Josie sighed in my ear before she turned me around to face the mirror. My blond locks were back although she’d played with the color as usual. Most people would have had a hard time believing I was a natural flaxen blond—an actual tow-head—I played with my hair color a little too much.
She’d given my hair depth with dishwater blond strands underneath and platinum, honey and flaxen streaks running throughout my almost shoulder-length hair.
Her hands felt like heaven as she massaged my scalp. “I’ll never understand why you play with your hair color so much. You have beautiful hair but if I keep up this regime, it won’t be lovely for long,” she responded in quick French before she turned away and began to put her products away.
It was late evening outside.
I’d always had her do my hair after most of the clients left because I didn’t want the stares and the attention my new lifestyle caused me. I looked at my strong features, and sky blue eyes. No matter whether I was dark haired or blond, my eyes seemed to adapt but them combined with my stunning charisma, I knew I was considered extremely attractive. Beautiful even, according to People Magazine. Their annual spring and autumn issues—‘The most beautiful people in the world’, and ‘The sexiest men in the world’—had included me in both prestigious lineups.
While I couldn’t deny my eyes were intriguing, they never had the intensity my brother’s eyes had. I was jealous of him because of this. No one could ever doubt what kind of mood Damien was in because his eyes were like a beacon of emotion.
Me, on the other hand, my eyes could go from the darkest blue to the palest and yet, my moods could not be gaged. I didn’t have those kind of expressive eyes like Damien or Zero. They were placid and neutral—perhaps that put me at an advantage because I could control my temper a lot better than my best friend or my brother.
“Ah, Josie,” I murmured quietly, “you’ll be happy to know I plan to keep my hair its natural color for the time being.”
She murmured under her breath before her honey-hued face touched my lightly tanned cheek. “And what about Sorsha? Doesn’t she prefer you with dark hair so you set off her gentle porcelain beauty?” she teased in my ear with a sarcastic flair.
I held up one of the photos of the mystery woman my brother had sent me on my Samsung Note to Josie. “Tell me . . . in your honest opinion, can Sorsha hold a candle to this gorgeous woman?”
She shrugged in a typical French way. “Depends on what you like. That woman there . . . she is an American beauty with her perfect olive skin, bright eyes and straight white teeth. The Americans—they are obsessed with dental hygiene you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I murmured quietly.
“Look at her teeth! I bet you her parents spent a mint on orthodontists and whatever else they do over there—teeth bleaching and veneers. She looks like she has never had a cavity in her life,” Josie continued, her tone petulant with jealousy.
“You never answered my question.” I turned around to face her as she took off the plastic cape she’d put over me to protect my all-black outfit of a silk shirt and black jeans.
“I would say she isn’t more beautiful than Sorsha per se.” Josie grabbed my phone and studied her photo. “Her beauty is more genuine, however. She is a good person inside and out. You can see it in her body language. She would never be the type of woman Sorsha is but that is because she is secure with herself—who she is as a person, tu comprends?”
“Ouai, je comprend.” I smiled as I glanced at her photo again. “I think it’s time for an upgrade, Josie. Sorsha and I have been dating for a long time—”
Josie brushed stray hairs from my clothing. “Yes but Sorsha is an heiress, Diablo. You think you can just dispatch of a woman like that without consequence? She has always gotten what her spoiled heart desires, and she will not take being dumped by you very well. Women like her are always nothing but trouble.”
“I realize that.” I stayed quiet for a moment before I continued, “In fact, I knew it would be an issue while we were a couple. However, I never promised her marriage, and there are plenty of men who would give their balls to be with a woman like her.”
Josie laughed out loud, the gap between her two front teeth enduring. “Quelle domage. How would they possibly service her if they couldn’t get it up for a grade-A ballbreaker like her? She doesn’t need a eunuch—she needs a man with a big dick and a large ego. You are leaving her in quite the predicament, Diablo.”
