by Linnea May
"Elene," he whispers into my ear, stopping my train of thought. "Stay with me. Don't go where ever your mind takes you—follow me."
He bends his fingers inside me, moving in slow circle back and forth, slowly feeling my insides while he pokes into me with gentle force. I flinch when he skims a spot shortly behind my entrance, and that's when he stops.
"There we go," he breathes, pulling me closer in his embrace, while his massage on my clit intensifies. "You'll come for me now, do you hear, Elene?"
I want to shake my head no, but I know it's futile. I'm already at the edge, so close to exploding on his hand again. The idea that this is not going to happen seems ridiculous to me, just as the opposite used to hold true before I met him.
My head cocks to the side, my eyes moving up to him while I try to protest his assertion with nothing more than a look.
"Yes, you will come," he retorts, smiling with confidence. "And it will be as beautiful as it always is."
His massage on my clit intensifies, applying so much pressure that at first I think it's too much. I coil next to him, sliding even further down into the cushion and almost exposing myself to the rest of the room as the kimono is being pushed aside. He bends his fingers inside me, only slightly moving back and forth, but applying fierce pressure on that sensitive spot right behind my entrance. It only takes two or three thrusts before I can feel the first rush rolling over me. My eyes widen while I stare up at the dark ceiling above us before he hisses from the side: "Look at me!"
I obey, moving on instinct as I follow his voice while my body hums with pleasure. My eyes lock onto his and I'm panting, my chest heaving as I keep floating on an ongoing cloud that fogs my view and my senses. A deep groan escapes me while I arch my back, taking in the heaps of lust as they take a hold of me with relentless force. I melt into him, a smile spreading across my face as I ride wave after wave of bliss. I didn't know that there could be something like this, a place of true happiness.
I don't want to question it. I don't want to worry. I don't want to pull myself together. An alluring voice of ecstatic freedom is calling me to let myself go, forgetting everything and everyone around me.
Everyone but him.
Chapter 30
Elene
"He still won't give it up?"
Sandi cocks her head to the side, not even trying to stop herself from laughing. She's shaking her head, almost spilling the contents of her drink because she's giggling so hard. I cast her a reproachful look.
"Very helpful," I say, slumping down on the couch next to her, careful not to spill my own drink. I made Manhattans for us, a favorite not just for me. When I moved into this place, thinking it would only be temporary, I didn't bother much about a well-equipped kitchen. But I knew that a proper blender for drinks was a must, since I prefer cocktails over wine. Sandi and I have been making so much use of it that I don't even feel bad about investing so much money in something as mundane as a blender, especially one that is mainly used for drinks and not for cooking.
"Look, this man is driving me crazy," I say, sounding terribly pathetic. "He's so..."
"Handsome," Sandi completes my sentence, winking while she brings the glass up to her lips. "That man's a looker for sure."
"Well, yes, that too," I admit. "But that's not it. He's just... there's something about him. He's intense. He really knows what he's doing, and he..."
I stop, biting my lips, unsure how to finish that sentence. I know what I want to say, but I'm not sure if it's the right assessment. It may be nothing more but a vague feeling, an impression I got from the few but intense encounters I've had with this man. I've been wondering what it is that makes him so special, and why I respond the way I do. Is it because...
"He really knows me," I say in a low voice, somehow fearing Sandi's response to my words.
"You mean he knows what turns you on?" she clarifies, straightforward as always.
I sigh. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that."
"But?"
It's more than just turning me on. He doesn't just push the right buttons on my body by touching me in the right places in the right way. He really gets to me, and most of it is achieved simply by words and the way he looks at me. He has me wrapped around his finger, because he's gotten into my head like no other.
It's as wonderful as it is scary.
"It's... hard to explain," I reveal to Sandi. We have been close friends for so long, but I still feel weird talking about him with her. I feel weird even thinking about him, because I'm hesitant to allow myself to go where my heart dictates me to go. I might be wrong. I might be making too much out of this. He's not my boyfriend after all, and he probably doesn't want to be.
And yet I'm sitting here unable to stop thinking about him.
"Sure sounds like an interesting guy, though," Sandi says. "Maybe I should give him a try."
My heart aches at her words, and I fail to hide the pain in front of Sandi. My eyebrows crease as I cast her a reproachful look, even though I know it's not warranted. He's just a client, for God's sake. It's not like we're dating, and who knows how many girls he's toying with in the same way right now. Who knows what he's been up to all those nights when he made me wait at the club for nothing. He could have been with someone else. We never said that we're exclusive...
"Oh, you really like the guy, don't you?" Sandi assumes, reading my face. "Damn, girl, I'm sorry, I—"
"No, it's okay," I hurry to assure her. "He is a client. You're right. I shouldn't even—"
"Never fall for clients," she reminds me, arching her eyebrows with worry. "They're not boyfriend material. No man who buys women like us is."
I sigh, lowering my gaze. She is right. I know she is right. But if he really is nothing more than a regular, why doesn't he take what he is paying for? Why does he make me feel this way; why does he insist on guaranteeing my pleasure before his?
Maybe that's just his kink. Some people are just... different. And he certainly is.
