Reverence - Book 2

- 7 -

The skyscrapers of New York City hung hauntingly in the bleak black of the night. Bitter wind caressed the windows and I found the distorted face of myself staring back to me. 

In the cobbled mantle, a wild crackling fire blazed behind me, with the careful snap of dry cypress wood the only sounds proposing the heavy silence of the room. 

Jakob had his back to me, concealed by a rich cognac wingback chair, the glint of his watch reflecting those wild, wild flames. 

And the empty whiskey glass. 

The soft twinkling of the tree lights captured my attention and I watched them gleam angelically through the warbled pane of glass. It was solace enough to watch the gentle light glow homely. 

When I was young, Christmas time was always clothed in a certain whimsy. 

Always creeping down the stairs in fascination to catch a fleeting glimpse of Santa and his bounties, but it was nevertheless dashed away imperfectly by the bustle of this weeks nanny, carefully fanning nonsensical trinkets around a massive fir tree. 

"Are you going to stare at yourself all night." 

Like the stroke of midnight, his voice rang out. Cold and arid like the December wind. 

A Steeling breath mustered over my lips and I laid my hands defeatedly into my lap. The heavy muffle of his empty glass on the side table sent threatening shivers along my spine. 

"Come here." 

Those words slithered around my throat like a snake, tongue flickering threateningly against my pulse. 

I stood, my legs whining protestedly. I wanted nothing more than to fall into the regress of my own bed after two weeks of zealous performance, but instead was whisked promptly onto a chartered jet and watched the fleeting of comforts wither away. 

I graced over to him, my fingers tips carefully caressing the supple leather of the great chair. His own fingers danced over my hip, curling possessively into the small of my back. He pulled me abruptly into his lap, the back of my thighs grinding against the harsh wood arms. 

I smothered a wince. He coddled me in closely, his nose nuzzling gently against the curve of my shoulder. I felt the startling warmth of his finger tips crawl beneath the thick weave of my cashmere sweater. The graze of his nails along my skin sent vapid delight through my body, a strange feeling formidably earned from him. 

The tender press of his lips against my lips sent a gentle flutter through my chest. I had since forgotten the gentleness that he held. The gentleness that had captured me in the still of the stirring night, shrouded in the wispy embrace of white rose bushes and careful small talk. 

The gentleness that was cloaked in danger if we were to be caught. 

The gentleness that someone else lacked. 

The clocked was tolling auspiciously to midnight, each tick of the hands growing lucid anticipation to the merriment of the day to come. 

His hands were soft and strong on my skin, lips methodically working against the tender reprieve of my neck. My jaw. 

The warmth of my sweater fell from my shoulders, dropping in a flutter to the rich textile beneath our feet. His fingers danced languidly over my bare breasts, carefully squeezing and prodding. I leaned against his welcomed touch, feeling the firmness of him beneath my thighs. 

I liked him when he was this way. When he awed at my body and held me gingerly to him. Better than the flesh digging struggle of his power on mine. 

He was a docile lover, versed enough to get me to the edge of my seat. Yet, improper enough to keep me grounded there. 

I didn't dislike his love, or the attention he paid me. But the veracity within me craved something more, something almost deeper than the shallowness that he tread unto. 

But those sea stormed eyes held me in seldom moments. The moments of anger. The trepidation of his wrath anchored on every conversation. Action. Even in the simple moments of ecstasy he could snap, hands clawing mercilessly against my will. 

"I love you." 

He breathed, and I nodded against his chest, face buried in the steely sent of him. He was strong chested, but he wasn't warm. I needed the broad, burning desert of skin and domineering hands curled protectively around the cusp of my neck, body pressed sensually to mine. 

I needed that earth opening release, the one that left me biting, scratching, nails ripping into the chiseled shoulders of... 

"Yelena?" 

I felt the flush flood across my chest. A trepid smile spread carefully onto his lips. A calm hand smoothed my hair from my face. 

"Are you alright?" 

I looked to him puzzledly, lashes slowly fluttering. 

"You're breathing pretty heavily." 

He cooed contentedly. 

I offered him a challenging smile, with the believable roll of my hips. 

Yes, heavy breathing at the firmness of your sex. Your intimacy. Surely for no one else. 

The heavy bellow of the midnight hour gonged out melodically in the quiet foyer, and as I peered over the heavy leather chair, sliding rhythmically over the gentle muttering moans of Jakob, I watched the fallow snow fall quietly down the black glass and the quiet city below. 

And those dark, dark eyes that watched me back.