Authors: Leeann Whitaker
“Fuck- fuck- fuck, Elizabeth!” He paces back and forth then angrily to me. “I can’t believe you’d spend your time in a shithole like this.” He throws his head back. “Asking for it?” He hums with a caustic glare.
I stand there for a second, trying not to breakdown in front of him. I’m not going to let him make out this was my fault. I don’t deserve to be spoken to like this. I turn and walk away, back to the bar.
“That’s it… that is it,” I choke up.
I’ve just nearly been raped, and he’s blaming me. I thought he was different. I thought wrong, obviously.
I stagger out under the streetlight, only to have him appear before me. He holds my arms gently. I try not to look up at him, but it’s pointless. His lips are straight and now his eyes are soft and glassy. He heaves a breath with a slow blink.
“Elizabeth… please, I’m sorry. I saw his hands on you and lost it.” He cautiously lays his fingers on my cheek. “He’s hurt you… no one, no one has the right to touch you.”
I gulp with emotion and the tears begin to tumble. I could have been killed in that alley. He brushes my cheek with his thumb, staring down at me with care.
“Liz,” Nathan’s voice calls.
Great, now there’s audience witnessing me weeping.
“Liz.” He charges over, and who’d have thought it, comes to the wrong conclusion. “You did this!”
He points to my face then spitefully shoves Adrien. But my hero stands firm, and takes it without flinching.
“You laid your hands on her didn’t you? I’ll kill you!”
“Nathan,” I scream so loud he stops, and looks at me with piteous eyes. “He saved me. I’d be in that alleyway torn up if it wasn’t for Adrien… so back-off.”
“Liz come on, I’m taking you home.” Nathan gestures me as though I’d just drop Adrien to follow him.
I turn to Adrien. He’s already holding the passenger door open on his silver F type Jag. I lower my head. I need to be with Adrien. I disregard Nathan stood there waiting for me, and climb inside the warm safe car.
I don’t get it. I’ve just been assaulted, and I have the two men in my life making me feel bad. Adrien, because my drinking haunts aren’t up to his standard. And Nathan, because I chose Adrien. Men and their damn testosterone, is something I don’t need right now.
***
I’m quiet as we approach my front door. It’s to be expected. No matter how attentive Adrien has been, helping me out of the car, and opening doors for me, I’m still a little traumatised. I just want to scrub tonight off my skin.
My hands tremble and I drop my bag out in the hall. He bends to pick it up, and pulls out my keys.
“Which one?” He asks, puckering his brow at my fuzzy pink troll key ring.
I point, and he opens the door for me.
I walk through, tearing off my jacket that still has that creep on it. I throw it on the floor and turn back to see Adrien still stood outside in the hallway.
“You just going to stand there?”
“I really shouldn’t come in. You’ve had an ordeal tonight and need some space,” he replies, delicately.
Screw that. Right now I want normal. To think about something other than that twisted shit who nearly had me.
“I need you to,” I choke.
“Elizabeth,” he huffs. “I won’t come in… if I’m not invited.”
“Please,” I say quietly. “Come in.”
He steps over the threshold and closes the door. He sees the roses he sent me on show and smiles. I thought he’d be all critical, but he seems quite comfortable in my basic abode.
He strolls to the sofa. “You should go and freshen yourself up, Elizabeth.”
I leave him sat on the couch, flicking through one of Cate’s hair magazines.
I have a quick shower, scrubbing the night away with my loofa and raspberry shower gel. While I dry, I look in the cabinet mirror to see a small scuff on my cheekbone. I exhale, pulling out my concealer stick. I dab just a little on the mark to hide the redness.
I take my cream bathrobe from the door and thread my arms through before fastening the belt. I rub my hair until its towel dry, flip it back, and blow out in frustration. Because shabby as I am, I will have to do.
He’s still waiting patiently on the couch. His high-class shiny shoes crossed. He peers over the back cushion as I bashfully make my way to him. God, I’m more uneasy in my own surroundings, than I was in the penthouse.
