He Watches Me: The Seen Trilogy: Part One (7 page)

If I call the number, he won’t answer. I’ll get his voice mail or an assistant, but it is more likely I’ll get his voice mail. A clunky old-fashioned phone has been placed on the corner of the bookstore’s front counter, a crisp ivory card reading
COURT
ESY PHONE
set beside it. The phone is meant for customers, not broke new grads reading the magazines, but no one will know I’m not a customer, and I yearn to hear Blaine’s voice.

I circle the bookstore and casually pick up two expensive hardcover books on Californian wildflowers. I don’t open the books as I don’t want to damage them, not having the money to buy them. I carry the books to the counter.

“May I use the phone?” I ask the sales clerk. I scan her name tag. Sorry, I ask the literary consultant hovering by her cash register. She’s wearing an ugly beige vest over her pretty floral dress, sports the required reading glasses of all pseudolibrarians, and has short, tightly curled ash-blond hair.

“Uh-huh.” The woman fakes a smile. “It only works for local calls and has a ten minute limit.”

“Thank you.” I doubt Blaine’s voice-mail message is more than ten minutes long. I set the wildflower books on the counter, place his business card on top of them and carefully dial the local number.

It rings and I wonder what I’m doing.

It rings again. I reach out my fingers to disconnect the call.

“Blaine,” Blaine barks into the phone. I stare at the receiver. He’s not supposed to answer. Darla said no one can contact him directly.

“Blaine,” he repeats, his voice curt. In the background, men are yelling. They sound very, very angry, and I’ve called him in the midst of all of this, interrupting him for no reason.

“Ummm . . . hi.” I have to say something.

The yelling decreases in volume. “Anna, is that you?” Blaine’s voice softens. There’s a click and the background noise disappears completely. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” I shift my weight, dancing in place. The sales clerk glances at me. “You’re busy. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll hang up—”

“No!”

My nipples harden and my pussy convulses, Blaine able to arouse me with a single word.

“Talk to me,” he commands. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

I look up at the sales clerk. She purses her lips, cracks forming in her cherry-colored lipstick. I turn my body and cover the receiver with my hand. “The same as yesterday,” I whisper. “I don’t have a lot of clothes.”

“I see.” And I think Blaine truly does. “And underneath?” His voice lowers as though we’re sharing secrets, which I suppose we are.

“Also the same as yesterday but with different panties.” I lie to everyone else but I can’t seem to lie to Blaine, even when the truth isn’t sexy. “I can’t return the bra and I don’t have the money to replace it.”

“Ahhh . . . I didn’t think about that.”

Does he think about me? I think about him. I worry about him. “Are you in trouble, Blaine? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You already have, nymph.” Blaine chuckles. “Yes,” he snaps, his tone edged with a crispness my body responds to. A woman’s voice murmurs. I can’t make out her words. “Tell them this is being finalized tonight. If they walk out, I won’t be back.” There’s a long pause and Blaine sighs. “Anna, are you still there?” He sounds exhausted.

“Yeah.” Who is that woman Blaine talked to? Does he watch her also? Does she allow him to touch her?

“I have to get back at it but I’ll be seeing you tonight.” Energy flows into his voice and I temporarily forget about the mystery woman.

“Will you be watching me?” I want him. I need him. I miss him.

“Always,” he drawls. “Be a good girl, Anna.” The phone clicks. The dial tone buzzes. I replace the receiver, pocket the business card, thank the sales clerk, and return to the magazines, forgetting the wildflower books on the counter.

I open the technology magazine, reread the article on Blaine’s company, and then force myself to read every other article, including the letters to the editor. My liberal arts degree comes in handy because tech talk resembles a foreign language.

I finish this magazine and I move to the next, learning about operating systems of mobile devices and designations I should look for if I want to hire an infrastructure architect, whatever that is. If Blaine has to keep all of the acronyms I’ve learned tonight straight, it is no wonder he’s exhausted.

When I emerge from the bookstore, twilight has fallen. The crowded sidewalks are lined with romantic lanterns. The air is filled with the aromas of grilled meats and spices. My stomach rumbles and I wrap my arms around my waist, my tote slung over my shoulder.

