by Lulu Pratt
Taking a step back, he squints his eyes and tilts his head, looking at me like a piece of artwork.
“Chantel,” he guesses and I burst into giggles at how wrong he is.
“That bad?” He chuckles, his ego a bit bruised.
“Christy,” I smile while correcting him, looking directly into those deep eyes.
My mother used to say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. His eyes are dark and deep, like there is a lot to know about him, but only a few are granted entry.
“Christy’s better, but I wasn’t far off,” he furrows his eyebrows together. Great, and he’s competitive too.
“It’s nice to meet you…” I begin, extending my hand as I wait for him to finish my sentence.
“Warren,” he answers, taking my hand into his before adding, “Look at that, I’m already completing your thoughts, we’re a match made in heaven.” He raises his hands as if closing a deal and I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
And a sense of humor.
“So, you work at a school,” he begins, using my tactic to learn more about me.
“Yeah, I work with small children. I help them adjust to beginning school – you know if it’s their first year or if they’ve transferred from a different school.” I answer with a nod. It’s such a bad habit, but whenever I find myself nervous, I’m always nodding along like an idiot while I talk.
“Oh, so you work for private schools?” He sips his drink to hide a smirk.
“What makes you so sure of that?” I question.
“That sounds like a service for rich kids. I switched schools every few months, no one ever asked me how it made me feel. I’m guessing rich kids get that type of added comfort,” he explains before motioning over my shoulder at someone behind me.
“I have to go see someone. Stay here,” he whispers in my ear with his fingers wrapped around my wrist.
“Oh, well,” I begin, but he’s gone before I can protest.
Who does he think he is to just leave in the middle of a conversation and demand that I stay put like a child? Finishing my drink, I glance around the room hoping something, anything, draws my attention so I can have a reason to leave before he returns. I feel like he’s testing me to see if I’m obedient, and that’s a test I plan to fail.
Making my way through the crowd, I head to the dance floor to find Evelyn, but I still don’t see her bright red dress. An older guy in a charcoal suit grabs my wrist, and it takes an entire song to convince him that now isn’t a good time to dance. I should’ve just went with it, I’m sure he would’ve noticed how bad I am and quit on his own in less time.
Finally, I find Evelyn at a corner table sitting with a group of important-looking men in business suits. Pausing, unsure if this is a good time, I begin to rethink my plan until she spots me and smiles wide while waving me over. The men all turn in unison and again I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, they’re eyeing me like a turkey on Thanksgiving.
“This is my good friend Christy! Christy, these are the guys,” Evelyn casually introduces us and we all shake hands as I forget each name the second I hear it.
I know their type, Evelyn’s introduced me to plenty of men just like them over the years. All they care about is money, all they want to talk about is money and all they do is brainstorm more ways to make it.
“We’re just plotting,” Evelyn whispers in my direction, sure of what I’m thinking.
“I figured,” I raise my eyebrows, telling her all she needs to know.
“So, what do you do, Christy?” The man in the dark brown suit asks from across the table.
“I work with children,” I nod.
“Oh, I thought for sure you were a model,” he shrugs as if he’s just spoken the most original thought. The guys beside him nod as if he’s spoken for all of them, and I know it’s time to excuse myself.
“Let’s get a drink,” I say to Evelyn, and she smiles that best friend ‘I know what you’re really doing’ smile.
If I’m honest, my entire reason for returning to the bar is to look for Warren. While I didn’t want to be there when he returned, I did want to see him again, but he’s nowhere in sight.
“Can I help you?” A bartender asks through the crowd. I can hear the people beside us hiss, obviously having waited longer than us.
“Two,” I say while holding up two fingers and he instantly turns away.
“What was that?” Evelyn asks and I briefly explain my meeting with the mystery man from earlier. She seems impressed, but assures me there are no good guys for me here. “These are all workaholic assholes. You need an artist type or something,” she adds after sipping the sweet cosmopolitan.
After finishing our drinks, I decide to leave early since Evelyn is only going to be working anyway. Promising to text her once I get to our shared apartment, I head out of the swanky hotel on my own.
Of course, there are no cabs allowed out front, because they have to make room for the car services of everyone inside. Great, no cabs allowed in New York City, what is this?
The valet advises that I go around to the back of the hotel where it should be easy to find a taxi, so I turn the corner to head in that direction with Evelyn’s words replaying in my mind. What does she mean I need an ‘artist type’? What does that even mean? I swear, if you live in New York and aren’t completely absorbed with money, people treat you like you have some sort of disorder.
I don’t notice the dark car following me until it’s awkward. Looking over my shoulder I see it’s a limousine, and that makes me feel less uneasy. I’ve never known of anyone to get kidnapped by someone in a limo, but please don’t let them think I’m a hooker, because that’s actually happened before.
“Hey,” I hear from a familiar voice and turn to the car.
“Get in,” Warren says as the limo pulls to a stop, the dark-tinted window rolled down to expose his handsome face.
Chapter 3
“I thought you might have been a creep,” I tell him as I settle onto the soft leather seats.
