by Marian Tee
“I lied. I don’t have a date. I’m attending a bridal shower,” I confessed shakily, saying the words in a rush because I had a feeling if I didn’t get them out in time he would leave me forever.
He inhaled sharply.
Unsure whether he believed me or not, I turned around and twisted the knob, intent on showing him the truth, but Constantijin suddenly said my name. And then he was twisting me around, his kiss forcing me against the wall.
Constantijin gripped my hair with one hand, using it to twist my head to the side so his tongue could penetrate my mouth further. I moaned when he started sucking on my tongue, my arms going around his neck on its own volition.
Pleasure unfurled inside my body like a long-lost dream. I couldn’t help closing my eyes at the sheer ecstasy of being back in his arms and having him kiss me again. When he ground his erection against my body, I arched into him, wishing I could do more to mold my body into his.
“I thought you were fucking someone else,” he said.
“I thought you wanted to fuck Arian,” I muttered back between drugging kisses.
He lifted his head sharply at that. “I don’t cheat.”
“Me neither,” I admitted and let out a moan when he bit my ear before letting his tongue swirl inside, licking the inner lobe.
“Never lie to me again.”
“Never,” I promised, meaning it, and was rewarded with a quick hard kiss.
“Say you’re mine,” he growled as he nuzzled my neck, his hands trailing down to cup my buttocks so he could grind his cock more fiercely against mine.
I was. I already was. But was he mine, too? He was too mercurial for my sanity. I needed something more concrete – something more emotionally symbolic – before I could give myself to him.
I so badly wanted to ask if he was mine as well, but my perverse sense of pride didn’t let me. Instead, I said, “I still need time.” Rather, he still needed time.
He slowly pulled away, and his English was thickly accented and accusatory when he spoke. “It feels like you are making me go through hoops like I’m some puppet you are testing, training.”
“I’m not,” I protested instantly, looking at him straight in the eye, willing him to see how sincere I was.
Constantijin didn’t speak, his arms falling to his sides as he let me go completely. I wanted to weep. I felt like I had gambled – and lost.
“It is how you make me feel and I don’t like it.”
Why was he so distrustful and cynical? Couldn’t he see how badly I wanted him? Or was this all a ploy – a masterful one befitting Netherlands’ #1 playboy?
Only a few feet separated us, but suddenly it felt like we stood at different ends of the world. “You are playing with me.” He said it as if he was waiting for me to deny it.
I wanted to, but I didn’t. He had to figure that out for himself. “If that’s how you feel then there’s nothing I can do.”
Lesson #7
Never go to Vegas with your billionaire.
It’s called Sin City for a reason.
Your hymen is totally at risk.
“Why do you always eat so late?” A grouchy voice asked as I wallowed in self-pity with my vanilla latte and giant slice of cheesecake. It was my sixth day of existing without Constantijin and if I had to be honest –
I wasn’t doing well. At all.
He haunted me worse than any ghost could. He wasn’t under my bed but next to me. He wasn’t inside my closet but with me in the shower. He was in the worst places possible, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I had a feeling I’d sell my soul if I knew there was a cure for this. Surely – surely these feelings weren’t the kind that Walter and Carole shared? It was too...too sexual, too obsessive – too everything that was not romantic.
Thank God we had a three-day weekend coming up, with Friday a statewide holiday. I badly needed a break. Luckily, George had invited me along to enjoy an all-expense paid trip to Vegas he had won from a gay social networking site.
“I’m talking to you,” the grouchy voice continued.
I looked up with bleary eyes and almost spit out my latte. Oh God, it was her.
Glenda lowered herself on the seat across me, glowering. “That’s all you’re eating for lunch?”
Actually, I just lost my appetite. Cheeks flushed and mentally cringing at what she might think of me after what she had seen, I stammered, “I’m not that hungry---”
She rolled her eyes and – with her boyishly cut gray hair – I could imagine for a moment what Alyx would look like when she reached middle age. “Because of that boy?”
It took me a second to realize just who she was referring to as a boy. The redness in my cheeks deepened. “Of course not,” I lied quickly.
“Bah! Don’t bother. I know a smitten girl when I see one.” With a shake of her head, Glenda asked, “What happened?”
Do I tell her or not?
It only took me a second to decide. By now, it should be obvious that I had a tendency to share everything with practically everyone. I confessed what happened in last week’s bridal shower – well, the PG version of it at least – and ended with how Constantijin thought I was playing with him because I wasn’t giving in.
“But I’m not,” I cried out. The words came out louder and more passionate than I intended and I turned red again.
She patted my hand. “Hush, dear. Don’t feel bad. You’re not the first girl whose heart he’s broken.”
I said slowly, “If that’s supposed to make me feel good---”
“You are not even the first one I caught fooling around with my boy.”
I absolutely had no appetite now. “Ma’am---”
She smiled warmly. “Call me Glenda.”
I didn’t smile back.
She rolled her eyes again. “Oh, you! Stop sulking. You are special, dear. You might not be the first girl he’s hurt – certainly you’re not the first girl he’s had sex with---”
I had officially lost my appetite for the entire week.
