by JR King
“Passable.” Alexander wore an insufferably smug smile.
“I want to stay here forever,” I told him, pretending petulance to cover my breathless urgency to kiss him in public.
He gave a snort at that, then his head swooped down and his lips claimed mine, sucking, finding forage. I had to close my eyes at the divinely ravenous look on his face. He was like a vulture, his lips and his tongue causing havoc, and his mouth knew where to suck, where to bite, when to lave, when to lick. My pulse pounded in my ears, my eyelids feeling heavy.
“We get it, she’s yours,” Christopher rasped grimly, breaking us up. The grey of his temples glinted in the muted terrace lighting.
Even though we’d lingered for almost four hours over dinner, not a whiff of impatience from the staff was discernible. Christopher, at the end, didn’t bat an eye at the astronomical charge. Alexander and I thanked the impossibly generous couple and walked them to their limo.
“Thank you again, Sophia, this was lovely,” I insisted.
“To be continued.” She smiled.
She gave Alexander a kiss as he held the car door open for her. “Good night, darling.” He closed it, grinning at me, but Sophia swung it open and stuck her head outside. “Alexander, I forgot to ask you, how’s Claudia? Could you send me her new phone number? I need some luxurious goods delivered to the palace.” The limo door closed. I remember watching it drive away, trying with all my might to convince my brain that the world wasn’t spinning. But, I don’t remember walking to the middle of the square. Everything was slow and hazy, I felt dizzy. The anger surging through my veins didn’t allow me to stand still.
“Elena! I swear, if you don’t stop,” Alexander growled from somewhere in the darkness.
My anxiety ratcheted up another notch, verging on panic. Spectacularly, I managed to gather my dignity that lay scattered like diamonds littering the streets of Monaco. “Tell me it’s a lie, Alex,” I finally reacted, my words sounding as if they came from another person. I gazed helplessly at him, unable to keep a hint of despair from trickling into my eyes. “Tell me you haven’t seen Claudia. Tell me you’re not one of those guys who showers a girl with holy lavishness so you can go behind her back. Tell me you didn’t use the iniquitous business-meeting line as an excuse to see your ex. Tell me you’re not such a heartless bastard, especially not after I told you what happened between my parents. It’s a lie, isn’t it? Sophia is lying? It’s a ruse, she’s doing this to break us up, right?”
“I can explain everything—,”
My eyes stung. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process what was happening. Seconds passed before I put it all together, clearing the debris cluttering my mind. Lips trembling, my eyes flashed with anger and tears I’d yet to shed. “Spare me the jibber jabber. It’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore. I mean, I do, but I can’t. On principle. I’ve got to get me some better morals, you’ve fucked me up enough.”
Alexander Turner
The Claudia Crisis
The Winter Garden lobby at Hôtel Hermitage provided glorious light, its coupole designed by none other than Gustave Eiffel. Although the multifaceted dome reflected the afternoon sun brilliantly, the chandelier suspended from it seemed a little precarious. The cigar lounge at this hotel was the perfect combination of elegant, discreet, helpful, responsive, approachable, and artful—but mostly discreet.
I set the cigar on an indentation of the Lalique ashtray. Brusquely, I pulled Claudia into my lap, forcefully anchoring her against my body. “We’re done. I don’t think your husband’s family will approve of your taste for both sexes.” She was married to a French businessman and a Director of PPR—a French luxury goods emporium, easily noticeable due to the jewels and silk and perfume wadding her.
Red-faced and breathless, she ignored the implication. “You wouldn’t, Alexandre.”
What’s happened to you, Claudia? I tried to make up my mind about which one of her tooth-grindingly annoying features had changed the most; her vacuous smile, her skimpy décolleté, or the outsized jut of her ass. The nauseatingly large set of breasts was the winner, making me wonder what marvel of engineering held them suitably contained.
