behind.
No one noticed her watching from the entryway. Why would they? The people fucking were rather occupied with the fucking. And the dozen people in the room with them did nothing but cheer them on and throw more cash on the table. People checked their watches, but not out of boredom. There seemed to be some kind of bet going on about how long the guy could last. Eleanor watched the girl. Her face was passive, as though she couldn’t care less that she was completely naked in the middle of a room full of people getting pounded from behind. Eleanor had never seen anyone having sex before. She’d read about it in her books, saw pictures of it in magazines. But never had she seen it like this—live and in living color and so close she could see the woman had blue eyes.
The man grunted and pulled out of her. The woman laughed as she swept the money off the table. Still naked and wearing only her black high heels, she stood up and grabbed a glass of something—wine probably—and drank it while she casually wiped the wetness out of her with a linen napkin. She seemed in no hurry to put her dress back on.
Another woman in a red dress yelled that it was her turn. She lay back on the coffee table, hiked her skirt to her waist and lifted her knees to her chest. Another man opened his pants and mounted her right on the table. Once again, all bets were on.
Eleanor heard footsteps behind her and spun around. A couple—two men this time—came laughing and kissing into the foyer, tumblers of something in their hands. They paid her no attention as they headed down the hallway past the grand main staircase. She followed behind them, staying out of their line of sight as they entered the kitchen. While shadowing the men, she peeked into the cavernous dining room. A naked man lay facedown on a huge ornate table. A woman dressed head to toe in leather stalked around the table periodically whacking the man on his back with some kind of long thin cane. He winced and she laughed. He cried out in pain and she laughed louder. She ordered him onto his back and when he turned over, he had already come all over himself. The woman in leather climbed onto the table between his thighs and began to lick the semen off his stomach and thighs with the prissy precision of a cat lapping at a saucer of milk.
“Oh, holy fuck,” she whispered to herself. “Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore….”
15
Eleanor
ELEANOR CREPT BACK DOWN THE HALL TOWARD THE main staircase. In another room, one that held a piano, a woman stood with one leg over the back of a leather chair. A man knelt between her legs and pressed his face into her vulva while another man, standing behind her, played with her breasts and nipples. All the while she carried on a conversation with another equally well-dressed woman sitting on an elegant black-and-white striped couch. In every single room of this house, someone was having sex with someone else. Eleanor could hardly breathe. Heat pooled in her stomach and dripped down her legs. Even as aroused as she was by the sights and sounds and smells, Eleanor didn’t forget her mission. She’d come here to find Søren. She’d seen his motorcycle, but where was he? And what the hell was a Catholic priest doing at a party like this? And why didn’t she get invited?
She marched up the stairs trying to act like she knew where she was going. No one questioned her presence in the house. No one stopped her or asked to see her ID or an invitation. At the top of the first flight of stairs, Eleanor found even more people in various stages of undress engaged in various acts of debauchery. A woman sitting in a leather chair with one leg draped over each arm was allowing a man at least twenty years older than her to slowly work his entire hand into her body. The woman giggled and wiggled and lifted her hips to help him with the whole process. Two men wearing nothing but pants around their ankles engaged in some kind of mutual dick-sucking that required both of them to lie on the floor on their sides. They blocked the entire hallway, so Eleanor had to step over them. They didn’t seem to notice or care.
Finally, Eleanor found an empty bedroom. Ducking inside, she pressed her hand into her stomach, closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. She’d been in the house almost twenty minutes according to her watch, and she’d yet to see Søren. Her heart pounded so hard it threatened to burst out of her chest. She’d never been so aroused and so scared in her life. She couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Was it fear that made her heart beat like this or desire? She wanted to shut the door, lock it, lie in bed and give herself the orgasm her body demanded.
A door inside the bedroom opened. A man emerged from the en suite bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist and water on his skin.
“Hello there,” he said, a wide smile crossing his face. He spoke with an accent, Australian maybe, and didn’t seem the least bothered to find a strange, panting girl standing in his room.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right, love. What’s your name?” He shut the door and locked it.
“Um. Elle.”
“Elle. Pretty name. Pretty girl. I’m Lachlan. Everyone calls me Lockie. Everyone but you. You call me sir.” He winked at her and Eleanor nearly hit her knees from the erotic power of that wink.
“Sure. I mean, yes, sir.”
“Did King send you?”
She didn’t know the right answer to that so she lied and said, “Yes.”
“God, I love that man. What are you into, gorgeous?”
Eleanor had no idea what that question meant.
“Everything?” she answered. Seemed a safe bet.
He laughed and the rich, warm sound sent something like hunger pains rolling through her stomach. He had a rugged handsomeness to him and nothing but muscle on his nearly naked body. He looked about twenty-eight years old. Her mouth had gone dry talking to him, so she licked her lips in nervousness.
