Page 37 of Madame X

“Both, I suppose.”

“Well, Len and Thomas because they’re the most suited to watching over you. Len is as vicious as he is vigilant, and Thomas, well... let’s just say he has a rather specific skill set.” A pause, the card still flipping between fingers. “As for why I’m sending you? It will allay suspicion. The event itself is very private, so there will be no cameras, no press. Everyone else attending will have their own security, as well, so it’s as safe an event for you to attend as anything.”

I still don’t quite understand, but I say nothing. I don’t need to understand.

I’m goingout.

“Say something, X.”

“I’m not sure what to say, honestly.”

“Are you excited? Scared?”

I shrug. “Both.”

“Understandable. After what you’ve been through, I can see how you might have mixed feelings about it.”

I nod. “Mixed feelings. Yes.” I sound faint, slightly incoherent. It’s too much to take in. To process. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many questions. Too many doubts.

I find myself waiting, expectant. A distraction would be welcome. Yet when long legs unfold and eyes stare down at me from such great height, they are distant, a little cold. Calculating.

“I have much to do today, X. I’m afraid I have to get going.”

“You aren’t... staying?” I know how I sound, and why, and I hate it. I hate that I sound disappointed, needy.

“No. I can’t, but you know how much I wish I could.” Cold and calculating becomes hot and amused. “You know how much I wish I could stay, don’t you, X?”

“Yes, Caleb.”

“But you understand why I have to go.”

“Yes, Caleb.”

Yet despite claims of pressing matters, I feel an erection crushed against my belly, hands feathering up my thighs, lifting my dress hem. Slipping under the elastic of my underwear, slipping into me. Curling, circling, dipping, swiping. Swiftly, no play or pretense.

I come in moments.

“Your mouth, X.” I sink to my knees.

Unzip. Free the slide-and-hook clasp of custom-tailored trousers. Taste flesh. Smoky essence. My hands and mouth on firm, clean, masculine flesh, and then it’s over, faster than I would have thought possible, considering how long it can last under other circumstances.

“Thank you, X.” A sigh, now-slack manhood tucked away. A few strides, and the door is silently swinging open. “I’ll send someone with a suitable gown for the event.”

I remain where I am, kneeling in the middle of the living room, dress rumpled, lipstick smeared, hair mussed by gripping fingers. “All right.”

“Don’t look so sad, X. I’ll be back, and we’ll have some proper time together.”

“All right.”

“X.” This is a scold. “What is it?”

“I don’t understand you, is all.”

A long, long silence, the door half open, expression hidden in the doorway. “You don’t need to.”

“I’d like to, though. I try to.”

“Why?” Curiously inquisitive, strangely sharp, subtly tender. All in one word.