Uncovering You 2: Submission Page 6

  “Oh,” he says slowly, as if the realization had just started to dawn on him. “You’re troubled by… this.” He reaches out for my cheek. I flinch at the sting of his touch.

  “Please, Jeremy.”

  “Very well.” Stonehart pockets the phone. “A small imperfection only makes you more beautiful.”

  I feel an irresistible desire to scream at him, to tell him to stop the mocking compliments. Remembering where that type of behavior got me last night, I shove the urge down.

  I don’t speak, though. I’m afraid of what might come out if I open my mouth.

  Stonehart motions to the chair. “Shall we?” he asks. He offers his elbow. I take it, and he leads me to the seat.

  What this charade is, I haven’t the faintest idea.

  He lowers himself into the chair first. Then, he pats his lap. “Here, Lilly.”

  I can’t disobey a direct order. I swallow and sit on his legs. He wraps his hands around my tiny waist.

  “Relax,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re so tense. Your TGBs will be here soon.”

  I try to settle into him the way he wants. My body naturally wants to mold into his, and I fight the urge. Being around such a virile male makes me weak.

  I hate that I cannot control that reaction. After everything he’s put me through, and the promise of so much more to come, the only thing I should be feeling toward him is revulsion.

  Yet somewhere deep down, in my very core, desire fights to come to life like a seedling searching for sunlight.

  I stomp it down without mercy.

  I feel Stonehart’s phone buzz in his pocket. He shifts to take it out. “Ah,” he announces. “They are here.”

  He taps the screen, and the lights in the room fade. The only one left is the spotlight shining on the pillar. It’s a strange feeling to look at it from the outside.

  “Jeremy,” I ask, tensing up, “what’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he says. “I hired some entertainers for us tonight. Three of them.”

  Just then, baroque music starts to fill the room. It comes from everywhere, giving the impression of being at a live orchestra. There must be speakers hidden in the ceiling and walls.

  I hear the door behind us open. I crane my neck. The light from behind them illuminates two men, dressed in all black, rushing to fit a queen-sized frame through the door. I watch, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity building in my gut, as they run and place the frame on the floor directly beneath the spotlight. I sit up to get a better look, and Stonehart’s hand tightens around my waist.

  “Stay where you are,” he warns.

  I fall back. The two men return with a mattress, and put it on top of the frame. The music continues in the background. One of the men unravels a sheet, and the other darts away to bring in pillows. Soon, there is a beautiful, perfectly made bed in the center of the room.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Stonehart whispers, “and no, that bed is not for us. At least, not for tonight.” He voice becomes an octave lower and a pitch deeper. “Instead of us fucking,” he rasps in my ear, “I thought we could watch others do it.”

  “What?” I hiss.

  “You heard me.” Stonehart’s hands press into the flesh of my belly protectively. “Enjoy the show.”

  The music picks up. Three beautiful women trail in. Each is wearing a silk, sheer gown. The flowing garments differ only in color. One is red, the other violet, and the last blue.

  The three women hold hands and run around us once, graceful as ballerinas. Their steps are timed to the music. They giggle and laugh as they throw ribbons of lace in the air.

  Stonehart settles back, clearly comfortable. I sit on his lap strung tight as a violin string.

  When one of the dancers makes her way to the bed, the others follow. She falls back, her dark hair spread around her head, and beckons the one in the blue to kiss her.

  They start to make out, hot, sensual, and lusty. The third woman gently caresses their combined bodies.

  Not half a minute later, I feel Stonehart’s hand travel up my leg. I squirm and press my knees together, hoping to deter him.

  “Lilly,” he says in my ear, “the show is turning me on.”

  His low growl makes my clit throb. I shove the sensation away.

  Stonehart is not a good man, I want to scream at my body. Stop reacting to him!

