. She learned quickly not to bother with the niceties of clothing in bed with him. He was only going to divest her of the garments in short order anyway. She had gotten so used to him that she ignored their mutually bare skin and was moving through the contract quickly, marking in the margins as she went. When she was done, she spoke for the first time since he woke her. “I found a few areas that are weak in the document. I’ll sign it if you will agree to make an addendum here.” She pointed to the notations on the back of the second page. “To make it binding, we have to make sure that we both initial and sign here.” He quickly scanned over the notations she made in a perfectly uniform cursive script, the markings reflective of her personality with the starched primary education style perfection. The letters were evenly margined on the page and contained, the same way she corralled herself with a firm hand on her life and passions, bottling her needs tightly until she couldn’t recognize them herself. When the legalese she deciphered sunk in, he silently applauded her. The clause she added would force him to store the media separate from a hackable device. The concept wasn’t foreign to him as he didn’t store or watch the flicks on his phone or Internet-capable PCs, preferring flash drives to hard drives for his sensitive-storage media. But she had no way of knowing that, and with the addition, it would make him legally responsible if the footage were made public. Even if his system was hacked, she would be able to file a grievance and receive restitution for the error as he

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was the party assuming responsibility for the data along with her right for privacy. No other woman had ever even thought that far ahead. Hell, even he hadn’t. He was hard to begin with, but the keen flash of intelligence and ingenuity she wielded effortlessly petrified the morning wood he sported into a stone pillar of erection. “Is there anything else you want to revise?” His voice was hoarse, but firm. She shook her head and used the gold-plated pen he handed her to sign and initial the pages. He matched her signature with his illegible sprawl of letters before he tossed the papers off the bed and pounced on her. Jamison didn’t even scream, but her eyes grew wide and her face flushed, and though her mouth, opened no sounds escaped her lips. He was barely able to slip on the required barrier before he stuffed her full of cock. The only sounds her pleased body made were those of gasps as if there was not enough air for her to take a breath, and then without warning, she arched up from beneath him and collapsed in a dead faint. He hadn’t come yet, but he was close to it. But somehow to continue the raw pistoning of cock and cunt while she was mentally absent felt like masturbation. She was too delicious to stop moving entirely, but he slowed the pace as he waited for her to come to. It only took a few of the searing strokes before she began to rock back slightly. When she fully woke, he fucked her until they were both left wet and begging. This time he was near screaming himself. He let her go to work that day with few reminders of him in the form of hot passion marks strategically placed in areas where she was guaranteed to feel them throughout the day. They covered each sensitive joint on her body from the neck down. There were fingerprints as well, old and new dotting the curve of her hips where her lace panties barely covered the bruised flesh. That Wednesday evening, Jamison arrived at his house fairly early. She was there at six, but didn’t give him a chance to ask her how she affected the change in her schedule. She was still lovely, even after a long day at work still wearing the yellow cashmere

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sweater and day-worn rumpled slacks he’d picked for her earlier. The moment the door closed behind her, she began stripping her clothing matter-of-factly. She wasn’t attempting to be seductive, but that wove a spell of sensuality in and of itself. When she removed the daisy-eyeyellow brassier covering her heavy breasts, his mouth watered at the hard nipples pointing directly at him. They drew him closer, magnetlike, into her personal space, and she was waiting. Not patiently, as she showed him how ready she was for more by capturing his mouth with hers. That evening she took him for the first time right there against the door. His back was to the wall, and he used his hands to support her hips as she bounced atop him. Thursday, he dressed her in the leather chemise and lace panties he brought for her to wear Wednesday but were forgotten after she lustily devoured him against the front door. He helped her dress in the blatant accoutrements and took her to the couch, where he ogled her during their dinner of rice and peas with the jerk tofu he prepared for their meal that night. The risqué garment was composed of red leather bands joined in odd places and left gaps of flesh exposed along her entire torso and hips. Depending on her motions, he would get odd peeks of a nipple which he would suck hungrily in supplication before the leather strips would creep over the nubbin again, covering it almost demurely. That night he used every groan, grimace, and cry against her, letting her beseech him. He used the billets of leather as tethers to drag her back for another copious helping of cock. Her climax was deliberately held beyond her grasp for so long, she used curses he’d rarely heard before in other languages. What little English she spoke was everyday discourse but sounded like blasphemy coming from her lips. When she called him no-good, lowdown, scum-sucking savage, he felt like one and fucked her harder, finally giving her what she said she wanted. But he showed her what she really craved when he supplied it to her. By the time Marq stopped punishing her for her filthy mouth and gave a careless flick of hips to stroke the upper walls

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of her pussy, she was gone. He meant that literally as she keened his name with a perfectly bowed back and fainted. It was pathetically easy to come along on the heels of her peak. Her pussy was still quivering and clutching his cock even in her present state of hebetude. When she awoke moments later, he saw she was satiated with the surfeit of endorphins, but lethargic. He took that to mean she was overloaded, so he stripped what was left of the oh-so-sexy red hide and tossed the ruins in the floor. Then he vowed to himself that he would let her rest the remainder of the night. There wasn’t much rest for her weary body though as it was past one a.m. when he finally let her seek the arms of Morpheus. The next day she was off work, and he was going to take full advantage. There was a flash drive with their names on it. He planned on filling the entire thing by the time he was done with her. Even though his apartment was wired in every room, he hadn’t activated the cameras yet. He wanted something special for this first taping. With that in mind, he had a small cabin in the wilds of the mountains that he was going to introduce her to. There had been too many women in his life to make this tape any different than the footage he usually created with his assortment of ladies. The harem was filled with beautiful women, each able to own her own pleasure. But none of them needed tutoring in the sexual arts, and that was part of their appeal at the time. But the woman he desired now was in need of education, and surprisingly he enjoyed teaching her about herself. It was enough to make him damn near high, the heady feeling of seducing a willing woman to the art of lovemaking. Her wet pussy was perfect for him to relieve his dry spell. She was akin to Viagra. Early that Friday morning, Marq awoke first. Not surprisingly, he was hard again. But there were a few other things he had to do first.

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Chapter Six: Sex, Sketches, and Videotape When Jamison arrived at work on Sunday morning, she felt hungover. The weekend was…bliss. Marq was a superb lover, and now she was desperate to watch their video. He had promised to splice it together today, so it could be viewed tonight. Looking at the desk clock, she was ridiculously late. Enough that she may as well have given in and let him have his way with her once more like he asked her to before she clocked in today. Something was going to have to give, and she had a good idea what it was. He already told her he wanted her to give her notice at work this weekend, and it nearly caused the first fight they had since this all began. “Jamison, I want you to do something.” “Yes, Marq…What is it?” “Put in your notice at work.” She sputtered before she could stop herself. Why in the heck did he want her to quit work? Didn’t this man have any idea it was a recession? Then she remembered. Duh, his family is as rich as Warren Buffett. Of course he doesn’t get it. But when she posed her perfectly logically posed argument, he understood more than she knew. “Are you a betting woman, Jamison?” “Not really, no.” She shook her head. Wherever this was headed, she had no idea. But “in for penny, in for a pound” was the first thought to cross her mind, and she let him continue. “Well, thing is, I’ve done some shifting around of your funds in your accounts. I will bet you that I can get a thirty percent return on

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the balance in your accounts by the end of the month. Now bear in mind, you have already earned ten percent as of today.” “What do you mean as of today?” The tone was sharp for her, more than clipped also a bit angry. How in the hell did he make her almost twenty-nine thousand dollars in less than a week’s time? How did he find the accounts anyway? She had several, each with a third of her money. Not hers, she amended the thought, taxpayer guilt money. “I took control of your accounts since you gave me agreement last week.” “B–but I didn’t give you permission to dig through my money!” At this point she was at an uncharacteristic pitch in tone, voice high and loud. “You agreed to everything, Jamison…For one month. I own you. All or nothing at all.” Jamie was struck stupid, and she opened her mouth to condemn him for his bold statement, though no words could describe how she felt in the moment. At first she was shocked, and then she was hot. She actually liked the concept of being possessed by him, turned into his fuck toy and pleasure puppet for the next thirty days. The thought was enough to make her angry and mildly repulsed, just as it inflamed her. How could she want a man to own her? To take over her in every way? Ugh. What was wrong with her? She was a modern woman more than able to take care of herself and her needs. Although, she really was curious to know how he earned her ten percent in seven days. Somehow he got her to agree without further arguments. But now she was at work in the light of day, she was having second and third thoughts about cutting ties with her job. He was something special, wonderful in a way that most men couldn’t be to her. There had never been another man who truly liked and respected her intelligence the way he did. His debasement was sexual, not mental or physical. Her former lovers didn’t really ever desire her, just the concept of playing house to make their lives easier. Then they were more than happy to be the first thing smoking if anyone was

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willing to give them a chance. She had been with Aiden for years, and sadly enough she had more orgasms with Marq in one week than in the entirety of her previous relationship. Aiden never made her go weak in the knees even when they first started dating. Nor had he ever bothered to try and make her come. It was usually a byproduct of some random factor that she most likely had little hand in. Marq was exceptional in every way. He was debonair, intelligent, witty, and the lover she had only dreamed of. At the end of this month she would miss him with a passion. The advice he’d given her before worked, and with that thought in mind, Jamison typed a basic letter of resignation at her desk before she started work forty-five minutes later. The letter made its way under her director’s door at the end of her shift. She prayed that she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life. When she was on her way home, the cell phone started ringing. “Hello, this is Jamison.” “Hey, Jamie! It’s Mak.” “What’s up?” Jamie was curious as to what was up on a Sunday evening. They normally talked on Fridays when she was off. Then she remembered her phone was off all weekend and she had a slew of voice mail alerts when she turned it on this morning. “I just wanted to see if we could schedule a time to work on the painting you promised to model for.” Oh. She had nearly forgotten about the hasty promise. “Umm…well I uh, Marq, that is…” She couldn’t even use basic English and grammar at this point. How could she say anything when she had no idea what she wanted to utter? “Oh, that’s okay, honey. I knew you and Marq may have plans.” Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to make any excuses. “That’s why I cleared it with him first.” Damn, damn, damn it! Jamie banged her hand on the steering wheel and gave in. Looked like she was going from gainfully employed to Playboy Bunny in one week flat.

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“Okay, Mak, you got me…When and where?” “Marq can give you most of the details, but we will start this Friday.” “I need Charli to come home. She is the only person that can rein you in.” Makenzie’s laughter was infectious. “Not even my husband?” “Nope, he’s like butter in the sun when it comes to you, and you know it, Mak.” The other woman sighed then continued. “Be like that then, Jamie. You know you want to. Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else, even for a day?” “Not really, I’m not prone to flights of fantasy.” “Yeah that’s true, but every woman wants to be someone else. Even if just for a moment.” This conversation was way out of control. “But with that in mind, I’m off to work on the new collection.” “All right, Mak talk to you later then.” The phone gave a tonal beep when the call disconnected. Jamison was mad as hell at Marq. Now she had to do this on Friday. She was so not ready for one of her only friends to look at her naked for hours on end. When she made it to her house, the phone was ringing again. “Hello?” “Hi, Jamison.” She had no idea how he did it, but those two words were enough to make her damp sex turn to flash-flood wet in an instant. His voice sounded like chocolate smelled to her, smooth, decadent, and dark. She lost her ability to respond for a moment, letting the sheer magnetism of his intonation wash over her. “Yes, Marq?” She worked hard at putting a bite in her tone. She was supposed to be mad at him. “Don’t be like that Jamison. I assume you spoke to Makenzie?” He sounded as if he were attempting to placate her. “Yeah, I did.”

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“Good. When you get here, I’ll tell you the details. But for now, where are you? We have a date tonight.” “I know, Marq. I’m at home. Just give me half an hour.” “Too long, you’re supposed to be on my cock right now. Don’t make me come and get you.” She shivered at the thought. The neighbors were already giving her funny looks as it was after the last week. The glances Mrs. Terrell gave her were of jealousy. Mr. Terrell’s spoke of unrequited lust. If Marq fucked her senseless again, she wasn’t going to be responsible for what she said or did. “You get ten minutes. Every minute you use beyond that time you will be disciplined for.” She kicked into high gear, pulling her trash can out front, rushing inside to grab the bags of rubbish and recycling bin. She didn’t bother with clothes. Marq was a control freak when it came to wardrobe. He already told her they were burning her old garments in effigy. If she brought any of them around him, he just might do as he threatened and set fire to her closet. Even with the rush job, Jamison was five minutes late, but Marq had to know that was going to be the case. Heck, her house was ten minutes from the downtown condo he owned. There was no way she was going to make it in the time he allotted her. But when she walked in the door, the harsh glint in his eyes was enough to let her know she was dead wrong. “Take everything off and get in the shower.” His expression let her know not to pose any arguments with him, that it would be better to accede to his commands. She did promptly, undoing her cardigan and pants in short order, allowing the fabric to fall where it may. She walked toward the shower and removed the rest of her underclothes along the way. “I’ll be back for you in ten minutes. Don’t make me wait any longer than that.” He kissed her hungrily for long moments before walking away. Jamison flew through her shower, and no sooner than she stepped onto the plush rug with her towel did Marq open the door.

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“You’re early. I still had two minutes left.” “And that means? You were done, and I decided to come in.” He took her hand and padded back across the open space to a chaise lounge he’d moved to the middle of the living space. There was a projection screen lowered over the opposite wall, and she was nervous about the size. It was one thing to watch herself on a TV, but this massive screen turned the simple viewing into something more. She couldn’t define the trepidation she felt. It was just there in the background whether she liked it or not. Her only responsibility was to accept the feelings of fear. But Marq decided to be wicked and draw out her wait. He took the seat first, straddling the bench seat the chaise formed, and rolled a condom down his hard cock from a long strip lying on the nearby stone coffee table. When he was covered, he drew her down to sit on the erection and straddle his legs. The amazing glide of sopping snatch and indurate shaft was electric. She shook, and he groaned. She wanted so much more. He spoke long moments later when both their hearts seemed to slow down from their frenzied pacing. “We are going to eat first.” “Marq, please.” Her pussy was already rippling around his scalding hot pillar of cock. If he didn’t let the tight hold he had on their reins of motion go, she was going to spontaneously combust into a conflagration of need and fire. “Nuh-uh.” He waggled a finger in her face, his smirk seeming to say he enjoyed her hips begging his as they writhed against him helplessly. She couldn’t stop, though she tried in vain to still her squirming. Her only response was to bite her lip and close her eyes, hoping to calm down. A few heartbeats later felt something touch her lips, rubbing over the bowed curves of the upper before rasping the lower. “Open up.” Jamison complied, and the rich flavor of olives burst on her tongue. She opened her eyes and noticed the large plate filled with small finger foods and hors d’oeurves. She leaned over and plucked a miniature tart from the tray, offering him a bite, which he

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accepted with a grin as payment for the offering. He kissed the digits cradling the small treat before he took it from her and broke a piece from the bitten edge. He placed the morsel between her lips, and unable to resist, she licked his fingers clean of crumbs and pie filling. He grunted and rocked his hips, forcing the shaft inside her deeper. The sensation of his cock shuffling through the raw need of her pussy was enough to reignite the sparks their mutual stillness banked low, as if their hunger was a dying fire treated with bellows. He looked at war with himself for a moment, and she desperately hoped he would give in. She wanted to give in. “Are you hungry?” The face he made told her the answer was more precious than the cure for world hunger to him in this moment. It felt heady, the fact that she was even capable of keeping up with this man. His hungers didn’t match hers, but surpassed them. In fact they fed hers even as he devoured her whole. “God yes.” For cock. “Me, too.” His expression spoke to his hunger for pussy. He picked up a remote from the table and pressed a series of buttons. When the keyed-in sequence was complete, the recessed lights dimmed and the jumbo-sized screen began to show video. The scene on the tape was one she remembered well. They had just walked into the cabin, a large house built into the face of the mountain, the structure seemed to be a nothing more than windows and ivy and melded into the area well enough that you had to be looking for the house to find it. The house was beautiful, but stark and overtly masculine, and seemed to be dominated by open space broken into groupings more appropriate for a moderate-sized tête-à-tête or gathering. The predominant colors in the space were greens and brown, reminiscent of earth and forest. She remembered asking him during the quick flight when they would begin taping. His response was that the recording would begin once he activated the cameras from his cell phone.

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Marq had put together a simple lunch, which ended up being eaten in bed. The meal was more European, with delicious cheeses, fruits, and baguettes eaten with fingers and plated on their nude bodies and spare flesh. When they had finished dining, she was starving for more. From their seated position, she could feel every inch of Marq’s cock leap inside her and, desperate for the silken glide of him, Jamison began to swivel her hips in an attempt to generate the delicious friction needed to make her come. Just the knowledge of what was going to occur on the big screen in front of her was enough to excite her in a way she never knew was possible. Even he seemed tense, as if he couldn’t wait to see it either. The scene progressed before her very eyes. The man on camera seemed larger than life and knelt before a beautiful, supine woman. Jamison couldn’t believe that she was the woman, except for the flashbacks of the same scenes in her mind. She could remember every word spoken and every caress given her skin before it flashed across the screen. The movie began to take an erotic turn when Marques had finished dining on the al fresco meal after he ate the final smidgeon of Brie wedged between her toes. He made his way back up her body, this time tasting her instead of the remnants of food as he went along. When he reached the apex of her thighs, his northward progression halted. She saw him take a deep breath as if he could inhale not just the scent of wet sex but the organ it came from as well. But instead of the fuck she desired greatly, he bathed her with a flat tongue, washing her natural moisture away and replacing it with his own. When he finally cleaned her, he blew soft puffs of air across the damp skin, dried her to a sticky finish. But he was watching her every move right now, and the idea of seeing herself this way with him was responsible for half of her arousal, and the other half was purely pleasure. Every time she craned her head to look at him, his eyes were on her.

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At the time the movie was filmed she could only see half of his face, but the expression that portion of him displayed was enough to ramp the sensations to a screaming vibrancy. The half she couldn’t see was even more wicked. She felt the smirk on his lips against her begging snatch. His eyes displayed a mirth that barely could be contained within the borders of eyelashes framing the expressive orbs. Her excitement was directly correlated to his enticing tongue, and for every frantic undulation her body made, his torso matched until they were one wave rolling in sync. He finally stopped teasing and began pleasing as his tongue split the lips of her sex, driving her to a state near madness with tender flicks against the minute bud of erect clitoris crowning the apex of her pussy. His mouth was bliss. He nibbled her so gently with just enough pressure to send her heart racing and limbs shaking. Orgasms had never been so effortless, so divine, or so numerous in her life, let alone in her imagination. His hands folded beneath her lower spine to keep her locked against the seal his lips formed around her dew-laden slit. At that point all she knew was if he sucked once more— **** Marq watched Jamison’s face change expressions as he ate her pussy for the camera like it was his last meal. Indeed, it was the last sustenance to pass his lips that night. He was right before. She was explosive on camera. Her reactions were so raw, so untutored and unschooled that he got harder just thinking about the helpless expression on her face at the crucial moment. That very second her body would no longer let her deny her need to come. She always made a whimpering sound, accompanied by a shiver that roamed over her whole body as if she were cold. But she was always hot. No matter what time of day or night he was inside her, she was delicious and scalding inside. Not to mention she was so soft, near velvet in feel around him. Even right now she was quivering on his cock as she

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melted copiously against the seam of their conjoined hips. He bet if he pulled her away from her sticky sex there would be a puddle of her cooling juices beneath them. When he spliced the tape from his house this morning, he was amazed. There was something about her. She was near astonishing in her sensuality and ability to transform under his hands. He had watched her come dozens of ways in the last eight hours, and one of his favorites was coming up next. Even though he wanted to watch the scene now, he had gone back to it several times earlier, and he wanted to see her initial reaction to the upcoming orgasm more than anything else. After his film doppelgänger had finished sampling every drop of syrup she had to offer, Marques lapped once more over her pussy and crawled up the bedding to face her on his side. She still shivered for him, needy and begging for breath. One hand crooked beneath her neck at place where her shoulders met the burnished column, and the other hand cupped over her gasping slash. He gave her one finger first, scrolling over the walls feeling each ripple of slick and sticky flesh. Once the first had explored each and inch of her, it was joined by a second finger retesting the inches forged by the initial entry. He looked her in the eye, the light brown near black from pleasure as he hooked the fingers speared inside her, searching for the secret spot that would make her go crazy. When he found the walnut-sized Gspot, he applied firm pressure, giving her a few seconds before using more on the untried area. He knew the instant she began to process his ministrations. Her hands clutched at her own belly as if she could touch the organs inside her under duress. The sensations were supposed to be uncomfortable at first, near painful due to the intensity of the caresses on her untouched flesh. He personally didn’t understand the feelings of course, but she looked near frightened of it and him.

