Black(6)

“So now you’ve seen the lair.” I caught her arm. “Not so scary?” I leaned in, desperate for another scent of her. I inhaled and felt her shudder as goose bumps rippled across her skin in uniform salute. I heard the soft swallow of her delicate little throat before she nodded sweetly.

“So precious,” I hummed and then darted my tongue out beneath her ear for a taste.

“What are you doing?” She shivered, fear and arousal rippling through her voice.

“Tasting you.” I pressed my palm at her throat in a move that shocked her. Shocked her and turned her on, if I was reading the shifting thighs and tightening nipples right. I could tweak them right now, maybe even find out what shade of pink they were. She’d let me. I could see it in the lusty hooded eyelids, feel it gaining momentum, readying to crash between us.

“You’re turned on, beautiful,” I teased and released. “But we’ve got training to do.” I ripped myself from her intoxicating gaze, ruffling through a file I’d pulled out last night. “Fill these out,” I said before walking down the long hallway, leaving her reeling and trying to make sense of my actions. Keeping her on her toes, that would be the game of the day. After last night, I needed to keep her in a playful mood. Something deep inside me wanted her to open up. To trust me.





Four

Elle

Maxwell returned to the kitchen a few moments later, adorned in a herringbone vest and dark navy slacks, an academic meets hipster vibe. He was a beast of contradictions, the slash of the violent scar across his face causing my heart to beat wildly every time I saw it. Where had he gotten that scar? Suddenly, I felt the prickling of fear scurrying across my skin. If Maxwell, a man so formidable in appearance was hurt, then I had no chance of escaping my past and those coming for me...

In an effort to distract myself, I went to the only bookshelf in the room, small and neat, with many older editions. One looked especially old, and I pulled it off the shelf. I was surprised to find it was a worn, illustrated edition of Winnie the Pooh. My fingers slid across the timeworn pages and traced the delicate etchings.

“Winnie the Pooh and gang?” I questioned when I heard him approach behind me.

“It’s a favorite. My grandma gave it to me as a kid. I’d get a flashlight and blanket and hide out in the garden reading this book.” He took the book from my hands and flipped a few pages. Memories seemed to run through his mind. “I guess it’s the first book I ever read. I haven’t said no to a good story since. I never cared much for company; books were the only friends I ever needed.” His sweet grin returned and his words echoed in my mind. How strange that what he described was my life. Never surrounded by real friends but those that I collected from the pages of tattered paperbacks at the library. How I would hide, locking myself away from others so they wouldn't ask questions or scold me. I remember how characters and adventures became my pastime, how, while reading, I escaped to different worlds and left my sad existence behind.

“I love it.” I traced his wrist with my finger. He was such a contradiction, so rough and then sweet. Edgy and intellectual. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met before. He drew me to him like a butterfly to brightly pigmented petals. I was helpless to his force.

“I searched high and low for this edition. It was the same one I had as a kid. I didn’t realize it then, but this was a pretty pricey gift from Grandma.”

“What happened to the one you had as a boy?”

He shrugged, his eyes turning away. “Stuff gets lost with time.” He placed the book back on the shelf, then turned to me. I sensed something darker in his eyes, more that he wasn’t saying. “Let’s get to that training.” He winked and placed a palm at my back like a gentleman, guiding me down the stairs and leaving me feeling like I was walking on air. Did he make all the women he met feel this special? I hoped not. I wished selfishly that it was just me, but I knew it was too good to be true. He was too handsome, I was too chubby. Same old story. I just wished desperately that for once, life could throw me a twist. “We still use the Dewey system,” Maxwell informed me when we turned the corner into the dark library.

His words pulled me back into reality where I needed money and this job to stay afloat on my own. I recalled the best I could how the Dewey decimal system worked as he scribbled a few numbers down on a sticky note and thrust it at me. “You’ve got two minutes to find this one.”

My eyes widened for a moment before I accepted his challenge and headed off down the first row of books.

“Gettin’ colder,” his amused voice called from behind me. I scrunched my nose and then took to reading the spines, heading in the opposite direction. I turned a corner and headed down another aisle before a whisper scared me out of my boots. “Hotter.” His breath sent shivers down the nape of my neck and I felt his chest pressing into my back. Jesus, how did he do that? One look, one word, and I was putty.