by Sarah Bailey
I looked at him questioningly. “You don’t even know me,” I said.
“I know enough to know I want to know more,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “You come across so controlled, so self-contained, but I can see there’s a fire in you burning just below the surface.”
I let out a sharp little laugh. “A fire? You mean a temper. An explosive temper at that.”
He fixed me with that intense gaze and said, “I like my women volatile and passionate. Women who are not afraid to lose control.”
“But I am afraid of losing control. Deadly afraid, in fact.”
“Why, Sarah?”
I felt remembered humiliation surge through me, and I pulled back from him. “Because it’s dangerous, and embarrassing, and leads to deep regret.”
He shifted closer to me, reached for my hand again, and pinned me with an intense look. “I promise that with me you’ll be safe. Losing control with me will never be dangerous.”
I looked at him yearningly for a moment, then shook my head, and pulled away. But he wasn’t going to let me off the hook. He gripped my chin, and tilted me face up to his until our eyes met. “Tell me about the video,” he commanded.
I stared at him in shock. “How long were you standing there before you made your presence known?”
“Long enough.”
I let out a long sigh, and my shoulders slumped in defeat. “You can look it up yourself. Like Elle said. It’s a major YouTube hit.” I let out a long, harsh laugh, and could feel my eyes tearing up. He gently rubbed away a stray tear with his thumb, then tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, never once breaking my gaze.
He leaned closer, gently stroking my cheek. “I’ve already seen it,” he said quietly.
I instantly pulled away and sprang to my feet. He grabbed my arm, and yanked me back down on the couch. I started squirming in his grip. “Let go of me,” I said, angry and desperate.
“No,” he said, stilling me, wrapping me safely in his arms. “I’m not letting you go like this,” he said, holding me tightly and stroking my hair.
I started sobbing, and still struggled. Just then, the waitress came by with the champagne and gave us a peculiar look. “Is everything okay?” she asked, eyeing me carefully.
“We’re fine,” Julian said sternly. She looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded, quickly getting a hold of myself. The last thing I needed was to make another public spectacle. She popped open the cork, and poured a tiny bit into one of the flutes. “No need for the taste test,” Julian said. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She shrugged her shoulders, filled up both flutes, and left quickly.
Julian offered me a glass, rubbing circles on my back with his free hand. “Here, baby,” he said, “have a sip of this.”
Baby. He just called me baby. I slowly turned around in his lap and looked at him. His expression was soft, concerned. I took a sip of my champagne, and was soothed by the feeling the bubbles fizzing away in my throat. “So you’re not only stalking me, you’ve been Googling me as well?” I asked, trying to sound light, but there was an accusatory note to my tone.
He grabbed his flute, and took a long sip while studying me. “I’m curious about you Sarah. I want to know everything about you. What you like. How you smell. How you taste. What it feels like to fuck you until you scream my name.”
A delicious tremor ran through my body, and my heart started drumming frantically in my throat. I saw lust spark in his eyes, and he started rubbing my bare thigh. I looked down. My dress had hiked up, so that much of my upper leg was exposed. He looked down at the same time, his eyes riveted to that strip of bare flesh, and he let out a small groan. His fingers travelled to the inside of my naked thigh, and gently stroked my flesh until it tightened into goose bumps. “Your skin is so rich, so soft,” he said. “I’d love to taste it with my mouth,” he added, but he pulled his hand away, lifted me up, and placed me back down on the empty seat beside him. “Not tonight, though,” he said firmly, though his eyes were still full of a ferocious hunger.
I took a deep breath, then peered up at him from beneath my lashes. “I can’t believe you’ve seen the video,” I said, a slight tremble to my voice. I adjusted my dress, so that it fell to my knees again, and leaned back again the couch. I flashed him a rueful smile and asked “So what was your favorite part?”
He started laughing softly. Then his expression became teasing. “I think the climax, where you picked up his guitar, smashed it to splinters, and then used what is left of it to shatter the dressing room mirror.”