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He remembered what he said to her. “It’s okay…relax. Let me make you feel good,” he whispered to her, their eyes still locked. Hers were wide and scared. They seemed to beg him for surcease. “It’s too strong…Ahh—” Her voice cut off from nowhere, a puppet without strings. He knew the sensations had begun to change. She went from clutching herself to clenching him. She could take more now, and he applied a touch more pressure against the erect gland beneath his fingers. Her spine left the mattress in a steep arch upward. Only her heels and head met its surface, and even the hand cupping the cervical vertebrae along her neck no longer touched the sheets either. “The film looks so good.” His voice broke the silence but not the ambiance, and Marq was amazed at how her mouth listed drunkenly open on the TV. She could have mocked an opera singer with her lips gaped to serenade him with her song born of pleasure. Yet, even with the comparison to Pavarotti, there was no sound, not even that of breath emitted past her lips. Every muscle she owned was taut as if she’d given everything she had to her senses, and he could see strain along the arc her body made beside him. Her orgasm was so amazingly erotic in a way that seeing a woman come had never been before. In the here and now, watching Jamison’s reaction to her exploitation before his camera was the single most pressing need he had. She seemed to be enraptured at her own visage and near coming on his lap, even though he hadn’t made but the single stroke inside the convulsing walls. Her eyes were wide open, pupils dilated to a fathomless, moss-ringed black pool filled with desires she couldn’t speak aloud. She looked hungry, and the longings he saw reflected his starvation back at him. The desire-laden gazes seemed to be a loop of continuous feedback barreling them deeper into sensual abandon. Her pussy easily recalled the map of his fingers from the weekend, and the nerve-laden bundle was palpable against his cock, seeming to beg for attention. She was milking him deliciously over and over in needy

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motions, her wet sex sticky enough to remind him of liquid soap as she frothed around his stiff cock. He was ready to burst himself, as if he hadn’t come numerous times today to the same footage playing now. There was something beyond sensual about the viewing as if he’d never seen himself have sex. But that was the crux of it. He’d seen plenty of sex, raw fucking, but never experienced lovemaking, and that was what was being displayed before him. It was the one thing he’d never seen on tape before, until his brother and sister-inlaw showed him what he was missing with his episodes of porn-star fucks with his usual lovers. When he looked away from Jamison’s slack face to the screen on the other side of the room, the scene had changed and now he was inside sopping sheath. His hips were grinding away so hard inside her, he looked like a condemned man having his last fuck. The same way she was near frantic on his cock now, her hips rolled and her spongy snatch chugged at his cock in thick vaginal swallows the way a frat boy drinks beer. Her mouth was agape, and the only intelligible words to leave her lips were “please,” “more,” or “fuck.” Her pussy seemed endless, as if she could swallow every inch the way her throat would later in their home video. With each of swivel of hips, she grew wetter, until he thought he was drowning in her. Plus, she was so tight around him, like she had been barely used and her pussy sucked him in a vacuum-tight seal. It was completely possible she could suction him dry to a husk with her drenched slit when they were done, and he would love every second of it. Before she could lure him from his purpose, he uprooted her and sat her on the chaise. “Why?” Her brows were drawn together, with a look stunned and upset, the plaintive tone in her voice giving away her need. “Get on all fours, Jamie.” He sounded gruff even to himself, but it couldn’t be helped. Every ounce of blood he had presently was in his cock. She scurried to the floor, kneeling beside the table where he met her, too impatient to do anything more than clutch her hips and quickly tunnel his way back into her sodden pussy. If she wanted to

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fuck, he’d give her what she pleaded for. He took control of every thrust, even as he was out of control of himself. She needed to see what she did to him, and he leaned over her back to cover her thoroughly. One arm wrapped around her belly, the other ratcheted beneath her chin and forced her head up. “Keep those eyes open for me. Watch it happen. Watch us.” He couldn’t look in her eyes, and that was the only disadvantage of their position. But there were too many amenities to change their current arrangement of limbs. He could watch every inch of her flesh shudder when he thrust deeper and could see the agonizing clench of muscles along her frame. Then he could roam his hands over every inch of flesh she possessed. He assumed she complied as her squirming grew exponentially, though the way he held her captive wouldn’t permit more than the frantic shudders that rolled between them. Soon enough, the frenzy that over took her was too much to sustain. Somehow, she took over even though she was imprisoned. He was the one in prison, her walls manipulating enough to keep him caged behind bars. She was gasping for every breath she took, and he knew that he held her too tight. He just couldn’t let her go. When he looked up, it was no better. Onscreen their toes were curled, her big toes wrapped over the small ones. His small toes clenched the ball of his foot and the big one stuck straight out. Vanity made him lift up and look behind him, and sure enough her feet were contorted into a fist of gnarled digits. The kinked up phalanges made him grow harder, and he looked away, lest he lose what little sense of self he had left, but it was too late. Jamison had found her pleasure and rippled around him harder, still begging for more. The way she shook as she screamed gave no quarter, ceded nothing, and demanded he give all. The orgasm crept upward, started at the tips of every extremity, and radiated inward before he imploded. His was lightheaded and if he wasn’t a grown man, would admit he felt faint. He disengaged the clutch he’d employed on her, but refused to remove his cock. She listed drunkenly to the side, and he let her, following

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her to the rug to lie on their sides. When he glanced back to the big screen, both of them had come and were lingering in the mired mess of the bed. How appropriate. It was long moments and a nap later, he woke to find himself hard and still inside her enthralling heat ready for more. But there were more important things to do, namely feed her again, and they needed to get in the bed. He was too damn old to fuck and sleep on the floor anymore. That was best left in his twenties where those types of discomforts belonged. But with Jamison, the sated sleep after sex was the best postcoital nap in his life, and he’d slept on satin with numerous others.

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Chapter Seven: I See Naked People The first night Marq left her alone was later in the week. That Thursday, he had a meeting with his brothers and a few cronies from work. Jamison had a girls’ night with Mak tonight, to go out for dinner and drinks. She spent more time than usual primping. He normally chose her outfits. But she felt confident in the shiny black leggings she paired with a bright blue off-the-shoulder tunic-length Tshirt. Her hair was left simple, just its usual mass of natural curls held from her face with a sheer scarf. She wasn’t one for jewelry, but the catch-all rule he’d given her was earrings and at least one bracelet, so that was what she did, sliding on a silver wrist cuff, and a set of wide hoops went in her ears at the last minute. She still had time and decided to watch some TV, or at least pretend like she was while she updated her scheduled blog. This time she was doing a throwback movie, as she called it. Usually, she let her readers make suggestions on their personal favorites and, if she found herself intrigued with the blurb, would watch and feature the flick. The suggested movie she chose, Secretary, was a vast departure from her normal blog feature, but it called to her somehow. There was something about James Spader that she adored. Even now she enjoyed anything he was in. But she found the movie enthralling, and the unusual indie tack the film took is what made up her mind. She found herself even thinking about it later, wondering how someone could be willing to give complete control of their existence to another person. The hero dictated how much could be eaten during a meal at a particular time, and Jamison remembered

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one of the commands the heroine was given to eat four peas and a single spoon of mashed potatoes. The hero even regulated how the heroine would get home after work. The man told her to walk, and she did, and he punished her for every small mistake with glaring red pen strokes. By the time she got to the end and the couple finally made love, she was in dire need of Marq. But she wasn’t going to get any more of him until probably tomorrow. He told her he’d be in late, but he expected her in his bed when he got back. Woe and betide her if she actually disregarded the request, and she used the term sarcastically, rolling the wording he used over and over in her mind. Similar to worrying a loose tooth, she let his voice play in her head, prodding the sore spot his commands worked on her feminist leanings. The worst part was the fact that she actually loved the lack of control, not having to concern herself with most of life’s trivialities. By the time she right clicked the scheduler to set the blog update for her usual time, the doorbell was chiming. Makenzie was full of grins and giggles when Jamison opened the door. “Hey!” Apparently, her friend was überhappy to be walking on the wild side tonight. “Hey back, girlie.” Makenzie seemed just a hair too giddy, and a single good look into her eyes showed her that she was blazed. She must have been smoking weed. There was no way her eyes could have gotten that glazed on their own without help from Mary Jane. Jamie had a feeling that their night on the town was going to be one for the record books. If they didn’t find trouble, it was sure to find them tonight. No matter as Makenzie was shuffling her out of the door. In fact she barely allowed Jamison to turn off the lights as she exited. When they climbed in Makenzie’s new birthday present, a candy apple red Jaguar XKR coupe, and got on the road, Jamison had to ask. “Rush much?” “Look here, I haven’t been out in ages. Can an old married lady have some fun? Charyn never lets me go anywhere.”

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“Whatever, Makenzie. You don’t let that man out of your sight either. I bet you watch him use the bathroom.” “I outta kick your ass, Jamie. You lucky I’m fucked up.” But there was no heat behind the words, and they both laughed themselves silly until Jamison huffed for her next breath. “So where are we going anyway?” Shoot, Makenzie still hadn’t told her. Even when she was trying to get dressed, she had no idea what to get ready for. “That’s for me to know and you to wonder about.” Jamison blew a breath out, irritated that she was going someplace and had no idea where to. Makenzie was in the captain’s seat, pushing the car to incredible speeds for simple North Carolina highways. They looped onto I-40, and the bullet of car leapt faster, eating the road in huge asphalt hunks that left Jamie near sick with vertigo during the relatively short trip. She missed Marq already, and he’d only been gone a few hours. He never drove erratically enough to make her car sick. By the time they made it to the club, she was grateful to leave the confines of the too-fast car. The hole in a wall was small and out in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t even look like a club, but more like a shack packed full of sardines. The only clue that this was where they were headed were the plethora of cars crammed every which way around the structure. Makenzie handed two tickets to a hulking male at the door, and a similarly built female patted them down and checked inside both of their small clutch bags. But when they got inside, the tiny place was jumping, and the packed house rivaled any party she’d been to before, if based on the number of people that could be crammed into a single square foot of space. There was barely enough room for them to slip inside the door, and there were numerous partygoers with their backs to the wall as they entered. The crowd was melting pot of people. All races and differing sexual orientations milled about. She made her way to the bar, seeking a strong drink, and mentally crossed her

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fingers that she could happen upon an unoccupied seat among the melee of people. When she finally was able, she purchased three long island iced teas as the wait was too long for her to come back after she’d finished the first one. When she took stock of the gathering, she noted there were dozens of people if not more. The only unusual thing she noted was that the women outnumbered men vastly. There were at least twenty women for every male she saw. It made her curious, but when she approached Makenzie, the music was too loud to pose her question about the disparity in the male-to-female ratio. By the time the volume was low enough to ask, the hostess had walked to the center of the floor with a mike in hand. “Hey, ladies and gents, are ya’ll ready to see some of the hottest men Kakilaki has to offer?” The crowd at large gave a resounding yes, followed by catcalls and screeches. When the group quieted, the MC laughed and backed away as the ladies grew excited and the crowd’s volume spurred to a fever pitch. By the time the MC called for the first performer, the catcalls and chirping had moved to a single chant. “Beefcake! Beefcake!” She even heard one excited woman yell out, “Where’s the beef!” Ugh. Makenzie had tricked her into a male revue. Damn it. That was some mess. Mak knew Jamie hated strippers. It just seemed so tawdry and pathetic, the idea of watching a grown man put himself on display without any hesitation or simple modesty. But that wasn’t the problem. Now she found that the swelling crowd had gotten even more riled up at the start of the music. The women had started yelling and screaming for more, and the man who came out looked ready to give it. His outfit seemed comical, even as he pretended to be in the room alone. The cowboy gear could have been convincing, except for the fact he was wearing ass-out chaps. What grown man would wear something so foolish? No real man, she thought, even as she made assessments on his lithe

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form. The man was a smidge puny and appeared incapable of breaking cattle or any of the other myriad things that ranch hands did. But if the idea was comical for the cowboy, the police officer was worse. His outfit seemed like a Halloween fashion don’t. The surgeon was next. He was cute, but his gyrations seemed contrived and a bit too feminine for her tastes. But the women around her were loving every minute of it. There were several making money shower around them, and dollar bills were pooling in the floor. Even Makenzie had gotten into it, and she threw out a fistful of ones with giddy laughter as the bills rained down on the faux fireman’s head. By the time he’d finished, the last performer had made way to the stage. The man was dressed as a dominant, complete with a half-face leather mask, and, with his burnished muscles, he could make any of the costumes she scoffed at earlier look good. He was dark-haired and eyed, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. She had to admit, even she was enticed with his sensual spin and tango about the floor. He seemed coarse somehow, as if he were going to show everyone the dark side of their own fantasies. She had few left that were unexplored thanks to Marq, but the remaining handful would definitely be memorable. When the last dancer, Master, finished his set, even Jamie had given up a couple of her own hard-earned dollars. She saw Makenzie walk toward the door and decided to follow her. Before she could reach the exit, a hand clapped on her shoulder. She jumped and felt her heart speed up. “Sorry, I just wanted to tell you that you dropped this.” When Jamison turned around, she saw the Master standing in front of her in all his chocolate glory. She was stunned that he looked so normal outside of his costume. She would think that with his profession. It would be evident on sight. When she peered at his hand, she saw her glasses. She must be drunk as a skunk if she thought she could navigate the world without them. She took the offering from his large hand with a murmur of appreciation and thanks. But when she turned away, the man wouldn’t let go of the grip he had on her arm.

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“I just wanted to give you this before you left as well.” He held out a card. When she glanced at the glossy cardstock, she saw his information along with a hand written number. “This is my personal cell phone number. I was hoping a fine thing like you would be single and maybe we could get to know one another better.” Jamie was perplexed for a moment. He was asking her out? Like on a date? Men never asked her out. The few boyfriends she had were guys she knew and hung out with, but even they had never asked her on a date. They would merely invite her somewhere or tell her where they would be, and if she came, she came. If she didn’t show, they really didn’t care. Except for Marq. He made her feel like she was the only woman in the world and every day with her was as important to him as the last one was. But it was heady that a man such as this one was giving her the time of day. He could have any of the people here. In fact, she saw nearly every patron dig deep into his or her pockets to toss him money. There was an assistant who ran the floor and stuffed money in garbage bags as the floor collected piles of bills. Any one of them would have taken him home tonight and screwed his brains out. “Thank you, for my glasses and everything. But I’m involved with someone right now.” “I thought so. You’re a beautiful woman. A nice girl and your type doesn’t date someone like me. You date men with honest jobs that don’t take their clothes off for money.” He looked really disappointed for a moment, but the face quickly transformed to a wicked grin and laughing eyes. “Would it make a difference if I said that I was paying my way through school?” Jamie laughed. That was definitely the oldest stripper motto, but the eyes spoke that he was being honest with her. “At this moment? No. If I weren’t with someone right now, it may. But you surely can find a decent woman that will like you?” “Yeah, they all like me. But few of them are what you would call good or decent. When the good girls see me, they want me. But just

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for one night only. Not for anything lasting.” His tone was flippant, but yet again his dark eyes spoke to pain he kept hidden beneath the surface. Jamie opened her wallet and offered him a card. It was the one she used for her blogging with only her online info. “If you want, feel free to e-mail me. But please understand that I won’t cheat, and the situation I’m in right now is temporary. But I can offer a mean conversation.” She smiled, and he gave a responding one, pearly whites sparking through his sensual lips. “I hope this guy understands how special you are. I rarely have a conversation where I’m more than a piece of something sexy. Almost like the Hustler mag with the legs hanging from a meat grinder. But you can call me anytime or ask me for anything that is in my power to give and it’s yours.” “Thank you. By the way, my name is Jamison.” “Nice to meet you, Jamison. My name is Duke.” They shook hands, and Jamie heard a horn beep. When she looked over, Makenzie was waiting in the low-slung sports car with the passenger window rolled down. “That’s my ride. Nice to meet you, Duke.” She walked away from the sensual and fathoms-deep man and climbed into the car with her friend so they could go home. Makenzie didn’t get too far up the back country road before the inquisition started. “So he’s the last dancer? What did ya’ll talk about?” Jamie laughed. This was going to be funny. “Actually he asked me to call him.” “Mmmm…So are you going to take him up on his offer?” “No, but he was a nice guy, not at all what I thought he would be.” “Now I have got to know, what did you think he’d be like? He’s a stripper, not an axe murderer. At least I’d hope not.”

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“Mak, you are crazy. I didn’t think he was a killer or anything. But I’d thought he’d be some kind of cheesy gigolo or something. Not a…” “Real person?” “Yeah, that.” “So are you going to talk to him?” “If he e-mails me, yes.” “Okay then, what about Marq?” “That’s not going to matter soon, as he and I won’t be together.” “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.” “Makenzie, this situation is temporary. We are only together for the month, and I don’t see how me avoiding that is going to make a difference.” “Well, I don’t think you get it, but Marq really likes you.” “Of course he does, Makenzie. I’m his play bunny for two weeks.” Makenzie sighed and kept her mouth shut for the rest of the ride. Thankfully this drive was slower than the first one. When she got out of Makenzie’s car, her friend had a parting shot. “Don’t forget, tomorrow night you’re all mine, and bring Marq with you.” Jamison closed the door in an attempt to leave the words behind her. But they remained with her even when she got inside and stripped for bed. Since Marq wasn’t home, Jamison threw on one of his faded college T-shirts and hit the bed. The liquor and mindblowing aspects of the evening hit her all at once, and she was asleep the instant her head hit the pillow. She dreamed of hot sex with Marq, him fucking her amid clouds and atmosphere. He whispered in her ear, the language so raw and coarse she felt scalded by it. “Fuck…You feel so good. Your pussy is so juicy. Listen to it slurp me.” She could hear it, the sounds of wet sex pervasive. Hearing the sounds only made her wetter, and she couldn’t hold back her groans from deep within her chest. It had gotten to the point where

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she felt too good. Everything felt too good. She had to come. But the dream dissolved around her before she could get off. Damn it. Frustrated, Jamie smacked the mattress with both fists. She needed that orgasm. This was going to suck. Where was Marq at anyway? As soon as the errant thought crossed her mind, she felt like a jackass. There was no way that she was going to let herself fall into that trap. She wasn’t going to let herself get attached to a semipermanent situation, no way, no how. She recited her personal mantra, “It’s only thirty days,” followed with, “You can survive anything for one month.” If a human being could live without eating for a month, she could survive Marques’s devastating hands, mouth, and cock for two more weeks as well. Or so she told herself, even as the thought crossed her mind of the flip side of the question she posed. What would she do once this was over? Even more telling was what she wanted to do, clench him tight with both hands and never let go. **** Marques was exhausted. He’d been here there and everywhere tonight in an attempt to gain the agreement of one Jed D. Thomas. Jed just happened to own an incredibly valuable property, if this deal went off without a hitch. Jed’s deceased father had won a piece of land in a poker game nearly forty years ago, and Jed had acquired said land after dear Father’s passing. The only problem was Jed refused to negotiate, and if Jed didn’t turn the land over within a week, there wasn’t going to be any money made. Not for Jed at any rate. A company that he partnered with on occasion was looking to build a shopping center. Said mall would need just a hundred feet, but the rest would be adequate for parking lots surrounding the businesses. Only problem was Jed wanted twenty thousand more than the highest estimate they were given, and the investors refused to offer anything more.

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If Jed opted not to take the deal in seven days, MoreLand and Co. was walking from the land. They already owned everything surrounding the several-acre lot, the land really wasn’t necessary to the success of the venture. The design of the center would allow for shifting the location a few hundred feet easily and patrons would never know the difference of how the property was meant originally to look. He would like to help Jed make some money, but to Marq, time was money. Marq knew the man desperately needed the funds. If nothing else, Marq could find anything he wanted to know online about a person. He had two children, both in need next semester’s tuition, a broken-down caddy, and a running deuce and a quarter. Jed kept thinking that the offer would increase, but he was wrong. The major value of the land was its proximity to the area they were surveying. If he didn’t take the deal he offered, the next one was sure to be for less. At best, the land could be used for condos, but Jed didn’t have the money or know-how to pull it off. Although, Marq thought to himself, he did. It was actually a very good idea, and Marq decided to let the idea fly, even though it wasn’t fully thought out. Amazingly enough, even though the idea was only half ay formed, Jed accepted. Now the tricky part would be the investors. He would have to screen carefully through his usual contacts to see if any interest could be sparked. He was ready to go home and climb in the arms of the beautiful woman waiting for him. But Jed had other ideas and browbeat Marq into hitting up one club after another. Marq felt that he was too old to see women shake tits and ass in his face for money. It was a bit too trite for his tastes, a jaded businessman with an askew necktie watching women gyrate for a few dollars. But he went anyway, expecting to be underwhelmed. And he was, by the women, but his companion was another story. Jed was hilarious, as he watched the man fall over any and every woman there. He ended up spending several hundred dollars of Marq’s money on women, and half of his tab was liquor. Jed was a true country boy and able to drink most of

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the patrons under the table. By the time Marq nursed his single drink dry, two hours had gone by and he was chomping at the bit to get inside his own four walls. Then he would get inside the tight walls of Jamison before he went to sleep. Marq poured Jed into his hotel room at one thirty and made his way to get his fix of Jamison. When he arrived and closed the back door of his condo, Marq began stripping his clothing. First, his shoes were kicked off at the door. Next, his jacket and pants were left in the kitchen. His shirt ended up in the doorway to the bedroom, leaving only his underwear. The modal briefs were discarded at the side of his bed, and his eyes roamed over the glistening skin displayed by his lover. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else. She was modestly covered from the waist up, but the wet path of sex was on display and available to plunder. Marq quickly covered his cock with a condom from the bedside nightstand before slipping next to her. The moment he settled next to her, she began seeking his heat, shifting until they were plastered together. Marq decided to finish what she started for him and fitted her to him. He wasn’t able to see her face, but it didn’t matter as the house was dark from the late hours. Her skin was so soft, he couldn’t help but to linger over each touch of her flesh. His hands wanted the tactile pleasure of knowing every inch she had to offer. He could hear her breathing change, going from a slow rhythmic inhale to a lighter, shallower pant. He used one hand to draw her knees upright while the other was used to fit his throbbing cock to the slick slit made for him. Once they were aligned, he nudged her open and fed his length slowly, only using the cap of his cock inside her. Then he let his hands play over her again, wanting to please her enough to awaken in minute degrees. Then when she was cognizant, he was going to fuck her until they were both satisfied. “Wake up, Jamison, and throw that pussy back at me,” Marq whispered into the night, his mouth cocked just above the shell of her ear. Curls tickled his nose, and he knew some part of her heard. She

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rocked against him, taking more cock with every stroke her hips engaged backward. “What’s the magic word, Marques?” she finally responded back after several sizzling passes of tight snatch and hard cock. She sounded husky, as if still mired in sleep, and the sultry sounds made him harder than he thought possible. “It’s please, but I don’t have to ask for what belongs to me. Give me that pussy,” he whispered back before biting her ear and thrusting deeper. It didn’t take too long. Within five minutes, he was balls-deep and Jamison’s hips were whipping against his. The angle was somehow perfect to nudge her G-spot. Marq could feel the mass scrub over the head of his erection each time he passed over it. He used one arm to clasp her against him at her navel. The added pressure forced the firm sponge of the spot prominently outward, which made each pass of cock and cunt more nerve laden. Neither of them lasted long beyond that point before Marq let them drift off in a puddle their orgasms and sweat-slick skins made on the duvet. When Marq woke again, it was several hours later when Jamison left the bed. A quick squinty glance at the window let him know it was just after dawn, and Marq wanted to get his morning eyeful. He padded to the kitchen and started some coffee, even though he knew they were going back to sleep. It was their M.O. Jamison always woke at dawn and performed her morning acrobatics in front of the window. He always woke to watch her then fuck her. When they finished with the morning session of sizzling sex, he would give them both a breather when they both attempted to complete their respective miniature mountains of work for the day. He set them up a private chat room where they exchanged fantasies and daydreams throughout the hours. Sometimes they discussed their opposing political leanings, and other days they debated social issues. Each day spent conversing with her made him like her more. And for once, it wasn’t skin deep, as he truly liked her personality.

