by May, Linnea
She yelps when I slap her behind, and instantly she dips her back even more. Another slap and she moans, pushing her hips backward and inviting me in even further. My hands land on her firm ass for a third time, providing more evidence that she’s into this.
Good, very good.
I give her a few more slaps, every single one more intense than the one before, and her moans become louder and more desperate. I know she’s close, and I want to send her over the edge.
“Come,” I tell her as I reach between her legs, finding her swollen clit. “Come for me.”
I don’t have to play with her sensitive nub very long before I feel her muscles tightening around me. Elodie’s moans come from deep inside her, filling the room while I grab her hips with both hands, ready to join in her release and follow her over the edge.
The sound of her blissful screams eggs me on so much that I come within moments, my voice joining hers as I come deep inside of her.
Chapter XX
Elodie
There it is again, that feeling of remorse. It’s happened in my life before, when I’ve regretted sleeping with someone, but it was usually because the sex was so unfulfilling that I might as well have spent the time practicing, or sleeping for that matter. I never get enough sleep, and it often struck me as stupid to waste the extra hours I could have been sleeping on some random guy’s dick.
Then again, I’m only human and I have needs. That’s what makes me do it again and again.
That’s what made me do this. My stupid lust has seduced me to do something so dangerously dumb that I’m almost afraid of myself. I can’t believe I’m here, in my client’s apartment, freshly fucked by a man who’s about to get married to another woman.
However, my remorse has nothing to do with sexual disappointment this time. Not at all. On the contrary. I’m still disoriented and shivering in the aftermath of what just happened.
He didn’t want me to get dressed right away, and gave me a soft robe to wear instead. It’s one of his bathrobes and way too big for me, hanging loose across my narrow shoulders with the tips of my fingers barely peaking out when I have the sleeves all the way down. It’s the softest material I’ve had covering my naked skin and it smells of him. The fact that I’m naked underneath it is a constant reminder of our adventure, and a promise for more.
“You haven’t said a word,” he growls next to me.
We are sitting on the sofa opposite the one where he just fucked me, facing the nocturnal city skyline outside. He turned off all the lights and only lit two candles on the table in front of us, which not only bathes the room in a somber light, but also allows for a better view outside the window. The view is breathtaking and has occupied me for minutes, as I’ve tried to cope with the events of tonight. He’s poured me another glass of the best champagne I’ll ever drink in my entire life, and I savor every drop of it. This night is almost over and I dread it coming to an end.
I don’t want to go, but I know I’ll have to. And I know I can’t come back.
“I’m just… exhausted,” I whisper, turning to him. It’s so dark that I can barely see his face, even though he’s curled up right next to me. But as far as I can tell, he’s smiling.
“Why are you getting married to a woman you don’t love?” I ask the question that’s been at the back of my mind the entire time.
He sighs. “I told you, it’s complicated.”
“Are you saying I’m too stupid to understand?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I would never call you stupid.”
“Then tell me,” I say. “I want to understand this. After all, I’m involved in it.”
He chuckles.
“Professionally, I mean!” I add. “I’m hired for a fake wedding, don’t I deserve to know what it’s all about?”
“I don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you nonetheless,” he says. “As you know, my family owns one of the biggest shipping companies in this country.”
I nod. “Of course, I know that.”
“Well, while my grandfather made a fortune with it during his time as the CEO, after my father took over, things kind of went downhill,” he explains. “Like a lot of big businesses, our company is slow to adapt to change and new technologies. But it’s been made all the worse by my father’s inability to comprehend the changes that are taking place without him.”
Kingston pauses, absentmindedly caressing my arm. Even after what we just did, his touch still feels surreal to me.
“Accounting, container handling - a lot of those things are still done like they were decades ago,” he continues. “It’s slowing down productivity and it causes too many errors. We’re losing clients left and right because of it. But my father is just stuck in his old ways and won’t listen to me. He’s so fucking stubborn and set on the idea that he can only hand over the business to a real man. So far, neither me nor my brother qualify for that.”
“You have a brother?” I ask randomly.
“Yes, he’s younger than me,” Kingston says. “Younger and worse than I ever was. He fled to the West Coast when he started college, and never came back. It’s easy for him because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to care because I’m the firstborn. I need to become the ‘real man’ my father is waiting for.”
“And a real man is… married?” I ask.
Kingston sighed. “Yes. Settled, safe and sane. Married. Married to the right woman.”
“That’s so…”
“Fucked up?” he completes my sentence.
“I was going for old-fashioned, but yeah, that, too.”
“It is,” he says. “But if it’s what I have to do, I’ll do it.”
“And Gloria?” I ask. “She’s the right woman, because…?”
“Because her parents want her to get married as much as my father wants me to,” he replies. “And because she has as little interest in love and marriage as I do. It’s the only thing we have in common. We can tie the knot for our parents’ sake, and then leave each other alone.”
“You don’t believe in love?” I ask. “What does that even mean?”
