Prologue New York, September, 2014

PROLOGUE: NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER, 2014

ANDREW

"After you," I say to the woman beside me, holding the door open for her with all the chivalry of a knight in shining armor. She gives me a small smile of acknowledgement before slipping past me. Her perfume wafts over me pleasantly.

My friends are giving me a big sendoff. My date, a lovely brunette I met while interning, clutches my arm tightly as we enter. She's a med student at the teaching hospital where I am putting in my final moments of learning.

Technically, she's off-limits to me since she is in my chain-of-command. But there is something about her studious gravity spiked with unexpected moments of humor, that I simply cannot resist.

The party is already in full swing. Volunteer hostesses are handing out drinks, while indulging in a few themselves. Some of them are already a little tipsy. I can practically feel their eyes on me, desperate to get a date with someone who will be a doctor someday.

I love that Maddy is receiving looks of confusion, what with her modest jeans and T-shirt. It's kind of amusing to be able to show them that being available isn't the same as being desirable.

I tuck her a little closer to me, "you okay?." She looks up at me and her eyes meet mine, a soft smile tugs at her beautiful lips and it takes everything in me not to haul her over my shoulder and drive back to my apartment and ravage every inch of her.

"Yes of course I'm fine", she whispers her smile growing and I feel her lean closer to me.

A cute little thing with a buxom figure and a costume that barely keeps her from public indecency brings me a drink. "Do you two want something to drink?" she asks me, offering up a bright smile. She completely ignores my date and speaks solely to me.

"My date," I say, with significance, nodding in Maddy's direction, "can decide what we are going to drink tonight."

"A Coca-Cola for me. But don't let me hold you back," Maddy says. She sounds a little annoyed, which I hope has to do with the pushy reception that we got from the serving girl. "I know this is your last night before heading out to wherever."

"I'll have a cola, too," I say to the serving girl, before turning back to Maddy. "There's a village that needs the help of a doctor."

"That sounds exciting," she says, accepting a drink from the waitress. She makes a sudden exclamation of disgust. "Gah! What's in this?"

I sample my drink. "Cherry punch and a hefty dose of vodka," I say. "You don't like it?"

Maddy shakes her head, making a face. "It reminds me of fruit scented dish soap."

I laugh. "That's the quality of alcohol most college students can afford."

Now she makes a different face, squinting up her eyes and glaring at the drink. "I'm not sorry I've been avoiding these parties all this time if this is what the drinks are like."

"The goal is usually to get drunk, not to enjoy what you are drinking," I tell her. "Honestly, I don't usually like these things either. I'd rather be in Africa dealing with lions and tigers and treating patients."

Suddenly, she smiles. She recites to herself, "I am Madeline. I say pooh-pooh to roaring lions in the zoo."

"Maddy, what are you talking about?"

She chuckles a little pushing the drink away from her with another moue of distaste. "It's a children's book, titled ‘Madeline'. In it, an orphan child is both brave and fierce, but she gets appendicitis and has to have surgery. There's a whole series, actually. It was my inspiration to study medicine. My mother read it to me when I was little. When you mentioned lions it made me think of the book."

"And this silly book about talking to lions inspired you to become a doctor?" I ask, twiddling the stem of my glass. I take another sip of the contents. The mixture bears a strong resemblance to cherry cough syrup added to Coca-Cola. "This really is awful," I say. "Would you like for me to get us something different?"

Relief washes over her face. "If it is not too much trouble. Maybe just a Coke? With nothing else in it?"

"Sure," I say, raising a finger to flag down one of the waitresses. This one is wearing a bustier that has her ample bosom nearly spilling out of it.

"Hey," she says impatiently, as if she wants us to just hurry up and order."What can I get the man of the hour?"

"Two plain Cokes, with nothing added."

"Awww," she says, "Where's the fun in that?"

"Being able to find the door," Maddy quips, placing her hand on mine and glaring at the woman.

I feel amused and a little annoyed all at the same time. We've only been an item for a week, and yet she's already claiming me.

The waitress smirks at us. "Oh, like that is it? You're a lucky girl, Maddy. Andrew is going to inherit money from both the Lane and the Aims empires. But don't forget," she leans over in a way that makes sure I get a good view down her cleavage, "When you dig for gold, you sometimes get more than you've bargained for."

