by S. R. Watson
“What is it that you want to hear?” Damn, I should have had that drink. I’m not in the mood for one of her tantrums. The only reason I’m being tolerant is because this is my fault. I let things go too far and for too long. I should have changed shit up a long time ago before I even set eyes on Brennan. Time equates to developing feelings unless you have the apathy that I’ve acquired for love.
“The truth,” she fumes. “You want to end this non-relationship affair with me so you can take a shot at Brennan. She has your attention now.” Her voice cracks with that last accusation. She is not far from the truth. I need to end things with her because she is becoming clingy, and I do potentially want to have my way with Brennan. I’m just not sure if it will ever come to pass.
“This is exactly why. You’re proving my point and making this easy. If we’ve established that we were just fucking, then you have no right to question me. I don’t ask you or care who you’re fucking, and I expect the same in return.”
She drops to her knees, and I’m caught off guard for a second. She pulls her dress beneath her tits to distract me as she reaches for the button of my jeans. She manages to get the button undone and is struggling with the zipper before I can grab her wrists again.
“Tory, stop!” I warn. Desperation is not a good look on her.
“Let me make you forget her—remind you how much you like it when I take you to the back of my throat,” she pleads. Those words hit me with the force of bricks. My cock strains ever so slightly against my zipper because I know just how fucking good she is at giving head. I definitely don’t need to be reminded because it’s part of why I’ve kept her around this long. My brief hesitation is enough time for her to pull my jeans down to my ankles, albeit, I’m still wearing my boxer briefs. She licks her lips in appreciation when she sees my erection.
“See. Even your dick agrees with me. Let me make him happy.”
I’m about to reiterate that we’re done when an audible gasp pierces the air. We both turn to see a pale Brennan frozen in shock.
“Um, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes profusely. She nearly trips as she runs away from us.
Fuck. This is not good. This is clearly not what it looks like, and I have a feeling I just took a million steps back with her. This is the absolute worst thing imaginable that could have happened. The misconception of what she just saw disturbs me more than it should, but I can’t make myself to play it cool. I take one look at Tory’s now smug face, and I lose it.
“Get the fuck out, Tory. We’re done. Don’t come up here again. Get back to keeping shit professional, or I will have to transfer you,” I shout. Fuck the kid gloves. I’m pissed that I let things with her escalate once again. I don’t know who I’m angrier with—her or myself. She knows not to push further. She stands to adjust her tits back into her dress before storming off. That fucking drink is long overdue. I need to find a way to fix this. If Brennan decides not to sleep with me, I want it to be on her own terms, not because she thinks something is still going on between Tory and me.
I’ve remained in my room since the whole incident with Tory today. I grab a pair of swim trunks to throw on because I need to get some laps in to clear my mind. I’m nearly to the bottom step when a familiar sound has me looking at the far end of the pool. Brennan slices through the water at blazing speed. It’s a sight to watch as she changes from freestyle to the butterfly stroke. She looks like a mermaid because her hair is loose and flowing behind her. I hurry to stand at the end of the pool, but she simply flips underneath the water and heads in the opposite direction. I dive into the pool but am careful to stay out of her lane. I’ll wait her out.
She finally tires and comes up on the other side. I waste no time swimming over to her. “That was pretty impressive. Where did you learn to swim like that?” I start with small talk to get a grasp on where her mind is after today. Did she get my binder? Well, of course, she did. The question is did she read it. Probably not.
“My mother,” she replies. Two words are better than none, I guess.
“Well, the butterfly is the one stroke I struggle with because it combines the breaststroke with a dolphin kick. Too much work.” I chuckle. “Maybe you can teach me how you do it.”
“I’m sure you have enough money to hire someone way more qualified than I am to teach you,” she chides. Yup. She is definitely upset about today—just as I thought.
“True, but what if I want you to teach me?”
“What do you want, Mr. Lair? I don’t want to keep you from the laps that I’m sure you came down here to do.” She isn’t giving an inch. Just direct and cold. I know the answer to this suggestion before it leaves my mouth, but I try anyway.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to come upstairs with me and roast marshmallows over the fire pit under the moonlight.”
“I don’t think that is a good idea. I won’t be making any more trips up there anyway. Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” She hurriedly gets out the pool to get away from me, and my chest tightens in defeat.
“It’s not what you think, you know. Nothing happened between Tory and me. I was just telling her that things were over when you showed up. She pulled my pants down, but I wouldn’t let her have me. I didn’t touch her. I—” She cuts me off before I can finish explaining.
“With all due respect, sir, it’s none of my business. Please don’t let yourself into my room again. I will return the binder you left in my room to your club tomorrow.” She doesn’t even give me the courtesy of a reply. I’m left watching that damn t-shirt she wears over her one piece cling to her body as she walks away. Why do I give a shit? I told her that I wouldn’t chase her, but now my mind is even more unsettled than before. I have an overwhelming need to make things right.
I swim so many laps that I lose count. And still, thoughts of her muddle my mind. She has the upper hand right now, and the feeling is foreign as fuck. Things can’t be left this way. I just need to find an opening back into her good graces, and fuck me, it can’t have anything to do with sex. I climb out of the pool and rush to my room with renewed hope. I know exactly where to start.
