Raw

by Belle Aurora

  The golf cart takes off, and it’s not a short drive up to the mansion. It takes about five minutes to get there while weaving in and out of people talking during their hike up the long gravel driveway. Once we reach the front of the house, Happy parks us off to the side and helps Nikki out, while Dave helps me out. Happy looks at us and promises, “I’ll see you around tonight. Save a dance for me, yeah?”

  All three of us nod stupidly and he chuckles as he walks away.

  Dave immediately spouts, “I called him!”

  Nikki’s pretty face contorts, “He’s clearly into women, Dave. Did you see how he looked at me? He wants me.”

  Dave retorts, “Bitch, please. He was staring because you have lipstick on your teeth.”

  Ah. There’s the diva we all missed!

  Nikki gasps loudly, “You lie!” while searching her clutch for a compact mirror. Rubbing her fingertips along her teeth none too softly, I look up at Dave and mouth, “You’re mean.”

  Smirking like the asshole he is, he shrugs and mouths back, “He wants me.”

  And truthfully, I have no idea who Happy wants. He’s hard to read.

  Dave takes his place between us, and Nikki and I thread our arms through his elbows, then in we go. The entrance leads to a hall that could double as a ballroom all on its own. Silken drapes hang from the ceiling to the floor in emerald greens and ruby reds.

  Pure class.

  This place is elegant. And chic. And tasteful.

  Pieces of artwork have been placed here and there, and although it should look odd, it doesn’t. It looks fabulous. Taking our place in line to the ballroom, we wait and look around until I hear a female clear her throat by my side. Turning, I look to see a very bored-looking Ling by my side. She looks fabulous. Of course. I’m not really sure what she’s meant to be, but she’s dressed in a sleek black dress with her hair in a chic up-style, wearing long black gloves and pearls. Now that I look closer, she could be Audrey Hepburn a la Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She can barely contain the eye roll as she says robotically, “You don’t wait in line. Come with me.”

  Bitch.

  Not saying a word, we follow Ling from the long line to a door hidden behind the gorgeous drapes. Looking Dave up and down, she licks her lips, “Shortcut.”

  When she turns her back on us, Dave’s brows rise and I roll my eyes in a don’t ask kind of way.

  A long narrow hall that seems to go on forever leads us right into the kitchen. Workers hustle and bustle while we step around them. I catch Nikki snatching something off a tray and shove it into her mouth as quickly as she can. I bunch my face at her in warning and she shrugs, chewing as obviously as she can before she whispers, “That was divine.”

  When we reach another hall, Ling turns to me, but speaks without looking at me. “Follow the hall. First door on your left.” Peeking through her long lashes at Dave, she runs a finger down his chest to his stomach before licking her lips and walking away. We all watch a long while before Nikki mutters, “Her gaydar is broken.”

  Silently chuckling, I open the door, and my eyes light up when I realize it leads right into the ballroom.

  This place…Oh God, this place! It’s stunning. I want to live here. Forever and ever. Amen.

  It’s the epitome of elegance. The sparkling white-tiled floor is freshly polished and waxed, with tall, thick Grecian-style pillars every few yards in the brightest of whites. They seem to be holding up the room while the walls gleam in gold and peach. Curtains, also peach-colored, decorate the six bay windows on both sides of the room.

  Round tables that seat eight each are strategically placed around the room. The white tablecloths match the white chair covers, each chair decorated with a thick peach and gold ribbon fastened into a bow at the back.

  And here we are, three nobodies who should not be able to afford to come to a charity ball like this, openly gaping at our surroundings.

  A moment passes before Nikki murmurs, “Maybe we should get our masks on.”

  I’ve been holding my mask the entire time. The invitation said costumes were a must but masks were optional, and from what I can see, most of the women have worn them while none of the men have bothered. Which is fair, because when I asked Dave which mask he chose, he laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more.

  Nodding to Nikki, she comes forward to help me with my mask. It’s a little unusual, but I couldn’t say no. It’s all white lace in the shape of a butterfly, and lined with white velvet; she clips it into the sides of my hair. It’s so light, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing anything at all, and although it covers most of my face, you can still see it’s me. Nikki chose a black and gold cat-eye mask, which is held up by a long thin pole in her hand.

