Pleasure Games part 1
927 Words
A tremor rushed through her limbs. Oh, God, he was magnetic. She was torn between latching onto his unyielding lips and running for her life. "I will... of course I will," she breathed.
A cloak of stillness settled over her. All she was aware of was his hand. As he trailed his thumb down to graze her shoulder, sweeping a strand of hair back with the ghost of a touch, he swallowed audibly. "Look at me like you always do."
"How?"
"You know how." There was a deep-seated need in his eyes—a thirst she didn’t know how to appease, calling to a throbbing, aching void inside of her. "Like you care for me. Like you need me."
"I do." She shook her head, trying to straighten her thoughts. "I mean—I am. I will."
She shut her eyes tight, fearing he would see the truth in them. She was terrified Henri would realize she’d been secretly enamored of him since the first morning she’d stepped into his office. He was overwhelming—so dark, so masculine, so utterly out of her world. And now, she felt the sharp sting of potential humiliation. If he so much as crooked his finger at her, Elizabeth knew she would go to him.
He chuckled softly—the sound throaty and arrogant. "Good."
His large hand gripped her waist, urging her toward the open plane door. She went rigid at the contact. Longing flourished—a desperate wish for that hand to be on her skin instead of her clothes.
"But… what do you want me to do, exactly?" she insisted, carefully backing up a step to face him. His eyebrows met in a scowl; he clearly didn't like her retreating. "This is important to you, right?"
"Monsieur, pourriez-vous descendre, s'il vous plaît?" Spurred to action by the voices from the tarmac, Elizabeth descended the steps. Henri moved quickly to take his place beside her.
They followed two uniformed officials toward a rustic, one-story building dwarfed by the size of Henri's jet. A small control tower, which looked abandoned at this hour, stood discreetly to the right. A gust of hot, dry wind picked up, lifting the tips of her hair and swirling around them. Elizabeth caught the dark mass of her hair with one hand, pinning it at her nape.
Henri held the glass door open for her. "No need to pretend just now, Miss Stone," he said, his voice dropping. "We can do that later."
His eyes glimmered with a dangerous promise. Her heart raced, thudding against her ribs until she felt lightheaded. She passed under the bridge of his arm, the weight of his words echoing in her mind like a sentence she wasn't yet ready to serve.
Twenty minutes later, they were settled in the back of a silver Mercedes-Benz. Henri was agitated. He checked his watch—past midnight—and stared out the window with a stony expression.
The car swerved onto the deserted highway. Elizabeth turned toward the window, lightly tugging at the pearls around her neck to ease the sudden tightness in her throat.
"You had a decent trip, Monsieur Gagnon?" their driver asked.
"Yes," Henri clipped out, stretching his legs as far as the cabin allowed.
"It's lovely here." Elizabeth moved her purse to the floor at her feet and tapped a finger against the glass. Her skin appeared luminous under the rhythmic pulse of the streetlights.
"I'll show you around tomorrow in daylight," Henri said. His voice had lost some of its edge, replaced by something heavier.
She turned to him, her eyes bright. "Thank you."
A long silence followed, filled only by the soft music the driver flicked on. Elizabeth remained pressed against the far end of the seat, creating as much distance as the car allowed.
He studied her figure, his gaze fixated on the curve of her waist and the satin shine of her legs. He whispered, in a murmur intended only for her, "Are you afraid of me?"
She stiffened. Her eyes rose to meet his for a fleeting second before her lashes dropped. "No. Why would you ask?"
"You could come a little closer," he challenged, his voice low.
Ducking her head to hide a blush, she smoothed the fabric of her dress. "I just haven't traveled in ages. I'm... restless."
"You cringe at anyone's touch," he said, his eyes narrowing, "or merely mine?"
She blinked, her breath hitching. "Cringe? I’d never cringe if you… touched me."
The words hung between them like an unleashed secret. When Henri finally responded, the hunger in his voice was unmistakable. "You moved away when I urged you out of the plane. And again when I helped you into the car."
"I was surprised," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his in the darkness. "I told you to tell me what to do."
"And I asked you to come closer."
He patted the leather seat beside him, a silent, meaningful command. After a moment of hesitation, Elizabeth made up her mind. She edged toward him, the scent of his cologne filling her senses.
"If you're thinking I'm not good at this," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "I'll have you know I can pretend just fine."
As she slid into his space, his breath hitched, and the temperature in the small cabin seemed to spike.
- Writer