I deflected Claudia’s invitation to kiss, pushing her away. I thought instead of the pretty girl I had waiting for me at home. Did I compare Claudia to Elena? I sure as hell did, men tend to compare the girls they screw. If you want to know, Claudia was a sexual predator, an encounter waiting to happen, a prospect many men would lay with for a few hours then wash their hands clean. Elena was a delicate angel, a dream waiting to be realized, a prospect people wanted to own in order to worship.
“Think again, chérie,” Jerry’s answer came. He spoke softly, carried a big stick. “You want a piece of him? Defame an ex lover by badmouthing him? Go for it. I’ll destroy you and what little you have before you come within…fifty meters. Is that correct, Alex?”
I could feel a soft, warm smile tickling the skin on my lips. “It is.”
Trying to smoothen my ruffled feathers, Claudia gave me a sick rendition of her best come-hither look. “She doesn’t know you like I do.”
My anger didn’t lessen, nor was I compelled to be forgiving in the slightest way. “You mean she doesn’t know how fucked up I actually am.”
Sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, she was moping.
I severed whatever reverie she was in. “Our ritual—name it what you want, I don’t miss it, Claudia.” Her eyelids slid closed, and her hands fluttered around her hair, straightening her locks. “I was lost in depravity when I popped the question.” I could go on some more, but point well made, she rose.
Another run-me-down problem had been dealt with.
My girl was hotter than the scorching Mediterranean sun. Rationally, I surmised there were girls more beautiful than Elena out there, and yet I couldn’t think of any. Though I absolutely loved the maxi-high-slit dress, the cooing and awing and Iwanttomarryyou looks Monegasque and Russian billionaires gave her worried me. I could easily draw level, but still. If she were of a mind to, she could earn a spot on the mailing lists of Royal families. Earlier today, a prince had inquired after her. I won’t even tell you what I felt like as I walked to the restaurant, suffice to say it wasn’t good.
Although a tux was no longer compulsory in refined dining establishments, Christopher and I didn’t break pattern. Sophia, in her killer Armani Privé cocktail dress with matching summer trench coat and Chopard jewels, amassed deferential stares from both men and women. I liked her style, her strut. Her one hand held onto the coat’s collar, the other tucked inside the waistline, fingering a crocodile clutch bag. The sash was half-fastened along the front, and the coattails opened and closed with careless elegance, refusing to expose her tanned legs fully.
“I can’t stress enough how fantastic you look, Sophia.”
“Someone had to,” she answered, her words dripping with disdain. She flicked her hand toward Christopher and Elena walking a few meters ahead of us, their bodies intimately close. “You must be proud of that.”
“She’s hardly a woman, Sophia. Turns 23 next month. I’m not going to stop her from wearing a dress she likes.”
“She’s trouble. Get it through your thick head. You can’t refuse her anything, can you? She has you eating out of her hand. Stop letting her pull your strings, these kind of histrionics have never, in the history of powerful men, ended well.”
My lips twitched in derision, but I didn’t respond to her taunt.
Missteps during the gastronomic meal, there were few to none. Alain Ducasse’s creative flare had resulted in a staggering 19-20 Gault Millau points at two restaurants. The rum baba was his signature dish, and though I was fairly certain this one was outstanding, I didn’t care for any of it. In all probability, the bitterness of Claudia’s laughter haunted me. I finished without protest, sipped the coffee, then went on to serious business: whiskey. For too long now I’d wed myself to the idea I was an exceptional catch. I’d spent/inv
ested too much money and time into believing Elena would become a faithful worshiper and marry me. Frustrated doesn’t begin to cover what I felt.
I won’t speak ill of Sophia, she was a bard of manipulation. She’d delivered the baleful little bit to spite the sexiest girl in the world. A classic cut and thrust move to foment trouble. However, her smile was so radiant that I wanted to smack it off her pretty face. My resolve never faltered.
Elena looked sickly pale as the limo took off. Coherent, sober enough to drive, I waved—with efficient grace—at the valet. Eyes darting left and right, I studiously tried to avoid catching anyone’s eye.