I stood from her chair and leaned toward her before I gave her the proper French goodbye, our cheeks rubbing together intimately. “Well, I highly doubt I will be the last man in her life to disappoint her. Until next time, keep safe and please be at my beck and call when I need you in a month.”
I shoved one thousand euros in her hand before I left the shop. The night was cool although it was summer, and there was a slight wind although not enough to push away the debris on the ground. I waited until I heard her lock up the shop as I lit a cigarette and inhaled the toxic smoke. I could do whatever I wanted with my appearance but I was the son of an outlaw through and through. No matter how much I prettied up my image, some things could never be changed.
“WHERE WERE YOU? I thought you’d never get home.”
The silky voice of Sorsha awaited me as soon as I entered my expensive apartment in one of the best arrondissements of Paris. My view was the Eiffel Tower in the background and constant Parisian traffic but it was worth every cent. How could I not be content with a bachelor’s pad and a gorgeous woman the likes of Sorsha at my disposal?
“I was with Josie—she had to do my hair before the end of the European leg of the tour.” I glanced at her briefly and recognized the petulant look of disappointment that I’d gone back to my natural hair color.
Sorsha was a natural blonde and preferred my hair dark. I should have wanted to stay in her good graces and please her but to be honest I no longer gave a damn.
It was so fucking easy not to care about what she desired from me anymore because I didn’t give a shit about her feelings.
I no longer desired her anymore—simple as that—no matter how harsh or detached the emotion was.
The image of her golden strands, intriguing steel-gray eyes, porcelain skin, perfect face, and slim body failed to make my cock grow hard with desire or lust. I knew I was a complete and utter asshole and a hardened motherfucker for thinking this way about my girlfriend. Unfortunately for her, I’d been carrying around this feeling of sexual ambivalence for a while. As much as I would have loved to blame the mysterious beauty in the photos my brother sent me, she had nothing to do with any of this.
Why Damien wanted her so badly though he had no interest in having sex with her was a mystery to me. Could she be a woman from his past?
As I poured myself a double shot of Hennessy and swallowed it, feeling the burn from my chest all the way down to my stomach, I thought about my brother’s lovers. To be honest, I couldn’t remember many of them because he was very closed off about his sex life. He did not do groupies, and he usually had a special woman in his life but he didn’t like to share. It was a great strategy when he was the manager of a hard rocking group like ours who ate gorgeous women for breakfast. We could have our pick, and though I had been attached by ball and chain to Sorsha for the time being, the other guys in the group took full advantage.
“I told you about it earlier today, didn’t I?” I switched over to English because despite her exotic name, Sorsha was half-French and half-Scottish, but had been brought up in proper London society.
Sorsha shrugged apathetically. “I guess you did but I had no idea you were going back to your roots. You should have told me.”
“Sorry, babe, but everything doesn’t revolve around you,” I said as I refilled my glass.
“You know what—fuck you. I have to check my social networks.” She slunk off in that perfect model walk and disappeared into her bedroom she only used for “business reasons.”
Sorsha had attended
the best boarding schools and was rock royalty due to her father being the lead singer of Aces and Spades—one of the few rock bands like the Rolling Stones who were still going despite being a couple decades older than my own father. Sorsha was just one of Spud MacKintosh’s children. He had a daughter by his first wife, a black American photographer who was just as famous as Annie Leibovitz; twins by Sorsha’s mother, Odette, a former French model and his long time mistress. Her brother, Gabriel, was an abstract painter of sorts but there was no love loss between the two siblings. Spud also had a thirteen-year-old son by a famous Puerto Rican actress; and last but not least, a five-year-old daughter by his current wife, a Scottish clothing designer thirty-five years his junior.
Sorsha took her unique family in stride but that didn’t stop her from flaunting her status, whether she was the illegitimate daughter of a rock legend or not. As far as she was concerned, she was perfect eye candy for any heterosexual high-ranking celebrity, and he’d only be lucky enough if she paid him any attention.
