Heath Page 2

  She shoves me and stomps off. I’ll get a talking to in the morning from Crenshaw because she’ll no doubt tattle to him. It was worth it.

  Slipping into my room, I shed my suit jacket and look about the small space. When I was a young boy and scared half out of my wits, I’d been sent to this room by Mrs. Crenshaw. Lillian Crenshaw was a frigid bitch. I know it broke the old man’s heart, but he was better off the day she ran off with a younger man. She only distracted him. The moment she ran off, he poured his focus into his work and built an empire. She did him a favor.

  She did me a favor as well.

  By hissing hateful words and shoving me into an old sewing room—reminding me I wasn’t good enough for a regular room—I’d learned at an early age that not everyone is good and eager to help poverty-stricken children in an alleyway. Some folks are spoiled as shit and don’t want their pristine life tainted by the likes of a dirty little “runt.” Lillian kindled a fire inside of me. To show her and those who were likeminded, that I could be better than them. That one day I would be.

  I’ve been clawing my way to the top ever since.

  Her son knows more than anyone how it feels to be on the bottom of motherfucking Heath’s shoe.

  Italian leather, of course, because his daddy demands the best.

  “Heath…”

  My name is called out sweetly from somewhere nearby. Just down the hallway outside my room. I quickly tug off my tie and pull it from my neck. She calls for me again and I all but rip my dress shirt off me. I kick off my shoes and crack my neck.

  I’m coming, Catrina.

  I leave my undershirt and slacks on as I slip out of the room on a hunt for her. In just my socks, I creep down the hallways quiet as the mouse she claims I am. Floorboards creak nearby and I pause mid-step. Listening. Inhaling the air. I catch a whiff of her lingering scent. Some sweet-smelling lotion I love to lick straight from her skin. My mouth salivates for a taste. Salty and sweet. Mine.

  “Achoo!” A sniffle and then, “Shit!”

  I rush into the room across from hers. It used to be Hunter’s room, but has since been turned into Catrina’s sitting room. She likes the view of the property in this room better than hers. She had several bookshelves installed along the walls, a couple comfy reading chairs brought in, and a desk to write at put in along the long window.

  “I know you’re in here, my love,” I say lowly from the doorway.

  Now she’s quiet as a mouse. But I can practically feel her breathing. I can practically taste her arousal.

  “When I find you, I’m going to suck on your throat until you scream,” I taunt.

  “You can’t do that. Then Daddy will know.” The closet. I step over that way.

  “He already knows,” I counter.

  “You told him?”

  “I don’t have to. Crenshaw’s smart.”

  The hangers in the closet clatter together. I twist my fingers around the knob and wrench the door open. It’s pitch-black in the long walk-in closet. Shuffling can be heard as she retreats deeper inside. I close the door behind me.

  “Why do you always hide from me?” I ask as I run my palm along the empty hangers, letting them clack together. “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “No,” she grumbles, a little defensively I might add.

  Irritation blooms inside of me. One day I’ll prove my worth to her. I’m so close I can taste it. To all the outsiders, I’m an orphan who somehow caught the eye of a rich businessman. Unworthy. A thorn in the side of a perfect family. I don’t belong. I’ve been told that before at church. Sanctimonious bastards. And in town, I see it in their eyes. I don’t belong in their world.

  Soon, though, this fucking world will be mine.

  “We’re in the dark, sweet Catrina. You can let your dirty little secret defile you and nobody will ever know,” I growl.

  She squeaks and I pounce. My palms find the silky material of her nightgown as I tackle her, and together, we fall to the carpeted closet floor, landing on a pile of old, unused pillows. She claws at my shirt, not because she wants to get away, but because she wants it off.

  Little Crenshaw likes to get caught.

  I nip at her jaw and her breath hitches. My cock is hard and I grind it against her thigh, reminding her just how good we are together. She moans, her fingers sliding to my gelled hair and rumpling it. Her grip tightens on my locks as she draws me to her lips.

  I can’t see her in the darkness, but I don’t need to.

  She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  She’s the most beautiful thing I can’t see.

