Only Pretend

by Nora Flite

Dazed, I shook my head. My eyes were stuck on his, those black centers made from magnetic tar.

  She flipped her hair and shrugged. "Guess you caught his attention. Have fun, honey." I heard her walk off; didn't look to confirm.

  Who the hell is this man?

  I couldn't help it, I was blushing. Water dripped from the glass, making me jump as it splattered on my bare knee. I broke the stare, sniffing the drink curiously. Taking a sip, the tartness exploded on my tongue. Maybe this is what I needed, I mused, swallowing a healthy mouthful. Liquid courage, they say.

  It took downing half the glass, my head buzzing with a welcome softness, before I got myself out of the chair. Even then, the ice clinked before I made my heels carry me towards the stranger. He watched me come; not blinking, always with his tiny smile.

  Setting the bag against the table, I swirled my empty glass. "I'm guessing I should thank you."

  Shifting on his chair, the man smoothed the front of his charcoal jacket. My eyes ran down with his motion, caught up in how the shirt beneath stretched over his broad chest. "It's only natural to send a beautiful woman a gift." His accent was thick, rippling through my ears like syrup mixed with gin.

  Beautiful. That was it, I couldn't meet his intensity. Turning away, I placed the glass loudly on the table. We were alone—as alone as you could be in Vegas. "You're pretty bold, huh?"

  His chuckle pulled me back; his eyes kept me. "Let me be even bolder. Tell me your name."

  "Cel—" I cleared my throat. "Celeste. I'm Celeste."

  "Celeste," he repeated. I saw him roll my name around in his mouth. He tasted every edge of it, of me, and the way he smirked said he found it fitting. "A lovely name for such a lovely woman."

  It was a wonder I was still standing. "And you?" I asked, tracing the rim of my empty glass. Alcohol was fueling me, rumbling through my veins and making me braver. "What should I call the man who sends me an unsolicited drink?"

  "In private, you may call me anything." Reaching across, he touched the side of my wrist casually. His flesh was electricity without anything to ground it, jolting my heart and sending waves down to my inner thighs. Could he feel how my pulse was pounding? "But in here, Leonide will do just fine."

  Leonide. With his accent I couldn't place, like he was rolling diamonds under his tongue, his unique name added to the mystery. "Where are you from?" I blurted.

  Arching a dark eyebrow, his lips curled down at the edges. "Now, who is the bold one?"

  Every inch of my face burned red. Yanking my arm away, I rubbed it nervously at my waist. Fuck, what was I thinking? "Sorry! Uh, I was just—your name is so interesting, and..."

  His laugh surprised me. It was an earthy sound, low in his gut. "No, it's nothing." His black irises twinkled, moving to my suitcase. "Let me ask where you're from."

  Peeking at my bag, I wished I hadn't been dragging it around. It made me feel clumsy, ruined my whole 'confidence' aura. "Not far. I live—well. I guess I was living in LA."

  Leonide tilted his head. Carefully, so that I almost missed it, he waved a waitress over. "That sounds like a story. Bring us two more drinks—scotch, for me." Considering my flushed cheeks, he pursed his lips. "A rum and coke for my friend."

  "Oh, but I really shouldn't impose." Or mix alcohols, talk about walking the edge.

  The girl wandered off, ignoring me entirely. Leonide reached out and took my hand. Patiently, but with unyielding force, he guided me to sit across from him. Unable to make my brain work around the mush it was becoming, I just... I went along. His fingers linked under his angular chin, attention fixed on me solely. "Now, Celeste. Tell me more about why you're no longer living in LA."

  "It's not a very good story." The waitress swayed up, handing our drinks over. I didn't see how much he handed her, but I knew he had to be tipping her well to make her move so fast. The drink was cool, the burn slow when it worked up to my skull. "Why don't you tell me about you? I bet you're way more interesting."

  Under the table, something touched my ankle. Straightening stiffly, I watched the man across from me smile slyly. "You seem very interesting to me, Celeste."

  Chewing the inside of my cheek didn't help me. "My ex said the opposite." Blinking, I realized what I had just said. Smoothing my hair behind my ears, I squinted into my drink like there was a prize inside. "Sorry! You don't want to hear about my ex. How stupid of me."

