The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) Page 7

  I feel the rough tip of his finger slide down my cheek, pausing over my nipple and circling it, sending an electric current straight to my brain and lower regions. His hands guide me back until I’m reclining against the headboard propped up by pillows. I feel his weight shift as he gets off the bed.

  “Don’t move, don’t speak,” Mark whispers. I obey. His absence from the room gives me a few moments to reflect on this sensation. Not the sensation of being blindfolded, but the sensation of submission. I’ve been the strong one all my life and Dad always taught me the value of self reliance. Yet, giving myself to him in these moments of intimate trust is a feeling unlike anything the pride of standing on my own could produce.

  I hear a bowl clink on the bedside table and some other sounds, but can’t make them out. Surely he must know of my excitement, I feel the goose bumps on my arms rising. His large hand holds my chin up and the air is filling with the smell of a cut orange. Sweet and ripe, my mouth waters for the taste of it. I open up instinctively and he squeezes some juice for me to taste. He leans into my ear again. My eyes blind, the energy of his presence is overwhelming.

  “You know how you wanted that orange? Mouth open begging for the taste of it? That’s how you should receive my kiss, open and ready for it.”

  I nod, feeling the desire for him to be in me growing stronger, my wetness building and my mouth feeling empty without something in it. Then as he shifts again I hear the bowl clink and the sound of his teeth biting something with a distinct crunch. He waves the object under my nose and my eyes begin to water at the bitter acrid smell.

  “Habanero pepper,” he says. I keep remembering his smile and focusing on that, praying he doesn’t expect me to take that into my mouth. I never could handle the hot stuff. But he doesn’t. His finger traces its way down my nipple again, still erect from his former touch. He circles it once, and then rubs the pepper around my areola in circles. The heat of the pepper creates a fast and stinging sensation. By the time he is coating my other nipple in the juice of the pepper I am squirming desperately.

  I whimper and begin to fidget as the burn increases. My inclination is to pull off the blindfold, push him away and get water, milk, honey, anything to take the rising burn off my chest. But I don’t. I sit on my hands to keep them from moving. I swallow deeply, the pain increasing with the heat.

  I hear a glass chime against the dresser then feel an amazing cooling sensation as Mark leans over taking my nipple into his mouth, rolling it around with something cold he took in. Maybe water? Or is it milk? The soothing liquid combined with the sensation of his rough tongue on my raw nipples elates me. I start twitching and trying to get him to notice the other nipple is still on fire. Again, he takes a drink and washes my breast in kisses and tongue laps at my nipples, coating in something soothing. When the pain is gone and I’m breathing normally, he whispers to me once more.

  “Feel that heat? That’s the way I want you to feel when I touch you.”

  His hand travels down, toying with my belly button then rubbing the top of my mound. The fear of the pepper inside me terrifies me but I have to trust he will not harm me. His touch is comforting and yet inciting me to ache and tingle for him all the more. I move my hips slightly, praying he doesn’t consider me to be violating his instruction. It’s a risk. I don’t want to do anything to stop this feeling.

  He leans down, his tongue sliding across the top of my vaginal lips. The sensation charges my entire being with desire. Although the pepper juice has been neutralized, the burning need of my breasts continues. I want to move my arms so badly—to reach out and embrace him as his tongue dodges in and out of my pussy, teasing and drowning me in my own juices. He pulls away and I want to scream. But I don’t. I don’t move at all. I must obey.

  I sigh loudly enough for him to hear my longing for his body. His hand rubs my mound, spreading my legs wider. I feel his finger dive in for a moment and then withdraw, leaving me achingly empty. I start to move back and forth, seeking out his finger. Soon I am out of control, humping his hand with tears of need and frustration soaking the blindfold.

  I push my hips against the dry air, biting my lip and gasping. The longer my pussy is empty the greater my need grows. I hear a plastic cap open, and then his fingers, coated in some heavenly oil or lube or something, slide into me, filling my need completely. I slam my body down on his hand over and over trying to ease the need created inside me. It’s only after some time that I realize I’ve been humping Mark’s hand like a mad woman. I blush under my blindfold.

  “Feel that need? That’s the way your pussy should need my cock,” he says his voice strained with passion of his own.

  “It does,” I gasp. Realizing I spoke out of turn, I am terrified he will withdraw from me for doing it. I feel the pressure of his hand, his fingers still wet from my juices pushing me all the way down on my back, as he pulls on my legs, adjusting me perfectly in place. I breathe deeply, in part due to the effort I put into indulging my relief on his fingers, and in part due to the thrill of the promise of him inside me.

  I feel his cock hovering over my lower lips as he suspends himself on strong arms. It moves over me back and forth, barely parting me. I keep lifting myself up to him, wanting him, inviting him, needing him until new tears fall beneath the eye covering.

  After what seems like an eternity of his teasing, he enters me. The darkness only heightens the pleasure. Not being able to see him, or know what’s coming next, existing on feelings alone—all of this is amplified by my loss of vision. The head of his shaft sits in my opening almost hesitantly, then without warning he pushes all the way into me, spearing me.

