by JR King
“Good question. Verily.” Mischievous blue eyes stared at me, a beautiful mouth mimicking my tone. “Bye, my pet.” With that, she swung her feet out of the car and departed. I blinked at the now empty seat, and rashly zipped down the electric window. She was gone. Cursing vilely, I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. I couldn’t follow her. Fucking hurts to walk with a bullet-hard erection.
Elena Anderson
The Symphony Hall
I harbored a deep ambivalence about dating Alexander, so in theory, I expected him to show up with America’s Next Top Model. Or be absent.
Guests and reporters were clogging the red-carpeted entrance as we strode past. I wondered about the intricate, unstitchable fault women possessed that made rich and famous men so appealing. Have you ever seen a real man faint in front of a celebrity?
“It’s him!” girls uproariously screamed the walls down at the sight of Zac Efron. Big smiles from him as he walked the length of the press gauntlet, camera flashes bursting around him like the 4th of July fireworks.
You know you’re confronted to the Brahmin bastion when blazers are de rigueur for young boys and cardigans are a must for young girls. Groton and BB&N preppie girls had come out en masse at this Thanksgiving-themed gala, and a cabal of handsome boys tried to impress them. In between the occasional sputter of laughter, hands were being shaken and cheeks were being kissed. For all intents and purposes, the champagne glass towers hardly seemed precarious. Everyone seemed to recognize each other, and what I found striking was how friendly people were.
“High School Musical fan?” From the way Mitchell was staring at me, the look on my face must have been endearing.
I laid my hand over his and gave him a mock pout. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”
He broke the stare. “You’re right, I don’t.”
“Throwing in the towel so fast?”
“I’d love to stick around, but I have to go in a short while. I must meet a Chinese client who arrived in the city today. I know you’re enjoying yourself, so I’ll make it fast and come pick you up afterward.”
“Not fair,” I pouted, my voice absent.
“I’ll make it up to you tonight, baby. Bought an inexhaustible supply of Vitamin E.”
I wanted to desperately hold on to my pout, but an entrapped whimper forced its way up my throat. “Rake.”
With an unreadable smile, he went to fetch our drinks. I watched him from under my eyelashes as he strode to the bar. Mitchell looked smoldering hot. Slicked back hair, skin looking lacquered, smothered in a well-tailored tuxedo. His bulk wasn’t hard to see, bulging biceps slightly straining the armor of his outfit.
“Would you like to dance, Elena?” he inquired as he handed me a glass of champagne.
I couldn’t possibly. My heart was beating out a tarantella. The only person I wanted to dance with was the mysterious man I’d met at a masquerade ball years ago. I remembered braving myself as we swept across the dance floor. He swung me softly and valiantly, with the practiced ease of a skilled dancer. Feeling the warmth of his touch spreading all the way to my toes, my shoulders had drooped and I wanted to pillow my head on his chest, but Sara’s father came between us…
“Elena?” Mitchell kissed my nose.
“Lightheaded,” I managed in an expedient manner. “Hungry like a wolf.”
“I wonder why, Ms. Insatiable.” His voice was gritty, turning me on. “In the shower, in the hallway, in the car. The only thing missing was the Catholic School uniform.”
“Hey!” I slapped his chest indignantly at the implied insult. “Behave.” I laughed. It came out high and nervous as it reminded me of my abovementioned dance partner.
He cursed abruptly, pulling his vibrating iPhone out of his trouser pocket to glance at the screen. Then his gaze caught mine again. “Looks like they’re setting up a large buffet for made-to-order dishes. I’ll grab a plate of savory petit fours for you before leaving.” He drifted his fingertips over my cheek. “I hate this.”
“Go already.”
“You sure?”
“Quite so. I have to find Sara. I’m sure she knows every cater waiter’s name by now.”
He looked unconvinced but said, “Okay, sweetheart.”
