“Gaspard De La Nuit,” he read.
“You betcha.”
“I thought I released you from the bonds of the torturous task to play this song,” Shadow said.
“What can I say?” I shrugged as I dumped my empty plate into the sink as well and made my way over to him. “I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“You’re a musical masochist,” Shadow agreed.
“I’ve imposed it on myself to master this song,” I said. “Only when I have added Gaspard to my performance repertoire can I truly think of myself as an elite pianist, worthy enough of Vienna. Otherwise, I’d just be a hack who just got lucky.”
Shadow smirked. “A huge part of show business is just that—getting lucky.”
“I want to be better than that,” I said. “I have to be better than that; for dad.”
He nodded, understanding where I was coming from. We were two falling stars on the same trajectory. We were both trying to impress ghosts.
“So how’s Gaspard coming along?” Shadow asked.
“Terrible,” I said. “There are so many hot spots in the song that are finger traps. It’s like navigating a spaceship through an asteroid field.”
“Like you’ve done that before,” Shadow laughed.
“I’ve watched enough Star Wars,” I said as I rubbed my shoulders while stretching out my neck from side-to-side. “But seriously, Gaspard is becoming a detriment to both my mental and physical health. My shoulder blade feels like it’s been stabbed.”
Before I could say another word, I felt Shadow’s strong fingers kneed through the knots in my shoulders. He did it with such confidence and tenderness that I was immediately delivered into the arms of euphoria.
“Oh Shadow,” I moaned as I felt the tension pent up in my muscles loosen underneath the strength of his touch.
“Why don’t you get more comfortable and I can service you better,” Shadow growled into my ear, gesturing towards the extra-long soft fabric chaise that served as my lounging chair.
My heart skipped a beat and I felt a gentle gush down in my sex.
“My body is yours,” I said as I rose from my seat and headed over to the s-shaped chair, one hand leading Shadow behind me.
I slid myself onto the chair and laid face down.
“Do you have oil?” he asked.
“Wow, you mean business don’t you?”
“Whenever I do something, I make sure I do it right,” he replied, smiling. “Now where’s your oil?”
“Bathroom, third drawer,” I replied, my eyes focused on his long, dominating stride as he went in search of the lubricant.
Damn, he was gorgeous. I reflected back on the passionate sex we had in Cambodia and felt my nipples turn into diamonds.
“I found it,” Shadow hollered from the bathroom. “When I come back out, I expect you to be fully naked.”
“What?”
“You don’t keep your clothes on for a massage, do you?” he asked.
“Well no…”
“What’s the matter? Shy?” he teased.
But that was exactly it.
I was feeling extremely shy.
We shared our first intimate sexual experience together in heat of the moment. We were in a different country, intoxicated on wine, dancing, and the Cambodian New Year—it was the perfect chemistry for uninhibited, passionate sex. His perception of my body at that time was under the influence of testosterone and lust.
Tonight was different. What if he saw my body again and was disappointed? The magic of that Cambodian night didn’t exist in my condo.
The only thing around was me and my imperfect body.
“You naked yet?” he asked.
I was being foolish. He was bound to see me naked again, one point or another. I just hoped that today wasn’t the day that the cruel entity known as cellulite decided to pay my ass a visit. I had lasted twenty-two years thus far.
I stripped down to my bare skin—still tanned from Cambodia—and laid on my front on the chaise.
“I’m in the buff,” I called out.
There was nothing left to do but wait now, and hope he still liked what he saw.
Shadow came out with his shirt off.
My eyes became hostages to his sculpted body, my eyes zeroing in on the ridges of his incredible abs and perfectly formed pectorals. I had the urge to leap out of the chaise and attack him like a sex-obsessed fan girl, running my hands over every inch of his Adonis-formed body.
How could I—a girl who could barely run one mile without collapsing on the treadmill from exhaustion—be in the same league as Shadow?
“Can you dim the lights?” I asked. Perhaps the darkness could hide my flaws.
“What if I don’t want to?” he asked as he traced my body with his eyes.
“Have you ever had a massage with the light fully on?” I asked.
He shrugged, and dimmed the living room lights. Shadow’s eyes never once left me while he strolled over to where I lay, stalking me like a panther.
“You look sexy,” he whispered.
“You’re just saying that,” I replied.
“I beg to differ. There are clear indications that I’m very turned on right now.” He gestured towards his pants, where I saw a bulge pushing against the crotch area of his jeans.
At that point, I was fully ready to go Tomb Raider and invade the sacred temple that was his body.
Before I had a chance to catch my breath, Shadow was straddling my back as I felt the fabric of his jeans against my bare skin.
A drop of warm liquid fell onto the nape of my neck, and then I felt his palms push deep into the tissues of my muscles, smoothing out the rough knots that had formed from weeks of stress and daily wear and tear.
Every motion he made with his hands was firm, but sensual as well, always kneading in gentle circular motions. Shadow took his time working away at the various regions of my back, starting with my shoulders, and then making his way down—always gentle and never rushing—to my buttocks. As his hands caressed my rear in a sensual manner, I couldn’t help but release a smile and a soft sigh from my lips.