“Would you like a drink,” I ask.
He watches, one eye greater than the other, fascinated by my tatty bathrobe. His gaze then warms considerately, as I move before the sofa.
“Do you have whiskey?”
“One sec.”
I stoop over next to the television, to check what we have available in our forever dwindling liquor cupboard. From the back, I pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels and hold it up for him to inspect.
“Elizabeth, I like refined things as you are aware.” I think he’s trying not to laugh at me. “You don’t need to be nervous of me now, not after Sunday night.” He gleams as I flush a warm shade. “JD’s a good drink.”
I pour him a glass, and one for myself. But to mine I add a splash of cheap supermarket brand lemonade. I take our glasses, and sit beside him on the lime green scatter cushions. His hand reaches out to take the glass. He smells so good. A different scent. Sweet but manly.
He shuffles to the edge, and removes his blue silk lined grey jacket, then relaxes back. Wow. He’s so good at this being calm business.
“You’re back early… from the summit,” I say, sipping my weak whisky.
“Yes, it was extremely challenging catering to the whims of my boss.” He rubs his hand on his thigh.
Stop looking at his thigh Liz
. “We have some bad apples to get rid of if things are going to work in this industry.”
“So, you have an employer?” I ask in shock, because I thought he was his own boss.
He chuckles. “I have many doors I work behind.”
“You mean you have your fingers in many pies?”
“Hmm, thanks for the correction.” He drinks what whisky is left in his glass, then gives me an extreme gaze. “Why would you put yourself in danger, Elizabeth… explain?”
“It’s not a big deal. I just strayed too far from the crowd.”
“With a cigarette, or what is it you Brits call it… a fag.” He nods with conviction.
Please do not start to lecture me on the health risks of smoking. You yourself Mr Knight, are proving to be detrimental to my health.
“And you were with Nathan?” He enquires in a merciless tone.
“No, I was with Cate, and Nathan just happen to be there.” Great, this conversation is going downhill fast. “How did you know where to find me?”
“A process of elimination,” he hums. “Seems that joint is popular… why is beyond me.”
I sip my whisky as he slides his glass onto the coffee table. It’s too quiet, and I’m in two minds whether or not to put some music on.
“Elizabeth.”
“Yes,” I breathe out sharply.
He shuffles to me with his leg over his knee, revealing the boss brand on the sole. The soft fabric of his trousers skim against the back of my hand. He’s done it again, got my heartbeat soaring high. I’m trying not to be preoccupied by this need to have him right now. But my, it is so difficult keeping slutty Liz on lockdown.
“No man should ever touch you that way, and you shouldn’t allow it to happen,” he says sternly. “When I touch you what do you feel?”
Oh don’t. Please don’t make me say it. You make me hot. I need you. I fantasise about you every minute of the day.
I look down at my empty glass, burning up.
“See, the look on your face.” He strokes my cheekbone. “The flush of pink across your cheeks tells me that’s how you like to be touched. That dirty bastard tonight… there’s too many of them out there, waiting for a girl like you,” he angers. “I will never make you feel that way… unless that’s what you want.”
Maybe I do. Rip off my clothes, hold me, and touch me in an aggressive manner.
Jeez. I really need to sit still. To stop with the shuffling ass and jellified fingers. I need to be more like Adrien. Unflappable about the whole ‘I want sex right now with you thing.’ I’m being unsophisticated. Wild like a primitive cave women.
“So” I put on my best classy voice. “Where are we going on Saturday? I mean I hardly know you, and you’re taking me away. God knows what I’m getting into,” I awkwardly joke.
He knows I’m melting. I see it in his face. His inflexible probing eyes and the deep inhalation. He can smell my lusting pheromones. He picks up his empty glass, implying he’d like another. I take it with mine to immediately escape the sex-zone, and place them on top of the cupboard.
I screw off the cap, while subtly looking over my shoulder. He’s concentrating on my shitty bathrobe. I knew I should have borrowed Cate’s lilac satin one on the bathroom door. He’s more of a satin man, than a torn off-colour towel kind of guy.
