Scarlet Unleashed

by Krihstin Zink

  “I want to savor us,” he said, as if we were a steak or something. His perspective on life, his past, and most of all, his sense of humor have provided the necessary attention that I needed to come to terms with David’s death.

  My attention returns to the present as Q caresses my face before he guides his hand down my side. He pulls me forward, and finally—in a dark hallway within a Miami photo studio—Q kisses me. His lips are soft and gentle against mine as he pulls me in closer. I relax into him as his hands explore my back.

  A whimper escapes my lips due to the door knob that’s jabbing at my ass. He notices my discomfort and opens the door.

  “Are you sure that we should do this here?” I question as I follow him into the room.

  “Right now, we’re just kissing—no pressure,” he replies. The room is average-sized and there are multiple rows of portable clothes racks. A simple, charcoal-colored sofa set draws my attention.

  Q locks the door before he guides me to sit with him. First, he kisses the crook of my neck until his lips finally find mine. His large, luscious lips urge against mine. Time slows to a snail’s pace as we’re locked in a profound embrace. With every touch, my skin is left scorched and wanting more. Too much time has passed since my last sexual encounter and I pulsate like a raw, exposed nerve. I’m desperately engrossed as I urgently tug at his fitted jeans.

  A soft grunt floats from his lips as he pulls me onto his pelvis and grips my hips to grind against him. My hands travel up his shirt; I linger and enjoy his newly-defined abs. My lips swell from his heated touch, so I take a moment to surface for air.

  “Maybe we should…” I’m unable to finish my statement because as I attempt to seductively remove my top, a young redhead that’s covered in freckles interrupts us.

  “Yes. Yes, I found her,” she yells into her head piece before she motions for me to follow her. “You,” she shouts when I don’t follow her quick enough.

  In disbelief, I point at myself before I glance at Q. He shrugs as he shifts away from me to adjust himself.

  “Look, doll, I don’t have time for formalities. A model flaked and we need a stand-in. You’re about her size, so hurry up and follow me,” Red orders as she charges toward me, grabs my wrist, and pulls me behind her.

  “Me? Model?” I blurt out as I gape at Q.

  We leave the room, and I’m practically dragged by Red. A brief walk later and I’m shoved into a chair in the makeup section.

  “Hurry up with this one,” Red orders before she turns to face Q. “You’re needed for one last shot; a male model also flaked.”

  Q’s eyes widen and he’s speechless until Red orders, “Well, do you want to work or not?”

  Red and Q trot toward another section. I’m left with a team of mutes. Three women work with such diligence that in less than an hour, I’m stripped of my normal hair style and makeup and then made up into a Gothic Queen.

  “Eeep,” is all I can say when I see my reflection. My hair is fluffed into a ridiculous Elizabethan type bun and there’s a bejeweled crown that’s tightly clipped to my head. My makeup is more ghastly than beautiful, and the gothic, full gown I’m ordered to wear is a tad loose so a seamstress is demanded to rush as she makes adjustments.

  As I gawk at my full reflection, my appearance reminds me of the movie, Interview with the Vampire.

  The corset that now suffocates me has caused an abnormal posture. Thus, one of my makeup staff has to walk behind me and ensure that I don’t trip over my gown.

  “Perfect!” Red snaps from behind me. “Hold on! Wait. Where are her jewels?” she shouts as someone rushes to my side. An overweight teenager fastens a gaudy, bejeweled necklace around my neck. He also slides a ginormous ruby ring onto my middle finger. A photographer that I haven’t met—in total distaste—flares his lips at me.

  “Ju,” he orders in an unfamiliar accent.

  “Huh?” I respond as I’m guided onto a fake staircase that’s propped in front of a fake-castle-backdrop-mural-type portable wall.

  “Now, stand still. I will prop you, and he’ll take your photos. Then you’ll get paid,” one of the makeup artist orders in a condescending tone.

  “I’m not a child, you know!” I snap as she pulls at my chin before posing my hands one on top of the other—the brilliant ruby in full display. A full hour of scolding passes before the photographer finally captures a desirable photo.

  “Bravo!” Red yells as I step down from the staircase.

