On His Couch
1434 Words
Belinda stood frozen at the window.
The street below was empty. No figure. No shadow. Just the flickering glow of streetlights and the occasional passing car.
But her phone was still warm in her hand. The messages were still there.
Enjoying yourself, Miss Sparks?
Someone who knows what you did.
I said I'd be watching. I always keep my promises.
She read them again. And again. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Belinda?"
She spun around.
Lucas stood in the doorway of the bedroom. His hair was disheveled. His eyes were heavy with sleep. He was wearing only his black trousers, unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked.
"I couldn't sleep."
He walked toward her. His bare feet were silent on the hardwood floor. He stopped in front of her and looked down at her face.
"You're lying."
Belinda's throat tightened. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to shove her phone into his hands and show him the messages and let him fix everything.
But the words wouldn't come.
If she told him, he would blame himself. He would push her away to protect her. He would end this before it had really begun.
And she wasn't ready for this to end.
"I'm not lying," she said. "I just have a lot on my mind."
Lucas studied her face. His eyes narrowed. He didn't believe her. She could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Belinda."
"Lucas."
"Talk to me."
She reached up and touched his face. His stubble scratched her palm. She rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Soft. Slow. A distraction.
He resisted for a moment. Then his hands found her hips. He pulled her closer. He deepened the kiss.
"Not fair," he murmured against her mouth.
"What's not fair?"
"Using that against me."
"Is it working?"
"Yes."
He lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her back to the bedroom.
But he didn't take her to the bed.
He walked to the couch in the corner of the room. A wide, leather couch, facing the windows. He sat down with her straddling his lap.
"On his couch," she whispered.
"What?"
"That's what I'm going to call this chapter. On His Couch."
Lucas laughed. That rusty sound that made her chest ache. "You're strange, Belinda Sparks."
"You like it."
"I love it."
He kissed her again. His hands slid up her back, tangled in her hair, tilted her head so he could reach her throat. He sucked. She moaned.
"I want to try something," he said.
"What?"
"I want you to take control."
Belinda pulled back. "What?"
"You heard me." His hands rested on her hips. His eyes were dark, serious. "You're always following my lead. My dictation. My rules. Tonight, I want you to tell me what to do."
She stared at him. Her heart pounded.
"You trust me that much?"
"I trust you that much."
Belinda looked down at him. Lucas Alejandro, the blade in the three piece suit, waiting for her instruction. Power thrummed through her veins.
"Take off your trousers," she said.
He obeyed. No hesitation. He stood up, stepped out of his trousers, and sat back down. He was hard. Ready. Waiting.
"Hands above your head."
He raised his hands. Placed them on the back of the couch. His biceps flexed. His chest rose and fell.
"Don't move them," she said.
"I won't."
She leaned forward. Kissed his neck. His jaw. His collarbone. She traced the scar on his ribs with her tongue. He groaned.
"Belinda."
"Quiet. I'm dictating now."
He laughed. Then he stopped laughing when she took him in her hand.
"Eyes on me," she said.
He looked at her. His pupils were blown wide. His lips were parted.
She lowered her mouth onto him.
"Jesus Christ."
She took him deep. Swirled her tongue. Watched his face break apart. His hands gripped the back of the couch. His knuckles went white.
"Belinda, I'm not going to"
She pulled back. Smiled.
"Not yet."
"You're trying to kill me."
"No. I'm trying to remind you that I'm not just your assistant." She climbed onto his lap. Positioned herself above him. "I'm the woman who writes the notes."
She lowered herself onto him. Slow. Inch by inch. He gasped. She moaned. He filled her completely.
"Move," he said.
"No."
"Belinda."
"You don't get to dictate right now. I do."
She set the pace. Slow. Torturous. Rising and falling, watching his face, feeling him throb inside her. His hands stayed above his head. His muscles trembled.
"Please," he said.
"Please what?"
"Please let me touch you."
"Not yet."
She increased her pace. Faster. Harder. The couch creaked beneath them. His hips bucked up to meet hers.
"Now," she said. "Touch me now."
His hands flew to her hips. He gripped her. He drove into her from below. She cried out.
"Come for me," he said.
"You first."
He shook his head. "Together."
She leaned down. Kissed him. He swallowed her moan as they shattered together, bodies locked, breath mingled, hearts pounding.
She collapsed onto his chest. His arms wrapped around her. He held her tight.
"That," he said, "was extraordinary."
"You're welcome."
He laughed. Then he went still.
"Belinda."
"Hmm."
"I need to tell you something."
She lifted her head. His face was serious. The playfulness was gone.
"What is it?"
"The security footage. My head of security found something."
Belinda's blood went cold. "What did he find?"
Lucas sat up. He pulled her with him, settling her on his lap, his arms still around her.
"The cameras weren't just disabled," he said. "They were looped. Someone played recorded footage over the real feed. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."
"Do they know who?"
"Not yet. But they left a trace." He reached for his phone on the nightstand. Opened a photo. "This was left on the server. A file. Labeled with your name."
Belinda took the phone. Her hands were shaking.
The photo showed a screen. A single folder. Labeled: BELINDA SPARKS.
Inside the folder, a list of files. Dates. Times.
All from the past two weeks.
All from locations she had been.
Her apartment. Her coffee shop. The lobby of Alejandro Tower.
And one from tonight. From Lucas's bedroom.
"They've been watching us," Lucas said quietly. "The whole time."
Belinda looked up at him. Her face was pale.
"There's more," she said.
"What?"
She stood up. Walked to the living room. Retrieved her phone from where she had dropped it on the floor. Walked back. Handed it to him.
He read the messages. His face went dark.
Enjoying yourself, Miss Sparks?
I said I'd be watching. I always keep my promises.
"Who sent these?" His voice was ice.
"I don't know. The number is untraceable. I tried calling it back. It goes straight to voicemail."
Lucas stood up. He pulled on his trousers. His movements were sharp, controlled, angry.
"You should have told me."
"I know."
"Someone has been watching us, Belinda. Someone has been in my building. Someone has access to my servers. And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I didn't want to ruin tonight."
He turned to face her. His eyes were cold. Not the warmth from before. The blade in the three piece suit was back.
"This isn't about ruining tonight. This is about your safety. My safety. Everything I've built."
Belinda's throat tightened. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry isn't good enough."
He walked to the window. Stared out at the city. His back was to her. His shoulders were rigid.
"You should go," he said.
"What?"
"You should go home, Belinda. I need to think. I need to work. I can't do that with you here."
The words landed like a slap.
She stood up. Found her red dress. Pulled it on. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely work the zipper.
Lucas didn't help her. He didn't turn around.
She walked to the door. Paused.
"Lucas."
He didn't answer.
"I didn't tell you because I was afraid you would push me away."
Still nothing.
"Turns out I was right."
She walked out.
The elevator descended. Floor after floor. Her reflection stared back at her from the polished metal doors. Red silk. Smudged makeup. Eyes that were starting to burn.
She stepped out into the lobby.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked down.
A new message. From the same unknown number.
“That went well. Don't worry. He will come back to you. They always do.”
- Writer
