Page 30 of In Love With a Master (Interview With a Master 2)

Leticia’s smile hung on her lips, a brittle fragile thing, and there was a forced strain in her voice beneath the bright chirp of her words.

“Would you like a drink?” she offered suddenly. “I still have whisky. In fact, I bought another bottle – and I have plenty of ice in the freezer.”

I nodded politely, and finished my meal. I crushed my paper napkin into a ball, and carried our empty plates into the kitchen while Leticia hovered in the dining room, pouring my drink.

We met near the hallway entrance, Leticia proffering the glass to me like some primitive worshipper trying to appease the wrath of a vengeful god.

“I hope you like it,” she said softly. “It’s the same brand you have in your study. I checked the bottle.”

I sipped at the whisky and felt the familiar warm burn of the alcohol unravel the knots of tension in my guts. “Thank you,” I smiled dutifully. “It’s perfect.”

Leticia’s grin was out of all proportion, heavy with her relief. She smiled up into my face, but there was a shadow of movement behind her eyes and I felt a sudden sense of premonition, of foreboding. I felt a rising coldness cramp my chest.

Leticia touched my arm and the shock of her touch was like a dive into a clear mountain lake. She looked away guiltily, words seeming to choke in her throat. For a long moment she stared away into space, and then turned back to me. The press of her fingers on my arm became firmer, and there was a hectic flush of agitation on her cheeks.

“Jonah…” the words came slowly, torn reluctantly from her lips, “…the ‘New York Times’ contacted our office today. They want to interview you…”

“What?” I felt a loud sound in my head, like the peel of a tolling bell.

Leticia went on in a rush. “They have bought syndication rights to the articles,” she explained, “And they read the first series of interviews the newspaper published. They want to do their own interview with you.”

I set the whisky glass down on the edge of the table. The roar of noise in my ears became a deafening clamor. “No,” I said. “No. I will not do it.”

Leticia nodded her head in a simple gesture of acquiescence as though my answer was no surprise. “I will let the editor know,” she said, “And that will be the end of it.”

I shook my head. “No, Leticia. That won’t be the end of it. You know that, and now I know that. This is just the beginning of some fresh nightmare where the media and the public won’t give me a moment of peace.”

I brushed free of Leticia’s fingers and began to pace the small room, my steps as restless as a lion, caged and hunted. I reached the apartment door then spun on my heel and paced across to the window. I stood staring out at the city lights with my hands clasped behind my back, balancing on the balls of my feet in the soldier’s stance. The anger sizzled and crackled in me with snapping sparks of white light. I closed my eyes and drove down the rushing roar of noise until my mind was clear and icy calm. I turned from the window slowly.

“We can only live for now,” I spat the words out grimly as if they were bloodied teeth, my frustration and resentment turning my expression into a snarl. “There is nothing I can do about tomorrow – tomorrow may never come. All we can do is make the most of right here and right now.”

The words choked bitterly in my throat. Every one of them forced by my memory of the conversation I had had with Leticia after the death of Tiny.

I was no longer willing to live my last days as a victim.

Leticia stood, unsure. Her hand was to her mouth, the fingers splayed. Slowly, uncertainly, she traced a line with her fingertip down her cheek, across her soft lips, and then down to her throat, where her fingers paused to unfasten the first button of her blouse.

I watched her with dark eyes.

I said nothing.

Leticia’s hand drifted over her breast, lingering there for an instant. She unfastened the second button of her blouse.

The fabric gaped open at her throat so that I could see the smooth skin there, and my eyes drifted down to the hint of softer paler flesh within her bra. Leticia leaned her hip against the wall and her stance became indolent, almost casual. She crossed her legs at the ankles and tilted her hips. Her hand slid within the fabric of her blouse and stayed there so that I could see the movement of her fingers kneading her breast beneath the satin.

My gaze began to smolder. “Keep going,” I said. “Undo the next button.” The force of my sudden physical desire shocked me. I felt my body clench and harden, and the thump of my heart within the cage of my ribs was urgent and pounding.