Before you start casting aspersions, let me flip this around. To create a bang, Claudia wanted to go on national television and speak about our relationship, or rather, its ending. I possessed a surfeit of data about her sexually liberated ways, her professional credibility and reputation would be destroyed within seconds. Why can’t women enjoy the same sexual freedoms enjoyed by men? Sexism and discrimination—I know I’m going to catch heat for this one. You might want to stone me to death, and even if you do succeed, it won’t change the politics.
“You need fresh air, baby. I’ll drive and you listen.”
The Bugatti Veyron had all the bells and whistles of something straight out of a James Bond movie. Hand-stitched leather and aluminum, the engine’s potential unmatched on every conceivable level. A valet snatched the passenger door open for her, but Elena breezed past it. I paused at the driver’s side in a moment of indecision. She was walking stiffly down the sidewalk in the general direction of the square. I exhaled a moment later, slammed the door to the driver’s side and jogged to catch up to her.
“Ariel,” I called her by her nickname, but she didn’t respond. “Elena.” I caught up to her and grabbed her arm. She jerked it away, the charms of the bracelet on her wrist jingling together. I exhaled again, this time in exasperation. “You’re so unpredictable. I don’t know how to handle you.”
She put her hand up and laughed without a trace of amusement. “You don’t need to handle me, you weaseldick twerp! I get to take care of myself.”
“Have some sense, come on.” She started walking down the sidewalk and crossed the street with an indignant huff in my direction. I allowed a car to pass and followed her as she cut across the intersection. “Stop!” I bellowed as I rounded on her. I was fit to be tied. “Elena! I swear, if you don’t stop.”
She stopped and narrowed her eyes at me. I expected a snotty tone, but she sounded defeated and broken. “Tell me it’s a lie, Alex. Tell me you haven’t seen Claudia. Tell me you’re not one of those guys who showers a girl with holy lavishness so you can go behind her back. Tell me you didn’t use the iniquitous business-meeting line as an excuse to see your ex. Tell me you’re not such a heartless bastard, especially not after I told you what happened between my parents.” She pressed her palms together in a prayer-like fashion. “It’s a lie, isn’t it? Sophia is lying? It’s a ruse, she’s doing this to break us up, right?”
My ears rang and my head throbbed a little. My mind tried to leave this place, tried to float away. Nothing worked. I was ever present in this nightmare. “I can explain everything—,”
“Spare me the jibber jabber. It’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore. I mean, I do, but I can’t. On principle. Gotta get me some better morals, you’ve fucked me up enough.” She hiccupped and I watched her brush away a tear with the back of her hand.
“I fucked up your life? Is that how you feel about me?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” She looked up at me for a long moment. Then she swallowed twice and spoke softly, “I want to walk alone. I’ll be fine, really.”
I squinted at the expanse of her creamy thigh that was visible. As I feasted my eyes on it, my balls tightened and my heartbeat picked up. “It’s not safe for you to walk alone in that damn dress.”
Lifting her foot, she pointed the toe of her fuck-me Dior shoe at me when I stepped closer. “Whoever tries something will get brained by prêt-a-porter fashion.” She fixed me with a back-the-fuck-off glare. “Including you.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I held out my palms and pressed my lips together as the mirth bubbled over. “You’re adorable, kitten, I love you. You have to listen to me, or you won’t understand. The meeting was to cover my tracks. Claudia wants to calumniate me, traduce my character just so you can drop me like a rock. Jerry was there when I met her. Call him, please, babe.”
Needless to say, it was a case of casting stones against the wind. She began walking off again. The moment I stepped onto the curb of the tree-lined square, the smell of wet dirt and grass hit me. Teeming with life and frantic energy, Place du Casino played its usual vivacious tunes. There was a lazy hum of sports cars racketing by, and a frenetic flow of taxis. I strode behind her and, several minutes later, she paused beside a lamppost. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m not leaving you alone out here.”
Her lips thinned and her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t say a thing. She walked on and I tagged along. Whenever we crossed someone, I walked with my head down, watching the hem of Elena’s dress shuffle on the pavement, and when they’d passed us, my head sprung back up. See, it was slapstick-funny, because Elena circled the square and I followed her all way back to the hotel, in silence.