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But he could see that she saw their relationship as temporary. She refused to discuss the future at all. In fact, when he mentioned anything beyond their month together, she would change the subject adroitly. It was how they started, but he saw it could be more. So much more than what it was. Truthfully, he felt that with her he was twice the man that he was before. There was so much he was unconscious to. There were things he’d never paid any attention to before. He had never truly taken time to think about the plight of the homeless or the faults in the foster care system. Jamison had never passed a vagrant by without giving something. He didn’t pay any mind to the needs of African school children or the painful concept of female circumcision. He knew apartheid existed, but he never thought twice about it as it ended before he was an age to be socially attentive. He never thought about the debacle of health care in this day and age, or of animals being mistreated. Yet even with their varied opinions, the only issue they really ever found themselves fighting over was politics. Jamison was a staunch Democrat, and Marq, well, he was a card-carrying member of the Republican party. It was something that they couldn’t find any sort of common ground on. Their political diversity was so bad to the point where they watched their favorite political shows in different rooms of his condo. During a particularly heated debate between candidates, Jamison left his place sorely irritated with him. Although he did follow her, the argument led elsewhere and the sex was spine-tingling rough that night. He pressed her back to half the surfaces in her apartment, from the front door to the kitchen counter when they took a break for a drink. They fucked like two animals in heat that evening. So much so that the neighbors had to knock on the door twice to complain. As if he gave a damn. They wouldn’t be so irritable if they were doing as a good, loving couple should and fuck, too. Apparently they gave in to their base desires or stuffed cotton in their ears as no complaints were heard after the second knock. By the time they finished, neither of them saw the bed until the sun rose the next morning.

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They would go to sleep, but it never lasted for long before one or both of them was groping the other. He woke at one point thumbing her breasts and another fingering her sex. She awakened him once with her mouth on his cock, putting the finest Dyson vacuum to shame. Even thinking about her lips framing his cock was enough to turn the fat slab of flesh between his legs into stone. Letting the thought go was hard, but if he didn’t want to walk around with blue balls until this afternoon, it was time to get himself together. They had a date at Makenzie’s tonight. Jamie didn’t know it, but he was going to be an integral part of her portrait tonight.

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Chapter Eight: You Make Me Feel…So Gone Jamison met Marq at his house, and they made fantastic timing to Makenzie and Charyn’s home. When they arrived, barely at the agreed-upon time, the couple appeared to be busy as Charyn opened the door with a sour look on his face. “Damn, you would have to pick now of all times to be punctual.” The middle Moreland brother was scantily clad, only bothering to put on a pair of thin silk lounging pants. The crumpled black fabric carried a suspiciously damp stain at the crotch, driving home the point made by the tented front seam. “Love you, too, big brother.” Marq’s smirk spoke to the fact that he liked interrupting the couple. The suspiciously innocent face he made belied the sarcasm in the words, not to mention what he said next confirmed his enjoyment of Charyn’s discomfort. “You two fuck too much anyway.” “I’ll show you what my fist feels like if you don’t—” Jamison thought it was best to stop the train on the tracks before it derailed horribly. “Umm, Charyn, where does Mak want me to go?” “Her studio is through here.” She followed him to the back of the house to a sunroom off the mudroom next to the kitchen. The room was spacious and built to catch all the light available during the day. But tonight the space was well lit with track lights and built-in wall sconces. “Do you want anything to drink or eat, Jamie?”

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“No thanks.” Her stomach was already in knots. How in the world was she getting ready to do this? But it was too late. There was no way Makenzie was going to let her weasel out now. Damn it. “What about me, little brother?” “You’re not a guest.” Charyn chuckled and pointed at the minifridge in the corner. Marques walked over to the wall cabinet and pulled down a pair of glasses. “But feel free to make yourself at home. Makenzie will be down in a bit.” He laughed again before he walked away, closing the small studio off to the rest of the house with the simple act of shutting the door upon his exit. Jamison felt slightly uncomfortable, as if her skin was too tight. The room carried a subtle note of simple luxury. Nothing seemed to be too good for Makenzie if her husband had his way. The room was a soothing shade of blue, almost periwinkle. Combine the rattan furniture with plump microfiber cushions and the room made the beach exposed to her view idyllic. The halls were faintly scented with sex. The married couple was always hungry for lovemaking. If they weren’t making the beast with two backs at any moment, they were trying to sneak away to do it somewhere. Apparently the drive for spontaneous sex ran in the family. It seemed the three brothers all had a bit of freak in them. Jamie took a seat on the long sofa positioned along the wall and waited. Marq sat in front of her in a luxurious woven wingback chair made to seat a man of his height comfortably. He leaned in and held out a glass of an unknown drink for her. The beverage held a scant handful of ice, and the frozen crystals already melted a series of ripples over the surface of the pale amber liquid. She took a sip and licked her lips. The drink was really good. Very mellow and intoxicating. It took a bit to get her drunk, and she’d never seen the point of wasting her money or time on alcohol. Marq just watched her with a look she couldn’t describe. There was a lusty note she quickly deciphered, but there was something else there that she couldn’t pinpoint held in his eyes. It disconcerted her, enough to the point she

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couldn’t hold the weight of his eyes on her flesh any longer, and she looked away. But even the drink couldn’t deflect his eyes roving her. She could feel him. When Makenzie finally came downstairs fifteen minutes later, Jamison was near ready to give in to the searing demands of Marq’s gaze. He never said a word, but then again, he didn’t need to. “Jamie, why haven’t you stripped yet and put on your robe?” “Huh?” “Marq should have told you already. I gave him the details when we spoke on the phone.” “Uh, no. Not that detail at least.” “Well? Now you know. So go into the bathroom and change please. By the way, you can have your panties on beneath the robe.” “Gee thanks.” She made sure her tone held a note of sarcasm. Makenzie decided to ignore her, as there was no retort to her unusually brusque tone. Jamison found herself in a small sea-foam-green bathroom just off the kitchen. When she stripped her basic T-shirt and jeans off, she found herself incredibly nervous. There was no way she could do this, could she? But in the few moments she took for self-reflection, no answer came to her, even as she belted the robe over the band of tattoo that put her in this mess in the first place. There was time for a quick mountain pose and a handful of deep breaths before a knock at the door broke her already fragile concentration. “Are you okay with this, Jamison?” It was Marq’s perfectly crisp baritone speaking to the through the door. His voice gave her the confidence to finish what she started, and she opened the door to the scrutiny of his gaze. She must have passed muster as he merely stepped to the side and allowed her to pass. He placed one hand at her back, and she let him escort her back to the artist’s den. Makenzie looked at the two of them together and seemed to make a quick decision.

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“Marq, I know I said that I just wanted you for inspiration, but…can you pose with her?” Jamison felt poleaxed. She was already going to be nude, and now this? “I’m okay with that.” His face said he was at any rate. He looked, for lack of a better word, intrigued. “Just shuck down to your undies, and I will take the two of you through a series of poses and see what is most natural for the look I want.” Marq had no sense of modesty, as he began disrobing on the spot. He was just as bad he was in his home and discarded the clothes where he stood with no care about the expensive fabric he treated with such disdain. By the time he was finished, Jamie moved to pick the clothes up from the floor. She hated a mess. But Makenzie halted her and began to treat her models as Barbie dolls. If it wasn’t, “lay here,” then Mak was telling them to act natural. What the hell does that mean anyway? It was not like she could pretend that Makenzie was nowhere around. Finally disgruntled after the tenth position change, Jamison was through with the position Makenzie was currently directing her into. For now she was poised over Marq’s prone form on the couch and propped onto her forearms. It was a normal enough pose except for the fact that they were not alone. It seemed too sensual by far, but with her scattered curls and robe, there wasn’t much to see. But she could feel everything. She could sense the thin leash Marq was holding himself to. His entire body was rock hard beneath her, and the sculpted form was the lumpiest mattress she’d ever used. He was alluring even as she tried to push sensuality of the scene away from her mind, or at least scurry the sensations to the back of her thoughts. It wasn’t working. She wanted him. As in right now, and if he didn’t have what appeared to be an excess of self-control left, he’d be inside her now. His cock was in a perfect position for entry due to the differences in their height. Every few moments he would rock his hips, barely nudging her pussy open through the spandex of her tanga panties. Then the next motion

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would have him retreating, and she knew her underwear was near ruined. The spandex felt nearly like a second skin and, instead of diluting the sensations, heightened each instead. His rocking beneath her was more rhythmic now, better timed, and perfectly devastating. She could hear the rough scrape of pencil on paper, the scratch of sound a beat Marq followed to a tee. It was too much to handle. She had to come, or rather she was going to, it seemed, whether or not she was ready for it. Now instead of pressure against the opening of her soaked snatch, there was a stealthy, sex sticky invasion forged by the head of his fat cock. The intrusion was followed by retreat, and then she felt his fingers grasp the ribbons woven at the side seam, tugging her underwear taut. The slickened crotch of the panties gave and slipped sideways, trapped in the supple joint of her inner thigh. This time when he returned his cock to nudge her opening they were skin to skin. His eyes asked questions she couldn’t answer. Not now, or with a clear head. She closed her eyes and nodded against the rasp of his jaw. It seemed as if she was struck dumb, and at this point there was nothing to say anyway. The moment she started actively seeking more of Marq than the teasing press of cockhead, everything stopped. The first thing she noticed was Marq’s unnatural stillness. Then she heard silence, no scratching niggling her in the background. “Ahem, let’s take a half hour.” Jamison bolted upright. She had almost fucked Marq in her friend’s presence. She felt waves of embarrassed heat wash over her, and with her bright coloring, the flushed skin was definitely going to be noticed. She dropped her head, and Marq propped up on his forearms, looking at Makenzie. The artist was trying in vain to be worldly enough to ignore the white elephant in the room. But the heat coming from her and Marq was palpable in the closed off space. No sooner than Makenzie stood than the door opened.

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“Damn it, Makenzie, nowhere in the discussion about tonight did we agree Marq was getting naked.” Charyn’s voice shattered the calm, but his wife smiled and seemed to enjoy the display of temper. “Hush, boo, he has on his boxers.” “That’s still too close to nude for my liking.” Jamison could see the spark between the married pair burn back to life with a single glance. Maybe it had never gone out. But she did know the couple was probably going to make love. Makenzie took her husband’s hand and closed the door behind her. Moments later a faroff cry confirmed her suspicions. But her attention was brought back to the matter at hand when Marq probed her slick sex with several delicious inches of cock stretching the ring of nerves on entry. God he was so good at that, and the feel of him unadulterated was sublime. There was so much more to enjoy, as if the freshly bared inches were electrified. She knew her lips were gaped open awkwardly, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that now. If she swallowed a fly, did that mean she was no longer vegetarian? By the time he’d speared her with half of his cock, she didn’t give a damn about catching flies or anything else. In fact, she decided that any insects would be considered protein and left it at that. Marq made short work of the scanty robe shielding her skin from him, untangling the waist tie and slipping the garment from her shoulders where he let the fabric fall into a pool around their hips. It didn’t take much to get her going. The next moments were filled with hot thrusts and groans of need. God she was on fire. Sex had never felt so amazing. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized that she had never had sex unprotected either. But even knowing that, the chemistry between her and Marq was too much to deny. It was so strong, and she refused to deny herself every sparkling taste of him available. He was such a guilty pleasure. Every sinful taste of him she got only made her craving for more worse. He was drug she couldn’t get satisfaction from, no matter how much she had. It was never enough to quench her thirst for more. Her ruminations

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were nipped in the bud quickly when Marq gave a savage punch of hips, and all thoughts left her. “Don’t think about it.” His eyes were wild and dangerous, pitch dark as he dug into her hips. “Think about what?” What was he talking about? “That’s right.” His hips were popping hers in the air with the unbridled force he used. Jamison knew if he were on top of her right now, she’d be lucky to use either leg again. The harder his hips butted hers, the more of him she wanted. It didn’t make sense at all. How in the world could she enjoy being battered like this? But then again, how could she not? Soon enough Marq must have tired of their position, and he scooted forward before sitting up. But even the seated position they were in didn’t appease him as he slid them both into the floor. From there he rolled them over and proceeded to dig in. Each stroke was liquid, fluid motion designed to melt her inhibitions and increase her desire. She was damn near gone, and nothing mattered more in these seconds than coming. She was going to combust. She could sense every muscle tensing and quivering with lust and need. He was just as close as she was if not more. She could see each vein mapping his body from the neck down as if the vessels were too engorged to do more than allow the life giving fluid to pool instead of flow. It was too much. “Ahhh…please.” She was almost there. Nothing could hold it back now. **** “That’s right, Jamie, baby. I’m going to please you.” Marq slowed the brutal servings of cock he fed Jamison’s succulent snatch to resume the measured silken strokes from before. She groaned and screamed for him with ease. The way she responded to his hands and cock was beyond anything he’d ever had before. With him, she had no inhibitions or even simple hesitation was beyond her when they

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were together like this. She was impeccable. Every single inch of her begged him to throw caution to the wind and pound her into the ground. But he had never savored a woman this way, and only now was he grateful that he always wore condoms before today. That simple fact gave their sex-slicked glide more meaning than any experience before. He had never trusted a woman like this before. But as each clash of hips and lips deepened, there was no more time for reflection or resistance left in him to hold back. When she shook in his arms and groaned his name as if it was the only word she knew, Marq was done and gave into the burn sparking along his spine, following wherever she led. There was only enough presence of mind to pull his cock from her and scatter his seed over her belly before he crushed her lips under his. The searing kiss lingered until his heart slowed. Jamison’s mouth gaped open and dragged in each breath as if it were her last. His semen wetly coated their chests and the glide afforded him a seamless slide down her chest to pop a perfectly pouty raspberry-shaped nipple in between his lips. He tugged the pert protrusion before teasing the erect flesh with his teeth and tongue. When she began to shiver underneath him, he stopped cold turkey and eased off of her. The natural fibers of the woven rug had to feel similar to a scrub brush against that soft skin. When he stood, he felt just this side of light–headed, and he covered his minute stumble by leaning over her prone form. “Come here.” He wasn’t asking. He was telling her and took each of her hands within his. They stood, and Marq turned back to the couch just behind him and sat down. He was wiped out for the moment, but he would definitely be coming for more of that later. He tugged Jamison south to kneel and straddle his lap, the robe still drunkenly hanging off her arms. When they finished shifting and settling onto the seat, they found the best possible position that wouldn’t force them to move again. The movements were slight, an inch here or there. An arm would slide south and remain there. A leg would scoot to one side a bit.

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They settled together so slowly he had a flash in his mind of a statue easing its way over time into the earth that braced the foundation of manmade art. Once all motions ceased, Marq had wrapped his arms around her. She faced him, but her weary body drooped, leaving her head to rest on his shoulder. His sexual secretions flaked and dried up between them, and even sticky, she was the best thing to ever be cradled in his lap. Both of them verged on sleep when the door opened quietly.

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Chapter Nine: Statute of Limitations “Ah, this is perfect.” Makenzie was back, her voice at half its normal volume and slightly hoarse. She walked over to them still seated on the couch and tugged on the right sleeve of Jamison’s robe. “The tail curves over the right side, I think.” Jamison nodded her head as if she didn’t trust her voice to speak yet. By the time Makenzie finished her tug-of-war with the sleeve, it hung behind Jamie’s back, exposing a thick patch of leg, hip, and half her back. Marq grasped the tail end of the mauve robe silk and ensured that at least most of her thick ass was covered. Before he could sling the garment over his hip, Makenzie broke the soft silence. “Wait. Keep your hand right there for me.” He stilled, his fingers were left with a pinch of fabric, and his hand was filled with her soft hip when they settled once more. Jamison was smooth at every place they came together, and he felt his dormant member stir once more. At the moment his cock rested between their bodies, and his fairly turgid length was the only thing able to come between them. The scrape of sketching was the only sound audible in the room, mingled with shallow breaths and anticipation. She rolled her pussy forward, the sluggish slide of her clit nuzzling the skin as she went along. His fingers clenched, and he felt the snap of fingers as the fisted fabric fell away, re-exposing her. The flurry of sketching was now a crescendo of motion, and he was surprised that the pencil lead hadn’t snapped off yet. He also noted that the paper she used hadn’t caught on fire either. But the look in Makenzie’s eyes was glazed over as if she were high from the

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release of her natural gifts. Jamison was boneless, and the only movement coming from her end was that of her quickening pussy, the lips sandwiched around his cock suckling at his flesh. When they got out of here, he planned on keeping her stuffed full of cock for the rest of the weekend. He was sure that by the time he finished with her, any moment he wasn’t inside of her would feel awkward as hell. For certain, he wanted her to feel empty when he wasn’t fucking her brains out. It was his new occupation, keeping this woman fully satisfied at all times. Makenzie only had the opportunity to set her implements to the side table before the door opened and her husband crossed the room only to take her hand. They walked away without a look back. Marques was curious as to what the mass of pages held. There were more than he thought there would have been time to create based on the haphazardly stacked paper on top of the table. But a quick glance at the watch on his left wrist revealed his only modeling experience lasted for nearly three hours. Marques finally peeled the clammy-skinned siren from his lap and carefully helped her dress before he donned his worn garments and slid on his loafers. Jamison looked limp and boneless. He couldn’t resist kissing the slackened lips on offer. Before they left, he let his curiosity get the better of him, and he picked up the crumpled pages. Makenzie’s innate gifts were evident in the featherlight strokes over paper. The pictures all had a different focus. Some were close-ups of varying items. In one, the main image was his discarded clothes framed by his feet. Another highlighted his hand clutching at Jamison’s hip. The next page was of their faces and shoulders. When he was deeper into the stack, he saw a pair of entwined hands and mingled lips. But the one that struck a chord within was of them looking at each other. The sketch captured so much more than just them, it had captured something, emotions, and the conversely heavy strokes gave him a window into his own soul. His need for Jamison was tangible,

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as were more serious feelings that he knew it was too early in their budding relationship to speak on. Marques drove to his condo in silence. He was better left alone with his thoughts, and Jamison’s nap in the car was wholly welcome. At this point he didn’t want to look his Juliet in the eye, lest she see what she made him feel. When he pulled into his garage, he made the conscious decision to let the revelations of the last hours go. Although he didn’t know why he just didn’t let himself do what his needs and nature dictated to him. But he had been alone for too long, and the spice of love was too new to him to accept with the grace and ease that his brothers had. Everyone around thought he was suave, polished, and a man of the world, but really he was a certified shut-in. Not only was he sarcastic, but he had the tendency to manipulate other people around him with his words. He’d rather relax at home and watch his own videos of fucking than run the street, hobnobbing with the rich and lazy. There was some part of him that recognized the fact that he played into the expectations of those around him. He couldn’t help that. He liked filling needs where he found them. His only real rebellions were the tats and his discreetly concealed fetish for film. But there were really very few who even knew of his peccadillos and temperament for trouble. For certain he wanted it to stay that way. He had no longing within to be in the gossip rags as many of the other trust fund babies were. He didn’t want people speculating on his every word or action either. He and his brothers came from much, but they wanted to be looked at like regular men, albeit with a little more money. Between the three of them there were in the neighborhood of a billion reasons to live simply, well at least as simply as they could under the circumstances. Hell, he could drive a different car every day of week for the rest of his life and still have money left over to live on. But it wasn’t about that for him. All he really wanted was a quiet life, one filled with joy. He was one of the lucky few in the upper echelons of society to have

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two parents that loved each other. Even now his mother mourned his father’s passing, nearly seven years later. He wanted that, someone to love him for him and not gobs of money. That was the reason none of the tape he ever saw truly satisfied his urges for more. Each film something was off, the lighting, her reaction, his reaction, the chemistry. Nothing could appease him. At first the film was a novelty, then necessity, and now just a vague urge sporadically. But he knew he wanted Jamison on tape again. The pictures Makenzie drew were special. He knew it. On the paper was the very thing he’d coveted without understanding, the right woman looking at him with the perfect mix of love and lust. **** Jamison woke the next morning and felt great. She stretched and rose, ready to start her day. Today she decided to vary her morning workout by concentrating on arm poses. She hadn’t done any in weeks. Honestly, she never felt confident enough to work those postures with him watching, and her fear was that she would fall flat on her face. She started out simply, just with a round of textbook sun salutations, but only two sets. Then she would do a round of preparatory poses. Let her see what Marq did when he saw the finale she had planned, Jamison thought. When Jamison started the first of her prebalance poses, Marq was sitting in the wingback chair by the bed with a big smile and a covered tray on the floor. She started in bound angle pose. It was similar to a lotus or even the grade school Indian style, but the bottoms of her feet were touching and her knees met the floor on both sides of her body. She grounded herself with her hands completing an ohm circuit, holding the position for several minutes to loosen her hips. When she left the pose, she moved to her hands and knees, then moving into a push-up, and attained her next asana of the four-limbed staff. The only motion needed was to bend her elbows so they firmly

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pinned her sides and her arms were held at a ninety-degree angle, perpendicular to her body. When she held the posture for several minutes, she decided to move into her showstopper. Jamison stood up and planted her feet into the floor in mountain pose, letting her feet stand wider than the norm. From there she sank into Uttasana, the standing forward bend. Her hands were planted on the floor outside her firmly rooted feet before she bent her knees a touch, and the motion was just enough to move her right arm between her legs and plant the hand back onto the floor and place it in the same spot as before. It took a moment, but she was able to work her right knee onto her shoulder, and it was worth it to hear Marq breathe harder. The tortured inhalations supported her and gave her strength to strive for the rest. She used her knee as a brace for her shoulder, leaning to her left slightly to allow her left leg room to slide forward. Her hands supported her weight as she used her core and pelvis to assist raising the dead weight of the limb from the ground. The next part wasn’t quite as hard as what she just did, but wasn’t going to be a cake walk either. She bent the knee propped on the right shoulder low and dipped forward slightly to swing her left ankle in the crook of the right ankle joint. Now to finish the pose she had to concentrate, she pulled her legs to the right and extended the crossed limbs out to the right side. Then she was able to bend her elbows and lowered her chin toward the ground with a supple motion from the hip, sending her torso to a parallel with the ground beneath her. When she finished, Marques was panting. He sounded as if he were going to choke on the forceful gasps of air. She decided to show off a smidge and unwound her legs, intending to try to attain the second part of the pose. But before she could take her legs into the split that made up the second variation of the asana, she felt Marq grasp her and wrap his arms around her to cup a breast in each smooth palm.