  Thankfully, his hand does not go farther than my thigh. My eyes focus on the three lovers again. Their tops have come off, and they are consuming one another, absolutely uninhibited by being watched. There is something very subtle and sensual about the way their bodies come together. It is not crude and forced, but softer, more like art. More like… real lovemaking.

  Another unconscious pulse of heat runs through me. I clear my throat to try to forget Stonehart’s hand lying against my bare skin.

  That only draws his attention back to me.

  My breathing quickens as Stonehart forces his hand into the smooth recess between my thighs. Conflicting emotions rage through me: Revulsion at the way my body responds to him. Disgust with how weak he makes me. And, beneath it all, an undeniable current of need.

  I try to ignore it all. I try to ignore the moaning that is filling the room. I try to pretend the steady fingers that are massaging me are not there.

  But when the first ripple of pleasure spreads through my body, I can’t help a sharp intake of breath. Stonehart makes a sound of amusement behind me, and redoubles his efforts. I shudder as another splash of pleasure rocks my body. I want to push his hand away, to stop the onslaught on my senses. But, I can’t. I’m not allowed to fight him… not unless I want to evoke his wrath.

  I dig my nails into the armrests, instead. His fingers keep moving, making my body thrum like a well-tuned harp. The darkness of the room and the performance before me does not let my mind focus on anything but sex. My heart beats faster, my breaths become rapid. I can feel my breasts becoming heavy and tender. I do everything I can to fight the visceral, animal reaction that Stonehart is evoking in me.

  It’s no use. I give another little gasp as one more wave of pleasure breaks through my defenses. The three women are now totally consumed in a powerful ménage a trois. Their cries and moans and all the slippery sounds of sex fill my ears, making it impossible not to feel turned on.

  “You’re close,” Stonehart rasps. I bite my lip and give a muffled sob, shaking my head.

  “You are. I can feel it.” His free hand darts up and kneads my breast. The air leaves my lungs in a burst.

  “Come for me, Lilly-flower,” Stonehart says. “Come for me now!”

  The command rips open the floodgates. I gasp as the enormous, built-up wave of arousal crashes into my body. For a moment, I soar, lost in a sea of pure ecstasy, before coming back to earth.

  Stonehart gives a shuddery moan and withdraws his fingers from between my legs. “Taste,” he commands, bringing them to my lips.

  I have no choice but to lick them, for the first time ever, tasting my own juices. Stonehart pulls his fingers out of my mouth and brings them to his own. His clasp loosens on my waist. I have no resistance left as my melted body sags into him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wake up late the next morning. I’m alone. There’s a kink in my neck from falling asleep the wrong way in the chair.

  Stonehart got up and walked out moments after he brought me to orgasm. I was left alone in that room, an uncomfortable spectator. The girls paid me absolutely no mind. When their games finally finished, they lounged on the bed in a sweet, unhurried embrace for a long time. I didn’t dare stand or talk to them, even without Stonehart present. I did not want to break any of his rules.

  At first, I wasn’t sure how long they would be there. But eventually, they stood up, one by one, and filed out. I fell asleep in the chair soon after. Remembering Stonehart’s reactions when he found me in it, I did not want to risk the bed.

  I stretch and roll my shoulders, trying to loos
en the tightness. The morning sun reflects off the glassy sea outside, bathing the sunroom in a cool, fresh light.

  Excitement fills me as I stand up. The day is beautiful, and soon, I will be able to redeem my first freedom.

  “Who are you, Stonehart?” I mumble under my breath. Today, I intend to find out.

  I go to the breakfast room, where my food is already waiting for me. There is a folded note leaning against the plate.

  I sit down and open it.

  Lilly,

  An unexpected business trip sent me away. I will be gone for three days. I have not forgotten about your reward. You will find the door before you unlocked. I have extended the collar’s range. You are allowed anywhere in my home except my office. Rose will give you a tour.

  Do not leave the house. You know what will happen if you disobey.

  I hope you will give me no reason to regret my decision.

  - J.S.

  The note falls from my hand and I stand on unsteady legs, food forgotten.

