by Imani King
"Well? What do you think? Come see how the rich and idle live - overpriced cocktails are on me, of course."
I paused, on some level aware that it might be a bad idea but also in that Friday night mood where you just want to stop being careful and responsible and go a little crazy at the end of a long week. Rosa clenched her fists and grinned when I responded to Blake:
"Sure, yeah, we'll come along."
"Good. I've got some things to take care of but I'll send a driver to pick you guys up, OK? How does an hour sound?"
I told him it sounded good, pushed the end call button and looked up at Rosa, who was dancing on the spot.
"Foufonique, Nat - that place is going to be craaaazy. Does my hair look good? Maybe I'll meet a Russian oligarch's son and go to Siberia to live in his castle?"
I made a face at her and rolled my eyes. "Yeah, that sounds perfect. A castle in Siberia."
"Well, OK, maybe not a castle in Siberia, maybe just a one night stand - if he's hot enough!"
We spent the next hour waiting for the car to arrive, giddy with excitement and anticipation, and got to the club at almost eleven o'clock.
"Is this - is Blake here?" I asked the driver, not seeing him anywhere outside of the club and knowing we needed to be with him if we were going to bypass the line-up that was snaking down the sidewalk for blocks. He just gave me a shrug in response so we got out of the SUV and had a funny moment when the people waiting in line and the assembled paparazzi all turned to look at us for a few seconds, expectant someone famous was about to emerge from the vehicle with blacked out windows, and then immediately looked away again when they realized we were nobodies.
"Rude!" Rosa whispered into my ear, giggling at the reaction we'd just received.
I was just about to call Blake when one of the women on the door, who apparently worked at a club when she wasn't too busy being a supermodel, saw us and waved us over.
"Natasha Ray?" She asked, pressing her earpiece into her ear over the din of music thumping out into the street. I nodded and she ushered us inside, leading us up a flight of glass stairs and into the VIP area. The only person in the whole area - apart from a few security staff - was Blake. He smiled sheepishly when he saw us:
"I don't like crowds - and my friends should be here soon."
That was surprising, given the number of photos I'd seen of him working the red carpet like a pro, interacting with over-excited fans, taking selfies, shaking hands, the whole bit.
Blake Charlton's disdain for crowds was not, however, the main thing on my mind at the time. He looked hot. I mean, he always looked hot, but that night? That night it was so blatant it almost made me want to laugh. He was head-shakingly, impossibly sexy. He was also wearing another one of those suits, the ones that fit him just right and did nothing to hide the broad width of his upper body or the perfect musculature of his thighs. I glanced over at Rosa and saw she was handling it even more obviously than I was - her tongue was practically hanging out of her mouth.
"So, I see you ladies got all dressed up - you look great."
Blake was shouting over the music, but even in the dim light of the club I could see he was forcing the happy tone. When he signaled one of the hostesses over to our table I shook my head, aware that the limit on the night was two drinks, maybe three. I looked at him, eyebrows raised:
"You know Dr. Franco said only three drinks a week maximum, right? I should probably take it easy."
Blake slumped back into the deep leather sofa and ran one hand through his hair, not quite meeting my eye.
"I don't think there are going to be any more attempts, Nat."
Rosa heard him and we both looked at each other nervously before turning to Blake, waiting for an explanation. None was forthcoming, however.
"I'll tell you everything, but not right now, is that OK? I just...I need tonight - I need some time away from everything."
I could feel Rosa's eyes boring into me but we both minded our manners and ordered a cocktail without questioning Blake further, although I was at that point dying of curiosity. What had happened to put his big plans for a family on hold?
The cocktails arrived at the same time Blake's friends did and he slipped easily into the role of social director, introducing everyone, starting conversations, making sure nobody was left out. He may not be fond of crowds of strangers but around his own friends, where he feels comfortable, Blake Charlton was the master of the room. It took less than ten minutes for the best looking one of his friends - a tall man with a short, neat afro and a faint whiff of hipster about him to take a shine to Rosa. She turned to me and gave me a questioning look before taking his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor. I didn't begrudge her a second of the attention - she'd been taking care of me and my neuroses for weeks and I was pretty sure she needed a night of flirting and fun as much as I did.
Eventually, Blake sat back down, reaching out suddenly to catch my cocktail, which was on the verge of tipping over.
"The table is alligator, Nat. You have to be careful not to put your drinks on the larger scales."
I threw my head back laughing at the total ridiculousness of an alligator skin table and Blake watched me.
"What's so funny? Alligator tables too trashy for you?"
"I don't know, Blake. I don't think I even knew alligator tables existed. I guess you rich people need something to spend all your money on."
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them a little, noticing the quick grimace that crossed Blake's face.
He seemed happy to spare me a lecture on rich people problems though, leaning in close to ask me if I liked my cocktail.
"The bartender is from Tokyo - have you ever been there?"
I shook my head no. I had never been to Tokyo. I'd never even been outside the United States.
