Shattered Sapphire, page 2
part #3 of Seven Chamber Series
Who is she? They probe.
We are alone in the room. Less than ten feet separate us. We both assess and study each other. I refuse to fidget and give up any of the ground that brought him to me. I match him stare for stare.
He lets out a heavy breath and I see his body relax. “What do have to say for yourself?” His eyes are intense as he waits for my reply.
I dip my head down and inhale. I fix my face in what I hope is a neutral expression before locking eyes with him. “It’s about fucking time,” I say on an exhale.
The smile that grows on his face is slow and delicious. He understands something about me now. He must know it’s not just a rumor that I want to be here. He extends his hand and I cross the room to hold it. I’ve never been a blusher, or maybe I have been all this time, but no man has ever caused that reaction in me. When Mason smiles down at me and gives my hand a soft squeeze, my cheeks warm, then blaze.
As we cross through The Chamber, we pass people along the way, they react to the sight of Mason and I walking down the halls as if this is a normal everyday occurrence. By the looks of surprise and confusion on their faces I imagine this is a Chamber first.
After weaving through long corridors and dark staircases, we come to a stop in front of an enormous door. My breath catches in my throat in anticipation. In a move straight out of a spy movie, he places his hand on a biometric pad for scanning. The door makes a whisking sound as it slides open. Mason pulls at my hand to guide me inside, but I don’t move. He turns to look at me with question in his eyes.
“Have you brought the other girls here?” I ask, not breaking eye contact. He already sees me differently. Unless he makes a habit of holding hands with his chambermaids all the time. I am different.
He smiles at me. “You are the first. I have two Chambers, but this one is special.”
My wide face-splitting smile is my gift to him.
His boyish laugh that follows is mine.
I follow him inside without another second of hesitation. The space is as lavish as the rest of The Chamber, but kicked up a notch. Old world stone walls and floors meet shiny black, sleek leather furniture. Glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling throwing sparkling light around the room. His bed is fit for “his grace”—massive with a high black leather headboard and white and gray bedding.
There is so much distance between us. He’s deep within the room and I’m hovering on its perimeter, taking it all in. Being here alone with him speaks volumes, and if I do all the right things, maybe he’ll keep me.
Wanting something is a feeling I am unaccustomed to. The uncertainty feels like sour milk sitting in the bottom of my stomach. But I want this—the man, the place, the life. In truth, I barely know Mason Wilde, but something about him speaks to me on a visceral plane. When he rose from the floor on my first day here, I just knew I wanted him to be mine.
“Nice place,” I say as if I see rooms as beautiful as this all the time.
He lets out a breathy laugh, but he stays rooted in place; I do the same. I continue glancing at him, then the room. My heart is running its own race, beating so hard and fast I can hear it pounding in my ears. My stomach is in uncomfortable knots.
Gone is the ultra-confident man who’d gone down our line of seven and named us. Is this the real Mason? He’s guarded and cautious, his chest rises and falls fast as he regards me.
I turn my attention away from him and toward the glass wall at the back of his room. Raven is right about the water. The castle backs up to a sharp cliff edge, greener than anything I’ve ever seen, and then to deep water as far as the eyes can see.
It’s a beautiful dream.
I take cautious steps into the room, Mason doesn’t move. When I get to him I let out a breath, stopping to stare into his eyes, but I continue past him, positioning myself as close to the glass as I can physically get without actually touching it. It takes my breath away.
The sound of a door opening catches my attention. When I turn to the sound, I see that he has opened an exterior door. He wordlessly walks through, leaving it open for me to follow. I couldn’t hold in the gasp if I wanted to. It has been six months since I have been outside. The only breezes I’ve felt have come from skylights or the tiniest of windows. He is giving me something precious—his trust.
The air is sweeter than anything I have ever experienced, made sweeter by the mix of fragrant blossoms and the sea. The grass is thick and lush as I walk through it to stand at his side. When I turn to inspect The Chamber, I see that it is every bit of the castle that the interior suggests it to be, with vines and colorful flowers crawling up the sides. The breeze tickles my skin and I suddenly have the desire for it to touch every inch of me.
Mason is closer to me now, an arm's reach away. I move my hands to my shoulders and slide my dress strap from one shoulder, then the next. My eyes are trained on his as my sapphire sheath dress falls into a puddle on the grass at my feet. He never signals for me to stop, and I’m not sure that I’d listen. Instead he watches my every movement, his eyes giving nothing away. Maybe I see a hint of something…. Longing? I step out of my dress and close my eyes as the air dances across my skin. My nipples tighten from the contact and a moan escapes me. When I open my eyes, Mason is staring down at me in awe.
He closes the distance, his fingers are unsure as they make contact, touching my cheek, running a trail down my throat. He draws slow circles on my shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine. My breath catches in my throat. Who is this shy man? From what I’ve heard from the other girls, he was rough and aggressive, not smooth and tender.
“Where did you come from?” His voice is soft.
“New Jersey.”
