Groaning, I turn around and stare at her, my face expressionless. “I appreciate your concern for my health, but my primary care physician, gynecologist, and psychologist all seem to think that I’m just fine. I like my life the way it is - easy and drama-free. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a classroom of budding musicians waiting for me.”
I walk past her, leaving her standing there, mouth wide open. I don’t want to be rude to one of my only friends, I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings, but I don’t know any other way to get her off my back about my social life. No one understands.
As I grab the door knob to exit the lounge, she calls out, “I’m not giving up, Trina! I will break you eventually!” I pause for a moment, closing my eyes and shaking my head. I contemplate turning around and saying something back, but I’m sure we have an audience at this point. Instead, I turn the knob and push the door open… right into someone’s face.
“Crap! That hurt!” I hear a male voice say seconds after I feel the door make contact.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” I squeak as I move to see my victim.
Standing there - holding his nose as blood streams out like he just climbed out of an MMA octagon - is a guy around my age, that I’ve never seen before, dressed in khakis and a white polo.
“You’re bleeding! Oh, I feel awful! I’m so sorry; I didn’t know you were standing there,” I squeak out an apology, unsure of what to do.
He laughs softly and I bring my eyes to meet his. They are the most unusual eyes I have ever seen – one is sky blue, while the other is a light brown. In any other circumstances, I would comment on the uniqueness of it, but right now I’m too flustered. When he speaks to me, I look away, realizing that I’ve been staring. “I should hope not, or I’d be really offended.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“I hope you didn’t know I was standing there and hit me on purpose,” he explains. “Then, I may think you don’t like me.”
I blush and continue to keep my gaze far from his. “I don’t know if I like you or not; I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“That would be because today is my first day here. I’m taking over for Ms. Jordan who’s on maternity leave for the rest of the year. Ya know, I would love to continue this conversation at a different time when I could actually shake your hand and not be covering my face, but I should probably clean up and get some ice on this,” he says, his voice softening a bit.
I nod my head. “I’m sorry again about your nose and your shirt. If you bring it to me I can get those stains out for you.”
He looks down at the blood stains on his shoulder and chest, and instead of getting angry or frustrated, he laughs. “Okay, Miss; I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”
“Miss Foster,” I reply quickly, still looking down at the ground. “And I really should go, my kids will be waiting.”
“Yes ma’am, Miss Foster. I’ll take you up on that offer.” I nod again and raise my head up to his chest level, so it doesn’t appear that I’m completely rude. “My name is Lucca, or Mr. Ellis, if we’re sticking with last names. And despite the circumstances, it was a pleasure to meet you.” I hear the playful tone in his voice; he knows I’m embarrassed, but he’s trying not to make me feel more uncomfortable.
Spinning on my heel, I hurry back to my classroom and try desperately to forget about the lunch encounter over the remainder of the afternoon classes. The kids make it easy to get lost in their excitement over beating on some drums and making as much noise as possible. It’s not often they get to do this without getting yelled at about it. When the final bell rings a little after three o’clock, I say goodbye to my last class of the day and begin to clean up the room. Being Monday, it’s hot yoga day, and I’m really looking forward to a session of sweaty planks, downward dogs, and cobras.
I’m bent over putting away the last of the drums when I hear someone clear their throat at the door. I sigh aloud, assuming that it’s Lauren, and without turning around, I say, “I’m not going out with you tonight or any other night. It’s just not happening. Ever.”
“Our initial introduction wasn’t ideal, I agree, but I think you’re being rather harsh,” that same throaty voice that had danced in my ears earlier in the day retorts.
Snapping upright and turning around sharply, my entire face enflames. “Oh my goodness, Lucca, or uh Mr. Ellis, I’m so sorry… again.” I shake my head, hardly believing what an idiot I can be. “I thought you were someone else. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I wouldn’t say that… I mean, it’s not that I do want to… I mean, I didn’t…” I just stop talking since nothing is coming out right.