I wait outside Finn’s. The Irish-themed pub is packed with people, music and laughter spilling out from the open windows and front yard patio. Patrons look at me, their bloodshot eyes wide with curiosity. I move to the shadows, attempting to hide.

A tall bearded man standing across the road stares at me. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t turn his head. He simply stares. This creeps me out. Why is—

“There you are, kiddo,” Michael calls out. He’s alone, his face is flushed and his blue eyes sparkle. “I didn’t see you.”

I wish no one had seen me. I look back at the bearded man. He’s gone. A shiver rolls down my spine. “Where is everyone else?”

“Still at the restaurant, celebrating.” Michael grabs my shoulders and hugs me, flattening my face against his chest. “Heather got a call back.”

“I’m glad,” I mumble against his shirt. I’m safe and warm. Nothing bad will happen to me with Michael here. “Tell her I’m happy for her.”

“You are, aren’t you?” He pulls his comforting heat away and studies me, his blond eyebrows lowered, his forehead furrowed with thought lines. “You’re genuinely happy for her.”

“Of course I’m happy for her.” I frown. He sounds surprised. Does he think I’m a mean person?
Am
I a mean person? “So you’ll be at the restaurant for a while longer?” It couldn’t have been easy to leave his friends to meet with me.

“Yeah.” Michael rests his hands on my hips, his lower body presses against mine. “Come, join us.”

I’m tempted. I’m hungry, not only for food but for touch, starved for human contact, and Blaine is away, so far away. We don’t have any sort of understanding and what we share—stripping at midnight, secret calls, rules about touching—isn’t normal.
This
is normal—dating and flirting and meeting a guy’s friends. This is what I should want.

“I can’t, not tonight.” Maybe not ever. “I have to go home.”

“Are you sure?” Michael captures my face between his unblemished fingers, his hands clumsy. He smells like beer and grease. “I like you, kiddo.” He leans his forehead against mine. “You’re different.”

Michael Cooke, the man every girl wants, likes me. A sexual excitement unfurls inside me, an intoxicating power. I sway into him, resting my fingers on his shoulders. His muscles flex under his shirt. His breathing grows heavy.

His lips brush against mine, the contact soft and firm and insistent. Michael opens his mouth and pushes his tongue into the seam of my lips, seeking entrance.

I don’t open to him. My teeth clench together and my jaw locks, my body protesting this male’s invasion. Michael’s eyes are blue, not green, his face too handsome, too perfect, his approach too rushed.

I draw away from him.

A harsh emotion flashes in Michael’s eyes. He then grins a little too widely. “You are a mystery, kiddo.” He releases me and steps backward. I shiver, the evening air surprisingly cool. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Of course.” My smile adds to my guilt, my fake casualness being another lie.

“All righty, then.” Michael stuffs his hands in the front pocket of his khaki pants and walks away, his broad shoulders slightly hunched.

I glance at the spot where the bearded man has stood. He hasn’t returned but I don’t take any chances. I follow a crooning couple closely until I reach the brightly lit bus stop. The bus driver grunts at me as I enter his vehicle. His surliness can’t dim my gratitude to see him.

Chapter Six

T
HAT NIGHT
I
stare down at Blaine’s empty lounge chair, feeling his absence, my soul-deep loneliness accentuated by the silence. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Blaine.” Do security cameras have audio? “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to talk to you anyway.”

I play with the tie of the robe. I feel grubby, unclean both inside and out, but I need to confess before I swim, the guilt gnawing at me.

“A guy from work kissed me,” I blurt. “He’s handsome, a nice guy. Everyone likes him . . . especially the girls.” I peer into the darkness surrounding the pool, seeing nothing and no one. “And he likes me. He says I’m a mystery. Can you believe that?”

I tilt my head back and smile up at the stars. Although the moon isn’t full, it is bright and big and hangs low in the midnight sky.

“But I don’t think he’ll kiss me again.” My happiness dims. Have I made a mistake? Is what I have with Blaine an illusion, as fake as my padded bra? “Because I didn’t kiss him back. I couldn’t open my mouth. I couldn’t let him inside me.”