  “Oh!” I gasp then bite my lower lip. The fast entry is followed by equally fast and hard thrusts, rocking me and pushing my body forward. I reach out slowly with my hands, waiting to see if his voice will command me to stop. It doesn’t, and I wrap my arms around his ass, pulling him as deep as I can, wanting him farther and farther in me. But instead of following my grasping, Mark changes pace, slowing down and moving in long strokes.

  A master of control, he changes everything right as I am building to an unforgettable climax and keeps me hovering in frustrated glee at the top of that clinching feeling. A sharp pain shoots through my breast and I realized he has leaned over and taken my nipple in his mouth, sucking fast and hard, sending me into a bucking frenzy underneath him. I pump my hips faster and faster on his cock trying to increase his speed. Finally, as I am about to break, he releases my nipple and pushes me hard against the bed.

  Jamming his shaft back into my pussy at full speed, he rams me, harder and harder until I am nothing but a receptacle of his power. I can’t hold on any longer. Letting go of his amazing body, I grip the bed spread and buck wildly underneath him. As I am riding the waves of pleasure, I hear him growl like a wild wolf finishing his prey and his cum releases into my raw swollen channel.

  He collapses beside me and starts laughing loudly. Cradling my head against his chest he covers my face with soft kisses. Gently, he removes the blindfold and looks into my eyes; evidence of my tears still fill the corners.

  “Mark,” I start to say something but I’m too weak, too spent to do anything but nestle on him and feel the reassuring warmth of his body.

  “Shhhhh,” he nurtures me. “You did well, Julia. You did so very well.”

