by Zahra Girard
And that’s not the man I saw earlier today; a man with rage in his eyes and blood on his knuckles. I’ve seen that type of person before. I’ve run from them, and I wont allow myself to fall into that trap again.
I want to know the good part of him isn’t fake. That it isn’t some veneer over a jagged, cruel soul.
I wander the rooms of this cavernous house, pausing each time in every room to take in the incredible ocean views.
There’s a lot to see.
I leave the main living areas behind and eventually come to a part of his mansion that looks like it hasn’t been lived in in a long time. There’s one room, with a stunning view of the sea and the sky that seems to stretch on to forever, with an old piano in it, covered with cobwebs and age. The keys are worn with use and caked with dust.
I sit down at it and aimlessly plunk a few keys. Even though it’s old and been sitting a while, it sounds in tune.
I never figured him for someone that’d be into music like that, but maybe it’s something that came with a house. I don’t know how it works with rich people, but I can totally see them just sort of leaving some expensive thing like this around as a decoration. Sort of how regular people will use a lamp or a picture to brighten a room.
Moving on, I come to a little storage room.
It’s filled with stuff that cries out ‘teenage Julian’. Some posters, what I’m guessing is his first Rolex, and then I find another Rolex, and then a set of keys with the Porsche logo on them.
I keep digging. Into his past. Into him.
It starts with a picture in a frame. Three boys, running the whole spectrum of the teenage years, beaming like they own the world, with their arms over each other’s shoulders. Alex, Julian, Mike.
Another photo, a young Julian in graduation robes, his older and younger brothers by his side. He’s beaming.
Every accomplishment, every milestone, these three are by each other’s side. Inseparable, indivisible.
And in not a single picture do I see Julian’s parents.
I find an old box. “L.A.” scrawled on the side and inside, a few VHS tapes and faded pages that onetime might’ve been music, but now are just some illegible ink on yellowed, crinkled paper.
After a time, I wander back to where this whole argument started and still I haven’t seen or heard anything from him.
I want to talk to him, now that we’ve both had time to calm down. We need to sort this out.
I get curious.
Is he even home?
“Julian?”
No answer.
I yell again. Louder.
“Julian?”
He’s not the type to ignore me or shy away from a conversation.
I look around, thinking about my next step. Where is he? Outside, through the window, I see there’s a huge detached building that I’m pretty sure is a garage or a workshop of some kind.
It’s worth a shot.
Stepping out the front door, and triple-checking it to make sure I’m not locking myself out, I head out and start across the driveway. Halfway there, I start hearing some metallic clanging and banging.
Inside, I feel like I’ve stepped into a car museum.
I know nothing much about cars beyond gas pedal equals go and brake pedal equals stop, but even I can see the seven cars in here are all beautiful. There’s a few that look like obvious racing cars — narrow, low, whiplike and sleek — and some that look like they’re made for just driving around while looking important and rich.
Julian’s here, too, wearing an old pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that’s got a small tear on one side and a big grease stain on the other. His hair’s mussed up, he’s sweaty, and disarmingly rugged. I forget for a second that I’m here for a serious reason. Between the percussive clangs of metal on metal, I hear him humming a tune that just sounds old, but I can’t quite place.
He looks up and sees me and, even though I can tell he’s still dwelling on things, he gives me a little smile that makes heat spark between my legs.
“Come on over,” he says. “I’ll just be a minute.”
He’s got some part on a workbench in front of him, with a wrench attached to it and he’s thwacking away at the wrench with a mallet. After a few hard thwacks, the wrench starts turning and Julian puts the hammer aside to finish cranking it by hand.
“We should talk,” I say, hesitantly.
He shrugs, grabs some kind of wire brush, and starts scraping away at the car part. “We can, but there isn’t much to talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
“We just had a difference of opinion. That’s normal. Couples fight. And I can understand where you’re coming from and why you were upset, which is fine, because you don’t know anything about who I was fighting with. Let’s just move past it as the misunderstanding it was.”
He’s barely looking up from what he’s doing.
“There’s more to it than that. You can’t just dismiss it so easily.”
“Do you know the name of the man I kicked out?” he asks, pointedly.
“No.“
Anger starts bubbling inside me. It feels like he’s just hand-waving this all away.
“Do you know even half the shady things he’s done for my father? Or the trouble he could make for us — or the ways that he could hurt you — if we aren’t careful?”
“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t justify assaulting him.”
“I love you, Melody, and I promised to protect you. Pierce is a clear and present threat to the both of us, and I’ll get as dirty as I have to if it means keeping you safe,” he says, and he gives me this look that sears me to my core.
I shiver, and stand, transfixed, as he approaches. My heart is thudding. Adrenaline floods me.
“I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. My relationships have always been disposable, but this is different. It stirs me up like I can’t describe,” his voice is liquid fire, setting alight in me passion that I can’t fight.
He’s right in front of me, sweaty, radiating with heat.
I take a shivering breath and catch the scent of his musk. It’s heady, intoxicating, overwhelming.
