Slave: The Ghost of Cambria - Book Two

Chapter Seventeen

Valon returned to Margaret Cole night after night that first month as she slept in his house. In each instance, he guided her back to those precious memories of Chris Jackson.

At first, she resisted Valon's pull toward the specific memories he wanted to see, the ones that promised to truly excite him. The challenge was that Margaret preferred the simple moments between them, like how it felt to hold Chris' arm when he led her to his shining red Buick Skylark. When Jackson opened the passenger door for her, the young woman smiled with a triumphant satisfaction that bordered upon ecstasy, one that often outshone her sexual memories. From Margaret's recall, Valon understood that Jackson was everything she'd ever dreamed of. He wasn't the crude, drunken slob that Margaret's father had been. Instead, Chris was a prince among men who treated her how she'd always wanted. Margaret fancied she was upon the arm of a celebrity. He was a young Rock Hudson or Montgomery Cliff. He was a god like Elvis, whose flawless smile had gleamed from the posters that papered her older sister's bedroom when they were kids. And he was Margaret's alone.

That Chris Jackson came from money and lavished it upon her was merely the icing on the cake. He took Margaret to several glamorous restaurants in Los Angeles where he tipped the host to seat them at the finest table, usually dead center in the room where everyone could see them. Chris often hinted at his desire for intimacy, but he never pushed her. He was a gentleman, and this simple fact made Margaret more physically attracted to him than she could stand.

In time, Valon succeeded in guiding Margaret to that first night when she'd allowed Chris to take her to the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. They dined in the lobby restaurant surrounded by the most beautiful people she'd ever set her eyes on. After dessert was served, Margaret shocked the boy when she asked him to get a room for them. Chris had been only too agreeable to the request, and they soon ascended the hotel's many floors in its stylish golden elevator.

Theirs wasn't the finest of rooms, but Margaret had never felt more glamorous in her life. So much so that for once, she didn't care about her anxiety. Before leaving for college, her mother had told Margaret about sex and what it would feel like the first time. The woman's descriptions had been unsatisfactory at best, but Margaret had gleaned from them one certainty: it would hurt. But the girl didn't care about that tonight. Margaret was so attracted to Chris that she was willing to endure any discomfort to please him. And in this famous hotel of all places.

"I'll just be a short while," she told the boy before slipping into the small bathroom.

With the door closed behind her, Margaret promptly used the toilet, then washed her hands and checked herself in the mirror. She reapplied her lipstick and added a little powder to reduce the shine on her nose. Margaret looked perfect for him, and she couldn't help let out a small bit of laughter at herself.

How marvelous this all is, she thought. Margaret's mother had stressed more than once that she really ought to wait to engage in sex with her husband. But the intrepid woman was a pragmatist and had done her best to send her daughter to college with everything she needed, including "the talk."

Running her slight hands through her blonde hair, teasing it out to appear just a bit wild like Marilyn Monroe, Margaret couldn't think of a single reason why she shouldn't have sex with Chris. If she didn't intend for him to enjoy undressing her, the girl would have walked back into that bedroom stark naked.

When she finally did reemerge, Margaret heard jazz music coming from the clock radio by the bed. Chris had already removed his jacket and red silk tie. His white shirt was unbuttoned down to mid-chest. The sight stimulated Margaret such that she forgot to breathe for several heartbeats.

"You're so beautiful," he said quietly and drew the girl to him.

In his arms, Margaret received Jackson's warm kiss without resistance. She felt the urgency build in him, but even when his kiss became wet, the girl did nothing to stop him from having his way with her. His hands were everywhere, and in time Margaret felt him pull gently at the zipper back of her dress. In moments, he had pulled the garment down, exposing her neck and shoulders, eventually changing his attention to her brassiere.