“I thought I told you not to leave,” he answers too quickly, his jawline tense like he’s actually upset with me.
“I figured I should be upfront about my rebellious attitude. You know, put it all out on the table,” I shrug and he tries to hide the smirk begging to curl his full lips.
“Don’t be cute, Christy,” he remarks, nodding at his driver, as the limo pulls away from the curb.
“I thought you told me I was cute. Something about me deserving the best?” I try to recall what he said earlier.
“I said you were gorgeous, and gorgeous you should be, but don’t be cute.” He looks down his perfectly proportioned nose at me.
“Or what?” The words slide off my tongue before I can stop them and from the look on his face he’s just as shocked as me by my challenge.
Without a word, he lifts me onto his lap, my legs instantly spreading to straddle him, his hand roughly gripping my hair before his lips find mine and apply the perfect amount of pressure. Tilting my head, he slides his tongue into my mouth. He tastes of mint and whiskey, a nice combination.
His free hand is on my hip, yanking at my dress until he’s beneath the thin chiffon fabric, his strong hands gripping my lace-covered bottom. My pelvis instinctively grinds against the bulge in his pants and I can feel desire pooling between my legs.
“You should stop, or I’ll take you in this car,” he sighs after pulling away from my swollen lips. I’m so disappointed in this abrupt ending I can’t even remember the banter between us that sparked his attack.
“Is that what you want?” He grasps my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes as he lifts his hips, pressing that hard bulge against my sex. I’m so wet, I can feel it.
“No, I don’t want to…” I trail off.
“What? Do you have something against fucking in cars?” He raises an eyebrow, both his hands now gripping my ass.
“Maybe another time,” I bite my bottom lip, embarrassed
about how this may play out.
“Another time? Why not this time?” He tilts his head, studying me again.
“I’m no romantic, but I kinda saw my first time being in, I don’t know, a bed,” I try to make light of the situation, although I know he could very well be completely turned off by my admission.
“You’re a… how old are you?” He squints.
“Twenty-four,” my voice is barely above a whisper.
Warren doesn’t say anything for so long it’s unbearably awkward, but I can’t find a word to break the silence. His hands are now on my hips, my body finally cooling from the intense rush of adrenaline I experienced. Just when I think I should slide back into my seat and find a way to roll out of the car without being noticed, he raises his hand to my face, gripping my chin between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger.
“Tell me I can have you, Christina,” he breathes, our lips less than an inch apart.
“What does that mean? And how do you know my name is Christina?” I scrunch my nose in confusion, and he bites his bottom lip in amusement. Goddamn, he’s sexy.
“No one names someone as beautiful as you Christy,” he whispers on my lips before planting three swift kisses.
“Tell me I can have you, Christina,” he repeats himself.
“You never told me what that means,” I remind him, but he just kisses me, his tongue dominating my mouth in the best way.
I’m lost to his touch, drowning in his control as my hips again grind against him desperately. He pulls away and I’m left panting as his lip venture to my neck, that masterful tongue teasing me as he sprinkles wet kisses to my ear.
“Tell me,” he urges me, but I can’t find any words. I’m speechless and powerless in his lap, bending to his seduction.
“Tell me, Christina,” he repeats himself using my full name again.
“Tell you what?” I moan, just wanting him to continue kissing me all over as he now moves lower, tracing my collarbone with his tongue while my legs spread further, my sex craving the friction.
“Tell me I can have you,” he clarifies, but I’m still confused.
“What do you want from me?” I ask through moans. God, he is good with that mouth, I can’t believe I haven’t given him the rights to my life by now. All he has to do is stop and I’ll give him whatever he wants to convince him to kiss me again.
“I want all of you,” he yanks my hair, my back arching in response, and before I know what’s happened his mouth is on my breast, kissing at my peek-a-boo of cleavage as his hands roam my body, landing on my ass again.
“All of you,” he reiterates, biting the soft flesh of my breast while spreading my ass cheeks with his strong hands.
I gasp in response, my head springing forward as I struggle to sit upright. With his head resting on the headrest, I study his face. Those full lips that have been teasing my body are now dark pink and glistening, his dark eyes hooded with lust, and his jawline is tense as he clenches his teeth.
“You’re trouble,” is all I can think to say, and when the left side of his mouth curls upwards I know I’m right.
“So that’s a ‘yes’?” He asks, leaning so close to me I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I’m confused,” I admit honestly.
“Confused about what?” His thick eyebrows scrunch together, creating a furry line.
“What it means to give myself to you. Are you asking for my virginity?” The words come slowly. I can’t be sure if this is just how people talk, but I’ve never had anyone ask me anything so ambiguous. I feel like I’m seconds away from signing my life away, and what’s worse, I’m only asking where exactly the dotted line is.
“Here,” he grips my hips and lifts me before gently placing me on the seat next to him. “Stanley,” he says after leaning forward and pressing a button.
“Yes, sir?” The driver asks back through the intercom. It’s the first I’ve noticed the partition had gone up between the front seat, Warren must have pushed another button while I was on his lap.
“One-fifty-seven,” he says before glaring over at me.
