The Client 10: In Which She Doesn't Get To Blow (This Joint)

“I need to ask you something.”

It was a week later and Samuel was rooting around in the trunk of the BMW parked out in the driveway. He straightened at the sound of my voice, nodding at me.

“Good morning, Miss Anosova. What can I do for you?”

As usual, he was in an impeccable suit. The guy was in his early- to mid-fifties and, despite my affectionate nickname for him, too young to be Michael Caine's Alfred.

“This is a nice car,” I began, patting the roof. “What kind of engine does it have?”

“I don't know, Miss Anosova. I just drive it.”

“Fair enough. So…you're an army man, huh?” My question was redundant; I already knew that Samuel Marlon Langford had served as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army for the better part of his career before retiring.

Samuel slammed the trunk shut. “I have no idea what you mean. I'm just a driver, Miss Anosova,” he said quietly, moving around to the driver's side of the car. He looked at me over the roof. “Is that all?”

“Just cut the c.r.a.p. Nathan told me that you're not just a driver. You're in security, too, aren't you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the closed front door before returning his gaze to mine. “We're on the same team. We work for the same person. That's all that matters.”

“The company I work for requires full disclosure when it comes to who our clients surrounds themselves with on a daily basis, Samuel. If there was no need for me to even be –”

“I've seen the change in Mr. Lancaster in the month or so that you've been here,” he cut in, sliding sungla.s.ses over his blue eyes. “Whatever it is that you're doing, he needs it. He needs you. Now, I really do need to get this car to the shop. Have a good day.” He yanked open the door and slid in, starting the car.

“a.s.shat. You just told me to continue sleeping with him,” I mumbled at the retreating car. He was right, though: Reed did need me. And as a result, I couldn't blow this joint and possibly ruin what incredible progress he'd made.

Of course, I had my own selfish reasons for wanting to stay.

***

Dear Lena,

I would like to apologise for what was, in hindsight, crude behaviour from me on our first meeting. Unfortunately, my wife is the only person that lets me know when I step out of line.

I stepped out of line.

Please accept my sincerest apologies and this small gift.

Best wishes,

Nate

P.S.: I only watched about five seconds of it until I realised who was on it.

P.P.S.: That's not to say I would've watched the whole thing, had it been other people on it. I have a wife. She'd kill me.

P.P.P.S.: Really sorry about the Celia thing. My gaydar seems to be broken.

I went through Nathan's handwritten letter about five more times before I got the b.a.l.l.s to slide the accompanying CD – his “small gift” – into my laptop. I knew what I was going to see long before I even hit play.

The Gla.s.s Room.

Or, more precisely, Reed and I in the Gla.s.s Room.

Heat crept up my neck at the thought of Nathan and obviously a bunch of other people watching this. There was sound, for fucķ's sake. I knew I was loud but G.o.dd.a.m.n it, I sounded like a banshee in heat. It was one thing to be in the moment, to be so overcome with l.u.s.t that you could barely understand what was coming out your mouth.

But this… Sitting on my bed in the light of day and watching Reed fucķ me – correction: watching a video his brother had sent me of that encounter – was positively mortifying.

“Fucķing Nathan,” I muttered, slamming my laptop shut in disgust and setting it on my nightstand. When Margo had handed me the letter and said “the older Mr. Lancaster” had sent me a package, I never would have guessed it was an apology, complete with the complimentary p.o.r.no I'd inadvertently made with his brother. Just imagining Brenda getting her hands on the CD made me feel sick. Few things made me flame with shame and that mental image was one of them.

Note to self: Think of cameras next time, I mentally scolded myself.

Next time?

After Reed's big explosion a week ago, we hadn't done anything that involved nudity, partial or otherwise. We talked a lot about trivial s.h.i.+t – like favourite movies and music. I could eat dinner with him without feeling weird about it. I went to the bas.e.m.e.nt to watch him paint for a few hours but mostly, I did my own thing. Skyped Dawn once or twice, talked to my mother (who wanted to know if I'd been shot at yet) and brothers (who did more b.i.t.c.hing about my mom than my dad did). I knew that if I spoke to my father, he'd start talking about Parker and I had the strange feeling that I'd end up spilling what that man had told me. I couldn't do that, not until I'd spoken to Reed, and I wasn't sure I could do that. Yet.

Once again, guilt crept up on me like a panther in a rainforest. It didn't look like it was planning on leaving anytime soon. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, counting to ten as slowly as I could. I got to six when the knock at my door made my eyes snap open.

Expecting Brenda or Margo, I took longer than necessary to get my a.s.s off the bed to answer. I came face-to-chest with Reed.