  Leonide leaned close, his fingers spreading on the table. They were a mere breath from mine. I thought the magnetic tension would pull them the rest of the way. "Ah, on the contrary." In the low lights, his eyes were coffee and satin. "Learning that you're single is exactly the sort of thing I like to hear."

  Squeezing my knees together, I struggled to speak. "Oh—uh. Well."

  "You're not living in LA anymore, is what I gathered from your words."

  "That—I'm just not sure where I'll go now, is all."

  "No family, no one to take up with while you figure this stuff with your ex out?"

  On the table, my hands twitched. I was itching for him to close the distance. Every cell of mine was struggling to understand what parts of me were sweltering due to alcohol, or due to the handsome, intense man before me. "I... no." Why am I telling him this? "My parents were my only family, really. And they're..." Dead. Just say dead. "Not around anymore."

  The way he looked at me said it all. It wasn't quite pity; the neutral line of his mouth spoke more of simple understanding. That was enough. I didn't want to talk about dead parents or ex-boyfriends, or anything like that.

  I don't want to be boring.

  Gingerly, I slid the toe of my shoe against his ankle. Amazingly, he gave no hint of reaction. "Forgive me," he said. "I pried too much. The loss of a loved one never settles in the heart." Gripping his glass, he sipped the amber colored liquid. I, in that second, made note that he wore no rings of any kind.

  How was such a handsome man, someone who dripped power and money, not married? I was tempted to pry. I never got a word out; his hand dipped under the table, touching my bare knee. "Celeste. I admit, I noticed your bag for a reason. Are you staying in this hotel?"

  My tongue was swollen. Speaking was so much work. "Um, I—I was planning to, but the rates were just—I mean—"

  "I'm here on business." His thumb glided over my calf. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation. I was losing myself to a stranger... shouldn't I have put up more of a fight? Made him work? Was I so eager to make music for anyone, so long as they plucked the right strings? "Celeste, drop your bag in my room. I have plenty of space for it, then you won't need to drag it around the casino."

  "I..." He brushed the hem of my dress. "That's..." In my shoes, my toes were curling. I was a single heart beat from top to bottom. "You're very kind, Leonide."

  He chuckled. "Ah. My dear, you'll find I can be very kind."

  Two drinks in, I was such a lightweight. Struggling to stand, I didn't fight when he took my bag from me. I didn't even fight when he slid his arm through mine, taking me by the elbow to lead the way.

  I was feeling drunk. Not to mention... well. I was turned on as fuck. Horny, dizzy, guided by a mysterious—but hot as hell—man through Vegas.

  And I kind of loved it.

  Call me boring now, I thought, stepping into the elevator. Dare to call me anything like that again, Jones.

  Jones.

  I didn't want to think about him or his stupid, greasy face again.

  In the reflective walls of the elevator, I saw myself. Pressed against Leonide, my head was below his shoulder. He towered over me, suit contrasting beside my newly bottle-blonde hair.

  We went up many floors. I lost count, wasn't paying attention. I was busy smelling him, letting his musk take over my nose and slide into place. If I could just smell Leonide, I would have been happy for hours.

  As it was, I followed him on shaky legs towards his room. Each step was a chore; my core was tugging at me, aching with my growing attraction. Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe this was h
ow people handled breakups.

  I didn't dwell once he opened the door.

  The room was huge, a giant king bed filling one side and hardly taking up space. I barely glimpsed the bathroom, but I certainly noted the huge spa tub. This room! Mine would have cost three-hundred? How much is this one? Jesus!

  He set my bag down by the wall, fingers working at his jacket. "That should be better. Less cumbersome." The clothing fell onto a chair. Fiddling with his form fitting white button-down, Leonide glanced at me. Whatever he was about to say, I cut him off.

  "Oh my god, that view!" Brushing around him, my nose touched the giant window. It stretched to the ceiling, looking down on the Christmas-colored lights of Vegas. I'd never seen anything so gorgeous. If all I got from this trip was this moment, it was worth it.

  Leonide's steps were soft as feathers on the rug. I didn't see him until he was close enough for his breath to tickle my ear. "A drink, before we return to the vibrancy of the casino.”