I considered her the equivalent of dating a Kardashian—great for publicity and attention but not necessarily all that wonderful for my image. I seemed just as empty and shallow as she was because I was associated with her by default.
Sorsha had the crazy Instagram followers and was one of the fourth most followed female celebs behind Kim Kardashian, Beyoncé, and Taylor Swift. She had an active Twitter account where she posted everyday; a Pinterest account where she had various boards including her favorite foods, designers, and rock stars along with an active Facebook account where she posted useless shit her followers worshipped like she was the second coming of Christ.
Personally, I thought Sorsha MacKintosh was one of the most self-absorbed and uninteresting people I’d ever had the unfortunate chance of meeting but obviously, my opinion didn’t count. She was considered beautiful, aloof, drop-dead sexy, fancy and yet so nice and open about her life. Hence the reason why she was one of the most sought-after celebutantes though she’d done absolutely fuck all to deserve her fame and fortune.
Well, she was the daughter of a Knighted, legendary rock star so I guess that made her special, at least to the sycophants who hung on her every word.
We’d been together for almost two and a half years, and she’d been through our rise to fame and the three subsequent albums we’d released over that short period of time.
Our first album, Heresy, had gone double platinum due to the hit song that had put us on the map. Heretic, our second album had surpassed the first album and easily gone on to quadruple platinum status. Our latest album, Prophecy, had broken the top five Billboard charts in pop music and was currently the number one album on the rock charts.
Although it never got old to be successful, I often times wondered if our star burned too brightly too fast, and would eventually be swallowed by a black hole. Were we a fluke—a European supernova that the Americans found exotic and intriguing before they found another rock band like Scarlet Fever and Winter’s Regret to come upon the scene?
We were different, yes, but there were a lot of great bands from Canada and America that would love to be in our place. It was one of the main reasons why we’d chosen Kryptonite, a Swedish rock band to open up for us on the American/Canadian leg of our tour while Goldslitzher, a German rock band that could be compared to Rammstein had they rocked out in English language songs were our opening act on the Asian and European leg of our tour.
I certainly didn’t begrudge our success but I wanted a long lasting career. That wouldn’t happen unless I found a muse to inspire me and so far, I only had written one song for our upcoming fourth album, Revelation. Jean-Paul had managed to write a few songs but when we were known for our theatrical albums that usually had anywhere from thirteen to sixteen tracks plus bonus material, four songs were a drop in the bucket.
Trying to find any sort of inspiration in Sorsha was like trying to get blood from a turnip. Yes, she was very beautiful, witty, cosmopolitan, and somewhat fascinating from afar, she no longer inspired me nor was she the woman for me any longer. I was smart enough to realize that but the real question was had she figured out yet she’d outlived her usefulness in my life?
I knew she wasn’t the type who would want to let me go but that flawless yet gorgeous woman Damien had emailed me photos of had my creative juices flowing.
Although my emotions remained detached and cold, I managed to pull off a few pleasantries in English after she emerged shortly from “working” in her bedroom before I closed myself in my music room. It was a soundproof space Sorsha knew never to disturb me, and began to come up with lyrics to a new song.
I grabbed my acoustic guitar and began to play. It was the best way to get the English words to make sense in my head. The language was different from French in every way. It was Germanic-based and hard to create beauty from but I managed to do just that flawlessly—both Jean-Paul and I had mastered the language despite our rudimentary lessons. Both of us had taken German at the lycée but it also made learning English that much easier when we put our minds to it.
I hummed a bit in French and began to sing in my native tongue as my fingers worked the acoustic guitar. The words translated from French into English and I slowly began to write them down.
I wrote the lyrics down furiously in my chicken scratch handwriting in my lyric notebook before I continued to play again. I needed a kick ass chorus to make the song really have an emotional impact.
Again, I hurriedly wrote down the chorus. This could really turn into something but not with Sorsha hanging around. I could feel her negative, soul-sucking energy and it had turned what could have been a completely beautiful song into a half finished symphony. I would never be able to come up with the rest of the lyrics until she was completely out of my bed, apartment, and life.