1 Week Later
I switch it up tonight with a glass of whiskey before pulling out my cell phone. My fingers hoover over the keys in hesitation for a brief second before I compose my message to Brennan. I need to start just right, so she doesn’t ignore me. I’ve allowed a week to pass. Hopefully, she’ll be more receptive to converse with me.
Silas: I was going through my things, and I came across my camera that I never use. I thought about you because it would be great for you to learn on. That is if you’re interested in real photography.
A few minutes past. Maybe she is in the shower and hasn’t seen my message yet. I won’t let myself think about the alternative—that she is ignoring me. Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, I see the three dots that lets me know she is responding.
Brennan: Of course, I’m interested in real photography. I want to take the type of pictures my mother took, but I couldn’t accept your camera. Thanks for offering.
Silas: Do you consider us friends? Forget about the Tory crap and ask yourself if you could see yourself building a friendship with me?
I really have enjoyed her company. She is such a refreshing change. If things truly are impossible between us on a sexual level, I’d rather have her in my life as a friend than not at all. That’s saying a lot, considering I don’t have platonic relationships with the opposite sex. I only want to fuck them. Also, I know that friendship is the building block to more for someone like her. I will appeal to her sensibilities since she doesn’t want what most women want from me—money and celebrity status.
Brennan: Why would you want to be friends with me? We don’t have anything in common. We’re from two different worlds, where I don’t fit in. I have nothing to offer that would add value or enrichment to your life.
That comment pisses me off, but I’ll keep quiet about i
t for now. I hate that she thinks the rich are somehow better. I’m going to make it my personal mission to improve her self-esteem. She is simply stunning, and she doesn’t even know it because she’s allowing her lack of wealth to shape her worth. She’s seen her mother work as “the help” her whole life, and now she’s taken on that mentality. Such bullshit.
Silas: It’s exactly why I want to be friends. You’re different, and I’m different when I’m around you. I don’t want just another socialite around me, pretending to be my friend. It’s oddly refreshing that you just see me—Silas or Mr. Smug Hottie—and not my money.
I can’t believe I just admitted all that, but it’s the truth. Until now, I didn’t know what her appeal to me was. I don’t chase women. With any other woman, I would have already been on to the next. I even told her that I wouldn’t chase her, yet I’m drawn to her, and I’m helpless to stop it. This scenario between us seems painfully familiar, but even so, I still can’t just leave her alone.
Brennan: Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no? Of course, I want to be your friend. I can’t be more than that, but I think a friendship would be wonderful. I’m different when I’m with you too.
To hear her admit she also acts different when around me gives me even more hope. Not to get in her pants, but to change her jaded view of the world. It’s not about who has the most money. We have the same problems as anyone else, and sometimes more because of what our status brings. Money equals expectations.
Silas: Then it’s settled. We’re friends, and friends loan each other stuff. I’ll let you borrow the camera, and I’ll even teach you how to use it.
Brennan: Fine. You’ve twisted my arm. Seriously, thank you. I’ve taken some nice pics of things on the boat with my phone, but I admit, it would be awesome to get some better shots. I promise to take care of it.
Silas: I’m sure you will. And you’re welcome. I think you should start a portfolio so that you have a visual medium to evaluate as your skills grow. Let’s start with capturing the sunrise in the morning. You can meet me where we first met around 6am. That’ll give you a half-hour to familiarize yourself with the camera’s features before the sun actually rises.
I’m waiting for her to shoot down the idea since she said that she wouldn’t be coming back to my space when we were at the pool. I could have suggested that we meet on the fourth floor of the aft since that’s where the outdoor pool is, and it’s open to everyone. The thing is, I need her back in my personal space. I need to know that we’ve somewhat resolved her issue with me, and this is the best way I can think of. Fuck neutral territory; I need her on mine. I’m not giving up the chance for more; I just need to slow things down a bit and appeal to what she wants. It will have to be her decision.
Brennan: That’s really early, but I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see the difference in the pictures. I’ve never had a real camera before. I looked up the cost of some on the phone you gave me, and let’s just say without you loaning yours, it was out of the question. Thank you again.
Score one for me. She’s accepted my invitation to meet me on my turf. The camera idea was genius. The crazy thing is, it’s not some ploy to get in her pants. It makes me happy to know that my small act of kindness will mean everything to her. Having her in my company again is the bonus. I sip the last of my whiskey, finally content.
Silas: Get some rest then, buttercup. See you bright and early. Don’t be late. I can’t wait to see the pictures you capture and watch as your ability grows. Night :)
Brennan: Night, Silas. I won’t be late.
My alarm sounds at a quarter to five, and it feels like I just closed my eyes. I throw on a pair of jeans, wash my face, and brush my teeth. The time is creeping by. I pass the rest of the time until Brennan’s arrival by ordering a huge breakfast for us. I don’t know what she likes, so I just get some of everything. The food actually arrives before she does but only by a few minutes.