“So?” I ask again.
“You’re apprehensive about joining me?” He says, slighted.
I catch a breath. Why does whatever I say sound offensive to him? Perhaps I should attend elocution lessons on speaking to affluent hotness like himself.
“Not at all,” I squeak, holding his whisky directly in front of him.
He takes it and places it on the table, his eyes charring mine. My knees bob a few times, struggling to stay put and not dive on him. He looks down at the hem of my gown, and up to the belt with appetite. He reaches out, and uses my waist to very slowly pull himself up my body. I sigh out loud. I can’t stop it. He pushes close, so his hips rub against mine as he ascends. I swig down my quaking breath.
Oh Adrien, I’m all yours.
He lays both his hands on my face and stares, keenly tilting my neck to the side. He begins to transplant his cool lips sensually on my skin, over and over again. Goosebumps discharge down my spine, and my hairs stand on end. I shut my eyes as my fingers caress the fine hair on the back of his neck.
“I’m going to do a lot of this.” His slick voice dampens my earlobe, before his mouth moves down to my neck. “I am most definitely going to fuck you.”
“Oh please stop,” I exhale, pulling at his hair.
“I’m going to do things to your body you’ve never experienced before,” he murmurs, pressing his nose against my cheek. “Elizabeth,” he whispers.
“Yes… yes.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me?” He’s kissing my damn neck again!
I cannot speak. I’m in some sort of hypnotised mess, and he’s pulling on all my strings like a puppet.
Hell yes
, my brain pounds out. I will come with you, and I will for you. I claw his neck, hard.
“Elizabeth… would you like a taster of what’s to come right now?”
“Shit yes!”
My phone rings. Of all the stupid senseless times to call someone. Piss-off. This is not a good time. I’m busy.
It finally goes dead, but almost immediately starts to ring again. I roll my eyes as he unlatches his lush lips and gapes down at me, unfulfilled. It’s either Cate or Nathan.
“God … I’m sorry.”
I storm across to my handbag, my objective, to throw my phone out of the window, and get back to business. I rummage to the bottom, wound up like a jack-in-a-box. It’s Nathan, I swear he’s stalking me tonight. I push reject call, and as soon as I do, Adrien’s jacket on the couch begins to ring. Of course it’s a much more delicate tone than mine. He grumbles low with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Apology’s.” He coughs to rid the sexual pressure, taking out his IPhone. “Shit.” He looks at the screen then waves it up and down, like me, pissed at being rudely disturbed. “I need to get this,” he smoulders. “Can I use your bathroom?”
My body drops down to the couch, shrinking rapidly as I point at the bathroom door. He better not be married, and that’s his wife calling from overseas. I pout as he disappears.
Why am I flicking through this brochure of pin-up hair-dos? It doesn’t interest me. I just don’t know what to do with myself. I need to take my mind off him somehow, and if reading up on Victoria’s rolls works as my anti-climax, then needs must.
“Are you fuckin messing with me!” Adrien’s voice makes me jump. Wow, I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of that call. “Not going for that Dom.” I try not to listen, but that paper thin door is by no means soundproof. “If Laurie has a problem, then tough shit,” he growls, lowering his voice. “I tell you what, the order can go fuck themselves, because I’m not going to let Laurie run around this city, taking the credit for my work. He’s forgetting who’s in charge here.” The pause of silence is way too tense. I can hear him pacing in there.
He emerges, hanging his chin to his chest, muttering. I shouldn’t really look at him. He was quite scary in the bathroom. I pointlessly move objects around the coffee table. His glass next to mine, the magazine in the centre, then I plump up some of the cushions.
“Err, Liz.” Holy crap, hallelujah, he’s called me Liz. “Sorry, Elizabeth.” Oh, perhaps in time then.
“You have to go.”
“Sorry… someone’s trying to get me into trouble.” He mumbles something crossly, can’t make out what.