by Alexis Angel
Lucky for me, I know how to conceal my own disappointment.
“That’s right. As fun as this was, I have stuff to do,” I tell him as I pull my thong up and then squeeze myself inside my dress. Running one hand through my hair, I turn around to meet Malcolm’s gaze. “Goodbye, Malcolm,” I say and, without waiting for his reply, I leave the bedroom.
Each step I take through his apartment feels like a knife plunging deep into my chest, but there’s no way around it. I have to do this. As much as I enjoyed my time with him, I can’t forget what happens when you fall in love … you get used, abused, and hurt. And, after all, I’m not here to fall in love; I’m here to make him fall in love.
I reach for the door’s handle and stop for a couple of seconds before turning it. Deep down, I’m waiting to hear his footsteps as he follows after me and stops me from leaving, pinning me against the door and kissing me again… But I don’t hear his footsteps, and he doesn’t follow after me, and so I turn the handle and leave his apartment.
The moment I step inside the elevator and the doors close in on me, I lean back against the wall behind me and let out a deep sigh. Running one hand through my hair, I look at my reflection in the mirror and smile.
My hair is disheveled, and my makeup is slightly smeared, and still … I look so much better than what I did before. I look like someone just fucked my brains out (which, well, ugh. I know. I wanted to. But I need to hold out. But if non-sex orgasms with this guy are like that, then what is sex gonna be like, ya know? Maybe I should stop talking in the parenthesis).
But more than the amazing sex, I actually enjoyed the time I spent with Malcolm. He’s not the asshole I thought he was and, even though I once thought that Ben was a nice guy as well, I can’t help but trust my gut on this one.
Speaking of Ben … I hear my cellphone ringing from inside my purse, and something tells me that it’s my lovely ex-boyfriend. I fish it out and, to no surprise, I see Ben’s phone number plastered on my screen. Even though I don’t have his number stored on my phone, I still remember it.
“What do you want?” I ask him right away, and I even surprise myself as I notice all the aggressiveness in my voice.
“Oh, I like it when you’re angry, babe,” Ben chuckles from the other side of the line, and I feel my stomach lurching with disgust.
“Drop it. What the hell do you want, Ben? Because if you just called to annoy me, I --”
“I didn’t call to annoy you, Athena. I called to remind you of our little conversation… You’re on the clock, babe, don’t forget about that,” he tells me, and my fingers curl so tightly around the phone that I wouldn’t be surprised if I just crushed the damn thing.
“I’m handling it,” I growl with a whisper, rage welling up inside of me. I can’t believe that, after what he did to me, Ben had the cheek to show up uninvited into my life just to blackmail me.
“Oh, I know you’re handling it. I remember how you handled things… like my cock. Remember that, Athena? Give Malcolm the same treatment and I’m sure your company will be safe.”
“I fucking hate you, Ben.” Without waiting for his reply, I end the connection and throw the phone back into my purse. See what I told you? First you love them, and then they crush you and reveal their true selves.
I just hope Malcolm’s different…
Oh, what am I saying? That doesn’t matter the slightest. Whether I like him or not, my business depends on Malcolm falling for me.
I need to make him love me—and I need to do it fast.
9
Malcolm
I've never wished for a magic pause button in life … until now. Being with Athena Hawke was like free falling through space at five hundred miles an hour, with the air getting knocked out of my fucking lungs.
It was exhilarating, and I've never felt so alive. I never thought that feeling was possible, without being strapped to a rocket. It was a sense of euphoria better than any drug, and everyone else in the room just melted away.
I'd like to freeze that moment, and hold it a little longer. Smile at its perfection. Gaze at it.
I don't even know what I'm fucking saying. It's like I hardly recognize myself today.
Why is it that every fucking song I'm hearing makes me think of her?
Fuck. I shouldn't be thinking about her, but I am. She hasn't left my mind. Not even for a minute.
The way she held back emotionally last night—the precision, and control with which she wields her words.
How she can pull herself back from the brink - when every animal sense is telling her to go.
I was able to break through that wall of hers. I got her to drop her guard, even if it was for only one night.
The problem is: I want more. I have a taste, and it's not enough. I want the whole package. I want to fuck her.
I don't just want to steal into that stoic outer fortress of hers—I need it. I need to storm it, and knock down every fucking wall.
I look at the calendar on my desk and absentmindedly find myself circling yesterday's date. I run my pen around the date over, and over, the lines deepening and reminding me of its importance in quick circles. It's like I'm fucking crazy.
My phone rings and I don't bother answering it. Instead, I lean back into my leather office chair, and run my fingers through my hair, as if I'm trying to smooth out the thoughts in my brain.
But how can I? My brain is still stuck on last night. Instead of a pause button, life has gifted me with a repeat button.
Athena isn't just another woman. She's an equal. This is the realization that dawns on me. There was a connection—I felt it. I couldn't make that up if I tried. I've fucked a lot of women, but being with Athena is going to be something entirely fucking different.
We shared a connection that I didn't even know I was capable of having with anyone, let alone Athena Hawke.
But none of that matters. I can't fall in love with her.
