by JR King
I stared at him, bug-eyed and out of place in this storage room with the sexiest man alive who was bullying me. It wasn’t the bullying, so to speak, that alarmed me. As if a girl needed to explain why she’d followed a handsome billionaire’s lead. Slowly, I became aware that I was trembling, as much from excitement as from fear.
“Come closer.” His eyes softened, and with each passing second, my resolve weakened.
After the episode, my chest fell as a ragged breath escaped me. “Are you going to hurt me?”
His scowl darkened as he straightened his position. “That’s a little bit beside the point. Come closer, Elena,” he demanded again.
Within the initial minutes, he was rough with me. He fished for a nipple with one hand, seemingly annoyed because the fabric was too thick and tight, and his other hand took fistfuls of my hair and pulled my head back. He made me arch perfectly beneath him, bowed to kiss my neck, then my lips. When he pressed the tip of his tongue against my mouth, trailing it across the slit of my half-parted lips, it felt like an inquisition. I closed and opened my eyes, and there was nothing but his mouth on mine, pressing eagerly. Soft lips that plucked at mine, sealing at the corner of my mouth, sucking gently.
I parted my lips and kissed him. He slid his silky tongue into my mouth, the tip of it swirling around mine, his breath hot and sweet. I closed my eyes, reeling in sensations.
“Christ, you’re intoxicating, so responsive to my touch. This was meant to be, baby.” He ran my skirt up and pressed against my Agent Provocateur Bullet Trixie. I could feel his muscles flex and release as his hand worked hard between my legs, and I liked it. I moaned without even realizing what I was doing. Alcohol had addled my wits, breasts straining against a bodice. Because of California Viognier, his fingertips were sapping my will to fight, spreading a rather odd languor through my body.
He chuckled into my neck. “At last.” Then his fingers slipped into my panties—if underwear at all—and toyed with what they found. He bit my ear and then licked it, soothing the hurt flesh. “Shh. Shh, it’s okay. I’ll catch you. Let go.”
I hated my body for igniting at his touch almost instantly, hated myself for loving the intrusion. With blurry vision, I clutched his bicep and held on for dear life as an orgasm crept its way up my body.
“Christ…no.”
Alexander shrugged unrepentantly and ran an uncalloused thumb over my clit. “He has nothing to do with this.” Indeed. It was Alexander who’d chased me down and brought me into a supply closet, and now he was reveling in my capitulation. “Just tell me.” He sucked my earlobe between his lips and then gave it another sharp bite. “I promise I’ll give it to you.”
“Please,” I begged, closing my eyes to shut out my shame and just feel him. “Please.”
His fingertips danced across my clit with the perfect pressure to some unknown but divine rhythm. I could feel his smile press into the side of my neck. I was done for when he opened his mouth and pressed his teeth to my skin. Euphoric warmth spread down my spine and between my legs, jerking me back into him, my hands slammed against the wall, my entire body quaking from the orgasm that was rushing over me. I was left gasping for air.
“You don’t fight fair. Oh God,” I cried out. He was quick to cover the sound with his panting mouth. His fingers sped up, and my entire body shook as he held me, giving me soft kisses.
“Not God,” he murmured hotly against my ear, “just me.” His fingertips traced the inside of my thigh as he raised his head. He looked flushed as well, his eyes bright, his smile decidedly predatory. “Say thank you,” he whispered.
Because I didn’t know what else to say, I thanked him.
“Look at you, such a sweet little thing, dripping for me. You enjoyed that, didn’t you, baby?” He stepped back with such easy grace, wiped his fingers on a handkerchief, one by one.
I came down and regarded him suspiciously as I straightened myself out. Uncaring about the subtlety, I readjusted the gusset of my underwear, which was truly soaked.
Alexander watched me from a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. “I probably shouldn’t have done that. I took…a little advantage. It doesn’t make me appear trustworthy and upstanding, does it?”
I no longer cared, my disgraceful body ignoring any sentiment I might have felt. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” I hated that I sounded like a little girl, uncertain and frightened. “I’ll file a complaint against you if I have to.”
