by Mia Wolf
I pull away from his kiss to speak. “Do it.”
A smirk comes onto his face, and he runs his tongue down my neck and continues to go down until he reaches my breasts. He sniffs the left one, and I moan from the tingles rushing through me as his nose briefly touches my nipple. He licks the nub then takes it into this mouth sucking on it painfully slowly. The overload of sensations pushes me closer to the edge.
“Come on, Andrew,” I plead, but he doesn’t relent.
He lightly grazes his teeth on my left boob then goes for the right one and slowly sucks it just like the first one. When he is satisfied, he raises his head to look at me again. I give him an angry look which only makes his smirk wider.
“Come on what, Rose?” he whispers into my ears as his hand travels down to my panties. He slides them down my legs, enjoying the process just a little too much. I tug at his underwear when he comes back up. This time, he listens to me and takes off his briefs at once.
He also gets off of me for a second to retrieve a condom from his jeans pocket. He peels the foil and slips it onto his length then crawls back on top of me. He positions himself between my legs, spreading them apart on either side of him.
I can feel his dick rubbing on my sex, making a game out of the sweet torture. He kisses me hard and pushes his tongue inside my mouth and plunges into me all at once. I fall apart by the action. My moan is silenced by Andrew’s kiss, and I feel the pain and pleasure at the same time.
Andrew looks up for a moment and pushes my hair out of my face.
“You alright?” he asks while he is still inside me.
I nod my head once to say yes.
Andrew starts moving in and out of me, slowly at first then picking up the pace. He pins my hands to my side and thrusts harder and deeper into me. I can tell right when I’m about to orgasm. Andrew pushes inside me hard one last time, and we both reach climax.
I’m convulsing under Andrews weight when he pulls out and kisses my forehead. We say nothing for a while as he keeps kissing my head. I lie in his strong arms, not wanting to think about anything and just bask in the glory of the best sex I ever had. I hear a voice in the back of my head becoming louder, warning me, telling me to never give in to my feelings again, but for once I refuse to listen to it and keep ignoring it with all I have. I know it will come back tomorrow, that it will overtake me again tomorrow, just not now.
I hear Andrew’s breathing becoming slow. The exhaustion catches up to me, and I let sleep take over me.
The next morning, I wake up with Andrew lying next to me.
Shit.
I check my phone for the time, it’s 12 p.m. I’m criminally late for work on the day of the show. I leave Andrew where he is, still asleep, feeling extremely guilty about last night. I grab the first dress I find in my suitcase and slip it on. I pick up my bag and my phone and rush out of the hotel to catch a cab to Regal’s office.
My phone has seven missed calls from Violet, and about a dozen texts asking me where I am. I call her back to tell her I’m on my way. She doesn’t sound very pleased, but she spares me the embarrassment of rubbing it in my face.
The entire cab ride, I’m contemplating the implications of my actions. My phone is vibrating from a call, and I’m sad to find out that it’s Andrew. I no longer have it in me to take out my anger on him. My feelings for him are real, and that’s what’s killing me.
I pick up the call and brush away the single tear that’s on my cheek.
“Where are you?” he asks and sounds almost wounded.
“On my way to work.” I clear my throat because I don’t want him to know that I’m crying. “I’m late.”
“You sound upset,” he says then waits for me to respond. When my answer doesn’t come, he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”
My heart snaps in two at his words. I want to scream that no, he is not the one who’s at fault. I’m letting my feelings get in the way of everything. He’s needlessly getting tangled into my life when I know I don’t have any real intentions to be with him. I can’t lose myself now, not this time.
Foolish me, I did it again. I let someone get in the way of my career. How many times before I learn my lesson?
“Andrew, let’s not get close to each other,” the words come out as a whisper, but I know that he heard them. There is silence afterward. Before he can speak, I cut the call and put my phone on “do not disturb.”
I was always going to do this. I was always going to put my career before him, he should’ve seen it coming. I hold back my tears, and let the sobs die right in my chest as I prepare myself for the most important event of my life.
The moment I step out of the cab, I bury all of my feelings, all of the hurt, all of the pain, and meditate on one single thought: “I have a show to do.”
Chapter 14 – Rose
I forget everything once I step inside Regal’s building. Violet takes a sigh of relief as she sees me hurtle through the crowd of people who are running around the building, all in preparation for the show.
“The hair and makeup are under way. The designs are ready, I’ll bring them to the models once they are ready. All the models are here except for Andrew, but he is scheduled to come in not long before he’s scheduled on the runway.” Violet talks fast and is clearly in her work mode.
I put my thoughts about Andrew aside because I know they’re not going to help me right now.
I look around and am lost for a moment, thinking about how lucky I am to find myself here, to be one of the designers who is able to show their designs here. I don’t remember how long it has been since I started following fashion designers. All I know is that designing is my life. It was back in college when I was trying to find myself, alone and away from the village for the first time, when I first discovered my love for it. It was a tough period in my life, I was completely lost, as most people are in their early 20’s. Designing gave my life meaning when I needed it the most.