His lips crash into mine. It is dizzying how he takes his time, tasting my lips, sucking and pulling them into his mouth, before parting my lips and sinking his tongue inside. Our tongues dance together to music that isn’t there. His hands never wander, no matter how badly I want them to. He pulls me closer, and my bare body presses against his clothing. Hidden muscles reveal themselves as they collide against me. My thighs ache from squeezing them so tight to suppress the yearning between my legs. I break the kiss to take a breath and I am delighted when his lips find mine again. Who knew a sweet kiss could feel like this? I have never done “sweet” before. I have had sex with all of the thirty-five lottery winners since my arrival months ago, and I have not felt satisfied. But somehow this kiss is more satisfying than anything I have experienced to date. How can that be?
Before I get lost in his kisses, he breaks contact. He locks eyes with me, his expression cautious and frustrated. His breathing is fast and hard, matching mine. He is forcing himself to resist me. I can see it there on his face—lust and desire at war with restraint and trepidation. Why?
He leans down and snatches my dress up from the grass, then lets out a long breath. When he reaches for my hand I give it to him freely, and we walk back into his room. I am hopeful that we are heading straight to his massive bed. Once inside his demeanor changes, and caution gives way to irritation. Mercurial Mason. Since arriving at his chamber, he has been sweet, nervous, almost shy, and lustful. Now he’s angry? Way to keep me off balance.
He hands me my dress. “Please get dressed, Emmanuella,” he says, but doesn’t look at me.
“I thought I was Sapphire—” His glare cuts me off, causing my heart to crawl into my throat. What’s left of my usual confidence and swagger oozes through my pores, chilling my body. This is so weird. He has had sex with all of the other chambermaids, some more than a few times, and after a simple kiss and barely a touch, he won’t even look at me. What’s so wrong with me that the man who created a sex chamber would want nothing to do with me?
Tears balance on the rim of my eyes as I work my dress back on. Do not cry, Em, not in front of him. I focus on my breathing, and take slow measured breaths. I can’t show this man how important this moment is to me. My hands shake while I’m dressing. He gives me the impression that he favors strength over weakness, but after today, who knows? He has me so confused. Once dressed, I cross my arms in front of my body, hugging myself and attempting to calm my emotions. The energy between us is another entity in the room—colliding with me, causing my heart to race, breaths to turn shallow, and the tiny hairs on my skin to stand tall.
Our glances go from outright stares to avoiding each other altogether. A chime echoes through the room and Mason jumps to attention, as if he was in a daze. I watch him walk hastily across the room. He opens the door and greets our visitor, a man dressed in white serving attire.
“Pierre, thank you for putting this together on such short notice.”
The man nods to me and his smile is warm and sincere. “Anytime, Mason, sir.”
I stand rooted in my spot and watch with curiosity as Pierre pulls lid after lid from small serving trays of meats and cheese, fruits and vegetables, and breads. The fragrances lift into the air and my stomach growls with want. Once he has placed the food within reach of an intimate table for two, he reaches under the cart and pulls out a bucket with a wine bottle sticking out, followed by another. He uncorks them and places them on the table with the food.
I watch the spectacle before me, wondering what Mason’s game is. I steal a couple of glances at Mason and he is watching me. His expression is unreadable.
“Thank you, Pierre,” Mason says once the table is set, but his eyes are on mine.
“Will there be anything else?” Pierre asks.
“That will be all, Pierre,” Mason’s eyes drop from my face and trail down to my bare feet, then back up. “Everything looks perfect.” His lips curve almost imperceptibly upward.
Pierre makes clanging noises as he gathers up his things. I haven’t broken eye contact with Mason, trying to read him at every turn. What is he up to?
My mind is saying, please want me over and over on a loop. It’s a strange intrusive thought. I’ve never cared if a man wanted me for anything more than sex, because for me, that was all they were good for, too. I try to block the thought, hoping my expression isn’t dopey and hopeful. I can’t give him anything when he isn’t giving me as much as a hint that he wants to do anything with me except eat a meal.
Pierre says a final goodbye, and the atmosphere in the room changes the second he shuts the door. My breaths are more shallow than before, and my head swims. I reach for the closest of the chairs because I need to sit down.
“Please, allow me.” Mason rushes to pull out the seat for me. I will my legs to deposit me into the seat, determined to see this through. Mason pushes my seat in closer to the table, before taking a seat across from me. How am I so bad at this? How is he?
I watch as he pulls this and that from the serving trays and piles everything onto our plates. I pluck a red grape from the vine and pop it into my mouth, licking the sweet juice from my lips. Mason’s eyes fall to my mouth and his forms a hard line. WTF? I’d expected by now we’d be on our third course of fucking in every position—on the floor, on the bed, attached to some medieval apparatus, his cock buried so deep inside of me that I would taste him on my tongue. But, instead, we’re on a date?
“How has your stay been, Emmanuella?”
Again with the Emmanuella shit?
I look up at him, doing my best to keep my expression neutral. A sharp response is on the tip of my tongue, but I select another. “Delightful.” I pair a square of cheese with a salami disc and take a bite.
“I must tell you, the lottery winners can’t say enough about how much they enjoy their time with you.” He takes a long draw of sparkling white wine, peering down the glass at me.
