Owning Wednesday (5 page)

Her eyes and cheeks were still wet with tears, and she winced as her tender ass came to rest against the sheet. He parted her legs and began to stroke the sensitive skin between her thighs, then her clit, eliciting hot little stings of craving. He slid his fingers over it with masterful dexterity. Her pussy was wet and burning hot, but she shivered as he looked down at her. Then he dipped his lips to her body, sucking on her clit and blazing a slow, deliberate trail across her slick folds with his tongue. The pleasure unhinged her, made it hard to think. She wanted to come, she wanted to wail, but she was unsure of what
he
wanted her to do. He had taken her this way, with his mouth, few enough times that she was at a loss.

“Put your hands over your head, Wednesday. Leave them there.”

She did as he said, and he wrapped his hands around her ass cheeks, pulling her closer. Then he lowered his mouth to her again. Hard and soft bites, and licks to soothe the ache away. Flowering sensation and building bliss. Her hips jerked of their own accord, inching forward as far as he would let them to greedily take the pleasure he gave. She made noises that embarrassed her. He was relentless, teasing her and bringing her to the edge again and again.

Then he parted her legs even farther, almost past comfort. “Stay.”

She stayed, a quivering pile of conquered, dazed girl. He looked down at her from beside the bed while he rolled on a condom, then he climbed between her legs. He gathered her in his arms, tender again. She was limp with pleasure, and he slid inside her with ease. She knew the feel of him inside her like a brand. She knew the hot, slick solidity of him by heart. She clenched at him with her pussy since she couldn’t touch him with her fingers. His rough, crisp chest hair slid across her breasts, and his breath whispered against her neck like a secret. He seemed to drive deeper, hotter. He stretched and used her, and her body responded, burning for him. He held her close and fucked her, body to body, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and she thought she would just die. You have to remember, she thought. You have to remember this feeling of him inside. He had been the very first man inside her, and he had taken her just like this, close and slow, wrapped in his arms. It still felt like that first time, urgent yet restrained.

They moved together there on her bed, his authority and her submission seeming to fall away, leaving only raw connection. Her breaths were his breaths, and his hands were her hands. His lips found hers, and he kissed her with passionate insistence. He tasted of her. She was falling apart, shaking, climbing to a terrifying apex. “Come, Wednesday,” he whispered against her lips. “I love how you look when you come.”

She let go, gritting her teeth against the overpowering climax. She let it wash over her, clenching her fists and crying out as if it hurt. In some sense it did hurt. It hurt to realize she would never again feel this close to him. For a long time afterward he lay still on top of her, breathing in, breathing out. She counted time by the beats of his heart.
Remember, remember. Remember his weight on you, the scent of him, the tickle of his chest hair, the brush of his breath against your ear.

He finally rose and stood over her. “Kneel beside the bed,” he said, authoritative as always. She knelt, wrung-out and overwhelmed with emotion. He did not beckon her to remove and discard his condom but did it himself. Then he began to dress with a mechanical detachment. She watched as he buttoned his shirt, put on his pants and cashmere sweater. He adjusted his collar and reached down to buckle his belt. Just like that, his body was gone from her. He sat on the bed again and leaned down to pull on his socks and shoes. As he straightened, he made a gesture for her to approach him.

“Kneel here, before me. Face me with your hands in your lap.”

She crawled the short distance to the point he indicated, her legs shaky from too much pleasure. She looked up at him, her eyes dewy and her heart aching in her chest.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”

He leaned forward and cupped her cheek, then kissed her on both her eyelids, more gently than he ever had. She took a deep breath, drifting on the scent of him and the tender, fleeting sensations.

“Thank you, Wednesday, for everything. I’ll miss you.”

I’ll miss you too
, she wanted to cry out.
I’ll miss you so much! I don’t know how I’ll survive without you.

“I wish you the greatest happiness in life,” he continued. “I wish you love and inspiration. A soul mate, to know and understand you. You’ll get it. Don’t settle.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to stay silent. She could feel his lips, soft and yet hard, brushing against her lids. She looked at the ceiling, at the walls, then at him.
Please let me speak. Let me say it all
. She started to open her mouth, to tell him everything, or even just one thing:
thank you.

“No,” he said. “No.” One word,
no
, but in their economical language she understood the myriad layers of it.

No,
I want to remember you as you are.

No,
we’re saying good-bye. Let’s not risk this.

No,
you’ll say something you’ll regret.

No,
there are not enough words for the weight of this moment anyway.

So she knelt, hot with sadness and unshed tears, and ground her teeth to keep from weeping. Even so a few tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. They were ignored. Soon after, with one last kiss to her forehead, he stood and left, closing the door behind him.

All the words that longed to spring from her tongue were forever silenced. No matter. In the way he had of understanding everything about her, she was sure he knew exactly what she felt, exactly what she would have said down to the last syllable. He knew exactly what she would have said if she could have, which is why, probably, he insisted on her silence until the bitter end.