I felt heat creep up my neck and into my face. I looked at him tentatively, and bit my lip. “And you don’t think that was completely psycho?” I asked, bracing myself for a judgmental response.
He shrugged his shoulders, then took a big gulp of his champagne. “You caught him cheating red-handed. You walked in on him, and he wasn’t even remorseful. He shrugged it off like it was no big deal. He hurt you deeply and you wanted to hurt him back. I get it,” he said. “But you didn’t hit him. Or her. You didn’t harm anyone. You just tore apart his dressing room.” His eyes became soft again. “They were just things, Sarah. And things can be replaced. And I’m so sorry that you were pushed to the brink, and that you lost control in front of people who exploited your fury and used it as a source of entertainment.”
For a moment I felt so grateful, so understood, so relieved. Yes, I’d lost it that night. And that was my fault. I should have been able to rein in my temper. But filming me in such a vulnerable moment, and using it as a source of entertainment was so nasty, so brutal. If I’d known someone was filming, I probably would have stopped. But I was in such a state of rage, screaming at Rob and the bimbo and smashing his guitar as he tried to contain me, that I didn’t notice the drummer of the band come into the dressing room and start shooting the video. I didn’t even notice his presence until he started laughing so hard I couldn’t help but turn around. By then it was already too late. The damage was done.
Rob was so furious about his guitar; he looked like he was going to punch me. That’s when it hit me that his damn guitar meant more to him than I did. I was expendable. His guitar was his whole world. After everything we’d been through, I thought I’d at least mean more. We had both been struggling to make our mark in the world. But we were good at dreaming together. I had such amazing memories of him playing acoustic guitar in his attic apartment, making up songs for me. He’d always buy me carnations, even when he couldn’t really afford them, because he knew they were my favorite flower. One of my best memories was of getting up after a black tie event that involved too much wine. Dressed in my underwear, I grabbed his suit jacket, put a red carnation in the lapel, threw on a pair of black suede strappy heels, and then turned on some tango music. We started dancing around the apartment, Rob spinning me, and dipping me, and dancing cheek-to-cheek until the downstairs neighbor started banging with a broom on the ceiling and we collapsed on the couch in laughter.
I knew Rob was needy from the beginning. He needed attention, encouragement, and support, and I gave it all to him. Whenever he was insecure about his future, I would prop him up, tell him how good he was. But then his band became popular, and he started pulling away, getting condescending. He’d tell me his dream was coming true, but my future was still a potential train wreck. Catching him cheating was the last straw. I just snapped.
“Hey,” Julian said, “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
I looked at him seriously for a long moment. “Rob and I started off as equals,” I began, “but then he soared to fame and left me in the dust.” I bit my lip, and mulled over for a moment what I was about to say. “I can’t do that again.”
“Do what again?” Julian asked, staring at me intently.
“Date someone who isn’t my equal,” I said. His expression immediately darkened and he shifted closer to me. I put up my hand. “Just hear me out,” I said. “You’ve made your mark. You’re a hugely success
ful talent agent. You have money. You have respect. You have power. And next to that, I’m nothing,” I said, inching back further on the couch. His eyes flashed with anger.
“I will never make you feel like ‘nothing,’” he said, his eyes stormy, and his tone harsh. I looked away, and he immediately reached for my chin again, tilting my face up to meet his. “You are beautiful, brilliant, passionate. The perfect catch.”
I shook my head again. “You’re loaded, Julian, and have so much power. And you’ll get bored. Just like Rob did as soon as he became famous.”
Julian took a long, impatient swig of his champagne, then grabbed my glass and filled it. “There was a time when my family had little money,” he said. “My dad’s career was floundering, and money was tight. I vowed to myself that when I grew up, I would make enough money to look after the people I care about.”