I stop my train of thought when I think about what happened next. How Michael was a big reason for stifling my growth as a designer. That relationship cost me my career, and I wish that was the worst part of it.
I shake my head and gently pat my cheek to get my head in the game again. The past is the past. Tonight, I can rewrite history.
My inner monologue helps me put any thoughts of Andrew at bay. Surprisingly, focusing on work comes naturally to me now. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but there is nothing getting in my way today.
The backstage is helter-skelter, everything is fast paced, and the energy is through the roof. My seven female models are already underway with their hair and makeup, after which we have a brief rehearsal. It’s the male models’ turn any second now, but I’ve been informed they’re en route to the location so everything is running as it should be.
As soon as I reach the area immediately backstage, I see a row of tables lined up with large glowing lights, dozens of makeup bags and boxes, straighteners, curlers, and hair spray. Two of my female models are getting their nails done in the far left corner while on the far right corners sit the garment racks on which hang nearly four months of my hard work. There are a couple of mannequins standing next to the racks for the designs that would lose their form if stuck on a hanger. On the floor around the racks and mannequins is a giant pile of shoes, sneakers, and heels for the models.
I’ll be showing exactly thirty-four designs tonight which is almost half the size of a regular fashion show. Tonight’s the opening night, which is for the new designers, like me. More seasoned designers will follow in the coming days, some of which, I note reverently, have been my role models for years. Getting to meet them briefly around the sets these past few days has made my nerves be shot all the time.
This is nothing short of a dream come true, and I cannot believe this is happening to me. I walk up to the racks and check each and every outfit personally. The zippers, shoelaces, and necklaces are all unfastened since the models will have very li
ttle time to change their clothes in between their runs.
Except for Andrew, he’s only presenting a single outfit.
As I’m going through the dresses, I’m also running a mental checklist of the rest of the stuff I need to take care of: doing the final once-over of all the models for hair and makeup, giving any further instructions on the designs while we do a quick rehearsal, and asking if the dresses are comfortable. I did my best to keep the latter in mind while I was both designing and making the outfits, but I want to make sure that this show is fun and exciting for everyone involved.
It’s not long now before the show is ready to begin. Before it starts, and right after I have checked and double-checked everything backstage, I slip out of the ruckus and make my way to the auditorium from the front where the audience is now starting to gather.
As soon as I enter the space, my eyes dilate from all the bright lights falling on the center stage. The ramp is lit up the way I had always admired in pictures and fashion shows on TV. All the empty seats around will soon be filled with some of the most experienced people in the industry, and their eyes will be fixated on my designs.
This has to be unreal. My heart is galloping from excitement as I hear the cheers of people rise in my head. I bite my lip and scamper backstage again now that I have basked in the glory of the set. electricity buzzes in my veins as my excitement reaches a fever pitch.
The show begins, and some of the other designers are up first. At the far end of the ramp, sitting in the front row is Ashley Wang. The knowledge that she’ll be looking at my designs soon is making me light-headed. It’s a delirious kind of high where everything seems to be moving in slow motion. I pinch my arm for the tenth time to reassure myself that it’s all real.
Violet comes in between to give me status updates on the show and to check if I’m hyperventilating yet. I’m not. What I am is alive, alive like I’ve never been before.
Chapter 15 – Andrew
I wake up in Rose’s bed all alone. I can’t say it doesn’t sting because it does, and I wonder why she didn’t wake me up. Then I remember she must have a lot of work to do for the fashion week since the show is today.
I call her to check up on her. Rose picks up, and she sounds distressed by something I can’t place. I again find myself not knowing what I did to put her off, but Rose seems to be upset with me. It couldn’t be that she didn’t want to have sex, right? She seemed to be into it. I don’t understand my mistake, so I decide to just confront her about it later.
I know if I let this sit for too long, my temper is going to spiral out of control.
My phone is loaded with missed calls, notifications, alarms, and messages. I go through them with Rose’s words still misting in my mind.
Let’s not get close to each other.
Why the hell not?
I get into my car, throw my phone in the passenger seat in anger, and drive myself to RISE’s office building. The entire drive, I’m reconstructing last night trying to understand if there’s anything I might have missed. Frustratingly, nothing comes to mind.
I have two meetings to attend before I can make it to the show, and I’m running on zero buffer.
The only thing in my schedule for the second half of the day is the fashion show. Jackson jokingly asks me if I’m nervous about walking down the ramp, but I’m really not. Very few things make me nervous, and the silence on Rose’s end is probably one of them, not the ramp walk.
The thought rises in my throat with a growl: What could I have done wrong?
Before heading to the show, I take a long shower in my office bathroom and let the sting of Rose’s words wash away. But goddamn, do they hurt. I slam my fist into the bathroom wall in anger, which causes my hand starting to bleed. It’s probably broken, and I curse under my breath.
Great, now that’s going to show.
