You Are Mine

Adrianna’s POV

His mouth drags its way up my neck and his lips part at a spot right underneath my ear, finding the birthmark that hid there. I broken sob escapes me and I sink my teeth into my lip to stifle it.I feel his smile against my neck. He likes to do that, to drag it on till I can’t take it anymore. To tease me to I think I am going to explode. His fingers grip my thighs tighter as he thrusts into me again, pressing my back against the sand of the beach.

My eyes lose focus and tension coils deeper in my stomach. His thrusts continue, slowly, like we have all the time in the world. I feel my toes curl and my head falls back. The tension buildingup in me reaches a breaking point and a scream escapes me as I climax. His thrusts become wilder, deeper, riding out the last ofmy release before he stills above me and shudders, failing against my breasts. I feel his breath hot against my neck in the spot where he had kissed.

“You're so beautiful.” I hear him mutter, his fingers stroking my skin where my pulse hammered. My face heats up and I turn my head to look at him, my gaze locking with a pair of cold, lifeless grey eyes.

“Lance?” I whisper, a chill dispelling the haze of lust.

His smile is humorless. “You seem surprised.” He drawls.

His long fingers tighten around my throat, cutting my breath. I grip his wrists in desperation, feeling my eyes beginning to bulge. I claw, hit and kick but he doesn’t budge. I might as well be kicking a brick wall for all the damage I am able to do to him. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get past the dizziness caused by the asphyxiation.

“You put me in jail to die, yet you seem so reluctant to join me in hell.” He observes, his voice deceptively soft.

When I open my eyes, I am sinking deep in the ocean. I try not to panic and to swim my way to the surface. A slender hand grabs me by my ankle in a crushing grip and pulls me down with a powerful tug….

I shoot awake to the sound of the cabbie’s voice, barely stopping myself from screaming.

“Houston Investments…” he announces cheerfully, sparing me a glance through the rearview mirror. I lick my lips, trying to take steadying breaths.

“You alright, darling? You don't look so good.” He  says in avoice laced with worry. I shoot him a fake smile.

“Yeah, I'm alright.”  I say shakily. I really need to stop falling asleep in cabs. I pay and tip generously, grabbing my purse and my MacBook and getting out to the sidewalk.

I state up at the huge building that houses Houston Investments, one of the ventures belonging to the Houston Group in LA. It is the typical skyscraper, with “HOUSTON” set up in bold letters right at the peak of the building.

I hug my MacBook tighter to my chest and walk towards the building, returning the greetings of staff members absent-mindedly. I check my watch and confirm that it’s 7 o’clock in the morning. I worked late and had to get up early today to finish up preparations for my presentation. Apart from being the daughter of Rhys Houston, the President of Houston Group, I’m also the team leader of the Investments Management Department. I step into the elevator and close my eyes.

It isn't the first time I have had semi erotic dreams about Lance, but this didn't make it seem any less embarrassing. They always had the same format. They'd start out sensual and end with him trying to kill me. Then I’d snap awake in my bed, burning with frustration and shame.

I suppose I should try getting laid.

I snicker. I can hardly find enough time to have dinner because of work.

The elevator slides open with a bell sound that forces me to open my eyes. I can't get enough time off my busy schedule for a Girls’ night out.

I make my way to my office and shut the door behind me, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead. I need my presentation ready in less than two hours. I let my deep red hair down from its braid, combing through the soft waves gently. I close my eyes and the image of Lance's face buried in a cloud of my hair and my eyes open up immediately.

Maybe I should consider getting laid.

I run tinted lip balm over my lips as I go through the quarter’s investment report. Kat, my assistant, eases the door open and pokes her head in. Nicknamed “pug” in the department, Kat is my sixty three year old secretary cum assistant cum shoulder-to-cry-on cum guardian angel. She has a mother hen energy about her, especially when it comes to me.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” she asks, placing my coffee on my desk. I take a sip of it.

“Yes.” I say.

“Liar. My husband’s golf clubs can fit in your eye bags.”

I smile. “Ever the flatterer, aren't you?”

“I have some news on the winery. You know, the one you had your eyes on.” She says, handing me a file.

I put my coffee down and flip through the file. Tourrier is a relatively new winery owned by an elderly widower. He had opened the winery in honor of his late wife and has a healthy fear of investors, thinking they would only take his business apart and sell it off to the highest bidder. Apparently, he is interested in a vineyard but can't afford it. He also won't mind letting go of a great amount of shares to acquire it.

“The land is priced at two million right now, but it’s set to skyrocket in price. It's owned by some french aristocrat who's having an auction for it with a closed bid.”

“Don't you need an invitation to participate in that sort of thing?” I ask, skeptical.

“I spent the last hour lobbying to get the aristocrat’s whereabouts.” She says pleasantly.

“That really sounds creepy, you know.” I say. She scowls at me.

“He’s the heir to a French marquisat. He’ll be visiting an opera tonight at six. I got you tickets for the seat beside him.” Kat continues mischievously. “If that little black dress you got last year doesn’t get you an invitation to bid, nothing will.” 

I stare at the ticket to the opera, tempted. I haven't had a night out in ages and the play is one I really like but have only been able to stream online. I stuff the ticket in my purse.

I squirm nervously in my seat, feeling like such a fraud. I never do this, making a conscious effort to look good for a potential business meeting. It goes against everything I have held as important for myself. I believe my work should be more attractive than whatever dress I'm wearing and that my ability should impress people, not my neckline.

I put on makeup. I squeezed myself into a dress I could barely breathe in. I wore a padded bra.

I regret the padded bra.

The performance is about to start and the lights dim. I pick nervously at my program. I promised myself that I would enjoy this as I got dressed, no matter the outcome. I twirl my hair nervously.

Would he ditch the play?

I sense him before I hear him get into his seat beside me. I can feel him in the pit of my stomach, that familiar sensation I had only felt with one man. Longing and fear mixed in me, tearing me apart. I want to look up and see for myself if I am just being ridiculous or if all the dreams have finally gotten to me. I also want to run away so I can forget those murderous eyes.

A cloud of woodsy, masculine cologne envelopes me and I look at the man who has taken a seat beside me. It is too dark to see his features but that doesn't stop my heart from sinking.

“Good evening, Adrianna.” I heard him drawl.

Lance.