"I'm not falling for him," I lie. "I'm just confused."
Sandi snorts. "Girl, that's pretty much the same thing."
I let out a sad chuckle. "Maybe."
We sit in silence for a few moments, both sipping on our Manhattans. It's a good blend this time. Not to brag, but I've become pretty adept at preparing drinks. I wonder if Miss Barry would ever give me a chance to work behind the bar. I bet I'd be pretty good at it.
"Do you think he likes you?" Sandi asks, breaking into my absent pondering.
"How can you ever tell with a client?" I say, shrugging. "He makes me wonder, though. Why doesn't he take what he's paying for? Why doesn't he fuck me? Why does he keep showing up and then just...."
"Give you the best orgasms you've ever had?" Sandi completes my sentence, chuckling.
I shake my head at her. "I never said that."
"You might as well have," she says. "As far as I can remember, you always told me that you can't come with a man. Well, he proved you wrong, didn't he?"
"Yes, but—"
"And he keeps showing up just for that," she adds. "Just to make you feel good. He enjoys seeing you have fun. That's certainly a kink some people have, especially men."
I nod along to her words, agreeing with her assessment .
"But if my pleasure is what he enjoys most, why won't he give me what I want?" I wonder out loud. "It's not like I haven't asked for it multiple times."
Sandi giggles. "Maybe he has a tiny dick and doesn't want to disappoint."
I playfully roll my eyes at her immature comment.
"Oh no he doesn't," I tell her, my eyebrows curving as I remember the sight of him. "On the contrary. Trust me."
"You've seen it?" she asks, widening her eyes with excitement.
"Once, yes. He has nothing to be shy about."
"Damn!"
"Damn indeed," I mumble, taking another sip from my drink.
"Well, if you want him that m
uch, you'll just have to make it impossible for him to say no," Sandi advises. "Seduce him. You know how that's done."
I bite my lip as I slowly descend in a pensive nod. "Yes, you'd think that. But my usual tricks don't work on him. Quite the opposite, actually. He gets angry when I try."
"Hmm, I see," Sandi retorts, knitting her eyebrows together. "Then... don't try."
I cast her a puzzled look. "What's that supposed to mean? Play hard to get?"
Sandi shakes her head.
"You said he always wants you naked?" she asks. "No lingerie, no dresses, no stockings."
I nod along as she lists all things he made me get rid of. "He says he wants the real me, no fake persona, no hooker."
My gaze lowers in shame before I add: "To be honest, I don't even know what that would look like... who I am with a man when he didn't buy me."
I feel weak and embarrassed saying those words. It's an admission of defeat to say it out loud. I knew I wasn't good at normal dating. I knew I wasn't normal when it comes to men and relationships. But I never realized how bad it really was, how far detached I am from these things. It posed a challenge when I was forced to do nothing but talk, and an even greater challenge when I was ready to give myself to him only to be rejected.
Is rejection the right word, though? I'm not sure.
I can feel Sandi's eyes on me but I ignore her, seeking solace at the bottom of my drink as I often do. I don't fear to be judged by her, because if anyone could understand, it would be her. But I know she doesn't share my troubles, and I hate to be pitied.
"Well, technically he is paying for you," Sandi adds for consideration. "He's just being weird and declining your usual services for whatever reason."
I turn my eyes to her, the ache of disappointment written so clearly on my face that she raises her hand in defense.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to make it sound like he's just—"
"No, you're right," I cut her off. "I'm reading way too much into this. He's just a client. A weird client, maybe, but still just a client."
Even I don't believe my words, and by the way she's looking at me now, I can tell that Sandi doesn't believe me either. She smiles at me, but it's the kind of smile you give to a naive child who still believes in Santa Claus. I know what she's thinking, and I know she's only shutting up about it for now because she doesn't want to hurt me. I'm grateful for that. But I also want her to be wrong. I need her to be wrong.
"In any case," she says. "If he's asking for the real you and no escort attitude, then just give him that."
"Just give him that," I repeat, a distorted smile spreading across my face. "You make it sound so easy."
"I think it can be easy," she says, trying to encourage me. "Just get rid of everything that makes you not you."
She casts me a conspiratorial smile laced with darkness.
"Everything," she says, enunciating the word.
Our eyes lock onto each other, silence stretching between us while I try to understand.
My lips part with tardy realization when it finally hits me.
I don't know if it will do the trick—but I know what I will have to do.
Chapter 31
Damon
My day did not go as planned, and I fucking hate when that happens. I don't know what Scott was thinking by not showing up for the meeting we arranged weeks ago and was supposed to be his first feedback talk after his business officially became a reality, at least on paper. We're still in the early beginning phase, but by now there should be some first-impact development for him to share with us. Today, he was supposed to give us a chance to review another disclosure regarding the company's use of proceeds and take a closer look at its core management. Crucial steps that are a standard necessity for agreements between an investor and the leading figure of the venture he's investing in.
None of that happened today, simply because Scott didn't show up. He has been acting aloof and nervous at other meetings before, but I never thought much of it. I know what pressure he's under because I have been raised by a couple who went through the same. My only hope is that Scott doesn't deal with the stress in the same way my parents did. He didn't show any signs of usage the last time I saw him, but neither did my parents at first. It's easy for a productive coke user to hide his dangerous habit in front of people who are only faced with him on an irregular basis.