Though I loathed having strangers grab my ass, I enjoyed having a lover run his hands all over it.
My reaction to his touch was the indication he needed as he gently pulled my legs apart, opening up the passageway to my sex. I desired for him to plunge into me, fulfilling the ache of emptiness without him inside. I turned my head and caught a glimpse of his muscular frame, working away at my body.
Two fingers gently brushed the outer folds of my vaginal lips and I moaned with anticipation.
Do it already, I wanted to scream, Fill me with every inch of your cock. But I held my tongue, allowing Shadow full control to do as he pleased.
I felt his fingers rub the outer regions of my canal. I wanted him so badly.
“Turn over,” he instructed.
His wish was my command.
No sooner had I done so, Shadows warm, lubricated hands were on my body, stroking the top of my shoulders and then making their way down to my breasts. He filled both hands with them, and began rubbing the massage oil deep into them while his thumbs played with my erect nipples.
That was more than I could stand, and I immediately lunged for his belt, hungrily undoing the clasp. With a bit of help from Shadow, it didn’t take long before his jeans and boxer-briefs were both on the ground and he was naked and on top of me, his hands still focused on my breasts.
I scooped up some of the excess oil, dripping down the sides of the bottles, and I rubbed it into my palms. Then I cupped his massive erection in the palm of my right hand and held it, marveling at its primitive strength. It was pulsating—calling out for me to sheathe it inside my sex.
I began stroking it, the oil allowing my hands to glide over his manhood without friction.
He began groaning and the pace of his breathing became short staccatos.
It wasn’t long before he pulled his shaft away from my hands and slipped it
deep into me.
“I needed this,” he growled.
“Me too,” I replied, breathless.
It felt so right to have him slide in and out of me, each plunge a masterful stroke controlled by his primitive, sexual instincts.
I clung onto the back of his hair and wrapped my legs around his waist as he continued thrusting into me, our moans intertwined in a chorus of pure ecstasy.
It didn’t take long for the muscles in my sex to clench up as I braced myself for an orgasm that erupted throughout my body, stretching from my curled toes all the way to my mouth, which unleashed a satisfying scream that was guaranteed to wake the neighbors.
Soon after I came, Shadow did as well and the thought of him being pleasured by my body was enough to send me into another orgasmic fit that lasted for a good solid minute.
Eventually I regained my senses after Shadow literally fucked me out of my senses. He lay on top of me, his weight crushing down on top of my slender body, but his heaviness didn’t feel like a burden at all.
It felt perfect, like warm armor that would protect me from everything that was wrong with this world.
I smiled.
There was no greater feeling in the world.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was another wild Saturday night, partying with Calisto.
With Shadow gone over to New Orleans for some family business, I had decided to give Calisto a ring to see what she was up to. When Calisto answered the phone, she seemed genuinely excited to hear from me.
Within an hour of the call, I was out of my house and into the limo, speeding off to another nightclub. Lucky for me, Bria had decided to sit this one out.
It was a solid four hours of intense, alcohol-fuelled dancing between Calisto and I that scorched the dance floor, reducing everything around us to ash and leaving men salivating at the prospect of spending the night between our legs.
After tossing a couple of NFL linebackers—why did we seem to attract douchebag athletes?—Calisto’s way, who devoured them like a carnivorous predator, it was my cue to leave the club.
Despite my protests, Calisto had called Abraham to personally chauffer me home, appalled by the fact that I had taken a cab last time.
A silver Mercedes Benz convertible—I was too drunk to remember the model but it looked expensive—sat in front of the club doors, waiting for me, Abraham sitting in the driver’s seat.
“God Abraham, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m drunk.”
“There’s no need to apologize over having a few drinks,” he said as he got out of the car and opened the passenger door for me.
“Did I get you out of bed?” I asked.
Abraham chuckled as he diverted my attention to his custom tailored grey suit. “I promise you, if I just woke up, I wouldn’t be dressed in an expensive suit.”
“What are you doing out at three in the morning?” I slurred as I entered into the car, sat back and closed my eyes.
“I was just finalizing some details on the Inferno’s accounts…” he rambled.
I didn’t catch the tail end of his reply. Whatever else he said was drowned in a sea of my alcohol induced sleep.
In my drunken state I didn’t recall stepping out of the car, entering into the condo, and going up the elevator; but somehow I wound up standing in front of my door, rummaging for my keys in my purse, which were gone.
Cursing, I decided to try pushing open the door anyways. Sure enough it was unlocked, which was strange.
I always made it a habit to lock all my doors, turn off all lights, and close all the windows before I left for anywhere. My father had engrained the importance of security and conserving energy since the day I started crawling.
Bleary-eyed, I entered into my condo and closed the door behind me. I would have to ask someone about making me another set of keys for my condo and possibly changing the locks.
Too tired and drunk to hang up my jacket, I dropped it in the foyer and went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, draining it all in a single gulp.
After slamming the glass onto the table, I entered into the bedroom to rid myself of my sweaty dance clothes and into some comfortable yoga pants.