“But dear,” she finished triumphantly, “You were the first one who made him celibate.”
That got me sitting up in my seat, unable to believe what she just said. Constantijin was so sexual that what she was saying was impossible. Every time we met, all he could think about was sex. And fine – every time we met, I thought about it, too, but it was among other things.
Seeing the incredulity in my eyes, she gave me a sharp nod. “I know my boy. He uses sex as an outlet and these days, he’s like a grouchy bear, snapping at every one.” She said explicitly, “That means no sex.”
Rubbing my suddenly aching head, I said, “I’m really glad you told me this, but…what should I do then?”
“It depends on what you want from him.”
I didn’t answer – I couldn’t, not just yet, not when I was unsure myself if Constantijin was really the man for me.
~~~~
Friday, George and I arrived at our hotel around noon, thanks to an early flight. The accommodations included in George’s prize were at a new boutique hotel. Small and classy but not as opulent as Caesar’s Palace, it was nonetheless charming, --- a girly hotel even, with its lavender-and-cornflower-blue décor.
“I’m starving,” I told George as he queued up at one of the check-in counters. “Check us in while I scout for food?” My stomach echoed my words with a growl.
George grinned. “You and your tummy,” he said but waved me away, telling me to leave my luggage with him.
There was a restaurant across the elevators, and before its glass doors was a small pastry station. I hurried towards it, my mouth watering. Food never failed to comfort me. They were reliable, unlike Dutch playboy billion---
Stop it, Yanna. Stop thinking about him!
I refocused on the sweets. Oh, but they looked yummy beyond belief! Eclairs. Cupcakes. Tarts. Macaroons. Truffles---
"Looks good, doesn't it?"
I was not hearing that.
I was just
not hearing that.
Heart beating madly, loudly, and erratically, I slowly turned around.
It was Constantijin.
His slight crooked smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were intense and wary. Something ached in my heart at that look, making me realize he found this as nerve-wracking as I did.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” I said back because Constantijin in jeans totally rendered me speechless with awe. Constantijin in a suit was breathtaking, but in jeans – he was magnificent, every iota of his sexiness magnified by his tight-fitting shirt and equally tight-fitting denims. One look at him and you couldn’t help but think, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I mentally smacked my head against an imaginary wall. Stop thinking about sex, Yanna.
"Have you eaten lunch yet?"
I could only shake my head, still tongue-tied. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My mind was frozen at those words.
His smile turned into something real, and the sight of it melted the shell of pain that had surrounded my heart for so many days now. “You look great.” His eyes lingered on the rather low neckline of my summer dress, and I swallowed, embarrassed but aroused at the same time when I felt my breasts responding, feeling heavy and aching as my nipples came to life. Thank God for padding or I was so going to show.
I heard myself asking, “Are you staying here, too?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Will you let me book a table for us? You’re with George, right?”
I nodded even though I was a little confused at why he had to avoid my question.
He smiled, looking relieved, and that confused me even more.
He stepped forward, and I held my breath, wondering if he was going to kiss me. But all he did was lift his hand, knuckles grazing my cheek. It was all I could do not to close my eyes and rub my face against his hand like a kitten.
Constantijin said slowly, “I missed you, Yanna. More than I thought I would.” And then he was walking away. It was a good thing he did. If he hadn’t, he would have seen how a 24-year-old woman could melt into a hot, emotional mess.
Glenda was right. I was so, like, smitten to death with this guy.
“You are so fucked.”
I jumped, whirling around to see a grinning George, one trolley on each hand. I grabbed mine from him as he asked slyly, “Is that who I think it is?”
“Nope.”
He let out a manly giggle, which drew looks from the other female customers ordering from the pastry station. I couldn’t blame them. Even with his dorky glasses and stiffly ironed checkered shirts, he was hotter than hot. It was just too bad for the rest of the female population he was gay.
“You are so going to pay me a hundred dollars,” he teased.
It took me a long time to understand what he was talking about. "Oh. The bet, you mean?" I looked at Constantijin, who was a short distance away, talking to the maître d.
Turning to George with a frown, I said primly, “This is just a coincidence.”
George shrugged. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, hun.”
“It really is,” I insisted but quickly stopped speaking when Constantijin came strolling back. He greeted George warmly just as his arm went around my waist.
I raised a brow.
He raised a brow back, eyes gleaming.
Looking at us both, George’s brows lifted as well. “Are you guys sure I’m still welcomed to this lunch date?”
Constantijin pulled me even closer. If I could get my eyebrow to arch higher, I would have. Did he not remember that office romances were forbidden in his company? Was he not worried about other people seeing us together? Had he not realized---
“Yanna.”
Oh, that dreamy Dutch accent was so, like, going to be the death of me.
It took everything in me not to flutter my lashes at him like the totally smitten girl that I was. 24 years old and I wanted to flutter my lashes at a guy! That was the kind of effect someone as gorgeous and sexy as Constantijin Kastein had on me!
I cleared my throat. “Yes?”
“Stop worrying.”
