His eyes swept over her body, drinking her all in. The small firm breasts. The dark pink nipples. The tiny waist. The flat belly. He let go of her wrist and grabbed her by the back of the head. His fingers tangling in the waves of her hair. His mouth hungrily claiming hers.
Sylvie's heart was pounding. She could barely breathe. She struggled to get away from him, but Connor wouldn't allow it. He held her tightly. She was going nowhere!
His mouth was hot and wet against hers. His kisses frightening in their ferocity. He had mastery over her. She had to accept that. Connor crushed her lips with his. His tongue becoming a battering ram, forcing her lips apart.
Incapable of fighting him off, Sylvie stopped resisting and yielded to him.
Connor pulled back and smiled when she ceased struggling. Now that he was sure of her surrender, he could be gentle with her. He stared at her a moment, relishing the fact that she was his. What a pretty little thing she was. Those luminous, innocent, big blue eyes. The long dark lashes. The turned-up nose covered in a hundred little freckles. The pouty pink lips. The fair velvet skin. The mane of golden-brown hair. She didn't look 25. In shorts and flip-flops, with her hair done up in a ponytail and no makeup, she looked 15, if even that.
He sealed his lips to hers, his kiss searing hot. Connor grabbed her round the waist. She leaned into him, her breasts pressed against his chest. But the lower part of her kept its distance, fearing contact with the prominent bulge growing in his jeans. He reached back and grabbed her bottom. Sylvie whimpered when his hand touched her well-spanked cheeks. She could feel his growing erection, steely hard against the softness of her belly. She was trembling, half in fear, half in anticipation. She'd spent her entire life believing no man would ever want her, especially a man like Connor. He was so sexy, so good-looking, his face, his body. He was smart, successful, and rich as Midas. What did he want with someone like her? He could have any woman he wanted. But he wanted her. He wanted a geeky nerd? Why? Was this his idea of a joke? A mercy fuck? Or was he playing at passion? Acting out a scene from his book?
Connor grabbed her bottom and lifted her off the floor. She winced in pain; then moaned when she felt him push his manhood against the cleft at the apex of her thighs. Sylvie looked up at him, her eyes smoldering with passion, his ravenous with desire. She parted her lips. His velvet tongue teased her, first tracing over her lips, then sliding between them. He tasted sweet, like fine wine, as he delved into the soft, waiting warmth of her mouth and eagerly explored it. Caressing and circling her tongue. Rhythmically moving it in and out of her mouth. Going deeper and deeper with each thrust. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, when he suddenly withdrew it. She'd never been kissed like this before. She didn't know how to respond. What she was supposed to do? Her tongue shyly explored his lips and mouth. Connor's tongue circled hers in welcome, then gently suckled it, coaxing her to enter. She was tentative at first, but succumbing to his charms, began to gently suck the tip of his tongue.
Connor let out a groan, pulling back from her kiss. One hand held tight to her throbbing bottom while his other moved up to her shoulder. Sylvie felt herself tipping backward as he slowly lowered her onto the bed. The silk sheets felt soft and luxurious against her bare skin. Sensuous! Seductive! Erotic! Connor loomed over her, his eyes studying her intently, every hair, every curve. Sylvie didn't take up much room in the bed. Small boned and petite, she looked almost childlike. But she belonged in his bed, lying naked, waiting to be taken.
Sylvie held the phone up so she could watch the video and hear the music. Too bad the screen was so small and the people so damn blurry. No matter. She could hear it just fine. Sylvie strutted and swayed her way down the street, loudly singing Pink's "Fucking Perfect" at the top of her lungs. She loved the video! At the end, the weirdo girl who never fit in, who nobody cared for, who nobody thought was pretty, finds love, and lives happily ever after. Sylvie was so busy dancing, she didn't see the crack in the sidewalk, and pitched forward onto the concrete, nearly falling on her face. Whoops! Guess she was drunker than she thought! How many had she had? She'd lost count. She could only remember buying one drink: the first one. After that, just like magic, every time she looked down there was another one in front of her. Who knew she was so popular? Must be the pushup bra she was wearing! She looked down, smiling at her cleavage. The girls might be little, but they looked mighty playful tonight! Mustering her dignity, Sylvie got up on her knees, and struggled to her feet. Standing up wasn't so easy when the world around you was spinning. Where the hell was she anyway? She scrunched up her eyes and tried to focus on the street sign. She was on Park Avenue and 71st. Almost home! At least she thought she was almost home. The building was big and white and had lots of windows and a whole bunch of trees on the roof. It was around here someplace; she was almost sure of it.
