by Amarie Avant
“Nothing Dad. Victor didn’t do anything. He’s just not who I thought he was.” It is the truth and a lie.
Dad shakes his head. “He did something. Regardless of what you say, Lux, I will kill him!”
“No!” I yell, pupils dilated. Dad is afraid of no one when it comes to his only daughter, yet in actuality, a cat doesn’t fear him.
“Well, why not?” Dad shrugs, baffled by my quick reply.
“Because we broke up with a mutual understanding. I’m… I’m… it’s just that time of the month.”
The thought of my going through menstruation is enough to silence my father. Besides, I don't want to tell Dad that Victor will kill him. In my room, every light is turned on, even the nightlight. By the time I close the door, it’s already brighter than Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Trying to stifle my tears, I toss my purse on the orange daisy duvet of my queen-sized bed. I am scared out of my mind as I slowly strip bare. It’s as if I have been classically conditioned; my body instantly feels the pleasures of Victor’s hands. His accent and the commands had me in sexual positions I would never have even dreamt of. Now, I’m determined to take a quick shower to wash off the memory of us. And specks of blood.
I step into the brick and chrome bathroom. The steam begins, to rise and I lower the temperature, to not fog the room. Damn, I’m too easily spooked.
The cooler water hits my body. I grab an organic bar of oatmeal soap, lather and wash. After two minutes of washing, the soap falls from my hand and my sudsy fingers begin to caress my flat abdomen and downwards.
“Vic...” I hear myself whispering. Before my fingers can mimic Victor's magic, I quickly shut off the shower and dry off. Then I grab the ugliest pair of pajamas I own, 5-year-old yellow-polka dot ones with a few token holes.
These fuzzy PJs have kept me warm on many nights, even comforting me during my biggest break up. My ex, Arnold, had decided, after 4 years of our relationship, to marry someone else.
I open the bathroom door. My fingers shake as I button the top, and hastily pull up the drawstring bottoms. Mist travels into my bedroom. My heart begins to thump as I notice that the dresser lamp is the only light on.
I see Victor's silhouette as he dominates the hot pink paisley chair next to my bed.
Victor glances at me while leaning back in the chair. My large room as instantly swallowed up by him. He steeples his fingers as he ponders. Before I can collect my thoughts, he speaks, “Those pajamas do nothing for you, Lux.”
“Wh…what?” I shriek, “G… get out! I told you–”
“Bollocks! You told me ‘Never to call.’” He retorts, jaw clinched. The light casts a shadow across the sharp curves of his handsome face. Victor waves a hand as if his presence means the world. He speaks through gritted teeth, “Well, on the contrary, Luxury, what a big cock up you’ve made because here I fucking am!”
Wow, I thought it was the cutest thing the first time he said ‘cock up’ in that British accent and explained that the phrase meant such a simple ass mistake. Now, my lips bunch together as I consider his words.
“Oh, so here you are? Victor, must I assume that my text message didn’t penetrate that thick skull of yours? Did it not imply that I never want to see your crazy ass again? Get this through your brain,” I flip him the bird. Shit, I don’t even have the height factor with him sitting and myself standing. Not bold enough to step toward Victor and hit him, or force him out, I keep my distance while shouting, “Get out asshole. I don’t want you. Understand?”
He places a hand up as if the irritation of me running away has disappeared from his psyche for a moment. “Alright, Lux, we have crossed paths with a few dodgy wankers this evening…”
“You-are-crazy!” The words stumble from my mouth soon as thought. It’s really sinking in there. I’ve made such a bad mistake in him. Shit, I need new intuition while dealing with men. Shaking my head, I say, “Aren’t you the one with a Doctorate in Physics, Dr. Finch. I’m sure the university wasn’t handing out degrees on the day you received yours. Or am I assuming wrong all the way around?”
“The name is Victor D’Ross not Doctor Victor Finch. No advanced degree in physics, Lux.” He runs a hand through his black hair, yet it stays perfect. In a monotone, yet crisp voice he adds, “Though, you’ve just brought it to my attention. Allow me to remind you Miss Luxury Whitson, you and I are under the agreement that I-own-you.”