I take a deep breath. “If you were here, you’d ask me how I felt about that and I’d say his kiss felt wrong. I’m a phony when I’m with him, Blaine. I’m not myself. I lie to him about everything and I hide, my body, my thoughts, my soul. I don’t show him anything and I certainly don’t show him everything, not like I show you.”

I open my robe and slide the soft cotton off my shoulders. The cool night air wisps over my skin and my nipples tighten. The key rests in the valley between my breasts, the ribbon soft against my neck.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I remove the key and I drop it on the table next to the black velvet bag. “I needed to see, to know. I hope you understand.”

I kick off my flip-flops, turn and face the pool. The blue water ripples before me, fed by the waterfall. The rush of liquid over hard rock is soothing, reminding me of the bliss I found on previous nights. I picture Blaine sitting in his chair, puffing on his dreadful cigar, watching me, his brilliant green eyes glittering, his face too angular to be handsome.

I reach up, toward the stars, and I stretch, savoring the air on my bare skin, undulating my body for him. Others may watch me but he’s the man I move for. I bend my knees and dive, and for a moment I fly, my feet leaving the ground, my body completely free.

The cool water hits my heated flesh, a wave of sensation leaving none of my skin untouched, and I press my lips together, swallowing my gasp. I flutter my feet, remaining under the water for as long as possible, my lungs burning, bursting.

Curving my spine, I change direction and break the surface. Rivulets of liquid stream down my neck, shoulders, and breasts.

I laugh and smooth my hair back. I am woman, powerful and free, reborn in nature and baptized by the elements.

The waves around me flatten and I float onto my back, staring up at the stars, allowing my elusive billionaire to leisurely look at me, secure in my desirability. A meteor shoots across the sky, magic coloring the sweetly scented air.

Is Blaine naked as he watches me? Is his cock hard? Is he stroking himself?

I swim to the edge of the pool, pull myself out of the water, and pad to his lounge chair. It remains empty. I had foolishly hoped it wouldn’t be.

I claim his seat, draping my naked body over the tan fabric. The moisture dripping from my skin releases his scent and I sigh, satisfaction flowing to arousal.

“What did you leave for me, Blaine?” I clasp the black velvet bag, revealing a piece of crisp white paper. A short, sweet message is scrawled in thick black ink.

Enjoy

Blaine

“I will. Thank you.” I smile and slide the marble dildo out of the bag. It has been thoroughly cleaned, the stone smooth.

“Ahhh . . . Blaine.” I run the dildo over my cheek, along my lips, caressing Blaine’s gift as I wish to caress him, as I
will
caress him. I’ll touch him and allow him to touch me, this decision feeling right.

I lean back on the chair and spread my legs wide. Soon I’ll have Blaine between my thighs. I’ll finally see him without his suit, feel his skin sliding over mine, his cock stretching my pussy open. Moisture flows down my thighs, my body humming with anticipation.

“I want to taste you, Blaine.” I tug on the tip of the dildo with my lips, tasting nothing, no lingering essence clinging to the stone. Will he taste like me? I take the fake cock deeper into my mouth, running the flat of my tongue underneath the smooth marble, and I suck, my cheeks indenting as Blaine’s cheeks do when he puffs on his cigar.

I release the dildo with a pop and I smack my lips, the sounds obscenely loud. The marble glistens. I follow the curves of my breasts with the tip around and around, tightening the circles, coiling my desire into a hard ball.

I slap my nipples. “Yes,” I cry. I repeat the delectable torture, abusing my sensitive flesh with the hard stone until I ache.

“Do you wish you were here, touching me, Blaine?” I glide the dildo down my stomach and stroke its length along my pussy lips, rubbing my clit, wetting the thin shaft. “I wish you were.” The warmth inside me spreads, rippling from my core along my thighs, up my torso, tingling my fingers and my toes. “I want you so badly. I want to hear your voice, feel your breath on my skin, smell that awful cigar you always smoke.”

I push the dildo into my pussy, stretching me open. “You’re thicker than this. I’ll be so tight around you, gripping you snugly.” I contract my inner muscles around the stone and I moan, the friction luscious. “No pussy will ever hug your cock like mine will.” I fill myself with the hardness and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation. “I’m made for you, Blaine.” My thighs quiver.