"Yeah, I sort of know the owners of this place - they found him in some Tokyo hotel and immediately offered him a boatload of cash to abandon his homeland and come make drinks for the gaijin. The Japanese are the biggest perfectionists in the world - when they do something, they do it with a mind-blowing attention to detail."
I wanted to fully participate in the conversation - and Blake was so kind and un-snobbish, refusing to talk down to or patronize me because I wasn't as well-traveled as he was - but it was one of those things, one of those interactions where you're given a small glimpse into another world and it's entirely alien to you.
"I'm sorry, Natasha. I'm not trying to be an asshole. You're making me a little nervous."
Me? I was making Blake Charlton nervous?
"Me?" I asked, baffled - "Why?!"
I watched in astonishment as Blake frowned with embarrassment and looked down at his drink.
"I don't know what to say to you. Nothing I have to talk about seems like it would be interesting to someone like you."
"What?" I asked, shaking my head. "Blake are you kidding me? You have so many things to talk about. You've been to so many places and done so many different things. I mean, if talking about being broke or working as a temp intimidates you, I don't know what to say."
I was trying to make light of the situation but it didn't work, I could see Blake was taking everything I said seriously.
"Natasha. Don't patronize me. I may be a rich prick who's never done a real day of work in his life, but I'm not an idiot. I can only imagine what you must think of me."
By that point my confusion was total. I took a sip of my drink and noted at once that it was by far the best cocktail I'd ever tasted. I took another sip and let the sweet-tart flavor of fresh strawberries and melon and whatever else was in the concoction roll over my tongue.
"Damn, you weren't kidding - this is delicious. And stop acting like you're the one with nothing interesting to say, Blake, it's - it's embarrassing me."
He sat back and studied my face, saying nothing for a few seconds.
"You really think that, don't you?"
"What?"
"That
you're the one with nothing of note to say?"
It wasn't quite that. He wasn't completely wrong, but I didn't think I had nothing important to talk about - I just didn't think there was any way I could hope to compete with someone with his means and his experiences.
"Will you dance with me?"
I almost jumped up from the table at the offer, beyond eager to leave the awkward subject matter behind.
"Of course!"
Was I surprised that Blake could dance? I mean that he could really dance, in a way that would have had women all over him even if he wasn't rich and famous? Well, maybe for five minutes, before I remembered that he seemed to be good at almost everything. It's a rare white man in a suit who can move like that, but it seemed to come to him like so many other things did - effortlessly.
He watched me with a sly little half-smile on his face, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having. I enjoyed it, too. In fact I loved it - I loved everything about having his eyes on me. It made me want his hands on me, too, and it was that thought that made me take a step back when he moved in close to try and slip his arm around my waist.
He noticed me backing off and didn't push it, but I made the mistake of trying to explain myself anyway, not wanting to cause offense.
"I'm sorry," I leaned in and spoke into his ear, "I-"
I didn't know what else to say. The truth? That I was too afraid of what my own reaction would be if I let him put his hands on me? That I was aching for the feeling of his breath on my neck? So I kept dancing and didn't say anything else.
"I'm divorcing Vanessa."
That comment got my attention, shocking me into stillness as Blake looked down at me.
"What?" I asked, wanting to be sure I'd heard him correctly.
Instead of repeating himself, though, he just took me by the wrist and led me out a door at the back of the VIP area onto a deserted rooftop terrace. As soon as the door closed behind us, cutting off the noise of the club, Blake turned to me:
"Sorry about that - I mean, sorry for just laying that on you. For some reason I thought you should know. Vanessa and I are divorcing."
"Oh..." I said, forcing myself not to rudely ask for details.
"Yeah. It's - uh, well, it's been an interesting couple of weeks. She was never pregnant. She lied about that to get me to propose and I found her medical records on the table a few days ago. She's hired the best divorce lawyer in town."
"Oh. Well," I started, trying to absorb the news at the same time as part of me was wondering why Blake was telling it to me, "I'm sorry."
He leaned over the wrought-iron railing that surrounded the terrace and looked out over the city lights below us. "Don't be, Nat. It almost feels like a lesson from the universe - the one thing I convinced myself I was too smart and too worldly to fall for - of course it was going to happen to me. From this perspective it looks pathetically obvious, actually."
I joined him in leaning on the railing and turned my face into the warm night's breeze.
"It's not your fault."
"Isn't it?"
"No, Blake, it isn't. Bad people exist and none of us have psychic powers - it's just bad luck to run into them."
Blake shook his head. "I don't know, Nat. She told me it was easy, you know. She said all she had to do was cater to my huge ego and I'm not sure I can deny that that's how it happened."
"Well so what?" I asked, half wanting to reach out and put my arms around him and half afraid to actually do it. "We all have egos, Blake. It's not like you're a special case. I've fallen for flattery before, too. We all want to be loved, we all want other people to admire us."
He turned to look at me when I said that but I kept my eyes locked on the orange glow of the city as seconds passed in contemplative silence.
"I've never met anyone like you, Natasha. Do you know that?"