  Both masked, we smile at each other and take Dave’s elbow. Walking past a tall spiral staircase, I feel eyes on me. Halting in my tracks, I look up.

  I spot him at the top of the stairs walking down towards me. He’s dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and black silken wings. The wings are tattered and frayed. His slacks are ripped, his white shirt torn and slashed. Red droplets of dried paint drip from his heart. Something black that looks like soot has been rubbed into his face to make him look dirty. When he reaches us, he looks Dave up and down before uttering huskily, “I believe this belongs to me.”

  Holding his hand out, palm up, I don’t even think as I let go of Dave and move over to stand with him. Tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow, he holds out his free hand to Dave and introduces himself. “You’re David Allen.” Dave nods, dumbstruck. Letting go of Dave’s hand, he takes Nikki’s small hand in his and kisses the top of it. “And you must be the lovely Nicole Palmer.”

  Oh my God. The nerve! Acting all fakely suave around my friends. Gah!

  Gritting my teeth and gripping his shirt tightly, I watch my friends go gaga over Twitch and fight the urge to yell, “It’s a trap! Don’t fall for it!” and continue to hold onto him. He chats with Nikki and Dave a while, and Nikki shoots me a look that says she approves. As in, a lot. I can see Dave has his doubts, eyeing Twitch’s tattooed neck and hands. I want to flick his nose, telling him not to stereotype people, but in this instance, I’d be wrong.

  Twitch is exactly as his stereotype predicts. And that sucks.

  I wish he was different. He’s not exactly boyfriend material. That, and he has a girlfriend.

  At least, I think he does. Ling’s a bitch. She’d suit him to a T.

  Suddenly, we’re walking in the opposite direction from my friends. Brows bunched, I ask, “Where are we going?”

  He says with no feeling, “I told them I’d claimed you as my date tonight.” Face scrunching further, he eyes me and his lip twitches. “Nicole seems to like me. David not so much.”

  I scoff, “That’s because you’re full of shit! Nikki is a hopeless romantic, whereas Dave can smell bullshit a mile away.” He doesn’t respond, just walks me along nodding his head. We stop at a deserted corner of the room and Twitch takes his time looking over my costume.

  The more he looks, the more irritated he seems to become. And suddenly, I’m petrified that I made the wrong choice. Trying to take attention off of me, I ask, “What are you meant to be?”

  His gaze roams my body once more. His hooded eyes finally reach mine. Searching my face a long time, he finally turns away, looking into the crowd. “Love.”

  My entire body breaks out in goosebumps and I visibly shudder.

  Love? He’s love? What the heck? He and I have very different views of love. That’s sad. Just…sad.

  Catching my eyes, he scowls, “Don’t do that.” My face falls, and as I go to ask him what he means, he adds, “Don’t feel sorry for me. And don’t assume you know me. You don’t know shit about me.”

  Face flaming, wanting to avoid an argument, I let go of his sleeve and start to walk away. He catches my hand and holds it tight, leading me in the opposite direction. Confused, I ask quietly, “Where are we going?”

  He walks me a long wh
ile before he answers, “Taking you on a tour of my home.”

  Did he just say his home? This is his home?

  Mouth gaping in disbelief, he leads me out of the ballroom, down a short hall, and up a flight of narrow stairs. As we reach the top of the stairs, he turns to glance at me and does a double-take at my extremely obvious expression. “Don’t look so shocked, Lexi. You know what I do for a living. Money comes easy. Spending it comes easier. And I don’t have many outlets.” The bored tone of his voice is starting to become irritating.

  As he pulls me closer to him, I blurt out, “Is Ling your girlfriend?”

  Sneakily side-eyeing him, I watch his lips tilt in the corners. “Does it matter?”

  Yes!

  Adapting his bored tone, I lie through my teeth, “Not really. As long as it doesn’t affect me or the men I…” Ahem, “…see.”