I bit my lip. “But---”
“Don’t you know what people say about Vegas?”
George piped in, “I do.”
Constantijin smiled, the secretive and wickedly playful kind that I loved so much it could actually make my heart ache. “Then please, George, do the honors.”
My so-called friend gave me a solemn look. “Yanna---”
“George,” I said warningly. I had a nasty feeling I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
He said with sham innocence, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
Lesson #8
The way to an (ordinary) man’s heart is through his stomach.
The way to kill a billionaire’s erection is through his heart.
Lunch was such a shitty affair, mostly because George and Constantijin were totally determined to gloss over the fact that we were doing something completely inappropriate. Or rather – Constantijin and I were doing something utterly bad.
George kept cracking jokes throughout lunch and even though I was so very tense at the fact that Constantijin and I were staying at the same hotel, I couldn’t help laughing at all my friend’s quips. I had to give it to George. When he wanted to be funny, you better be ready to double over.
Constantijin was just as bad – in a different way. He took every chance he could get to flirt with me, tucking my hair behind my ears, holding my hand underneath the table, and he kept looking at me like he was dying to get me behind locked doors and have his wicked way with me.
Between the two of them, I totally felt like I was trapped in some kind of kinky Twilight Zone and I was being set up to lose my virginity this very night. A crack in our perfectly flirtatious world appeared when the waiter returned with our orders. George had his usual clubhouse sandwich and juice, Constantijin had ordered some kind of Greek soup, while I had my very own feast – and I meant that, like, literally.
When I saw the laughter in his gaze as he took in what I had ordered, I said defensively, “I didn’t get to have breakfast!” And it was true – technically. I mean, a tiny bowl of cereal was not really breakfast, right?
He threw his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything!”
As he took a spoonful of his soup, I couldn’t help comparing it to my plate of salad, barbecued chicken in java sauce, large helping of mashed potato, coleslaw, and a healthy serving of cream of mushroom.
“You can’t seriously be eating just that?” I burst out, seriously upset. I felt such a pig next to these two.
Constantijin appeared surprised at my outburst. “I already had breakfast and lunch so this was the only thing that appealed to me.” Then he smiled. “But don’t mind me. You and George enjoy your lunch.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” George said, who was already on his second sandwich.
I so envied him.
Constantijin frowned. “Is anything wrong?”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I lied glumly even though my stomach immediately let out a silent but tangible grumble of protest.
A look of disappointment crossed over his face. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who can’t eat in front of a man.”
I made a face. “You’ve seen how I eat.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s because you’re eating too little,” I admitted helplessly. “You make me feel like a glutton--” I stopped speaking at his grin.
“Is that the only thing bothering you?” At my mournful nod, he said, “Will it help then if I told you that on the way here I went for a drive-thru and ate two Big Macs? And for breakfast, I had double pancakes and a hash?”
I thought about it and finally smiled. “Yes.” I picked up my fork and knife again.
Constantijin burst into laughter, and so did George.
“What?” I wailed, but I was smiling, too, mostly because it had been a long time
since I saw Constantijin acting this carefree.
After our meal, the three of us agreed to meet by the pool an hour later. Or rather, George and Constantijin made the arrangements and I sort of found myself nodding in agreement. But all my doubts returned in full force after Constantijin walked us back to our suite.
“I’ll be a hundred dollars richer by the end of the weekend,” George crowed.
“He’s just flirting with me,” I said, trying not to let George’s optimism get to me. “It’s nothing serious. He doesn’t have anything to do, doesn’t have anyone to talk to---”
He snorted. “Do you really expect me to believe that? One: he’s a billionaire. Why is he spending his vacation here in Vegas when he could have afforded to go to Ibiza, Maldives – or even the freaking North Pole?” He flicked his second finger. “Two: I’m not blind, Yanna. I’ve seen how he looks at you. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you two had totally played footsie---”
I tried my very, very best not to blush.
George let out a strangled gasp.
I so totally failed.
“OMFG, you did that already, haven’t you? You are so bad!”
“It’s not what you think,” I protested even as I blushed harder at his sly gaze.
George doubled over in laughter. “Oh, you so did.” Wiping tears of amusement from his eyes, he murmured, “He likes you, Yanna. Trust me.”
I threw myself on the bed, bouncing on my back as I did. “You don’t understand, George. Have you forgotten who he is? Alyx told me he’s Netherlands’ #1 playboy.”
“So?”
“He’s one of the Three Pussketeers.”
“So?”
I growled, “He can’t be serious with me, that’s so!” Peeking at George, I was shocked to see that he didn’t appear worried at all.
“Yanna,” he said patiently, “that may all be true, but it just means one thing. You simply have to work harder to make him serious with you.”
Easier said than done, I thought with a silent grumble as the two of us went down to the poolside half an hour later. He was Constantijin Kastein – a man who might as well have descended from Helen of Troy, with a face that could launch a freaking thousand 747s. And I was just Yanna Everleigh, a twenty-four year old hopeless romantic who had been recently introduced to the illicit pleasures of (almost) sex.