Too self-conscious to meet his gaze I just chuckled and wracked my brain for something to say in response.
"What? Is that funny? Why is that funny? Do you think people like you are everywhere?"
Finally I mustered up the courage to look at him. His eyes were so blue, even in the semi-darkness of the Los Angeles nighttime. I've never been able to take a compliment and trying to play it down has always been my reaction.
"Blake, you hardly know me."
When he spoke next his voice was low and even and I could feel how deeply he meant what he was saying.
"I know enough."
Then, he kissed me. He bent his head down to my level, hands in his pockets, and opened his lips against mine slowly until there was no choice except to kiss him back. I had wanted Blake Charlton before I even met him. Thoughts of being with him had been more frequent than I cared to admit, but up until that moment it was all theoretical. The reality of him standing there in front of me - strong and warm and so, so male - was something else entirely. I could feel my whole body waking up to him, pushing itself forward into his touch when he pulled his hands out of his pockets and put them on my neck. He ran one thumb over my cheek as he slipped his tongue into my mouth and an acute warmth blossomed in the very bottom of my belly.
"Natasha, you are so fucking beautiful."
Any other time, I would have laughed out loud. But not then, not with the hungry look in his eyes and the feeling of his hands as he explored my body, sinking his fingers into the flesh of my hip and pulling me against him, hard.
I was fighting with myself - with every instinct telling me to keep going and that little voice in the back of my mind telling me to slow down, to take a good hard look at what I was doing and how, even if he was on the road to divorce, nothing had changed about our respective situations. Blake Charlton was a billionaire and a shining star in the Hollywood firmament - and up until his still-recent marriage he had more than earned his reputation as a player with a huge appetite for women. I was Natasha Ray, broke college graduate with a fridge full of frozen bargain food and a distinct lack of experience with men like that. What was I thinking?
That's the problem, I wasn't thinking. All I could do in Blake's arms that night was feel - and he felt so damn good.
"Are you OK?"
He took a step back, sensing my hesitation and searching my eyes for the reason - it did not seem likely that he had known a lot of women to back off. I looked up at him, burning up with need, and couldn't find any words to explain myself. I ran my fingers over the lapel of his jacket, torturing myself and then I made the mistake of looking down.
He was hard - obviously, completely hard.
"Oh...Blake."
I wasn't in full control of myself at that moment - every part of me was aching for him. I ran my hand down his chest slowly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt and then with the buckle of his belt, giving myself every opportunity to stop and failing to do so. It was the expression on his face when he felt my hands pressed against him - the way his eyes closed and his mouth opened when he moaned softly and pushed his hips forward. It was how much he needed me - as if his need was an intoxicant of some kind - airborne and seeping inevitably into my every pore.
"Natasha."
His voice was deep and thick as he kissed his way down my neck to my breasts and then pulled my dress down under them, burying his face in my soft flesh and sucking one of my nipples into his mouth while I gasped.
Blake looked up at me one more time, checking:
"Natasha, if you're going to tell me stop, do it now."
His meaning was crystal clear - he was as close to losing it as I was.
But I couldn't tell him to stop. He cupped my breasts in his big hands and covered them with kisses so fervent it felt like he was trying to devour me.
"Oh God, Blake. I need you. I need you so much."
I didn't mean to say it. It just came out because it was the truth, without any forethought on my part. And when it did I felt the last vestiges of my reluctance melt as easily as ice cubes on a hot summer sidewalk.
Everything happened quickly then. Blake spun
me around so I was facing the railing and pushed his body tightly up against mine while I ground my ass against him, wanting to feel his hardness - desperate to please him.
I've never been as lost in a state of pure lust as I was that evening on Foufonique's roof terrace. I'd wanted it before, sure, but not so much it almost made me nauseous with its power and took away my rational faculties. When Blake lifted the bottom of my dress up over my hips my breath caught in my throat as my body tensed up with anticipation.
"Look at me, Natasha."
He reached around and put one finger under my chin, turning my head so I was facing him back over my shoulder.
"Please!" I whimpered, beyond embarrassment, no longer capable of waiting.
Blake pulled my panties out of the way, knowing that taking them off would take far too long and then he pushed the head of his cock between my lips and held himself there for a few seconds, panting, before sinking the entire length of himself into me and bending down over my body, moaning.
"Mmmm. Natasha, baby. You feel so sweet, baby, oh Jesus you feel so good."
I couldn't reply, though, because the feeling of him inside me - the actual sensation of my body being penetrated so perfectly - took away all of my ability to form words. Instead I tightened my fingers around the iron railing and took only vague notice of the sound of my own needy cries as Blake started to fuck me.
The deeper and faster he went, the deeper and faster I needed it - the fulfillment of every little ache just created another stronger one until my breath was short and shallow and I could feel all the pleasure building and focusing between my legs.
"Oh, God..."
Those were the only words I managed to squeak out as the first hot pulse of bliss tightened my sex around Blake, followed instantly by total mental blankness as everything faded out of consciousness except the sweetness of him inside me.