  It’s the last thing I hear before blissful sleep takes over.

  ~~~

  The smell of lemon pepper awakens me from my slumber. For a moment I think I’m still in the blindfold and he’s holding a lemon, but I realize I can see. Reaching out for Mark, I’m disappointed to find I’m still on top of the bed naked, and incredibly sore, but he is nowhere near. The nightstand has been cleaned and the door to the connected bathroom has been left open with the light on. It’s still evening outside, but it feels like I’ve slept for days.

  Swinging my legs off the bed, I ache from my midsection all the way up my spine. But it’s a good ache. I smile as I hobble
to the bathroom and fix myself up, putting on my clothes and using the new brushes, combs and face cloths available. Reset and a little rested, I make my way through the cavernous apartment following the delicious smell until I arrive in Mark’s kitchen.

  “Handsome, sexy and he can cook. Forget Bruce Wayne. You’re the most eligible bachelor in New York.”

  “Yes, but Bruce does have a nicer car, and a cool butler,” Mark smiles in a self-deprecating way that is nothing short of adorable. I want to run and hug him right now, but I’m not sure of all the rules of this “submission” and decide to wait for him. He just keeps turning the salmon on the grill and tossing the salad.

  “Thank you for the well-stocked powder room, by the way,” I say coyly. “You might not have a cool butler but some lady takes care of your bedroom quite well.”

  “Wrong on both counts, my dear. You should stick to editing. Intuition and investigation clearly don’t suit you.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Since Lucy Conway got married, I contracted a wonderful ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ to do the cleaning and that is not my bedroom. That’s my playroom.”

  “Well I must say, Mr. Stone, I do enjoy the game.” I give him the most dazzling flirtatious grin I have and it works. He looks up from the grill and winks at me then walks over to give me a kiss.

  “Salmon and salad in fifteen. Would you like more of the Riesling or want to switch to something different?”

  “You choose,” I say with open arms and an open heart. I can tell by his body language he likes that answer a lot.

  We sit down to dinner at a small table in the kitchenette, although I can see a much larger ornate dining room through another door. The food is delicious and the company charming. For a few moments, I almost forget what I’m doing here in the first place.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” I ask hoping he doesn’t find that too intrusive.

  “My mom, actually. As you’ve previously pointed out, I am the second son. So Dad spent most of his time focusing on Blake, and mom spent her time with me. She taught me how to cook, sew, read poetry and listen. While my father taught my brother how to rule the world, mom taught me how to thrive in it. I think I turned out the better man.”

  “On that point, Mr. Stone,” I raise my glass in a mock toast, “I absolutely agree. Speaking of which, what was it you needed to tell me?”

  Mark takes a deep breath and both of us know that question has changed the entire night. I regret asking it, and yet I need to know.

  “Venture capital is a risky business. I know you think all of this was handed to me on a silver platter with a love note from my parents, but the truth is my father left us a company and not much else. The money I have is the money I’ve made. Some of it comes from Sandstone Ventures and the rest comes from investments and personal ventures. But, it’s important to know that my father left us with some very sketchy accounts and we’ve both worked our way to where we are.”

  “Okay, so you and Blake aren’t trust fund babies. Your point being?” I want to kick myself for being so forward but Mark wants to stroll down memory lane and I simply want to know how I’m getting Lynx back.

  “We both went to NYU. We both studied business and finance. Blake was two years ahead of me, so I had the advantage of seeing a lot his books and coursework for classes I ended up taking later. We weren’t any closer then than we are now, but we pretended better and helped each other more. One day a professor asked to see me after class. When I got to his office, he told me I needed to do better and he was surprised I was so much worse than Blake.

  “I asked him from clarification. I mean, Blake is not an academic or even a good spreadsheet reader. But, he sure knows his way around the fine print. Anyway, he pulled out a paper Blake had turned in years before and showed it to me because he had been using it as a class model. Blake didn’t write that paper. He cheated. I found out later he had paid someone to write most of his work. So, he got better grades than I did—which made my father trust Blake with a larger share of the company, even though we are both co-presidents. But, I just bit my tongue. Because I knew he cheated, and I knew someday the company would be rightfully mine.”

  At this point we had finished with dinner and he walked me over to the couch, refreshing our drinks. I want to speed him up but can’t find the words to ask him to get to the point of this story. I try to prod him along.

  “So, what you’ve discovered to help my case is that Blake has always been a lying dickhead?”

  “No, Julia,” Mark says with a heavy voice. “I discovered Blake is cheating again. Only this time the stakes are much higher for everyone.”

  “Cheating? What do you mean?”

  “I’m doing pretty well,” Mark said as he gestured around the lush apartment. “But most of the money I’ve made happened before the economy melted down. I’ve managed to put some of Sandstone Ventures money into good projects, and I’ve kept my investments in low risk stocks until we rebound so I didn’t lose much. But I haven’t made a fortune these last four years—particularly the last two. No one has. Well, no one except one person.”

  “Who?”

  “Blake. He has increased his tax margin, added a new boathouse to his upstate property and rented an apartment near the park for ‘over-nights’ when he claims he is stuck in the city. He purchased a bunch of high risk stocks and is making big bets on odd things. He’s flush with cash and playing high stakes at a time when the rest of us are holding our cards tight.”

  “So you think Blake is involved in investment fraud?”

  “I think Blake is embezzling money from Sandstone Ventures and taking funds from the base accounts we use for acquisitions and mergers. It’s the money we’re supposed to use to make money. I think he is gutting our company, and what’s worse, I suspect he is using Lynx to do it.”

  “What? Lynx? My Lynx?” I see red the minute Mark suggests it. “He’s using my magazine to fuck his own company over and fired me to do it?”

  “It appears there’s some connection between Lynx and the base accounts at Sandstone. I’m not sure what it is yet. I need to do more research and I need some information from the inside. Not just inside Lynx, but inside my own company as well.”

  “It’s your company, Mark. How hard can that be?”

  “Plenty. Kenneth Allen is into this up to his neck too and I suspect there is a third party involved although I’m not willing to disclose that at this time. So any searching I do needs to be discrete and that takes time. I’m going to need someone at Lynx to do some digging for me.”

  “What are you talking about? We don’t need any time. We need to go to the police. Tonight. Blake can be arrested by tomorrow and I’ll be back in my office by the beginning of next week.” I stand up from the couch and walk to the kitchen counter to set my wine glass and grab my purse. Mark just stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Julia, sit back down.”

  “No! I will not sit down. This is it, Mark! This is what we’ve waited for. Blake is breaking the law and that’s a matter for the police. Let’s just file charges and get this ball rolling. We don’t need to do all this sneaking around. Get the cops involved and let’s get it on the road.”

  “It’s not possible. We do need to do the sneaking around and we do need to protect both companies while we’re doing it.”

  “Look. You’re an investor. I’m an editor. Neither one of us are equipped for this kind of thing.” I try to use my best rational argument but I’m also so buzzed by the idea of seeing that fucker put in cuffs for screwing up my company I can’t sit still. “Cops are trained to do this stuff. So you do the investing, I’ll do the editing and we will let the cops do the copping!”

  I turn into a hot-headed manic bulldozer. I’m pacing around his apartment trying to figure out which police station we need to go to, rambling at about ninety miles an hour about all the ways Blake can get arrested and everything we need to do. Suddenly Mark stands up.

&
nbsp; “Julia, stop!”

  “What?”

  “Just stop. Sit down.”

  “I’m too excited to sit down, Mark. Let’s go now!”

  Mark’s voice takes on the same tone he saves for the moments he is instructing me sexually—clear, severe and commanding.

  “I said sit down.”

  I plop on the couch with a thud, the memory of his strong passion aching in my womb.

  “Look,” he says as he takes a turn pacing around. “First, I don’t have any evidence Blake is cheating, just a gut feeling and some unusual accounting. Second, I don’t have anything tying Blake’s ill-gotten income to Lynx. Because he had to have gotten to that money before he fired you, there’s too much for it to have happened since you were let go. But I don’t know how he’s using Lynx. I just know he must be. Third, no evidence and no explanation means no arrest, and it will tip our hand to him that we are on to it. So, no police.”