  Q is waiting next to her. They stand and watch while the bride of gloom squad takes ten minutes to disrobe and remove my borrowed jewelry. Q and I are paid in cash before we’re rushed out of the correct door.

  The 5 PM Miami sun singes our eyes, so we make a dash toward my Tacoma. My movement has almost returned to my previous abilities, and I’m thankful that I no longer have a limp.

  “Can I drive?” Q requests with that smile that makes me want to give him anything he wants. He guides me toward the passenger side.

  “Doesn’t look like I have a choice since you just directed me over here and all,” I reply before I brush my hand down his arm. He releases his throat-filled chuckle that causes me to sigh and smile. He leans in to kiss me, and in this moment, I’m encompassed by a happiness that I haven’t felt in years.

  After he leaves me stunned with his affection, he helps me in and then jogs to join me in my truck. “Maybe after a few more gigs you’ll finally sell me this truck,” he offers as he starts the engine.

  I’m silent as the memory of my adoptive parents’ faces form in my memories. A lump develops in my throat, and I take a pause so that I can form a proper sentence.

  “I’d rather sell my GT86 than my truck; this one holds too many memories of my parents,” I share in a timid tone as I stroke his leg. He doesn’t push the issue, and for the duration of our return to Naples, Q and I chat about how bizarre my first, and possibly last, modeling gig was.

  Monday March 17th, 2014 flashes on my cell as I roll out of my bed. Q and I have yet to have sex, and the sexual tension between us has become torture. Everything he does makes my damn lady bits clench for him. Sometimes I feel the need to pour an ice bucket on said damn lady bits.

  I’ve had two photo shoots since my first one. Photographers have taken a liking to my face, and I’ve grown fond of the quick cash. Not that I need it since I receive checks from my shares at BDR, but disposable cash is always nice.

  “You’re such a haunting beauty,” the last photographer kept saying as he pinched my cheeks and then turned my face from one side to the other. I guess surviving a demon possession and losing your parents and fiancé—all in the same damn year—will do that to a person. And yet, Q finds me attractive, and that’s all that truly matters. His latest workout regimen and diet has resulted in several romance book covers. It’s great for his bank account, but not so great for my neglected lady bits.

  To be frank, I just don’t get it. All we’ve done since Valentine’s Day is kiss. It’s as if a higher force is keeping us from the pleasure that I need right now.

  “David, is it you? Remember you said I could be happy—even with him,” I say to the ceiling, unsure if he will even hear me.

  I relieve my bladder, wash up quickly, but as I step out of the shower, I nearly slip due to the ghastly reflection that’s glaring at me. Before me, locked in the mirror, is Kate. But not the powerful, menacing Kate that once possessed me. Instead, a faint, almost translucent, demonic Kate watches and bangs from within the bathroom mirror.

  She opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Immediately, I’m reminded of the triumphant fight my guardian angels had against her. Their angelic eye beams have obviously weakened Kate. Thank you, Lord.

  After several silent screams, Kate finally vanishes into the mirror. I carry on with my pampering and prepare for my pending date with Q.

  “You look sporty hot,” Q jokes as he takes in my appearance. Considering tonight’s date environment, I decided that there was no
need to wear my best. After all, who wears Chanel to a pub crawl?

  We agree to take my Tacoma down to 5th Ave. Too many memories of David threaten to damper my night, but I mentally force myself to have fun.

  Since our return to Naples from my world trip with Violet, we haven’t heard from Jade or Adrian. Tim and the Key West crew have kept to themselves. Violet and I have become social outcasts. Nevertheless, with Roman and Q at our sides, we’re content with how it all worked out.

  Tonight, Q reserved a room at the Inn on 5th. “We’ll be too drunk to drive,” he mentioned as a smirk formed on his lips.

  I glance at the backseat of my Tacoma and spot our joint overnight bag. We park at the Inn on 5th’s parking area and then rush to check in before we drop off our luggage. I check my outfit one last time. My black leggings and black booties pair well with my fitted St Patty’s day jersey. It’s my first SPD celebration, and I wanted to be festive but true to my style.