I set down my acoustic guitar, wrote “Escape” at the top of the lyrics. That would be the perfect name for the song because right now, it’s all I craved from whatever I previously had with my gorgeous girlfriend. She was everything a man could want but she was also a bloodsucking leech; she literally drained the life out of me, and although the sex was good, it wasn’t worth risking my artistic integrity over.
Standing from my favorite creative chair, a ratty stool I’d stolen from my father’s clubhouse, I turned and walked into the living room, closing the door to my sanctuary behind me.
Sorsha had apparently checked her social network sites and sat on a black, art-deco sofa in the living room. She drank a fluted glass of Cristal—her alcoholic beverage of choice—while she anxiously texted on her iPhone 6.
She was self-absorbed, vain and selfish to a fault but something had changed in those gorgeous pale gray eyes of hers. Her long, honey-blonde hair flowed around her shoulders, emphasizing acres of creamy white skin, small-boned features, accompanied by willowy arms and legs that went on for days. She had a long torso that complimented the crazy purple paisley maxi dress she wore. Here, in my home, she rarely wore a face full of makeup because she was a natural beauty.
I almost hated to crush her heart and her zombie-like followers with the news that not only would we not be getting engaged any time soon but I was about to toss her out like yesterday’s trash. Although perfect on paper, I desired a woman who understood all of me, not merely the parts I allowed them to see.
I was not a good person. Rotten to the core and embraced in a cloak of darkness, I preferred everything in my life to be a little twisted. Sorsha would never understand because she wasn’t the one.
No woman would be until I found her.
It would be a look and then a touch. She would see the real me and although it might scare her, she’d also be attracted to it—and me—like a magnet. Her curiosity would overwhelm her apprehension, and she wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew all of me.
“Why are you looking at me like that? What’s going on, Diablo?” Sorsha tore her eyes away from her iPhone and stared at me.
It was then I realized she never
really knew me at all.
I shook my head as I approached her, a part of me not wanting to accept this insight into her but no matter how much I denied it, the truth didn’t lie.
The gorgeous brunette from the photos Damien sent me flashed in my head and instantly, my cock hardened under the black jeans I wore.
She looked me up and down with bored curiosity before her pale gray irises centered on my pending hard-0n. “Well, I stand corrected. Here I thought you maybe had gone off me but from what I’m seeing from the tent in your jeans, you’re still as hot for me as you’ve ever been.”
If only that were true, I mused to myself but didn’t speak out loud.
I grabbed her slim body and she tried to escape but it was futile. I knew I was much stronger, physically, than she could ever be. She surrendered as my lips found her neck and kissed my way down to her collarbone, which jutted out from her pale skin in a pronounced and obvious manner.
“What if I told you I was feeling a bit greedy?” she wondered in that posh London accent of hers.
I only withdrew a few centimeters to meet her eyes and see the clear porcelain skin of her face. “What do you mean?”
Her gray eyes grew dark and the pupils centered into pinpoints of lust and desire. “I called Damien over. I want you both tonight. You don’t mind sharing . . . do you?”
Since she’d already summoned my brother, what could I say? I didn’t care one way or another at this point. The hazel-green eyed girl was taking over my brain. Like a syringe filled with the most powerful aphrodisiac, she’d been injected into my veins and the high was absolutely mind-numbingly powerful. Like a drug, I could feel her coursing through my body but she wasn’t tangible and that frustrated me more than anything else.
It would probably be best this way if we weren’t alone in an intimate manner. I wouldn’t eat Sorsha’s pussy or kiss her intimately if it wasn’t necessary—I would just take her quickly—cock in her cunt and imagine it was the brunette from the photos. I was selfish tonight and the only sexual needs that mattered were my own.
Sympathy For Diablo (Breathless Eternity #1) Page 2