He took another sip of his champagne, and draped his arm over the back of the couch. “I want to indulge you, Sarah. I want to pamper you, and cherish you, and make wild passionate love to you. Money for me is indeed power. It gives me the power to treat those I adore lavishly. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I believe a man should take care of his woman.”
His stare was so ardent, so intense, and I could tell he meant every word he said. I felt light headed, and literally swept off my feet. But then suddenly I remembered my mother, and a cold rush of fear ran through me. “I don’t want to jeopardize my career, Julian,” I said. “Paul will be livid about this. He might even fire me.”
“Let me handle Paul,” he said.
I shook my head, and felt another wave of tears coming on. What was with me tonight? It was like the floodgates had opened, and I couldn’t close them. “You don’t understand, Julian. My mom. She was a fabulous, budding artist, with this great career ahead of her. Then she met my dad, and fell hard. He pulled her into his world of wealth and power, had her organize luncheons, charity dinners, entertain his clients at their home. She became the perfect socialite. And then one day, he just got bored of her. Found a younger woman. Wanted a divorce. And my mom had nothing. I mean she had me, and my two sisters. But she’d given up her art. The thing that was so important to her.” A shiver ran through me. I wiped the corners of my eyes, and gave Julian a deadly serious look. “I can’t do that, Julian. I can’t end up like her. I just can’t.”
Julian brushed my cheek with his finger. “Hey,” he said gently. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. I’m not proposing marriage. I’m just asking for one date.”
I gave him an embarrassed smile. He was right. I was getting way ahead of the situation. “Just one date?” I asked, “or one roll in the hay? ‘Cause if it’s just sex you’re after, you had me the minute I laid eyes on you. I’m putty in your hands, Julian.”
His eyes darkened with desire, and I bit my lip in response. “But if that’s all it is, please stop the pretence of caring, because I don’t want to get emotionally attached. I don’t want to get to hurt.” I threw back the rest of my glass of Cristal, and realized that the booze had gone to my head. Which is probably why I’d let my guard down and been so honest with him. I reached over for the bottle to fill my glass, and realized it was empty. “Looks like we polished this one off,” I said, my speech a bit slurred.
“You, Sarah Stevens, are drunk,” he said. “It’s time I take you home.”
I glanced up at him quickly, and searched his face. “So this is just about a fuck?” I said, feeling my stomach tighten into uncomfortable knots. At that moment, I realized that my speech about not wanting to get hurt had come too late. I was already emotionally attached to this man. I couldn’t just go home with him one night. Every inch of me felt so alive around him, and the sexual chemistry between us was off the charts. I was already addicted to him, already yearning for him. There’s no way this could work as something casual. Julian McGregor was not the kind of man you could have as a casual fuck buddy. I needed more. I craved more.
Julian eyed me curiously, then shook his head. “When I said it’s time to take you home, I meant get you safely to your front door. I’m not sleeping with you tonight, Sarah. You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m fine,” I said, crossing my legs and leaning back into the couch. The movement made my dress ride up a bit, once again exposing my bare thigh. Julian’s eyes seared into my flesh, and I heard him growl slightly in the back of his throat.
“I want to ravish you, Sarah. Right here, right now. It’s taking everything in me not to pick you up, back you against the wall, and slam into you until you cry out my name, again. And again. And again. But you’re drunk, and I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
I pulled my dress up a little higher and gave him a sultry, teasing grin. “I’m a big girl,” I said. “I can decide for myself whether I want to sleep with you tonight or not.”
He took a deep breath, hissing air in through his teeth. “You’re making it excruciatingly hard for me to be a gentleman,” he said.
“Maybe I don’t want you to be a gentleman,” I said. His eyes flashed, and he looked like he was about to lunge at me.
“Sarah,” he said sternly. “We’re going home.”
I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “Fine, I’ll just go find someone else to fuck me.” Just as I started to get up, he lunged at me and pinned me to the couch. His muscular chest crushed up against me, and his eyes were blazing. “If someone else so much as breathes in your direction, I’ll beat them to a pulp.”