“Thanks,” Daniel said to the waitress as she set down the coffee.

“Sure, Mr. Laurent.”

He rattled his paper and furtively checked his watch.

Seven fifty-five.

Almost time.

He didn’t do this every day. He wasn’t that pathetic. But yes, he did it often enough that the waitstaff knew him by name. He did it often enough that he knew she got in to work around eight and left to walk home every evening at five. He didn’t watch her leave very often, though. The temptation was just too great, the temptation to cross the street and “run into” her. It would have been so easy, so quick.

But no. He was giving her some space. He didn’t want to try to woo her while she was still processing the hurt of Vincent’s uncollaring, so instead he planned and waited. The first move had to be controlled. No precipitous propositions. No wild declarations of desire.

God, there she was,
right there
, all legs and short skirt and wild hair and her too-big messenger bag banging against her hip. He could have eaten her alive. Every day he wanted to go to her, cross the street and lay claim to her, but he only watched her disappear into her office, biding his time.

Until today.

It had been over a month since Vincent let her go. Every day that went by was one day closer she got to mental health. She barely dragged anymore. In fact, yesterday he’d sensed an alarming new bounce to her gait. God forbid she’d met some other nice guy before he’d put in his bid.

So why did he still sit here spying? Fuck, why was this so difficult? Why not just walk up to her, shake her hand?
Remember me? You sucked me off once. It was great. Then I fucked you, two times actually. And I spanked you over my lap just to make your master mad
. So maybe it would require more finesse than that. He was the king of finesse, though. He worked in the film business, for God’s sake. He had to schmooze and manipulate directors and producers on a regular basis, and he was very good at what he did. Producers loved his work.

But what about Wednesday? Had she loved his work? She seemed to that night, but with submissives it was hard to tell. Most of them pretended they liked stuff even when they didn’t—a necessary evil, he supposed, when you lived to serve. He knew for sure, though, that he’d made her orgasm. She’d come for him, with him, more than once that night. He’d felt it, felt the delicious squeeze and shudder. Something that strong, even Wednesday couldn’t fake.

Enough waiting. He screwed up his dominant mojo and crossed the street. He was stepping onto the sidewalk outside her office when the door flew open. She jumped back in shock while he stood and stared at her like a fool. He hadn’t seen her close up like this, not for months. She rendered him speechless with those otherworldly eyes, and there he stood, not a word, not a movement. She looked back at him as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Hi,” he finally managed to spit out.
Brilliant. More please, before she runs
. “Wednesday, right? Do you remember me?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“You work here? I remember you said you were an editor.”
You remember, that night you and I fucked? God, smile at me, please.

“Yes, I’ve worked here for a couple of years now.”

I know. I’ve actually been stalking you for about, oh, two months of that time
. “I was just passing by. God, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

She said that as if she’d rather see anyone,
anyone
else on earth. Had he imagined it, their connection? He tried to read her. She looked totally scared.

“Listen, I guess this feels weird, since the last time…the last time we were together.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It does feel a little weird.”

“I just want you to know—” What did he want her to know? God, so many things. “I want you to know that I really had fun that night. I mean, I thought you did too.”

She made a faint noise of agreement or assent, and looked around.

He pressed on, wanting to explain. “I mean, it was more than just fun to me. Maybe this isn’t the place to discuss this, out here on the street.”

“Probably. I’d better be getting home.”

“Can I walk with you?”

She frowned but didn’t say anything when he fell into step beside her.

“I heard you and Vincent broke up.”

“Yes. About a month ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You made a good couple. He loved you very much. I could tell.”

“We were never a couple, and Vincent never loved me.”

“Didn’t he?” Daniel wondered if she believed that. “Well, I don’t know much about you and Vincent, but I was grateful to him for sharing you with me.”

“Do you do that a lot?” she asked. “The sharing thing?”

“I’d never done it before you. It’s not usually my thing.”

“But you and Vincent shared me.”

“Yes. Unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately? Why do you say that?”

“I think I got you in a fair bit of hot water that night. And drew a few tears from you, if memory serves me right.”

Blush, blush, blush, and that soft laugh.

“Yes. You made me cry a little bit, over your lap. Just a little.”

“I’ve been told that I spank too hard.”

“By whom? Not your submissive?”

It was his turn to laugh at her scandalized expression. Vincent, that old dog, had trained this one well. “More than a few girls have yelled it at me before they stormed out of my house.”

“I would never storm out on someone,” she said.

“How do you know? You’ve only been with one man, haven’t you?”

“I was with more than one man.”

“Sure, men Vincent carefully selected for you. You don’t think he invited just anyone from the clubs?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Honestly, I’m trying to move on.”

“Are you seeing someone new?”

“No. I don’t want to, not yet. I’m not even sure I’m into that BDSM crap anymore.”