The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) (6 page)

“Oh. Well, Miss Shark, you’ll be happy to
know my girl has done good. She is writing on the internet and making good
money.”
I smile and nod. Good to know something I did
in life was worthwhile, before I hang myself in my jail cell.
The door hisses again and I hear a shrill,
strong voice over the din.
“SHARP, Julia Sharp!”
I stand and push my way to the door. The
officer pulls me by the arm and waits for the buzzer to end before she speaks.
“The complaint is filed. You can make your
call now.” She walks me to a room near the holding cell where there is a phone
book, a desk and a highlighter with some paper. Guess they don’t want anyone
jabbing them with a pen. The guard points at the push-button phone as if I’m
some kind of time traveler who doesn’t understand what to do with the archaic
device.
Slowly, hands shaking and heart hurting, I
pick up the receiver and place my call.
One ring, two rings, three rings… and…
“Hello?”

I thank God for at least one favor today.
“Mark, it’s Julia. I need you.”

Our conversation is short, terse and one
sided. I tell him where I am and he says he already heard about it. I ask him
to call Paul and he replies, “I’ll handle it.” Then he hangs up even before my
two minutes are up.
Returning to my cell, I begin to drag my feet
a bit, dreading going back in there. I pray Mark will be fast because the anger
that was keeping me safe is dissipating into a numb acceptance of my reality. I
can’t afford to leave myself unprotected. Just as I near the area, I hear the
woman who had been talking to me speak to a guy on the other side of the bars.
“That Miss Shark, my daughter said she’s one
stone cold bitch.”
Hours pass as I sit in my corner frowning,
listening to the chattering of others and cries for help every time someone is
ushered in or out. I move over near the door and the next time the guard brings
someone down, I manage to call out with all the others asking if Paul Freis has
arrived. She takes pity on me and speaks into her radio as a mix of jumbles and
static pour through the speaker.
“Sharp, your bail is going through now. Your
bondsman is here to get you.”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Freis, my lawyer?”
“No, I mean Mr. Clank your bondsman.”
“Mr. Clank?”

“You know—from Clank and Clack Bail Bonds—those
guys with the stupid commercials where people bang on the cell bars in rhythm. Don’t
pretend to be high and mighty with me, girl. You ain’t got a guy like Paul
Freis in your corner. But that rich bitch thing is sure looking good on you.”
I think for a second about arguing, then
retreat. She’s more right than she knows. I won’t be able to afford Paul much
longer. Clank and Clack are nothing but two-bit ambulance chasers. Why on earth
would Paul use them to get me?

A few minutes later a guard takes me back up
to the station house where a short balding man fidgeting with his hands in his
pockets awaits me. I ask why he is the one bailing me out and he motions to me
to be quiet and follow him out of the station.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me
what’s going on, Mr. Klink!”

“It’s Clank. Robert Clank, Miss Sharp. Please
follow me and keep your voice down.” He takes me in an elevator to the 3rd
floor of the parking garage where a black car waits. Suddenly my head fills
with fear and crazy thoughts. Maybe Blake has hired the mob to make me
disappear or Kenneth has paid Paul to cause me more trouble, or Valerie James
is going to pop out of the back and take my picture to be her cover for Ladies
World. I can see the story now: “High Strung Editor Finally Snaps!”

Just as I am about to turn and run, the door
to the vehicle opens and out steps Mark.
I can’t restrain myself. I run to him and
cling to him for a moment, wanting him to carry me away from this horrible
place. He lets me hug him for a few seconds then pushes me off brusquely.
“Get a hold of yourself and get in the car
now.”
I do as I am told, grateful that at least he’s
here. Mark speaks to the diminutive, rumpled man who brought me to him.
“Thank you, Robert. I appreciate your help and
your silence.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Stone,” he says as if
speaking to royalty. “Good luck with her.”
Mark gets in the car and starts the engine. I
don’t know whether I want to blast him for not being there when I needed him or
burst out in tears over the whole sordid day. We ride in silence for a while
but I can see by the prominent bone in his jaw-line from gritting his teeth
that he is furious.
“Mark, I—”