Trying to locate Sara, my eyes shifted around. The Symphony Hall was packed, and I was slumming it with the world’s elite. Even Dame Kiri Te Kanawa made an appearance. For the Thanksgiving gala charity event, I wore a Carolina Herrera hand-painted silk organza gown with a sleeveless yoke and a high-fitted bodice. I’d been hit on so many times with clear intent that I felt compelled to check the dress for wardrobe malfunctions. When the time came to eat, Sara whisked me off to the buffet, mumbling about first come, first served basis.
The supply of foods and drinks was no meager feast. Waiters served an abundance of amuse-bouches and colorful canapés and whatnot, and adjacent to us stood the longest buffet you could imagine. Local up-and-coming chefs served custom-made starters and full dishes, which were fitted into bite-sizes. One of them even served authentic popovers, which wasn’t ideal food, just one of my vices.
A few yards away from the buffet table, Sara was wrapped up in a debate with Michael. I decided to stand in line for food. Short queue, luckily. Wanting the best of both worlds, I was unstoppable. I even took a mini fluffernutter. The popover I’d taken was light and airy, incomparable to the stodgy ones I used to have in college.
Sara came up to me. “Good, you’re eating.” She handed me an oversized wine goblet. “It’s stronger than champagne, keep eating. Pair it with a crabcake.”
I was grateful and clinked my glass with hers. “Wherefrom?”
“Joseph Phelps California Viognier.”
I caved in and took two foie gras baklavas, and a crabcake. I took a swallow from the yellow liquid. It smelled sweet like Muscat but was crisp and dry and citrusy with a vibrant aftertaste. The lack of cloying sweetness impelled me to take another sip. Mitchell being a wine aficionado, I resolved to remember the name and surprise him.
“Ohmigod!” Sara dispelled my thoughts with a genial smile. “Will you look who’s here.”
I pursued her line of sight. Many heads turned, guests watched agape. There he was, in full gamut of manliness, clucking in splendid superiority. Alexander strode with his shoulders thrown back and people moved out of his way, not out of concern for themselves, but because they sensed a cosmically indisputable purpose in this man.
His looks jangled my nerves, making a catastrophic giggle bubble upward the far end of my throat. In the back of my mind, I knew my attraction for this man wasn’t a temporary fluke. Determined to resist his irresistible devil-may-care smile, I gobbled up my crabcake, finished my wine, and snuck off in search of a refill.
“He is like any other man, only more so,” Sara called after me. “I have to go greet the head honcho. Come with?”
You’ve got to be kidding me, Sara. Grandma was over the moon when she saw pictures of Alexander and me in the society magazines. Grandpa hauled me over the coals, repeating again and again that reporters might start digging about me—about my name change. No more, I told hem both.
Drinking my second glass of wine, I observed Alexander pressing the flesh out of the corner of my eye. It occurred to me that he was mingling his way toward us. Rounding on me, moving like a cat, liquid and with carelessness. That got me to start moving, musical chair style.
Following me around, Sara’s voice was tainted with sarcasm as she said, “Oh my, he’s looking for a crazy girl.”
“Be quiet, will you please?” I giggled girlishly. “I’m taken.” I enjoyed getting attention as much as the next person, so I tossed off over my shoulder. Completing the turn, I found Alexander glowering at me, sentry-stance. I looked squarely at him.
His lips were in a hard line and creased into a lascivious smile. Even though he was yards away, the sparks flying between us in the air were almost tangible. A guest broke the trance and reclaimed his attention.
&nbs
p; How’d I get myself in this jam?
I bolstered my courage with the last swill of my wine.
“Be right back,” Sara chirped, snatching my glass.
I turned to slip away and bumped into Michael. “Stop, El.” A polite smile grazed his lips, but he stood closer than was necessary. “Frank taught you well. Don’t play games with grown men.” His face scrunched up. “What’s wrong with you?”
I shrugged like I didn’t particularly care if he approved. “Nothing.”
“Yeah, nothing. You’re acting like a goddamn brat.” I looked up at the sarcastic tone, caught his eye roll.
At the exact moment someone bumped hard into me from behind. I fell forward, awkwardly stumbling into Michael’s firm body. Taking in his familiar scent, my arms encircled his rock-hard torso while he assisted my drooping legs to find purchase again.