“Very good answer.”
He put his hands against the wall on either side of her and brought his mouth down on hers. Eleanor froze as he kissed her. The potency of the kiss soon overpowered her fear and she found herself kissing him back. She’d had a boyfriend in the eighth grade for all of two weeks. They’d done nothing but make out every chance they got at school. Nothing like this. A grown man kissed her now. A man old enough he could have dated her mom without raising anybody’s eyebrows. He slid his hand under her sweater and cupped her breast. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb, and Eleanor nearly climaxed from that touch alone. She melted against his hard, warm body as the kiss deepened further.
With one hand he cupped her bottom while his other hand unhooked her bra in the back. He pinched her right nipple hard enough that she gasped. Unthinkingly, she rubbed her hips into his, seeking something more from him.
“I’m going to beat you until midnight and fuck you until dawn,” he whispered against her lips.
“Beat me?” she asked and his only response was to laugh again.
He took both her breasts in his hands and squeezed them almost to the point of pain. She closed her eyes tight, loving the pain as much as the pleasure. His thumbs flicked across her nipples as his erection twitched against her stomach. In her mind she saw him stripping her naked and nailing her to the wall with that thing. Jesus, where had that thought come from?
“You have perfect tits,” he said, pinching and rolling her nipples. “Perfect size.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” He growled the word into her ear. “And a perfect ass, perfect curves. I like little things like you. Bite-size.”
He punctuated the words by biting hard at her neck, hard enough she knew she’d have a real bruise tomorrow. When he unbuttoned her jeans and eased her zipper down, she inhaled and forgot to exhale.
Stop. That was what she needed to say. Stop. She could do that. One little word.
Stop.
She didn’t say it.
He slipped his hand into her panties and pressed the tip of his finger against her clitoris.
“That’s a good girl,” Lockie breathed in her ear. Good girl? They’d met one minute ago, and she’d let him stick his hand down her pants
, and he was calling her a good girl? She liked his definition of good so much better than the dictionary’s. “I want you to come for me. You’ll be nice and relaxed when I flog you then. Can you do that, bite-size?”
“Standing up?”
“I got you.” He spoke in a low voice, his words soft and heated. And he did feel so good to her. She wanted this for so long, being touched this intimately by an older man. It wasn’t the older man she wanted, but she’d take what she could get.
Lockie’s finger gently worked her clitoris, teasing it, massaging it, stroking it until she went limp his arms. But she didn’t fall. He held her safe and secure between the wall and his own muscular body.
“That’s it, bite-size. Almost there …”
He coaxed her with kisses and whispered encouragements. Any second now she would tell him to stop, tell him to let her go. Any second now …
She panted from pleasure, shivered from need. Everything from her toes to her teeth seemed to clench and tighten. All she had to do was say “stop” and this incredibly gorgeous Australian guy would stop. And she wanted him to stop.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped as she felt a hard muscle contraction inside her.
“Never ever.” He laughed against her skin.
His finger made tight circles against her. Tight … tighter … until finally Eleanor went stiff in his arms as an orgasm stronger than she’d ever experienced before shook her to the very core of her being.
“That’s my girl,” he said and kissed her again.
Lockie pulled his hand out of her panties.
“Take your clothes off. Get on the bed. I want to see all of you.” Those words sounded like an order, an order she desperately wanted to obey.
He pulled away from her and yanked off the towel. She stared at the sight of him completely naked and fully erect. She’d never seen a naked man this close-up before. She almost started to obey his orders when she remembered that she’d come here to see Søren, not have sex with a total stranger. She was a virgin. She wasn’t on birth control. And she was in love with someone else.
“Um … Cockie. Lockie, whatever. I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Diaphragm?” He nodded sagely. “Bathroom’s over there, bite-size. Don’t be too long.”
“My, um, stuff’s downstairs.” She pulled her jeans up and zipped them. “I’ll be right back. Hold that cock. I mean, hold that thought.”
She unlocked the door and slipped out into the hall. She allowed herself all of three seconds to hook her bra and silently freak out before taking off toward the steps. In that three seconds she almost considered turning around and walking back in that room. If Søren wasn’t going to fuck her, maybe she should find someone who would.
A door opened next to her and a woman stepped into the hallway. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the house—luxurious red-black hair, brilliant blue eyes. She wore an elegant black cocktail dress and everything about her screamed money and privilege. And yet for all of that she wore a subdued expression, almost submissive, even as her flushed faced seemed alight with some secret sort of pleasure.
The woman nearly bumped into Eleanor. She said a hurried “So sorry” and neatly skipped down the stairs. Eleanor saw movement and turned her head. And there stood Søren in the same room the woman had emerged from.