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Of course, after that she was on her back, being fucked within an inch of her life of the rug beneath her. She spent most of the time begging him to stop, and then in the next breath he was giving her more of it. He bit her lip, sucking her skin in bruising patterns meant to enflame her. The stinging skin simmered to a tingle and left the injured areas radiating waves of heat that rippled over her. If what he did with his mouth wasn’t enough, his hands clutched at her and were greedy in their possession. When his mouth left her seized flesh, she shuddered in thanks, but he put the unemployed orifice to good use. He whispered how tight and hot she was in one ear, and she could feel it, too. He asked her to come for him in the other ear, and she did. He watched her, and even his eyes were greedy as if the molten orbs could steal her orgasm from her with a single scorching look. He suckled her lip in his mouth and rocked himself deeper inside her. The end result was her being fed additional peaks tailing the first one in a chain of desire. **** The days left to them flew by in Jamison’s opinion. It just seemed that she laid with him for the first time, but even then she felt like her body knew his. She had one week left of her fantasy month with Marques, and the thought sobered her. She needed to c’est la vie, but she couldn’t. It was too hard to think about her last days with him and the end of the world as she knew it. On the last Wednesday she was to spend with Marques, the day was as normal as any other, except the fact that her heart was breaking. He actually went into the office today, one of a handful of days where he wasn’t at her disposal. She updated her blog and checked her e-mail. Now that she wasn’t working, there was more time to devote to movies. She helped out at Screen Gems studios every now and again but had to refuse more jobs than she accepted due to her day job. But now that was a non-factor and she could take some of the dozen or so

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offers that she found in her inbox. The next one available would be on location, in sunny Jamaica, starting Saturday. But as that was her last day with Marq, she would turn it down. There was another offer in Alaska for an oil rig documentary. Normally she would call herself crazy for taking the frozen north tundra over palm trees and the tropics. But she had to eke every moment out of her affair, and the extra hours with Marq would be worth it. As she dug through the pile in her spam box, there was an e-mail from an unknown address. She was going to delete it, sure the e-mail was one of the Nigerian scam e-mails, but the username sounded slightly familiar. When she opened the e-mail, she realized it was Duke, the dancer from the hole-in-the-wall house party. Jamison, This is Duke. I know you are probably still with your man, but I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me today? I’m back in the area, and I want to see you again if you’ll let me. D Jamison was shocked to say the least. She didn’t think the stripper would really contact her. He deserved a response, but what could she say that even made sense? It wasn’t like she could say, No he’s not my man, even though I want him to be? Or He’s my lover and its temporary? Then there was the lingering thought of, why can’t I want a man who wants me as much as I do him? Most of her life was spent in relationships were that were fairly one-sided. Growing up as she did was hard on the soul. It made her wary and untrusting of other people. But her escalating sense of loneliness and sadness forced her to open up. But the men that she chose weren’t worthy of the honor. She was a good woman, but seemed to choose the worst men of the bunch. Her last ex, Aiden, was an asshole. She cooked and cleaned, worked hard, kept herself available for even the most minute of needs, and never so much as looked at another person with any type of

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interest. She stayed with him for years, and he didn’t have enough respect for her to keep his dick to himself or women out of her bed. It was not like the sex was great, and that was the saddest part. In fact her neighbor, the trollop, got the short end of the literal stick. A small cock was able to satisfy her, but if a man couldn’t row the boat right, the size his oar was inconsequential. When she sent back a brief reply to the surprise electronic message, Jamison felt a little guilty. She felt like she shouldn’t have entertained the idea of lunch with the luscious Duke and worse agreed to meet him for the midday meal. But the vague disquiet she felt niggled at her as she went back to working on her latest blog post in an attempt to forget. When she checked the time, she had spent an hour and a half staring at the word “the” and nothing had really gotten done. She couldn’t get her mind wrapped around the fact that it was soon over, and her work suffered as a result. Duke had responded quickly as if he was waiting to hear from her with baited breath. Jamison, Thank you. D By the way, where would you like to go? I did make reservations in the hope you would say yes. If it’s all right with you, let’s say noon at Natasha’s? Wow, Jamison was floored. Natasha’s was a world-class dining experience. The owner was a French chef who worked in some of the finest restaurants in the world. His other locations had Michelin stars and everything. Getting reservations was near impossible without clout or a handful of palm greasing, and for an average Joe, it could be as much as six-month wait to even make a reservation. The small diner supposedly only boasted seating for thirty diners at fifteen tables. Jamison was excited now. She couldn’t wait to try some of the lavish cuisine. She had to look her very best, not because she wanted

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Duke, but she feared being stared at in a place of that caliber appearing any less than fantastic. She was already a minority, and that would warrant enough eyes on her as is. When she finished dressing, Jamison was confident she was at her very best. She flat ironed her hair into a sleek curtain and dressed, checking her makeup before she walked out of the door. When she arrived at Natasha’s thirty minutes later, she had no idea what she was doing here. She was with Marques. Even if it was temporary, she couldn’t date another man. But it was not a date, Jamison thought, even as she felt nervous about what Marq would think about it. It’s not like you’re going to sleep with him. But even that mental mantra didn’t cut it. Duke was attractive true, but she didn’t need him. She needed— **** Marques was tired as hell. He’d gotten up this morning and an email confirmed he was in a sticky situation that required his personal touch. Apparently, one of investors in the shopping mall wanted to revisit the terms, and instead of condos, wanted to just give Jed a small share in the center for his land instead. But the way Marques had maneuvered the contracts let Jed make a larger profit, and he didn’t want to see the man screwed up in red tape with big boys. The center wouldn’t turn a profit for at least two years, but the condos would make a profit within one year, and he knew Jed needed the money as soon as possible. So he kissed Jamison’s forehead and got dressed, leaving her half asleep with a quick good-bye. He opted to meet John Terrance, the holdout investor, in his corner office downtown. He hoped to be finished by brunch, but the meeting dragged as his own impatience and John’s greed got out of control. Usually he was more suave, but today he felt a bit raw. His month with Jamison was coming to an end, and he knew she was going to leave him. He was pretty sure Jamison cared about him, but now that

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he’d freed her from her butterfly cocoon, he wasn’t sure if she would stay or fly away. She was a beautiful woman, but she’d hidden herself for a long time, and now other men saw her and desired her the way that he did. When he glanced at his watch it was after eleven and they been deadlocked for four hours already. His throat was parched, not to mention he was hungry as hell, and damned if he didn’t think conversation had turned into a long filibuster. The negotiations were stalled, so Marques took another tack. He opted to change their location and distract his opponent. He sent a quick message to his personal assistant to make reservations at whatever trendy place he could find on short notice for lunch. Apparently, luck was on his side, and the PA sent him a quick message with itinerary for a private table for eleven thirty. Marq cut the man before him off in midsentence. “Would you care to break for lunch, John? I have reservations at Natasha’s,” Marq asked, but he knew this man was no fool. If they gave stars in Wilmington, this place was sure to get one. The man gasped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “That sounds good.” The meal was succulent. He had to bring Jamison back here with him. He made a note to speak with Philippe, the head chef, to call in a favor or two for the coming weekend. John ate with unabashed delight, and even though he was sure that the wine would bring home the negotiations, he really wanted to know what Jamison was doing. Most likely, she was working on her blog, he thought. But his thoughts were distracted when he saw a familiar face and form walking behind the maître d. The dark-skinned man carried himself well, and looked almost exactly the same as he did ten years ago. He hadn’t seen his friend D in years. After he finished eating, he was going to be sure and stop by his old friend’s table. He noted D was alone, but appeared to be waiting for someone, and if Marq knew anything about D, it was most likely a woman. Even though both of D’s parents were world renowned chefs and wealthy, they preferred

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simple southern style dishes eaten family style at home. So the sight of his friend at a French restaurant was ironic to say the least. He diverted his attention back to the matter at hand and played his trump card. True, it was a bit early to pull out his big guns, but he really didn’t want to waste any more time with John today. He could be inside Jamison right now, or could taste her shaved pussy, and he had spent enough time on this bunch of malarkey. But when he opened his mouth to tell John that he was either in or out of the project, he saw a flash of gold fabric out of the corner of his eye headed toward D’s table. The woman was beautiful from the back. She was shaped just like—

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Chapter Ten: In So Much Trouble Oh hell no, Marq thought, that better not be Jamison. He knew it was her. The cashmere cardigan style sweater dress was the one he’d had shipped from France two weeks ago along with some La Pearla lingerie and a pair of Kate Spade flats they found while browsing boutiques. His vision flashed red, and he was barely able to make his excuses to his meal companion before he stood up from the table. He schooled his face to a polite scowl and strode across the dining room. When he had nearly reached the table, he saw the side of her face and gritted his teeth at the sight of the faint blush-reddened cheek. She put on makeup and everything else to meet another man when she was supposed to be with him. Even if it was temporary, she didn’t get to date, kiss, fuck, or even look at anyone else. Damn it, he wasn’t finished with her yet. Duke chose that moment to look across up, and Marques saw the genuine joy in the smile D gave him. If he wasn’t so pissed, he would have been able to match it. “Hey! How have you been?” Duke was still smiling, but the angle lessened as he saw Marq wasn’t responding. “I’m well Duke, how are you?” He spoke to Duke, but his eyes were for Jamison only. Her face said she was nervous, but the smile on her lips masked most of it. “Okay, my man, working hard on my thesis. Have you met Jamison? She’s a friend of mine.”

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“Funny that, she reminds me of someone I know.” He felt his eyebrow cock upward. Duke had a funny look on his face and started laughing. “Jamison, so this is the guy, huh?” Duke couldn’t stop laughing, even as Marq scowled harder. What the hell was so funny about him and Jamie? Apparently the thought must have left his lips without him realizing it as Duke answered him. “It’s not that, Marq. It’s just I knew that she was dating someone, we had talked about it, but I never realized it was you that she spoke about. Damn, it’s a small world.” Marques was still angry. Why in the hell was she here anyway? “Duke, I apologize, but I am going to have to take your lunch companion. Indefinitely.” He clasped Jamison’s hand and looked her in the eye until she stood up a moment later. “T–thanks, Duke. Apparently, I will have to provide my excuses.” He knew she was rattled. She hadn’t stuttered in weeks. It looked as if she had the same thought, and he watched as her lips pressed together once in consternation before she walked away with him. She smelled too good, and the fact that she put on perfume for her date on top of everything else turned his fury into white-hot rage. She was in a heap of trouble. He knew one thing for sure, she knew what she had done. He escorted her to his car, even as she opened her mouth to tell him she drove. He knew she had since she arrived so much later than her date, but if she voiced the words aloud to him, he would snap where he stood. “You can have your car later.” His tone was harsh, and he felt her shake slightly under the pressure of his hand at her spine. He helped her into the car, and she sat still as he buckled her seat belt and kissed her. The press of lips was violent, but he corralled most of the rage he felt even as he bit her fat lower lip. Jamison jerked back, and he tasted a slight copper tang from where she cut her lip on his teeth with the quick retreat she made. Right now, he was mad enough that the hint of fear in her eyes mollified him slightly, just not enough to change

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her fate. He dodged traffic and parked the car. He helped her exit the vehicle and enter the condo. Once she crossed the threshold, he stopped her from advancing any further with a tug on her hand and pulled her back to rest against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and with a quick jerk of both hands ripped the front of the cardigan style sweater dress. The numerous pearl buttons down front scattered across the marble flooring. The small beads tinkled and plinked as they made contact with the tiles. He slid the sleeves off gently, and the dress fell to the floor. She was left in a silk, ivory slip and stockings, but he chose to leave those on her for the moment. There were more important things to do. Before he had a chance to register what he was doing, Jamison’s back was to the door and half of his cock was inside her. He listened to her grunt at the force he was using as if he hurt her, but her body was strained against his for more. He gave it to her with a slap of pelvis to feed her pussy the rest. “Do you think another man can give you this?” he asked rhetorically. “N–noo.” She curled her legs around him and squeezed tightly. He kept thrusting and curled one hand behind her nape using the hold to push her further onto his cock with each stroke forcing himself deeper and deeper. He was still angry with her even as he fucked her, and he wanted to punish her for making him feel this way. “Who owns this luscious body, Jamie?” She was silent for only a split second before she spoke, tones husky and low. “You do, Marq.” Her agreement pacified him somewhat, but not enough to show her any surcease. “I know I do, but you need to understand that, and if it’s the last thing I do, you will finally get it.” He backed away from the door and unwrapped her legs from his hips, forcing her to stand on the unsteady limbs. She melted to the floor, and he let her, only to prompt her to all fours and thrust home again. This time she skidded across the floor several inches before he

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gripped her shoulder in one hand and pressed the other palm against the door to his right side. He sat back on his heels before he fisted two thirds of her hair in his grasp and guided her head back. She loved the rough treatment. Even now she was melting around him. The hot folds of her sex welcomed him, didn’t want to let him go. Each retreat he made was hard fought for, and her sticky wet flesh massaged his upon return. Marques tuned out her screams for more and cries of need. If he didn’t, she would turn him into a minute man. Already the visual of the spread buffet of her curves made him crazy to dig deeper inside her. There was no way he wanted to be thought of as a two-pump chump with this woman. Soon enough, she screamed his name and slithered across the tile on her hands and knees as if she wanted to get away. But he wasn’t having any of that, and wrapped her hair tighter around his hand and used the other at her neck to cup the fragile column in front. His mouth found her nape and bit slightly, the clench of teeth sparking more flames inside her. He fed her clenched pussy more cock and sucked the injured skin he’d just bitten. The suction at her nape made her soaked snatch quiver, and he kept at it, wanted to feel her go wild when she found out there was nowhere to go. He bit her once more on top of the now half-dollar-sized blemish he’d crafted at the delicate join of neck and back. When his teeth met her flesh around the bruise, she went mad and flung herself against him. Her hips jerked, shook, rolled, and quivered all at once before she cried out again to signal the veracity of the orgasm which was stronger than any other he’d given her yet. When the orgasm spiraled down his spine, he let it and quickly backed the length of pipe out of her convulsing pussy. His cock bucked between the ripe halved mounds of ass, and his ejaculation stained the listless silk fabric that skimmed her fleshy curves. When she stopped moving, he leaned in closer and heard each desperate breath forced past her open lips.

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“So you think that another man would make you feel this good? Do you think another man could fuck you like you need it?” he asked her against her bowed head, which was canted to the left, giving him better access to the small shell of her ear. He felt her shiver before she shook her head twice. “Yeah, you and I both know it. I wouldn’t dare disrespect you by eating a meal with another woman without telling you first, let alone wearing clothes and cologne you gave me. I want an explanation, followed with an apology, and you better make it good.” His jaw clenched, and he felt his teeth grind together in back. Even after the frenzied sex right here and now, he was still infuriated. He wanted to spend his wrath on her form and let her feel every bit of the acrimony he’d been served for lunch. “Yes, Marq.” Her amends were given with her mouth and hands right there on the marble tiles. He loved the look of her mouth stretched around his cock, head bobbing along his length as she slurped the capped head. She even used her teeth, which scraped slightly at odd moments. Damn, if it wasn’t the best head he’d ever had, hands-down. What she lacked in finesse was made up for with enthusiasm and pure lust, and she loved to hum as the wet heat of her lips caressed him. His hands were fisted in the damp locks crowning her scalp, and they aided the face fuck. He couldn’t even look down at her for more than a moment or two. The visuals of him ravishing her mouth were enough to make him come prematurely. It took two days before either of them walked straight, and Jamison wore numerous bruises across her skin when they finished multiple rounds of irate fucking. She had hickeys across every limb, dotting her breasts, the top of her mound. Even her feet carried one or two blemishes. And that was just from his mouth. He didn’t let her out of bed that afternoon. In fact, she only left the memory foam topped mattress to use the bathroom or change the sex-and-sweatdampened sheets, only to need a new set scant hours later. They even ate meals there the next day, fluffy pancakes in the morning with

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Morningstar vegetarian bacon, homemade soup, and crackers at lunch. Dinner was a pizza made on naan bread, followed with strawberries eaten from her belly button, the fruit chased with champagne drunk from the hollow created between her mound and clamped thighs. He loved the nose-tickling bubbles that were flavored with her juices, and he savored nearly a full bottle of bubbly that way. He’d pour a small mouthful first and sip the small taste without wasting a single drop before he’d inundate his makeshift cup with more. **** The last Saturday morning with Marques, Jamison woke up alone. The moment her eyes opened and scanned the room for Marq, she knew she was screwed, figuratively and literally. Marques had her stuck on stupid, and she needed her space desperately. He had taken her over so well she no longer knew herself. Or even what she wanted. She’d had numerous orgasms, but they hadn’t even spoken aloud what was tantamount to everything she needed to know. They were coming onto their last days together, and she needed to know she wasn’t the only one falling here. She rubbed her face and began the process of crawling out of bed. Her legs seemed boneless, she had no spine, and every muscle was tender. Marq made sure he showed appreciation for every inch of her. She had even given him a foot job using the arches and her toes last night for Pete’s sake. That definitely put a new spin on an old-fashioned. By the time she stumbled from the large bed, she had to lean against various objects on her way to the bathroom. She was so exhausted she could barely brush her hair or even wash her herself. But she did, even if it took her three times what it should have to complete the simple task of her toilette. She didn’t have the strength to get dressed, so she chose to put on of Marq’s heavy cotton robe instead. When she finally made her way into the

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kitchen, Marq had kindly made breakfast and left a Post-it note on top of the covered platter. Eat me. Will be back by two. Marq The script was heavy, written with a sharpie or dry erase marker on the small yellow square. When the platter was uncovered, she found a bowl of her favorite granola topped with fruit and a coffee mug with only sugar in it. It was just the right amount for the mug’s size and all she had to do was turn on the coffeemaker for a freshly brewed cup of the nutty grounds she smelled. When she finished eating, Jamison went back to work as she had a few free hours until Marq would return. When she checked her e-mails, there was one from Duke. There was only a single sentence. Invite me to the wedding. She didn’t respond since she had no idea what she should say. There was no way she and Marq would be getting married. She was a poor orphan and barely avoided a jail sentence for her act of selfdefense. He was a wealthy man of the world, and nothing was too good for him. Even if Marq wanted her like that, he would be disgusted with the truth of what she was capable of. She felt less weak now and dressed simply in a pair of chestnut colored tights and a bright green, hip-length tunic T-shirt with only one small breast pocket. She didn’t put in her contacts, opting to use her glasses, or she should say the ones Marq bought for her their first week together. They were sleek Burberry, with little studs running along the arms of the frame and in her favorite shade of grape purple. By the time she finished working and responding to the few e-mails in her inbox, she was ready for a nap. It was just after twelve, and she

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set her alarm clock so that she would be awake when Marq came back. Jamison was in Never Never Land dreaming of cosmopolitans and sex beneath a tropical midnight when something began pulling her from her slumber. At first she thought it was the alarm clock she’d set in anticipation of Marq’s arrival home, but she noted there was still a half hour until the phone was set to go off. What woke her? she wondered, slightly confused. But moments later she heard a knock on the door. Apparently whoever was there had grown impatient as the knocks escalated in volume and cadence while she laid there. She rubbed her eyes and for the second time that day climbed from bed. When she opened the door, there was a beautiful woman of indeterminate heritage. She definitely wasn’t white, although it could be somewhere in the hodgepodge mix of features. Her eyes were at an Asian slant, lips full and sensual. Her skin was a rich gold as if she tanned easily. Her hair was a bit longer than Jamison’s, but the skein of locks was impeccably smooth. The woman looked like she belonged in a Pantene commercial or something. The unknown female was reed slim, and her carriage was perfectly straight. This was a woman who knew her worth for certain, never had an issue with speaking to people or shame at who she was, and for sure made Jamie a bit self-conscious about her own casual appearance. “Hi, I was looking for Marques?” The woman’s voice was melodic and soothing. Even though Jamison wanted to be wary of the beauty, she couldn’t be. There was a kind note in her eyes that was easy to respond to in a like manner. “I’m sorry, he isn’t here right now. Can I take a message for you? He should be back later.” “Not really, I see that he’s occupied, so I’ll just be on my way.” The woman said occupied as if the word meant sex. Jamison found herself curious as to who the woman was. Her intuition told her the woman was Marq’s previous lover, but she had to know more. Before she knew it, she was speaking and couldn’t take her hasty words back.

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“Would you care to come inside? He’ll be back in a moment.” The woman appeared surprised, as if she wasn’t expecting the invitation, and in fact the lady had already half turned around when Jamison acknowledged her. Jamison opened the door and let the stranger inside. It was apparent she knew her way around the house as she hung her lightweight jacket on the waiting rack by the door and took a seat on the nearby recliner. To be polite, Jamison extended an offer for a drink, but the woman refused the proffered beverage. Jamie sat down, and mirrored the posture of the relaxed woman in front of her. She had no idea what she was looking for, but she knew there was information to be gleaned. “Hello, my name is Jamison. Who are you?” “My name is Dakota.” “Well, not to be too forward, but I have a feeling that you want to say something to me.” The beauty looked taken aback at the blunt phrasing Jamison used. “Yeah I guess you could say that. You’ve probably already guessed, but Marq and I have been lovers.” When the words left Dakota’s lips, the silence that followed was so profound, a pin drop could have been heard clearly. Jamison didn’t speak. She knew what Dakota would say before it was said, but it didn’t lessen the shock of hearing the bold words aloud. “I assume you are the newest member of the harem?” “Harem?” Jamison heard the incredulity in her own tone, but couldn’t stop herself for the anything in the world. The expression on the young woman’s face at Jamison’s one word query was telling. If pictures were worth a thousand words, the flickers of emotion that scrolled over Dakota’s face were worth millions. “I appear to have spoken out of turn.” Those were the only words to leave Dakota’s lips after the major faux pas.