She fiddled with her phone and typed in another title. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of Katy Perry singing "Roar." Sylvie lurched and tottered, dancing from one side of the sidewalk to the other. Then she bent over, squatted, and shook her ass in a slow, seductive grind. She had a vague recollection of doing something similar earlier in the evening. Except there had been someone behind her then. She'd been dancing by herself when a guy, a stranger, came up behind her and began grinding himself against her bottom. She'd never twerked before and wasn't sure whether she was the twerker or the twerkee. She didn't really know what was happening until she felt his bulging erection pressing against her backside. She had limited experience in this area. The only erections she'd ever come in contact with were Connor's. At least until tonight! This was all new to her. She didn't frequent clubs or bars, so she didn't know how to react at first. Was this normal bar behavior? Should she be flattered? Outraged? Deciding the guy was a dick and a sleaze ball, trying to take advantage of her and the situation, she stomped on his foot really hard and walked away without saying a word.
Sylvie didn't notice the stretch limousine coming to a stop at the curb a few feet away from her. She was engrossed in trying to watch the video, which was getting fuzzier by the minute.
"Sylvie? Sylvie, is that you?"
She spun around to see two faces staring at her through the open car window. They were blurry yet sort of familiar. A hand emerged from the window and motioned her closer. She might be drunk, but she wasn't stupid. It was late. There was no one else on the street except her and the Rolls Royce dudes. They could be rapists or white slavers, trying to lure her to the car so they could grab her and have their way with her. Or maybe kidnap her and sell her to an Arab sheik to stick in his harem. "No dice buster!" she yelled. Sylvie squinted at the car, trying to bring it into focus. There was more than one white slaver in there. "Busters!" she corrected herself
"What's wrong with you? Are you sick?" the same voice asked.
"Inebriated is more like it," another derided.
"Well, I guess now we know why old Connor dumped her!" a third voice snorted.
Sylvie studied their faces. Oh no…it couldn't be, but it was: the assholes! The one with brown hair was Drake. The blonde was Alex. There were at least two more people in the car, maybe three, but she couldn't make out who they were. She stumbled toward the car and stuck her head in the window and greeted them. "Hey guys, how are ya? Long time no see." She stuck out her hand ready to shake Drake's but instead missed and smacked him square in the nose.
Drake looked at her with a mixture of reproof and disdain. He wiped at his nostrils with the back of his hand, checking for blood. There was none. "Sylvie, what are you doing here?"
She pulled her head back out the window, opened her eyes wide, and looked around. What was she doing here? She couldn't remember. Sylvie narrowed her eyes and thought real hard. "I'm dancing," she grinned, pleased with her answer.
"Yes, I can see that," Drake snapped. "But what are you doing wandering around Park Avenue at this time of night? Do you live around here?"
Another tough question! She looked confused for a minute then twirled around slowly. Bad move! Everything started spinning again. She blinked, trying to focus, but her eyes kept crossing. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I live around here…somewhere! What are you guys doing here?"
"We went to a party at our club," Drake responded.
"What? Like a garden, or a book, or a country club?"
He rolled his eyes, wondering what Connor ever saw in her. She was so common, so working class, so out of her depth. "No Sylvie," he said dismissively. "It's a private gentleman's club called The Forum. It's two blocks down on Park. I'm surprised Connor never mentioned it to you. He's a member there as well," Drake informed her.
Sylvie wanted to ask if Connor was at the party, but she didn't. If he was in the city she didn't want to know. She couldn't stand the idea that he might be here and had not come to see her.
"Do you live close by?" Drake demanded to know. "It's nearly 4 o'clock in the morning! Maybe we should see you home? You're in no condition to be out on the streets alone at this time of night!"
4 o'clock in the morning? Wow! She was a real party girl! Imagine that! This was the latest she'd ever been out. Time sure flies when you're having fun! She had been having fun, hadn't she? She couldn't really remember. It was all kind of fuzzy. She remembered there'd been lots of guys. And lots of wine.
"Where the hell do you live?" Alex glared at her, completely exasperated. He was trying to be a gentleman here, but his patience was coming to an end. For two cents he'd leave the little barfly to sleep it off in the street!
Sylvie didn't respond, she was staring at her phone. "Oh! Oh! Oh! I love this part!" she shouted, bouncing up and down like an excited five-year-old. Backing away from the car she started dancing again, her ass wiggling, bumping and grinding, her arms waving above her head in wild abandon. "Cause I am the champion and you're gonna hear me roar!" Sylvie started clawing the air with her fingers and repeating the words "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oooh," over and over again. She bared her teeth and growled at them several times, then began yelling at the top of her lungs. "You're gonna hear me roar!"