Kingston looks at me. Even in the dark, I can see him furling his eyebrows.
“I don’t do love,” he says. “That better?”
I shake my head. “No. You just don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t get cocky with me,” he warns. “And don’t think you can prove me wrong.”
His words create an uncomfortable pinch on my heart. I don’t know if it’s because I feel hurt at this reminder of the nature of our relationship, or because he insinuates that I could be stupid enough to think that I’m the magic princess who can turn him around. Of course, I don’t believe that. I’m baffled enough at the fact that he showed any interest in me at all.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go home soon,” I tell him.
“Who says you have to?” he asks.
“Well, you kinda’ did. And I do,” I insist. “I have class early in the morning.”
He snorts. “What a lame excuse.”
I frown at him, but know that he can’t see it.
“It’s not,” I object. “This is going to be my job, and I can’t miss class if I want to make it in the real world.”
“Is that so?” he asks, leaning closer so that I can see the creases in his handsome face as he smirks at me. “What a good girl you are.”
“I’m a poor girl first and foremost,” I say. “I simply can’t afford to fail a class or show any kind of neglect in my studies because I could lose my scholarship if I do.”
That’s exaggerating a little, but I somehow feel the urge to remind him that we live in very different worlds. His world of wealth and hedonistic activities may be the only one he knows, but my reality is a lot harsher than that. I’ve always been careful about not missing a single class, getting as much practice in as possible, and leaving a good impression at my part-time job, even if it meant my free time and any kind of socializing would suffer because
of it.
“No worries,” he says. “I have no intention on keeping you here all night. I don’t do that.”
Even though his words go along with what I just said, they still leave a painful sting in my heart.
“Oh, another thing you ‘don’t do’. How rigorous,” I mock him.
“I’ll call a car to take you home,” he adds, ignoring my remark. “But let’s finish that champagne first.”
I won’t argue with that, and take another sip of the wonderful golden liquid. It would be nice to be part of his world, just to have this marvelous drink whenever I craved it.
“You enjoyed yourself,” he says. It’s not a question, but a statement of confidence.
“Yes,” I admit. “That was fun.”
He looks at me, and even in the dark I can tell that he’s raising an eyebrow at me.
“That was fun,” he repeats, mimicking my voice. “One could think I’d taken you to a fair and bought you some sweets instead of making you come so hard you almost passed out. Twice.”
I blush and bring the glass up to my lips.
“It was a nice momentary escape,” I whisper. “Better than any I’ve had before.”
“Escape from what?” he wants to know.
I pause for a moment, my eyes resting on the beautiful urban night view.
“Life,” I say. “Reality.”
“This is not part of life?” he asks, sounding indignant. “Am I not real?”
“You know what I mean,” I say, casting him a quick look from the side. “Call it normalcy or everyday world if you will.”
“Tell me what that looks like,” he probes. “Your everyday life.”
“Why?”
He chuckles and - to my surprise - wraps his arm around me. Unlike me, he’s still fully dressed, which strikes me as odd. I’ve never had sex without the guy ending up just as naked as I was. It’s a shame I will never get to see his - what I expect to be gorgeous - body.
“I can fuck you, but I can’t have a conversation with you?” he asks, squeezing me close to him.
“You don’t have to fake interest in me,” I whisper.
“Don’t be so stubborn.”
His voice has changed. He sounds genuinely annoyed now.
“Fine,” I say. “I wake up, I usually have classes in the morning, sometimes I work at my part-time job during lunch hour, but it’s mostly in the afternoons or evenings, and I have private lessons, and then time that I use to practice by myself.”
I look at him. “Boring, isn’t it?”
“Not to me,” he says. “What kind of classes do you have?”
I sigh. “Music Theory, Music History, Piano Performance, Electives. Stuff like that.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Anything that lets me play,” I quickly reply, causing him to chuckle. “I’m not a theory girl.”
“You’re very talented,” he says, again giving me that weird squeeze.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say. “But how would you know? You’ve only heard me a few times, and I reckon you know very little about music, and piano performance specifically.”
“Maybe,” he admits. “But I did have some lessons myself. When you grow up in a family like mine, it’s a must.”
“Yes, your mother mentioned that. Lucky bastard,” I whisper. “I would have killed for that.”
“For what?”
“For growing up in an environment that enforces musical education,” I say, hiding behind my glass again. “I was always the oddball with my interest in the piano.”
His eyes are on me, and even in the dark his gaze doesn’t fail to intimidate me with its intensity. This man confuses me. If all the stories I’ve heard about him are true, his current behavior does not fit it at all. Why would he put his arm around me like that? Why would he ask me to stay to talk? Why is he feigning this interest in me when it’s clear this was all about carnal lust and nothing more?
“When did you start to play?” he wants to know.
I shrug. “Hard to say. I remember my dad taking me to one of his friends’ places when I was about five or six. They had a piano and I was drawn to it instantly. I played around with it a little bit, and while my father kept pulling me away and apologizing for the disturbance I caused, his friend’s wife encouraged me. She was a musical teacher at an elementary school. She was the one who made it possible for me to have lessons because we could never have afforded it.”