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“Seeming as conversation is a two-way street, Dakota, you certainly didn’t speak out of turn. But you know I’m not letting the scintillating turn our tête-à-tête has taken end there. What do you mean by harem exactly?” “I think you need to speak with Marques. I’ve put my foot in mouth enough for one day.” “Sorry, Dakota, but we are having this discussion. Right now. You don’t get to interrupt my afternoon nap and then leave me hanging with more questions than answers.” “You’re right, but I don’t know what I could tell you to make this less ridiculous than it already is.” “Yep, it’s a circus all right, so you may as well start from the beginning.” The beauty took a deep breath as if she was headed for a cannonball into a summer pool and she wasn’t ready to take the plunge. “Marq and I met nearly seven years ago. We’d both moved here from different parts of the country. He came from Connecticut.” And Jamison looked at her closely before she nodded to prod her to continue. “And I moved here from Florida. One night I found myself downtown barhopping on a Saturday night. Marq was in the last bar I’d hit up, sitting by himself nursing a beer. He looked miserable, yet so darkly handsome I couldn’t resist approaching him. He presented me with a contract. You know what I am talking about, right?” Jamison nodded again tersely. She knew exactly what she meant. “All right then, well the rest is history. Marq doesn’t fuck without the contract at all, and I had to have the chance to lie with him. He’s outlasted any other relationship I’ve ever had.” When Jamison felt her mouth gape open, Dakota hastily rewound her conversation. “Now when I say relationship, please don’t mistake me. I mean as lovers, not as people in love. I know he isn’t the man for me. But he makes wonderful practice. Somehow he sets a pretty high standard, and I can’t imagine being with a man who is unable to fuck like him. That’s why all of my prior relationships have failed, not because they were

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bad men but because they were too good.” Jamison knew exactly what she meant. “But Marq is a nice guy, for the right woman. It’s just too bad it’s not me. And from the looks of it, his harem is down to one now.” Yeah right, Jamison thought. It’s just that his fix of me is limited. As soon as I walk out of this door for good, he will be fucking you or some other woman in this so-called harem. But she kept the snippy thoughts to herself. Instead she smiled slightly and let Dakota finish her story. “But his harem is really just five of us, and we rotate turns with him, even sometimes double up.” Dakota smiled as if she wished she could try that on her. Not happening, she was strictly dickly. Jamison face must have revealed what she was thinking as Dakota addressed her again. “Yes I am bisexual. I love men and adore women as well. But I can tell that’s not your cup of tea. Although if you ever want to experiment with true sensuality, please look me up.” How flattering. But still, no thanks. When Jamison closed the front door on Dakota’s exit, she looked at the clock. She had a scant quarter hour to get the hell out of Dodge before Marques came back. She didn’t leave because of the harem. Most men had several lovers at a time. It was the fact that she couldn’t have him permanently, nor would he have her only. There was no way she could make love with him and know he had just slept with Dakota or any other woman, as a matter of fact. Even if it hurt now to leave, it would hurt worse later, when she was head over heels in love. By the time she grabbed her purse and toothbrush and walked out of the door, it was too late. He was home.

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Chapter Eleven: Two-Way Street Marques walked out of the door with good intentions of being home by twelve, but he knew when he arrived it would take much longer than expected. Deven had sent an e-mail this morning about checking on the small subdevelopment in Ogden. Deven had pioneered the project a couple of years ago when he saw how inefficient most Americans were with natural resources and decided to meet the gap somewhat. The first houses went up without a hitch, but at the time Deven was living there. The handful of houses was now being doubled with the addition of two side streets, both extending north and south of the cul de sac. But Deven noticed his updates were getting spotty and less informative. As his brother put it, the notes he was getting were equivalent to grunts and were not coming from the foreman he’d originally had pegged from the start for the project. The e-mail address was the same, but it was generic and anyone in the office had access to it. So here he was, bright and early with the cock’s crow in Ogden. He was supposed to see if anything was amiss. That was an understatement. Somehow the usual foreman was terribly ill, and his negligent son was at the helm. Marq may not be a construction worker, but he knew the difference between pine and teak. He knew the difference between linoleum and marble tile, too. The materials being used were cut rate, and definitely not what was in the blueprints. He spoke with the crew discreetly, not that he had to be a James Bond to get his information. The lazy son a gun was sleeping in the trailer used as makeshift onsite office. Not to mention, where was the money? Charyn was the

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numbers guy, and it didn’t take long to confirm that they were being bilked. This was not good, and his morning in had turned into a hard day’s work inspecting the newly built portions from the last month. Luckily, there wasn’t too much completed in that time span as the new foreman was prone to burn daylight and took more afternoons off than he worked. The construction crew followed suit, and thus here they stood a scant month later and only a skeleton frame was constructed for a single house. With the amount of crew they had on site, triple that should have been completed. Marq rubbed his temples. It was setting up to be the day from hell. Damn it, he wasn’t even the work-with-his-hands type. That was more up Charyn’s alley. It was times like this that Marq wished he lived in any other era but the electronic one. By the time Charyn showed up, it was two hours later, and Marques knew his brother did it to spite him. Charyn even admitted as much when he showed up when he said, “Enough to piss you off when people take their sweet-ass time doing things huh?” Marq gritted his teeth. Damn his raggedy-ass brother. The man had been married damn near a year, and he still acted like a dog burying a bone with his wife. But his brother knew his stuff, and many of the myriad cutbacks were located with a brief inspection of the foundation and skeleton of the single family construction. By the time he finished, it was already one o’clock, and he dismissed the crew and advised them not to return until they were contacted. As Deven would be back in a few days, Marq decided to bring the construction to a halt until his brother returned. This was Deven’s pet project. He would let his brother deal with massive issues that had arisen in the last month. With the debacle of construction concerns handled, Marques clapped Charyn on the back and let him go back to his wife. His brother wasn’t the only one with a hot woman awaiting him. Just a half hour later, Marques found himself at his front door, but he hadn’t walked inside yet. His gut burned, and as a man who listened to his gut, he knew something was

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wrong. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when his dad died. So he found himself several minutes later afraid to go in his own home. So much so that he had to remind himself that only Jamison awaited him and that she was his. But when he put his hand on the door, it flung open without warning. He smiled, but she didn’t give him a like response. “Hey, Jamie, baby, sorry it took so long. But there were major problems with the job site, and I was just able to get away.” “Uh, all right. That’s fine, Marques, I was just leaving.” “Why? Is everything okay? Are you sick?” “No, I’m not sick, Marq. Thanks for asking.” But her expression told him it was something more than she let on. “You can’t lie to me, Jamison. All relationships are built on trust.” He smiled to take the sting from the words. “Funny that.” “What?” “Don’t be the pot calling the kettle black.” He grabbed her by the arm, his grip was firm, and he felt the tension in her muscles as if she were going to indulge in a flight or fight response. But why? What happened in the last hours to make her act this way? But once he stepped inside his home, he smelled Thierry Mugler’s Angel, and he knew what ate at Jamison. Dakota. It was her signature scent. The perfume was one of her favorites since she smelled it for the first time last year, and it was the only cologne Dakota had worn from that moment forward. The scent wasn’t obnoxious, just distinctive with a tendency to linger long after the wearer walked away. Dakota was an enigma even to those who knew her, and for that reason he knew Jamison had gotten enough information to piss her off, but not to make the picture clear. But even as he thought of what to say, he knew it was nothing compared to the truth. But even the truth eluded him as he looked at the facts and saw them for what they were. Really, what could he say to make any of this right? At that moment, there was no defense of his former lifestyle. Yeah, he

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was a man whore, but until this moment, the fact never disturbed him. It had never left him sleepless or upset or ashamed, until now. “Jamison, you don’t understand.” “You’re right, Marques. I don’t. And I don’t think I ever will.” Marques felt as though a ton of bricks flattened him in one fell swoop, and every moment he’d been hurt in his life assaulted him at the same time. He knew what she meant, and he had nothing to hold her here. With him. Jamison looked him in the eye, saw through him, and pinned him in place as if he were a specimen. After the visual dissection, Jamison backed away from him as if what she saw wasn’t worth anymore of her time. Marques felt his eyes well up with tears, and as a grown man he’d never cried, not even when he lost his father. He knew that he let the most wonderful woman walk away, and there was no reason for her to come back. The worst part was that the last memory he would get of her was the hurt in her eyes and the sound the door made when it closed. **** When Jamison walked away, every fiber of her being clamored to turn her car around and go home. Then she sniffled and blinked the river of tears into rusted, salty tracks down her cheeks and damp puddles on her shirt. No, Marq’s shirt, as she amended the errant thought. She had to get out of Wilmington ASAP with motivation. She had two options. Either she could sit and mope until she caught her flight to Juneau, or she could shut down shop and head out tonight. In order to fool Marques into thinking she wasn’t home in case he dropped by while she was in, Jamison parked her car at the McDonald’s nearby and took a taxi to her house. Not that it mattered as she decided to only pack a small bag for her trip. She wasn’t prepared for that type of weather anyway. She may as well have some shopping therapy. That was funny, and Jamison smirked a bit through the cracked salted veneer of dried tears.

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She hated shopping. That was why all of her clothes were so bland. It was so much easier to match if everything fell in the same palette. In the summer, she preferred light khakis and, in winter, black wool. To add a bit of variance, she may throw on the occasional white or gray top, but that was it. But for some reason she wanted to wear something with more verve than she’d previously chosen. By the time she returned to pick up her car and made it to the airport, her heart hurt. But there was no way she was going to admit what she felt at the moment, even if it felt suspiciously like—No, stop yourself right there. You’re not going to say those words, even if they’re only in your head. She took a single carry-on and one checked bag on her flight. The carry-on had a plastic vacuum sealed coat, gloves, and hat for when she arrived. But the rest of her wardrobe would be handled when she got there. She had gotten used to a capsule wardrobe over the years. Micropacking was an art form that she’d learned to manage well. It was another reason she naturally gravitated toward neutral colors. In her experience, most people, unless gifted with a discerning eye, wouldn’t notice if a garment was reworn or not if it was basic. By that meant no patterns or distinct colors. If she put on a lime green shirt, or a boldly patterned skirt, anyone who saw it would remember it when she wore it again. Thus, her preferred options for garments were simple. But Marq would scoff at her clothes sometimes, especially before he got to know her. She could tell by the look in his handsome face that he never saw her. His eyes would be in her direction if he addressed her, but they were often focused somewhere around her. Why the hell did she even like him anyway? He was a dick most of the time. But his dick was scrumptious, she amended. And she had never met someone so generous once he got to know her. He took care of her on the yacht, airbrushed her back, fed her, clothed her,

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made her come until she saw stars. Ugh, she couldn’t let him go, and she wanted to. So badly. The breakup with Aiden had been ugly, but she wasn’t brokenhearted over his loss. The end of her relationship was terrible, but more so the loss of the habit of being part of a twosome and comfort of having another person to come home to. The bad thing was that Aiden saw her as a convenience, nothing more, while she busted her ass to make their house a home. Then what does he do? Stupid jerk fucked another raunchy-ass woman in her bed. She bought the mattress, bedroom furniture, and sheets in pieces here and there as she got the money. The only real luxury Jamison spent her money on was for the room that she laid her down to rest in at night. And that jerk disrespected her enough to sully her sole luxury with another woman. She was better off by herself than with him. But when she boarded her Delta flight from ILM to Atlanta for her first connection in a string of several, she was determined to let Marq go. Even if she had to burn away a piece of herself in the process. But when the flight took off and she looked down at herself, depressed in a coach class seat as she drank as much of the horrid liquor she could her hands on, she knew that she couldn’t burn a piece of her heart away. It was with Marq, and she wasn’t getting it back. **** Jamison had picked up some guides on her cell phone e-reader before she boarded her first connection to Alaska, so she knew some of what to expect. But when she stepped off her last flight, she was not only tipsy, but cold as hell. When she left Wilmington, the temperature was cool, maybe the low sixties, but in Juneau it was in the low thirties, and her blood felt thin as hell, even with the North Face down she wore. She ended up at Nugget Mall to make a few clothing purchases there for her wardrobe. But now that she had gotten used to wearing colors again, she had a hard time convincing

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herself that she was happy in her bland wardrobe. Apparently, she wasn’t as she looked over every garment in the store twice before buying anything. Then the few things she brought were basic, just a handful of T-shirts and several pairs of jeans. As a blogger, she never had to worry about what she wore now, no more business casual or professional garb unless she felt like it. So for now she was content to be just Jamison. Her next move was to grab a quick bite to eat, and she ended up at Peter’s, a Chinese restaurant in the mall. It was okay for Chinese food but not the best she’d ever eaten. Although her feelings about the meal were more or less a by-product of the way she felt. She only ate a third of the food, she wasn’t truly hungry, but she hadn’t supped since… Jamison cut the thought off of the simple Post-it note she still carried in her wallet with its heavy elegant script. God, life wasn’t fair. If it were, she would stop falling for men that weren’t suitable. Although, she had noticed something during her few hours in Alaska. The male to female ratio was vastly disproportioned. There were at least three men to every woman she saw. Even with her jet-lagged, exhausted frame and bloodshot eyes from too many inflight cocktails, she had gotten quite a few interested looks. But the mental wall she erected must have kept others from approaching her, and she spent the day sightseeing. There were many things to see and do apparently. There were tours she could take of the terrain, adrenaline-laced sports she could participate in, and wildlife refuges she could visit. She had two days before she would begin in earnest with a private showing of the film, and then she would conduct a few interviews with the workers at the rig. A quick glance at her e-mail confirmed the interviews were going to be with geologist first, as the process really started there. Geologists helped to locate mineral and fossil fuel deposits before the major job of drilling began. She was also set to meet the roughnecks who manned the heavy machinery. There were several castes of oil riggers, but it wasn’t clear exactly who did what yet. That was the point of the interviews, to get a concrete idea of how

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such a massive project worked from start to finish. By the time she was done, she hoped to make consumers reading her blog understand the danger to environment and the workers involved in risky business of oil manufacturing. She had some information that she read, but she wanted to learn from the people that actually performed the work and let their perceptions help to fill in the naturally unknown blanks in the subject matter. She made her way to her hotel room and surfed the web for a corporate rental house or apartment. At the least she would be here for two weeks, and at the latest she was looking at a month in Alaska. It would be nice to have a regular place to cook and rest without dealing with people all the time or just be alone with her rampant thoughts and a semblance of peace. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew there was no solace to be found alone. Marq weighed heavily on her mind, and there was nothing she could do or say to make their parting any different. For some reason, leaving Marq after thirty days hurt worse than her breakup with Aiden. With Aiden, she was disgruntled and angry at him for the way he backstabbed her. With Marques, she hurt more for what could have been and the loss of him in her life more so than anything else. But she didn’t mean to Marq what he meant to her, and meeting Dakota made her see that crystal clear. He was going to be okay, and she couldn’t afford to pine away for a man that probably landed back on his feet like a cat within two minutes of her departure. **** When Jamison closed his front door for the last time, Marq spent the day throwing things. He flipped a TV, the one they’d watched their home movie on together. He tore the leather negligee she’d worn for him their first week together to shreds. After that he broke three plates and two coffee mugs. He went through several stages of grief in mere hours, vacillated from sadness to fear, to anger, which boiled

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into rage. The rage lasted the longest, but when it was spent, he was sad again. Marq was far from okay, and in fact he was going crazy. Jamison had only been gone for one day and night so far, and he missed the hell out of her. He missed shopping for her and watching her emerge from her self-imprisoned cocoon. He missed her dawn meetings with the sun and seeing her expression when she came. He missed her period.

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Chapter Twelve: Love is? A Lot of Things There had never been a woman in his life that enjoyed his brand of care or took the time to understand him beyond the superficial. At this point, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Even if he did, wallowing in his misery was better than actually doing something about it. Damned if he wasn’t in love with her. But how to tell her? Even if he spoke the words that beat at him, they weren’t going to bring her back to him, he knew her well enough for that. She was a woman of intrigue, and even with the heartfelt conversations they’d had in the prior weeks, he still knew less of her than he wanted. Marques knew who she was today, but what made her that woman? Why did she hide so skillfully in plain sight? As the thought crossed his mind, his cell phone rang, and he was all for ignoring it. But his gut told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps out of the funk he resided in and to answer the damn thing, so he did. “Moreland.” “Is that anyway to greet your mother?” “Hi, Mom.” “Sounds like someone’s in a black mood right now.” “You could say that.” “How’s Jamison?” “Why would I know that, Mom?” “Let’s just say I had a feeling.” “Well she’s not here, and she isn’t at home, so I have no idea how she is right now.” “Well then, Marques, how are you?”

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“Okay.” “Since when is it all right to lie to you mother?” “Sorry, Mom, I feel like shit. Is that any better?” “Yes, much. Thank you. So tell me what’s wrong?” “Everything. Deven’s latest project is a flop.” He gave her a scaled down version of the debacle he found yesterday after following up on Deven’s hunch. “Hmm, that does sound terrible. But really, Marq, as long as you and your brothers have been in business, there have been worse things attempted. Plus, you know how to handle yourself well beyond any other man I know, even your father.” Marques felt poleaxed. It was the first time his mother had mentioned his dad without crying. When he passed away, at first Charlotte was barely able to say his name with having a nervous breakdown. “Thanks, Mom.” “Marques, you truly have a gift. Your brothers are nowhere near as skilled as you. But you waste too much time with others, and not enough on yourself. All I want is for you to be happy, and all you seem to want is to make things better for others. Don’t think I haven’t kept tabs on you. To this day, I haven’t seen you take one dime from your trust fund. Both your brothers took their funds long ago for one project or another, while you have been self-sufficient and too proud to ask for your own money.” “Mom, I haven’t needed any of it, and I’ve been taking money from the fund. As a matter of fact, I made a withdrawal yesterday.” “That’s the reason that I called you. Since you were given control of the trust fourteen years ago, you haven’t taken anything but the interest accrued. Yesterday’s withdrawal against the principal was the first you’ve made in the history of the account. So I had to call and see what historic and cataclysmic event had to occur to make you utilize family money.” “It’s Jamison’s.”

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“Hmmm…” His mother’s voice trailed off as if she found what he said to be interesting in the extreme. He didn’t plan on saying anything more, but it just spilled out. All of it. He told his mom how he walked in on her in the red room and had him seduced at the moment he saw her in downward dog. He even told mom about the thirty-day challenge he’d given her. That only gave his mom more questions, especially when he mentioned the tapes. That was an even longer story, and once he gave her the nuts and bolts of what happened in college, he knew she was stunned by the silence that greeted him at the other end of the phone. “Wow, Marq,” was the first thing she said, long minutes after the tale ended. “I know, right.” “It’s just that…” Charlotte paused, as if she were attempting to gather the words together to make sense of everything. “After all these years, I never thought you would finally tell me the truth of what happened in school.” “You knew?” “Of course, Marques. I’m your mother. When it comes to my kids I know everything. Charyn doesn’t think I know about his rope tricks. Even Deven doesn’t realize that I knew about Charli before he told me or the special harness he made for her either. I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I still have my edge.” She laughed, and Marques felt his mood lighten. There was even a slight hint of mirth that arose to his mother’s giggles. “Harness?” “That’s best left for your brother to tell you about. Needless to say, I raised a passel of horndogs.” Marq couldn’t contain the laugh that barked from his chest. “You know what, Mom? It seems like you’re right.” “So let me ask you again, how is Jamison?” “I thought we already talked about that.”

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“Marq, don’t you think you need to find out then? Duh.” Each word was clearly enunciated, like his mom thought he was nuts. “Mom, slang is not a good look on you. You know that, right?” “Slang may not look good on me, but sulking looks worse on you.” He thought about that for a moment. He was sulking. His house was smashed by his own hand, and he metaphorically cried in his beer. He’d never gained anything in life without personal sacrifice. Even knowledge came with a great price because it came with an obligation to use it or waste it, like chaff blowing in the wind. “Damn, you’re right about that.” “Anyway, Marq, can you come get your mother?” “Huh?” What in the world was Mom talking about? “I’m at the airport.” “Not that I have a problem with that, but why are you at the airport, Mom?” “Well, I decided it was time to leave the dusty old mausoleum and see my boys on their turf.” Crap, he thought, as looked at his house, Mom definitely couldn’t stay here tonight. After that, Marq stumbled around a bit until he was dressed somewhat, opting for a sweatshirt and terrible jeans that he knew his mother would scoff at, and he redlined the Audi. He arrived at the airfield ten minutes later. When he arranged his mother’s vintage Birkin trunk into the back of his car, they were on the road. Although, he was grateful that his mother refused the hospitality of his condo for her visit. “Marq, that’s hardly going to work. You only have one bed, and I know we are both getting too old to be crashing on couches.” “All right then, where do you want to stay then?” “What about the house Deven’s got in Ogden?” “It’s in the middle of a construction site, mom. When they come back to work, it’s going to be hard to sleep in the middle of all that noise.”

