“You’re so fucking naughty, Allie,” he says, and smacks my ass again, the pain ringing through the jiggling flesh. “Keeping secrets, still.”
So are you. I want to scream, but I can’t speak.
I can’t say anything, I’m at a loss for words, leaning my ass towards him, arching my back so that he can see that I’m dying for him to fuck me. Please, god. I just want you. I just want to feel you inside me, to be enveloped by your lust.
I think that Shawn can hear my thoughts because he turns me around and lifts me into his arms so that I lock my legs around his waist. I can see the primal need inside him, a glaring desire that is so impatient that it overrides his want to see his pulsing pink handprints on my ass. He hurriedly aligns himself with me and slams his length up into me.
He holds my ass with both hands, one of his hands moving so that his finger traces my second hole, and I let out a moan of surprise. I haven’t ever done any ass play, but as he fucks up into me, holding my body flush with his, tracing my asshole with one finger, I gasp and nearly cry with need, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing in the world that will save me from myself.
“Mr. Van Doren…please…I want…” I gasp as he pushes his finger through the tight ring of my ass, the pain connecting to nerves of pleasure, stimulating every part of me. I bite my lip, trying to bounce on his cock, chasing my release as he finger-fucks my asshole and begins to lift me up and slam me down onto his girth, my wetness slick around him as he starts to move faster.
We thrust against one another, aggressive, brutal, and reckless, our bodies jiving as the water rains down on us, a synchronized effort. Both of us forcefully reaching for the release that will bring us clarity, as well as the reminder that we are not alone. That no matter what, we will never be alone.
Four
Art and Aristocrats
Standing in the drive in a full-length gown and heels, diamonds glittering on my neck like I’m Audrey Hepburn or some shit, I wait patiently as Rhett’s rental Rolls Royce comes to a stop beside me. I tuck a strand of my perfumed, curled hair behind my ear nervously, and he rolls down the window, one arm slung on the steering wheel, the other at his narrow chin.
“Damn.”
He observes me and I him. There’s not much to say as we stare in silent admiration. He’s fitted in a black dress suit with a black tie, glossy brown hair swooped back to show off his heartbreaking features. Cruel lips with a markedly perfect cupids-bow stretched into a lazy smile, and my heart lurches in my chest. How can he be so beautiful?
“Hop in, Angelita,” he coaxes.
“I’m not really an angel though, huh?” I say as I swing into my seat next to him and buckle myself in. The entire car is filled with a pungent fresh leather smell.
“You are to me,” he says simply, and then swings the car around so that we’re headed to our destination. It’s only five-o’clock, but Rhett wanted us to get there early so that he could talk things over with vendors and dealers, and whomever else he might have to manage.
“How much does one of these babies set you back, huh?” I laugh, trying to bring humor into the situation.
“You worried I can’t afford it?” he asks, a small smirk blooming on his lips as he shifts into a higher speed. He glances at me for a second, and I sense that he’s taunting me.
“No,” I snicker.
“Shawn’s not the only one with money. We’re compensated pretty equally. This is a multi-man operation. We just play different parts,” he explains.
This wasn’t what I expected. I’d always assumed that because Shawn was the head of the organization that he’d accrued most of the money, not to mention, he has a massive hotel chain.
“How’s that even possible?” I say, hoping I’m not offensive. I don’t think money makes a man more worthy of anything, it’s just a luxury, a perk. It’s not needed in order to enjoy a man or woman as a human being. Money is a channel for greed, and as a young child I hated men and women who appeared to have wealth. The one thing that consoled me was that I realized that no one actually looked happy; they all look miserable, no matter their annual income.
“Spend a few years playing the game we do and you’ll have your own fortune too,” he tells me.
My own fortune? The thought is intriguing. Would it make me feel like less of a leech? This way, I could be my own person and reaffirm my own autonomy. Belief in myself. Without Shawn, Rhett, and Alexi holding me up by the pins of their finances I would have nothing, and I’d be back on the streets. Shawn buys all of my clothes, and the reality of my situation hits me. I’m like a fucking gold digger. I’m soaking up all the gifts like a greedy little goblin girl. My stomach muscles tighten beneath the strict compression of my crystal-adorned dress, everything about me flashing like a beacon that reads: sold, bought, and conquered.
“I want to work,” I agree, resting my hands on the tiny gleaming gems covering my knees. There’s a thigh high slit in this dress that I keep pulling over and closing so that I don’t feel naked.
Rhett twines his fingers with mine as he drives, taking us down windy roads, towards the other side of the island, comfortable silence filling the gaps between our conversation.
We roll up to a giant cliffside mansion, every turret and roofline marked with blue, the rest of the white stucco building glowing under the tall outdoor lights. This leads us along a cobbled driveway to where a dark green carpet has been unfurled over the walkway and up the half-moon stairway. A set of two propped open double-doors glow with warm light, welcoming its visitors with the promise of glitzy thrills and expensive pursuits.
Valet’s wait dressed in matching uniform, and when we park a young man comes straight to my door, opening it for me. Rhett tips the valet with a sleight of hand and comes around, walking with the same bad boy swagger I know him for. His eyes find mine, and he reaches out to rest his palm against the bare space where the dress scoops extremely low on my back. The way he looks at me makes me blush.
“Follow me,” he murmurs, and I comply easily, walking beside him, trying my very best not to trip in my tall heels as we climb the steps. A few men incline their heads to him, and he mirrors their gesture.
“Just remember, you’re safe with me,” he whispers against my bronze locks, my hair fluttering back as we enter the foyer to the hotel. The ceilings extend upward and painted along the stretch of hallway are Renaissance style paintings of Greek gods and baby angels. Ares’ arrows are aimed straight for Zeus’ chest, and this strikes me as ironic.
Safe. Are we ever really safe? Isn’t safety an illusion?
The ballroom we enter is filled with a sea of tables with white tablecloths, dim purple lighting, and a sea of baubles hanging from the ceiling that look like mystical floating orbs. Modern chandeliers are dispersed throughout the room, and each table is set with gorgeous mother-of-pearl china. The centerpieces are fascinatingly different, each one recognizable as unique pieces of art, most incorporating flowers or metallic ornaments. At the far end of the hall there is a dance floor jazzed up with purple and blue lights.
“We’ll be in front,” Rhett brings me toward a table and he pulls out the chair for me to sit down.