Twisting Fate

by Charisse Reid

  As if she can see me weighing the decision, she reaches over and turns the lock on the door beside us. She grabs for my hand and places it on her thigh, guiding it up until it is cupping her mound. It's hot...and wet. She brushes my finger between her folds in the wetness of her pussy. Her eyes lock with mine. "Sentir lo que haces a mi (feel what you do to me)." There is something about a hot Latin woman letting the Spanish roll off her tongue, pouring the seduction on thick, that’s irresistible.

  My dick hardens at the moisture that is running down my finger. How the hell am I supposed to say no to this? The craving to bury myself inside her is building in my body. She is offering it up herself. It's not like I have to work for it or make meaningless promises. I have no reason to say no.

  Fuck it...

  I slide my finger inside, letting her pussy consume all of it. She clenches around it with each insertion and throws her head back in ecstasy. She moans each time I push my finger inside, rounding it forward like a hook. I’m hitting her G-spot; I can feel it. Each time I pull my finger out, I run it up the crevice and smear the wetness over her clit, slowly teasing and tormenting her. I place my opposite hand on the strap of her dress, pulling it down her arm. Her body is enough to make a man come, if I remember correctly.

  Her nipples pucker as I reveal them to me one at a time, while I continue to stimulate her. She is becoming needy, greedy, and loud. Grabbing her right breast in my left hand I pull her to me, placing her nipple in my mouth and I suck...hard. I continue to rub slowly just to see how much she’ll beg for it. It doesn’t take long before she caps my hand with hers, controlling my pace. I let her. There is something sexy about watching a woman pleasure herself with your body.

  I release her and it makes a popping sound. I rub my finger up and down over her clit faster, causing her to let go with her own hand. I watch her face, waiting for the moment she comes. "Don't stop. I need to come," she says and I can feel the amount of wetness increase. "Oh yes. Make me come, Bryce."

  I increase my movements and change the direction of the rhythm at her request. I want to see her overwhelmed. I insert the fingers from my free hand inside her pussy, so I can feel her when she clenches. It doesn't take long and I can feel her tighten around my left index and middle finger. I feel it pulsate for a few seconds as she vocalizes her orgasm.

  She looks at me and licks her lips as I pull my fingers free of her body. They are covered in her cum. "You want more? You want to ride my cock?"

  Her face is now flushed a shade of pink when she nods. "You know I do, Bryce. I've been waiting months to have you inside me again."

  I reach in my back pocket and pull a condom from my wallet. Handing her the small square I tell her what she has to do to get it. "Show me how much you want it."

  She bites her lip as she takes it from my grasp. Lowering her leg to the floor she grabs the bottom hem of her dress and pulls it upward over her head, baring herself to me. Slowly, she lowers to one knee and then the other before me. Her bronzed naked body is beautiful with her black silky hair cascading to her ribs. She knows exactly what she’s doing; what is a better visual to a man’s eye.

  Her tiny fingers begin working at the button on my jeans. Sliding down my zipper, she grabs hold of my dick in her manicured hands and pulls it free from the confinements of my briefs. "You have a beautiful cock," she says and lowers her mouth around it. She swirls her tongue around the head and creates suction as she takes me into her mouth, stopping at the back of her throat.

  Damn, the girl can suck a dick.

  She continues at a steady rhythm, but I need it faster, deeper. I fist her hair in my hand and push her deeper, causing her to gag a little. She doesn't stop. Instead, it's like I just pushed her erotic button. She begins to move faster, taking me as deep as she can and she still isn't consuming all of me.

  Leaning my head back against the wall I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her full lips around me. My mind begins to wander and before I know it I'm lost, zoned into my own head.

  Images begin to form in my mind. It's been a while since they have. I have had nothing since the vision of her in the hospital; the day I found out I possibly have a child out there somewhere, if it’s all real.