He continues to stand in the doorway, grinning like a fool, obviously enjoying the fact that I’m rattled. “You were saying?” he asks.
Now that he’s not covering his face, I can’t help but to notice how handsome he is… even with the bandage on his nose and the beginnings of a black eye. His hair is as dark as mine is light and he’s got that style where it’s sticking up every which way, like he just rolled out of bed, yet it still looks perfect. He’s got the kind of smile that makes most girls go weak in the knees. Thank God, I’m not most girls. I mentally pull myself together to find my voice and my inner calm.
“I apologize for those remarks; I honestly thought you were someone else. And again, I’m sorry for the collision earlier,” I say softly. “I’m usually not so rude as to give someone a black eye and verbally accost them within the first day of meeting. Now, what is it that brings you by this afternoon?”
He leisurely walks over to where I stand, smirking the entire way. I don’t like the way he makes me feel, and I really don’t like the way he’s looking at me right now. “Well, Miss Foster, if I remember correctly, you offered to take care of my shirt for me.” He pauses and pulls the shirt over his head, leaving him standing in just his pants less than three feet from me. Instinctively, my eyes are drawn to his tight chest and abs like fingers to a cello; his torso is perfect instrumentally. I force myself to pull my stare up to his face, to those exquisite eyes. He’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. He holds the shirt out to me and I snatch it from his hands.
“I’ll return it to you soon,” I force out in my sweetest possible voice and then turn away to walk towards my desk. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s getting to me. I hear his footsteps walking towards the door, but before he leaves, he calls out, “Yes ma’am, Miss Foster, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My entire body flinches at his words.
Drying off after my nightly bubble bath, I lather up my freshly shaved, now extremely smooth skin in my favorite Kanebo Sensai body cream. My skin feels like pure silk and smells like a whiff of heaven after I apply it from head to toe. There truly is no other lotion or cream on the market that is even close to this stuff. I’m not sure what it is about it, but something in the plants and extracts that they use, make it worth every dollar I spend on it - all four hundred of them.
I slide into my black, silk robe, not even bothering with the tie that dangles around my waist, and make my way to the kitchen. I grab the open bottle of 2011 Chevalier-Montrachet out of the wine chiller and pour myself a healthy glass. After the first sip of the expressive chardonnay, my taste buds come to life and I moan aloud in delight. The hint of spicy floral mixed with a zest of lemon is an impeccable combination, and much like my lotion, is irreplaceable in my nightly ritual.
Leisurely making my way back to my bedroom with my vino, I saunter into my closet to decide what I’m going to wear tonight. Typically, I wear all black on Monday’s, but after the day I’ve had, I’m feeling a little like breaking the rules tonight - even if they are my own rules. Shaking my head and laughing softly at myself, I grab my new sapphire-blue fitted dress off of it’s hanger with a pair of silver stilettos and throw them on my oversized bed.
I head back into the bathroom and climb up on the marb
le countertop, yelping as my bare ass hits the cold surface. I have to sit up here to put my make up on; it’s like it doesn’t apply correctly if I don’t. It’s similar to when I have to fix my hair standing in front of the left sink instead of the right. There’s a certain way and order that everything needs to be done in, otherwise my inner balance gets thrown off and I spin a little out of control, and nobody wants that to happen.
Smiling at myself in the mirror, I begin to apply the dark charcoal eyeliner that frames my crystal blue eyes, then I follow it up with several thick coats of mascara. I’m blessed that I have naturally long lashes and don’t have to go through the trouble of falsies; unfortunately, they are just very pale, like everything else on me. After a little blush and all over shimmery powder, I overlay my naturally ruby lips with a thin coat of cherry lip gloss and blow myself a kiss in the mirror. Seriously, who could resist this face?