  The door is unlocked.

  I walk up to it in a daze. My hand closes over the handle. I take a deep breath, and push down.

  Disbelief fills me as I feel the handle shift beneath my fingers. The lock opens, and I push the door outward.

  A long hallway stands before me, illuminated by soft lights running along the ceiling. The cinder block walls are painted an earthy brown. A lacquered red hardwood floor reflects the light.

  I bring a shaky hand to my collar. This is it. When I take my first step, I’ll know if Stonehart is playing another cruel game with me, or if he actually stands by his word.

  Adrenaline pulses through my body as I inch my foot onto the hardwood floor. Carefully, I shift my weight onto it… and wait.

  Nothing happens.

  I steady myself against the doorway and pull myself through. I take a few careful steps forward, waiting for the telltale tingle under my ear.

  Nothing.

  Astounded, I continue walking. Slowly.

  Stonehart told the truth.

  With a pounding heart, I make my way down the hall. My hands are outstretched to either side of me, trailing along the walls. The feel of the coarse cement under my fingertips is electric.

  I glance over my shoulder every few steps, hardly believing this is real, half expecting to be shocked at any moment.

  At the end of the hallway is a set of grand oak doors. They remind me of the ones in Stonehart’s office. The ones I saw more than six weeks ago.

  Jesus Christ, I’ve been here for a long time. I stop for a moment and wonder if anybody in the outside world is thinking about me. Sonja and Fey must have heard that my internship fell through by now.

  But then again, how would they? They likely think that I’m busy working. Hell, they’re probably happy I haven’t called them yet. It must mean that I’m so busy living my dream.

  I give a sour chuckle. If they had any idea…

  I open the final set of doors and come upon a magnificent lobby. No. Magnificent does not even begin to describe it. It’s simply… sublime.

  It’s a circular space on the ground floor. High above me—higher even than the ceiling in the sunroom—hangs a pure crystal chandelier. I think it might be worth more than the entire building of my old Palo Alto apartment.

  Stairs spiral around the outside of the room, leading to the second floor. To my left, enormous entrance doors are flanked by two skinny windows. I go up to one and look through it.

  The air leaves my lungs in a gasp. The lawn in front extends as far as the eye can see. A driveway winds through it, splitting up into a roundabout before the mansion. A beautiful, white clay fountain depicting two angelic beings in a lover’s embrace is in the middle, looming larger than life.

  Tall spruce trees and evergreens stand on either side of the driveway like soldiers at the ready. I’m sure if I could see all the way to the end, there would be a massive iron gate.

  Footsteps on the marble floor make me jump and turn around. My heart is beating out of my chest when my eyes fall on Rose, descending the stairway and smiling warmly at me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Miss Ryder,” she says, giving a little curtsy. “Mr. Stonehart told me to be expecting you today.”

  “Please, Rose, there’s no need for formalities,” I start. I cut off when I see her eyes dart above me. I follow her gaze, and find a camera pointed right at us.

  Her eyes come back to me, holding warmth and kindness, but also caution. “Mr. Stonehart asked me to show you around the estate.”

  I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say. “Please.”

  Rose gives an almost imperceptible wink and turns away. “Follow me.”

  As I trail after her through the rooms, I can’t help but think of what an extravagant waste all this space is. Stonehart lives here alone. He must, for I haven’t seen any hint of a woman’s presence. Yes, I get that he’s rich, but having so much square footage all to himself makes me uneasy.

  Why does one person need so much space? What is he trying to prove? What is he trying to hide?

  Other than you? a cynical voice asks me.

  Every once in a while, Rose stops seemingly for no reason at all and glances back at me. Each time, a small gesture on her part alerts me to the presence of another camera. I get what she’s doing, and couldn’t be more thankful for it. Rose is reminding me that our entire interaction is being monitored by Stonehart.

  “Does Mr. Stonehart entertain often?” I ask almost an hour later, when we return to the lobby.