“You all right?”
“Yup. Thanks. It’s just, I don’t want to be photographed with your boss, Mike.” By rotating to flee, I played right into his hands.
“Enough, kiddo. Come with me.”
Before I could retort, he held me by the waist from behind and offhandedly ushered me backstage. Guests congregated in the corridors; men smoked cigars and women shared stiff drinks and laughed quietly. Michael took me as far away from them as he could get.
“Michael?”
“Cool your jets.” He released me, put on a sphinx-like smile, “There, little miss high and mighty. No pictures,” and left.
My stomach flip-flopped when I saw Alexander. He moved in to crowd me against the wall. Even in the shadow, he looked good. A well-defined jaw, his shoulders were thrown back, filling out the worth of his jacket to perfection. His hair was styled as usual in that The Dark Knight style, no stray locks of hair dropping over his forehead.
“Good evening, Elena. I’d like to call in my chit.”
How could I wipe, or scrub, that smug smirk off his face?
I opened my mouth to say something, but he put a hand over it. “Jerry is going to kill me,” he muttered. He led me further down the hallway and looked around to make sure no one was close. The energy radiating from him had a heady ring to it. Removing his hand, his eyes met mine with a gaze of sudden loathing, a pensive frown marring his fine brow. “It’s been a month now.”
The energy radiating from him had a heady ring to it. “One month?” I finally asked.
“You and Mitchell.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Takes about that long to get sick of someone when they’re not the right person for you.” Little twitches tugged at the muscles of his jaw. “In the fifth week you fall out of step, and in the sixth week you call it quits.”
His response made my face crinkle with amusement. “That’s kind of a skeptic way of looking at things.”
Tilting his head to the side, he shrugged. “I’m a realist. I don’t like to beat around the bush, or pretend.”
“Honesty is a good trait,” I offered in response.
“I’d like to think so,” he agreed.
“Then tell me, what is this, Mr. Turner? Why am I here?”
“I’d like to explain,” he sighed. “Sweetheart, after a lifetime of volatile romances, I needed time to sort things out. People never forgive anyone who has money and clout, someone they’re forced to put up with. I owe shit to the world and it hates me for this particular reason. I’m making sure I’m ready to be a better person, and only then can I drag you along with me, kiss you in front of the cameras, and deal with the fallout that may or may not follow. Behind closed doors I’ll fuck you silly, make you forget all the politics, and trust me, I’ll fuck you good. I’ll fuck you like a dirty little whore, and you’ll ask me to use you. Beg me to use you. All of that will stay between us.”
I was put on the defensive, confused by his directness.
“Little Elena…I’ve wanted you for so long. It’s been pure torture all this time.” Wrecking the French twist, he took a piece of my hair down from it and sniffed like a dog.
Christ, I wanted to believe him. I dare say his desire-drenched stare looked sincere, and he sounded as believable as a swindling politician. “I can’t, Alexander.”
He met my eyes. “Is it Mitchell? Is he the main reason?” He got closer, breathing against my face.
“I don’t,” I let out a rough whisper of a breath, which ended in a little whine, “trust you. You said you’d contact me again after that night, but you never did. And now you’re suddenly interfering.”
His fingers danced up my arms, grabbing me tightly. “Interfering?”
I wanted to push him away and call for Michael, but my mouth had ceased working. Moreover, his body was a lot more powerful than mine.
“You owe me a kiss, pretty girl. I want it here and now. Don’t you want to kiss?” The smile spreading across his face was so honest and genuine that I went weak at the knees.
I tried to free my arms, but he kept them tightly locked. “Yes…no, I mean, I can’t.” Though my tone was insistent and firm, I knew he could see through it.
“You mean yes. Occam’s razor is the correct way to go about this.”
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his quickly before straightening once more. “There.”
He looked at me incredulously and laughed. “What the hell was that? That was all but a kiss, leaves a lot to be desired. I’ve received far better kisses from nuns,” he told me. “NILFs that caused the infamous Chafed Penis Syndrome. Switching hands didn’t help my case.”
