Page 87 of Magdalene Nox

Magdalene wanted to shout her love from the very top of the Amber Cliff. She wanted to imprint it into every inch of Sam’s skin. But for now, she could only give herself to this beloved mouth that devoured her with so much passion, so much hunger. And to that tongue she knew so intimately that thrust with so much determination, it stole her breath away. And to those hands that she had kissed and nipped and knew every inch of, and that had taken her apart and put her back together. The ones that now roamed her back before settling on her waist, sending little shockwaves up and down her spine and straight between her legs.

Sam would wait for her, too. And the knowledge that she was wanted, needed, loved enough to be waited for, filled Magdalene with so much strength. Strength to overcome, to move forward, to achieve her purpose, to do what she was supposed to, and then… Then, when what she had set out to accomplish was completed, she would confess, too. She would tell Sam how much she had been loved from the start. All along. After all, they had time. All the time in the world.

24

OF MARKED SKIN & BORROWED TIME

September began with the students returning and an uncharacteristic heat on the island, making even the ever-tired Willoughby sleepier and lazier. But it was for the best; the weather distracted pretty much everyone from the truncated curricula, from the lack of inter-house competitions, and made protests against Magdalene’s leadership rare and quite feeble compared to what they could have been.

After all, nobody really wanted to stand outside in the unrelenting sun with placards, burn effigies, and yell at the implacable walls of the academy.

Magdalene was glad for the reprieve. However, it gave her way too much time to do something she had never done in her life prior to Sam. She pined. Yearned. Longed. She spent her days and her nights in a perpetual state of semi-arousal and semi-desire to cross the length of the faculty dormitory and knock on the one door that held everything she had ever wanted.

Sam looking at her with equal longing during every single staff meeting or joint activity did not help matters at all.

She had to do something before she became entirely too obvious. In fact, Magdalene assumed some people in her vicinity had surmised her state of mind.

On a routine visit to Boston in the middle of September, her mother gave her and her Agent Provocateur shopping bag—which was the real reason for Magdalene actually being on mainland—a very long look and pursed her lips. Magdalene was profoundly grateful that Candace chose not to comment on her mental state—she was entirely too distracted to sustain a real conversation—or on the contents of the peach-colored bag with its black satin ribbons.

Candace might not have asked, but Magdalene had the distinct notion her mother knew the nature of the content all too well. Luckily, she didn’t have X-ray vision and couldn’t see the crimson corset with its matching lacy thong through the luxurious packaging, but given the level of scrutiny, she might as well have.

They shared a lovely lunch, despite Magdalene’s distracted mood, and Candace scowled only once, when they were interrupted by a call from George.

“Surely that school can wait for one afternoon. If this woman is as capable as you keep telling me she is, she shouldn’t contact you 24/7. Good help is so hard to find these days…” Candace pouted and proceeded to tip fifty percent, despite her complaints throughout their meal that the service was slow. Magdalene hid her smile behind a napkin. Her mother was such a fraud sometimes.

* * *

Except these days,George’s phone calls were highly appreciated, because they had worked arduously to set up an extended weekend trip to Connecticut where Dragons competed against New Haven St. Jude’s Private School for Girls in an ad hoc tournament.

Dragons trounced the receiving side soundly, but the competitions themselves didn’t hold any interest for Magdalene, and she guessed they wouldn’t have anyway, even if they weren’t as one-sided. The crimson number was burning a hole in her luggage. And Sam prowling the sidelines of the soccer field, loudly cheering on Dragons’ team in those ridiculous skinny jeans and that flannel shirt, did things to her insides.

On their last day in Connecticut, Magdalene ran into George in the hotel hallway and once they started talking, it seemed rude not to walk her friend to her room.

“A nightcap?” George’s face lit up with a fire Magdalene did not recognize, like her secretary had already partaken in several of whatever beverage she had in mind. She was so joyful, so uncharacteristically upbeat, Magdalene smiled, and she could swear George’s eyes glazed over. But when she shook her head to decline, her friend’s face fell in such a distinct contrast, Magdalene blinked, taken aback.

“I’m sorry, George. It’s been a long weekend—”

“A massage then?” Hope returned to those light blue eyes, and Magdalene instinctively tightened her hold on her trench coat.

“Ah, no, dear, sorry. I just don’t feel quite like myself.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily, and she patted George’s arm. The desire to squirm was so strong, she thought she must be succumbing to her mother’s power of suggestion. George was her friend. Her best friend.

To confirm as much to herself and to George, Magdalene reached out and gave her secretary a quick squeeze around the shoulders before she turned on her heel and hurried towards the elevators. George’s features had held such disappointment, Magdalene wanted to make herself scarce, before George could call out after her.

Thankfully, thoughts of George were short-lived as she knocked on an almost identical door moments later, and the joy on the face that met her there was neither feverish nor strange.

Sam’s pure happiness morphed into profound desire in an instant, Magdalene’s stomach flipped as she crossed the threshold.

Sam stepped aside to let her in and locked the door behind her, and moved to the opposite side of the room, standing in the shadows. Magdalene decided that she had waited long enough and slowly undid her trench coat, exposing the corset, the satin encasing her breasts and waist, giving her a rather enticing look, if she said so herself.

And if she needed any confirmation, Sam’s eyes turning dark and slightly feral was more than sufficient. The ensemble clearly worked.

“Stand right there, Magdalene.”

Well, the commanding note in Sam’s voice was enough for her to want to do anything but stand. She ached to stretch like a cat under those eyes. But when she dropped the coat, Sam just tsked.

“I see obedience has not been enshrined in that new curriculum of yours, Headmistress. Be still. Or you won’t get what you came here for.”

Magdalene stopped, gulped, her inner muscles clenching reflexively around nothing, already so drenched, she felt like a river overflowing. God, when Sam spoke to her this way…

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