I hadn't previously thought that Victor had lied about his surname, or even considered the name D’Ross, but my brain now scours the past. Yes, Doctor Finch–or whatever he wants to call himself–owned me. But I’m too stumped to speak.
“You agreed, Lux,” he adds in that sexy British accent.
“During sex!” I scoff.
“Wrong answer, Lux. I abide by principles only. Your word is crucial. Always and forever, you belong to me.” He pounds a fist against his chest while arising. Although, Victor speaks as if all of this is rational. My mind breezes back to his name. He was...is Dr. Finch! I had Googled him, accolade upon accolade and almost as many degrees as my father. Never heard of D’Ross.
I'm in the company of a madman. I slowly shift toward the door, dash and open it quickly, and begin down the stairs. My bare feet lash against the wooden floors as I make a quick descent.
“Daddyyyyy!” I shout angrier than the first time I fell from my bicycle, after Dad had determined a tricycle was no longer necessary.
“Lux!” Dad is up from the couch as I make the last step.
“Shite, Luxury, calm down,” Victor says, walking down the stairs. “Honestly, I’m attempting to comprehend the situation from your eyes. Making hasty reactions could cost your life or was that not evident earlier this evening?”
“Motherfucker, you listen here,” Dad sticks out his pointer finger. Shit, I can only wish it was loaded! “Dr. Finch, I will not have you threatening my daughter! Now, you must leave–”
THUMP!
A bullet blazes in the window and thumps into the brick wall, two inches to the left of Dad’s head. Bits of rock and powder go crashing to the floor.
In a split second, I feel pain. I once saw a piano crash to the ground while being hefted up four stories a few blocks down the street. It’s a heavy feeling that weighs on top of me. Heavy like bricks. Victor’s muscular body on top of me. My mind is ringing. How did he get to me so quickly? He hadn’t been close enough to do this, and now my body is being crushed under a ton of muscles.
“Get down, Whitson!” he commands my father.
You don’t have to tell Dad twice. Age ain’t nothing but a number. He moves quickly, plopping down besides his favorite brown leather lazy boy. “What the heck?”
Blood is dripping from Dad.
“Dad… Dad?” The urgency resonating in my ears is so familiar. I’m screaming. I press against Victor’s chest, but he holds me tighter.
“Stop moving, Lux.”
“I…I’m okay,” Dad reassures in a daze.
There’s a crescent where the top shell of his ear once was, he’s been shot. My eyes go from Dad's to Victor’s. The dark blue depths of his pupils have me on pause. He softly caresses my cheek.
“That sniper is here for you, Whitson.” Victor uses this calm tone that made me mad, frustrated, and totally and utterly pleased during sex. But it's all wrong, especially when another bullet zips through the glass and thumps into the brick wall. “Lux, I will explain everything. For now, I need you to understand that I just saved your life tonight,” he says as another bullet comes crashing into a lamp and shatters over our heads.
What the hell does he mean, 'saved my life'? I start to sob, as Victor gestures for my Dad to crawl away from the living room. With this open floor-plan home, there’s virtually no safety. The loft had been converted from an old factory, there are glass walls set in a 180-degree angle. We’re all going to die—
Victor kisses me passionately on the lips. I’m instantly numb to worry, until another bullet comes blasting inside. My
body shakes in his arms.
Victor’s eyes lock onto mine and the hypnotizing blues pull me in again, as he says, “Lux, right now, I need you to be that cheeky, confident young woman I first met. No fear.”
Victor D'Ross
33 days earlier...
A white cloth adorns the top of my head combating against the scorching Arabian sun. An instant after leaving one of my homes in the desert, my long-sleeve linen shirt and khaki trousers started to fuse against my skin. I tune out such discomfort as thoughts of the game consume me. While lying on my stomach on top of a clay building two stories up, I look through the scope of my sniper rifle. There’s a shopping center across the street. The streets are filled with drivers, bikers, and walkers. The vendors are bustling with business. Dirt, spices from the shops below, and camel dung all mix together, traveling up toward me.
Senses heightened, I have a choice view of the outdoor restaurant adjacent to me. There resides my next kill.
