"Get ready," spoke Wyatt as he adjusted the cufflinks on his suit. My brother stood tall and mighty in the middle of our warmly-lit living room, "My date bailed on me so you'll have to attend the event."
"But it's a school night."
Truthfully, I would not mind attending a social event—I love that shit, especially one thrown by the Alexeevs, but after having my brains fucked out by a friend who happens to be a trained swimmer with magnificent stamina, I'd rather not.
"And? When has that ever stop you?" he wondered as he poured champagne into a flute and drank.
With the way he said it, I could tell that Wyatt will leave me no choice. Despite being of legal age, we've grown too used to him making decisions for me. After weighing and assessing my situation, I figured that I did not want to lie to my brother anymore by creating excuses. Plus, maybe a social event is just what I need to cure my hyper libido. And, if I want Jared gone, I'll have to stay on his good side.
"Fine," I muttered as I walked to my room.
"You have thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes? I needed three hours minimum.
My bedroom door shut behind me. I stormed into my closet and checked my gown collection. I didn't want to put too much thought into my number because that would lead to wasted time. Rather, I grabbed the first two dresses that caught my eye and seemed appropriate for the occasion.
The first one was red and silky with slits down the sides. Typical. Red was classic Rosaleen. I would not go wrong with it but surely I'd match with at least three more women there.
The other was backless and had a low neckline—it was simple with no lace, no sequins, no embroidery. Just fabric with a form so flattering in between provocative and elegant. And it's gold. A dark, chrome-like gold. Do I really want all eyes on me?
Of course I do.
I stripped bare and slipped on lacy black panties and some nipple tape. The dress was no hassle to put on. After my years of attending events that require dresses, I've developed some techniques. Once the dress was on, I chose shoes. I went with strappy white heeled sandals though you can barely see them with the length of the dress.
For makeup, I decided to focus on my eyes and did brown a smokey shadow, brushed brows, and dewy everywhere else. Once satisfied, I stared at myself in the mirror and for the first time in a long time, I realized how much I took after my mother. I was in a gown—something she usually wore due to the numerous events she attends. Her hair is jet black much like mine, and we have the same plain brown eyes, but with a glint that separates it from the others.
I didn't know what to feel about it.
"I'm ready!" I announced as I descended the steps and met Wyatt Martin in the middle of the foyer.
Behind him stood Jared who had replaced his tie with a ribbon. Jared usually only works for Wyatt until 5pm, but he lives in the spare cottage along with other household employees so he's only one yell away.
The WildeLight is a country club owned by a wealthy businessman named Mr. Johann Alexeev who also happens to be Viktor's uncle. The Russian family is famous for three magnate siblings leading their group of companies, all having their preferred field. Viktor's father is the youngest.
The country club is a slab of concrete at the top of a hill. Its architecture is modern and boring. Lot of glass, boxy figures, clean brick walls, unnecessary beams, and Earthy tones. Its landscaping outside, however, had touches of Zen. It took years to build and months to plan by a team from Japan. I still remember its opening seven years ago, the first elite party I went to apart from the ones we held.
Our car drove down the driveway and stopped in front of the function room which was a separate building itself. My tired eyes took in every detail of the magnificent view of the forest below.
The door was opened for me and I stepped out, clutched my purse with one hand, and held my brother's arm with the other. I squeezed his arm, a small habit I've developed over years. Jared drove off.
The inside of the function room was packed despite its enormous size. The decorations were strictly gold and white, a typical combination that may or may not look tacky. But given that it was hosted by the Alexeevs, the word tacky was not in their vocabulary.
I did my best to follow Wyatt. He greeted men and women of the corporate world, some faces new to me and some not. Some were rude and some were secretly rude. My eyes were wandering the vicinity, looking for a particular dark-haired Russian boy or maybe his older cousin.
"May I be excused?" I whispered to Wyatt right before he bit into a clam canape. He had already eaten six and I wanted to smack his head for his lack of refinement. Once excused, I searched the room for Viktor who I found near the appetizer table.
"Rose?" he spoke with food in his mouth, hand covering his chewing, "I didn't know you'd be here."
"My brother's date bailed on him so here I am to save him the pity." I put my arm around Viktor's.