I hop off of the counter and move over to the hair station, bringing my now half-finished glass of wine with me. I release my long flaxen blonde hair from the clip that’s been holding it on top of my head, allowing it to cascade down my back. Thirty minutes with the straightener and I’m good to go. I stare at my reflection one last time before turning to get dressed. Perfect ~ just enough make up to accent my eyes and lips and my hair looks better than Duchess Catherine’s. I have mastered the concept of sexy without slutty. People have always told me that I have the face of a porcelain doll, and truly, I must agree. Unfortunately for them, I share the same emotional capacity as one of those dolls in my bitter, frozen heart.
I take off the robe, hang it in its designated spot on the back of the bathroom door, and then prance naked over to my wardrobe to choose my lingerie for the evening. This is probably my favorite part of the entire getting ready process. A woman’s undergarments truly say so much about her mood and intentions. For example, a woman in a white cotton bra and panties probably isn’t thinking about getting fucked, and even if she is, she doesn’t care much about impressing her partner. Whereas a lady in sheer black lace is at least hoping that someone will get a peek at her without clothes on. The fabric and color of my intimate apparel most definitely affects my attitude and disposition; plus, it’s the basis on which an entire outfit is built around.
Seeing that I’m completely going against my better judgment and wearing blue and silver tonight, I opt for my grey metallic demi cup bra with the matching thong. Sitting on my bed, I carefully slide my iridescent thigh highs up my perfectly toned legs and hook them to the grey garters. Stockings and garters are a must for me anytime I leave home after sunset. This is one rule that can’t be broken. When I slide the sleek, delicate material onto my body and attach it to the clasps that perfectly frame my tight ass and sweet pussy, a switch goes off in my head - a switch that locks away any sliver of goodness left in my soul and turns me into a fierce predator with only one goal in mind ~ to dominate and destroy.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s a few minutes past ten, which means that I need to get a move on. I quickly slip into my dress and shoes, then take one last look at myself in the full length mirror. I should feel bad for the men who cross my path tonight. Too bad I don’t. I swallow down the last of my drink as I walk towards the front of the apartment. Stopping to rinse out my glass and placing it in the dishwasher, I then grab my clutch off the table and head out the front door.
Emerging from the elevator, I give Andres, the nightly security guard, a quick smile and tip of my head, before escaping into the cool March night. Leo is waiting for me with the SUV, just as he is every night, and I hurry into the backseat of the black Range Rover. He closes the door behind me and hurries around to slide in the driver’s seat.
“Where are we headed tonight, Miss Kat?” he asks as we pull away from my building.
“The World Bar Trump Towers. I’m feeling feisty tonight and need some international blood.” I reply in a sharp tone. He glances up into the rear view mirror and catches my eye. His expression speaks volumes, but he’s smart enough to not say anything.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Do you notice anything different about me tonight, Leo?”
“You’re not wearing black, Miss Kat,” he says without even having to think.
“You’re always so observant. I really don’t pay you enough.”
“You pay me more than enough, but thank you for the compliment.”
He smiles at me in the mirror, and I allow myself to return the friendly gesture. Being in his presence calms me like no other. He is the only male in my life that I never intentionally want to hurt, but I know that I still do. Daily. Our relationship is unconventional and most definitely unhealthy. He is the closest thing I know to love, yet it’s still so fucked up that I’m not even sure that’s the correct terminology for it. I know he loves me, and I care about him as much as I can, but that’s not saying much.
Before I can spend any more time thinking about Leo, we pull up to the building and he hops out of the car to come open my door. I take his offered hand and slide down off of the black leather seat. As my feet hit the ground, I give him a quick peck on the cheek. “This shouldn’t take long,” I tell him, and he simply nods knowingly. I stride confidently though the door, and once inside, I scan the room swiftly before making my way to the lit up marble bar. Every person present, both male and female, watches as I make my way across the room. I feel their eyes on me, and instead of making me uncomfortable as it would many people, I feed off the attention.
The bar is quite crowded for a Monday, which pleases me immensely - more of a menu to choose from. I select the open chair in between two men who both appear to be there alone. The one on the left is a little old for my liking, but the one on the right caught my eye immediately. The bartender, dressed in his white tux, scurries to greet me.