“You are irresistible.”
My skin tingles as he cups me under the chin. My breath comes in short, quick gasps.
“You are the most valuable thing in my life.”
His voice is a smoldering growl and I melt.
Julian crushes his lips to mine and forces me up against his workbench. Cold steel holds me upright while fervent, fierce kisses coax me to give into him.
“You are all I want.”
I lose control.
I’m pliant, putty in his hands while he strips me down, his voice a guttural exhortation of desire. I’m naked, bare, standing in front of him, my whole body open to his touch.
My nipples pucker in the chill air of the garage. Roughly, he takes hold of them, kissing them, devouring them. I moan and hold him to my chest and he bites and I stiffen. Pain — heated and sweet — jolts me.
“I can’t control how I feel about you. I can’t control how much I want you.”
He presses into me, grabbing me by the wrists, pinning them against the workbench.
The need and lust coursing through me pushes a quiet whimper from between my lips.
Julian lets go, but I keep my arms where they are. Eyes locked on me, he strips down. First his shirt, revealing the rippling muscles of his chest and arms. Then his pants fall to the ground, his cock pulsing inches from me.
I want to get to my knees. I want to feel his hardness in my mouth. I want to make him moan. But before I can move, he’s against me again, his cock firm against my tummy, his arms holding me still.
Looking into my eyes, he slips a finger into his mouth, wetting it. Holding me still with one hand, he draws the other down my body. Between my legs.
I’m aching for him, my body consumed by desire.
I bite my lip as he slides inside. He crooks it just right and it�
��s like a switch goes off inside me.
I’m slick, wet, quivering in seconds — my body alive with the relentless desire coming off him.
“Keep going,” I moan.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off mine.
I start rocking my hips, moving them along with his fingertip. Every touch, every thrust, is in just the right spot and I cannot get enough of it.
My breaking point is so close I can almost taste it. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating, ready to blast off.
“I want to watch what happens to your eyes when you come,” he says, but I hardly hear him.
The way he says that word hits the ignition inside me.
I break.
I thrash. Sensations of heat and electricity flow through me, a tumult that utterly overwhelms me.
I’m a limp thing in his arms, still coming, when he roughly turns me around.
My eyes flare wide and I scream, unbridled lust bursting from my lips as he fucks me.
He isn’t gentle.
I feel every inch of him. I luxuriate in it. I revel in it.
I ride the tidal wave that crests inside my body, clinging to it, while he fucks me with force that’s driven by pure lust.
He uses me.
Hands hold me just where he wants me and, if I shift at all, they crack hard upon my ass.
“You’re mine,” he growls.
He smacks me again. My ass stings.
“I am. Fuck me like you own me.”
His cock goes incredibly stiff inside me. I can feel the come boiling inside him, filling his dick, ready to burst inside me.
Fuck, how I want it.
He takes me to the brink, till I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head and my heart thumping at a thousand miles a minute, ready to rocket myself back into orgasm.
“Suck me,” he commands, pulling out.
I drop to my knees, thudding into the concrete. It’ll hurt later, but right now, I hardly feel it.
I wrap my lips around his cock. My taste and his intermingle and it only takes a few strokes before he fills my mouth.
Groaning, head tossed back, he comes for me. It’s a deviantly beautiful sight, watching his chest and abs flex and tighten and flex while I swallow every drop he gives me.
It takes him almost a minute to come back to earth and, when he does, he smiles to see me still on my knees. I grin up at him.
“We should argue more often,” I say.
Shaking his head, he grabs a handtowel from the bench and wipes the sweat from his brow. “We have to be careful, I might not want to do anything else except piss you off and then have makeup sex.”
“It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. It’s not like we have anything important to do,” I say sarcastically.
“Right. Which reminds me. Tomorrow night, we’re going out. The last person I need to convince to support me is having a party at The Bolero Room. His name’s Keith Henrickson and he’s scum. This isn’t going to pleasant, but it’s something we have to do,” he says, then he gives me that smile that turns my legs to Jell-o and makes my heart dance in my chest. “Are you up for putting on another show as my lover?”
I kiss him again. “It’s not a show.”
* * * * *
Tomorrow night rolls around. Julian calls Mike down from San Francisco, and he meets us not far from The Bolero Room.
I’m dressed for a night out — sexy, skimpy top, short skirt, heels, everything that I think I’ll need to fit in at one of the most exclusive clubs in LA. Not that I really know anything about how to do that, considering the fact that the most exclusive club in Rockaway Bay is the old Elks club that closed down about a decade ago due to lack of members.
But I think I’m doing OK.
Julian’s got his eyes on me the whole walk from the club’s valet parking lot to the entrance to the club, and it’s obvious from the looks he’s giving me that he more than likes my outfit. He might be maddening sometimes, but he makes me feel beautiful and appreciated.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s also looking regally handsome tonight. He’s got on a sleek suit that fits him like a glove — it’s all sharp lines and refinement.
We walk past the line in front of the club, straight to the door, where Mike’s already waiting.