“Are you –”

The rest of my sentence was cut short by his mouth on mine. I was too surprised to fight him off and truthfully, I didn't even really want to. He backed me into the room and kicked the door closed, reaching behind him to lock it.

I drew back for a second, panting heavily. “What was that for?”

He shrugged, his eyes sparkling. “I missed doing that. I can't believe how much I missed doing that.”

I felt the exact same. My heart was beating a mile a minute from the feel of his lips on mine. He could probably hear it. People in France could probably hear it.

“Brenda and Margo are around, Reed. I don't think –”

His mouth caught one corner of my lips. “This is my house. I'm an adult. If I want to fucķ you in the daytime, I'll fucķ you in the daytime,” he murmured against my skin. His hands ran down my back before they cupped my a.s.s and pulled me to him. “It's n.o.body's business but ours but…if you don't want anyone to know, you'll just have to be very, very quiet.”

My stomach clenched with antic.i.p.ation. He smelled of soap and aftershave and when my lips parted for his tongue, he tasted minty.
“I don't know how to be quiet,” I said breathlessly when he pulled away. He reached for the hem of my T-s.h.i.+rt, biting his lower lip.

“I noticed.”

I raised my arms for my top to come off and felt a surge of warmth in my panties when Reed traced a finger along the lace cups of my bra.

“Very…girly,” he stated, his lips twitching.

“Well, I'd like to see you try to take it off.”

After several minutes of him struggling to figure out that the clasp was in the front, I put him out his misery and unsnapped it.

“Hilarious,” he muttered dryly when it joined our clothes on the floor. c.o.c.king his head to one side, he reached out to pinch my right nipple.

Pleasure spiked in my veins. Getting my nipples pinched was just part of foreplay and Reed knew that now. I tugged impatiently at the hem of his T-s.h.i.+rt and he took it off, throwing it on the carpet to join mine.

“I like that you're so noisy,” he said, reaching for me again. He kissed me and I threaded my fingers in his messy hair. “I can't go a week without hearing you scream now.”

“Christ, just take me now,” I whispered.

I was scooped into his arms and walked to my bed, where he gently laid me down after pulling the comforter aside. He unzipped my jeans and stuck his fingers in the belt loops and pulled. Propping myself up on my elbows, I held my breath when they came off completely and he yanked my panties down. They were white cotton briefs, the uns.e.xiest pair I owned, yet he held them in his hand like they were Victoria's Secret.

“You smell so good, Lena,” he was saying, running his fingers along my thighs. They paused at the lips of my v.a.g.i.n.a. “You're so wet already.” Our eyes met. “Is it because of me?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice shaky. “You make me so wet. Always. You know this already.”

Pleased, he kissed the inside of my thigh, his tongue darting out to lick it. His mouth moved blessedly higher and higher, until I could feel his hot breath against the folds of my opening. My entire body was trembling at this point, as if it was below zero outside when sunlight was streaming in through the windows. I could feel a new wave of moisture escape me and when Reed pressed a finger against my clįt, my elbows gave way. I didn't care if I couldn't see what he was going to do to me. I just wanted to feel.

“Reed,” I begged, while his other fingers ran down my slit. “Please.” My hands fisted the sheets now. It felt like I could rip into them.

“They say you should always be soaking wet for me,” he said huskily, “so that I don't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. Ever.”

“They?” My voice was listless. I didn't really give two fucķs who “they” were.

“I think it was Men's Health.” He drove a long finger into me and my hips jerked in response. “So, so wet.”

“Please.”

“I love fucķing you with my mouth,” he responded, and I could've cried with relief when he parted my folds in order to do that very thing.

The world spun a little too fast when his mouth touched my puşsy. My head tilted to one side and my back arched even as my hips jerked into the rhythm Reed was creating. His tongue tasted every inch of me; lapped against my clįt, sucked it into his mouth. His teeth grazed that sensitive little nub and ripped moan after moan from my mouth.

“I…need…to come.” The closer I got, the more my voice sounded broken, guttural. My eyes had long slid shut.
He groaned into my puşsy, the vibrations doing wonderful, starburst-inducing things to me.

“Come,” he ordered me, and I did, my whole body tightening and releasing as I fell off the precipice.

Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me and Reed held me through each one, until my bones were solid enough for me to be able to move higher up the bed to make room for him. The air was heavy with my musky smell and I was filled with a renewed arousal with every breath that I took. He'd done that to me. I kept my eyes shut as I listened to the sound of Reed's belt coming off. I kept my eyes shut as I heard the springs of the bed creak under his weight. I kept my eyes shut as he pushed my legs up, so that my knees were against my chest and I was left open wider than before.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his fingers biting into my flesh.

I shook my head repeatedly. “Can't.”

It was stupid, but it felt safer to close my eyes because… Well, I didn't know why; it just did.