“What can I get for you to drink this evening, ma’am?”
“Grey Goose Martini. Dry, dirty, and with a twist, please.” He nods his head with a smile and steps away to make my drink.
“There’s nothing sexier than a beautiful woman who knows how to order a drink,” the older gentleman says to me. I refrain from rolling my eyes and swallow back the words that I want to say. It’s time to play the game.
I look over at Grandpa and grin. “How sweet of you to call me beautiful; thank you so much.” One good look at his face and I know that even if his age didn’t rule him out, his uni-brow would’ve. Thankfully, the bartender arrives with my drink at the perfect time to end this conversation that’s barely started. I thank him and take a sip of the cocktail. Perfection.
“That has to be the poorest attempt at a chat up I’ve ever heard,” a deep voice with a thick British accent murmurs in my right ear.
Smirking, I turn slightly to get a better look at the other guy sitting next to me. I do a quick assessment ~ early thirties, attractive face, full head of medium brown hair, nice teeth, not overweight. Yep, I think I found a winner… or a loser, depending on whose point of view you’re considering.
“A chat up, eh?” I ask playfully. I lean in close to his ear and whisper, “Something tells me that a ‘chat up’ isn’t what he is really looking for.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, then takes a long drink of the amber liquid in his rocks glass. “Something tells me that you’re a smart girl.”
I smile my most innocent smile and lock my eyes on his. “I’m fucking brilliant,” I say with a serious face. He stares at me for a second, almost as if he can’t believe I just dropped the F-bomb, and then bursts out laughing.
“Well bloody hell, aren’t you the best thing I’ve met since I’ve been here?” I beam back at him. He rearranges his body position slightly so that his knee is gently resting against mine before continuing. “I’m Benjamin, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Benjamin. I’m Chloe,” I lie.
And… game over. I win. The victories aren’t always this easy, I actually prefer when they put up a little more of a struggle, but tonight I’ll take it. O
ver the next forty minutes, I entertain him by pretending I care about his important marketing job and his growing up in London while sipping on my drink. I laugh when I’m supposed to, touch his arm and leg here and there, and pretend that I don’t notice him staring at my boobs. Finally, he asks if I’m interested in sharing a night cap at his place. After explaining that I’m not the kind of girl that goes to a stranger’s place, I suggest a hotel room. As his eyes light up and he adjusts his crotch, thinking that he’s sealed the deal, the disgust rolls through my body. They are all the same.
Benjamin pays for both of our drinks and we walk out of the bar, hand in hand. Leo is waiting and ushers us into the vehicle. The surprise is evident on Benjamin’s face, but he refrains from saying anything. By the look of his clothing and the Hublot timepiece adorning his left wrist, he’s no stranger to luxury, but I’m guessing that he wasn’t expecting this from me. Once we are both securely in the back seat and on our way to our destination, I twist in my seat and place my hand high up on his thigh.
“Benjamin, would you be interested in playing a little game?” I ask, my voice dripping with sugary sweetness. He first looks down at my hand and then slowly brings his gaze up to my face.
“Absolutely, my pretty little Chloe,” he replies with a shit-eating grin. His words make me want to vomit, but instead, I scoot my hand up a bit on his leg and bite my lip suggestively. He leans into me and lightly kisses my exposed neck. “Whatever you want to do, I’m good with,” he murmurs against my sensitive skin.
I reach underneath my seat and pull out a piece of heavy black fabric. Crawling onto his lap and straddling his thighs, I gently brush my lips across his before tying the blindfold around his eyes. I feel him tense a little bit as I take away his sight and the excitement begins to bloom inside of me. Next, I retrieve the metal restraints and cuff his wrists together behind his back.
“You’re a kinky little thing, aren’t you?” I can hear a trace of fear in his voice but the bulge in his pants that continues to grow tells me that he’s eager for what he thinks is about to happen.