My intention is to smile with my eyes, not in flirtation, but with genuine happiness to be here. I’m not sure which emotion I convey. “Well, it is my aim to please.” I turn my attention to my plate. Between the pleasant conversation, formal table, and so much eye contact, this ruse is wearing me out. Sheesh. I’m betting he is studying me every bit as much as I am him.
All this “normal” has me off-kilter. Heck, I’ve already gotten naked in front of him, and now I have my clothes back on. This is so not how I saw the night going.
Mason sighs and causes me to look up at him.
“Yes. Some of the men have asked for extra time with you.”
“Really?” I say, though I’m not surprised.
One of his eyebrows hitches up and his eyes are laser-focused on mine. “I denied their requests, of course.”
Interesting. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Was I incorrect? Should I have said yes? You’d be quite busy if I did.” His expression gives nothing away.
I shrug and return his focused attention. “I mean, what else would I do with my extra time around here?”
Mason looks down at his plate. “I see. Well, I guess I could tell them you’re available after all.” When he looks up, he has a crestfallen expression. It’s the first time he’s given me some sort of indication he cares. He wants me to say no, he may even need me to.
I sit up straighter in my seat. “I didn’t say that I wanted to participate in any extracurricular activities with any lottery winners.”
His eyes grow smaller as he gazes into mine. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “Look, Mason. I appreciate how you’ve gone out of your way for me today. The private chambers, the fresh air, the hand-holding, and this spread. But can I ask you a question?”
His lips curl into a small smile. I do the same.
“Of course.”
I let out a breath. “What am I doing here? I mean, like this? You ignore me for six months and when you do finally call upon me, you don’t even want me. Is there something wrong with me?”
He laughs.
I’ve asked him the most pressing question, something I have wondered for months as he’s favored the other girls over me. Why am I not enough? And he laughs. If I wasn’t so determined to get my answer, I think I would slap his face.
“That’s just it, I do want you.” His eyes brighten. “I’m not good at flowery romance shit. I’ve never had to be, and I certainly never wanted to be.” He exhales on a sigh and stares at me for a long time, it seems like his words are hanging on the tip of his tongue. “You scare the shit out of me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and digest what he just said. “Me? This whole time I thought you were pissed at me and I had no idea what I could have done.”
He rests his arms on the table. “I want more with you than I ever wanted before. That’s what scares me. But I can’t keep avoiding this…you. I’m not capable of a relationship, you have to know that. But I’d very much like to spend time with you while you are here. I thought if I stayed away from you the feelings would go away. I fought the need and want and it only got worse.” His eyes narrow and crinkle in the corners, suggesting that this is the hardest thing he has ever said before.
“Wait. I’m confused. So, you’re saying you want to date me?”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. My body tingles with excitement that is foreign to me. I don’t say anything, hoping that he will continue.
“I decided today would be the day. To just see. Maybe I was imagining more than what was there. But the second we were alone I knew I wanted more. This is strange for me.”
“Ha,” I laugh. “Me, too.”
My blush matches his. Here we are, two sex addicts, skating into unfamiliar territory.
“What do you say, Emmanuella? You up for spending your free time getting to know me?”
“I think I can squeeze you in, if you stop calling me Emmanuella.” I say and smile at him.
He nods. “How about this? We can be August and Emmanuella when we are alone and Mason and Sapphire around everyone else.”
“That name suits you.”
We spend the rest of our afternoon exchanging polite conversation. My eyes wander over to the bed and he catches me a couple of times and laughs. I will not get to be sexed up by Mason today, and I have no idea when I will get to explore a day or night with him between my legs. This sex addict, it seems, wants to take it slow with me.
But he trusted me with his real name. That has to mean something big.
4
Mason, The Chamber
I can only imagine the questions that are headed my way after being seen walking Emmanuella to and from my private chamber holding her hand. I even escorted her back to her section of The Chamber.
Now I need to seek out counsel. I feel crazy inside with emotions. Hope? I haven’t experienced that shit since I was a kid. My parents taught me young with their constant failed promises—hope leads to shit and disappointment. By ten, my motto was “fuck hope, wishing, or dreaming.” I pull out the two-way and dial Tyson’s line.
“Yeah, boss?” his voice breaks through the static.
“You got a minute to have a drink in the study?” I ask and wait for his response.
“Sure. See you there in five.”
“Copy. Five, then.”
I take a left at the end of the hall toward the study, surely he can talk some sense into me. He’s falling for Flame, and I’m sure if he could prevent those feelings, he would. For guys like me and Tyson, relationships are a hinderance. The more people you love, the more you risk losing. I don’t have anyone in my life that I’d risk everything for. Loved ones are the main reason the women I take don’t try to escape. I don’t threaten the women. Showing them that I can get to the people they love any time I want—video after video of them at home, with their families, at work or school—buys absolute compliance. The more people you love, the more you have to lose and the more you’ll sacrifice to prevent it.
“Hey. Everything okay, boss?” Tyson asks walking into the study. “You look…stressed.”
“Ha. I’ll say. Have a drink with me.” I walk behind the bar, pull a beer out of the fridge for him, and pour myself a neat whiskey. We take a seat on the bar stools.
“I met with her today,” I say.