Nevertheless, this is very unlike him. He has never bailed on us. While I was merely getting irritated at his tardiness at first, I began to switch from angry to concerned when we couldn't even reach him on his cell phone. I had to leave for the appointment with my parents' attorney, which is why I left it to Dean to stalk Scott and find out what was going on with him. He's instructed to let me know the minute he finds out anything.
It's almost 9:00 p.m. and I still haven't heard anything from him by the time my car leaves for the club. My eyes scan the darkness outside as my driver takes me to the outskirts of the city, where my blonde mystery is waiting for me, kneeling naked and ready to give herself to me. My cock twitches with need at the mere image of her. I wonder if despite everything that's been going on today I might be able to end the day on a positive note. If anyone could make that happen, it's her.
My meeting with the attorney was tedious, but auspicious in a way that should give reason for me to rejoice if I weren't as detached from my parents as I am. I haven't seen either of them in over a year, despite their attempts of getting in contact with me. My mother wrote letter after letter, trying to win my affection. I never received it as a sign of repentant and loving parents, but only as instrumental to mark their way out of prison. They know of my wealth and influence, and for all I know they just want to use it to shorten their sentence by as much as possible. They lost everything and I am just as aware as they are of their dependence on me.
Their attorney looked physically hurt when I told him that I wanted to see them behind bars longer rather than shorter. He has known me for years and should know of my broken relationship with those two, but he still couldn't refrain from being reproachful when talking to me. Too bad for him that guilt-tripping has never worked with me.
The car stops and I curse myself for drowning in unpleasant thoughts until now. My somber mind is of no use when I'm with her and I need to cast the annoying shadows of my parents aside, just as I cast aside Scott and his worrisome unreliability today.
"Same as always?" my driver asks from the front.
I barely look at him as I reply. "Yes. I'll let you know when I'm done."
He acknowledges my response with a silent nod and waits for me to get out of the car. I slam the door shut with more force than intended, displaying my inner tension to everyone around. Luckily, that only includes my driver and the doorman, who is trained in discreet behavior and doesn't bat an eye at my aggressive gesture.
"Mr. Graves," he greets me, his voice dark and husky. I can't remember his name and respond with a wordless nod while he opens the door for me.
I should have a drink to calm my nerves and get into the right mood before walking upstairs, but I'm too restless for that. Elene deserves better than to be treated like a simple distraction from life. She's more than that to me, though I'm not sure whether the assessment I chose is any more flattering. She's like a long-lasting drug, operating in soft and secular waves instead of providing me with a short-lived rush. It's hard to imagine she could ever wear off, but the fear of that happening is what keeps me at bay, even now.
The venue is not as crowded tonight as I have seen it on other occasions, probably due to the fact that it's the middle of the week. A few familiar faces dart in my direction, but very few come with a greeting or a smile. The madam appears in my vicinity only moments after I step through the door, once again proving her omnipresence in The Velvet Rooms. I wonder how she manages to run the agency and the club at the same time when she seems to be present at the venue on every single night. She is one of the few faces who regard
me with a welcome as I make my way through the room.
My mind shifts to a better place once my hand closes around the rail next to the stairs that spiral up to the second floor. The image of her kneeling with obedient patience while she waits for me is enough to cast aside the sinister reflections on my misguided parental units and the lack of reliability shown by Scott.
My pulse speeds as I approach the dark curtain that hides my ethereal secret, and it leaps when I push the curtain aside and enter the black velvet room that has become our private sanctuary.
She's kneeling right below the spotlight, her head lowered and her palms resting on her thighs, displaying the position of the pleasure slave with perfect poise.
But something is different today. I can tell from the moment I lay eyes on her. She's not wearing her long platinum hair in an up-do tonight. In fact, she's not wearing it in any kind of particular fashion. The stark bright locks just flow down her shoulders in unkempt waves, hugging her narrow frame in unusual disarray.
Wild. She looks wild.
I step closer, relishing in the soft flinch of her dainty body as she can feel me approaching.
"Elene," I whisper, tasting her delicate name like an exotic fruit. "Look at me."
She does. And as her piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, I finally understand what it means to have your heart skip a beat. I almost jolt back on instinct, as if her beauty was an attack on me. In a way it is. It takes a few moments for me to realize what she did to have this effect on me, but the moment I do, I'm brought to my knees.
A shy smile mixes with the confusion on her bare face when I sink down in front of her before reaching out to her.
"Shit, what are you doing to me?" I whisper, holding her face between my hands. I study her with a fascination that's reserved for first-time meetings. In a way, this feels as if I'm seeing her for the very first time. The real her.
Today she didn't try to be someone else. It's not like she's not wearing any makeup at all, because she is. But she didn't paint a mask on her immaculate face; she only emphasized what was already there. She brushed her face with a light powder, dipping her natural lashes in a gentle coat of black, and highlighting the bright pink of her lips with a hint of gloss. Nothing but the bleach in her untamed hair disguises the natural beauty she is.