Oh gosh, is he mad at me for asking a simple question? Fumbling to pull down my dress, I feel so embarrassed tears are actually stinging the back of my eyes.
Christy, you better not let this douchebag see you cry! I silently scream at myself, effectively drying the tears before they can even fall. Looking around, I debate asking him to stop right here, I don’t need him to drop me off wherever he’s just told his driver to take me. This is ridiculous, he’s speaking in codes. What does 157 even mean? He’s got a virgin and wants her dropped off in Central Park?
Chapter 4
The irony is not lost on me as Central Park comes into view. I looking over at Warren, he still seems agitated, his jaw tight and his focus straight ahead. The car pulls to a stop and he jumps out, closing the door behind him before I can even ask where we are. Oh, is that what the code meant? He’s just going to leave me alone for his driver to take me home.
“Come on,” Warren leans down, holding open my door.
“Where are we?” I ask looking around, reluctantly taking his hand for assistance.
“I don’t live here,” I whisper as he approaches a fancy steel skyscraper.
“I would hope not. I try not to miss much,” he smirks to himself as the doorman scurries to open the door as we approach.
“Welcome home, Mr. Just,” says the middle-aged man, his eyes shining brightly as he looks up to Warren, who nods in return.
With his hand rested on the small of my back, Warren leads me through a dimly lit lobby, walking rather briskly. I notice a large three-dimensional piece of artwork on the far wall, the word ‘one’ with the number 57 beside it.
Bypassing six elevators, Warren turns a corner, nods at a security guard sitting behind a tall desk, and waves a keycard in front of a black sensor decal on a wall, prompting a set of glass doors to open as we approach. Turning another corner, there’s a set of two other elevators, Warren leads me to the one furthest away.
“Are we robbing a bank?” I ask when he pushes the button to call the elevator, which immediately opens. He only smirks before leading me into the fanciest elevator car I’ve ever seen.
Unlike any other elevator ride, there are no buttons to choose a floor level, and after Warren waves his keycard in front of the sensor on the wall, there is no sign of movement. I’m just about to tell him he may want to wave that keycard again when the doors open without a sound.
Warren walks straight from the elevator, entering the most breathtaking space I’ve ever seen. There’s more marble than anything else in sight, white with soft gray lines scrambled through. I’ve never seen so much space in an apartment in the city, but what’s even more impressive is the view from the surrounding floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Are you coming?” Warren turns to face me. I don’t even realize I’m still standing in the elevator. My feet feel like cement blocks as I tiptoe across the shiny floors.
“You live here?” I ask, twirling around as I take in the décor. All the furniture is white, everything looks artistic and new.
“Umm, no, not really. It just happened to be closest, and I was in a bit of a rush,” he answers while studying me again.
Following his voice, I turn the corner to see a beautiful kitchen with a full bar against a back wall. Warren is behind the bar, and I nod when he raises a glass decanter in the air, offering me a drink. I could definitely use a drink right now, because I feel like I’m floating, hopefully the alcohol will act as an anchor.
“What is this?” I ask, inspecting the heavy glass he’s handed me with an amber-colored liquid.
“Fifty-year-old whiskey, so drink slowly,” he says before drinking all of his in one gulp. Always the rebel I do the same, my face scrunching as the warm spirit burns my throat on its way down. Warren shakes his head, taking my glass from me.
“You just don’t like instructions,” he remarks, po
uring each of us another round.
“I don’t like orders,” I correct him, and he shakes his head once again, this time with a smirk.
“Why did you bring me here?” I switch the subject.
“You said you were confused, so we need to clarify before we can move forward, no?” He raises an eyebrow on the last word as if he’s giving me the option to disagree.
“Wait. You weren’t mad?” I scrunch my nose in disbelief.
“Of course I was mad, my cock is throbbing for you,” he throws back his second drink and I’m hopeful that prevented him from hearing the gasp that escapes me at his admission.
“So, what are you going to clarify?” I question.
“It depends. What are you confused about?” He pours another drink for himself and I realize I’ve not touched my second round.
“If you’re not solely asking for my virginity, what exactly do you want from me?” I ask before taking a small sip of my drink, careful not to burn my throat this time.
“Good girl,” he nods at my decision before responding to my question. “I’ve already answered that. I want all of you,” his eyes wandering my body with a powerful gaze of lust.
“Okay, but that’s my virginity, right?” I raise my hands in exasperation.
“It depends on how you planned to go about it. When you first have sex, did you plan to not have sex with anyone else after that?” He looks into my eyes.
“Wait. You want to be my boyfriend?” I ask, again confused. Did he just ask me to be exclusive?
“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he chuckles as if I’m a child not understanding a simple math equation.
“Don’t patronize me, Warren. Just talk straight,” I say curtly.
“I want you, and I don’t ever want anyone else to have you. I want to fuck you whenever, wherever I want and make you come until you beg me to stop.” He watches me closely as I slowly move my glass to my mouth, taking another sip.
“Are you asking me to be exclusive to you, but you have no plans to be exclusive to me?” I use the liquor to ask the embarrassing question I’m a bit too bashful to say confidently.