  It's an old oak tree in what looks to be a field or a meadow. Looking forward is a pond with two horses taking a drink of water. I'm sitting on the ground, leaned against the tree in a position that is similar to the way I am now. It's then that I notice...her. She's absolutely beautiful, and straddling me half naked. Her top half is covered, but her bottom bare. The color of her red sweater against her blonde hair is stunning. She is moving up and down slowly, as if we're savoring the moment; lost in each other. Looking at her, looking at me, I know that we were completely and unmistakably in love.

  She has to be real, because no fantasy or dream can be this good. Before I have time for any other thoughts I hear something that is like music to my ears. "Breyson, I will always love you, with all of my heart and all that I am."

  Startled, I buck forward causing my dick to slam into the back of her throat. She releases me and begins gagging uncontrollably. "What the hell, Bryce?"

  "What the fuck did you just say?"

  "I said, what the hell-"

  I cut her off mid sentence. "Before that," I bark out. "What did you call me? What did you say?"

  She begins to crinkle her eyebrows in a state of confusion. "I didn't say anything. Are you okay, Bryce? You look like you just saw a ghost."

  I stand and shove my dick back into my jeans. "You didn't just call me...Breyson?"

  She looks around the room from side to side. "Why would I call you that? Your name is Bryce. I don't know anyone named Breyson. You're starting to worry me."

  I may have just found a piece to the puzzle. Thank God. It may not be much, but it's something. I came here for a reason. It isn't even my night to work. I let my damn hormones get in the way of the real reason I came here; to find out who I am, so I can find out if she's real or make believe. I need to know whether she is a figment of my imagination or if by some miracle, we're trying to find each other.

  "I have to go."

  "Are you fucking serious?" I don’t know what she’s so pissed about; she got off. If anyone should be pissed it should be me. I’m going to have to take care of the blue balls later, when my nuts are buried in my stomach.

  I button my pants and bend over to pick up her dress, handing it to her. "As a heart attack."

  I walk around her and past her desk, opening the door that leads into Big Sanchez's office. It's against the rules to enter without calling first, but I need answers and I need to know if he is the one to get them. I may pay for this, but it's something I have to do.

  When I walk in he has the phone up to his ear. He looks at me, but continues talking. "Can you fax the monthly report to me? Something needs to be adjusted. I don't like the numbers I'm seeing." He points at the chair in front of his desk and I sit. My stomach is starting to get nervous. His demeanor has yet to change. "I expect it to be a priority. This is what I pay you for. If it doesn't get fixed you can find yourself another job. You're always replaceable. Get back to me in twenty four hours."

  Without another word he places the phone back on its receiver. He links his hands together and places them on the back of his head, leaning back in his chair. "It's your day off," he says in a clipped tone. "And you didn't tell me you were coming. I don't like unexpected guests."

  If I was starting to calm any I'm not anymore. He looks like he could be a drug dealer and have me murdered with one simple order; whether he actually would or not is beside the point. If I didn't know he was a decent person deep down, I'd be scared shitless right now. "I was hoping for a favor. I need help." Before I even get the full sentence out of my mouth he leans forward putting his arms on his desk.

  "What with? Why didn't you just say so from the beginning?"

  Well, gee, maybe because you're the size of a wrestler and could probably kill me with one finge
r; that might have had something to do with it.

  "Did Maria ever tell you why they adopted me?"

  He studies me for a moment before he answers. "Maria and I haven't spoken in years. It's better that way. Things tend to get...complicated in the presence of one another. You came to me lost. I'm a simple man and not one to meddle in someone else's affairs unless it is directly related to my business, or me. If you want to come to me you will, in which I presume is what this meeting is about, so continue."

  I run my hand through my hair as I think of how I'm going to get this all out. "Well...I was in some kind of accident back in February. A fisherman picked me up, close to dead, and brought me here so I don't have many details. They think plane or ship wreck. I'm suffering from Amnesia. I don't have any recollection of anything prior to the accident: no name, birthday, where I'm from. I know nothing. My doctor kept me in the hospital as long as he could, hoping I would regain my memory, but so far I've had nothing but a few visions here and there. Most of them don't include sound and they are of the same girl."