  Hot breath tickles my lips, but I don’t indulge her with a kiss. Not yet. I want to punish her a little for her earlier hesitation. One day, I’ll be worthy and I’ll put a ring on her finger. Then, I’ll fill her over and over again with my children. If God had a plan, it didn’t include us. Nothing this fiery—this intense—could come from the heavens. The flames that continually burn through us are straight from the bowels of hell.

  A devil and his queen.

  To rule. Together. Soon.

  “Who do you love?” I ask, my lips delicately brushing over hers.

  “A madman,” she teases.

  I suck on her bottom lip and then bite until she cries out. “Is he good-looking?”

  “Hot. So hot,” she breathes. “He kisses really well.”

  “Better than me?” I nudge her nose with mine.

  “Hmm,” she purrs. “Maybe you should kiss me and I’ll let you know.”

  “Kiss you where?” I press my mouth to hers. “Here?”

  “Everywhere.”

  I trail hot kisses from her mouth to her jaw to her throat. With eager hands, I rip at her gown, pulling the top down and exposing her bare breasts to me. “Here?”

  “Y-Yes, there.”

  I nip at her breast and then suck the flesh between my teeth. She cries out and wraps her legs around my body. Her heels dig into my back as her fingers claw desperately at my hair.

  “Tell me who you love,” I murmur against her peaked nipple. “Tell me.”

  She moans. “You, Heath. I love you.”

  I suck her nipple hard and then pop off it with a loud sound. The material slides back over her breasts. I kiss down the front of her gown toward her cunt as I shove the material up her stomach. When I kiss her near her belly button, her breath hitches. Her panties are lacy and barely anything to speak of. I take joy in ripping them in two and tossing them somewhere in the closet for Helen to find. Catrina mutters my name when I wrench her thighs apart. I don’t have to see her pretty pussy to know it’s trimmed short, pink, and dripping with arousal. We’ve been intimate for years now. In secret, but the love between us grows more intense with each passing moment. Sometimes I wonder how it will be when we’re old and gray. Will we combust entirely? What a beautiful fucking burn that would be.

  I kiss her mound and then run my tongue up her slit. She jolts beneath me and her hips lift, seeking out the pleasures only I can offer. Sucking on her clit, I revel in the scream that will be muffled by the closet. Her taste is sweet and fucking perfect. I suck on her soft lips. Bite on her tender flesh. Inhale her scent that belongs only to me. I steal her moans and groans and curses. My fingers seek her entrance and find the places within her that also beg for attention. I play my girl like an instrument. A loud one that squawks and is out of tune, but plays beautiful music to me, nonetheless.

  “Heath!” She says my name like a curse. Like when she stubs her toe or burns her fingers on her curling iron. I like that I’m the dirty and the wrong in her life. Her favorite naughty word.

  I suck her clit into my mouth once more as I finger her G-spot within, loving the way she shudders with a loud, body-quaking orgasm. I don’t give her time to recover. As she continues to shudder, I yank at my zipper and work my aching cock from my slacks. I give her wet cunt a slap that makes her cry out and then I push inside her. No warning. Just stab her with my need. Desperate. Hungry. Fucki
ng now.

  “Heath!” Again, I’m being chastised for being bad with good loving.

  I growl and tangle my fingers in her hair. Our lips fuse together and I kiss my life. I kiss my heart. I kiss my goddamned soul. We are one, she and I. Her nails scrape down my arms and her cunt clenches around my thickness. I fuck her hard and unrelenting. I fuck her like the madman she claims me to be. I fuck her until I’m dangerously close to coming.

  Slowing, I tease her mouth with mine. “I could come inside you.”

  She flinches. “Don’t be a prick.”

  I lift up and grab her wrists, pinning her to the pillows beneath her. “I could do it and you’d be at my mercy.”

  “Is that really in your plan?” she tosses back at me, not fighting my hold on her.

  Annoyed that she called my bluff, I slam into her hard enough to make her scream again. I fuck, fuck, fuck her until my nuts seize up. With a groan, I pull out seconds before shooting my load inside her and instead come all over her perfect stomach that will one day swell with my child.

  Just not yet.