“And your mother?” he asks.
My chest tightens. “She’s dead.”
That’s a lie. I never buried my mother. As far as I know, she could still be alive, but I haven’t seen her in more than twenty years. She left my father because of his heavy drinking, and never bothered to take me with her. She may have started a new life God knows where, but she’s certainly dead to me.
Kingston clears his throat and shifts around uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “It was a long time ago.”
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, his dismay is palpable.
We sit in silence for a few moments, and then he refills our glasses, emptying the bottle. My tolerance for alcohol is surprisingly low, considering that it’s been a constant companion on the weekends when I allowed myself to let loose. It’s the only outlet I’ve had to deal with the stress and burden of my aspirations, and I’ve always worried that I might have inherited my father’s dangerous tendencies in this area.
Maybe it’s because of the champagne, maybe it’s because of Kingston’s soothing company, but I feel dizzy and tired, more than I’d expected I would after a few glasses of champagne.
I need to go home. As hard as it is to leave this place, I need to go. I’m getting too comfortable.
“I should go,” I give voice to my thoughts.
Kingston takes another sip from his glass and nods. “Yes, you should.”
I don’t know why it hurts when he’s agreeing with me, but the sting is undeniable. I don’t want to stay - but I want him to want me to stay. How ridiculous.
Kingston places his glass on the coffee table and turns to me, his arm wrapped around me, while his other hand travels below the robe, tracing along the skin of my thigh. I shiver with desire, but shake my head at the same time. “No.”
He chuckles, and when he leans in to kiss me, I almost lose it. His lips meet mine with unaccustomed softness, while he holds me in his loving embrace. He breaks our kiss and looks me in the eyes with calm determination.
“When can I see you again?” he asks.
Chapter XXI
Kingston
Sitting through these damn family dinners filled with jabbering about wedding preparations has become even more insufferable than ever before. My betrothed, Gloria, is sitting next to me, faking interest in flowers and centerpieces. I’m beginning to feel that she’s decided to take advantage of the situation as much as she can. After all, weddings are all about the bride. That makes it easier for me to keep to the sidelines, but it also provides her with a stage for her narcissism. It’s disgusting.
“Only three weeks,” she pipes, casting me a look from the side. “Aren’t you excited?”
Three weeks until the engagement party. The planning for that unnecessary event is almost concluded, so now the women have moved on to the actual wedding, and while the excitement is growing all around me, I feel as if someone is slowly but steadily choking me to death.
Elodie wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.
I was supposed to be done with her after three fucks at the most. That’s how it works. Instead, I find myself agonizing about the fact that I can’t claim her whenever I want to. She said she knew all about me, and she didn’t expect anything more than a one-night stand. That’s why she just gave me a confused stare when I asked her when I could her again after our first night together.
“Why would you?” was her first response.
And she’s right. We should have left it at that. I’
ve been careful about my exploits since it became known that I was to marry the infamous Gloria Waldorf, and fucking the cute little pianist who’s supposed to play at our engagement and our wedding reception is anything but smart. I know that, but I can’t help it.
Elodie didn’t have to tell me how worried she is about her career. I’m not an idiot. But when she tried to refuse to see me again, I had to haul out the big guns. She was still in my apartment, sitting next to me practically naked and buzzed. Some would call it taking advantage, but I didn’t fuck her. I just reminded her that I might be the best release she could possibly find to escape from her stressful life. Another orgasm, clenching and squirming around my fingers, and the argument was forgotten.
Still, I’ve only seen her twice since then. Three times in total, and I’m anything but done with this girl. She’s shielded and careful, and asks very few questions about me. We never see each other for more than two or three hours, and I haven’t been at my parents’ house when she’s practicing ever again. I always have a car to bring her directly to my place, and every time I greet her in the driveway, she casts those worried looks toward the guys working at the reception desk downstairs, wondering if it wouldn’t be smarter for me to wait for her upstairs. Maybe. But I don’t want her to be delivered to me like Chinese food. Sometimes I don’t want to be smart, but add a little levity to my life. That’s who I am.
Elodie might be the smarter one between the two of us, but she’s also the weaker one. I know I can have her as long as I want her.
Trouble is, I don’t want to want her this much. This is fucked up. It messes with everything.
“Yes, why would I not be excited,” I answer my fiancée’s question.
Gloria casts me a suspicious look and then turns her attention back to the food on her plate. It’s not like she’s going to finish more than half of it. She’s a terribly picky eater and avoids every food that could make her fat or look bloated. Of course, the dangerous foods to avoid change every few weeks, always depending on the latest magazine she’s consulted.
“That piano girl, is she still coming here to practice?” Gloria asks my mother, catching my attention. Something about the way she’s emphasizing her words alarms me, and it doesn’t help that she casts another glare in my direction.