  I take a deep breath, letting it linger in the air. "What is it you need my help with, Son?"

  I lock my eyes with his. I need him to know how serious I am. "At first I thought she was just something my mind conjured up, but they get more specific with each vision. I need you to help me figure out who I am or where I'm from. There has to be a way. I can't stay in Spain for the rest of my life. Each day, it's like I'm trying to fill a void. I need to find the piece that's missing from the puzzle. I think she is to me what Maria is to you..."

  He stands and walks around the desk toward the door. I turn to look at him in confusion. "Let's go. You can fill me in with the details on the way." With that vague response he continues out the door.

  Standing from the chair I’m sitting in I follow him quickly in an attempt to catch up. We pass by Angelique now dressed and sitting at her desk. She glares at me as we pass. "Angelique, hold my calls. I'll be out for the rest of the day. I don't want to be disturbed. Are we clear," he asks as he pulls on his suit jacket from the coatrack standing beside the door.

  I have no idea why, but I suddenly feel very guilty about our little rendezvous earlier and the night at the club. Why do I feel like I cheated on someone? I don't even know who the hell I am. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach the longer I look at her. I breathe in through my nose, trying to calm my nerves. I feel dirty and I want the filth gone. "Yes, sir. I understand," she says, but is still glaring at me as if she wants to kill me.

  He opens the door I previously entered when I got here and I follow behind him. I'm not sure where we're going or why, but I'm ready to find out. His reaction has sparked my interest. He could be my only key to the information I need, to find out who I am whether my damn mind decides to work or not. At this point I don't care. I just want to find the girl that has invaded every facet of my mind and dreams. Whether I have to make new memories or remember my old ones, I don't care, as long as I can find her. I feel certain she's the void that I feel constantly. I will find her no matter what it takes.

  He leads me to a car awaiting our arrival outside. I'm not sure whether to keep my questions to myself or ask where it is we're going, because the curiosity is getting the best of me. He barks out orders in Spanish to the driver and the car pulls out into the street, leaving the club behind.

  Pulling his titanium phone from his jacket pocket, he keys something in and places it to his ear. Only a second passes before he begins speaking to the person on the other end of the line. "Expect me in an hour. I have a job for you." He becomes quiet, but only a moment before he continues. "Same place." That was the last thing he said before he replaced the phone in his pocket.

  He looks at me as if he's choosing what he wants to say next. "Tell me everything you know and I'll help you in any way I can."

  ***

  We pull up to a large building; it appears to be a lavish hotel or office, a high rise that extends into the sky. The driver pulls under the connected parking garage and follows the road until he reaches the top floor. I reach for the door, but he stops me. "Don't ask him for any personal information. He won't give it to you for reasons you don't need to know. This is a business transaction, not a social meet. Keep that in mind and this will go a lot more smoothly."

  I'm starting to wonder what I may have gotten myself into, since we had to pass through a security check to come onto this parking level. I signify I understand and open the door. The rooftop parking lot is vacant, aside from one other car and a small helicopter. Robotically, he begins walking toward an elevator to the adjacent building that is made of mirrors. Looking up at the distance between here and the top I'm guessing I'm in for a long ride.

  Once inside the elevator I realize it's a one-way window. It's only Big Sanchez and me ascending up the side of the building. When I look at him he is keying in a code on the keypad beside the doors. The elevator starts to climb, giving you a view of the surrounding city. I don't think I'm afraid of heights, but this is a little scary. I plaster my back against the rear wall and try to only look straight ahead, taking deep breaths. It seems like an eternity before the elevator comes to a stop.

  The wall behind me suddenly opens, causing me to stumble backwards as I lose my footing. I didn't realize there were doors on both ends of the elevator. He grabs my shirt to steady me. When I get my balance I look at the space around me. It looks like an executive suite. The carpet is a milk chocolate color with mint green swirls and loops. The walls are done in textured wallpaper that matches the green in the carpet. At the opposite wall from where I stand, sits a crescent shaped desk in an espresso stained wood.

