by Mina Vaughn
She was a vision.
And the most difficult thing about my situation was that I couldn’t let her know it immediately. I waited for her to speak to me.
I checked my stocks again, and she leaned over to see what I was doing.
“I have an insider tip, you know,” she said to me, and hailed the bartender.
I looked over at her, and tried not to betray my feral attraction. “Oh yeah?”
She nodded, and crossed her legs toward me. The body language, so far, was working in my favor. “Don’t order Scotch if you’re going to make that face when you drink it,” she joked, and ordered two sidecars.
I drank the rest of the Scotch as a shot, and regretted how it would be sloshing, unused, in my stomach for hours. “In my business, if you don’t drink Scotch, you’re not invited into the boys’ club,” I explained. “I’m trying to get used to the taste, but it’s just not working for me.”
She took a sip of the sidecar and smiled. “Taste this; it’s better.”
I put the drink to my lips, and she watched in awe as I drank. She was probably wondering why I could drink something other than blood. I can drink alcohol; it just has no effect on me, so that must be why she’s gawking. Or she was so into the scene that she forgot I was a vampire and not a businessman.
“Much improved,” I said and held out my hand. “I’m Will.”
She shook my hand and said, “CeeCee.” I smirked at the different twist on Cerise.
I took her hand and planted a soft kiss on her wrist. “Pleased to meet you,” I said smoothly.
I heard her heartbeat increase and watched a small bead of sweat form just under her ear. “It’s mutual,” she purred.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” she said, adjusting the hem of her dress and leaning closer to me. “Are you from Portsmouth?” Cerise ran her fingers through her curls idly, flirting.
I took another excruciating sip of the drink, but this time pretended it was refreshing. “Chicago,” I answered. “I’m here on business. Staying at the Four Seasons for a conference.”
She smirked, and I knew she was imagining going back and seeing what the suites there looked like. “Really? What sort of business are you in?” she asked, intrigued.
Darn. I hadn’t got that far in my head. I just knew there were stocks involved. “Trade,” I answered vaguely, and tried to add on. “Mostly international. Imports and exports,” I clarified, albeit poorly.
“Like Art Vandelay?” she asked with a laugh.
I smiled. “A Seinfeld fan, eh?” I answered, somewhat embarrassed that she was making fun of my scene.
“Absolutely,” she said. “So sad when it ended. Do you ever watch Curb Your Enthusiasm?” she asked, and I nodded vigorously.
“It’s physically painful to watch,” I said truthfully. “I just hate seeing people embarrass themselves, and Larry David is the King of all Assholes.”
I was really, really surprised at where this night was going, but I honestly didn’t mind. I thought I was going to have to use lame pickup lines and act all suave. Another plus was that I was able to drop the pretense of actually imbibing alcohol, and let Cerise order as she pleased.
We talked for hours. Within another drink or two or three, we had dropped the Will and CeeCee personas and were just talking personally about our favorite shows, movies, books—everything we hadn’t gotten around to yet. I knew we’d be moving on to more intimate topics soon.
A few more drinks in, and we were talking about things we truly love and things we hate. About our passions and our aspirations and the meaning of life.
After yet another drink down, Cerise’s hand was creeping up my thigh. Her nose was in my ear and she was breathing heavy, passionate words. My hands were in her hair and then our bodies were in my car, zipping as fast as possible toward the Four Seasons.
And a Corvette zips very, very fast.
Her lips were on my neck in the elevator, and my hands were up her dress.
If only I knew she wasn’t wearing underwear all night, I wouldn’t have worried so much about how she’d respond to me.
She wanted tonight as much as I did.
But I didn’t get too ahead of myself. I wanted to really connect with her, and even though she was interested in me now, what was to keep her from leaving me tomorrow, or next week?
I wanted to take care of her, to have her open up to me, to just go with the flow.
But right now, the flow seemed to be straight into bed.
The elevator dinged, and we groped our way to the suite. And that was when I noticed Cerise stumbling. She held on to my arm desperately as we walked. I asked her if her shoes were bothering her, and her answer was slurred.
Shit.
I hadn’t noticed just how much Cerise had to drink tonight.
And as aroused as we both were, I simply couldn’t take advantage of her drunk. How could I possibly avoid disaster tonight?
I unlocked the door, and escorted Cerise chastely inside. I had to start cooling things down before she got mad.
“Let me get you some water,” I said, and grabbed a bottle from the mini fridge and poured it into a glass for her.
She took it gladly and gulped it down. “Thanks,” she panted, and sunk back on the couch. “Now get over here,” she said, words blurring together.
I stood in front of her, obligingly, and she ran her hands down my chest. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
I, of course, obeyed.
Her mouth tasted sharp, and her tongue was thick and heavy, but it still thrilled me. I tried to slow the pace myself, and she complied. What began as a passionate, openmouthed kiss transformed into a tender embrace. Our mouths touched one last time as I scooped up her limp form and brought her to the bed.
I lay down next to her and smoothed her curls away from her face. She was sweating. “I don’t feel well, William,” she said, her lovely tan complexion looking more green by the minute.
I called room service and ordered ginger ale and saltine crackers, then returned to her side.