He looked absolutely ferocious, pressed up against me, his hot breath warming my neck. “I will fuck you, Sarah. Hard. Soft. Over and over. I’ll tease you. I’ll take you to the brink, and make you explode under me. I’ll give you the most mind shattering orgasms you’ve ever had. But I’m sure as hell not going to do it when you’re drunk. I want you sober. Because I want you to remember every moment of pleasure, every plunge of my thick, hard cock, as you surrender to me, again, and again, and again.”
I let out a long, shuddering sigh, and moaned softly under my breath. A flicker of triumph passed through his eyes. He knew he had me. Without even needing to touch me, he knew he had me. No man had ever had this kind of an effect on me before. My sex was aching, my nipples were hard, and I felt as if I might orgasm just from the deadly seductive look in his eyes. “Are we clear?” he asked in a stern, demanding tone.
“Clear,” I said, sounding breathless.
“Good,” he said, pulling himself off me, then reaching out his hand. “It’s time to take you home.”
When we exited the club, there was still a long line up of people trying to get in. I looked at my watch. It was only 11pm. But then again, it was a school night. Apparently not for some people. A long stretch limo with tinted windows was waiting by the curb, and a middle-aged man, wiry, tall, and muscular, emerged from the driver’s side, and came to open the back door. Julian guided me toward him. “Thank you, Dave,” he said, and the man gave him a quick nod.
I gave Julian a questioning look. “You came here in a limo?”
He shrugged his shoulders, then guided me into the back of the limo and slid in after me. The partition between the front and the back slid down, and Dave asked, “Where to, Mr. McGregor?”
“Chase Avenue,” he said, namely the short little street in West L.A. I lived on.
“Thank you, Mr. McGregor,” Dave said, and the partition slid back up.
I looked at Julian in wonder. “And you also know where I live?”
He looked down and flexed his feet in his black Italian leather shoes. “It’s on your resume, Sarah. I didn’t have to do any digging.”
I nodded slightly, and then turned my attention to the view outside the window. The streets were slightly wet. It had obviously been raining earlier while we were in the club. People were out on the streets, hidden beneath umbrellas of every size and color. As we slid along Sunset, I noticed the light from the neon signs reflected on the wet pavement; streaks of purple, white, and blue, with the reflected letters
glistening and all distorted, making me feel like I was in a noir movie. At some point, Julian reached over for my hand, and though we barely spoke a word, he held my hand firmly for the rest of the ride to my apartment.
When we reached my street, Julian gave Dave the exact address, and soon enough we pulled up in front of my building. “Well, this is me,” I said, almost shyly. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work” I added, quickly opening the door. Julian grabbed my hand and pulled me back inside.
“I’m walking you to the door,” he said.
I shook my head. “It’s not necessary. I’m just a few meters away.”
He gave me another one of his now infamous stern looks. “I’m coming with you. I want to make sure you get in safely.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, and let him come over to my side of the door and help me out of the limo. It was raining harder now, and I started to shiver. Julian noticed, and draped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. We quickly made our way to the front door of my building. Just as I was about to key in my code, Julian grabbed me and pushed me up against the wall. Lightning flashed, searing the stark image of his features overtaken by a ferocious lust indelibly into my brain. Then his lips were on mine, probing my mouth earnestly, almost roughly. I moaned as those soft, tantalizing lips started kissing down my throat, and roughly threaded my fingers through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, urging him closer. Julian let out a low groan. “I can feel your pulse in my lips, Sarah,” he said pausing at the top of my throat right below my jaw. “I can’t wait to go down on you and feel it throbbing in your clit.” I gasped, then started panting. I couldn’t take this anymore. I needed him here. Now. Everything in me ached for him. “Take me right here,” I said hoarsely, not caring that we were out in the open and someone could come by at any minute.