  The lettering on the wall behind it reads, The Staton Agency. I'm not exactly sure what that means. "Mr. Sanchez," the petite brunette says from behind the counter with a smile like Miss America. "He's awaiting your arrival. You may continue to his office."

  He acknowledges her and turns to a hallway that aligns horizontally with the same wall as her desk, but to the left hand side of the large room. The hallway is long and dim in lighting. As we reach the end there is a large, heavy door made of chestnut. It looks expensive. There are no windows present or handles. What kind of door doesn't have handles? As we get to the end, a buzzer sounds and it sounds like a bolt unlocks from the inside. The door opens freely and we step inside.

  When we get far enough inside to be clear of the doorway, the door shuts again and the lock sounds. The room is twice the size of the one we came from. The office is built of nothing but windows. In the furthest corner sits a large desk. Even I can tell it probably cost a fortune. In the middle of the room is an area for seating, a couch and two chairs surrounding a round cast iron table. The corner opposite of the desk has a wet bar supporting decorative glass bottles filled with various colors of liquid. What kind of place is this?

  The room is vacant. I thought someone was supposed to be waiting. I wonder where he is; there aren’t many places to hide. The only solid wall is the one that holds the door we entered to the left hand side. A door at the furthest end becomes noticeable, although, it blends in with the wall. A man dressed in a perfectly pressed, designer suit emerges.

  His hair is short and combed to perfection. He has a beard, short to the face, and shaded the same color as his brown hair. His gray eyes look aged from the lines that extend beside the outside corners. He's taller than me, and a build that is medium in frame, but sculpted. Even in full clothing you can tell he’s fit; it’s in the way he carries himself. "Sanchez. It's always a pleasure. What brings you in, my friend?"

  He's...American? Everyone I've met has the same accent; everyone except him. He talks just like me, but less drawn out. Excitement begins to take over spreading throughout my body. I can barely breathe. I have no idea how he will help me, but I get the feeling he can. Why didn't I do this earlier?

  Big Sanchez wraps his arm behind my back and squeezes the muscle between my shoulder and neck. "The boy needs your help. He's in a bit
of a sticky situation, I guess you could say."

  The man whom has yet to introduce himself begins adjusting the knot of his tie that is the same color as his eyes. He walks around his large desk and takes a seat in his chair. "Let's get down to business, shall we."

  Big Sanchez guides me to the two chairs that sit in front of the desk. I sit and wait as he opens a leather book holding a yellow executive style notepad. He picks up a heavy, metal pen in his left hand and removes the top. I notice his finger is free from a ring, but a tan line is present as if one was previously there. I wonder what this guy's story is. He seems dry and void of any type of emotion, a permanent asshole. He looks at me after jotting down a few words. "Tell me everything you know. Any details omitted can be costly."

  After what seems like hours and pages of paper he's written on, I get out the last detail. I told him every vision, every detail of her, the baby, and the name she called me back at the office. It nearly killed me to tell someone else what seemed like the most private moments, but if it helps me find her and where I belong it's worth it. He recaps his pen and presses a button on his phone when a female comes over the speaker. "Yes, sir?"

  "Send in Juan."

  "Right away, sir."

  Not even a minute passes when the door opens and a male not much older than me walks in with a case in hand. Where the hell do these people come from? "Are we doing the standard kit, Mr. P," he asks as he makes his way across the room.

  That's a strange thing to be called.

  "That will suffice, Juan. Make it a rush result."

  I am now thoroughly confused on what is going on. He places his case on the open corner of the desk and removes a pair of latex gloves, adding to my confusion. I lean to the side trying to see what is inside, but it just looks like a science kid's most sought after tool. It would be really great if someone felt the need to fill me in on what the hell is going on.