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“I don’t have a problem with early morning risings, Marq. That’s you.” “If that’s what you want then.” She was going to call him and complain. He could hear it already. But by the time he dropped her off at Deven’s old house, Marq decided just to stay with her. He hadn’t really spent as much time with his mother as he should have. Especially considering how he lost his father suddenly, he didn’t want to feel guilty about not being with his only remaining parent while he could. Mom took Deven’s old room, and Marq used one of the spares by the office. He couldn’t sleep though, just like last night. Why did he let Jamison walk out of his life like that? Jackass. Marq idly wondered how many hours he could go without sleeping before he went crazy. He was so disturbed he did something he hadn’t done in years. He stumbled into the kitchen around three a.m. and scuttled about in the kitchen looking for chocolate. His mother walked out of the back bedroom in a long nightdress and matching robe. Her wan gaze told him that she couldn’t sleep either. Mom was the first one to smile, and he lifted his lips in a small grin to match hers. “You’re trying to make hot chocolate?” Charlotte beamed from ear to ear as Marq responded with a nod. “Yeah, want some?” “Of course, you know I have a love-hate relationship with chocolate. I love it, and it loves me back, but my thighs detest the results.” “Mom, I think you need to stop fishing for complements. You’re near the same size you were when you modeled.” “Pish posh, it takes hard work to keep a woman of my years in shape. Every year I have to work harder to keep my metabolism up. You don’t get it now, but even your dad started to get a bit of belly toward his later years. Hell, I had one, too.” Marques laughed at his mother. He’d never seen her less than svelte. Fifteen minutes later, they unearthed some squares of dark

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chocolate. Marques heated them in a double boiler and just short moment later made passable beverages out of the molten delicacy. “Marq, this is good. It’s so strong it tastes like espresso.” They sat on the couch, and each sipped on their mugs topped with melted marshmallows. His mom had a thick moustache of the drink above her lip, and Marq would be surprised if he didn’t have one to match. The heat from the late night indulgence started to work magic on the insomnia that plagued the pair as they yawned in sync. Mom stood first, and Marq followed suit. They hugged once and went to their beds. He fell asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jamison flowed around him. Her hair tickled him over his flesh. She smelled delightful, and he wanted more. He couldn’t wait for her, and impatient to feel more, he took over and rolled her beneath him. She already made him crazy. He needed inside her now. It was so natural and easy to get inside her, only one strong flex of hips seated his head inside her puffy soaked slit. He didn’t have to even guide himself with his hands. She fit him so well her pussy molded his cock better than his own flesh did. He needed to be deeper inside her, although there was nowhere else to go. He bottomed out with every stroke, hit every spot he could, before she gave him a guttural cry and screamed his name. She quivered and jerked stiltedly, wet and wanting more. He could tell by the way she cried his name. The one word left her lips over and over again, nearly a prayer for more. He was so gone words had left him, and he only grunted in response. His hips rolled and snapped into hers, before he gave her everything he had to give. Marq awoke with a pillow clenched between his teeth and his own sticky cum staining the sheets beneath him. When he looked over, he realized it was dawn, and he wasn’t about to have the luxury of his normal view today. Once that thought took over, he was ready to roll over and take a nap, just for the peace that sleep would bring. At least then he wasn’t alone and left to want. But when he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut out his misery, it wasn’t going to happen. He

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assessed the reality, knew that he lay in his own wet spot, and had cotton fibers in his mouth. Even with the facts made perfectly clear, he still rested in the sticky mess until he physically couldn’t stand it anymore. His shower was cold and quick, and he shuddered into a bathrobe before tossing the stained sheets and yesterday’s clothes in the washer. He perked up some coffee, but the beans were not very good and seemed slightly stale when he sniffed them. The freshly ground stale beans would do for now, but he would get another cup for certain when he went across town to his house after his clothes dried. The bed was made with spare sheets from the linen closet, and he dug through the near empty cabinets. Only two held food, and none of it was anything he wanted to eat. There was no way he was eating caviar, oatmeal, or brown bread in a can. Who the hell ate bread in a can anyway? That was going to be a no-go. The coffee finished perking, and it smelled decent, so he drank it straight black. Yeah, the beans were stale. That didn’t improve his mood any, and he was sure going to make time to get more when he went home later. When the dryer finished its cycle, he remade the bed and dressed in his clean clothes. **** After her first few days, Jamison was cold and still in Alaska, no matter how she wished otherwise. She found a rental house. It was a vacation home and cost a bit more than she wanted to pay, but the home was perfect. It was the kind of house that had every amenity possible and a honeymooner would love. There was an incredible view from the back porch. She found that if she stood outside, she never wanted to leave, especially from the hot tub. God knows, it was super awesome. She found it amazing to have everything she wanted at her fingertips. Even in her naturally perfect setting, she was just lonely in a way that she never thought possible. She never realized

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how much Marq truly meant to her. Ugh, she was so disgusted with herself. There was no way that a man should mean so much to her happiness. Why in the world was she giving him the time of day? Why was he her first thought in the morning and the last before she went to bed? Why couldn’t she let him go? Was it truly just the addiction she had to his hands and the numerous orgasms he had given her? So what if he made her come ten times a day? She couldn’t do that for herself, true, but there were other things she could do for herself. She could love herself. She didn’t need a man for that, but she did need someone else to have a conversation with. It was definitely kind of lonely around here. She would have loved to share the panoramic views with another person, but there was no one else. Just her. She wondered if Marq was in bed with Dakota right now or what else he might be up to. But she was not a clairvoyant, and she could only guess. Everything that she guessed made her skin boil. So she had to let the thoughts go, especially since she was trying to find her Zen. It was hard, but the last few days she had an issue with her usual workouts. It seemed like she would get started, but her meditation left her with too much time to think. That was the last thing that she needed. What she really wanted to do was forget everything that she had encountered in the last months. But no matter what she did, there was no way she could think about anything but Marq. Everything she did reminded her of him. She imagined him watching her work out when she did her sessions in the mornings greeting the sun. She saw him when she got dressed, and she could see his reaction to her garments. Right now, she looked like shit. She knew it but couldn’t fathom giving a damn about anything or anyone else. God, she must be depressed. She hadn’t even felt like this when Aiden cheated on her. But then again her feelings for Marq were so vastly different from anything she imagined before. The comparison was similar to the juxtaposition of a candle flame to a forest fire. It was the

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difference between a lit match and the sun. The sparks from a flint and tinder to the ones created white hot in a steelworkers forge. Even when she ate, she was reminded of the many meals Marq served her in their short time together. She never had to worry about him being offended by her choice of diet. He just accepted as she was. He didn’t care that she chose to eat rabbit food. In fact, he made some of the best vegetarian meals she’d ever had. She’d learned to cook, since it was hard to find good alternatives and she didn’t want to eat peanut butter every night. God knows that after having that for the first month of being meat-free she never wanted to try that again. Now even the smell of peanut butter made her sick. After that month she learned how to cook very quickly. Before that she could barely boil water. That wasn’t something the group home bothered too much with. The group home wasn’t terrible, but any place that throws barely adult children into the world without a single marketable skill was not a system she wanted to deal with. She was lucky that she had the grades to go to college. She got a partial scholarship to Berkeley, but she ended up at NC State with a full ride after her freshman year. It was apparent her morose thoughts were impacting her mood, and she didn’t want to feel the way she did. It was time for a mood adjustment. She sat back in the hot tub in the altogether and looked at the view around her. If she couldn’t find serenity and Zen here, it wasn’t to be found at all. She took in deep breaths until she found herself. She felt calmer now and more in perspective. She had a few minutes to get dressed and meet the riggers and foreman of the drilling site. They had just come off of their respective tours. The men working the sites went on rotations for weeks at a time and then would take time off. In this case, they worked four-by-twos, essentially four weeks on duty and two weeks off. The two weeks off were handled by scabs. The scab workers kept the rig in production but were considered part time until a place was available on the main crew and full-time employment with all the benefits it entailed. The full-time employees received numerous discounts and stipends that

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the part-timers were ineligible to receive, including inexpensive health insurance coverage, gas cards, even spending accounts for certain items they needed. Fairbanks Oil and Gas was one of the premier employers in the area, and many workers from other rigs were on a waiting list for the opportunity to work there. By the time she met the workers at the furlough house, a home owned by the company that was used frequently by the unattached men after their rotations were complete, it was early in the afternoon, and her day was half over. She spoke with the geologist, who was a stereotypical absentminded professor. In the midst of the interview, Dr. Johanssen was barely present. His mind raced a mile a minute. She could see he was lost in some concept due the fact she had to repeat several questions and the responses were not even appropriate at times. She asked him about the role he played in the hierarchy, and he ended up telling her about Alaska’s seasons and the phenomena of the midnight sun. She learned some interesting facts, but not really what she was after, and she dismissed him after a half hour fraught with frustration. The roughnecks were as coarse as their title implied, but surprisingly all of them were gentlemen. They offered her beverages and their complete undivided attention. She received several offers for dates, but she felt no interest. Even though the men were handsome and thickly built, she couldn’t muster up any excitement or a spark of desire for any of them. There was one man in particular, Bear, who refused to take no for an answer. Bear’s real name was Jergen Brandershmidt, and his nickname made complete sense from the look of him from the waist down. He was a burly man, and freshly shaven, his face was incongruous with his form. Bear had strong features, but well carved and aristocratic. His hair was a rich sable and made the rich brown of his eyes warm. His body was pure bodybuilder, massive and bulkily hewn. He reminded her of a centuries-old oak tree, impressive and naturally masculine. But she didn’t even feel any spark there, although she knew one thing for certain, if she weren’t in

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love with someone else, she would have taken him up on his offer. But there was only one man she wanted to spend time with. One man she wanted to watch her do her yoga in the mornings and make sweet love with all day. Without him she felt like a different person, there was less laughter and happiness in her life. It was as if all the joy had been sapped from her existence the moment she closed his condo door for the last time. In reality, the way she felt was no different from the way she felt before. It seemed she had gone full circle and now she was back at square one. She didn’t want to feel that way anymore. Even if she wasn’t jubilant now, she could find a measure of serenity in her life. One without Marq. There was more to life than a significant other or so she told herself. The nights were colder and lonelier than any she’d known before, and she rarely slept as she always awoke frigid to her bones, no matter the temperature on the thermostat. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. What was she doing here? Why did she leave and go so far away, only to want to be back in Wilmington? Why couldn’t she let Marq go? Why did every moment seem so long? Hours seemed days long now. The days were endless years and spanned centuries worthy of lengthy misery. Damn him for making her feel again. **** When Marques woke up alone, he was ready to tear his hair out. He had walked around as a zombie for two weeks now. He didn’t care about anything at all. Food had no taste. His favorite music sounded like crap. He couldn’t even jerk off and feel good about it. Life truly sucked. All he wanted was to hold Jamison again, feel her in his arms as he slept and watch her twist into a pretzel at dawn in front of the windows with the sunlight framing her golden skin. He felt incomplete. Jamison was the yin to his yang, the sun to his moon. He was going to find out everything there was to know about Jamison

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and get her back. She couldn’t hide from him forever. Just long enough to make him think of eternity. Together. Marques knew he was short-tempered. His mom was still in town and habitually tested his patience without mercy. She mentioned Jamison during every conversation they’d had in two weeks, and there had been plenty of those. His mom came over to his place after he’d left her at Deven’s house almost two weeks ago. He would never forget her reaction to the chaos in his home. “Good god, did you get robbed? I think you need to call the police.” He was standing over a mass of glass and twisted metal. His home now resembled a Dali painting made physical, a mass of confusion and items unable to serve their innate purpose from his willful destruction. “No, Mom, I didn’t. Wait, how did you get here anyway?” “I called for a rental car to pick me up. So what happened to your house? There’s glass everywhere.” “Mom, I’d rather not talk about it now.” “You need to go and get her, Marq. You’ve destroyed half of your house with a temper tantrum, and your attitude stinks.” “I know, Mom.” “Okay, so what are you planning to do about it then?” “For now? Nothing. She left for good reason, Mom.” “What reason is that, Marq? Do you really know why she left, or are you letting guilt over your past color her departure?” “A little of both, I guess.” “That’s what I thought. You’re a tech genius, Marq. You were offered scholarships to premier universities based solely on the strength of your self-taught knowledge. So I know that you can find her if you want to, and I know that you do. I have never seen or heard of you throwing tantrums, let alone acting like a madman in a frenzy. That alone speaks louder than anything else you could say. You have real feelings for this woman, and they aren’t going to disappear, no matter what you pretend. True love isn’t about fire and passion,

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although that is part of what the emotions start as. True love is about liking someone beyond their physical form, knowing who they are and still accepting them. Love is about being willing to share who you are and what you want from life with that person. When you love someone, there is no stone left unturned for them, there is no need you are willing to leave unfulfilled for them, and there are no barriers between the two of you. A real man is willing to fight for the love a good woman, and nothing will stand in the way.” Marq shook his head, silently agreeing with every word his mother spoke. He tried to pretend over the last weeks that everything was okay and that there was nothing he needed. Not even Jamison. But truly she was the only thing he needed, not even money could make him happy. Even though it was too soon and Jamison didn’t love him yet, he just needed her to give them time. Then she could get to know him and feel the same way he felt with her. “One last thing, Marq, and I will let the matter go for good. People in love become one flesh. It says so in the Bible. That means it changes you, and it should always be for the better. You become the others’ strength and sole weakness. A situation that would normally make you run the other way in self-preservation, you would stand your ground and fight for the one you love and vice versa. So ask yourself, do you love her enough to be the one?” He did. The only reason he was still here instead of traipsing the world looking for her was the fear that she didn’t love him back. He wanted what his family was blessed with, homes with spouses that loved them to the ends of the earth and back. So here he was two weeks later still alone and searching for the truth about Jamison. He knew where she was right now. It only took a little work and a lot of care to find her. He’d broken every computer he had in his tantrum after she left. But he was able to cobble together a PC with a smashed hard drive, a screen from a small TV, and some know-how. He ordered new terabyte parts and monitor for the quickest delivery possible. From there the search was simple, Jamison

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had used his computers before to do her work and check her e-mail. He was able to recover her passwords, and bingo, most of her current life and recent history was in front of him. He knew she was in Juneau. He saw the flight information and rental house she’d procured. He even saw some of her interviews of the oil riggers in front of him. What he read was disinheriting. He knew there were other men who would want her. She was a vital, beautiful woman, and any man was lucky to get the time of day from her. Especially him. There were e-mails in her deleted box from a guy who called himself Bear and even IMs from the same man. He saw how she had rebuffed the man, but still it chafed to see how easy it was for her to move on with her normal life. The worst part was that all the while he remained stuck in his own mire of emotional muck and nostalgia. After he completed the hunt for his quarry, he had started the lengthy process to backtrack her history. Who was Jamison really? What made up the woman he had fallen so deeply for in less than thirty days? The truth astounded and dumbfounded him. Jamison was the product of a single parent household. Her father was her sole caregiver almost from her birth. Her mother had disappeared not one month after her birth. Her father died in a car accident not too long after her twelfth birthday, and she was routed to several foster homes in quick succession until she was sixteen when she was placed in a group home. The reason she was sent there remained a mystery for over a week, until with persistent digging and zero sleep, he finally unearthed the extent of Jamison’s past.

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Chapter Thirteen: The Truth is the Light Marq knew something about the amount of money that Jamison had socked away was very unusual. When he took possession of her accounts, she had a tidy nest egg of over a quarter million dollars. He didn’t ask how she had acquired the money. In fact, he assumed he had time to get to know all of her before they ended. But now he was forearmed and forewarned. The money he’d doubled for her to a total of five hundred thousand dollars was from a lawsuit presented to the state on her behalf. There had been prior complaints about the Fosters, the family that had taken her in, but no action was taken, and they were allowed to receive wards from the state with little to no further investigation. The social worker was the one who found a pro bono attorney willing to take the personal damages case after what happened to her. Jamison was too much like him in some ways. She didn’t touch the money at all, and the funds were left to rot away, moldering in a cache of banks for the last ten years. In other ways she was his polar opposite, even beneath the skin. She was a simple woman and settled for comfort over flashy lifestyles and cavorting. But she was the one for him, and he was going to retrieve his woman and bind her to him forever. There was no reason they couldn’t be together, even if he was a reformed playboy and she was strong beauty hidden in plain sight. He wasn’t leaving now. There were a few plans he was going to make first. He found the flash drives with his functional fetishes stored and called Charyn.

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It rang long enough that Marq assumed that there would be no answer, but just as he was set to hang up the phone, his brother picked up the other end. “Damn it, you better be dead or damn near it you cock blocker.” There was a light at the end of the tunnel, Marq thought as a hastily choked back laugh escaped his lips. “Not quite. But I need your help.” Marq heard his brother breathing slow. “Okay, hold on a sec.” There was a muffled groan, and he heard his brother speak, presumably to his wife. “You better not come, Makenzie, or I’ll spank you hard enough to leave you begging me for three days.” There was a cry of pleasure and tortured need before the lengthy cry went silent with only a whimper. “So what do you need, little brother?” Charyn no longer sounded impatient. Instead, he sounded as if he had all of the time in the world. Marq gave his brother the basics of what he wanted to do, and without delay Charyn agreed to help him any way he could. They made plans for the next night, but before he could hang up, Charyn stopped him. “Oh yeah, Makenzie said your painting is finished if you want to see it.” With everything that happened, he forgot all about the painting he’d posed for with Jamison. “Uh, okay, that’s fine with me.” He was torn between madly wanting to see Jamison’s skin once more, even if it was on canvas, and needing to run the other way to keep his sanity intact. The only reason he’d made the two weeks thus far was by not looking at their video, as he knew the sight of her would be more than he could take. He woke up too many nights with his cock up literally to test himself with the sight of what he presently didn’t have. Even with those thoughts Marq went to sleep like a baby, even though his plans peppered his brain intensely until the moment he closed his eyes. The next day, he shipped a package before he found himself at Charyn’s house without much thought. It was a surprisingly sunny

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afternoon considering the meteorologist’s prediction of rain. He walked inside the house without knocking, and the first sight was Makenzie bouncing down stairs, flamboyant as always. She greeted him with a quick hug, which was scented warmly with her light perfume. “Hi, Marq, follow me. By the way, Charyn will be down in just a minute or two. He’s doing something in the attic.” He didn’t speak, just matched her smile and allowed her to graciously lead him to her studio. As they progressed further into the house, his memories of Jamison the day they posed for Makenzie assaulted him. He couldn’t let them go, much the same way his heart had held on to her throughout their separation. When she opened the door, a large canvas greeted him, but the massive square was swathed in fabric. When they were ten feet from the picture, Makenzie stopped and faced him. “Close your eyes and no peeking until I say so. Okay?” “Okay?” Marq closed his eyes and heard her move before the fabric rustled. “You can look now.” Her tone was flat. Curiously, Marq opened his eyes slowly and saw— he couldn’t even describe what he saw at first sight. The painting was perfect and direct in a way he’d never seen before. The canvas was propped high on the easel, which explained why it appeared before to be a massive ten-by-ten square. In actuality, it was a ten-by-five-foot rectangle. It was done in neutrals, black, white, and hints of sienna. There were small patches of color here and there on the canvas, a touch of rose on Jamison’s lips and a touch of gold where his hands met her flesh. The simplicity of the color scheme made the scene it created in more evocative than erotic, more emotional than mere sated lust could denote. It was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. It was from the last sketch made that evening, after he took her on the floor during the break following their first clumsy attempts at posing. Jamison was straddled over his lap, her head rested against his shoulder. Here she

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was looking at him, and her eyes were soft and held a tenderness no woman save his mother had ever gazed at him with. The feelings that he was so sure she didn’t have for him yet were in her eyes, and he knew that he was going to get his way. In fact he could see and feel it now. His eyes were closed, and his head was leaned over toward hers. His face spoke of unparalleled satisfaction as his hands spoke of delicate greed cupped over her skin. The paint was luxurious in places. Sleek glistening strokes created the illusion of skin slickened with sex and the dew of sweat. There was something incredible about the way the painting came together. It was as if Makenzie had captured something more than him and Jamison. She showed him what he’d been waiting for. The painting showed him the one thing that could redeem his youthful transgressions and adult sins. Ever since the moment he was accused of being a rapist and exposed as a pervert due to his stash of personally taped porn, he needed to be absolved of his wrongs against women. He needed to be seen with more than desire and acquisition in mind. He needed to been seen for who he truly was and loved anyway. Marq wanted nothing more than that, and over the years he doubted he would ever find it. He saw everyone around him fall in love and watched his own parents love one another beyond life itself. Their entwined pose reminded him of a myth he’d once read as a precocious child. In the tale an older couple met a weary traveler who needed food and shelter. The couple had very little, yet shared everything they had, their home and the little food and drink they had with the man. But no matter how much was eaten that night there was always more. When the traveler was replete, he asked the couple what the desired for their warm hospitality. They wanted nothing and said as much. But when pressed for an answer they wished to die together, so neither would be left alone. Their visitor was a god in disguise, and granted the couples wish. They never lacked for food or drink for the rest of their lives, until they died and were turned into a pair of trees that stayed intertwined for eternity.

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The random thought made him realize he wanted that, too. Someone that loved him enough to die with him and he loved enough to do the same. Plus, he realized that his harem was just an excuse to hold himself back from what he really wanted. How could he make room in his heart, when he had a full bed? It wasn’t possible. “So what do you think of my talented wife’s painting?” He was so transfixed by the sight before him he didn’t even hear his brothers footsteps. “It could grace the halls of the Louvre.” He wasn’t lying, the bold choice of stark colors and technical perfection were astounding, not to mention the apparent emotions locked within the paint would catch the eye of even the most jaded of critics. “Come on.” Charyn walked to the door, and Marq was hard pressed to peel his eyes from the canvas. He backed away until he was forced to turn away and leave. He was going to own that painting even if he had to beg Makenzie for it. When he climbed the stairs and reached the entrance to his brother’s dungeon, he felt just a hint of nervousness. This was so outside of his realm. But Jamison needed to know who was boss here. Not that she wasn’t his equal, but she had to learn a healthy respect for him and their relationship. Something told him his brother could help in that regard, and that was why he was here now. Even with that in mind, when he saw the full complement of bondage and domination tools, he was floored. Charyn must have understood the perplexed look he knew was on his face and responded to it. “Yeah, we like a little of everything. But do you know why I personally enjoy this lifestyle, Marq?” “Not really.” “It allows me to give Makenzie everything I have and know that she is pleased at my will. I can use a force and roughness with her under the BDSM model in our play that many men might love, but are too afraid to try on their partners. The guidelines allow us to unlock every dark desire and know that if it was unwanted or too much that it

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can stop before going too far. It lets us be free within our rules and be anything that we want to be together for each other.” Marq was at a loss. He’d always asked for what he wanted, and if his partner wasn’t interested, it wasn’t any skin off of his nose and said as much. “I’ve never had a problem with just asking for what I want.” “That’s true, and for a person in tune with their sexuality, they may be able to answer honestly. But for too many others, they are too ashamed to admit their needs aloud. Or for an even larger group of people, they don’t want to be asked. They want to be told or taken. So night after night, many women are unfulfilled because they crave being owned by their lovers and used for every unimaginable pleasure. Think about it like this, from childhood humans are ingrained to think the natural act of sex is dirty or wrong. Those hangups are hard to overcome and leave them with no options except to fixate on what they want being forced on them. That way they can feel pleasure without guilt or culpability.” Marq was shocked, to say the least. In his experience, he’d never thought a woman would like being used, per se. But the idea had merit. Jamison loved when he slaked his thirst on her unmercifully, especially the day he’d caught her on a date with D. She had never fallen apart the way she did that night when his jealousy had turned him into an animal slavering over her flesh as she tried to crawl away. Every breath she took wracked her frame, and his every pummeling thrust left her shuddering. She was nothing more than pure sensation made tangible via her flesh those hours of angry raw fucking. “Nope, not fucking.” Marq looked at his brother. How did he read his mind like that? “How did you—?” “Uh, you said that out loud you know.” “Damn, what part?” “Just something about angry fucking. While that’s great, that’s not what this is about. It’s about giving and taking control. Nothing

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confuses a woman’s senses more than rough handling combined with the seduction of lovemaking. That’s how you gain control, through the confusion of the senses. Spank her, tie her up, and then put to her gently like she would break if you gave her an iota more. It’ll leave her crying by the time you finish with her.” “Wow, you have this down to a science.” “Yeah I try, but it’s more of an art.” Charyn laughed and held out a length of blond rope. “We are going to start with a few basic knots that are easy to learn and can be used on nearly any body part. Watch.” He then showed him a series of loops using Marq’s arms as a model. “I’m tying your arms in front so you can see how to do it, but this method of restraint is more effective with the arms in back.” When his brother finished, Marq’s arms were pinned together with a grouping of loops that would band each arm from shoulder to wrist and met with center knots, leaving his hands able to clasp together. But there wasn’t much else he could do with the captive limbs, and he could imagine using this on Jamison as he wrapped fistfuls of hair in his hands while she was impaled on his cock. “Okay, I like this one.” “It’s one of our personal favorites, too. Now this position is only good for a half hour, forty-five minutes tops. Otherwise she will go numb and be in some pain. You have to massage her as well when she’s been restrained and use a good oil, not lotion.” Charyn then allowed Marq to use him as a model. It took Marq twice as long as it took his brother to complete however. But when he finished, his brother proclaimed the fit good and ties solid. “You’d make a good Nawashi.” “I don’t know about that.” “The first time I learned to tie bonds, it took three times as long as you did to get the fit right. Mine were too tight, and it was hard for me to learn to be patient with my ropes and feel them along the way. So for you replicate the ties as well as you did shows me you have some

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potential. If you care to explore it.” Marq then began untying the bonds starting from the hand up. When he got to the elbows, he got a tap on the shoulder. “I’ll take over from here.” It was Makenzie, and she had a wicked grin on her face. “All right then, I guess I’ll talk to ya’ll later.” Marq walked downstairs in a much better mood. He was a man with a plan.