Four Arabs sit around a table, enjoying a feast of colorful meats and rice. Each man is weighted with armor and is equipped with automatic firearms in holsters. Shite, a waiter blocks my target for a second, dropping yet another tray of alcohol. Jaw tensed impatiently, I wait for a clear shot again. A few minutes later, I'm finally aligned with my target once more.
The mark leans against his chair. Cocky grin lifted up to the blistering sky as he takes a puff of his cigar. The bloody confidence of this wanker reads that he owns the world. The air in my lungs slowly passes away. My breathing stops. The Arab takes his first and last puff of his cigar. Not a single sound rings into the air as I squeeze the trigger of my riffle, equipped with silencer.
Nice.
A clean hole nestles right in between his eyes. It’s as if silence transcended upon the entire Arabian Peninsula. The mark slumps forward. Then a symphony of chaos ascends. His crew is up as if a fire was lit under their asses.
“Where did that come from? Fuck… Fuck…” I read their mouths, as they speak Arabic. Grabbing their AK-47s, they point in all directions, unsure of who will catch hell for this. I give a little chuckle at the symphony of shots firing in all directions.
Mission complete. Hard work done, time to play.
~~~
Nothing trumps the alluring seductiveness of Middle Eastern women. The Sheikh’s daughter, Princess Noor has these black marble eyes that hypnotize me and fade away each of my previous conquests. A portion of her jet-black tresses escape from the hijab, veil, that has been covering much of her face. The depths of her eyes are just a sample of Noor's forbidden beauty. She’s been secretly enticing me for days.
During my stay, the Sheikh has offered an array of gorgeous women in his golden palace. At the prime age of 35 years old, I know that Noor would forever be off limits to a Brit like me. The warning of doing as much as staring at Noor too long implies death. But the instant I laid eyes on her, in essence, I saw straight through the silk curtain of robes hiding a curvy figure. Today, I had followed her to a compound out of the confines of the Sheik’s palace.
“You will die for this,” Noor warns in Arabic.
I stop at the threshold, considering her words. Bollocks, Noor is right, her father would fucking murder me himself. Though the treasure I seek is hidden, Noor boasts confidence in the confines of all her clothing. She leans against the door with eyes that are begging me to own her. Then she slyly smiles, turns the knob and backs through the entryway, waiting for me to make a move.
I close the door and step into the dimly lit room. It’s all open spaces with one large bed draped with colorful silk linens, indicating that I’m not the first man Noor has brought here. There are probably rooms upon rooms that have heard her coy moans in this house. Since this is the first room, we’ll start here.
“Have you ever gotten on your knees before?” The left side of my mouth arches somewhat.
“Nope. What sort of princess bows?” Her eyes twinkle at my jousting. She licks her lips and untwines the cloth covering her beautiful face. I breathe easy.
“On your knees, then.” My gaze captures every bit of Noor’s golden body as she disrobes. She's naked, no bra and no panties. She teases me with her perky, tiny breasts, pink hard nipples, and clean-shaven pussy. Damn, I want her so badly, but hold it in as Noor slowly unbuttons my khaki’s and then pulls my trousers and boxers down. The princess falls to her knees.
Her warm, wet mouth starts enveloping the tip of my cock. Noor takes in another inch, and another inch until she is unable to fit anymore. She whimpers in anticipation. Just the thought of getting all my dick in her mouth makes her moan wildly. It's clear; she wants to get in even more of me. Noor’s head bobs up and down. Her tongue begins to twirl around the nerves of my manhood, making my toes curl and my muscular legs take an even wider stance.
Noor delights in it as if she’s a pro. Her mouth has yet to fully appeal to me, even though she's already taken in 5 inches. Half my dick is getting no attention. “Deeper, Noor.”
Again, she opens wider, becoming more vigorous as her mouth waters even more. She slides her mouth slowly up and down my cock, miraculously tasting more every time...6 inches. 7… 9… She's almost there as the rhythm increases and my moaning begins to match hers.
My release is hard, creating an explosion as cum mixes with Noor’s saliva. Noor sucks every bit of my seed, and then licks the creamy seed seeping from my crown.
“Mmmm.” She dabs the tip of her plush lips with a manicured finger.
~~~
That was only round one. Three days later, while sitting in a gilded chair, I peer through the turquoise sheer drapery teasing the curves of her body. “Noor.”
“Yes, Vic,” she replies in a coy tone. My member swells with need. I know she's sleeping off the sex from an hour ago, but I must have her again. The door opens before I can command her. I’m not the least bit worried; the Sheikh knows nothing of this private place.
“Excuse me, madam.” Burt the Butler enters, his penguin suit perfectly displayed. He's seen each and every one of my conquests naked. But noticing Noor’s face, he scoffs. “Your majesty…Noor.” He apologizes, and then quickly looks toward me with cold gray eyes.
Noor’s golden cheeks flush with peach swirls as she places the covers over herself. Bloody hell, she is so fucking good at this coy game. But neither I nor Burt is fooled.
“Excuse us.” I stand up, grabbing my pair of black khakis on the floor. While pulling up my trousers, I take one last look at her beautiful body before stepping out of the room with my butler.
He closes the door and we stand in the 24k gold wallpapered hallway. Burt’s prudish eyes are even with mine, since we are of matching height. But he’s at least 50 pounds lighter. Having known me all of my life, he reprimands me as only he can do. “I came to provide you with two propositions, but am I to believe that nuptials with Noor are in the question now?”
“Give me these propositions,” I reply, not at all interested in Burt’s latest bout of hysteria.
“If the Sheikh is made aware that you’re bonking his daughter Noor, you’d be done. Victor, do you have a death wish? How would your mother...” Burt stops ranting mid-sentence. He clutches his chest with a white-gloved hand. “You are Victor Wesley Thomas D’Ross, Duke of Arlington. Not a daft wanker. You’re cognizant of your royalty. How dare you act so… so… beastly?”
“Easy. Noor begged for it.”
“Are you off your trolley? Every day we've been here, Noor has been in drapes and linens,” Burt scoffs. “How did you even conceive that what was underneath those drapes was something so invaluable. Something worthy of your life?”
Leaning against a gilded statue with a huff, I cross my legs at the ankle and explain, “Burt, don’t insult me. I read women. I can decipher how beautiful one is, draped in a brown-paper bag. The telling is all in the eyes. I’m sure anything the Sheikh could toss at me, wouldn’t stop me from fucking Noor again. Besides, I didn’t conquer any new territory; moreover, you viewed N
oor’s body. She’s the epitome of beauty!”
“Granted she is indeed beautiful,” he replies, baffled. Having been assigned to me for the duration of my life, I am now confident that I’ve weighed down the old man, as Burt forgets duty, instead adding, “A very voluptuous body nonetheless, but…”
“Tell me about these two propositions, Burt.” I angle toward my goal.
“No. I refuse.” He clutches a smart tablet to his chest; it consists of glass electronic invitations sent by mail. I had only just requested a new assignment, and am happy to have options, so I snatch it away. Burt sulks and provides the other before the fragile electronic can fall on the ground.
Two pages are open. I slide my fingers across, from one to the next. I’m unsure of which prize would hold my interest more over the ambidextrous Noor. Then I flip back and forth between my potential targets. For whatever reason, I expect to see a sign, some type of reason in their eyes. Though the reason is no concern of mine, the vetting which is completed by the X-Member organization has obtained enough information to consign the two men to their deaths. How could these seemingly simple men garner the attention of the X-Member, an underground, elite, and discrete assassination service?
“So, I am to murder an English prophet or an American inventor? Hmmm…” I push the English prophet’s profile away. The prophet is located in England. This will force Burt and I closer than I wanted to be to home; no matter how shoddy this Man of God appears to be, I'd rather play it safe. I’m veering toward the black inventor. The person requesting his assassination is anonymous. Doctor Jonah Whitson’s profile photo doesn’t strike me in any manner at all. I could murder him from two miles away with an Accuracy International sniper rifle. The inventor’s location provides an abundance of prime opportunities. It would be quick, too. So that in itself deters me. Too easy. Too quick. It all takes me closer to Arlington.
Burt tears through my thoughts with, “Forget the propositions, Victor. We aren't leaving Dubai until you propose marriage to the Sheikh–”