"Knock it off," I say, "and get us a couple of glass bottles of Coke – with the lids still on. If you can't do it, I'll find someone who can, since apparently you don't understand the words ‘Coca-Cola.'" I put a little edge of menace into my voice.

God, how I hate these games and hearing about my family. If I'm being honest, I don't want a cent of my family's money. I just want to escape from them.

The server pouts at me, but flounces away, presumably to get the drinks as I asked.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have brought you here. But my friends would be unhappy if I didn't put in an appearance."

"It's all right," she says, even though I can tell that it really isn't. She's clearly uncomfortable. This isn't her kind of scene. She's brilliant in the classroom and in the ER where we've been working together. She's clearly not as confident away from the hospital or campus.

"It's your last night stateside. Of course your friends want to make sure you have a good time."

"Thanks for understanding," I say, as the woman shows back up with two bottles of soda, their sides perspiring in the warm room.

The woman says, "Lids are still on, just like you asked. You want glasses of ice?"

"No, thanks." I say. "The bottles are fine."

"Whatever," she mutters under her breath, tossing her head, and sashaying off to find a more promising table.

"Why bottles?" Maddy asks.

"Because sealed bottles aren't likely to have anything extra added to them, unlike the glasses we were served."

I reach for her hand across the table and she tilts her head to the side giving me a shy smile then avert her gaze to the dance floor. There's some kind of dance competition going on, and the dancers are almost as good as they think they are.

Maddy watches them avidly, one finger tapping the table in time to the lively beat.

I've taken a dance class or two. I figure I can hold my own with this bunch. "Want to join them?" I ask.

She downs the rest of her drink. "Sure," she says.

She stands up, and I lead her out onto the floor. I admire the way she looks. She isn't flashy or obvious, She's tied her blouse under her small breasts, baring her tan midriff.

On her feet she has a pair of scuffed black and white penny loafers. They are her favorites, because they are comfortable.

"Ladies choice," I say. "What should I ask for?"

"A tango," she says.

I lift my eyebrows in surprise. "You sure?" I ask.

She nods. A look of mischief on her face. "Hope you can keep up with me."

After a couple of words with the DJ, he nods, and sorts through his collection. We pose on the dance floor, waiting for the opening beat.

Maddy takes up a starting position, and waves me toward her. "Come closer to me," she says. "I don't bite."

"But you say silly things to lions in the zoo," I tease her as I place my hand on her slim waist. Her breath catches as she looks up at me and I feel it too, a spark flows from Maddy to me. I finally understand what people mean by ‘sparks flying' I'd never felt it with anyone before. It's what made me want to take her on a date in the first place. She's nothing like the women I would usually date, but something about her calls to me.

"That's my literary self," she says back with a shake of her glorious hair. "Don't get confused."

I'm prepared to guide Maddy through the figures, but she surprises me. The dance is perfect for her slight body, as she glides, slides, and improvises to the strong beat.

Her moves are graceful, sensual, and athletic, stopping just short of risqué. She incorporates elements of Flamenco and clogging, as well as a couple of moves that have to be from ballet.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?" I ask her, pulling her in close, then spinning her away from me again.

She laughs, her hair a tangle around her flushed face. "Oh," she says airily. "I learned here and there."

That isn't really an answer, but I'm a bit breathless and I let the subject drop.

I spin her, pull her between my feet, and finally toss her as if she were a gymnast or skater. She flips in the air, coming down beside me to finish in my arms without missing a single beat.

The room explodes in applause. Her cheeks are flushed, and her bosom heaves from the exercise. Her eyes are shining. "Glorious!" she says, "Absolutely glorious! You kept up with me all the way."

I grin at her. "You didn't make it easy for me," I say.

She giggles at that. "Did you like it?" she asks.

"I did," I say. "But I think one dance is enough."

The DJ puts on a waltz, and we move to the music. The dance competition dies down after our performance. We move with the gentler music, and other couples join us on the floor.

Maddy is warm and solid in my arms. Her hair smells like lemons, and she has that delicate aroma of a woman aroused. It's intoxicating.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper in her ear, dancing toward our table.

"Sure," she whispers back, her lips close to mine. I look down at them, already imagining what they feel like, what they taste like, but I tear my gaze away and pull her after me.

I waltz her around, past our table, where she snags her purse. We dance our way through the exit door and into the hall.

As we emerge into the cool night air, Maddy says, "I hope you're not leaving early just for me."

"What?" I ask, as drunk on the perfume of her as if we had actually spent the night drinking cocktails. "Oh, no. I have a much better idea for a party that's much more…exclusive.""

"All right," she says, suddenly a little uncertain.

"The only question," I say boldly, "is my place or yours?" I grin at her, my feet picking up the faint beat of the music from inside as I moonwalk backwards beside her.

She pauses a moment, then says, "Yours. I live in a dorm. Some of the girls do sneak guys in, but I think I'd rather not."

"I think I'd rather not, too," I say, leading her to my car. I hit the clicker on my key fob. My car chirps and the wing doors open up.

"I can't believe you have one of these," Maddy says as she slides into my Tesla Model X.

"I spoil myself from time to time," I say.

"Hey, if you have the cash, why not?" she says.

I suppress my discomfort at the mention of money. I hate when people assume that my family's money has made things easier for me. In so many ways that's not true. But I know Maddy doesn't mean anything by what she's saying. She's just being honest and direct.

It is a short drive to my brownstone walk-up. The place is modest, especially by my family's standards. But I can afford it without drawing on family resources and it has a secure parking garage that can be reached through an underground entrance.

"Hey, Bert," I say, as we approach the security kiosk walking arm in arm.

"Good evening, " the middle aged security guard says. "Visitor?"

"Yes," I say. "This is Madeline, who says pooh-pooh to lions in the zoo." I realize I'm being silly, but Maddy giggles, and that makes it worth having made such an odd comment to the security guard.

"Oh, yeah?" he says to us. "My mom used to read that book to my sisters. Never thought I'd meet a real Madeline."

"Nice to meet you," Maddy says politely.

We step into the rickety old freight elevator and ride up to my apartment. Maddy immediately goes to the window, which has a view of the nearby park. Street lights illuminate the bear sculptures that guard the gate across the way.

"Beautiful," she says softly.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I ask.

"Water," she replies, still looking out into the night.

I get ice from the freezer, and fill the glass from the water filter beside the sink. Then I turn, and discover she's removed her top. She is slim, with the barest hint of ribs showing beneath flawless tan skin. Her modest breasts are encased in black lace. Her jeans ride low on her hips. A few fine, dark hairs at the top of her zipper hint at secret delights below. I suck in my breath. Oh, my, but she is delicious!

I reach out one hand to her, "May I have this dance?" I ask.

She places her hand in mine, and says solemnly, "If you will provide the music, you certainly may," she says.

I draw her into a classic tango hold, and sing softly, "Dance with me…" The Drew Seeley lyrical version flows from my mouth. I sing it first in English, then in Spanish. The room isn't big enough for more than a few modest kicks and turns, but she follows my lead without the gymnastics she had added at the party.

Better yet, with no audience, we don't have to hold back on the brushes and touches. With each verse, she becomes bolder, running her hands over her body to emphasize her curves, then trailing her fingertips close . . .so close… to the zipper on my jeans.

I am erect and fairly bursting by the end of the dance. She drops to her knees in front of me, and blows her hot breath on my zipper. She sings, "I'll make love to you," she says as she undoes my button and my zipper, yanking my pants down around my knees. "Like you want me to…"

I hum with her as she works her magic on my body.

She stands up in front of me, and shimmies out of her jeans. She's wearing silky black panties that match her bra. Tiny, skimpy panties that barely cover her mound, and that do not conceal her rounded bottom at all as she pirouettes shamelessly in front of me.

She bends over the back of the one chair in the room, provocatively presenting me with a view of her smooth, rounded rump. The silky triangle of her panties barely covers her slit, making me even harder than before, harder than I ever thought possible.

She stands, turns, and walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. She sings, "I will not let go ‘til you tell me to…".

She is in front of me, rubbing her nearly naked self against my nearly naked self. Her nipples are standing up like tiny pebbles behind the fabric of her bra. She shucks me the rest of the way out of my jeans. Her hair brushes against my thigh as she undoes the laces of my shoes.

My penis presses toward her hungrily. She reaches out to touch it lightly, almost reverently, the stretchy fabric of my boxer briefs deadening the sensation of her touch ever so slightly. She looks up at me with an inquiring look on her face and I nod.

"You can take them off," I invite her, pressing my hips in her direction ever so slightly. "I won't tell you no." I laugh.

She bites her lower lip, and the sight makes me want to grab her shoulders and toss her onto the bed. Foreplay isn't usually my thing, but something about her innocence is charming, even if it might be an act.

She cautiously grabs a hold of the waistband of my briefs and pulls, allowing my cock to spring free. She eyes it appreciatively, touching it with gentle fingers. I nearly moan, but manage to rein myself in. Why is her caution and her reverence so sexy to me?

She stretches up and says, "Please teach me. I want you . . . you are the best looking guy in the room, the best anywhere . . ."

"You'd better remember that," I say, with emphasis. "You're pretty amazing yourself." And I let her push me backward onto the mattress.

She falls beside me on the mattress. I take her in my arms, kissing her, cupping her breast in its lace prison, delighting in the feel of her skin against mine.

I remove her bra, and take one of her nipples in my mouth. She shivers, seems lost in the sensation. One of her hands cups my balls, testing, exploring. She slides the hand up my shaft and down again, and I nearly explode right then.

I manage to hold on, transfer my attention to her other nipple, and slip my hand under the band of her panties.

"Take them off," she gasps. "Please, take them off. Don't rip them," she adds as an afterthought, and I chuckle.

I abandon her breasts just long enough to slide the scrap of fabric and elastic down her beautiful, shapely legs. Then I crawl back along her length, pressing kisses to her skin as I go, until I find her delightful, wet center.

She has a wealth of dark hair here, healthy and lustrous. I run my tongue lightly over her most intimate self, making her wiggle and beg. I slip a finger inside her, and I'm rewarded when she presses into my touch with a little gasp. I focus my attention on her clit, loving the sounds she's making in reply to each of my touches and each expert flick of my tongue.

"Now," she whimpers. "Now! I want you inside me, right now."

A man should never disobey his lady, especially when she begs in that tone of voice.

I press her legs further apart, and rise up over her, looking down at her as I do so. She looks so lovely and unspoiled, like a canvas that hasn't been painted on yet, or a gift that hasn't been unwrapped. I want to make a mess of her, make her look used and soiled, but I hold myself back at first.

"You'll have to teach me," she says abruptly, propping herself up on her elbows. "I haven't…I mean…I've never."

I look down at her with some surprise. "You're a virgin?" I ask her, just to make sure I know what she's trying to say to me.

She nods, her cheeks flushed. She squirms her hips a little, seemingly unconsciously, and I have to restrain myself from abandoning this conversation in favor of more exciting activities.

"I just need you to show me what you like," she tries again, sounding a little more confident.

I open my mouth, then shut it. I've never been with a virgin. I don't usually have the patience to pander to these kinds of things. I've tried once or twice to be sweet with women during sex, but my desire just doesn't work like that, I've found.

"Maddy, you have no idea the gift you are giving me. I like you," I say to her in what I hope is a reassuring way. "And I'll be gentle, I'll try not to hurt you."

I ease my way inside her, slow and gentle, teasing us both with sensation. At first, she just holds still, almost as if she's in shock. I stop and begin to slowly pull out.

"Are you sure about this Maddy? You don't really know me." It takes everything in me not to slam back in, the way she's looking at me…, my chest tightens as her hand finds the lines of my jaw.

"Take me Andrew, I want you to be my first…" she smiles weakly then continues, "make me yours".

Then she tilts her pelvis to me, inviting, coaxing. ‘Fuck'...she's going to be the end of me, she will bring out a side of me I have been trying to bury. A sleeping monster.

"Fuck…, Maddy, you're beautiful," I hiss as I slowly ease back into her tight silky folds.

I had expected this to be painful for her, but she seems to be fine now that she's recovered from the first little bit of surprise.

I begin this more primal kind of dance, slowly plunging in, pulling back.

"Is this right?" she asks, tilting her hips upward, her tone full of concern.

"Yes baby, just like that," I tell her through gritted teeth, trying to hold myself back. "That's right. Like that."

She utters a little gasp as I lift her and help her find a better angle. She's catching on quickly, and my control is fraying farther and farther by the second. She's incredibly tight, and incredibly transparent in her desire, and the effect is like an aphrodisiac for me.

She wraps her legs around me as if by instinct, holding me in position as she increases our pace. I start driving into her harder, vaguely aware that the headboard of the bed is slamming against the wall in cadence with our strokes. She reaches up and grabs onto it, arching her back with the intensity of her pleasure.

"Harder," she orders me and I look down at her to see her breasts bouncing, her lips swollen from my rough kisses earlier. Suddenly, being inside of her isn't enough. I want to possess more of her. I reach down and wrap my hand around her slender throat, pressing her gently toward the mattress beneath her, holding her still as I increase the tempo of my thrusts.

"Just say stop if you need me to" I promise her, willing myself to slow down, but finding that my control has slipped too far for that. Some small corner of my brain hopes that I'm not scaring her or hurting her, but when I look down, she's smiling, her eyes closed as she pants with pleasure.

I'm being far more rough with her than I had intended when we had started down this road, but she seems to be loving being pinned beneath me and battered by my cock. She closes her eyes and reaches up to wrap her slim fingers around the hand I've clamped around her throat, holding onto me as she lifts her hips to meet mine over and over again. Something about her total submission, her complete surrender, is as intoxicating as a drug to me.

"Who does this pussy belong to?" I growl at her, feeling her clenching around me as she gets close to the edge. When she doesn't reply right away, I squeeze my fingers ever so slightly in warning and stop thrusting inside of her. I look down at her and say, "Tell me."

Her eyes open for just a moment, catching my fierce gaze, and she smiles softly at me before. "It belongs to you," she says in a husky voice.

"Good girl," I praise her, softening my grip, and driving into her again. "That's my good girl."

She's practically keening with pleasure now, her hair a wild tangle around her head on the pillows beneath her. Her hands are roaming my back, I feel the bite of her nails on my skin as she tips closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it baby, mark me, I'm yours too, cum for me Maddy."

With that, she screams "Oh my god, ohhhh Andrew" as her orgasm washes over her, and I feel her gasping cries beneath the fingers wrapped around her throat as well as hearing them. The sounds of her pleasure yanks me over the edge with her, and I spill myself inside of her, my forearms shaking as I hold myself above her. I have just enough presence of mind to collapse beside her, not on top of her.

"Oh!" she exclaims, brushing my hair back from my face. "Is it always like that?"

"Not always" I say. "It's different every time. I usually do it right, though."

She begins to laugh. "My first time. So, nothing to compare it to. But it sure felt," she whispers her eyes finding mine, "it felt spectacular."

"You did say that," I say to her idly, still trying to catch my breath.

"You didn't believe me?" she asks curiously.

I shrug. "Most women your age aren't virgins." I reach for her hand and kiss the back of it gently, keeping my eyes on hers.

I reach across her, and shift her onto her side. As I do so, light from the window falls across the tattoo on my right forearm.

She notices it, and turns my arm so she can see the flaming crown inked there. "Does this mean something?" she asks.

"It was a gift from my grandfather on my fifteenth birthday," I say. "It's supposed to mean burning brightly against adversity. It's the company logo."

"How interesting," she says. "Is it some sort of ritual?"

I didn't want to go into the oaths I swore that went with that tattoo. In fact, I was feeling beyond ambivalent about that particular bit of ink and all that went along with it.

"It is super sexy," she says into my silence. "I like tasteful tattoos."

She kisses the flaming crown, and I think for a minute we might go for another round, but her phone rings. She sighs, and pads over to where she dropped her purse. "You can't get anyone else?" she asks.

There is a pause, then she says, "All right. It will be about thirty minutes. I'll have to get a taxi, I'm at a friend's house."

She clicks her phone off and turns to me. "I'm sorry. They're short-handed at the hospital. I've got to go."

I feel guilty. I should have had a shift tonight, but I'd already handed in my notice.

She must have felt the awkwardness, for she said, "Have breakfast with me? I should be off by seven in the morning."

"I can't," I say. "I've got a flight to catch, and I need to make it through security. But let me put my information in your phone."

"I thought you did that already," she said.

"That was my old info," I say. "This is where I will be by tomorrow."

"And I'll give you mine," she says.

We quickly exchange information, and kiss.

"I can take you to the hospital," I say.

"No need," she says. "Don't want to make you late for your flight."

I call a taxi for her, and walk her down to the street. I feel melancholy as I watch the cab's light grow small as it goes down the street.

I go back in, finish packing, and call a cab for myself. If I'm lucky, I'll make it through security before my dad and my grandfather show up and try to keep me from leaving. This is my life, and I intend to live it my way – not theirs.