“Damn, Jude, are you trying to outshine your fiance? That’s bad form,” Mike says when he catches sight of us.
Julian laughs. “I appreciate the compliment, but there’s no way in hell anyone is outshining her.”
“True. You scored, brother.”
I blush and Julian winks at me.
“It’s good to see you, Mike,” I say.
“You too, Melody. It’ll be nice to have a couple friendly faces around inside there. Trust me when I say I am not looking forward to this.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Julian says.
“We’re stepping in to a nest of vipers. I feel like I’m in that Indiana Jones movie, except I don’t have a torch or an awesome Egyptian guy to help me out. Anyways, I don’t know why you called me down here. Keith isn’t going to talk to me. And I don’t really want to talk to him, either.”
“It’s not just ‘that’ Indiana Jones movie. It’s Raiders of the Lost Art. Know your classics, man.”
“Sorry. I’m still reeling from how bad the fourth one was.”
“We don’t speak of that one. You know that. Besides, I didn’t ask you here to chat with Keith. You don’t even need to be in the same room, but I just need you around in case. I think Pierce is up to something.”
Mike grimaces. “I’d hoped he’d disappeared to whatever hell he came from after dad died. Kind of like how the bad guy minions in video games tend to disappear after the boss dies.”
Julian shakes his head. “As long as there’s money to be made, he’ll be around. But forget about that, just keep your eyes open, ok?”
“Is it really going to be that bad?” I say to Julian.
He puts his arm over my shoulder and I instinctively lean into him. “Keith Henrickson is the kind of sleazebag that makes you want to take a shower after meeting him.”
We step into the club. It’s filled with well-dressed, wealthy people drinking and dancing and mingling, while women gyrate on several stages placed throughout the club and some sultry-voiced singer belts out smokey versions of dance standards from center stage.
“I’ll be over there,” Mike says, pointing to an empty bar stool next to a stunning blonde who can’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two and who keeps casting infinitely bored looks around the room. “Text me if you need me, bro. But only if it’s an emergency.”
“Really?” Julian says, looking both amused and impressed at the same time.
“She looks nice. And lonely,” he says.
“She looks way out of your league.”
“Just you watch. Besides, we Stone brothers have to represent, and, since you’re off the market and Alex is in prison, that burden falls to me.”
“Such a burden. I don’t know how you manage.”
Mike shrugs. “You know, sometimes it’s hard being a handsome, wealthy, and fun single dude. You should’ve given it a shot when you had the chance.”
“Dude, get out of here,” Julian says, giving his brother a playful shove. “And good luck.”
“No luck needed. I’ve got skill.”
Mike makes his way to the crowd and confidently sits down next to the blonde like he belongs there. He’s over there for maybe twenty seconds before she’s got her hand on his cheek. He turns to Julian and me and gives us a big thumbs up and an exaggerated wink.
“Do you think we’ll even see Mike the rest of the night?” I ask.
“He won’t leave. He might disappear to some quiet corner for a while, but my brother isn’t that much of a punk. Come on,” Julian says, slipping his arm over me again and leading me through the crowd.
People just seem to part for us as we’re walking along. They know who I’m with. A few snap surreptitious cellphone
pics and it’s so weird to think that I’m going to be posted to some random strangers Facebook page.
We get to the entrance to the VIP room. A Himalayan-sized man stands in the doorway, his face looks like it’s permanently stuck in a frown and his arms, with bulging boulder-like biceps, are crossed across his chest.
The only sign he sees us is a slight flicker in his eyes. Otherwise, the man-mountain doesn’t move.
“I’m here to see Keith Henrickson,” Julian says.
The stony-faced man blinks, and then slowly inclines his head down to look Julian in the eyes. “He expecting you, Mr. Stone?”
“He should be, Bryce. If he’s been able to take his mind off his quest for pussy at all over the last week, he’d know I’m coming for him..”
The boulder named Bryce cracks a smile. “Phrasing. But it’s good seeing you again. Let me go check if he’s available.”
We wait.
He comes back momentarily and takes his place in the doorway. “It’s going to be a bit. He’s, uh, busy. You know how he gets. Go grab a drink — I’ll come get you when he’s free.”
I feel a bit nauseous thinking about what this Keith character is probably up to.
Julian takes it in stride, however. “Come on, love. It’d be criminal if you didn’t have a dance with me.”
His hand on the small of my back, he guides me out onto the dance floor.
The music starts. It’s something slow and sultry that I’ve never heard. But I hardly hear anything at all, just the pulse of the beat in my body as I press myself up to him. The sounds and Julian’s body seduce me into a gentle sway.
The people around us just seem to fall away — all I see is him. All I feel is him, next to me, his body guiding my own. All I smell is him, his cologne — sharp, spicy, masculine — and the scent underneath that that is so him.
It’s captivating. Divine.
I am wholly drunk on him.
I don’t know when one song ends and the next begins, I let the movements of his body guide me and I stay close to him.
Every once in a while I look up into his deep green eyes. They shine back at me — heat and love and happiness and desire all among the emerald green.
