by Stella Noir
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she jokes, as I order us another Scotch. This will be our fourth one. I'm surprised she keeps drinking it, as most girls would have asked for something else by now. I wonder if she actually enjoys the taste and burn of the whisky, or if she's just doing it to impress me.
Either way, it's alluring.
"It's impossible to get someone else drunk without them wanting to," I tell her.
She blushes and evades my eyes. "Good point."
"Besides, isn't vodka-cranberry the go-to drink for that?" I ask.
She lets out a shy chuckle. "Oh, you'd know more about that sort of thing than I do."
"So your drink of choice would be a good Scotch even if I wasn't ordering them for you?"
She shakes her head. "I've never cared for it much. But I like this one. You have good taste."
"I do," I agree.
"I'm wondering, though," she adds. "Why this bar? Why this Scotch? Considering you have all the money in the world, it seems odd to me that you'd choose this place all the time."
"All the money in the world, huh?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"
"It's okay," I interrupt her. She's too fucking cute. "It's a good question, with a boring answer. I just spent a lot time in this place after I left the Marines."
That's making a long story very short, but she doesn't need to know more than that right now. She doesn't need to know about the gambling, the idiots I used to hang out with, the cheap ass drinks we shared, and the fucked up things we did. It was my kind of support group, but we destroyed each other more than any single one of us would be willing to admit, and not all of us came out of that mess the way I did. In fact, no one did. As far as I know, I'm the only one still standing. The only one standing tall on a mountain of shit.
And I don't even know why. It's not like I'd deserved it any more than the others, on the contrary.
"By yourself?" she asks.
I cast her a quizzical look.
"Did you always come here by yourself?" she elaborates on her question.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "With friends."
"Where are they now?"
"Not here," I say, stating the obvious. "People grow apart, that happens. But I still like this bar. So, I come here by myself."
"Did you ever... um, bring a girlfriend here?" she asks, not looking at me. Her shoulders are tense and she fixates her eyes on the glass in front of her.
"No," I say simply, and my heart clenches. The pain is still there. A sharp pinch, every time the idea of a woman at my side is mentioned. I wonder if it will ever go away. Time heals all wounds, they say. Surely, four years has not been enough to heal mine.
I clear my throat before I add, "Besides, I don't know any women who like Scotch."
Except for her.
I shake my head as if that could make the memory go away. It does go away, but only when her image is replaced by one of Lily.
Our eyes meet, and when I wink at her, she casts me a coy smile. It's the kind of smile that's supposed to lure a man into taking a step forward. The kind of smile that's impossible to resist.
This girl is playing with fire. She has no idea.
I turn to her so that our knees touch. A faint sigh escapes from her pretty lips. She doesn't move away, which proves my suspicion.
"Also, I don't really do the girlfriend thing," I warn her. Now she knows. If she's waiting for a dinner invitation, drinks and a movie, flowers and long walks along the beach while holding hands – that's not ever going to happen with me.
I look at her and expect to see disappointment reflected in her blue eyes, but she manages to surprise me. She looks at me with unambiguous fascination – and amusement.
"Why do you feel the need to tell me that?" she says. "And what does that even mean, 'the girlfriend thing'?"
"You tell me," I say.
"I just finished doing 'the girlfriend thing' with someone," she says. "I'm not looking to be anyone’s girlfriend again any time soon."
I arch my brows and look at her with curiosity. "Just broke up with a boyfriend, huh?"
She looks grim as she nods and reaches for her glass. Her whole posture could be described as that of a brooding gangster if it wasn't for her small frame and girlish outfit. She's wearing a light pink blouse with a small black bow around the neck. It looks way too formal for this place, but it suits her very well. Conservative office chic. I will rip that blouse apart if she agrees to what I'm about to suggest.
I place a hand on her knee and gently caress along the upper side of her thigh. She quivers, but doesn't move away or try to stop me.
"Are you out to explore something new?" I ask. "Or just willing to give it all up for a good story?"
She glares at me and places her hand on top of mine. "Please don't insult my integrity or my intelligence. I'd never do something like this just to get a story."
"Something like this?" I ask, now touching the side of her pale cheek with the side of my hand. She leans into my touch, closing her eyes.
"Something like this," she repeats, her eyes still closed. Her voice is so faint that I can barely hear her over the music that's playing in the background.
"Look at me," I command.
She hesitates for a moment, but then she opens her beautiful blue eyes. We stare at each other for a few moments before I lean in to get my first taste of her. She welcomes the feel of my lips on hers, sighing again like she did before. She's shy and careful, but that's not how I kiss. I soon demand more as my tongue begins to explore her mouth, claiming more of her than she's used to giving during a first kiss. She moans and holds on to the bar counter as if she's scared she’ll fall off her chair.
I started our kiss and I'm the one to end it. When I retreat, I find her staring up at me, her chest heaving as she breathes.
"How drunk are you?" I ask her.
"Drunk enough to dare to do things that a sober me wouldn't do," she whispers. "But not too drunk to know that I want this."