"Uh-huh," he took one last piece of food into his mouth, "You came just to leave the poor man near the bar," Vi nodded far off in the room where Wyatt was drinking alone.
"The program's about to start anyway," I reasoned, "Is Dani here?"
"I don't think so. Her mom's secretary said they'd be busy."
We swam into the crow. Capitalist, capitalist, fake environmentalist, capitalist, rapist, fraud, capitalist, bastard, murderer, and oh, another capitalist.
"Rosaleen Martin?" a voice with a slight Russian accent sounded from behind me. My tiredness flew away, replaced by vim that Rosaleen Martin gets in the presence of him.
I turned, "Leonel Alexeev." The name rolled off my tongue with pleasant familiarity.
Leonel Alexeev is the man. That's putting it mildly. I can describe Viktor's cousin as an older Viktor but on steroids and testosterone water. The man pulled me in for a hug and I cherished the mere seconds of it.
"You look gorgeous, Rosaleen," he said when he pulled away.
I've told him countless times to call me Rose, but he insisted on sticking with Rosaleen, saying that a pretty name should not be traded for something more common.
"You as well, Leonel."
Although there are too many beautiful people in my daily life to count, gorgeous was an understatement. Leonel Alexeev had as much appeal as a whole male strip group. It's his charm, his elegance, his face, his wealth, his taste in champagne, his taste in leather, every fucking thing about him. As one article about him even read: Russian magnate Leonel Alexeev is the definition of sexy.
"You mind if I borrow her for a second, Viktor?" Leonel asked his cousin who I assumed was still thinking about buffet food.
"Not at all. She's all yours."
Leonel placed one hand on my lower back, dangerously near my butt cheek. Although the proximity made me want to squirm, I kept my cool. Side-by-side, we walked to a table where the man pulled a chair out for me.
Leo and I have always had sexual tension between us. Or maybe I'm just delusional. Bottom line is that no one has ever dared to come forth and act upon it mainly because of our affiliations. Even though I've known Viktor since we were kids, I didn't meet Leonel until my 18th birthday when Wyatt insisted to invite more business than family and friends. It's because, prior to him moving into the city three years ago, Leonel was the black sheep of their family who blew all his money on sex, drugs, and automobiles. But since he'd been back, he's been better than everyone.
Once we were settled, he insisted on hearing how life's been going for me. I told him about my school transfer, skipping the reason why.
Although Leonel Alexeev was raised to be a gentleman, he never denied his temptations whenever they came. The man is aware of his killer entirety and he does not reject himself its perks. One article said that he's dating a supermodel and another said that he's dating an actress. Both came out in the same day. Imagine how many more in a week.
His blue eyes did subtle takes on parts of my figure during out conversation.
"And how's your brother? I haven't seen him yet." He took a sip of red wine, the liquid moistening his full lips.
"I better go and fetch him, actually." I laughed, "Wyatt asked me to come with and I left him all alone at the bar."
Leonel's eyes searched our surroundings before they zeroed in somewhere to our left. He spoke again, voice rich—literally, figuratively, "Looks like he found himself some company." Leo shrugged, "I think he'll be all right."
I followed his gaze and felt my heart drop. Fate can be so, so, so bittersweet.
The human brain has an ability to focus one's attention on a particular stimulus. During this, a range of other stimuli are filtered out. A good example is my mind in the situation at hand. Just like that, my attention, auditory and visual, shot across the room and settled on Mr. Nikolas Camillo and the woman in his arm. In front of him was Wyatt Martin. I heard their laughter amongst many.
"Come," I told my friend, "He'd be delighted to see you."
We stood and walked hand-to-arm towards Goldenlux's principal, the woman who I assume was his wife, and Wyatt. Addictive excitement coursed through my veins as I took one step after another. By the time we made it close enough to be noticed, my enthusiasm was seeping through.
Mr. Camillo wore a tux that showcased his masculine frame. His usual five o'clock shadow was gone from his face, making him look a few years younger. His wavy hair was swept back neater than usual. In other terms, I wanted him to fuck me with his shoe.
I brought my gaze to Wyatt right before anyone could assume that I was checking out my school principal—which is exactly what I was doing.
"Mr. Camillo, nice to see you."