He noticed her the second after she noticed him. They stared at each other in silence. Søren held something in his hands, a black cloth that looked like nothing more than a silk handkerchief. And yet somehow she knew it was something so much more than that.
From the bedroom she’d escaped came Lachlan wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, only halfway buttoned.
“Bite-size?” Lachlan asked.
Lachlan looked at Søren. Søren glanced at Lachlan before looking at her.
“Eleanor?” Søren asked.
“Fuck you …” she breathed. And before Søren or Lachlan could say another word, she ran from them. She flew down the stairs and stopped abruptly when a man appeared in front of her. He blocked her path and for a moment she could only stare at him. He had dark eyes, olive skin and shoulder-length black hair with a roguish wave. In another time and place she would have stared at him for an hour he was that handsome.
He gave her a smile, but not a friendly one. A slow, cold, dangerous smile.
He raised one finger and shook it in a classic tsk-tsk motion.
“No children allowed.” He practically purred the words, but she heard the underlying threat. For one brief moment she envisioned clawing his beautiful face off. Instead she pushed past him, fleeing the house like it was burning to ashes behind her. She was awash with grief and shame and embarrassment and fury—utter aching, biting fury. She’d never felt like a bigger idiot in her life. All this time she’d worshipped the ground Søren walked on. She’d offered him her body and he’d turned her down because of that collar around his neck. And it was all a lie. He wasn’t some sort of saint. He was another sinner like everybody else. And he’d fucked that beautiful woman because why not? Who wouldn’t? Eleanor felt so stupid she could almost believe her father had been right about her.
Although she didn’t know what to do or where to go, Eleanor kept walking. She might freeze to death between here and Wakefield but what did it matter? She almost didn’t care if she froze. Her father had hit her, slapped her right in the face. And then she’d seen the one man on earth she trusted with her life in a bedroom with a beautiful woman in a house that hosted an orgy.
She wanted to cry, needed to cry, but she was too cold. Her body shook so hard she thought she’d chip a tooth from how brutally hard her teeth chattered. Maybe she could find a police station and some cop would take pity on her and help her get home. She almost laughed at the thought. Nine months ago she hated the very sight of cops. Now she’d hug one if he so much as stopped and asked her if she was okay. The temperature had dropped in the past hour sending everyone fleeing indoors. She had the street to herself.
“Eleanor?” She heard her name but ignored it. Then she heard it again and didn’t. She stopped and turned around. A silver Rolls-Royce had pulled to the curb, and next to it stood Søren.
“What do you want?” she demanded from fifteen feet away. She refused to take a step toward him, was too cold and too scared to take a step back.
“Get in the car. We’ll talk about this.”
“Go away.”
“I’ll take you home. You don’t even have a coat on and it’s twenty degrees out.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Eleanor. You’re risking hypothermia and whatever you think of me right now, I’m not worth hurting yourself over.”
He opened the back door and waited. She took a step toward him and stopped. Her pride and anger wouldn’t allow her to take another step forward.
Søren came to her, shedding his coat as he walked. When he wrapped it around her, she didn’t even acknowledge him. With his arm around her shoulders, he guided her to the car.
“Hypothermia?” she said. “You’re not worth getting a tan over.”
She got in the car and refused to look at him, even when he sat opposite her on the bench seat.
He leaned forward and dug through the folds of his coat until he found her hands. He took them into his and chafed them, warming her skin with his own.
“Stop,” she said. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
“I’ll stop when you’re warm. Your teeth are still chattering.”
He pulled the coat tighter. All she wanted to do was close her eyes, fall asleep and never wake up again.
“Can you tell me what you were doing at Kingsley’s house tonight?” Søren asked.
“I went to see Dad,” she confessed. “He called me and said he was going to be sentenced and he’d be in prison for years. This was my last chance to see him.”
“I see,” Søren said.
She took a shuddering breath. Her whole body hurt.
“But he was lying
,” she said. “He doesn’t love me, and he’s not going to miss me. He was trying to get me to recant what I said. He said he might get a new trial and if I lied for him …”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him he was an asshole. We fought and I ran for it,” she said, leaving out the part about the slap for some reason. It was too embarrassing to admit her own father had hit her like they were some family on Jerry Springer. “But I left my coat in his apartment and it had my money in it.”
“I’m sorry your father did this to you. I ordered you not to see him or speak to him.”
“I tried to call you.” Eleanor felt her body warming and relaxing. She pulled her hands away from Søren’s and tucked them against her stomach. “I called the church. You were supposed to answer my questions tonight. But Diane said you were gone until Sunday. You forgot about me.”
“I did not and will not ever forget about you. I was coming back to Wakefield tonight and leaving to visit my sister tomorrow morning. I know your mother works late on Friday nights. I thought