He came over to me, slowly, and drew me to his chest. “Of course you can, Ariel, but you won’t.” I couldn’t remember being hugged like this by Mitchell.
He licked up my ear and played with a strand of my hair. “I’m so hungry for you. You’re mine. No more Mitchell.”
A wave of anger hazed my vision for a brief moment. I burst into a volley of sobs.
“Mine.” He held me possessively, the urgency in his embrace suggesting I belonged to him. Clearly, asking permission was below him. I could see past him; he was evil. A man like him would consume every bit of my energy—mental, sexual, emotional—and if his stalking tendencies proved anything, it was that I needed help too because I was enjoying his unhealthy possessiveness.
“Leave me alone.”
“Don’t stonewall. Don’t make me do something stupid.”
I laughed through my tears, “Like what? Keeping me hostage? Visit me when you can pry yourself from your business trips? Make me a kept woman?”
He put a piece of errant hair back behind my ear, “Not just any kept woman. My kept woman,” and his hand curled around the back of my neck to pull me toward him.
I cocked my head. “Not going to happen.”
A smile bent the edge of his mouth. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
I curled my lip as a sound of disgust left my throat. “Such a sad cliché.”
The hand, still resting on my neck, let go. It wandered down and he stroked his erection absentmindedly. “I want to fuck you.” His free hand stroked his lips. “No girl has ever made me harder than you do. No one drives me crazy like you can with just a smile, or a laugh. Jesus Christ, you make me hot.”
Not exactly romantic words, and definitely not a declaration of love, but there was affection in his crude sayings.
“Need help?” I could feel the heat that radiated from him seeping into my fingers. He was surprisingly long and thick, and I could feel him throb as the blood coursed through his member.
He flattened his palms against the wall and dropped his forehead to mine. “Christ, that feels good. Keep going,” he breathed as I began to stroke him.
My palm stroked lengthwise up and down, and sometimes my fingers squeezed him before easing back up. I rubbed his length repeatedly, mesmerized by the look of pleasure that sifted across his features.
He lowered his head in search for my lips, found them parted and trembling. “Kiss me.” I felt his lips distort against mine, telling me he was smiling. I kissed him. His tongue tried to subjugate mine once more, the onslaught of his lips causing me to pause momentarily. The disruption incited Alexander to reach down between us and cover my hand with his own as he thrust his hips toward me. “Don’t stop,” he gave a low snarl.
Although it would serve him right if he ended up staining his trousers, I stopped.
His lips parted in surprise. “Retreating in the eleventh hour?” Lifting his hand, he trailed a single finger down the side of my cheek. “That’s just fucking cruel, Ariel.”
I shrugged. “So is using Michael and shoving me in this closet for your personal, private use, Eric.”
He pulled my head back and kissed me. I couldn’t stop him when he stuck his hand in my hair and completely ruined my twist. “For the love of God, break up with him tonight, and then I’m going to figure something out.” Soft kisses rained down on me and he blew air across my ear.
Looking deep into his eyes, I saw, dare I say, no trace of a lie. Just affection. I wanted to believe him. But I couldn’t.
&nb
sp; “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He kissed me softly one last time, his lips gliding over mine, his tongue licking over the seam of my mouth. I opened for him to deepen the kiss, and let my tongue slide sinuously against his. “I’ll do it myself.”
I wiped a tear away. “Just go. I’ll be fine, really.”
“Don’t be like that.” He shook his head and ran an immaculately manicured hand through his hair.
As I waited for him to signal whether the hallway was clear of onlookers, I felt a cold stab of dread in my stomach. I dreaded returning to Mitchell, dreaded sensing the scent of his ex-wife on him, dreaded facing my stupidity.
I brushed the fear aside and my tear-filled eyes took inventory of the makeup kit in my Ben de Lisi black woven clutch bag. No hairbrush. My reflection was what I’d expected. I reminded myself of a filthy wet rag being used until shearing dropped, then it was discarded. My mascara hadn’t bled, but Alexander had ruined the heart-shaped coating of lipstick I’d applied.