There was a beat before Camillo turned his head to my direction. My favorite shade of brown twinkled like the stars I'll see once he fucks me upside-down and inside-out.
"Ms. Martin." He bowed slightly which felt odd since he's of higher authority than me. At school, at least. Shit, I thought seeing your teachers in public was terrible. Until now.
"This is my wife, Bianca."
There goes my sense of hearing. Life? Knife? Rife? The fuck did he say again?
I let myself get a good look at the woman beside him. She had copper-colored hair and pale skin. She's taller than me despite the stilettos on my feet and even though I'd hate to admit it, her height next to Mr. Camillo looked flattering. The wife—whatever the hell that is, was clothed in a simple navy blue formal gown along with silver jewelry. Bianca isn't a head-turner, but her beauty would not go unnoticed once you have your eyes laid on her. She smiled brightly.
You won't be smiling anymore once I suck your husband's dick.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Camillo, I reached out to shake her hand.
"Likewise, Ms. Martin," she smiled genuinely at me, "and...?"
"Leonel Alexeev," spoke Leo in a voice that would've sent chills down my spine if he were a stranger to me.
"Mr. Alexeev," Nikolas acknowledged as he shook my friend's hand. The sight of them—fuck, the sight of them made me wanna become a hole with two legs and a fuck me sign.
"Leonel, how have you been?" Wyatt chuckled as he pulled Leo in a one-arm embrace.
"Never been better, my friend."
I let Wyatt and Leonel's growing conversation fade out and brought my undivided attention to the couple before me. As if sensing that she'd feel left out once a talk between Nikolas and I start, Bianca excused herself to the bathroom. Yes, run and never come back, bitch.
Mr. Camillo turned his head and watched his wife walk to the restroom with what I could identify as adoration in his eyes. It made me want to roll mine. If you love her so much, we can let her watch.
"So," I spoke a bit louder than intended, "what brings you here, Mr. Camillo?"
"If you haven't heard, the charity event is to fund scholarships for students who can't afford quality education."
Camillo faced me, expression neutral as always, "Goldenlux Academy is one of the schools accepting those future scholars."
"Admittedly, Mr. Camillo, I attended last-minute since my brother's companion couldn't make it tonight." I stepped closer, but not too close, "I didn't really have time for research."
"Ah, so Mr. Alexeev isn't your partner?" he raised a brow and took a sip of champagne. God, sip me instead.
"Define partner, sir." I cocked my head to the left, feeling the need to move because I'm too stiff around this man.
"A date, Ms. Martin." He licked his lips, ridding the excess champagne from his lips. Fuck, kiss me, "A popular word for people your age."
Laughing, I tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. I was again supplying myself with thrill, "Didn't I tell you that I like my men older?"
"Precisely why I asked," he said, pointing out that Leonel definitely does not look my age. He stared me down and I struggled to tell if he was amused or annoyed. Maybe both. Regardless, I felt my panties dampen.
"And what do you think of it?" I narrowed my eyes at him and smirked, enjoying this risky conversation. I let my finger caress the back of his hand, making him flinch. Nikolas scanned our surroundings, looking if anyone was watching. At this point, he'd be stupid to not have gotten my message yet.
His words came a tad slower than normal, as if he was guarding himself, "I'm thinking that it'll get you in big trouble." he moved his hand away, but I caught it.
"And what if I want to get into trouble?" I stepped closer—the maximum proximity I could achieve without making us look inappropriate.
"I highly discourage it, Ms. Martin." His gaze was penetrating, but I wish he'd penetrate me with something else. I should've searched for the time behind bars you'll have to serve for public nudity because fuck did I want to take him in the middle of a party.
"Rosaleen," spoke Leonel, disrupting, "the program's about to start." He faced Mr. Camillo who I found to have created distance between us, "Will you sit with us, Mr. Camillo?"
"Sure, Mr. Alexeev. Let me just fetch my wife."
The fund-raising part of the event finished quicker than I expected. Within one hour, money was thrown back and forth within the four corners of the function room. Wyatt, after numerous bids, ended up winning three luxury vacations which he planned to raffle among his workers.
The night was young and so was I. Late dinner was served after the auctioning event, though I couldn't give a flying fuck about Russian cuisine when a whole fucking buffet in the form of Nikolas sat across me.