At least, the advanced healing that comes with being a shifter means my hand will be back to normal soon. I leave my apartment well in time, but I still drive a little too fast for the traffic-ridden streets of New York during rush hour all the while trying to ignore the pain in my hand. My mind is hell when something weighs on my conscience, and right now, there’s about a two hundred ton boulder sitting on it.
Once I reach my destination, Violet, who’s the only person I know at Regal for her lack of pompousness, takes me to a green room where a makeup artist and a hairdresser immediately start working on me. I don’t even get the time to take my shoes off.
It takes them a substantial amount of time to make me look about the same as I did before, at least in my opinion. I don’t say anything thinking that I’m perhaps blind to the art of makeup. Or perhaps they were going for that trendy look that’s all about making you look natural. Two hours is a long time to make anything look natural. What a weird profession!
Violet brings me my outfit when the hairdresser is doing the final touches to my hair. He tells me about half a dozen times that the “hue” and “texture” of my hair are “fabulous.” I smile politely, trying my best to keep my temper in check. My anger and discomfort obviously don’t have anything to do with the hairdresser, and everything to do with Rose.
Once my hair and makeup are done, I step out of the god-awful chair to stretch a little.
“Where is Rose?” I ask Violet when she’s leaving me to change into the outfit.
“She’ll run by your green room anytime now, she’s working on the other models right now.” Violet is edging towards the door, wanting to take her leave.
“When is my turn?” I ask impatiently.
“Last?” she says as if it’s self-explanatory. “You’re the showstopper.”
I let her go and try to calm myself a little while changing into the outfit which turns out to be not as straightforward as I thought it would. Shouldn’t someone be explaining to me how this works?
I spend a good ten minutes staring at the dress, observing it from every angle, trying to discern what body part goes where.
After a while, I get the idea. The dress is an amalgamation of a business suit with a Shoma where the coat has a wrap that flows out of the left side of the jacket from the inside then curls around the right side to the back then, and this is an educated guess, falls on the left hand. I’ve seen some Shomas where the long ends just dangle down people’s arms. The pants are pretty straightforward which brings me a bit more peace and happiness than it should have.
The theme of the attire seems to be silver which is hardly surprising. I take my clothes off and put on the pants, the white shirt t-shirt that goes underneath the coat, and then finally the Shoma jacket that surprisingly does not take me that long to put on now that I’ve figured out what the idea behind it is. I’m trying to wrap the silver Shoma around my back, which is proving to be difficult without buttoning the business suit first and without hurting my hand even more, when the door of my green room flings open.
In the mirror, I see that it’s Rose. I drop the wrap from my hands and step towards her. Her eyes widen, but before she can understand what I want to do, I push her against the door and start kissing her. She tastes like Chapstick which turns me on even more. I feel her hands push at my chest at first; then she lets me stick my tongue in her mouth. We make out for a couple of minutes which I don’t know or care if we have the time for.
I let go when I feel like I have made my point but also quenched my thirst for being that close to her. Though, I still feel angry over her words from this morning. I’m absolutely livid actually. It makes me so mad that Rose, for some reason, is trying to deny the thing that we have between us. I also don’t completely understand what it is, but I’m not going to let her pretend like it’s not there. I’m not crazy to think that I might have found the one, am I?
“Yeah, let’s not get close to each other,” I spit out in a bit of anger as she gathers herself. My good hand is still on her hip, and I can tell her breathing is erratic, I can tell she’s trying to compose herself. She’s still going to deny there is
something between us, isn’t she?
“What we have, is it just physical for you?” I ask, finally letting go and walking away. She brushes herself off, and her demeanor suddenly shifts to a more cold and calculating one as if we weren’t kissing each other just seconds ago.
She walks up to me and starts fixing my Shoma which only makes the veins at my temples stand out more.
“Rose, I’m talking to you,” I say with gritted teeth.
“Yes, it’s just physical,” she says without flinching.
I lose all sense of myself and stay quiet the rest of the time she takes to dress me up appropriately. She takes the Shoma and puts it over my left hand where, as I suspected, it hangs down.
She touches my hand and I recoil as the injury from banging my fist into the wall earlier makes me wince in pain.
“You need to put your hands—” She stops dead when she notices the blood on my fingers.
“What happened?” she asks and instinctively grabs my hand to survey the wound.
I pull it from her grip lightly, but she takes hold of it again.
“Let’s not get close to each other, right?” I say staring at her with dead eyes, still stuck on her words like a broken record. They’re drilling an inch big hole in me every second.
“Andrew, this is serious,” she says and her forehead creases in distress as she glares at my wounded hand. I can already feel it’s starting to heal.
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me,” I say and pull my hand back a little harder this time.
I can see that the action breaks her heart, and a dumb voice in my head feels vindictive saying, “that makes the two of us.”
The door flings open again, and this time it’s Violet. She stops speaking into her headset then looks in the direction where Rose and I are standing, covering the microphone with one hand. She doesn’t seem to notice the tension between us.