  I may be a madman.

  But even madmen have a plan.

  And plans, especially those designed by madmen, must be carefully executed.

  “I love you too,” I say and kiss my life, my heart, my soul’s mouth.

  The plan has almost come to fruition.

  Soon, sweet Catrina. Soon.

  Catrina

  “WOULD YOU CARE FOR MORE tea?” Denise, the Lincolns’ housemaid, asks, her thin brow quirked up as she holds the ceramic teapot in front of me while waiting for an answer. I glance toward her and realize I must’ve been lost in my own thoughts. It happens often, especially after spending time with Heath.

  “Yes, please.” I give her a slight nod and a fake smile as my thoughts go back to the way Heath made love to me last night. Lifting my teacup to my lips, I take a sip as I force myself not to let out a snicker at the mere thought of what one might think if they were to witness Heath’s type of lovemaking. The way he tore my panties off my body and pushed my thighs apart. My muscles clench as I recall the way he ate my pussy like a starved man before he spread me open and fucked me like a wild animal. No, not like a wild animal. Like a madman. My madman.

  “Catrina, you’re awfully quiet,” Delores Lincoln notes. “Is everything okay?”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes over her false attempt at sounding like she gives a damn about anything other than herself, I plaster on my mastered saccharine smile, tilt my head to the side slightly, and nod once, just as I’ve been trained to do thanks to my many years of finishing school. “Of course, I’m just thinking about the upcoming garden party.” Delores grins back then turns her attention to her daughter, Isabel, regarding her as though she’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Isabel is pretty, I guess, in a boring, innocent sort of way with her wide hazel eyes and smooth pale-blond hair.

  “I recently stumbled upon the most adorable bakery while shopping with Clarissa. Sinful Delights. At first glance I was skeptical as it’s located in Cobble Hill, but I must say their brownies were delicious. Clarissa ordered the rhubarb pie, and while I probably shouldn’t have, I splurged and tried a piece. It was simply delectable.” Her eyes widen like she’s just confessed to purchasing a nine-inch dildo instead of just admitting to eating a pastry in Cobble Hill. My tea goes down the wrong way at the image of Delores with a large, thick, rubber dick, and I have to cover my mouth and fake a cough to hide my reaction.

  “Mother, what in the world were you doing in Cobble Hill?” Isabel scrunches her nose up in disgust, and for the millionth time during this tea time, I force my eyes not to roll upward.

  “Clarissa needed to size a woman for a wedding and unfortunately she lives over there. You know Clarissa, she’d design a wedding gown for a homeless woman if she begged her nice enough. Anyway, I was thinking we could order from them. You know, help out the less fortunate.” She nods emphatically and I stifle a snort. Cobble Hill is one of the top ten wealthiest neighborhoods in New York. I know this because sometimes when Heath works from home he talks to me about his clients and what he and my father are working on to expand the business. I love that he includes me and speaks to me like I’m his equal, as opposed to treating me like I’m nothing more than a brainless bimbo—like most men treat their women.

  “I think that can be arranged.” I set my teacup down and pick up a piece of biscotti. I take a bite and force myself to choke down the cardboard flavored treat, when what I really want to do is spit it out into my napkin. That wouldn’t be very ladylike, now would it?

  “Oh, Elliot!” Delores stands to greet her son, as does Isabel, and after taking a sip of tea to wash down that horrible excuse of a dessert, I do the same.

  “Ladies.” Elliot gives his mother a kiss on each of her cheeks before he pulls me into his arms for a hug. When he releases me, he backs up slightly and eyes me skeptically. I avert my gaze elsewhere, not able to look him in the eyes, fearful he’ll be able to see what I refuse to say. That while it’s all but been arranged since I was a little girl, that one day I’ll become Mrs. Elliot Lincoln, my heart will never beat for him the way it pounds for the man I really love. Heath. The man whose passion burns so brightly it lights up my soul and sets my body on fire. It’s Heath who pulls me out of my mundane life and into our own little fantasy world. But that’s all Heath will ever be to me. A fantasy. I might be able to touch him and see him and make love to him, but the love we feel for each other will never become a reality.

