by May, Linnea
“Hold on, hold on!” I interrupt her, squeezing her dainty little neck. “What are you talking about?”
She bites her lower lip and hisses, “Never mind.”
“Oh, but I do mind,” I say. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, Elodie, and quite frankly, I don’t care. All you need to focus on is this.”
I point back and forth between me and her.
“You feel it, I know you do. There’s heat, there’s tension, there’s something drawing us to each other,” I continue, now caressing her cheek with the other hand while still holding her at the neck. She shivers under my touch.
“You feel it,” I whisper. “And you want to explore this, don’t you?”
She looks up at through teary eyes.
“This is not about what I want,” she breathes.
“Yes, it is,” I object.
She tries to shake her head, but I don’t let her.
“Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “Please, don’t get me in trouble.”
My chest tenses up at her words. There it is. Her fright, her distrust. She thinks I’m going to use her and rat her out.
“Elodie,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
This much is true. There’s no way for me to prove it, but the thought of hurting her, of putting her name and reputation in danger, that just makes me sick. I want to fuck her, explore that delicious body of hers, use her in my own way, see that beautiful face erupt with emotion because of me and not because of a song she’s playing.
That’s what I want.
I lean closer to her.
“I want to taste you,” I whisper. “All of you. I want to fuck you the way you need it. I want to fuck you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, I want to see you explode with lust under my touch, and I want to be responsible for you to lose control. I want to see you the way I saw you playing your music, but I want to be better for you than any song could ever be.”
Her lips are quivering, and I can feel the heat on her rosy cheeks. She’s mine. I‘ve got her right where I want her.
She just needs to realize it.
Elodie clears her throat.
“But Gloria and –”
“You know very damn well what Gloria means to me, what this engagement means to me,” I say. “And what it means to her. We have our reasons for doing this, but love isn’t one of them.”
“What then?” she wants to know.
I shake my head.
“You don’t need to know that now,” I say. “All you need to know is that you can trust me. Whatever happens between us will remain our dirty little secret. I have as little interest in any of this getting out to the world as you do.”
Our eyes are locked onto each other while she tries to gather her thoughts. I can see clarity in hers for one second, and confusion and panic the next. Just as I fear that I might be losing her again, she opens her pretty little mouth.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I trust you.”
I smile at her, knowing that I’ve won.
“So, do you think you could skip today’s piano practice?” I ask her.
She smiles. “I’ve never skipped a practice before, unless I’ve had to work.”
“Well, you could consider this part of your job,” I say, planting a kiss on her lips.
“You’re just getting to know your client a little better.”
Chapter XVI
Elodie
Oh my God, what am I doing?
I could lose my job over this, but yet I can’t stop my heart from doing somersaults as Kingston drives me to his place. I don’t even know where he lives, just that it’s somewhere close to the river and not too far from his parents’ place.
“I can’t be home too late,” I say, sounding like a teenager. Neither of us has spoken since we got inside the car and I can no longer bear the awkward silence because it leaves too much room for me to think.
He chuckles. “Why? Will you get in trouble with the warden?”
I cast him an annoyed look from the side.
“I have a long day tomorrow, starting with an early class, practice, my part-time job and –”
“Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hand to stop my worrisome lamenting. “I told you, you can trust me. Let’s put those worries aside for tonight, okay?”
He looks at me then, winking and looking way too handsome for me to object. Benjamin always blamed me for being too cold, too distant and emotionally unavailable, even before I ended things between us. Sometimes I wish these things were true because it would mean that I have a lot more experience with things like this than what I actually do. Maybe then I could be cooler and more nonchalant about this whole situation.
I’m about to do something bad, something wrong and dangerous, that could blew up in my face big time.
The ride to Kingston’s place seems painfully long, and I feel like I’m watching a movie where the protagonist is about to make a huge mistake. I’m sitting in the audience, yelling and protesting, telling the girl not to be so stupid.
Yet, here I am. I am that girl, and I am about to make this mistake because I feel I deserve it. My life has been nothing but work and piano practice for years, only spiced with the occasional hookup with random fellow students, and none of those hookups ever left me with a good feeling. On the contrary.
This could be different. Kingston is different from the boys I’ve fooled around with before. He’s not that much older, but he radiates a maturity that attracts me to no end.
Also, he’s rich, he wants to treat me to indulgences that are reserved for the kinds of people I work typically for. And damn it, I deserve a treat! At least with him, I won’t have to worry about hurt feelings on his part.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling me out of my stream of thoughts. I didn’t realize that I was staring at him the whole time, my fingers clenching around the bag on my lap. I must have looked like a witch who was concocting an evil spell of some sort.
“Yes, sorry,” I say, turning my eyes back to focus on the street ahead of us.
“Don’t excuse yourself for looking at me,” he tells me. “But I’d love to know what you were thinking.”
“Nothing,” I hurry to reply.