I'm not going to lose my business just because Athena has gotten under my thick skin. Sorry, but there isn't a woman in the whole world worth that.
No fucking way. There's too much at stake.
Just as I open a spreadsheet on my computer, and give myself a pep talk—something along the lines of 'I better fucking get my shit together and focus on work or else,' Andrew walks in.
It's more of a march than a walk really, like he means business. I catch the faint whiff of cigar smoke on his suit. He must've won another case today. He always smokes a celebratory Cuban cigar after a victory.
"Well, if it isn't the gladiator himself," he smiles, clapping his hands in one triumphant gesture. "You've made it this far; I know you've got this contest in the bag, which is a good thing man because I'm telling you, the vultures are circling."
Those words snap my thoughts to the present. What am I doing thinking about Athena, when I have a battle to win?
I should be thinking like a gladiator, and not a fucking bleeding heart poet.
"And which vulture are you referring to now?" I ask.
"Ben."
"Ben Danvers? That fucking asshole just doesn't know when to quit," I say.
"He's still holding a grudge you know," Andrew says, reaching across my desk for the bottle of whiskey. "You don't mind, do you?" he asks, pouring a glass before I can even answer.
"I think I'll join you," I shrug. "I can use a drink."
"Ben can't ever get over the fact that you got the best of him with that company buyout."
"That was years ago."
"But to him, it feels raw—like it happened yesterday," Andrew says. "He's got something to prove, I guess."
"I can be ruthless, but not that ruthless," I say. "That local business was important to a small, working class community … and you know it."
"Look, I've got your back on this man—always have. I get it. You did the right thing. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was an act of Mother Teresa or something."
I laugh. "Give me a fucking break."
<
br /> "No, I mean it. It took a lot of heart for you to do that—instead of letting Ben make a killing on that deal, you scooped it up and let the owners buy it back from you after making them a fortune. It was a generous act."
I shrug. "It was the right thing to do."
"See, that's what I'm talking about," Andrew says. "There's a heart hidden in that cold exterior of yours. Little do most people know, but you've got a soft spot the size of Texas in that chest." He points at me, and gives a quick wink.
"Well, there's no way in hell Ben's ever going to get his hands on my company."
"I hope not," Andrew says, shaking his head.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It just means that this contest isn't over—you've only completed the round for mortals out of 100,” she says to me, her words cool and crisp and her eyes mischievous. “There's still a lot left for those who still believe mistakenly like you that they can win.”
"Since when did you become a pessimist?" I ask.
"I'm a realist. There's a difference. And just as long as you don't listen to your cock, and fall in love with a gorgeous pair of legs and tits, you'll be fine," he smiles.
As Andrew's talking, I remember that I'm seeing Athena again tonight. I look down at my watch, and gauge how much time I have.
There must be something in my face that worries Andrew because he turns to me, "You aren't falling in love with anyone, Malcolm, are you?"
That's a good question…
10
Athena
Date Number 3.
Yes, hun. This is Date Three. Because I’m counting dinner at Masa as a date. And the booty call the other night with no sex as a date too. Tonight is the night I think.
It’s working; I think Malcolm is finally swallowing the hook.
Now instead of booty calling me, he actually went the date approach. Changing his strategy.
And, instead of me being the one setting up the next date, he actually decided to do it himself. And his choice of venue actually surprised me; we’re meeting at the Met, the Museum of Art. To be honest with you, I had no idea that a man such as Malcolm would be interested in art. In women and alcohol, sure, but not in art. Maybe, though, he’s just doing this in order to impress me.
Well, it’s working.
“Right on time,” Malcolm tells me as I walk up to him, an easy smile on his face. He’s standing at the bottom of the Met stairs, looking classy in his usual Tom Ford suit and wearing an overcoat. I open my mouth to reply, but then I close it again, the words dying in my throat. I was so excited about meeting him again that I forgot all about my fashionably late strategy. Crap.
“Don’t be too flattered. I just happen to have a soft spot for the Met,” I tell him, but the moment I say it I know he sees my words for what they are: a feeble lie.
“Sure, Athena,” he says casually, not even bothering to call my bluff, and then he offers me his arm. Taking it, we walk up the stairs leading to the entrance, and the security staff there just waves us inside. Leading me as if he knew the corridors and halls of the Met as well as he knows the back of his hand, Malcolm takes me to a separate wing of the museum. My high heels click eerily across the marble floor, and I look around to find the place deserted.
“What --?”, I start to say, but Malcolm just turns to me and smiles, answering the question on my mind.
“I arranged to shut down this wing just for the night. We have the place all to ourselves.”
“That’s… nice,” I tell him, feeling completely dumb. I’m so stunned that I can’t even think of anything smart to say. I mean, no one has ever done anything like this for me. A whole wing of the Met? It must've cost a fortune but, seriously, I’m not impressed because of the money.
The gesture itself has impressed me.
“I had the feeling you’d enjoy this,” he continues, leading me to a large hall with paintings hanging from the walls, red velvet ropes cordoning them.
“Are these…?”