  Q and I step out onto 5th Ave, and immediately I’m panged by memories of David. You can do this. He said you should move on, and you will.

  Paddy Murphy’s Irish pub is our first pub crawl stop. The outdoor sitting area is packed with jolly groups of drunken patrons that are all dressed in a shade of green. Boisterous conversations boom from all directions while the stench of beer and cigarettes surrounds us.

  Q notices my distaste of this environment and gives me a forced, contagious smile as he guides me toward the outdoor bar.

  “What would ya like?” a small blondee questions from behind a full bucket of ice with random beers on display.

  “Yunengling,” Q responds before his gaze joins mine.

  I glance at the beer display and utter, “B-Blue Moon, please?” He pays the blonde and then she retrieves our beers before she uncaps them for us.

  Paddy’s outdoor area is dense with groups of patrons. Immediately, I’m reminded of how lovely it was to be a part of a large group of friends. The Key West group was my largest group of friends, and for a moment I question if I’ll ever have that again.

  “Scar—let,” Tim shouts from behind me.

  “H-Hi,” I respond as he shakes me into a hug.

  “Whoa… Doll, you look…” His breath is pure beer, and his glare is unnerving. I know I still have about 15lbs to gain back, and that my TBIS and extended hospital visits are apparent from my appearance.

  Dr. Blantz mentioned that I’d most likely heal quickly and that my brain showed promise of returning to a desirable state. To be honest, once she rattles on with medical terms, it’s inevitable—I totally zone out.

  “Scarlet. Girl, is that really you?” Kim questions from Tim’s side. She jerks me into a forced hug. This is not how I hoped to reunite with my long ago friends. Nonetheless, their distaste toward my appearance encourages that I leave without an explanation.

  Tim and Kim rush me toward their table where Charlotte and company await. I glance back at Q; his eyes widen when he notes my panic. Tim and Kim take their seats next to their dates, and on further expectation, I realize that none of the girls stayed with their Key West flings.

  I feel awkward—like the out of place girl at a beauty pageant. Small talk ensues, and my apparent discomfort increases. Finally, Q interrupts and lies by saying, “It was a pleasure to meet y’all, but we have prior plans.”

  “Oh, Scarlet who is this?” Charlotte probes as she gapes at Q.

  “What happened to David?” Annie questions in a disappointed tone.

  “Oh, he died,” Tim interrupts my attempt to answer. The girls gasp and shoot Tim displeased glares. “Well,” Tim snaps before he rolls his eyes.

  Q excuses us and no one even cares to notice. The people at that table aren’t the loving friends I once had. Alcohol truly brings out the ugly in people.

  I stare at my Blue Moon beer while Q guides us through the congested street. At the entrance of Hob Nob, another 5th Ave restaurant, Q encourages that we chug our beers.

  A mild buzz teases as we make our way to Hob Nob’s bar. Q orders himself a beer that I cannot pronounce as well as another Blue Moon for me.

  This time, I slam the beer as quick as I can. “Atta girl!” Q’s voice sounds more like David’s than his own. Could it be? Has David possessed Q?

  I stare at Q in disbelief until he gives me a swift kiss on the lips before he guides me to a table. A waitress greets us and then takes our order. Q orders several appetizers and gives the waitress a polite smile.

  “I’m not really feelin’ this scene,” he reveals once the waitress leaves.

  “What scene? The restaurant or Naples?” I question as I lean in closer to hear his response.

  “Naples. I don’t think we can become an us if we stay here,” he confesses as he adjusts his everyday knitted cap. The damn thing doesn’t even match his green SPD jersey.

  His statement chimes in my mind, and I’m taken back by his subtle attempt to—to what?

  “What… Where… What are you suggesting, Quinten?” His name barrels out of my mouth as I take note that this is the first time I’ve said his real name.

  “We should leave this place, together,” he shouts in a much louder than necessary pitch.

  Several patrons, from surrounding tables, jerk their attention toward us. Q scolds at them with his fuck off glare.

  I swallow a knot of uncertainty as I reflect that the last time I lived with a lover, our plans crumbled along with my mental state. Could I honestly live anywhere other than Naples and be happy?

