Page 4 of Beneath the Watching

“Where’s Al?”

He shrugged. “I’m not his keeper.”

Worry filled me, imagining myself being left behind. “I need to go home.” I lifted off the seat and pushed at the man.

He slid from the booth and held out his hand to help me up. “Call him.”

I did. Apparently, Al rented our usual room in the casino’s hotel, and we weren’t returning to our house tonight. Glancing around, I almost expected him to be walking across the floor, coming to retrieve me. It was eerie, the emptiness of the club. A couple waitresses and waiters milled about, wiping down tables as soft music played in the background. I turned to leave.

Stefan grabbed my arm, stopping me. “I know you see me. I know you can seeus.” A chill ran down my spine while I tried to pull away from him. “I can feel your pulse and I can smell your arousal. Did you know we’re designed to get that response from you?”

I held my breath and met his gaze when he spoke again. “You could’ve resisted it if you chose to. Instead, you welcomed me. Why?” he demanded.

There was no answer forthcoming; I had no idea why. All I knew was that there was a magnetic force drawing me in, like a moth to a flame. I wasn’t sure what made him say such strange things. He’d never spoken to me before though I knew he’d been aware of my existence and had recently started to watch me closely. He may have said hello to me once or twice, but that was it.

“Speak,” he ordered.

My mouth opened yet no words passed my lips while a wave of discomfort ran through me. My physical reaction and lack of objection to his touch felt like cheating, like I had been unfaithful to Al. Rationalizing my behavior, I told myself I hadn’t had a choice.

I was well aware of Al and Madison’s antics together, the overfamiliarity. The only thing that bothered me was when itwas flaunted out in the open. The man in front of me claimed to be intuitive but the nature of my relationship had been glaringly missed by him. He didn’t know there was no intimacy between me and my boyfriend.

“Well?” Two steps forward and he was directly in front of me, insisting I reply.

“I...”

His eyes narrowed and I glanced down, focusing on the dark navy blue of his shirt, the matching buttons. A black leather belt with a sleek silver buckle. Perfectly creased charcoal dress pants, the hem skirting the tops of his flawlessly laced shoes, tie loops precisely proportioned.

“You don’t know anything about my life,” I said finally.

He moved even closer, the electric heat of his body piercing my skin through my clothing. “I know I want to drink you down.”

He wasn’t touching me. Not a stray finger or a single strand of hair brushed my flesh, but I could still feel him. His scent caressed me, assaulting my senses. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to get my bearings. What was happening to me? No one had ever affected me this way and Stefan had always been around, right? So why the change? He’d seemed almost like an extra on a movie set; a person of no consequence for me to admire until now. I’d never realized he was this stunningly beautiful, or that I was being slowly sucked into his orbit.

“Will you let Al touch you tonight? Will you imagine it's my touch making you dripping wet? Or will it be your own fingers making your soul dance?” His words forced my eyes back open. The dirty words were the last thing I’d expected from the alluring man in front of me.

“We don’t, uh, do that.” It was none of his business and my honesty left me flustered. I hadn’t meant to admit that potentially embarrassing fact to anyone.

He leaned toward my ear. “I see you.”

Fumbling with my purse, I rushed off to the bank of elevators and pushed the button. I squeezed my eyes shut when the doors closed. I couldn’t believe I’d admitted something so personal to someone who was practically a stranger.

No one knew we didn’t have sex. Not Madison, not Kiara. No one. We were a couple, yes—but it was an arrangement, and we’d be married one day. Al could sleep with whoever he wanted as long as he was discreet, and I didn’t find them in bed with him.

I’d never told him I’d be okay with that; I’d just assumed he’d take care of his needs with discretion.If he even had needs. He wasn’t a very sexual person by nature, not that I’d ever noticed. I’d attempted to bring up the subject once, back in the beginning, but he’d refused to discuss the matter, uncomfortable I’d dared broach it. Our social media pages described our relationship as “its complicated.” We’d been coexisting with whatever we had just fine.

The two of us were close friends although we did exchange quick kisses in public for appearance’s sake. Sometimes we even cuddled at home when we watched movies or television shows. We did have minor affectionate feelings toward each other, but there was nothing carnal occurring in the bedroom. I’d have to revisit the intimacy topic with him again soon, for sure.

Al had some severe hang-ups, I knew. Something had happened in his childhood that left him unable to form close, intimate relationships with anyone and he refused to speak about it. That was fine with me, as I didn’t like to fill anyone in on my own past, either, though Madison and Kiara knew some details.

Al had helped me out when I’d left my last foster parents, ageing out of the system at eighteen, after living in their home for almost four years. I’d never been close to them, there were no parent-child feelings between myself and the two people Icalled mom and dad. Life had felt like a fancy boarding house situation and when they fostered more, younger children, I knew I’d overstayed my welcome. They’d fulfilled their duty of keeping me alive with a roof over my head.

All my foster parents had treated me like an accessory, a stand-in, and I was most likely seen as a paycheck. There was no physical abuse present in the homes that I’d witnessed. Perhaps neglect? Emotional abuse? But we’d all had every material thing we needed. I was fine with being told I was merely present for image and that was all I was good for. I just wanted a place to call home. I could deal with the conditions and appreciated the rude honesty as it left clearly defined parameters for me to operate in.

It’d been mostly the same at every foster home I’d been in. Cold parenting; basic needs met. Since I was around five years old, I’d been in the system, never lasting more than four to six years with each family. Seen and not heard, I was shuffled off when my usefulness expired.

I didn’t remember my birth family, just some foggy images that flitted about in the recesses of my mind. Fields of yellow flowers, bright sunny skies, a soft, female presence, and that was it. No one had an answer for why or how I’d found myself in foster care and eventually, I’d stopped asking. I’d learned early on to stop expecting a family to truly love and cherish me.

Afterall, my own family hadn’t wanted me.

---