“That’s a lie,” he insists. “Don’t lie to me, Elodie. I have enough of that going on in my life.”
I can’t tell if he’s mocking me because of what I said earlier, or if he’s actually trying to give me an insight into his own weird life.
“You don’t like to be lied to?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No one does.”
“But… aren’t you doing it all the time?” I quickly follow up. “To Gloria, your family, everyone.”
He regards me with a quick glance from the side. “Only when it’s necessary.”
“Why do you live a life where it is necessary to lie?” I ask him.
My eyes are fixated on him, but he doesn’t reciprocate the look, instead keeping his eyes trained straight ahead on the street in front of us.
“You don’t know me and my life, Elodie. Stop the judging,” he says.
I’ve never been accused of being judgmental. If anything, I was the one who’d accuse other people of doing it. I inhale audibly, trying to find the right words to defend myself, but I fail miserably. How do you defend yourself against an accusation you’ve bestowed upon others numerous times before?
“Sorry,” I say instead, surprised at myself. “I didn’t mean to judge.”
“People usually don’t mean to,” he says. “I never understood why that’s an acceptable excuse. ‘I didn’t mean to’. If you don’t mean to do it, just don’t do it in the first place.”
Jeez, he can be sensitive. However, he does have a point.
“I just said it for lack of words,” I try to explain myself. “I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”
“I know,” he says, and stops the car.
Up until now, I hadn’t even noticed that he had entered
a driveway in front of a modern high-rise building with a glass facade.
He keeps the motor running and jumps out of the car so quickly that I can barely react before the door on my side opens. A middle-aged man in a uniform who looks like a doorman at one of those expensive five star hotels beckons me to get out of the car, and I follow his gesture, only to be greeted by Kingston who just made his way over to my side. He takes my hand, which is unnecessary because I’m already out of the car, but I don’t fight it. His touch is weirdly familiar and gentle, and he shows no intention of wanting to let go of my hand any time soon.
“Thanks, Glen,” Kingston says, his statement directed at the guy who opened the door for me, before he leads me toward the entrance, still holding my hand.
“Does he work for you?” I ask another dumb question.
“Not only for me,” Kingston says. “Everybody in this building. I’m no prince, Elodie.”
I cast a look around the entrance lobby of the high-rise building. White marble decor, floor-to-ceiling windows, and light gray floor tiles that I assume are made of expensive marble, as well. There’s a reception area with another man sitting behind the counter. He’s dressed in the same uniform as the guy who opened my car door, but he’s a few years younger and more sturdily built. He looks more like a fancy bouncer than a doorman. When we walk by, he greets us with a quick nod, casting a look at Kingston first before he regards me with a polite smile.
“You’re certainly as rich as a prince,” I whisper in passing, trying to push aside the awkward thoughts that arose when the reception guy smiled at me. I can’t help but wonder how many girls Kingston has dragged through this entrance. How many girls this month? This week? If what I’ve heard about him is true, I should have no illusions about not being the first girl that man has smiled at this week.
I wonder if he feels sorry for me. If he thinks that I’m here under false pretenses? A part of me wants to run back to him to tell him that I’m not stupid enough to believe in fairytales, and that I have no illusions, or even the desire, to win over Kingston’s heart.
Also, do these men know about Kingston’s engagement? They must. Everybody does.
“And this is not a problem?” I mumble, more to myself than to him.
We’re standing in front of the elevators and Kingston casts me a confused look.
“What isn’t a problem?” he asks.
I look back over my shoulder to see if the man at the reception desk is still looking at us, but he isn’t. He has lowered his eyes and appears to be deeply absorbed with something on the desk in front of him.
“To be seen like this, with me,” I say, turning back to Kingston. “Do you always bring your girls here?”
He looks at me, his eyes narrowing.
“We need to establish some ground rules,” he says, instead of answering my question. “One: no talk of other girls. You are the one I’m with tonight, just you. Stop talking about that silly gossip –”
“It’s not just gossip,” I hiss, interrupting him. “I don’t like lying either, Kingston.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Feisty, I like that,” he comments. “Rule number two: no interrupting. Three: no pondering to yourself, speak to me clearly, honestly.”
The elevator door opens then and he pulls me inside as quickly as possible. I stand next to him, ready to protest but baffled at the same time, while he enters a code into a panel next to the door before it closes.
“Four,” he says as soon as we’re shielded from everyone’s view. “I’m in command from now on. And if you don’t obey, there’ll be punishment.”
Chapter XVII
Kingston
I don’t give her any time to respond, but instead silence her with a kiss that leaves no room for questions. She’s here, finally. She agreed to enter my refuge, and it’s time for her to understand what it means to be mine. I kiss her hungrily, claiming her not only with my tongue, but with both of my hands, greedily pressing her dainty little body against mine, while her arms are trapped between us, holding that damn bag with her beloved music sheets.