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Chapter Fourteen: From Flash Drive to Sex Drive Jamison was halfway into her third and final week in Juneau. She decided to leave at the end of the week as there wasn’t much left to do here, and she was going to travel the world. It was something she always wanted to do, but her pride wouldn’t let her touch the guilt money the government gave her. She had kept the fact the money existed to herself for years, and only a handful of people knew of the funds at all. Her bankers, the lawyer who took her case, and the social worker were the only people who were privy to the suit in the first place. Since she was a minor, her name was kept from the media circus that flocked around the trial and subsequent suit. Marq was the only person who knew her as an adult that was privy to the secret of her hidden funds. They were a dirty secret that she kept to herself. She never wanted another person to know the truth of what happened to her or the aftermath, and that type of money would raise a few eyebrows along with nosy queries she had no intention of acknowledging with an answer. Jergen was still being Jergen and he had no intention of letting her leave without one date. But at this point, why not? Marq was gone for good most likely, and it wasn’t like the date had to end up with anything other than good-bye. The man had been so persistent that he was coming close to wearing her down. Damned if he didn’t contrive some reason to call her everyday along with daily text messages and e-mails all with the same question at the end. Have breakfast or lunch or dinner with me tonight? He was really not going to quit. Hopefully when she told him she was

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leaving, he’d stop getting his hopes up that they could date even on a casual basis. She had eaten a quick breakfast of granola and had her morning session with her amazing view as the only witness. She had packed up most of her things already and decided to ship them to her house as she wouldn’t need them where she was headed. Alaska was beautiful, but too cold for her tastes. Now she was ready to see beautiful people in beautiful weather with umbrella topped rum based drinks to freshen her palate. She was going to sunny Jamaica, and instead of working, she would spend much of her time playing. The producer and director of Jamaica Rocks was excited to hear she would be able to fit their show into her blog earlier this week, so she was able to give herself a paid holiday. Jamison had just taped up the last of the boxes for shipment back to Wilmington when she heard a knock on the front door. It alarmed her at first as no one knew where she was, but when she saw the uniformed delivery man, she calmed down. She forgot for a moment that she had a scheduled pickup for twelve. But the clock told her the delivery guy was early as it was only eleven. She opened the door and smiled at the thick-legged male in front of her. How in the heck did he wear shorts in this temperature? “Hi, I have my boxes right here.” “No, excuse me, are you Jamison?” “Yes I am.” “I have a delivery for you.” Her first thought was Jergen, even though she wished it was from Marq. She signed the computerized notepad the man handed her and took the simple envelope in return. She barely wanted to open it when she saw the perfect script gracing the label. When she walked to the heavy arm chair and took a seat, it took several deep breaths before she could calm her speeding heart to see what was inside. Her hands shook even as she ripped the band at the back seam of the folded cardboard packaging. When she was done, two flash drives fell into

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her lap and a hastily scripted letter fluttered behind them. She knew Marq barely made time to write it as the paper was ripped from a spiral bound tablet with scruffy edges and the words were a quick scrawl across the page. I am not sorry for anything but hurting you. Watch the black drive first. Marq She walked over to her laptop, which currently resided on her borrowed bed. She laid down on her stomach and settled in to watch. The drive had hours of film, but she just let it play from the beginning. The first thing she saw was a dorm room from a strange angle. It was directly across from a spotless bed and a sea of bachelor mess everywhere else. She could hear giggles and laughter then she saw where the sounds originated as a pair of lovers moved into view. It was Marq, although this version was much younger than today’s man. He stood in front of the bed and stripped his shirt first followed by a pair of shorts, both items tossed haphazardly in the miasma of mess. He helped a beautiful flaxen-haired sorority girl take off her garments, which were sent the way of his. The girl kissed him sweetly, and he responded back. Jamison watched as the man she loved fucked another woman. It didn’t appear as if the girl was enjoying herself very much, but that was little consolation. The young woman was stiff and rarely moved the whole time. For all of the work that Marq was putting in, it seemed as if there was little reward as the girl laid there and didn’t so much as mutter. When they finished with sex, Marq rolled off of her and Jamison saw that he didn’t even come as the condom he wore appeared dry. The ballooned tip of the rubber hung down from his still hard cock as he peeled it away and tossed the flaccid latex into the bedside trash can.

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“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked and Jamison saw the lie Marq told before he even spoke it. “Yeah, it was okay.” “Do you want to go to the kegger at the Pi house tomorrow?” “Nah, I have a test to cram for.” “Okay, want to have a burger at the Pit?” “That’s all right. I have some things to do this morning.” “Like what?” “Stuff.” “Are you trying to dump me?” “Dump you? We’re not even dating?” “I don’t have sex with just anyone, you know.” His response was muffled, and Jamison couldn’t understand him, but the girl must have heard his reply, as she flipped out when he finished speaking. “What the hell do you think I am? I’m a Psi Kappa, and any man would give his two front teeth to have me!” She watched the young Marq walk the infuriated girl away from the camera. There was nothing for hours. Marq came back to bed covered in some liquid that he hastily toweled off before he crashed into the slightly mussed bed. She clicked forward until there was something more than sleep taking place. What happened next shocked and appalled her. A knock at the door woke Marq who wiped away drool from his lips before he answered it. Two uniformed officers walked in and informed him he was being charged with rape and took him away in handcuffs. Marq might be an oversexed jerk, but he was far from a rapist, and she knew what she was talking about on that topic for sure. She stopped the playback for a minute to get herself together and give a mental reminder that he couldn’t have gone to jail. He was rich, and not on the sex offender list. She checked those lists habitually on a weekly basis and received e-mails nearly daily, too. But as she continued through the data on the drive, it became apparent that Marq had a serious appetite for sex. The drive was full

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and contained just over two hundred fifty hours of labeled vignettes. If the other was anything like this one? That was damn near five hundred hours of sex. No wonder she was over her head with this guy. She saw a little of everything as she fast forwarded from one scene to the next. The sight made her feel pangs in the vicinity of her heart. There were threesomes, foursomes, anal sex, all starring Marq and positions she’d never thought of or imagined existed. How in the world did she ever think Marq would enjoy sex with her? The numerous women all were beautiful, with perfect bodies and manicured pussies. She was lucky to have him to herself for the month that she got. With that thought, she looked outside. Night had fallen and her belly grumbled, so she stopped to have a quick meal and shower before diving into the second drive. When Jamison was done, she was clean and felt somewhat calmer after the way her chest hurt from the first tapes. But when she loaded the second, there was only a single file, and Jamison clicked to start the playback with trepidation. It was theirs. The sex between them was so amazing she couldn’t help but rub her neck and clench her thighs in response. She let her desires go and her hands wander. It had been too many days and nights without a single orgasm after a month of gluttonous indulgence. She came to the sight of their tasting lips and thrusting hips. One orgasm became two then a third before their handful of hours on the stick were done. Jamison fell asleep, sated and sad at the same time. There was nothing she could do to satisfy herself like Marq could. Nothing could replace him. Not a toy, not her hand, nor her imagination could give her what he did. Jamison woke at dawn as usual, but she didn’t feel too good. She felt like she had the flu, her belly ached, her nose was runny, and coupled with a headache was enough to send her diving below the covers again. Damn it, she was supposed to be getting ready to fly tomorrow, not lie in bed all day. But that was what she planned on as

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there she was on her own schedule, and not for the timing of other people. If she had to push the flight back a few days to recoup, that was fine, too. After a breakfast of ginger ale and toast two hours later she didn’t feel great, but she was at least mobile. She needed to get over herself and at least try to make her body work right. She was too tired to do her usual yoga routine, but she did force her limbs into a few meditative poses before she gave up in apathy. The videos that she watched the night before still weighed heavily on her psyche and were far from helpful with her broken heart. At eleven she received her traditional message from Jergen. Let’s have lunch. She had nothing to lose at this point. Marq was already gone and most likely had been hip deep in a bevy of beauties from the moment she left. Sure, why not. The response back was too fast for words. It may have taken him thirty seconds to respond. Finally. I thought you’d never give in. Before she could even absorb the words, her phone rang. “Thank you so much for agreeing to lunch.” “It’s fine, Jergen, but I’m leaving tomorrow.” “Doesn’t matter. Don’t you know I’ll find you no matter where you go? That’s if you want to be found.” She wanted to be found, just not by him. “Not really, but where and when, Jergen?” “How about Scooter’s in an hour?” Scooters was a local dive, but the food was purported to be delicious.

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“That’s fine.” “Want me to pick you up?” No way, she could make her own way. “Nah, I can find it.” When she hung up the phone, it was time for another shower. It would take her fifteen minutes or so to get there, but as sick as she felt earlier, it would take time to dress herself. Jamison arrived at Scooters on time, and when she walked over, Jergen waved her to a corner booth he held for their lunch. He stood and waited until she was comfortably seated before he took the seat across from her. His back was to the wall, and she watched him glance over the handful of diners seated across the dive bar. There were peanut shells everywhere, and they made a crunchy carpet with each motion her feet made in their Timberland boots across its surface. The mass of dry hulls made her feel OCD, and she twisted her shoes in the crunchy muck until there was clean floor beneath her. The meal was convivial. Jergen was funny. He told her numerous anecdotes as they ate. She had a BLT minus the B and fries, while Jergen ate a humongous steak and potato. By the time they finished lunch and shared a molten piece of cake with two forks, she was full and ready for another nap. Jergen noticed and responded to her yawn. “I must be pretty boring if you want to go to sleep on me, and here I am trying so hard to keep you laughing.” His face looked childlike in disappointment, and she couldn’t hold back a grin. “That’s not true. It’s just that you make a girl feel so safe, it’s easy to be around you.” “You’re the first woman to say that to me.” “No way.” “Yes, most women are intimidated my size and threatened by my menacing glare. See?” He made a comical grimace that made Jamison nearly snort her drink out her nose in laughter. “Wow, I can see how that would be scary.” Jamison gasped until she nearly cried from the humorous face he made.

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Once the check was delivered, Jamison let Jergen pay as he held the tab hostage until she agreed that lunch was on him. She walked to her car with him as escort, and when he opened the car door for her he asked, “Dinner tonight? I’ll even let you pay.” They both chuckled, and Jamison nodded. “All right, where and when?” “How about seven? And it’s ladies’ choice, so think about it and call me at six.” She could see he was intent on kissing her as he looked into her eyes, but she didn’t think she was ready for that. He must have understood the plea from the look in his eyes since he merely cupped her jaw gently with one large hand as his lips met her forehead and she was able to take her next breath. When she made it back to her place, she took a moment to lay back down and slept peacefully. Later that evening, she found a small bistro that served local seafood and decided to take Jergen there. She sent a quick message to Jergen before she placed the reservation. Trios okay with you? I said ladies’ choice. As long as you’re there with bells on, I’m good. Jamison bit back a grin and dug around to find an outfit. She hadn’t planned on going out on a date, and her few belongings weren’t able to cut it. At five she found herself back at Nugget Mall and unearthed a sweater dress with leggings. It wasn’t haute couture, but the clothes would do. At six fifty she was at the restaurant, and Jergen was already there. He stood and assisted her to her seat in the heavy wingback chair. “You look amazing, Jamison. You should be my woman, and I could hide you away from the world.” “I like being out in the world, thank you very much.”

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“Not naked, and that’s the way I’d keep you.” This time she did sputter, and her water with lemon slices found its way onto his arm. “I thought we were going to have a nice evening out, Jergen.” He smiled, and she watched him dab his cloth napkin on his wet shirtsleeve patiently. “We are, or at least I am enjoying myself. Jamison, I would hope you like my company as much as I like yours.” She offered him her napkin in lieu of the wet one he dabbed his arm with. They ordered and dined on Alaska salmon and salads. Jamison had a luxurious pasta dish in lieu of the seafood. As they finished their meals, Jamison’s heart began to pound, and she felt nervous, as if the organ were going to jump out of her chest. She had no idea why she felt the way she did, but she attempted to hide the urge to flee with a sip of her water instead. **** Marq was exhausted from his flight. In order to leave immediately, he had to jump several different planes at more than one hub. He flew from Wilmington to New York first. Then he went from there to Seattle and then to Juneau. It took him a whole day with the layovers. By the time he landed, it was six p.m. local time and he had a bad case of jet lag. But instead of taking the nap he desperately wanted, he pulled out his laptop in the airport and ran his program. He had to see where she was now. There was a nifty tracker he set up, and he used it to check Jamison’s current location based on her cell phone signal and E-911 GPS, which all new cell phones were equipped with. The program gave him an idea of where she was within an eighth of a mile. That still gave him some distance to cover, but not much. He knew she had a rental SUV, a red Durango, and the plate that it was registered under. Equipped with the basics he needed to know to get around, he rented his own car and made his way toward her.

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Half an hour later he saw her rental car in a restaurant parking lot. It was called Trios and appeared to be for a slightly refined diner. Marq looked down at himself. He looked far from respectable. He wore a down vest over a gray waffle-weave henley long-sleeved shirt and boots with a pair of button-fly denims, but he would have to make do as he was. He walked into the foyer where the maître d’ stood. He knew his hair was mussed in way that bespoke hat head rather than the spiked casual he carefully gelled into place when he felt like it. “Do you have a reservation?” The hostess was prim and proper with a little black dress and pearls. Her grayed chignon was appropriate for the garb and location. “No, but I am meeting a lady here. She would have placed it.” “Name please?” He gave her Jamison’s name, hoping that she placed the reservation. Otherwise he would be left to wait outside, hat in hand, until she finished. As luck would have it, the hostess was able to find the reservation with little delay, and he refused her escort to the table. As he walked across the small dining room, he saw her, and his heart sped up. The organ in his chest beat faster when he saw her companion for dinner. If he were in a dark alley, this would be the last person he’d want in front of him. The man was tall and stout with dark hair and eyes that appeared to take in everything around him even as he smiled at Jamison. From the way she was seated she couldn’t see him, but her date could, and he noticed the unknown male watch him make a beeline for the table with a slight smirk on the unidentified man’s lips. Once he was just behind and to the left of Jamison, he leaned over toward her ear. “Why is it that every time I leave you alone I come back to find you somewhere dining with another man?” She jumped, and he could see that she wrung her hands together beneath the table.

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Chapter Fifteen: You Can’t See Me “Mm–Marq?” She looked at him as if he wasn’t real, like she made him up and lost her mind in the process of creation. “In the flesh. Tell your dinner date that you’re leaving.” If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t give him any lip. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Marq, this is Jergen, Jergen, meet Marq.” The man extended one huge hand in his direction, and only his good breeding kept him from ignoring the proffered hand. They shook their clasped palms, and Jergen’s clenched tight. What an uncouth ass, Marq thought. But he took the squeeze with alacrity and smiled even as he felt his metacarpals grind together from the pressure. Jamison stood before she addressed them. “I’m going to ladies’ room, excuse me.” Jergen smiled and stood up. When she walked away, the man waved to her unoccupied seat. “So you are the man.” “Excuse me?” “I knew there had to be a reason for the shadows in her eyes. I guessed another man was why, and now you’re here.” The other man’s tone seemed to hold disapproval, and Marq bristled under the scrutiny. How dare he. “Jamison left me, and I’ve come back to get her. She’s mine.” He didn’t care if he had to fight this man in the street, Jamison was his. Marq knew without a doubt he would get his ass whipped, but that was beside the point.

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“I can see that. I’ve been asking her on a date for weeks now. She finally accepted my invite today. I wonder why?” Marq knew why. She’d seen his tapes and flipped, but that was none of this guy’s business. Jergen must have seen that Marq wasn’t going to budge and he would let the idle query linger without response. “The only thing I’m going to say is this, I know people, and if you do anything to hurt her, I’ll hurt you.” Marq smiled. “I want her forever. I love her, and to hurt her is worse than any pain you can mete out.” The man must have liked what he heard and placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table before he stood up and greeted Jamison, who was headed back toward them at a quickly paced clip. Marq stood up and watched her walk back, and his heart hurt from the vision of her. Her hips swayed sharply from each curt step, and she was the most beautiful thing Marq had ever seen. She was dressed simply when compared to the flair he preferred to adorn her with. Her beauty was undeniable in any event, similar to a peacock camouflaged in a wren’s feathers. “Jamison, thank you for dinner. I can see now why you refused my prior invitations and innuendos. But I think Marq here is looking forward to spending time with you, and this is a table for two, not three. I’m just going to head back to the furlough house so I can go on site in the morning.” He walked away without waiting for a response. Marq wasn’t going to let grass grow beneath their feet and pulled Jamison with one hand behind him as she sputtered the entire walk back to his rented car. “Marq, we have to stop meeting like this.” “We could if you’d stop meeting other men for dinner.” The words were enough to shut her mouth for the moment. Once he’d made his way to the car, she found her ability to speak. “Since you tracked me down, I would assume that you know I drove myself.” “We can get your car tomorrow.” “Again, Marq?”

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“Yep.” He made his way to her rental without any directions from his passenger, and the look on her face was incredulous when she realized where they were. Once he helped her to the front door, he held his hand out for her key, and his thoughts flashed back to their first and last nights together. This was the last time he planned on being without her again. “We need to talk, Marq.” “We will, later.” He stripped his tired clothing and left the garb on the floor to pool by his feet. “What are you doing, Marq?” How cute. “You can’t tell?” If she didn’t know by now, she was going to find out soon enough. He marched through the house as Jamison followed him and wrung her hands the whole way. He found the shower and climbed in. Before they could have any type of conversation, he had to get the travel dust off of his body. When he was clean and refreshed, Marq toweled off and padded to the bedroom. Jamison was there, and an angry glint in her eye let him know that he would have to speak fast and think quick. “Why are you here, Marq?” “You know what I’m here for.” “What? The single day I owed you?” “No.” “Then what?” She sounded exasperated, and that was okay with him. She was going to find out what he wanted soon enough. “Did you watch the flash drives?” That would let him know what tack he needed to take with her. “You’re an asshole, Marq, do you know that?” “Yeah, I did know that. But I sent them to you for a reason. You need to know the truth, and I thought the easiest way was to show you, not tell you.”

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“Marq, look, we both know you can have any woman you want. You didn’t have to send those to me to drive the point home.” Her hands waved in the direction of her laptop just feet in front of her. “Is that what you think this is about? Twenty-four hours of sex? Let me show you something. Where are the drives at?” He watched her point to a nearby laptop, open and in the middle of bed. He opened the drive and slid it into the waiting USB slot. “Look at me, Jamison, and watch this.” He pointed to himself on one of the files at the end of the drive’s memory log. He double clicked it and pressed fast forward. When he reached the end, it showed him and Dakota the last time he was with her. He pressed the hash marks along the bottom of the screen to pause the file. Dakota looked pleasured and euphoric, and he on the other hand looked desolate and alone even with the beauty in bed. Then he accessed the file from the barely used drive and pulled it up. When he reached their last climax, Jamison was glorious in her satisfaction, and this time his face was one of happiness and joy. “Can you see the difference, Jamison? All I’ve wanted for years was the right woman, a woman that could make me feel alive in a way that I never imagined. As trite as it sounds, I wanted to fall in love, but even more I wanted to see it with my own two eyes. See what it looked like to the world. It’s the only thing that I didn’t get to film, and every time I spliced together a tape I was looking for it. Until you, I doubted I would ever see that. The only reason I had the harem was to fill the need to be loved in every way possible.” “L–love?” “Yeah, Jamison, I love you. Why else do you think I would subject myself to a brutal climate change and a layover-ridden commercial flight? Now I want you to take those clothes off.” He didn’t wait for her response. None was necessary at the moment. All he needed was to kiss her again, remind himself that she was his. He moved the laptop to the nightstand and waited for her to undress. She had learned a few bad habits of his, and her clothes landed in the

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floor. He didn’t have plans to make love now, but later? He pulled the sheets back and waited for her to join him. Right now he was exhausted, and he had to make sure she didn’t go anywhere tonight. “Come here.” He took her shaking hand and used it to draw her closer to him. She finally rested her head on his chest, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He fell asleep before he even got his kiss from her. **** Jamison didn’t sleep at all. Her mind raced with every random thought bombarding her from all angles. She had to tell Marq the truth about her past, about everything. She loved Marq. She had known that for a long time. In fact the moment she realized the depth of her emotions for him was the instant when she walked away from their relationship. But did he really love her back, or was she just the one that got away? There was no way she could determine that until they had a heart-to-heart conversation. She watched Marq for an hour, and then her bladder protested and she had to get up to address the matter at hand. But when she moved from his arms, he became restless, as if he needed her to sleep uninterrupted. She went to the bathroom quickly, and when she returned, a halfway awake Marq awaited her in bed. He was aware enough to ask her to come and lie back down with him. She didn’t really want to, as she was nowhere near tired, but the childlike quality to his voice left her no choice. He apparently refused to sleep without her, and she could tell that he needed it. Being jet lagged reminded her of the day starting at six a.m., but instead of the time progressing throughout the morning, it stayed six a.m. for five hours. And then after the standstill of the clock, there was still a full day ahead, even though it felt much later than it actually was. Even though she was sure she didn’t need any more rest, Jamison fell asleep to the cadence of Marq’s heart and the heat of his skin.