“Bang up job, great holidays. I have to book a flight back,” she went on tightly. “Why am I telling you this? I don’t need your permission.”
I stalked over to her, and when I reached her, I slowly ran my forefinger down her arm. My other hand cupped her cheek. “You’re mine, Elena. You’re precious to me, so yeah, you need my damn permission.”
“Let go of me, Alex.” Her gasps were hot and moist. “I’m not yours.”
Before she could open the door to our suite, my hand darted out and grabbed her hair, tilting her body toward me as I pulled her closer. “Yeah?” I moved near her face and, as I did, her hand slapped against my cheek. Ignoring the blossoming burn, I opened the door and dragged her along. “Take ten.” I twisted my hand a little harder and she seethed out the breath she was holding between her teeth.
“I’m going to hit you when you let me go.”
I leaned in and shifted my position, my eyes sliding deliberately from her face to the heaving sight of her breasts. I tightened my grip, glanced at the bedroom. “That’s a good reason to let go. Let me show you what I do to little bitches.” I yanked her to it and threw her on the bed.
“You want to rape me?” Her eyebrow rose, daring me to say something.
Removing my jacket, I laughed. I couldn’t help myself—for the second time. When I was about to knowingly discipline a girl—no holds barred—I’d been told that I developed a damnably charming expression on my face, and I kept laughing. No girl ever failed to respond to the skill of my punishing hands and my rewarding lips. “Is that what you desire?”
“You’re nothing but a useless prick.” Elena held up her wrist and shook it, the charms on her bracelet making a concurring noise. “All you can do is buy misguidedly expensive things to cover your ass.”
“I’ll admit I’m no stranger to buying expensive things. Calm down, will you?”
“Calm down? Who said I’m not calm? This is me being calm. I’d say I’m the very definition of peace and serenity.”
“Last chance.”
She doubled back on me, running toward the bathroom. I grabbed her again and as her hand moved to hit me once more, I jerked on her hair and pulled her back. “You need to cool down.” She kept clawing and I caught her flailing arms by the wrists. First left then right, pulling them to her chest. She had little wrists that fitted perfectly in one hand as I held them down between her breasts. I could feel her brittle bones. Feel they’d snap if I squeezed harder.
Gritting my teeth, I forced out a breath. “Behave.” My eyes raked scathingly over her for a moment before I attempted to put on a more pleasant visage. “Or else I’ll m
ake you behave.” Forcing another smile, I used a sweeter voice. “We wouldn’t want that.”
She returned my smile with one of her own. “Fuck you.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she stared intently at me.
If I’m to be pedantic, then let’s do this right. In the shower, I submerged her head under the stream. She half-toppled, her head turning as sharply as she could, limbs kicking. My free hand pressed against her chest to keep her body from twisting further. Cold water soaked the arm of my tuxedo shirt, crawling its way up my arm.
I jerked her head back and forth, pulling out a few strands of hair. The water muffled her protests, she was fighting, her arms trying to use mine as leverage, her muscles frantic to escape my grip. I pulled her up and she gasped, sputtered then coughed. I didn’t let go. Her black hair was plastered to her face and neck like glue, soaking the front of her black dress. I leaned in and hissed vehemently, “Push me hard enough, and I’ll fuck with you, but not in that pretty little neat way that makes you come.”
Water was coming out of her nose and she sputtered something in response. I eased my grip and when she recovered enough, she hit me hard across the cheek. “You chimp-brained, cold-blooded brute! You jackfuck!”
I looked at the tears at the corners of her eyes that were threatening to spill. Her face had been colorless, drained, and now the color was returning. She was talking to me, telling me to stop touching her, swearing at me or some such thing, but all of the blabbering was just too much noise. Currently I was busy contemplating my next move.
I grabbed her hair and sent her under again, held her there for seconds long, my teeth gritting against the pain of her nails as they scratched my forearm. She was screaming and the water-filled sounds sent the edges of my lips curling up with pleasure.