  “Oh, no,” Rose shakes her head. “He never invites people here. He has an apartment in the city for that sort of thing.”

  “Does he spend a lot of time there?”

  “Not since you came along,” she tells me, and smiles. “Miss Ryder, excuse my candor, but I really must tell you something.”

  “Go ahead,” I say.

  “Well, I don’t know the particulars of your arrangement with Mr. Stonehart, and it’s certainly not my place to ask, but I only want to say that since he welcomed you into his life, Mr. Stonehart has been a changed man. I have never seen him so content.”

  I frown, wondering if this is a test Stonehart told Rose to put me through. I remember the camera above me. “Thank you,” I say noncommittally.

  She nods at me in a way that I’m almost certain means, “Well done.” She turns away.

  “I’ll be on my way, now,” she says. “There’s nothing more for me to show you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  My eyes widen. “You mean, you don’t live here?”

  “Heavens, no! I’ve always preferred my own bed. Especially when Mr. Stonehart isn’t around to call on me.”

  “Okay,” I say, processing this new information. Stonehart is trusting me to be alone in his entire house? This has got to be a trick. I need to proceed with caution.

  “Charles—the cook—will be in shortly to make your dinner,” Rose says. “You may introduce yourself if you’d like, but be warned: He is not very talkative.”

  “I will, Rose. Thank you for showing me around.”

  “It was my pleasure. Whatever makes Mr. Stonehart happy makes me happy, and you make him very happy.” She walks by me through the door. “Good-bye.”

  After the doors close, I stand still for the longest time. The house is silent. The only thing I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.

  This has to be a test, I tell myself. There is no way Rose has her own place.

  Stonehart wouldn’t risk her finding out about me and raising an alarm. Things cannot be so simple.

  A terrifying thought creeps into the depths of my mind. Stonehart would not risk Rose knowing about me… unless she’s in on it, too.

  That makes my skin crawl. Could kind, sweet Rose be involved in my capture? Could she and Stonehart both be in on it?

  After thinking on it for a while, I see how that can totally make sense. What is Rose’s real rel
ationship with Stonehart?

  I don’t know. But, whatever it is, I intend to find out. And until I do, I have to remember to stay on my guard around her—no matter how much that hurts me.

  I have no friends here. To think otherwise would be lunacy.

  It is a dark, depressing thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I walk through the entire mansion, not touching a thing, but imprinting the layout in my mind. Stonehart said he’d be gone for three days. I plan on making use of that time.

  There is a pool, a bar, and a theater in the basement. The pool is a full, Olympic size one. I never really liked to swim, but my body is itching for physical exercise. Doing something strenuous can empty my mind. I make a note to check if my closet includes swimwear later tonight.

  I look behind the bar, and find it stocked with all kinds of liquor. I debate pouring myself a glass—Stonehart never mentioned restrictions on consumption. Ultimately, I decide against it. Who knows if he’ll take it as a transgression.

  I return to the main floor and do a second walkthrough of the mansion. I’m looking for anything that will give me a clue about Stonehart, the person. If I’m to ferret out information I can use against him, that would be the best place to start.

  Unfortunately, my search comes up empty. I’m not yet bold enough to open drawers and closed doors, but even if I were, I doubt I would find much. The house is sterile. It’s decorated well, with modern furnishings accentuating the architecture. However, it feels more like a showroom than a real home. The few paintings on the walls are generic and nondescript. There is no clutter anywhere, and not even a hint of dust that could give me some clue about which rooms are used less than others.

  Roaming around gives me no sense of Stonehart the man.

  Eventually, I find my way to one of the living rooms. Two leather couches stand facing each other in front of a gas fireplace. I find the switch and turn it on. The flames come to life, dancing behind the glass. I sit down and watch them.

  At exactly six o’clock, a bell chimes from down the hall. Curious—but cautious—I rise to see what it is. I walk into the kitchen, and discover a full meal laid out on the dining table.