“Shhh. No talking until we get to my place.”
Shuffling my shoes against the floor mat, I
look down and try to imagine what exactly I am going to tell him that will make
this day turn out right. When he pulls the car into the underground parking
deck, I’m relieved to have a moment of darkness I can hide in while I try to
collect myself and get my hair straightened out a bit. It’s ridiculous. He just
bailed me out of jail, and I’m hoping he finds me attractive.
We walk quickly through the garage and into an
elevator where Mark pushes the lobby button. Once there, we leave the lobby and
go to a hall full of private elevators. We enter and he puts a key in the
elevator making the small box move upward. Trapped in close quarters, I smell
the masculine cologne he wears and feel the safe confidence he exudes. However,
the small space also reminds me of how I ended up in jail in the first place.
Where has he been the past few days? Why
wasn’t he there today? Why did he take so long to get me after I called? He’s
Blake’s brother and his partner. Isn’t it just a little convenient he wasn’t
there when it went down? Are they playing good cop, bad cop with me? What do
they hope to get?
The shiny metal door opens to a panoramic view
of his Upper West Side apartment. It’s beautiful, like the man himself. Done in
monochromatic black and eggshell with silver highlights, everything is perfect,
orderly and gleaming. A briefcase on a small stand beside a recliner in a study
is the only evidence of an occupant. However, for all its linear charm, it’s
not cold at all. It has the comforting warmth of embers in a fire, just enough
light and heat, shining out in the darkness. A fully stocked bar with crystal
carafes and sharp cut Waterford glassware.

Upper West Side, nice. I look around the
spotless expansive apartment with silver Nambe sculptures and art from Paul
Klee and Lyonel Feininger. I should stick with him, this life would be sweet.
I immediately chide myself. Where did that
come from? I was raised to make my own way and given a liberal education that
impressed on me that women weren’t required to have a man to be successful. In
fact, that was one of the problems with Greg. My constant drive to succeed made
him turn to some down-and-out floozy to make himself feel better. Okay, so down
and out is a little strong—an opera mezzo at the start of her career. But
still, he was paying her bills, and with my money.
In fact, my eyes narrow as I look around, if
Mark and Blake hadn’t stolen my company and totally fucked up my life, I could
afford to live on the Upper West Side too. Well, maybe Upper East. Or Tribeca.
“What the hell kind of game are you playing?”
I spit out at Mark, unable to hold my tongue any longer.
“Seems like you’re the one rolling the dice
these days, not me.”
“Oh yes, you were conveniently out when Blake
was spewing filth out of his mouth. You have been purposefully absent for the
last three days and when I finally take the matter into my own hands, you
aren’t around to help me, save me or bail me out in a decent amount of time.”
I fight like an old harpy fishwife, standing
in the center of the room blurting out accusations while he quietly makes a
drink at the bar.
“I’d ask what you were thinking but you
clearly weren’t thinking,” he says sharply.
“What do you know about it, ‘Mr. Show Up When
it’s All Over’? You’re too busy to help, even though you promised.”
“I have been busy doing just that, helping
you. But how am I supposed to keep a secret plan in motion when you are running
around like a banshee? Imagine how I feel. I was out today digging up useful
information and I return to the office to discover everyone gossiping, Blake
shrieking, Kenneth plotting, and cops all over taking statements and I find out
it’s because Julia Sharp has attacked my partner.”
“I didn’t attack him.”
“The red handprint I saw on Blake’s cheek
would suggest otherwise,” he says. “Why don’t you tell me what happened and we’ll
regroup from there.”
Mark guides me to the couch and sits a vodka
tonic down in front of me. I start slowly, holding the heavy glass with both
hands.
“Mark, I felt like I was running out of time,
you had disappeared and I needed to get something done.”
Mark watched me, silent. I take a sip of the
drink in my hands and launch into my side of the story, starting with the
office visit. When I get to the part where Blake was proposing to use my body
as his sex toy, I see Mark wince for a moment.
“Well, I’m sure Blake would love to do that.
He loves demeaning women as a form of pleasure in return for favors. You could
have struck some kind of deal with him if you let him do it. That’s the way his
impulses work.”
Mark seemingly justifying his brother’s
actions is like a matador holding up the red flag to draw the bull.
“So, that’s what this is all about isn’t it? You
offer to help me but I have to fuck you. Blake wants to help but I have to fuck
him. Welcome to Sandstone Ventures where we fuck your business then we fuck you
too! Do I have to fuck Kenneth Allen too? How about your receptionist? Do I
need to eat her out before she’ll put my calls through?”
“Julia, that’s not what I’m saying,” Mark
tries to be rational but I’m past that. “I’m just saying I believe you—Blake’s
like that. It was wrong, horribly wrong.”
“Are you really a venture capitalist, or just
a highly compensated pimp? How many, Mark? How many people do I have to fuck to
get my job back?”
The look on his face changes from quiet strong
mentor to sad lost love almost instantly. I can see he doesn’t like being
compared to Blake. Who would? I can also see he’s deeply hurt by the idea he
set this up. The dear man, who is nothing like the sleazy degenerate who is
holding my company hostage, has probably been at lawyers and accountants and
everywhere looking for a loop hole.
“You can back out of our deal any time you
want,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
I grow ashamed of the accusation I hurled at
Mark. The lady in the jail was right. I can be a stone cold bitch. Sorry for
the pain I’ve caused him, I reach out and touch his hand.
“I didn’t mean all that. It’s just been a
rough day.”
“Trust means you follow my lead. Trust means
you listen to my advice. Trust means you get rid of the theatrics and wait for
my call. You’re strong enough to spew fire and brimstone, but are you strong
enough to contain it? To control yourself?”