I began combing my hands through my disheveled hair, categorically putting it back in an acceptable state. I shifted my neckline so my tender breasts sat firmly in place. Smoothing my hands over my hips, I put the seam of my dress that was askew in its place. I took a paper towel and blotted at my ravaged makeup to repair the damage as best as I knew.
I gathered the bulk of my dress. Betrayal tainted the expensive fabric, which no ironclad dry cleaning treatment could fix. Taking a deep breath, I peered out into the hallway.
“When will I see you again?” Alexander put his fingers on my chin and turned my face back to his. “Would you like my driver to pick you up after you square things off with Mitchell?”
Walk away, girl, that’s what I told myself. A lingering tear dropped down my cheek. I met his eyes straight, pleading with him to let go of me. “I’m done.”
“After what just happened?”
“So we have chemistry. Get over it. It’s better to suffer a great frustration than a major disappointment. You’re the kind of man who uses women then discards them.”
His demeaning stare locked with mine, he snapped, “It’s easy to be wise after the event. Come on, aren’t you the slightest bit curious about us?”
“There is no us, Mr. Turner. Please stay away from me, or else I’ll take action.”
“I’m fairly certain it wouldn’t hold up in court if it came down to it, though.” His smile was not at all contained, and a lot cruel.
“What makes you so certain?” I scowled.
“Well, for one, you have no witnesses.”
I let out a snort at the opening argument.
“Two, everything we’ve done together has been consensual…so far.” Dipping his head, he slid his clean-shaven cheek against mine in a slight caress.
I gasped, and he lifted his head again. “Three, you aren’t injured in any way, shape, or form. If you go to the police and tell them you were held against your will in a room, that’s going to be the first thing they will ask, and inspect. Physical proof of extenuating circumstances is a win-win. When they find nothing, the questions will start. Did you struggle? Did you cry out for help? Did you fight the offender?”
The grin of amused arrogance he gave me sent adrenaline coursing up the sides of my neck. I unclasped my right hand from the front of my handbag and whacked his cheek. “You make me…sick.” Evil looked handsome, didn’t it? My grandparents had warned me about men like this: manipulative and controlling and self-involved.
A short laugh burst from his chest at my display of force. “Sweetheart, a starving child can hit harder than that.” He shifted once more before continuing. “What are you going to tell police officials? No, officer, I didn’t fight. I let him rub my pretty little pussy until I came because I was horny?”
I cringed from the vulgarity of his words. Talk about a big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing. I hated the chuckle that followed his statement, so I pushed my body forward and gave him a rough nudge.
A grunt left his chest, and he squeezed my waist to keep me from repeating my action. His lips brushed against my ear as he lowered his head. “Careful. Physical retaliation probably isn’t a good idea. I’m hard enough as it is without you pushing against me,” he murmured thickly.
My eyes widened. Instantly I made an effort to remain still.
“Baby, when you add it all up, you don’t really have a case. It will be your word against a phalanx of lawyers. Who do you think the judge will favor? The charismatic philanthropist who works his ass off and feeds the orphans in this city, or the pretty girl who is broke and sets out on bar crawls nearly every Saturday night? Plus, jury’s detest gold-diggers. Character and credibility are important, and see, the thing is, I usually work on Saturday nights. Mostly I deal with Tokyo. Besides, look at me, Elena. Take a real good look. Do I look like a man who needs to force a girl? They voluntarily, quite willingly drop on their knees for me,” he finished with a low chuckle.
What a pig. I bit down on my lower lip as I contemplated his words. His ungallant observation cut like a razor-sharp blade into my rib-line, with no promise of resurrection to everlasting life. Not only was he right, I couldn’t put my grandparents through such a scandal.
My hand twitched to slap his face—or mine—it was very immature of me to have followed the beautiful bastard. I was doomed. The only thing left to do was turn tail. “You’re absolutely right, I brought this all on myself. Goodbye, Mr. Turner.”
He caught up and stepped alongside me like a gentleman, even though he hadn’t treated me like one moments ago. “You enjoyed this encounter, Elena. There’s no wrong or right in this case. Whatever you felt with me, if it felt good, then it’s good. What’s the problem here?”