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She felt herself wake to an orgasm. Marq had planted his head between her thighs and suckled on her until the sensations assaulted her to wakefulness. Jamison needed that terribly. It had been so long since her last peak. She couldn’t even count the solo self-manipulated ones from the night before but an orgasm provided to her at the hands of another person. From Marq. In the moment that she thought of hands, she realized hers were bound, and fear crashed in on her from every direction. She looked down and saw her arms pinned in front of her. He had bound her from the forearms to wrists. The bonds felt like a half sleeve and were more comfortable than she imagined rope would be against bare skin. They had to be in order for her to sleep through the process of being tied. “What are you doing, Marq?” The look on his face was more than wicked. It was sinful and dark in a way that she’d never seen before. He moved his way up her torso, tasted her skin with gentle nips until his mouth met hers. She could taste herself on his lips, an indescribable flavor of spice and arousal flashed across her tongue. “You can’t tell?” He pulled away from their mingled lip-lock and muttered the words against the parted seam of her mouth. He looked her in the eye as if he sought something, and she saw so many emotions burn in his gaze it hurt to keep her eyes on him. “I’m tied up, and you’re eating my pussy.” “Good job.” Captain Obvious, and he was in rare form. Marq made his way back down her body and with another grin, proceeded to eat her within an inch of her life. He made sure to sample every inch of her wet pussy. Each lip was drawn into his mouth and scraped with teeth before he sucked the juicy flesh in his mouth. When her pussy was dry and free from the arousal that began to pool beneath her, he used his hands to splay her open for perusal. His head ducked lower, and she felt him flick the nub at the apex of her snatch. It was enough to make her scream once, then again when he repeated the lick over the barely exposed tip of her clitoris. She was so sensitive from the last orgasm, and there was no way she could

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hold back. She tried in vain, but the first peak made her not only ready for more, but gave her the ability to achieve them without thought. He forced her higher with his control of her and her selfdenial of the orgasm that crashed around her. She was so close she could taste it. The need had grown too far. He kept on. Now one hand pinned the base of her erect clit and kept the raw bead of sensation exposed to the air. Even his breaths were enough to add fuel to the orgasmic fire. His other hand had burrowed into her flesh. He had the digits fisted and pressed against her opening. The pressure there made her womb clench from the lack of being filled. She would take anything she could get at this point, and take anything he would give her. It wasn’t long before she felt herself lose all control, and she felt the pressure move from her slit, which wept with her copious juices to her anus. His fingers were slick and insistent. She had never been penetrated there before and until then would have claimed she wasn’t interested in it either. But the sensations were undeniably delicious and dark in a way that she had never thought to experience. She was free to revel in them because of her bonds and the lack of control they represented. It was only moments later that she felt the pressure change, and Marq’s fingers made entry. “Can I have you here?” he asked, but the question seemed more rhetorical than exculpatory. There was no answer she could give other than to nod her head once. “Good. When we are finished today, you will know that I own you, just as you own me.” His smile was mischievous, and his hair was tousled from the vigorous bout of oral pleasure he’d just bestowed on her. Marq had kept his fingers quiescent within her back entrance, but once she had the opportunity to nearly forget their presence, he began using them for devastation. At first he only probed her with a single digit, then the pressure changed and she felt another pussy-greased finger press against her to meet the first one. She felt her rectal regions clench in fear then loosen in excitement.

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“I need you to come for me one more time, and when you do, we can have a shower. After that I plan on filling every hole you have tonight and making up a few for my use.” The scandalous concept made her shiver in anticipation. “Mmm,” he groaned as he saw her helpless convulsions, “do that again.” “I can’t help it.” She gasped then groaned again as he twisted his fingers inside of her. He spread the manicured digits that probed her then curled them toward her pussy. The change in sensations left her needy inside, and she wished his cock would stab her deep while his fingers gyrated. “I know you can’t, and that’s how I like you. Helpless with lust and on fire for me.” She could only clench her hands into fists and clasp them together as if she prayed for surcease from the newly activated nerves that begged for more. Jamison wanted more of him, more from him, and more of everything. The need plagued her from all directions, and she was lost when he leaned over her and sucked one fat nipple between his lips as he drove his fingers as deep as they could go. One last tug from his mouth and she was in orbit. She couldn’t hold back her scream. It burst from her throat on its own and echoed around her, made the sound last forever. When she was cognizant of where she was again, Marq cradled her in his arms and stumbled to the shower. He sat her on the closed hood of the commode and tested the water, and only then did she realize her hands were free. Once the temperature was right, she saw him smile. “Come here.” He held one hand out to her, and she stood. But her legs were as wobbly as a newborn calf’s, and she swayed slightly before she could gain control of herself. He clasped her and brought her close. The marble tiled stall was a shower only and didn’t have a ledge, although it did have a handrail. She leaned against the wall and allowed the water to pellet her from several angles. Her eyes drifted closed only to open when she felt the sweep of a soap-laden sponge caress her skin. He washed every inch of her carefully and only stopped to have her turn around and even more gently washed her

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back. When he finished, he stepped away and let the water that rained over them rinse away his hard work. She wanted to return the favor, but before she could muster up the words to say what she wanted, he was already clean and in the process of drying off. Less than an hour later, they broke bread and the bed. It all started with downward dog. “I know it’s late, but can you do some yoga for me?” Jamison laughed. He had lost his mind. But she did some poses for him anyway. When she finagled herself into a balance pose, Marq snapped and snatched her up before she could finish. He kissed her even as he took over their pleasure. She found out the joys of anal pleasure just a few minutes later. Marq took his time preparing her. He started with his lips, trailed the salty skin with his tongue. Then he used his hands to map the damp flesh. When he reached her waist, he gave her a finger, tunneling the digit inside her rapidly weeping pussy. The fingers slurped inside her, and his face was one of a man satisfied with his position. His lips followed the digits, and she could hear him drinking from the well of her pussy fortified by his intruding hand. She met the fingers with her hips and wordlessly begged for more. But he held back, and she was gone enough to ask for it. Even with her pleas and demands, he continued teasing her. There was a moment when he removed his fingers that she was sure he would give her what she asked for. But he didn’t, and in fact she felt him tease the skin between her anal opening and pussy mouth. She felt pressure on the taut skin then his digits steadily rubbed the area in circles. When his head lowered again, she felt the hot press of tongue, but not on her clit, where it was heavily anticipated. Instead his mouth made its way to her virgin cavity and gave the clenched muscles there a wet French kiss. He licked the area in circular, bathing strokes that relaxed her and forced her tight all at once. The fisted muscle group gasped as if it needed air, and he used the inhalation to press forward.

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First, he probed her with his sex-juiced tongue, then with a smooth finger. His lips sucked around the wrinkled skin, and he made a smooth invasion to the palm with the single finger. Before she had a chance to process the unique sensation he added a second finger then a third, and changed the way her senses worked. She felt upside down or inside out. Jamison wasn’t sure which described her needs best. But her desires unfolded before her eyes, and she grew to crave the idea of his cock where his fingers speared her. Before long his tongue sought the muscles that spasmed around the intrusion and lapped over the elastic ring formed around him. The dual sensations were enough to destroy all of her prior hesitation. She jerked and keened before she screamed his name. “Oh Jesus, Marq!” “Mmm, that sounds better.” He kept at it, and she was left to beg for his cock. “Please, Marq, just take it.” He apparently agreed as she felt the press of his thick cockhead against her pussy. His initial thrust was rough and near angry in violence, but it was exactly what she needed. Marq only used her wet snatch as a well to bathe his cock with juices. He didn’t fuck her aside from the handful of thrusts he popped her hips with. She could hear the wet slurp of cock and cunt amid their heavy breaths and slap of hips. When he pulled away from the grip of her pussy, his cock pressed against the ring of sensitized muscles now stretched for his use. “Push back against me, Jamie, baby.” She did as requested and pushed her hips back to meet his. But it wasn’t enough to make headway, and she found that she needed to flex her rectal muscles to allow him entry. The sensation was akin to a swallow, but below instead of using her throat. The head entered first with a slight pop and massive pressure, but she continued to expand herself and bore down with the press of cock instead of her innate desire to fight against it. After several minutes of pressure and release, he had

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steadily tunneled his way inside of her. He was seated to the hilt, and she could feel how her pussy longed for the same treatment, how the wet snatch had a mind of its own. Her pussy fluttered rapidly, and she could no longer hold back her desire to be filled in all ways at once. She slid her own hand to her needy sheath and toggled her clit for a few moments before she gave herself a single finger to quell some of the ache she felt. It wasn’t enough, and she slipped another finger to match the first. But Marq smacked her thrusting hand with his fingertips. “Let me handle that for you. Rub your clit for me.” She did as he asked, and her snatch clenched tight at her exit. But the spasmed muscle groups were reintroduced to the stretch of his fingers, and the extra length and thickness of the digits was enough to satisfy the pain of being left unfilled. It was perfect. Her hands rocked her own clit in circles, and then the motion became jerky and less rhythmic as Marq began to use his cock in a series of deep and slow strokes. His digits were capable of devastation on their own, but when coupled with his cock, she was ready to lose her mind. She could count on one hand the number of times she was driven mad with cock lust, and all were with Marq. But the orgasm bearing down on her was in a class of its own somehow. She was nearly there, but when Marq took one leg and propped it over the opposite shoulder, the ripples of the peak couldn’t be held back for any reason for even another instant. “Ahh-fuc-ugh.” She wasn’t anywhere near coherent, even in her own mind. She couldn’t even see anymore and every sound around her seemed so far away. Marq hadn’t come yet. He seemed as if he was ready to jump out of his skin. His face was one of concentration. His teeth clenched, and his strong jaw ticked as if he ground the molars to dust. She had to see him come, and she said the only thing she could think of. “Marq, please fuck my ass!” He looked at her closely, as if he needed to see how serious she was. Her expression must have pleased him somehow, as he only hesitated for the split second he’d used to

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roam her visage. When he sprang into action, the previous peak seemed inconsequential in comparison to the free fall she was flung headfirst into. He reamed her ass with more vehemence than she ever imagined was possible. Every nerve she owned stood up and begged to add fuel to the fire. Her skin screamed with a chorus of confusion. She felt the sheets rustle against her back, and the hair on her arms stood straight and sent her senses into a frenzy with each gust of air that roamed her flesh. She could feel so much in the moment, but she was separate from everything except his cock and the tunnel it penetrated with verve. His cock was the only tether that held her to the here and now. Otherwise she was sure that she would have drifted away like a balloon in the slippery hands of a child. He nearly punished her with every stroke, and she found that she flung herself against him unknowingly, their hips crashed together as if cymbals in a symphony for two. She could feel the earth move. When she looked around her, the dust settled. She saw the mattress now rested on the ground and the headboard sported a major crack down the middle. But even the broken bed didn’t perturb him, and he kept at her, dug his cock within her ass until she pleaded with him to come. “It’s so tight, Jamie, baby, I don’t want to stop.” How could she argue with that? The dark sensations were deepened by the exquisite fit and their natural chemistry. When he finally let go of his seed, both were replete and sated beyond anything she’d ever known in life. “How the hell did we break the bed?” It was a rhetorical question, but even though she was there, Jamison still had no idea how it happened. He was inside her, and she begged him for more. After that, she heard a creak then a crack, and then they were several feet lower than they started out in the massive four poster bed. “Well, that’s what happens when you beg me to fuck you. You get fucked.” She could believe it. If all it took was a simple, “Fuck my ass, Marq,” to break a bed, then she might find herself sleeping on floors. But as long as he was next to her, it didn’t matter. There was

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enough money that getting a new bed was easy as a snap. As a matter of fact, Levin’s did have a really nice wrought iron set with a lifetime warranty on it. And the frame sported dovetail lockings that would be sure to keep this from happening again. She was going to lose her deposit for certain. But even that was okay. Marq would just have to reimburse her. The next morning, Jamison awoke ready to talk, and Marq seemed to understand. She didn’t have her morning session in the bank of windows overlooking the trees and terrain. He didn’t roll her over for their usual bout of love in the early morning. He made them breakfast, which was carried to the hot tub, and they cuddled together with her cradled in front of him. He fed her odd tidbits of the breakfast he prepared for them, Belgian waffles topped with pecan apple maple syrup and fresh espresso. He was too patient, and she felt the words flow naturally as if she were in thought. “Marq, you don’t know about my history, but I nearly killed a man.” She couldn’t look at him, only ahead of her into the trees, but she felt his heartbeat speed up. Even though she had to rip the scab from the years old wound, the pain wasn’t fresh, and just a mere echo of what it used to be. The moment had arrived for all of her sins to meet the light of day. “I grew up in foster care, and the years I spent there were less than kind. Not to me, or the other children around me. I remember days where I dreamed of having my dad come back to me. He loved me, and everything he did was to take the best possible care of me. But looking back on it, I didn’t appreciate him the way that I should have. I used to be so ashamed. Dad was a simple man, and he didn’t see the need for fripperies and fashionable clothes. I didn’t either, until I got a bit older and girls around me stopped liking me. They laughed at my hair or what I wore, and played mean tricks.” Jamison paused to take a much needed breath. Her heart beat a furious pace, and her palms prickled with nervous sweat. “I had been begging him to buy me a particular pair of shoes that all of the cool kids wore. But he was a janitor in the mornings at

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school and worked in an ice plant in the evenings, and money was a tightly held commodity. To make a long story short, he finally gave in to my demands and was coming back from the mall with the prized Keds when he was killed in car accident. After he died, I was bounced from one foster house to another before I finally ended up with a nice couple. The father was a deacon in the church and a mechanic. His wife taught Sunday school and kindergarten. They were so nice at first, and I hoped to stay there until I turned eighteen. I only had about fifteen months until then, so it didn’t seem impossible. One day when I came home I found the father had an unusual afternoon off. He attempted to rape me, and I stabbed him in the back with a knitting needle. He nearly died that day, and I would have been a murderer in deed and not just in thought. The state paid me hush money after a lengthy trial. That’s where the money you invested came from.” Marq never spoke and merely held her against him. But for all of the calm his posture behind her exuded, his heartbeat was that of a hummingbird, and she could imagine the organ beat so profusely it bruised his ribs. “That’s not your fault, Jamison. Almost every child reaches a stage where they give their parents a hard time. In fact, it’s called puberty. You know that you’re not a murderer. Any person that attacks children should die alone somewhere in a brutal manner. Children are made to be loved and protected, not used or abused. If anything, I feel angry for you, and I wish he were still alive so I could pay him back for what he tried to do to you.” “So I take that to mean you already knew.” “I found out a few days ago, but yes, I knew it.” He wouldn’t let her pull away. Marq held her as close as he could to him, even though she made a halfhearted attempt to move. “But, Marq, knowing all that, why me?” “What do you mean why you? Why do I love you?” She nodded once.

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“Well, why not you? You are intelligent, which is a major turn-on by the way, and the way your mind works makes me hard. You are mysterious without trying to be. You are so sensual and open for me. I love the fact that you are independent and that, despite bad circumstances that would make a grown man fall to his knees, you persevered and thrived. Plus, you are a beautiful woman, and I plan on taking you off of the market so no other man can claim you. And let’s not forget that you are oh-so flexible.” “Marq, the circumstances that make up my life are not pretty, and I don’t understand the family dynamic. I don’t know if I can be what you deserve.” “All I want is for you to be who you are already. The only changes you’ve made in the month we were together were superficial and had no bearing on how I saw you as a person beneath the skin. I’m not asking for a cookie cutter family. My last name isn’t Beaver or Brady. We don’t have to be the Huxstables or anyone else. We just have to be who we are and know that we can be perfect for each other. We deserve to be happy together.” What could she say to that? Not a damn thing. It had been many years since anyone loved her for her and not as a cash cow for a stipend or tax deduction or a thing to be used until sapped of any value and cast aside. If she had the sense god gave a bird, she’d take this incredible man up on his offer and toss her hesitations to the four corners of the world. Why not? She’d watched her friends fall head over heels while she remained apart and alone. With Marq, she’d belong to him and vice versa, and nothing or no one else had to matter. Jamison did catch her flight, but the destination ended up being different than she planned on, and Marq was right beside her. She vehemently refused to allow him to upgrade her seat, and Marq was forced to not only endure the indignities of commercial flight again, but he was forced to ride in hobo style, as he called it, in coach-class seats. She didn’t make him, but he let her know that in no uncertain

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terms were they going to be separated any more than they already had. So she ended up with a passel of complaints the whole way. But even with his petulant attitude about their seating, they spent each flight side by side, held hands, and gazed in each other’s eyes at erratically placed moments. It wasn’t her fault the man in front of them on the first connection decided to have chili pre-flight, and even the terrible smell of his gas wasn’t enough to tarnish the shine of being with Marq. Nor was she responsible for the guy across from them on the second connection. The tow-headed male carried a duffel bag full of ginseng root and talked about his plans for his wife when he got to her nonstop. But even that was okay with her, as she had a multitude of plans for her man when they landed as well. They flew back to Wilmington and arrived to sunny skies with proudly puffed clouds, even though Jamison had planned to stay in sunny Jamaica. But for some reason Marq had a wild hair up his ass and told her that she was to go nowhere without him. Once they landed, he had her at his mercy. They were back on the road, and when he passed the exit for downtown and his condo, she was perplexed. But he wouldn’t provide her with any clues and kept their destination to himself. They made their way down the road only to cross a bridge and continued on the same street, which was unimaginatively named Bridge Road. The isle was small and seemed more of a spit than a true island. The sign on the way in proclaimed the area was called EightFigure. Most of the houses there seemed to be valued at roughly that amount, Jamison thought with a laugh. They pulled into the driveway of a large house, and Marq opened her car door for her. The house was a blue gray, with a circular drive banded with hedges and numerous windows all spanning the side of the home. Although, manse was closer to accurately describing the immense size of the domicile they looked up at. It was only a fraction of the square

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footage of the family manor, but there was plenty of room, for a football team. “Follow me.” Marq held his hand out. “All right, who are we going to see?” “Stop being so impatient, Jamison.” He took her hand, and she walked behind him. The house was empty. Only a handful of drapes covered the immense expanse of windows that spanned each wall. There was a ridiculous amount of space. She could fit the eleven hundred employees from her old job on the property and still have space to mill around in. There were three floors that made up the main portion of the house. The entry where she stood currently exposed the full height of the house and the curved staircase that led to the upper floors. “Who lives here, Marq?” “I don’t know. Depends.” “On what?” “Do you like it?” No way. Could he mean what she thought he did? “Yes, of course. Who wouldn’t? Even if I haven’t seen all of it yet.” It didn’t matter what the rest looked like. She was sold at the beauty of the entrance alone. As he walked with her, she saw the house was fully refurbished and modern. There was an elevator, but Marq did mention a second one somewhere. There was even a dumbwaiter that stopped in the kitchen and laundry room. “Come with me and take a look then.” She passed a kitchen that even Gordon Ramsay could find no fault with. The ultramodern space was completely outfitted with stainless steel and granite, plus it boasted two separate freezer drawers, along with the two freestanding kitchen islands. She even guessed she could sleep in the sink, it was so deep and large. Just to furnish the house would be a job in and of itself. When they reached the backyard, there was a large swimming pool and a small patio with a hot tub. The opposite side of the house was nothing but fence to hide the owners from the beach just a scant

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handful of feet away from the edge of the property. The neighbors to the left and right were closer than she would have personally preferred as the yard was much longer in area than wide. But otherwise, she was in love with the man and the house. “So, what do you say? Do you want this house?” “Yeah, I think I would be a colossal jackass to say no.” “You haven’t seen the bedrooms yet.” “Wow and it comes with bedrooms, too? I would happily sleep in the sink.” “That would be a problem considering.” “What?” “That I won’t fit in there with you. So I guess what I’m saying is will you take the house? Although it does come with a snooty, overbearing man who enjoys sex a bit too much as part of the package.” “Depends.” “On what?” “On whether or not there is a rock to go with it.” “Yeah, about that. I did find a really nice one, and I thought of you when I saw it.” He pulled something from his pocket. When he opened his hand, there was a plastic egg in it. It was one of the ones she used to get from the grocery store when she was a kid and her father was still alive, and later ADD in memorial. Jamison didn’t realize she wept until she tasted the tears on her lips. “Jamison Melrose, will you marry me?” He handed the pink capsule out to her, and she cracked the halves open and exposed the rock she’d just requested. It was a large chocolate baguette cut diamond, and the band was paved with smaller versions of the larger stone. She nodded, and he pulled her close, held her until her breaths were even. “So about the house?” “Yeah, Jamie, baby?”

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“This is where you want to live?” “Yeah, I would rather not live in Fort Fisher. I think my brothers have that on lockdown, plus we can be alone here.” “Marq, you can be an asshole, you know that right? But you had me sold anyway, so I may as well not play coy.” “Yeah, but you love it. And I’m glad you like the house because we already own it. Or will own it in a week when the sale finishes closing.” “You were that sure of yourself?” “Nope, I was that sure of you.” He smirked, and Jamie elbowed in him in the ribs and she made sure the jab of joint in his chest hurt. Marq merely winced and laughed gamely. “So you want to christen some of these rooms with me and your new rock?” Jamison laughed and agreed with him. “Yes, let’s.” They started in the kitchen, his cock was inside of her and rampant. Then he picked her up, and they tested the strength of the dumbwaiter next.

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Epilogue Jamison’s wedding was elegant perfection. It was simple, meaning small, per her request, and there were only forty guests. The ceremony was beautiful, and she married the man of her dreams in front of the Hollywood sign in a vintage Chanel gown chosen by Marq and jeweled flip-flops she chose for herself. Her best female friends were her bridesmaids, and the woman that was always a bridesmaid was now the bride. Jamison had no idea how he got permits or even any form of permission for something so over the top, but that was part and parcel of her husband, the eccentric man that he was. Duke and Jergen both attended and stood on the bride’s side of the aisle. As she didn’t have any family left, she felt lucky and blessed to be adopted by so many wonderful people who cared about her wellbeing and needs. Her friends were her family now. The most memorable part of her wedding was in the vows. Marques promised the usual, fidelity, honor, love, and to cherish her. But he also promised that he now had a harem of one. While she promised to love, honor, and satisfy all of his needs in her vows back. Once they were announced as man and wife, Marques kissed her so thoroughly that there was no doubt that he was just as elated as she was about their status change. That night they made love for the first time as man and wife, but unlike most newlywed couples, there were several cameras rolling for posterity in their rented chateau in the Alps to capture the moments within.

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THE END WWW.BOOKSTRAND.COM/JENNIFER-WILLOWS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Who is Jennifer? A thirty-something single? A mother of two of the most bratty, beautiful kids ever? Well, she is all of that and more. Jennifer is still fixing mistakes by day and falling in love with her novel heroes at night. She hates juggling, but she seems to be quite good at it, and as a consequence she has thirty projects going at once. Actually, she is quite bland and not in a mysterious way. Lately, she has found herself fending e-mails and writing as much as she can. Occasionally, she gets a wild hair up her keister and wears her afro out. As always, her fascination with procrastination keeps her from getting her website together, but one of these days… But if you would like to talk to her, feel free to send a shout-out to [email protected] (or send a request to the same e-mail on Facebook), and she is on twitter @wildinthewillow.

Also by Jennifer Willows Siren Allure: The Moreland Brothers 1: Bound by Accident Siren Allure: The Moreland Brothers 2: Lust for Life

Available at BOOKSTRAND.COM

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com