I smile at her. "Perfect."
She looks at me expectantly, shy but willing. She still wants me to take the lead, which is perfectly fine with me.
I grab her by the back of her head and pull her face close to mine. She's startled by my sudden motion and her eyes flicker with excitement.
"Just know this," I hiss so that only she can hear me. "If I take you, I'll do it my way. I won't make love to you."
I pause, pleased by the way she looks at me. There's a hint of disappointment because she doesn't know where I'm going with this.
"You won't?" she asks in a soft voice.
I shake my head.
"I won't make love to you," I repeat. "I'll fuck you."
Her eyes flicker again, and if it wasn't as dark in here as it is, I'm sure I'd see her blush. Right now, all I see is the excitement reflected in the depths of her deep blue eyes.
"Let’s get out of here," she whispers.
"We will," I say. "But from now on, I'll be the one giving the orders, understand?"
She smiles and nods.
I let go of her and get up, throwing a few notes on the counter to pay for our drinks. I don't know the exact amount, but I know it's far more than we owe.
I can see that she wants to protest and pay for her drinks, but she notices my warning eyes on her and chooses to remain quiet. Good girl.
I lead her outside, watching her as she walks next to me, clutching her bag close to her body. She looks scared and I don't know if I like that.
I hail a cab and it's not until we are inside the car that she turns to me to ask where we're going.
"My place," I say. "It's not far from here."
My cock is aching for her already and it gets worse with every passing minute, especially now that we're sitting in this confined space. She's wearing black skinny jeans that hug her slim legs like a second skin. They go well with her blouse, but right now I wish she was wearing a skirt.
Then again, this leaves me wit
h more to look forward to.
We get to my building within less than 15 minutes, but to me the drive feels like it's taking forever. She doesn't speak until we get out of the car and I lead her inside the building.
"Wow," she comments, as we step inside the white marble lobby.
The concierge greets us with a discreet nod, causing her to cast me an amused look. "Fancy."
"Behave," I warn her. "Don't make me regret bringing you here."
We get on the elevator, and I know she's suppressing another comment when I punch in a code that will take us to the penthouse floor.
It dawns on me the she's the first girl I'm bringing here. I have lived in this place for almost a year. A two-bedroom penthouse with way too much space for one person. It still looks empty and hardly lived in because all I cared about was having a big screen TV, something to sit in front of it in, and a well-equipped bar. It's everything I need to dull the pain. If it wasn't for the interior designer I hired when I first moved in, there wouldn't be anything else inside that place.
Joe pressured me to hire her, as part of my healing process. "New home, new you," he said. I don't think the Jaipur rugs or the art collection on my walls did anything to help me forget about the maddening pain that has claimed me for years, but I made a promise to him. I promised that I would try, and so I did. I still do.
The elevator door closes behind us, prompting her to cast an expectant look at me, as if she's waiting for me to jump her as soon as I can. But I don't like to do what’s expected of me. I want her to be surprised, so she never knows what will happen next when she's with me.
Instead of pushing her up against the elevator wall and taking another kiss from her while groping underneath her blouse, I just stand next to her, about two feet away, letting the tension between us grow, torturing her.
She shifts around from one foot to the other, now avoiding eye contact and inspecting the tips of her feet instead of looking at me. My eyes stay put, enjoying the view of her melting under my observation. She's moving and twitching as if I was touching her. It's hard to tell if she's nervous or excited or both. However, it's clearly visible that I have an impact on her, and I love that. It's been too long. I haven't slept with a woman without paying her to do so in years, so all I've been getting has been good acting.
Lily is different. She's sincere. Authentic.
The elevator stops and asks me to punch in another code. I can hear her gasp behind me when the door opens to reveal my open living area. She lifts her hand to cover her mouth, her big blue eyes staring up at me as if I'd just caught her doing something bad.
"Come," I tell her. "You can gawk all you want once we're inside."
She obediently follows my gesture and steps inside, while I follow, taking in the view of her perky little ass in those tight black jeans.
CHAPTER NINE
Lily
I knew he did very well for himself, but I didn't expect this. His wealth must be a lot grander than I knew.
The tension between us was almost unbearable while we were confined in the elevator. I found myself disappointed that he didn't make a move. Isn't that how it works in the movies? The doors close and the man pushes his woman against the wall, claiming another kiss from her, pushing her arms up, so she's at his mercy...
My heart speeds up as I fantasize about things that didn't happen. The way he kissed me in the bar was so demanding, so rough and hungry, and the way he was looking at me in the car made me feel certain that he'd attack me as soon as we were by ourselves and safe from other people's eyes.
But he didn't. And he still hasn't.
As the elevator closes behind us after we step inside his penthouse, the only source of light disappears, leaving us standing in almost complete darkness. The room is only lit by the city lights that find their way through the huge panoramic windows on the other side of the room. We're higher than most of the buildings around us, so it's quite astonishing that there's still so much light.
I can feel his eyes locked on me. He hasn't stopped looking at me since we left the bar. He hasn't touched me, hasn't said a word, just looked at me.