  “Catrina, my love, you look as beautiful as ever.” Elliot smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and I worry he’s onto me. That he knows my thoughts aren’t about us. That my dreams don’t include him. That even though the bastard might have my father wrapped around his wealthy little finger, he’ll never truly have me. He might one day have my body, but he’ll never have my heart and especially not my soul.

  “Thank you, Elliot.” We all have a seat and of course, he sits right next to me, his hand landing on my thigh and squeezing it softly. Everything he does is soft.

  The way he kisses me.

  The way he touches me.

  The way he has sex with me.

  Soft, soft, soft. There isn’t a passionate bone in his body.

  “We were just discussing the garden party, which will be taking place next month. Catrina has been such a godsend handling all the little details.” Delores smiles sweetly.

  “It’s my pleasure.” I turn to Elliot. “You’re off work early. Is everything okay?”

  “Never better. I was actually hoping to steal you away a little earlier than planned.” He winks and I giggle at his rare playfulness. It’s not often he lets loose and enjoys himself. His world revolves around the oil company he runs with his father. Everything else coming second. We’ve been dating for the last year since he convinced my father it was time he take me out, but I’m nothing more than arm candy for him. He doesn’t really know me. He doesn’t even try to understand me. Not my wants or needs or my deepest desires. He just wants me to be there to look pretty by his side.

  “Only if you make it worth my while,” I murmur into his ear, knowing it will embarrass him. And just as I thought, he smiles sweetly and his cheeks turn a light pink. He’s so much fun to mess with.

  I take another sip of my tea and silently listen as he converses with his mother and sister for a few minutes. When he laughs at something Isabel says, I notice the adorable dimple pop out on his cheek. He must feel me staring at him because he glances over at me and grins, shooting me another playful wink. While Elliot is definitely no Heath when it comes to the looks department, he’s still a good-looking man, just in a more wholesome, boy-next-door sort of way. Whereas Heath is devilishly handsome with his dark brown—almost black—hair always gelled back; Elliot is softer, with his light brown hair always a mess, reminding me of a cute school boy. His eyes are chocolate brown and always bright with genuine happiness shining through, while Heat
h’s darker, deeper brown eyes stay hardened to the outside world, only softening for me when we’re alone and in our own little bubble.

  “Well, we better be going,” Elliot says, putting an end to our weekly tea, something we’ve been doing for years since I was a little girl and my mother was still around. Before she had enough of this life and escaped. Most days I want to hate her for running, but sometimes, secretly, I envy her.

  The four of us stand and Isabel and Delores walk us to the door. Elliot hugs his mother and promises they’ll do brunch this weekend. I spot his Mercedes in the driveway and after saying my goodbyes, head over to the vehicle. Like the gentleman he is, Elliot opens my door for me and once I’m situated, closes the door behind me. Opening his glovebox, I take my Chanel sunglasses out that I keep in here for sunny days like today and put them on. Elliot picks a station and I change it, refusing to listen to the garbage he calls music. We’re almost down his driveway and to the main road when I let my mind drift to earlier.

  “Finals are over,” Heath murmurs, nipping at my ear with his teeth.

  I love to taunt him. “Did you pass?”

  “You know I did.”

  “We’ll celebrate later tonight then,” I promise.

  He hugs me tight. “Dinner at Sheffield’s and dessert in your bed.”

  “Dinner is out, but dessert can definitely be arranged.”

  His body stiffens and I can feel the anger radiating from him. “Other plans?”

  “Nothing of importance,” I tell him truthfully. “I’ll come to you when your dessert is ready.”

  I let out a sigh and try not to think about the fact I’d much rather be with Heath right now than Elliot. Instead, I focus my attention on where we’re headed. I watch out the window as the car picks up speed and the luscious green landscapes blur together. Elliot keeps the conversation flowing the entire drive to the city. I answer the questions he asks and laugh at all the right moments, but my mind is with Heath, wishing I were at dinner with him. I glance down at Elliot’s and my adjoined hands and wish it were Heath’s hand I was holding. I stare out the window and wish my fantasies could somehow become a reality.