I left my level open to below, so I can sit in the shadows and watch her approach like a creeper. Holy hell, she’s actually wearing a dress—and even more surprisingly, it fits. Not in the obscene way that Tory wears her dresses, but a relaxed fit t-shirt dress that just brushes her knees. It’s simple yet sexy. That’s her, though. Understated sexy. I see her looking around the deck for me. She’s never actually been inside my lair. I slide the glass door back and watch as she takes me in. She peruses my body slowly since I deliberately didn’t put on a shirt. I never said I would not try to win her over. And from the eye fuck she just gave me, she likes what she sees. I step back and let her in, playing oblivious to what I just noticed.
“I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for us again. I don’t know what you like, so I got some of everything,” I say.
“Thank you. I’m actually starving since I had an early dinner last night.”
“Well, let’s get you fed.”
She is looking around my space now, so she is a bit caught off guard when I grab her hand to lead her to my dining table. She flinches at first, but then her fingers intertwine with mine. Her petite feminine hand feels like it was meant to fit in mine. I pull out her chair while holding her until the last possible second. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s because of the chase, I tell myself.
“You have a lovely suite,” she says, continuing to look around.
“Would you like a tour?”
“Maybe another time. I don’t want to miss the sunrise.”
That’s right. How quickly did I forget the point of her visit at this hour.
“Right! Here. What do you like?” I ask as I begin to add pancakes to her plate. “Sausage?” She just chuckles and nods to all my offerings. By the time I finish, her plate is beyond full.
“You are not going to eat all that,” I tease.
“Why? Because it will all go to my ass?” Her infectious smile wavers, and I could kick someone for making her self-conscious about her body.
“Your ass is perfect, so don’t ever let anyone tell you differently,” I chastise. “I meant there was no way your tiny self could put away that much food, so I’m volunteering to help.”
Before she could let my intent sink in, I straddle her lap and cut a bite-size piece of pancake with my fork. I drown it with maple syrup and edge it slowly toward her lips. Yes, I’m abandoning my ease back into her good graces strategy. I will follow her cues of what she lets me slide with. It’s hard to stick to a plan of slow when I’m with her.
“Open,” I command softly. She surprises me by obeying. Our proximity is so intimate, and then I just upped it a notch by feeding her. Holy shit! Watching her take a bite is so damn erotic. She licks the residual syrup from her lips, and I don’t know how long I can keep this from escalating to more. I don’t want to ruin our miraculous progress.
“Your turn,” she insists. I take another bite-size piece with the same fork ready to place my lips where hers just were. Only she surprises me yet again by taking the fork out of my hand. “Turnabout is fair play, Mr. Lair,” she whispers before feeding me the bite. My dick strains against my jeans, and my chest heaves. I’ve never been so turned on by something as innocent as this—this vanilla.
There is so much I can say right now. God knows the lewd thoughts that are wreaking havoc on my mind, but I don’t want to push too hard. Whether she knows it or not, we’re establishing a mental game of foreplay that will end with her underneath me. There’s no denying how much she wants me too. Her eyes give her away. She’s just rebelling against what her body craves because she’s scared. Good thing I have time. We go back and forth, feeding each other everything on the plate until we both notice the beginning of the sunrise.
“I’ll grab the camera,” I say as I dab the bacon grease from the side of her mouth. I can’t resist giving her a wink as I do so, and it earns me another smile. I reluctantly get up to grab the camera from my bed where I left it this morning. When I get back, she is already out on the deck, looking toward the sky.
She turns t
o watch me as I walk out to meet her. Her eyes are giving her away again, and it gives me an idea. I hand her the camera bag, and she wastes no time looking through it. She pushes a strand of hair back that escaped from that bun hairdo she wears. Her hair is too pretty for that shit. I just want to pull all the pins out. My fingers are twitching to do just that. She puffs out a breath of frustration as she fiddles with the camera. She’s getting overwhelmed with it all.
“Hey. Let’s just get you some practice shots in. Point and shoot. Then later you can read the instruction manual and learn about all the features and how to work them all,” I suggest as I steady her hands in mine.
She finally nods and aims the camera toward the sunrise. She takes a few shots before we look at them together on the LCD display.
“See? Not bad. Not bad at all for your first time. Those are actually pretty good.”
“Oh, it’s definitely your camera. I can’t take that much credit. What kind of camera is this?”
“Nikon D800,” I say, pointing at the name on the camera. We both laugh, but then she points the camera at me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I want to shoot you. I mean take your picture. You know what I mean,” she corrects.
“I’m not a fan of having my picture taken, but for you, I guess it’ll be okay,” I reply, only somewhat teasing. “I’ll be your subject. How do you want me to pose?”
“Do whatever you want. I just want to try something.”
I grab the rail and face her so that all my tattoos are in her line of sight. She snaps quite a bit before she finally lowers the camera.
“Okay, let’s see.” We look at the LCD display again, and I’m amazed at what she was able to capture. “Wow. Good job!”
“You’re kind of beautiful,” she confesses. She blushes when she realizes that she said that out loud. I miss that lovely shade on her even though it would be nicer somewhere else—like on her ass.