Within the hour, I'd been tempted times and times to stop with the slow-burn and to just throw myself at Mr. Camillo. Fuck psychology, fuck the game, fuck the tension, and just... fuck.
I waited until the food was served to us. The meal mainly consisted of seafood and vegetables, though I really was in the mood for something else. Lifting my foot, I let it graze against the leg in front of mine—Mr. Camillo's. From the corner of my eye, I saw him tense and the butterflies in my stomach went bonkers.
Nikolas started glaring at his vegetables.
"I love the shrimp," I muttered to Leo who sat to my right. He hummed in approval and so did Bianca. I let the side of my foot move slowly and gently up his leg. His eyes met mine and I popped a shrimp into my mouth before moaning, not too porno, but enough of a sound to make his imagination run wild.
"The dip is exquisite, huh, Mr. Camillo?" I asked in a chirpy tone that nobody seemed suspicious of.
"Yes." His jaw ticked, "The dip."
He moved his leg away and I gave him a few minutes before I brought my foot to it again. Seeing that all others were absorbed in their conversations, Nikolas took the opportunity to glare at me. I licked my lips and took a sip of wine, all the while maintaining eye contact. He moved his leg away again and instead of grazing my foot against it, I laid it on his lap.
He sighed and flicked my foot off. Before I could put it back on him, he stood, "Excuse me for a while."
Bianca spoke, "What's the matter, love?"
I almost gagged. Love?
"Nothing, I just need to make a call."
Mr. Camillo smiled at everyone before walking away and into the night.
Unfortunately, every high has to end. Nikolas Camillo did not come back until dessert and once he did, he sat on another chair, saying that he wanted a good look at the band playing onstage. Minutes after dessert, the married couple excused themselves to go home withNikolas saying that they had no further business at the event. Not a while later, Wyatt also called it a night.
Jared drove us home. I wouldn't be able to do a job like his. Going to a party just to wait outside? I'd rather scratch my back with a hacksaw. The next school day, I told him just that.
"Your job is boring," I said. I decided to sit in the passenger's seat today despite Jared's protests, "Is this all you do? Drive and wait?"
"Well, I know you think the world revolves around you, but actually." He was sassy, "after my first task of taking you to school, I run a lot of errands for Mr. Martin."
"Like what? Buy him Starbucks?" I scoffed.
"Inventory checks, security checks, personal checks, fetch this and that—a lot of things."
"Really?" I commented, "It's more boring than I thought then."
"We want it to stay that way. Boring means safe. Something I doubt you'd agree about."
I reached over and rubbed his arm, "Aw. You know me so well now. You should demand a raise."
In my whole eighteen years of existence, I've only been called to the principal's office four times. The first was when I was in 6th grade and had to participate as a witness to a classroom theft. The second happened in junior year when I was the student council secretary but I forgot what it was particularly about. Third is when I was caught doing sexual acts with a certain substitute teacher. The fourth is, well, today.
A hall monitor, a thin, lanky kid with dyed dark purple hair, popped his head into the classroom during homeroom and excused me in front of the class, saying that the principal needed to have a chat with me about particular matters. Should I dare you to guess what about?
One would feel fearful having to be given a lecture from the school principal after doing something inappropriate which, in my case, was last night, but no bit of fear could be felt within me. What should've been an excretion of cortisol morphed into a large ball of eager lust that settled beneath my torso.
The purple-haired kid walked me to my favorite room in the institution. He knocked on the large double doors and let us in.
"Thank you, Willand. You can go."
Camillo stood behind his desk, his over six-foot frame blocking the sunlight from the windows behind him. The glow around his body made him look heaven-sent. His hands were busy with arranging things on his desk. I could think of other things they can be busy with.
It's stupid to say that I missed his office since I've only been in it twice but I missed his office. I took the opportunity to look around since I won't always have a reason to be drop by. First I observed his desk. It looked dull. It had no touch of personality and that itself said something about Nikolas. Aside from the office tools arranged neatly, the only real trace of Camillo was a lone picture in a frame of him with the rest of the faculty. He looked like he did not want to be in it.
The shelf behind him did, however, had cherish-able memories. There was a photo of him and his wife, Bianca. Why didn't I notice that before? Then again, I hardly notice anything else when the principal's around. