Pretty much fucked summed it up.
“Wow, your room looks like a horror movie.”
“I am a horror movie. I’m gonna shower off the uptight, stuffy-ass elitism off me.”
“Before you do… unzip me?” Moving her hair all to one side and standing with her thighs touching the gothic bed frame, I saw why she used her looks so much. They worked in her favor. She was built like a dream, had a voice made of fantasies, and whatever was wrong with her was so far deep you had to dig it up. I could see how most would find themselves too enamored with her outside to even contemplate digging anything up.
Taking slow, easy steps towards her, I lifted my hand covered in tattoos to drag her zipper down her back on the champagne colored dress she had on. She stuck out like a sore thumb, being the only one not in black.
I heard her breath get caught in her throat as I pulled the zipper down her back all the way to her tailbone, where her matching thong was exposed.
Now my breath was trapped in my esophagus at the sight of her creamy ass against the shimmer of the champagne colored dress.
With my hands on her hips, I steeled myself along with her. She was so still, yet shaking in my grip. Mentally, I had to think of how long I had been depriving myself. It didn’t take long. I had two girls I rotated, but when things got heavy enough, I spared them the insecurity of being alone with me.
When things got heavy, too dark, or there were too many nightmares, I was a kind of monster that didn’t know control anymore.
Thank god for loyalty, gag orders, and payoffs.
Before I knew what control and being out of control looked like, I let women sleep in my bed. I didn’t think anything of it until my high school girlfriend, Talen, had snuck onto the grounds and woke up to me having a nightmare I was living out. I had a knife in my grip and stabbed her in the arm as I attacked whatever had me on high alert.
Talen tried to contain it, thrashing around under me and avoiding the sting of the metal in my hand. She was terrified of me, all of me. Once I came back to reality, that’s all I saw: a terrified girl who got burned trying to love me.
That was the last time I had a girlfriend or let a woman stay in my bed. For everyone’s sake.
I didn’t know if it was being lost in the memory or the fear of her spending the night here, but Jessica somehow lost my attention between the zipper and the material of her dress now being a pool at her feet.
Without a word, I pulled myself away from her. With her body on display, she twisted around and leaned against the mattress, hoping I would get lost again. Dropping my suit jacket, I made sure to have my phone, before I closed and locked the bathroom door.
I wasn’t taking any chances of Jessica inviting herself anywhere else. I couldn’t imagine what accidently killing someone of her stature would mean for the Clave.
Leaning against the door, I scrubbed my face with my hands, seeing a missed FaceTime message I didn’t remember going off.
Abigail.
Didn’t seem her style. Miss Professional was doing something less professional.
Curiosity set into my features when I pressed the call back button and put my phone on the counter against the toothbrush holder as I proceeded to unbutton my shirt that was feeling tighter by the second. It was a straitjacket.
The phone rang and rang… until a white countertop came into view. I waited for her to come into the picture when she slurred her words, “I’m drunk, but what I have to say still matters. It’s not appropriate how you manage your employees.”
She caught me off guard, making a smile spread, as I balled up the shirt and tossed it behind me. Working on the double button of my pants, I chuckled, making sure the parts that mattered were out of sight, considering what she just said.
“Okay, what do you want me to do about it, toots?”
“Are you… naked? Oh my god.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing as her face came into view with her hand clamped over her mouth and eyes glassy from the alcohol. I could tell she was drunk. She wasn’t her rigid, self, complete with an uptight attitude and air about her that knew she was slightly better than you.
“About to be. I’m not on the screen, relax.”
“I can still see you…” her cheeks were overrun with a blush she couldn’t hide, even with her tan complexion.
“Abigail, focus. You called me for a reason.”
She hiccupped against her own palm, making me smirk even bigger at her little frame in her white tank top, with no bra as far as I could tell, sitting on her couch, drunk.
“You… need to be a better boss.”
“Okay, how do you advise I do that?” Walking into the open space under the shower head, I turned on the water and set my phone against a shampoo bottle, still humoring her.
“Not doing… what you’re doing.”
She said that, but she bit her lip so hard I think she was willing away the way I made her feel.
“I’m not Vic. We aren’t going to have hard and fast rules, toots. I’m multitasking. Anything else I can do for you?”
My voice was sarcasm and torturing for her. It was fun playing with how much she wanted me - as is, used and slightly abused. Jessica wanted a pet monster to complete her crazy fucking life.
“You are endlessly frustrating!”
“And you’re drunk and making googly eyes at me. I call that even.”
The screen suddenly went dark, and I couldn’t hold in the absent minded need to chuckle at how attractive I found her even drunk.
The water ran down my tattooed body making the tattoos seem glossy and fresh, compared to the once dark ink settling into the aged blueish gray. The ache in my dick didn’t subside even with an Abigail fix. Rubbing my hand down my chest I soaped off the insanity that is my life in one swipe.
Transfixed and dazed at the pebbled up water droplets on the shower wall, I let my weight sink into my palms. I could smell Abigail. I could see her thick brows and straight, full lips defiant in curling either way. I really, really, needed a Xanax when I could feel the warmth of her body caged between my arms.
None of this could be real. My fucked up brain was imagining things, ways to cure me.
Her petite body, shoulders against the shower wall, I could even see her tank top getting wet. See-through, I could see her nipples, a darker shade of taupe instead of pink, push against the fabric. Her full lips were getting chapped against her own shaky breaths.
My chest was picking up speed, raising and falling quicker. My breath was temporarily halted. My voice managed to huskily push out a string of words, “You aren’t real.”
I could feel her arms wrap around my neck, and her breasts pressed against me as her mocha hair got damp. She whispered against my cheek, “No, baby, I’m not. I’m better. I’m what you make me.”
I was a monster who happened to be equally as crazy.
Fucking the figment of my imagination taunted me as I let myself feel her lips leave sloppy kisses along my neck. Every part of me reacted to a fake version of Abigail, the girl who didn’t want anything to do with me and that somehow pushed a green light in me.
She wasn’t scared of me like everyone else.
She didn’t need me to be a monster.
She didn’t even want to know the truth, and that made wanting to corrupt her world so much more satisfying.