  His grip tightens on my hand, and suddenly I’m pushed into the hall wall. Breathing heavily, I watch him transform from a dark prince to something demonic. His eyes flash and his face contorts in rage; reaching down, he paws my mound through my dress and says through gritted teeth, “No one touches you. You got that? As long as I want you, no one else gets you, and after I’m done with you…” He licks my jawline. My eyes flutter. He presses his erection into my thigh. “…you’ll be forever unsatisfied. No one will ever take care of you the way I can. The way I know you want it. I know what you need, Lexi, even if you don’t know it yourself. But I’ll teach you.”

  My heart practically beats out of my chest. I’m a little frightened and not sure what to do with what he just said to me. Apart from the fact that he said he will leave me. Not a maybe. A fact. This is why I should just walk away. And I need to voice this. So I do.

  I whisper shakily, “I need to walk away from you.”

  His nose runs up the length of mine and my eyes flutter closed. His bottom lip barely touches my top one as he whispers back, “What makes you think I’ll let you, Alexa?”

  My stomach dips. Opening my eyes, I ask seriously, "Why do you watch me? I need to know.”

  My stomach dips a second time when he inhales, looks over my face as if it were a work of art, then leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose. And he does this so gently, so sweetly, that my heart aches. “All in good time. You don’t know me. Yet.”

  That almost sounds like a promise. My heart kick-starts again. I can live with that. A small promise is good for now. I wasn’t expecting much, so I guess I’m getting exactly what I expected.

  Taking in a deep breath, I look at his soot-stained face and change the subject. “You’re going to get me dirty.”

  His eyes darken a shade. “Already have, baby.” And I know what he just said has nothing to do with soot.

  Reaching by my left side, the squeak of a doorknob sounds and he pushes the door open. We stare at each other a second longer before he takes my elbow and leads me into a huge bedroom. My core clenches in excitement at the sight of the king-sized sleigh bed against the right side of the room, but I do an excellent job holding myself together.

  Twitch stands by my side playing with his cufflinks which, upon closer inspection, tonight are black onyx skulls and crossbones. He states, “This is your room whenever you’re here. You’ll get a key and your own set of entry codes. You’ll have access to the entire house, and I’d prefer it if you were here at least three nights a week.”

  As soon as I hear the words your room, my mind leans over and whisper-hisses, “This boy has lost his mind. We best be leavin’ now.”

  Unable to process what exactly we’re discussing here, I take this opportunity to walk around the room. Reaching a solid antique dresser, I lift the lids on the two glass decorative pieces that sit atop it, making myself at home in what is apparently my freaking room. One is filled to the brim with colorful milk chocolate buttons, and the other has cuff links of all sorts inside.

  My brow furrows. “But this is your room.”

  A tattooed hand reaches around me to take a handful of chocolate. Without turning, I hear him shove the lot into his mouth. He says sarcastically, “And she’s smart too.”

  Spinning around, my face bunches in annoyance. “I really don’t understand why I would be spending three nights a week here.”

  Chewing the chocolate, he reaches for another handful while looking lost in thought. Finally, he shrugs, “Why not?”

  Leaning back into the dresser, I lift my hand and point to my index finger. “Number one, I don’t even know you, Twitch.” Pointing to my middle finger, “Number two, this place is really far from where I work, as you know.” Pointing back to my index finger, “And number three, I have absolutely nothing here that is mine. So, it’s weird for me.”

  Shoving the second handful of candy into his mouth, he chews, takes my hand, and leads me to a door by the bathroom. When he opens it, my mouth gapes.

  This is ridiculous!

  I’m panicked. And sweaty. I don’t feel good. I think I’m going to be ill.

  Bending forward at the waist, I reach back with shaky hands to hold my hair out of the way as I begin to hyperventilate. I really wish I had a paper bag to breathe into right now. This is where Twitch asks in dead calm, “Too much?”

  Standing straight, I blink at him for half a minute before I point to the open walk-in closet filled to the brim with women’s clothes, which all look to be in my size and screech, “Oh, because that isn’t weird! Not at all, Twitch!”

  His smirk is so delicious that I want to lick him. But when he says, “Babe,” as if I’m the one being ridiculous, I lose my cool.

  “No! Don’t you even do that, mister! Don’t babe me! I have heels on and I will use them as a weapon if I have to. You’re going to answer some of my questions right now.” Feeling a little too brave, I add with little to no steam at all, “If you don’t, I’ll leave. And I won’t come back.”