Cerise’s eyes were glazed and far away, and she looked distraught.
“You’ll feel better soon,” I said, cupping her face in my hands.
“The cold feels good,” was all she could manage. I placed one palm on her forehead and she sighed with relief.
And with a knock on the door, aid was delivered in the form of soda and a snack. I fed her the crackers and she took small sips of her drink. Soon, Cerise was curled up in a semi-senseless heap in my lap.
“How do you feel now?” I asked, distraught that she still seemed off.
She picked up her head, and began to attempt to explain herself. “Stomach’s better, but . . . ,” she trailed off. I placed my hand on her forehead again, and wondered out loud if I should get her to a doctor.
And then she began to cry.
My eyes went wide with panic, and then I realized it was my chance to get her to open up.
Go with the flow.
I put my arms around her, and coaxed her head to my shoulder. She found a spot in the crook of my neck, and sobbed violently. I tied her hair back with the little elastic she always kept on her right wrist.
“What can I do for you?” I asked. “Do you want to talk, or just go to sleep? A massage?”
She spent another minute nestled in my embrace before she spoke. And when she did, her words were slurred and barely coherent.
“Just please be real,” she cried, and looked up at my face. She put her tiny hands to my temples, as if to examine me.
I looked deeply into her green eyes, and said, “I’m real, and I’m here for you.” I didn’t know what it was she wanted—how could I prove I was real? Was this about being a vampire?
“I’ve had enough fake to last a lifetime,” she cried, returning to her sobbing position. I rubbe
d her back in small circles, and reassured her that I was always honest with her.
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, wiping her nose with her wrist. She covered her face with her hands, and attempted to regain composure. However, like most drunken girls, she couldn’t quite gain back her coherence. “I’ve been lied to, William, and I’ve been used,” she sobbed.
I sighed loudly, and pulled her closer. “How could anyone ever use you? You’re so strong, and smart,” I confessed.
She made a half-assed effort at pushing me away. “Don’t you dare sweet-talk me. That’s what he did, and look what happened,” she said, heavy tongue getting in the way of most of her syllables.
“Who did, and what happened?” I asked. I shocked myself with the question. It seemed out of character for me to be gathering information rather than comforting her, but I had a feeling that perhaps this was something she didn’t tell people about. Something bottled up. I prayed that this was the secret that had been eating her up, and if she could tell it to me, then she would be rid of it and we could move on.
She laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t always so harsh, you know,” she said, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand. “Actually, I was a pretty sweet girl until I was ruined.” She wiped her eyes and laughed bitterly. “At least, that’s how my dad explained it. Ruined.”
I caressed her face with the back of my hand. “Nothing about you is ruined,” I said, suddenly hating her father and whatever role he had played in this. I wondered about Cerise’s mother; was she chased away by her father’s cruelty? Why hadn’t they reconnected? Cerise could use a mother’s love.
She threw up her arms. “You know what?” she asked. “I don’t even think I can get away with saying he was my boyfriend. It was all a charade.” She shook her head and her mouth puckered miserably. “He didn’t want anything other than revenge. And he got it. And I paid the fucking price—my heart, my dignity, my relationship with the only parent I have, and my virginity.”
Oh no.
Perhaps this was why she was so upset that she took mine so . . . unconventionally.
“I don’t understand,” I said. And I didn’t—how did revenge and sex go together? And her dignity?
She pushed away the soggy stray hairs that had slipped out of the ponytail, and spoke in a voice so distant, it almost wasn’t her own. “To put it simply, a boy went out with me just to get even with the school principal—my dad—the one who suspended him and kept him from getting a college scholarship. He wanted to publicly humiliate my dad, and in the process, I was ruined.” At this statement, she began to cry so hard she was hyperventilating.
She’d sob, then inhale sharply, desperately trying to catch her breath. I had to stop this interrogation.
I helped her to the edge of the bed, and had her breathe with her head down. I rubbed her back, smoothed her hair, and told her repeatedly that she was not ruined, and had nothing to fear from me.
“Cerise, I have no ulterior motives. I’m happy when I’m making you happy,” I explained, honestly. When her breathing steadied, I took her small chin in my hand and asked, “Can’t we just keep making each other happy? Isn’t the future more important than the past?”
Still woozy from the drinks, she smiled the innocent grin of a child. She looked so . . . fragile, and so vulnerable. She pulled herself from my seated embrace, and drew me down into the bed with her.
And she told me her story.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cerise
“Nick, are you sure it’s private back here?” I had asked him, scanning the parking lot warily. The lot was behind the main building, and it was where kids parked only if they were coming into school late.
“Shh, baby,” he said, smoothing my hair. “Nobody’s gonna see us. You know my sister’s always home, and I’d be scared shitless to do it at your house. I mean, you never know when your dad’s gonna be back, with all his school-board meetings and stuff.” Nick made a convincing argument, especially while fiddling between my legs. We had started messing around a few weeks ago, and I was pretty sure today was going to be “it.” We were cutting study, and since they rarely take attendance there, I figured we wouldn’t be missed.
He pulled my underpants down from beneath my skirt. I spread my legs, and enjoyed the sensation mostly disarmed. “But there are some cars in the lot—” I began to say, and he slid a finger inside and cut me off sharply.