“Lena,” he whispered. I whimpered at the first feel of the head of his c.0.c.k against my entrance. “Your eyes. I need to see them. Just like you need to see mine.”

I could give him that, couldn't I? Even if I couldn't give him anything else.

I opened my eyes and gazed up at him on his knees between my legs. He really was a work of art, even if he couldn't fathom that.

“Happy?” I said on an exhale, unable to keep from at least attempting to ruin the moment.

“Ecstatic.”

I was keeping my knees against my chest on my own and he released me, running his c.0.c.k along the sensitive lips of my puşsy. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, his eyes darkening. I could feel that I was soaking, like he wanted. And that only made me wetter.

“Feels so fucķing good,” he groaned, rubbing against my swollen cļit.

“Don't do this to me,” I pleaded, my broken voice unrecognisable. I pushed up, trying to get him to enter me, but no dice. I growled in frustration. “Reed.”

“Lena,” he rasped. With one thrust, he was inside me, stretching me, startling a sharp cry out of me. He held himself still, breathing heavily, his eyes searching mine. “Hurts?”

I shook my head. It was more from the surprise than anything else. In this position, he probably wouldn't hit my cervix but, still unsure, Reed remained still, thumbing my cļit in slow, agonising circles. Ripples of pleasure thrummed right through me and even if I wanted to, I couldn't contain my moans of complete and total ecstasy.

He started to move, thrusting in and out of me slowly, totally filling me. His fingertips dug into the flesh of my inner thigh and veins were prominent in his neck. Beneath him, my body responded with fervour. Every inch of me was alive with desire, with the need to erupt. This was different; this was slow and sweet and…I had never done slow and sweet.

I…like it.

The bed rocked with our movement, the headboard slamming against the wall. It felt like the springs of the mattress were digging into me but I was obviously imagining it. It was Reed, making me feel things that were impossible to feel. I remembered how he'd wanted to take care of me a week ago, how he'd said that I was worth something. I didn't want to think of him doing or saying those things to someone else.

“You're mine,” I heard myself say. My voice was so fierce – so harsh – I almost couldn't believe that I'd said those words.

Reed let out a breath, fixing his moss-green eyes on mine. “Yeah.” He withdrew before slowly sliding into me again. “I'm…yours.”

Relief blanketed me – and a fierce possessiveness that would've made my Neanderthal ancestors proud. It was unwarranted and unlike me, yet it felt right…even if I could never say those two words back to him.
“Yours,” he repeated gruffly, moving in a different rhythm, a faster one. He was fucķing me now, every drive of his dicķ stretching me, making me cry out from the beautiful sensation.

I lasted for about two seconds after that before I was tightening around him and shattering into a million pieces of release. His name was the only intelligible thing that left my mouth. Like I said, banshee in heat.

“You're so beautiful. s.h.i.+t,” he roughly ejected, his c.0.c.k swelling inside me.

That was the only warning he gave me before he came, finally making me aware that he wasn't wearing protection. Despite how fucķed-up that was, my body responded to being filled with his şemen by breaking apart all over again, my next orgaşm joining his.

He covered me with his body when he was done, his chest heaving against mine. I nuzzled my nose in his damp hair, inhaling the scent that was purely him. Until I realised what I was doing and stopped.

“You didn't wear a condom.”

I felt him stiffen. He raised his head, carefully heaving himself out and off of me. The result of our mutual satisfaction leaked out of me and onto the sheets beneath me.

“s.h.i.+t,” Reed muttered, crawling onto his knees. “Shít.”

“You said that already.”

“Jesus, I'm so sorry,” he said, giving me a woeful look even as he rose to his feet and went to my vanity table. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up a pack of wet wipes and returned to me. “I have a condom in my pocket but…I forgot.”

I bit my lower lip when he meticulously began to clean me, then himself, up before disposing of the wipes in the wastepaper basket at the bedside. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at me.

“If anything…happens, I want you to know that I'll be there for you,” he told me, sounding so sincere I almost wished something could happen. “I mean, if…if you're not on any, um, birth control.”

“It's okay,” I said, patting the s.p.a.ce beside me and s.h.i.+fting to my side. He cautiously crawled back into bed, resting beside me so that we were face to face, and pulled the covers over us. “I have an IUD.” At his blank look, I elaborated. “Basically the most faithful contraceptive since abstinence, chast.i.ty belts and tube-tying. They put it in my uterus and…yeah, you don't want to hear the rest. Just be happy it works and lasts for five years. Well, four more, since I got it inserted a year ago.”

“Oh. Okay.” He paused, frowning. “So…what happens after four years?”

“I get it taken out and do what I wanted to do in the first place – get my tubes tied.”