I pump myself slowly, swiping my thumb across my clit with every thrust, the extra stimulation edging me closer and closer to satisfaction. “Are you watching me?” I lift into my strokes, raising my hips, increasing the intensity of my thrusts. My legs shake. “I’m showing you.” I drive the marble dildo in and out of my pussy. The wet sucking sound echoes in the night. “I’m showing you everything.”

I work my body hard, harder than my careful billionaire can. I know my limitations, can walk the fine line between pleasure and pain.

“Are you stroking yourself, Blaine?” I visualize his tanned rough hands around his cock, the black curls at his base, his balls swinging, the images gathered from movies I’ve watched, books I’ve read.

“I want you to come with me.” My body trembles uncontrollably, the tremors building, spreading. “To call my name as I call yours.” I thrust the dildo into me with a frightening ferocity, slamming my thumb against my clit. “Tell the world who you belong to.”

The rush starts and I can’t stop it. I can’t slow it down. “Yes, yes, yes, Blaine!” I scream, flinging my body upward, the dildo rammed deep in my pussy, the heel of my right hand pressed against my clit. I buck and shriek and writhe, thrashing my head to the left and the right. I’m a wild thing, unrestrained by convention, unbound by the rules of an unforgiving world.

I’m not alone in my fulfillment. Blaine and I may be separated by distance, physically situated on opposite sides of the country, but we’re together in release, in spirit. He sees me. He knows me.

I quiet. My heartbeat slows. My breathing levels. I withdraw the dildo. The white marble gleams with my juices. I extend my tongue and lick along its length, tasting myself, accepting my body as Blaine accepts it, with kindness and with desire.

I miss him. I set the dildo on the table, beside the clean ashtray, and I lie back on his chair, inhaling his scent, wondering how I can care so much for a man so quickly.

But Blaine isn’t every man, as he often tells me. I smile. The stars shine above me, the moonlight casting a blue glow over my white skin.

I track the flight of a small brown moth as she flutters higher and higher. Lights illuminate the pool, the bulbs burning brightly, heating to dangerous temperatures, and that’s where she’s heading, my foolish little moth.

“Don’t do it, moth,” I call, my muscles tightening with each flick of her wings. She doesn’t heed my warning, continuing recklessly along her doomed path, intent upon reaching her destination.

I should look away. I can’t. I stare with morbid fascination, knowing how the moth’s night will end, unable to do anything to prevent her death, the light positioned too high, the moth flying beyond my reach.

Inches away from the light, the brown moth pauses in the air, battering her wings against an invisible wall. The tension eases from my shoulders and I laugh, giddy with relief.

The tiny creature won’t be harmed. A clear plastic shield protects her fragile body from the hot bulb. She can fly toward the brilliance without fear, without worry.

I stand, stretch, stroll to the waterfall. I duck my head under the cascade, wetting my hair, and I step into the flow, the cool water streaming down my chest, between my thighs. As I wash, I turn, ensuring Blaine sees all of my naked body.

Is he the only one watching me? I spread my leg and bend over, sticking my ass in the air. Water gushes over my pussy lips, feeding my arousal. I won’t come again tonight. I’ll save this building desire for Blaine.

I pump the conditioner into my palm, straighten and apply the vanilla-scented mousse to my wet hair, combing my fingers though my long straight tresses, swirling my fingertips into my short private curls.

I rinse off my skin, leaving most of the conditioner to do its magic, and I traipse toward Blaine’s chair, refreshed and revived. Beads of moisture form on my slender curves, dewdrops of promised passion.

I wrap the white cotton robe around me, return the key to its rightful place—between my breasts, and recline on the chair. I should return to my tiny, overheated bedroom but there’s no connection to Blaine there.

I pick up Blaine’s note, trace his name with one of my fingernails and picture him writing his message to me. The rebellious black lock of hair falls forward on his forehead. His shoulders are clad in a dark suit. His shirt is white and crisp. The color of his tie will surprise me.

I bring the paper to my nose and inhale, breathing his scent. A serenity settles over me. I lay my head back and close my eyes, listening to the rush of water and the flutter of moth wings.