“They won’t just come up to our car,” he said, and added, “Plus, it’s after lunch, so nobody’s coming back here to smoke. Your dad’s in a meeting—one of my buddies got busted for pot, and you know how long suspensions take.” He gave me a long, tonguey kiss, and unfastened my bra.
“Let’s get in the back,” Nick said, peeking out the windows. I was glad he was trying to make sure there were no onlookers.
Once we had settled in the backseat, Nick wasted no time removing my shirt. I sat there as he fondled and ogled my breasts, while alternately looking out the window and checking the time. I wanted his full attention, so I grabbed him between the legs.
It was just the cue he needed.
In no time, I was naked and Nick had his pants down. The petting got heavier and heavier, as he continued groping and fingering me roughly.
He started edging his “parts” closer to my “parts” and soon enough, I realized it was about to happen. Granted, it wasn’t the most romantic setting, but my body was ready. The things Nick did to me with his fingers and mouth left me wanting and empty, and I knew what had to happen next.
I leaned back against the window and spread my legs. He opened a condom.
“No, baby, get on your hands and knees,” he said.
I was sure some surprise registered on my face, but he quickly responded to my reaction. “I just,” he said, touching me intimately, “heard it hurts less that way.”
Well, that was sweet of him . . . I guessed.
Although I had always pictured looking into his eyes as I lost my virginity to him. I imagined him holding me close, and telling me he loved me.
Instead, I awkwardly crawled into doggy style position as he took me quickly and loudly. He grunted like a tennis pro.
I didn’t feel any pain, really—my first tampon did that trick years ago—and I didn’t think he was big enough to hurt me. It was just weird and uncomfortable.
“Keep your head down,” was the first thing he said. Nothing sweet, or even anything horny.
“Why?” I asked, as he grabbed my hips, pulling me toward him again and again. I squirmed and tried to make it feel good.
“I think I hear something.”
I tried to plop down lower in the seat, so that nobody would see me, but Nick assured me that as long as my head was down, we were fine.
At this point, I was pretty sure my instincts had led me astray. It would only take another minute to pass by for me to realize just how poor my judgment was.
We continued like that a little longer, grunting and awkwardly humping, when the door in front of me was swung open, and a horrified face glared down at us.
I lifted my head, and several things happened at once.
First was Nick’s laughter.
Then came the shrieking and hooting from a group of teens that had camped two cars down. All to catch one reaction.
The reaction on Principal Norrel’s face when he realized that the “indecent exposure in the parking lot” phone call was about his daughter.
“Who’s your daddy, Cerise?!” Nick shouted, and relentlessly thrust into me as I tried to struggle from his hold. “And who’s fucking your daughter, Mr. Principal? Payback’s a bitch, and so is your little slut,” he taunted, as I watched my father’s face crumble.
“Daddy!” I sobbed, desperate to cover myself, desperate to get away from the ugliness.
“You like that? Your daddy watching?” Nick said, as he
sunk his awful dick inside me one last time and pulled out as my father attacked him, yanking him out of the car by his collar.
The laughter kept coming from Nick’s friends on the sidelines, the ones who made the prearranged call to the principal. I fumbled to get dressed, and it dawned on me that yes, my life could be ruined in one moment.
I awoke with a gasp and a cold shudder that left my heart aching and raw. Before I even opened my eyes, I knew I was hungover. That much was obvious—the headache, the empty yet rolling stomach pains. The taste in my mouth wasn’t as unpleasant as I had expected, but where was the bitter cottonmouth from too many drinks and not enough water?
I rolled over and saw William, eyeing me from mere inches away. My hands acted involuntarily and I pulled him into my embrace. A moment later, the only taste in my mouth was his tongue. What a way to wake up. I felt his hands on the sides of my face, and the gentle pressure of his weight as he roused me with a passionate kiss. My mouth came alive at the sensation. I was never one for making out, but I swear if everyone kissed like William, it would replace baseball as the national pastime. His lips, smooth as chocolate, gently sucked on my tongue as it slipped into his refreshingly chilled mouth.
My hands locked in his black hair, and I pulled his body closer to mine for more friction. I was still in my cocktail dress, and he was still—unfortunately—in his suit from last night. We hadn’t—fuck.
Remembering what I said last night was the last thing I wanted to think of right now. What I wanted to think about was using his tie as a gag and strapping him roughly to these thousand-thread-count sheets. Four Seasons—nice choice of hotel, by the way. I bet the little soaps in the bathroom cost more than the contents of my entire medicine cabinet, I mused.
He noticed that I had stopped tongue-fucking his face.
“Cerise?” he asked warily, looking into my soul with his otherworldly indigo eyes. He really needed to stop disarming me like that.
I took a deep breath, and measured my words carefully. “Thank you for taking care of me last night,” I said bashfully, and sat up. I needed to acknowledge what he did—not only did he show me a great time, talk me down from my ledge, and put my drunk ass to bed . . . but he also listened to me. He comforted me, and he didn’t take advantage of my inebriated and horny state. “I’m beginning to wonder if vampires are a species of angel.”