She moans desperately and I know only part of it is to complain about my intrusion and the rules I just laid upon her. When I break our kiss to look at her, she gazes up at me with the look of dazed confusion filling her eyes, as if she was high. I bet this girl has never been high on drugs, and I have no interest in sharing that part of my lifestyle with her, but I’ll make her high on bliss. This is just the beginning.
She sighs, trying to regain clarity, but I won’t let her.
“Listen, Elodie,” I whisper. “You’re mine now. We’ve left everything outside, every doubt, every worry. You’ll be a good girl from now on, and I promise you, you won’t regret it.”
She nods. “I’ll try.”
I want to tell her that trying will hardly be enough, but the doors open just at that moment, announcing our arrival on the uppermost floor. My floor.
Another door shields us from entering my living area, and I type in another code to make it accessible.
“No way!” she gasps behind me as the door opens, revealing the grand area that serves as my living room. “This is where you live? Oh, my God!”
I know it’s a sight to behold, and I’ve always preferred this to the non-existent views from my family’s townhouse, but I grew accustomed to it a long time ago. The panoramic windows on the walls opposite the entrance cover the entire length of the living area, and I just now realize that there’s an empty spot in which a grand piano would fit perfectly.
I can’t help it. Images like this pop into my head without warning whether I want them to or not. Now, as we step inside and I watch Elodie taking in the view of my home for the first time, I can’t help but picture her playing here, sitting at a grand piano by the window, immersed in her music with her eyes closed and her naked body swaying to the melody.
I need to make this happen.
“This is like a movie,” she breathes, carefully entering my living room and staring out the window. “Wow!”
She walks over to the window, while I take in the sight of her slim silhouette from behind, pondering what to do with her first. My cock is twitching, begging to be buried deep inside of her, but I don’t want to rush this. Restraining my hunger for her is part of the fun, she’s not the only one in this I like to keep under control.
“Can I offer you a drink?” I ask, and she swirls around, looking at me as if she just remembered that I was here, too.
“Um,” she utters, nodding, but unsure what to request.
“Wine? Champagne? Water?” I list. “Tea?”
She smiles. “Champagne sounds nice.”
“I agree,” I say, my eyes catching the seating area on the other side of the living room. There’s a love seat in front of the window with its back facing the city skyline below, providing the perfect place for a sexy scene.
“Sit,” I tell her, nodding toward the love seat.
She turns around to look at it, her eyes casting back and forth between me and the small sofa.
“Could I…,” she mumbles. “Freshen up a little first?”
She casts me another one of those endearingly coy smiles, and I point toward the hallway that leads away to the bedrooms.
“First door on the left.”
“Thanks,” she whispers, before disappearing out of my sight.
I grab us two champagne flutes and a bottle of Salon Blanc de Blancs. Based on what little I know about Elodie Hill, I reckon that she’s never tasted a Champagne Salon, one of the finest on the market, and I enjoy the thought of being the first one to introduce her to it.
She returns just as I’m filling the second flute, already sitting on the love seat where I intend to have my first real taste of her.
“Sit,” I repeat, patting the cushion next to me.
She obeys, fixing her blouse as she sits down next to me and eyeing the bottle in my hand.
“Oh, Champagne Salon?” she remarks, and a
hint of anger knocks inside my chest.
“You’ve had it before?” I want to know.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.
“God no,” she says. “I’ve seen people drink it, but I’ve never had it myself. It’s so expensive!”
I smile and hand her the glass. “It’s about time then.”
She takes the flute in her hand, looking at it as if I just handed her the key to the world.
“Wow,” she gasps, examining the luxurious drink in her hand. “This is way too much.”
I chuckle and raise my eyebrows at her.
“You’re cute,” I tell her, raising my glass to clink. “Nothing is too good for a sweet girl like you.”
She furls her eyebrows as we touch glasses. “Charmer.”
A cheeky remark that she’s going to regret later.
I watch her as she brings the flute to her lips, closing her eyes before she tastes the most exquisite champagne in her life. Watching her reaction is a joy in itself. She’s so much classier and naturally elegant in a way that I haven’t seen on a girl before. There’s nothing fake about her, no rehearsed movements, just a girl savoring a delicacy she’s never had before. She takes a tiny sip at first, truly tasting the liquid before she swallows, and then she takes another sip.
Champagne Salon is no novelty for me, so I take a big sip, emptying half of my glass before I put it back on the table. I don’t plan on drinking a lot tonight, and especially not now. There are other things on my mind.
“Do you like it?” I ask her.
She nods and takes another sip as if she wants to show me just how much she enjoys it. I can tell by the way she sits and carries herself that she’s nervous and tense. She holds on to the champagne flute for dear life, while her other hand rests in her lap, seemingly relaxed but her fingers are nervously tugging on the seam of the blouse I bought her. She smiles at me shyly.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know much about champagne and couldn’t elaborate. All I can say is that it tastes delicious.”