My mouth parted on a gasp. “Enjoyed being manipulated you mean? I didn’t.”
I saw his wide grin just as I prepared to move away from him. “Lying is a vile habit, and it’s quite unattractive.”
Even with the strenuous circumstances, I managed to give him my best smile. “Fuck off, asshole.” He actually looked a little sheepish as I gave him one last look. “You’re such a dick.” I didn’t even bother looking back as I walked away.
“ELENA!” The force with which he called out my name froze my feet. He stood before me, and a warning forefinger made a zipping motion over his lips as he went on ad nauseam. “I could have taken what I wanted in that storage room. Fucked you sore and made you scream out my name, but I didn’t because it’s far too dingy. It was written allover your face that you wanted an orgasm, so that’s what I gave you.”
I deliberately ran my hand down the front of his jacket before waving it in the air between us. “Don’t be delusional. I didn’t want that.”
“Come now, you know that’s not true.”
“Of course it is,” I fibbed heatedly. “You don’t know jack about me!”
“If you say so.” He chuckled, pushed out his lower lip and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Want to wager on it?”
“Fuck you, jackass,” I hissed as I hastily skirted past.
“Fuck you back, Elena.”
Once I reached the bar, I looked back over my shoulder and saw him easing his way through the guests toward me. I shimmied over to Sara, feeling annoyed, scared, confused—the range of emotions anyone goes through when they have no clue.
“Long line in the powder room? Michael told me about your run in with Alexander.”
“The longest. Can we go home as soon as Michael has networked?”
She narrowed her glance, her face awash with surprise. “What about Mitchell?”
“Working late.” My answer was flat intentionally. I didn’t want my emotions to speak more for me than my brain.
The rest of the night passed quietly. Alexander studiously avoided me, and I forced myself to ignore him. It was a futile effort. My mind would inevitably go back to the tabooness of what we’d done backstage. He was right about one thing: I had thoroughly enjoyed defying the laws of entropy. He also made me realize I
didn’t know him at all. He was a strange dichotomy of kind and cruel, charming and ruthless. Everyone had flaws, I concluded, and another one of mine was falling for the wrong guy.
To my surprise, he didn’t come near me again. Watching him flirt with a cohort of gorgeous women was a torture all of its own. His teeth were dazzlingly white, and the dimples on his cheeks made him more than just photogenic, they gave his face an asymmetrical look that really enhanced his hotness. I archived that the visceral effect his high-handed charm had was universal.
It was heads or tails when I called Mitchell to tell him I was going to my home tonight. He mentioned we needed to talk about his ex, that he’d seen her, and I didn’t care.
Around midnight, my teeth were brushed, my hair was combed, my skin moisturized. I cupped my hand behind the lavender candle and blew it out. The hand-appliquéd cover I bunched myself up in rose and fell like agitated ocean waves, and while playing with it, I wondered if I should take the syrup.
Was Anna beautiful? Was she better in bed?
I held onto the porcelain sink for support and caught my breath. No, no. I didn’t sleep that night. Instead, I looked in the mirror, trying to figure out the person with a stoic expression set on her face on the other side.
Elena Anderson
The Last Request
A hectic week had gone by. Hurdling across the bridge to Cambridge, the three of us sang along Katy Perry. Vanessa Peltier, Sara’s childhood friend, was a clubbing-buddy. Her outfits were obsessively color-coordinated, and her diamond-peeled skin and silicone-filled breast implants made her attractive in the most obvious way possible. Tonight the choice was to be made between Craigie On Main and Oleana before hitting a big shindig at The Charles Hotel.
Sara was high on amphetamines. “Anyyy news from the goofball?”
I inserted false cheer into my voice. “Probably whacking the donkey.”
What more is there to say? In the days that followed after Thanksgiving weekend, Mitchell was being petty and unreasonable. “Stop it, Ella.”
In the wake of the uncertainty of my confession, accusing Mitchell was but accusing myself. “It’s not Ella, it’s not Anna, it’s Elena! What’s on tap here? Are you reconciling with her? Am I merely along for the goddamn ride?”