I was still annoyed that I hadn't been able to find a doctor who'd sterilise me. They'd all had an issue about such a “severe, permanent procedure” on a twenty-four-year-old. They thought I'd end up regretting my decision. After all, humans are so fickle. If I ended up changing my mind, I'd have to fork out big bucks to reverse the surgery and even then, conception wasn't likely. In the end, one doctor suggested I get an IUD – reversible and effective – and see how I felt after five years. It didn't matter that I knew how I'd feel in five years' time: I didn't want kids, I would never have kids and I just…couldn't.

Why bring a life into this world? My kid would probably give me as much grief as I'd given my parents. I would never be able to protect him or her from everything in the world, despite being familiar with firearms and switchblades. And Christ, my kid would probably end up knowing how to curse in fifty-two languages by the time he or she hit kindergarten. Yeah, I'd be real popular with the other moms.

Reed's hand on my cheek kept me from having a full-blown panic attack. “Isn't that drastic? Tying your tubes?” he wanted to know.
“Maybe so, but it's what I want. What I'm sure I want.” I sighed heavily. “My mother's already given up hope of getting a grandchild out of me. My brothers are her best bet now. She's trying to get them to knock some poor girls up. Matchmaking, she calls it.”

Reed smiled. “I bet she's like you, then.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “If you mean pushy, persistent and…pernickety, then nope, we're so not alike. I was describing her, just by the way.”

He laughed. “You're pushy and persistent. If you weren't, I wouldn't be here…in your bed. But pernickety?”

I wrinkled my nose at that description. “It means fussy. Dawn uses it all the time.”Reed knew all about Dawn and most of my other friends now, just like I knew about the few that he'd kept over the years.

Reed's face became sombre. “I think you'd be a great mother, Lena. You're innately protective, you're caring and you're” – he moved an inch closer, so close I could feel his breath on me – “determined.”

His lips brushed mine like a feather before he moved in for a deeper kiss, bringing my leg over his hip at the same time so that we end up pressed against each other. I broke the kiss before it led to yet another round of s.e.x. Truthfully, I was amazed that no one had banged on my door yet, demanding to know what was going on.

“Not that I'm complaining or anything because that was amazing,” I began, running my fingers through Reed's hair, “but you just decided to stop whatever it was that you were doing and come to me?”

He turned red. That was never going to get old. “Well, it's my birthday…”

I gripped his hair suddenly and he muttered a sharp, “Hey”. “Are you kidding me? It's the tenth today?”

“Yes, and you really don't have to rip my hair out my scalp.”

I shook my head at him. “You should've reminded me. We could've done something.”

“We already did something.” He winked at me. I slapped his shoulder.

“You know what I mean. It's your twenty-ninth. That's kind of a big deal, right? I mean, next year, you'll be in your thirties.”

His silence worried me.

Finally, “I don't see it as my birthday,” he said softly, running a finger along my side. “It's the anniversary of my father's death.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, feeling like an insensitive little cunţ. I'd completely forgotten that little detail. It must have been hard, to have had his father die on the night of his birthday. Every year he got older, he was reminded of it. I yearned to change that for him, to make him see things differently.

And maybe you can, Lena.

I cleared my throat and he raised a questioning brow at me. “There's…there's something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

I sat up and he followed suit. He pushed a few strands of my hair out of my face.

“What is it?” he repeated, sounding anxious. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No. Everything you did…I liked it.” I took his hand in mine and sucked in air. “OK, that night at your brother's club… Wyatt Parker was there.” Beating around the bush just wasn't my style.

Reed's eyes narrowed. “I thought you said your security company knew where he'd be all the time. How did he come anywhere near us?”

That had been bothering me, too, but a casual talk with Ivan had revealed that my father had decided to drop surveillance on Parker without telling me. Leaving Parker to simply waltz into Lancaster's club.

I couldn't tell Reed that.

“He's a wily fox,” I said flippantly, “but I talked to him and –”

Reed's grasp of my hand became so painful I let out a squeak of pain. He released it as if I'd scalded him. “Sorry. It's just… You talked to him? To a murderer? Why would you even entertain him, Lena? Why didn't you call me, or better yet, the cops?”

“Listen, he said some things that I didn't buy at first but, well, they started sounding legit after a while. I mean, the person involved would have wanted to hide the –”

Reed's eyes hardened. “Let me guess: My father committed suicide and that…that man just happened to be in the house, finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time? His prints were on the gun because it was his gun? Oh, and the suicide note has never been recovered because Brenda, who was madly in love with my father, either hid it, or burned it?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Am I missing something, or did he add yet another discrepancy to his already-unbelievable tale after twenty-plus years?”

I gaped at him. “I…” I shook my head. “Well, d.a.m.n. How'd you know?”