It's playing havoc with my mind and body.
I'm standing with my back to the door, staring at the light and open living room in front of me. The glass wall opposite me reveals a marvelous view of the city skyline. There's no light inside the apartment, nothing that reflects in the windows to disturb the view.
I hear him move behind me, but I don't dare turn around, even when I can feel his presence behind me and smell his distincitve scent. I shiver when he touches me, placing his hands on my shoulders. Still, he's not speaking, but a gentle push suggests that he wants me to move further into the living room. I slowly make my way to the window, placing one foot in front of the other as if I was walking a thin line.
He doesn't stop me until we're standing almost directly in front of the window. There's a wide seating area next to me, a designer corner sofa and a matching armchair, but that's all I can tell about the interior of the room because it's too dark.
"Don't move," he whispers from behind, his mouth so close to my left ear that I can feel his breath on my neck. "Understand?"
"Yes," I breathe, startled by the sound of my own voice.
"No matter what I do," he adds. "You are not allowed to move."
No matter what he does? My heart leaps with anticipation.
I nod quietly.
His hands wander down along my arms while his lips find the back of my neck. I sigh when he starts planting kisses on my sensitive skin. He's so surprisingly gentle and careful. His touch is nothing more than a soft breeze on my skin.
Until his kisses are replaced by bites. He starts nibbling along my neckline. At first, it's a gentle tingling, but soon his bites turn more violent.
I moan in pain when he sinks his teeth especially deep into the skin right above my collarbone. My arms instinctively rise in an attempt to protect myself, but he keeps them in place with a tight grip around my wrists. He bites and sucks on my skin, sure to leave a mark before he finally retreats. I'm panting heavily, trying to obey his command as best as I can while staring down at the busy streets below me.
This evening took a turn of events that I didn't expect at all. I don't know what I was expecting while sitting at the bar and waiting for him. Sharing a drink. Talking. Flirting, maybe.
I certainly didn't expect to be standing in his luxury penthouse while this gorgeous man is fumbling around learning about and teasing my nervous body.
"Relax," he whispers, while his hands let go of my wrists. "Just relax."
Easier said than done.
It does become a lot easier the moment he wraps his arms around me from behind. I lean into his buff chest and enjoy the feeling of his strong arms encased around me.
"Your heart is about to jump out of your chest," he breathes into my ear. "What makes you so nervous?"
"You," I reply with a tone of self-evidence.
A chuckle forms in his throat. "Good."
His hands wander along the front of my torso, cupping my breasts before tracing down across my belly, causing me to quiver from the tickling sensation.
He ignores my shivering and moves his hands lower until he reaches my center, slowing stroking across the fabric of my jeans as if it was an accident, before he moves back up and starts unbuttoning my blouse.
Even that subtle touch sends a lightning strike through my body. Hardly anything has happened yet, but I still find myself bubbling with arousal. It's confusing to say the least.
He's in no hurry and takes his time unfastening one button after the other.
"You're lucky," he says in a soft voice.
"How so?" I want to know.
"I was going to rip this blouse from your body to have my way with you," he says.
"Why haven't you?"
"I'm enjoying this way too much," he says. "Your delicious shivering is just as pleasant as the screams I could provoke."
I
blush and sigh when he opens the last button. He opens the blouse and slowly pulls it back and down over my shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.
I'm suddenly self-conscious about my body, standing in front of him – and the open windows – exposed like this. But he doesn't give me a lot of time to ponder my insecurities. As soon as the blouse is gone, he unhooks my bra, and I withstand the urge to cover my bare breasts as soon as it follows the blouse to the ground. I'm not supposed to move, and following his command gives me an unfamiliar thrill.
He groans with approval when his hands find their way back to my chest, cupping my boobs gently before he starts squeezing them with more force. Another moan escapes my lips and I tilt my head back to rest against his strong body while he continues fondling my sensitive breasts.
"Perfect," he murmurs, as he starts taking my nipples between two fingers and gently pinching them. The sensation can hardly be called pain, it's more of a warm sting that causes my nubs to harden immediately. I've never been touched by such skillful hands, and my mind goes crazy fantasizing about what else he could do with them.
He continues teasing my nipples, increasing the pressure with every twist and turn, until I find myself squirming and groaning out of pain. My hands stay put and I hollow my back, bending into his wonderful touch.
His motions grow in intensity and his breathing accelerates. I can tell that soon these gentle caring caresses will be over and I will find myself faced with the animalistic beast he is.
I can't wait.
A faint sigh of disappointment accompanies his hands' journey away from my chest, down to the hem of my jeans. I expect him to tease me, as he obviously enjoys the journey as much or more than the destination, but his patience is slipping. He unzips my jeans as soon as his hands reach it.
I wish there was a way for me to get out of these pants in one elegant motion, but they're a skinny fit that makes them look as if they’re painted on. He pulls them down, and I hate how much force he has to use to get them over my curvy behind. I've always felt a little insecure about that area of my body, even though I've been told more times than I can count that men love it.