  We’re silent until our appetizers arrive. After we’ve thank the waitress for our order, not a word is uttered until Q pays for our bill. We’re slow movers amongst a dense crowd, but it’s a relief to finally be out of Hob Nob.

  “Let’s return to our room,” he offers as he intertwines his fingers with mine. His offer plagues me and my mind becomes consumed with, “what ifs.”

  My past intimate moments flash in my mind, and I’m unsure if I’ll be enough for Q. Nonetheless, his offer is too appeasing to reject. But am I ready to move on? As we draw closer to our hotel room, Q stops in the hallway and stares down at me. He clears his throat before he spreads his lips into that adorable smile that just makes me melt into his embrace. I’m a giddy fool staring up at him.

  “I don’t want to be a rebound, Scarlet. I’m not sure what you see with me, but I’m thirty, I’m ready, and I want something serious. If you can’t be my something serious, just tell me now.” His honey-colored eyes search my face for a response while he combs my hair behind my ear and then he slowly cups my neck. We’re nose to nose and my heart tells me to love him and become his something serious. His lips urge against mine before his tongue strokes and awakens my desire.

  In the empty hallway at the Inn on 5th, Q and I make-out like a couple that would have to endure a long separation. It was as if the next day he would leave for a trip that he’d never return from. And, maybe he would. Maybe he’d leave and never come back. That simple thought ignited my heart, and just like that my pulse revved as my fingers combed and removed Q’s navy knitted cap.

  With suave yet swift movements, he unlocks our hotel door. At first we stumble until the suite door clicks shut and then we stop right as my leg presses against the bed. He’s gentle as he finds a suitable position on the king-sized mattress. His touch energizes my pulse, and as he undresses me—one taunting article at a time—it is as if I am a prize he has to savor every moment of.

  He’s brief when he stops to gaze at my naked form while his heated touch grazes from my hip until he reaches my breast. Quickly, he removes his shirt, but before he reaches his pants, he spreads my legs to greet my awaiting center. With every stroke of his tongue, my neglected body gyrates against his face. I climax without resistance, and I’m embarrassed at how easy that was for him. He’s naked and a pro at applying a condom.

  Before he inserts himself, he gazes down at me and then leans in to moan into my ear, “I hope this means you’ll be my something serious.” Like the neglecte
d Q groupie that I am, I wrap my legs around his waist and await our pleasure. I try to relax, but I’m nervous.

  “Relax,” he whispers into my ear as his rhythm relieves months of tension. In a moment of weakness, my mind wanders to David’s face, but I force myself to erase him. With haste, I rush my lips to Q’s and kiss him as if he were the only person that I would ever kiss again.

  With a flick of my hip, I manage to convince him to take the bottom position while I take charge. I enjoy my ride and encourage myself to erase David’s memory from my body. Q fills me with his ample growth, and with every thrust, I know that I made the correct decision to wait it out.

  Soft moans and grunts escape Q’s lips as I pick up my speed and relish in all his facial expressions. Like a dancer that hits every move just right, I buck and buck on Q until he loses his willpower and urges to return to the top.

  My body quivers beneath him as my second orgasm smashes against his pelvis. Every inch of me quakes as my third and final climax shivers from my core. He rolls off of me and then pulls me into a side hug. His nose searches for my ear and then his lips brush against my earlobe. In an unexpected twist, he releases a deep soulful song. “I could fall, in loo-oove, with yo-oou-uu, baby!”

  A giddy grin forms on my face as I giggle like a love-stricken teen. I gaze at him and query his song selection, but my question is more of a fumble of words. Whoa, way to go vagina; you’ve left my brain unresponsive.

  “Did you have another stroke?” he jokes before he reveals that the original singer of his song selection is a fellow Texan: Selena. “You know, from the J-Lo movie,” he states as he searches my face for recognition of the famous singer.

  “Not. A. Clue,” I answer with a shrug. He rushes to find his cell phone. Evidently, Q is a massive Selena and J-Lo fan. I feel that it matters and that these are facts I should remember.

  “You’ll have time for that,” David’s voice rushes into my ear. A chill runs through me as I jolt forward to search the room. In a panic, I begin to hyperventilate.