  Twisting away, I spotted the two thick glasses of copper liquid in his hands. On the clear surface, his nails were immaculate. "Oh, sure," I laughed nervously. My mouth was parched; it wasn't from lack of drink. God, this man is beautiful. Why is this happening to me? Me, Celeste Barstow. Even if I was trying to NOT be boring, the fact was there were hundreds—if not thousands—of beautiful women downstairs. Here I was, just feet away from a man who could certainly get the attention of one of them.

  Why waste his time on me?

  Taking the glass, I sniffed curiously; notes of almond, of smoke and fire. It burned righteously down my throat, brought more fog to my fluffed skull. The concoction was strong, and I...

  I was not.

  "What is this?" I asked, turning the container in the light.

  "Does it matter?" His glass was empty. "If something is delicious, does it matter what it is created from?" He was standing too close, watching me with those onyx eyes that threatened to pull me under.

  I need to say something. Instead, I just gazed at his wicked smile. Such full lips for a man. How would they feel, gliding along my own, tasting—No! Jesus, focus yourself, Celeste. You don't know this guy, you're halfway to wasted and in his hotel room. What are you doing, what do you want from this?

  The answer was on the tip of my memory. Looking at the window, I caught my reflection. Blonde hair, flushed, heaving chest. My dress was a glove, hugging my breasts and hinting at the hard tips of my nipples.

  Right then, I wasn't Celeste Barstow.

  I didn't need to be.

  I don't want to be boring. If I have to play pretend to make that happen...

  Fuck it. I will.

  The last of the alcohol ran down to my gullet. Leonide had asked me something. I blinked, saw him take the empty glass from me. His skin was so warm where it touched mine, so kind and gentle.

  I realized I was leaning on the window, the surface chilly on my shoulder. Standing was hard, thinking was... harder.

  "Celeste?" My name was candy when he said it. I let the sound coil into my ears, shut my eyes and felt myself stumble. "Celeste!" Then he had me, catching under my arm to let me stabilize. "Easy there, maybe that drink was too much for you."

  Hair tickled my nose; was I looking at the floor? "No, it was... it was really nice. Sorry, I don't drink much." No, don't tell him that! Remember, interesting... be exciting, be cool! Lying was so difficult with my brain washing away.

  He led me to the bed. The sensation of his strength excited me, left me lonely when he released my arm. Under me, the mattress yielded. "Just relax a moment," he whispered. "I thought you could handle more than that. My apologies."

  Leonide brushed hair from my face, guided it behind my ear. Looking up at him as he bent over me, I was stiff. All I wanted to do was look at that wonderful face, to lose myself in his smell and smile for the rest of my time. Thought I could handle more, he said. Guilt ran hard into my guts. He said I was interesting, I'm making him think otherwise... I...

  I needed to do something.

  Maybe I just wanted to justify it. It was impossible for me to know, especially then. The edge of his smirk felt decadent on my lips. I'd never been the one to kiss first, I'd always let men take the lead.

  Not boring, not boring, I won't be...

  He curled his hand on my neck, trapped my hair. Tingles spread from the roots in waves that made me inhale sharply. Leonide didn't need to hold me still, to crush his lips to mine while holding me there by my nape. He didn't have to control me in any way at all.

  But... fuck if I didn't like it. I'd never felt my pussy throb in connection with my breathing. Hell, was I breathing? It was a struggle to think about anything beyond his tongue grazing my teeth.

  Under my back, the bed springs shifted. I was lying down without knowing when I'd fallen—or been shoved. I was just there, his weight on me like a familiar blanket. How far will he go? I wondered, blinking when he pulled away. How far will I let him?

  Crouching over me, Leonide studied my face. Two fingers ran down my cheek, then tugged my lower lip. "Beautiful." The word was ample; I loved his god damn accent more and more. "Am I moving too fast?"

  Closing my mouth took a second; opening it was slower. "No."

  His smile was tainted by something. "Good."

  Inching down my body, his beard rubbed over my collar bone. I'd said he wasn't moving too fast, yet the sensation of him fondling my left breast tightened my spine. I wanted to sit up on my elbows, to get a better look the lower he went. Moving was a chore. "I feel weird," I mumbled.

  He left embers where his fingers scraped. "I feel it too, Celeste. Perhaps it's love."