“How come that doesn’t surprise me? You’re such a pervert.”
“Really, that was abysmal. I want a proper kiss. An Ebersol kiss,” he emphasized flatly.
Suddenly, the tip of my tongue prickled with want. My eyes darted around the hallway. “You’re kind of stubborn, aren’t you?” His scowl darkened and I let out a suffering sigh. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
He gripped my hips firmly and pulled me forward, causing a friction that sent shot after shot of fire through my body. “Spoiler alert, baby. I’ll soon do this to your pussy lips.” Before I could express any shock he shut me up with a scorching kiss that made me even weaker in the knees. I had to dig my nails into the fabric of his tuxedo.
I ignored the beep in my head that red smears of lipstick were difficult to wipe clean on any type of skin. His lips puckered against mine until finally his tongue slid in, running teasingly against mine. He sucked my tongue into his mouth and curled his own around it, then he shoved his tongue back into my mouth, mimicking what he evidently wanted to do to another part of my body. His hands felt warm as he slid them up my body to grab my neck, his thumbs pressing its tendons as he sucked my lower lip into his mouth.
I couldn’t say how long we kissed, when he broke it off, or what he told me. By the time I realized I was in my own world, I caught the tail end of Alexander’s drawn-out laugh. I tried to talk, say something about evil, but the sound taking over was that of an orgasm calling my name.
“You want to come, don’t you? We’ll need more privacy for that, baby. Follow me.”
“Oh God, no! NO! I have to get back to Sara! Mitchell is picking me up.”
Dubious, and a hair’s breadth away from doing something stupid, I half-turned. The idea of betraying Mitchell was too terrible to contemplate.
“Your shithead boyfriend’s busy with his ex-wife. See no evil, hear none, speak none.” I felt him jab my back. “Follow me,” he announced tautly.
“Mitchell is doing what?”
“That slack-witted buffoon is meeting Anna, his ex, at Nine Zero. Now come.”
Tamping down my distress, my gaze held his and my brow furrowed. “I bet you were waiting eagerly to feed me that scandalous morsel. Mitchell told me she’s having money problems.” I was lying through my teeth. Worth it, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing his smile vanish and his nostrils flare.
Prowling closer, his hand closed over my throat, knocking my head against a wall. His other arm w
as like an iron band around me, unyielding. I wanted to rail against him, but the sensation of powerlessness had rendered me speechless. “Well then,” he murmured, his mouth at my ear, “it appears you like to share. Now I wished there was a hidden camera in their suite so we could see what Mitchell and his subpar dick are up to.”
With that answer, a flip of a switch turned off my brain.
Elena Anderson
The Infidelity
Things couldn’t feel worse. It’s not just that I followed Alexander like a hard-wired lamb to the Thanksgiving slaughter, but while I was within a whisker of betraying Mitchell, he was already betraying me.
Then I was looking at what I assumed were either dressing rooms or storage closets. Alexander opened the nearest door and pulled me toward it. “In here,” he ordered, gripping my arm. His grip was like iron. Once he found the light switch, he closed the door behind us.
I looked at the cinderblock walls and the shelving units and the stacks of banquet chairs and the nearly full wine rack. I could hear strains of gentlemanly discussions and feminine laughter somewhere beside us. When I frantically reached for the doorknob, I felt hot breath on the back of my neck.
A feeling of mindless rapture came over me as Alexander slammed the door shut again and spun me to face him. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now. I won’t leave you this time. I don’t have to.”
His words were, to my mind, liquid gold. My body was a bag of bones and flesh and piping hot blood. “I can’t do this, Alexander.”
“Why the fuck would you come in here then?” Thick curiosity darkened his eyes. “I kissed you in public, against my publicist’s goddamn orders. Do I strike you as someone who plays it safe?” His eyes narrowed and his anger increased. “Don’t you ever use your brain? Now that you’re trapped inside here, I can do whatever I want to you. If I want to fuck you, I can. If I want to hurt you, I can. Did none of that cross your mind before you so easily followed my lead?”