“Yeah, these are Monet’s.” Letting go of my arm, his fingertips brush down my forearm and he laces his fingers on mine before I can even react. When I realize what I’m doing, I’m already holding his hand.
“How did you know…?” I ask him with a whisper. I’m not exactly an art connoisseur, but I always enjoyed the Impressionist painters, especially Claude Monet. There’s something about the simplicity of these paintings that just draws me in. Soft strokes, vivid colors … and something in these landscapes just takes me back, like a dream where you revisit the happy moments in your childhood.
“I didn’t,” is his reply. “I just had a feeling.”
“I love these.” I can’t even hide my excitement. Right now I feel like a teenage girl, whisked away by some bad boy whom, it turns out, has an endearing side to him.
“Me too … there’s something about these paintings, isn’t there? They’re soothing.”
“Yes, they are,” I reply, completely forgetting about all the smart sentences and comebacks I had prepared before meeting him today. I have the feeling that he’s acting naturally, being more true to himself than he usually is, and I don’t want to ruin the moment by acting like a smartass. I just want to be myself right now and enjoy this… Whatever this is.
“That one’s my favorite,” he continues, walking toward one of the paintings at the end of the room. “It’s the --”
“Sunset at Pourville,” I finish his sentence, naming the painting before he can do it.
“That’s right,” he smiles, turning his gaze toward me. In his eyes, there’s both a glint of surprise and of joy; he wasn’t expecting me to recognize that Monet painting. I smile back at him and then we turn our attention back toward the painting, two figures walking down a deserted beach while the orange glow of a setting sun tumbles over them.
“It reminds me of my mother,” he says, and I’m too surprised by his tone to say anything. I just squeeze his hand softly and wait for him to continue. “She loved Europe, and we visited every summer. Whenever we were there, she always dragged me after her for long walks at the beach. She loved it; I didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was a stupid boy that only wanted to do stupid shit,” he continues with a sorrowful tone.
“What happened?”
“She died when I was only twelve,” he replies, looking at me with a sad smile. “And now, I guess I kinda miss those long walks.”
“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying, and I realize that tears are stinging my eyes. I take a deep breath to stop myself from crying and then, pushing my body against his, I go on tiptoes and brush my lips against his.
“What was that for?” he chuckles, all the sorrow fading from his words now.
“Don’t tell me I can’t kiss you,” I chuckle as well, looking into his eyes.
“Oh, you can do so much more than just kiss me…” Turning on his heels so that his body is pressed against mine, he rests his hands on my waist and pulls me harshly into him. “Especially after what happened between the two of us…”
“I don’t remember anything happening between the two of us,” I laugh, placing both my hands on his chest and running one down the length of his tie. “Care to refresh my memory?”
His smile turns into a grin and then he looks around the museum hall, as if to check if we’re truly alone. Satisfied with what he sees (which is nothing), he then turns his gaze back toward me.
“My pleasure.”
11
Athena
With a smile that makes my heart tighten up inside my chest, Malcolm closes the distance between us and rests his hands on my hips. We stand still like that for a few seconds, enjoying the closeness of our bodies, and then he pushes me back. I take a few steps until my back is pressed against the wall, and the moment I feel it I exhale sharply.
Looking into my eyes, he takes one hand down and rests the tip of his fingers over my knee, right before the hemline of my dress; he slides them up then, his
fingertips brushing over my skin all the way up to my inner thighs, getting so close to my pussy I shiver.
I can feel his fingers tracing the lips of my pussy through my G-string, and anticipation wells up inside of me. My heart starts to race hard as I feel Malcolm’s fingers slide the fabric of my G-string to the side, and he runs his fingers over my clit, making me so wet I can barely think straight. He looks right into my eyes as he parts my pussy lips, and then pushes one finger inside me so fast that I feel a shiver going up my spine. Sighing heavily, I lean my head on Malcolm’s shoulder and I start to nibble at his ear lobe. “God,” I purr, the scent of his body making its way to my brain fast.
I take my hand, resting it over his crotch, I start rubbing his cock through his pants. I feel it hardening up against my fingers, desire making it pulse fast - my heart starts pounding against my chest as I feel that thick shaft of his, and all kinds of wicked thoughts flood my mind. I keep rubbing him, tracing that huge twelve-inch cock with my fingers while Malcolm continues to play with my pussy.
I try to hold back but I feel that intense warm, tingling sensation course through my body with every stroke of his fingers. I arch my back, sighing heavily, and he fingers me faster - he wants me to cum, and he wants me to do it right now… The swirl of his fingers keep on unleashing sweet pleasure into my body, and I simply can’t hold back anymore – gritting my teeth and throwing my head back, I let my pussy juices flow all over his fingers as I cum so hard my body shakes, my juices running down his hand.
Malcolm lets his fingers linger right on my clit for a while, rubbing it softly now. I reach for his hand and grab his sticky creamy fingers, bringing them up to my mouth.
“Just a taste,” I whisper lewdly, and then I lick my own juices off of his hand while I stare into his eyes, taking my tongue and running it up and down his fingers, the flavor of my own pussy making me feel dizzy.