  My eyes rolled to the ceiling; had I shut them? No, not love. Something is off.

  Reaching under me, he pulled the zipper of my dress. Leonide tore the garment down my thighs, peeled me like a piece of fruit. My blood was pumping, thighs feebly pressing together while he stroked over the front of my panties. Dazed as I was, I could still feel my own slickness through the material.

  Everything in my mouth was numbing. I wanted to say something, didn't know what. Leonide spoke first. "You smell intoxicating." His words tickled across my barely hidden lower lips. "Tell me, are you a virgin?"

  The question caught me unprepared. I tried to lift myself, to look down my body and see him. It was all too hard, shadows dancing in my vision. "I—what? Why?"

  His response was quick, fingers spreading my skin roughly. My moan was wild, silky underwear digging into my soaked slit. "Have you fucked a man before? Your boyfriend?"

  I felt the blanket on my cheek. It was cool on my melting face. If I bit it, maybe I would stay silent... avoid answering his embarrassing question—

  With deliberate purpose, he thumbed my swollen clit through the fabric. "Celeste."

  "Yes!" I gasped, delirious from arousal and—and something more. Surely just alcohol, except nothing in my muscles felt right. Nerves were decaying, more than just his expert touch should have caused.

  Over my own heavy breathing, I heard his morbid sigh. "Pity."

  Why is that a pity? I wondered.

  "It's fine." He tore the clothing from me, the air caressing my exposed pussy. "There are other things worth cultivating than chastity." Bending deep, Leonide sank his tongue into my wet pinkness. What feeling I still had, it resonated there. My center, my very being, it all became involved with the pulsing ache of my loins.

  He whispered things, lapped and tasted me like I was a fine meal. Jones had never done that; I'd never let him. I wouldn't have called myself a prude, I'd just been shy about letting anyone touch me so intimately.

  It had taken someone as direct as this stranger—this man I didn't know beyond smell or voice—to make me give in.

  He must have sensed how on the edge I was. Tension boiled, my knees vibrating as the orgasm rose. Two fingers curled inside me, my walls hugging down as heat exploded. I was too weak to scream; I whimpered instead.

  Chuckling, Leonide slid free. His weight se
ttled over me. I knew he was there, why wouldn't my eyes open? Darkness was taking me under, energy fleeing. "There's something to be admired about the classical blonde," he said against my throat.

  Groaning in my throat, I felt myself falling. Far above, in a black world somehow more dangerous than the abyss I was tumbling into, I thought I heard him speak again; I couldn't have. I must have been dreaming, drunk on sex and alcohol and the power of being someone I was not.

  "Yes. I do love a good American whore."

  Dreaming. That was all it was.

  I was content to dream forever.

  - Chapter Two -

  Celeste

  It held my limbs. Copious, dripping and squeezing my mind and memory until I was lost forever in the void. I'd never dreamt like that.

  I'd never awoken with hands on me, either.

  Bit by bit, I began to resurface. My ears came awake first, working so hard to make sense of what I was hearing. Voices? The pattern was clipped, mixed—Yes, two people talking over me. My joy at understanding was lost to fear. Why are there people touching me, what's going on?

  As if my eyelashes were glued to my cheeks, I couldn't make myself look. Why won't my body listen to me? I was a swollen, cotton-stuffed head floating in nothing. No limbs to touch, no way to feel what was around me. Open eyes, fucking—open up! Look around!

  Panic was what did it.

  Blood pumped in my veins, sluggish but growing. My flesh felt like it still slept, numbness that was vaguely aware of sliding along something. I'm being dragged. There was a pain hatching in my head. It split across, one temple to the next. Open up, eyes. Open up.

  Open up!

  Blurry. So blurry, I thought it hadn't worked. The sheet in front of my face was yellow; my own hair. My chin was hanging, sight fixed down towards my feet. I was being dragged! Heels scuffed along a smooth floor, brown so dark it could have been old blood.

  Rocking my head to one side, trying to see who was pulling me, was my first mistake. Instant nausea, warm vomit exploded across my chest and dripped to the floor. Coughing, I felt myself stop moving. The voices chattered, high pitched. As off as I was, it was clear they were angry.