Leticia lifted her chin an inch, and her expression became bold. There was a hint of audacity and defiance in her voice. “Why don’t you make me?” she said softly. Her eyes were huge and unblinking. She licked her lips and her mouth became the shape of a provocative pout.

I closed the space between us in just a few simmering strides, the force of me sweeping Leticia off her feet like the press of an avalanche, and driving her back against the wall. I crushed my mouth over hers in a kiss that blazed until we broke apart, gasping and breathless. Leticia’s lips were swollen and smudged with the color of her lipstick.

There was a sudden wild, reckless fire in her eyes.

She had her hands behind her back, pressed to the wall in a submissive pose that left her whole body open to me.

“Do you want me naked?”

“Yes,” my voice rasped with desire.

“Where? The bedroom?” Her own voice was strained and tight. Her breasts were thrust forward so that the nipples showed as tight hard lumps through the thin material of her blouse.

“No. Here,” I growled. “Now.”

I tore at the front of Leticia’s top. The fabric fell away from her shoulders. I lunged for her neck and bit at the soft smooth skin there, devouring her as the mist of my hunger clouded my eyes, and my hands ran over her body, acting without command. Leticia threw her head back. There was a choking cry of passion in her throat.

My fingers unfastened her bra and then reached down the arch of her back to the flare of her hips. Leticia stood passively, swaying like a branch in a breeze as I tugged at the zip of her skirt and then dragged the clothes down her thighs. I took her by the wrist and led her to the dining area. I pressed one hand into the middle of her back and she folded forward over the edge of the table.

“Spread your legs,” I ordered.

I ran my hand between her parted thighs, sliding my palm over the glossy slipperiness of her silken underwear. I felt the tight clench of Leticia’s body as my fingers brushed across the flowering bud of her clit. She seized, and became suddenly very still.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her panties and tugged urgently at the silk. Leticia gasped. Her breasts were mashed against the polished wood, her face turned to one side and her lips parted by ragged little breaths. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut. I reached for her arms, folded them so they were behind her back, and trapped them together in a firm grip to hold her in place.

“Spread your legs wider!” I barked.

Leticia shuffled her feet further apart. With my free hand I unfastened my belt buckle and drew down the zip of my pants. My cock was hard: thick and hot with my need, and the heady arousal of power. I rubbed the burning tip of myself against the folds of Leticia’s pussy and felt the slick warm rush of her own want.

I pushed my hips forward, sliding myself deep between the folds of Leticia’s sex. I heard her gasp, a sound that was a compound of desire and fulfillment. I felt the molten heat of her grip at me fiercely, and I thrust again, this time sinking myself all the way inside her until our bodies were pressed hard against each other. I hooked my hand onto one shoulder, then tangled my fingers within the tresses of her hair, pulling her face up off the table and raising her chin until her head was tilted back.

“Fuck me!” my voice crackled like ice. “I want to feel you riding the length of me.”

Leticia groaned. I felt her hips rock, her body becoming more comfortable w

ith my thickness, then she slowly began to slide herself back and forth, flexing the muscles in her thighs for momentum.

I remained unmoving – my cock rigid – my whole body strung taut. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the smolder of sensations I could feel: the draw and release of Leticia’s pussy as the slow movement of her body seemed to tantalize and heighten each new sensation.

Leticia’s back was arched, her body tensed tight as a straining bow. I released the clamping grip I had around her wrists, and her fingers scrabbled across the polished wood and clawed at the edge of the table.

Her body was burning. I felt her legs begin to tremble. I let go of her hair and she slumped forward with a groan of tortured torment.

My hands seized her hips, my fingers digging into the firm flesh there like vices so that I felt the bunching of muscles in my forearms and my chest.

“Don’t move.”

I slammed my hips forward and Leticia’s body shook with the sudden impact. She cried out, the sound like a strangled plea.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!”

I thrust again.

And again.

I felt the clench of my jaw, and a sheen of sweat broke out along the line of my brow. I closed my eyes and a swirl of erotic flashes played within my mind. I visualized the image of us, locked together as if through the eyes of a voyeuristic bystander.

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