"For God's sake Sylvie, what's the matter with you? This is a respectable neighborhood," Alex scolded. "This kind of behavior may be tolerated where you come from, but you can't behave like a drunken tart here!"
Sylvie glared at him. Tart…fart! She was about to tell Alex to go F himself when she heard someone in the distance hollering her name and hurrying down the street. She tried to focus a bleary eye on the approaching figure. Suddenly the doors to the limo opened and all of the occupants got out. In addition to Drake and Alex, there was Victor and Nathan and even Sean. This was turning into the billionaire, rich boy assholes' convention! They were all glowering in the direction of the man calling her name. These guys were acting just like a security detail! Wow, her very own posse! Just like Jay-Z and P. Diddy! How cool was that! Only her peeps were mega rich and wearing $10,000 suits, $500 custom made dress shirts, and $250 silk ties. Pretty impressive!
"Sylvie honey, you left your bag at the bar," he said, briskly walking toward her.
"Oops," she giggled, sending a loopy grin in his direction. She turned to Drake, putting her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and whispered, "I think his name is Aidan. I'm pretty sure we're betrothed."
"Betrothed? You mean engaged?" Sean asked in disbelief, sure he must've heard her wrong.
"Yup, he asked me to marry him. I think he's from Ohio. He wants me to move to Cleveland with him. Or maybe it was Cincinnati?" She stepped away from Drake and walked toward the man on wobbly legs. "Hiya Aidan," she said, waving enthusiastically. Strange! Her tongue wasn't working properly. It felt thick. What was that about?
The tall man moved closer when he saw the other men crowding around her. "Are you OK, Sylvie? Do you know these guys? Are they bothering you?" he asked, eyeing them with suspicion. If anyone was going to get in Sylvie's pants tonight, it was going to be him. Not a bunch of Johnny-come-latelies!
"It's OK. These guys are just the ash…" She stopped herself. Oops! Lots of oops tonight! Introducing them as assholes would have been a severe breach of etiquette, a major faux pas on her part! She tried to come up with another word to salvage the situation. "Ash...ash associates of my…my employer," she said smiling in triumph. Brilliant save! She did a little happy dance. The men from the limo watched her in utter disbelief. The girl was not only drunk out of her mind, but obviously demented, a certifiable lunatic.
The other man just leered at her. "Your wine sweetie," he said calling her attention to the shopping bag in his hand but holding it just out of her reach. "Can I walk you home and help you carry it up to your place? Maybe we can crack one open and get to know each other better?"
The assholes were staring daggers at Aidan. Sylvie wondered why. Guess they were mad because they wanted to walk her home too. She smiled at Aidan. He looked like a cat about to eat a canary. Sylvie didn't want to hurt anybody's feelings. "Nah, it's OK. I can walk myself home. I only live…" she looked up at the street sign. Damn! She was still at the corner of Park and 71st. She hadn't moved an inch! This was embarrassing. Where the hell did she live? Sylvie closed her eyes real tight and tried to remember. "Oh wait…I know," she said, jumping up and down and waving her hand in the air like a little school girl trying to get her teacher's attention. "See that big white building on the next block. The real tall one! That's where I live!" She smiled in satisfaction. A moment later she frowned, eyes nervously darting to the other buildings on the street. "I…I... think!" The buildings began to sway before her eyes. Suddenly everything was spinning. Her stomach churned, alternately cramping and convulsing. Oh crap! She was going to be sick. She needed to leave…now! She grabbed the bag from Aidan's hand before he could protest. "I have to go. I'm not feeling very well! Bye!" She dropped her phone in her purse, lifted her purse onto her shoulder, gave them a quick, loose-wristed wave, and then staggered off down the street.
Aidan looked none too pleased. "Sylvie wait! What's your phone number?
She turned back to them, looking confused. Phone number? That was a hard one! What was her phone number? Concentrate! You know this…think! Her head hurt. Her brain felt like mush. Oh wait, I got it! "It's area code 518-853-4622."
"518? Are you sure? That's not a New York City area code," he asked, suspicious that, drunk as she was, she was trying to blow him off.
"Yup, 518-853-4622! It's a Saranac Lake number, up in the Adirondacks. I used to live there." The minute she said it a pall of gloom and sadness descended on her. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to swallow back the saliva pouring into her mouth, then turned, and reeling first one way then the other made her way down the street.
Aidan shook his head in disgust and left. Guess he'd be sleeping alone tonight.
"What a fucking piece of work! No wonder Connor kicked her out," Alex said, shaking his head as he watched her go.
"He didn't kick her far enough, evidently," Drake snickered.
"What?" Nathan asked, wondering what his friend was going on about.