I stood in front of my full length mirror and scrunched my face. I looked like a wreck. Sweat and make up was caked on my face and I was exhausted.
And that was when I noticed something shift in the reflection in my mirror. My heart practically exploded in my chest as I spun around and saw a man, clothed all in black, wearing a balaclava over his face and a hoodie over his head.
I screamed.
His reflexes were fast as his hands lunged for my throat, springing with the speed of a coiled cobra. His fingers pushed into the base of my neck, choking me into silence while tears streamed down my face.
Who was he and why was he doing this?
I had never felt so helpless in my life.
The man shoved me onto the bed, where I curled up into a fetal position while gasping for air.
“You smell like soiled pussy,” he said, his voice the texture of gravel. “Maybe I’ll have myself a turn before I quarter and bury you.”
I should have ran, but my entire body was paralyzed with fear.
Come on Aria, don’t seize up, I thought to myself. If there was ever a time I needed a bit of courage, it was now.
“Never stop fighting,” they always said in the safety police videos. I grabbed an empty glass off my nightstand table and hurled it at him.
I had piss-poor aim and a girly throw and my heart sank as the glass sailed harmlessly over his head, shattering against the wall. My attacker laughed at my feeble attempt to defend myself, his voice filled with a perverse delight.
“Pathetic,” he said, lunging for me. I instinctively rolled off the bed, avoiding his talons by inches, and I bolted for the door. I felt something hard, striking me dead centre of my shoulder blades and I collapsed to the ground screaming.
“Run little girl, run,” he said with amusement. “The chase is what I savor the most, even more than the penetration.”
I was crying hysterically from both the pain of his attack and by the threat of his words. It wasn’t until I climbed to my feet and caught my reflection in the bedroom mirror that I realized that I had a knife protruding from my left shoulder.
“I saw your piano girly girl,” he said. “Can you sing as well? If I chew off your fingers, I bet you will—a pretty little song from a pretty little girl.”
The sick fuck was enjoying every second of this.
I fled from my bedroom and into the kitchen, desperate to find myself a weapon.
“Don’t stop fighting Aria,” I whispered to myself. “Never stop fighting.”
Pulling open the drawers, I grabbed the first weapon I saw. It was a Zwiggler butcher’s knife that came with the condo.
I clung onto that enormous thing with complete desperation, both hands wrapped around the handle. My attacker strolled into the kitchen casually, as if he were at his own home.
“What’s cooking my dear?” he asked, just before his eyes caught sight of the cleaver in my hand.
He wasn’t intimidated. Instead, he laughed at me. I was as threatening as a bunny with fangs.
“Does the little girl want to dance?” he asked, pulling out his own massive knife from his boot. Its jagged bite looked deadly. I wanted to drop to my knees and scream out in fear, but I held myself together.
I had to fight.
My voice cracked as I screamed at him. “Fucker!” I shouted as I swung as hard as I could, but my attack was clumsy and uncontrolled and the man dodged it effortlessly. I felt a heavy blow to my stomach and I instantly dropped to my knees.
The butcher’s knife fell out of my hands and onto the floor.
Had he stabbed me? My hands clung onto my abdomen, desperately prodding for an open wound. Luckily, I felt no blood. Perhaps I wasn’t dead—not yet anyway.
“I hit you with my left hand as a warning,” he said, pointing to his
right hand which held the knife. “But the next time you attempt to be stupid again, it’ll be with the other one.”
I struggled to rise to my feet but the pain from my stomach along with the knife protruding from my back was crippling.
I was at his complete mercy.
I collapsed to the ground in a sad heap.
It just wasn’t fair, I thought. Just when the future looked so bright, this masked asshole was going to steal it away from me. Tonight, I was going to get raped, murdered, and then butchered. Oh God, was this real?
His footsteps made no sound as he walked over to where I lay, hovering over me, like a black spectre of death. Out of the corner of my tear-stained eyes, I saw the knife in his hand.
“Are you going to still struggle girly? Or can I have some real fun now?”
“Fuck you,” I cried out. “You damn asshole.”
“My, my,” he said. “Harsh words from such a pretty mouth. Your lips remind me of rose petals.”
With a last ditch effort, I tried to climb to my feet again, but a vicious blow to my legs knocked me flat on my stomach.
“A girl should know when to quit,” he said. “Let’s see if a girl knows when she should die as well.”
At least he wasn’t going to rape me. I closed my eyes and waited for the sharp bite of the knife in his hands. It’s funny, from all the things I’ve heard about death, I had the impression that my life would flash before my eyes.
I must have been the exception. The only thing I experienced was regret. I regretted not seeing Shadow again; just when we seemed to have things figured out between us. I’d never taste his lips, feel his warm touch, and caress his body ever again.
I also regretted not being able to fulfill the dreams that my father had set out for me. I was never going to be able to stand on that grand performance stage and tell the world just how important my dad was, and all the sacrifices he made for me.
And there was Justin too. I regretted not being able to make amends with him. He was my best friend and it was heartbreaking to know that I would leave this world with him despising me.
So many regrets, and no time left to fix them.
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