“I understand, Mark, I really do.”

“You do?” He asks. “Let’s see.”
Rising from the couch, he offers me his arm
and as I rise he pushes me with all his body weight up against the wall. It
happens so fast I really don’t know what’s going on until my back hits the wall
with a thud. Grabbing my hair and pulling my head up, he kisses me roughly. I
feel my lips and body respond to his strong touch. His hand goes down between
my legs, roughly pressing against me. I hear his zipper go down as his body
holds me against the wall. Breathless, I open my stance, hoping to show him my
regret about today and my willingness to follow.
“Do you trust me?” Mark asks as he reaches
down grabbing one of my thighs. He lifts my leg and wraps it around his body,
drawing me closer to him. He kisses me deeply, his tongue enjoying my mouth as
his hand readies me.
“Yes,” I whisper as he pulls his lips away. I
want him to never let me go.
I feel his cock parting my nether lips finding
its way into my wet darkness. I gasp at his slightly awkward entry, and then my
body floods his member with my juices, inviting him in deeper. His hands wrap
around me, holding me up.
“Lift your other leg,” he commands, pulling my
body up and bracing it against the wall as he begins pumping into me. I do what
he says quickly—instinctively—without any worry of being dropped. I know he
will hold me up. I need him to hold me up. The small thrusts he began with get
deeper as he pushes into me harder and harder. It’s the first time I’ve really
seen his face, intense and strong as he plunders my body for his pleasure.
Weightless, I am floating on air, the only
sensation I feel is the friction as he pumps me again and again. I wrap my arms
around him, clinging to him. This is everything I need, and all I desire. I’m
filled and fulfilled. The depth of his cock and the bracing of the wall behind
me ground me to him. I feel the tingling growing inside me as my muscles
tighten around his member. His thrusts become more like sharp quick jabs as I
feel him swelling within me, his breath coming out in short hot bursts.
“Ohhh,” I gasp as my body releases, convulsing
in his strong arms. It’s a slow deep orgasm that rocks me all the way to my
toes. The sounds of my passion and clamping of my pussy encourages him to pound
me harder, his cock driving itself into me as my shoulders knock against the
back wall. He lets out a rough growl as he explodes deep inside my body.
After he withdraws, I drop one leg on the
ground and he holds me until I let the other down. Slowly, he turns and gives
me a moment to get myself together as he walks to the couch and gets a blanket.
Mark gently wraps it around my shoulders. Still shaken by the depth and power
of the moment, I can barely walk, but he guides me to the couch.
“I do trust you,” I say softly.
“Good,” he says, twirling my hair in his
fingers.
“But, Clank and Clack?” I ask.
“I couldn’t take the risk Blake or Kenneth
would know I helped you. We have to keep it a secret. For your safety, and for
my plan to work. Besides, Robert is a good man and friend. If you’re going to
run around assaulting people, you should probably get to know him.”
I nestle against him satisfied with the
explanation. He’s so different, after sex—so loving and nurturing. Tiger, then
tabby.