  Popping a piece of candy into his mouth, he sucks on the button and utters, “Yeah, about that. I don’t do well with being threatened. And I definitely don’t take orders. But you’ll learn all this. Eventually. I get that I know you better than you know yourself, but there’s a few things you should know about me. And I’ll make it easy for you.” Mimicking my pointing to my fingers, he points to his index finger. “Number one, you’ll be here because you want to be here, not because I forced you. Ever.” Pointing to his middle finger, “Number two, this closet is yours, and I expect you to use whatever is in there, down to your drawers.” Pointing back to his index finger, “Number three, you’re so fucking hot when you get worked up that I would really like for you to suck my cock. And when I say I would really like that, I mean suck my cock, Lexi. Now.”

  Pressing my legs together tightly, my core clenches.

  I totally want to. “I don’t want to.”

  His lip twitches, and he steps forward into the force field I’ve erected around myself. Lifting his hands, he spans them at the sides of my neck, halfway through my hair and says quietly, “I won’t tell anyone. I know what turns you on, babe. Don’t deny yourself. I’d hate that.” Removing his hands from my neck, he takes care as he removes my mask, and when my face is finally exposed, his eyes crinkle at the corners as I’m suddenly pushed down to my knees in front of him. With both his hands at my shoulders, he utters, “You needed a push in the right direction. Now let’s see if you can bring me to my knees too.”

  Challenge accepted.

  My brows furrow in agitation. I work on his belt and when it’s free, he slides it out of the loops of his pants and begins to fasten it around my neck.

  I know this shouldn’t turn me on. I know this is wrong in so many ways. But I want it so damn much. There’s a part of me that wants whatever Twitch is offering, no matter how fucked up.

  Popping the button and lowering his zipper, I part the opening and bite my lip when I see the thick, pierced semi-erect shaft at eye level. When the belt around my neck is pulled a little too tight, I look up at him with panic in my eyes. His eyes s
peak to mine. They say I’ll look after you. Or at least, that’s what I want to believe they’re saying. They could be saying I want to choke the life out of you for all I know.

  As soon as it’s fastened, Twitch wraps the length of the belt around his hand and pulls gently. The pressure on my neck is alarming and uncomfortable.

  So why am I dripping wet?

  He catches my intake of breath and smirks.

  He knows. He always knows!

  The smirk fades, his hooded eyes darken, and he orders, “Make me hard,” then pulls on the belt, forcing me forward into his crotch.

  Not wasting a second, I wrap one hand around his hardening dick and guide it to my mouth, careful not to gag from the balls of his piercing. As soon as my tongue touches the sensitive underside, he sighs, “Yeah. That’s it.”

  Pulling the belt closer to his side, it forces me closer to him, which in turn pushes him deeper into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I work him with my mouth. Squelching noises echo in the large room. Suddenly, I’m pulled too deep and I gag. My eyes snap open.

  His eyes bore into mine as he keeps his length far too deep. “Eyes on me. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  Clenching my throat around him, my eyes water and I nod vigorously. Pulling out of my mouth completely, I gasp in a breath, saliva dripping down my chin in a most unattractive way. He cups my cheek affectionately, “Good girl.”

  Not giving me a second to get my breathing under control, he drives himself back into my mouth. But I’m slightly freaked. I don’t want to be gagged again.

  Twitch must sense this because he states, “You do what I say and that won’t happen again.”

  I guess it’s beneficial for me to listen to him then.

  There’s something about having your choices taken from you that is equally liberating and frightening. Handing over control to a person is a big deal. A showing of trust. And sometimes, I would like to be taken on a ride rather than drive.

  Blinking rapidly, I look up into his soft brown eyes as he slowly but deeply works my mouth. At this very moment, all I can do is take him in. White shirt, ripped and paint-splattered, mouth parted, eyes hooded in bliss, his filthy face looks almost angelic as he relaxes with every stroke of himself into the wet heat of my mouth. I could watch him all day long. Then his eyes close and he tips his head back in pleasure; the muscles of his neck tense a moment before he swallows hard, the inked artwork there seemingly coming to life with every movement of his throat muscles.