"Look where she's headed. That's Connor's building," Drake informed them.
"Well, I'll be. So it is," Sean looked shocked.
"She looks like a sweet piece of ass," Nathan admitted. "But knowing Connor, I don't think he's keeping her around for her snatch. He's all about the work; he's obsessed with his writing. He told me in August she was one of the best editors he'd ever worked with. That's why she hasn't been kicked to the curb completely. Hell, he'd keep Hitler or Stalin on the payroll if he thought he'd sell more books!"
"So you don't think he's diddling her on the side when he comes to New York then?" Alex asked.
Nathan shook his head. "No. I don't. When Connor ends a relationship, he never looks back. Remember that young English actress he dated a couple of years ago? The one he brought to the villa on Lake Como? He introduced her to every producer and director he knew, trying to convince them to give her parts in several Hollywood movies and even a Broadway play. Then he found out she was stepping out on him and he threw her over, treating her like a leper from then on. The man's a hard-ass!"
"I think Connor may have learned his lesson this time," Drake told them. "For some reason Connor likes low rent women; but this little chit takes the cake. His slumming has hit an all-time low. At least the other ones tried to be presentable and behave like ladies. Not this one? She's as tacky as they come! Connor really scraped the bottom of the barrel when he hooked up with her."
"You're quiet," Alex observed, staring at Victor. "Something wrong?"
"No. It's just that I can't help feeling sorry for her."
"You would!" Alex admonished him. "Jesus, you're such a sap! She's just another little gold digger Victor. She thought she'd parlay her ass into a ticket to the good life. Climb the social ladder and latch onto a rich sugar daddy. Well, it didn't work out that way. Better luck next time!"
"What is it with Connor and women anyway?" Sean asked. "His love life's a fucking soap opera, a frigging Greek tragedy. It's like a revolving door the way women come and go in his life. One day they're here; the next day they're gone. Why can't he hook up with an heiress or a socialite for a change and forget all the angst and drama? He has this thing for needy, blue-collar, working-class women. He tries to mold them into exactly what he wants. And if they don't comply; if they don't live up to his expectations, he gets rid of them! Gives them the old heave-ho! I don't get him. Why have a wacked out wench hanging on his sleeve at all, when Seanna, God bless her little heart, gives great head and is more than willing to make house calls?"
"Ah! Sweet Seanna! That girl can suck the skin right off a banana and never leave a blemish! With a fox like that waiting in the wings why would you waste your time with trailer trash?" Alex declared.
Everyone laughed except Victor. "Give him a break will you? Connor has the worst luck with women: his fiancé Marisol murdered and then that girl from Boston he liked getting hit by a car. He's had more than enough tragedy in his life. I didn't much like the girl myself, and it's obvious the little fool can't hold her liquor; but he seemed happy when she was with him. At least what passes for happy with Connor. Now he's back to being his usual morose, sullen, surly self.
Sylvie drunkenly ambled down the street trying to stay upright. She kept pitching forward and then struggling to right herself. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. She was exhausted. Her head was spinning. All she wanted to do was lay down. Please God! Just let me make it home and I promise I won't ever get this drunk again! I pinky swear! How much further? She had to pee… really bad. And her stomach was doing flips. She was relieved when she saw the double doors with an immaculately trimmed potted evergreen tree on either side.
Feeling sick, she stumbled to her knees and began retching violently. Acrid, foul smelling liquid spewed from her mouth as her stomach emptied its contents: cheap wine, peanuts, pretzels, bagel and pita chips, popcorn, and snack mix. Sylvie reeked with the abominable stench.
Sean watched in alarm. "Christ, she fell and it looks like she's puking. Do you think we should help her?"
"No. Leave her. She's a big girl," Alex responded. "She's on her own. Let's get out of here.
They all piled into the car. Except Drake. He watched as two men came to her aid.
A couple of security guards had seen her and rushed out of the building. They grabbed her by the arms and tried to help her stand; but her legs were made of Jello and wouldn't support her. She vomited again and slumped forward, her knee slamming hard into the pavement, breaking the skin and leaving a bloody smear on the concrete. "Just let me die!" she wailed as another wave of nausea hit her. On her hands and knees now, Sylvie tried to lie down on the sidewalk. The quicker she died the better! A pair of strong arms lifted her up into the air. It was the behemoth. She tried to speak, but was afraid if she opened her mouth again, she'd hurl. Her head drooped, eyes rolling back in her head; and then, blessedly, everything went black.
Drake shook his head in disgust as he watched the men carry her into the building. Where did Connor find them? He hopped in the car and a moment later it sped away.
Sounds great, thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI would enjoy reading this one. Sounds really good.
ReplyDelete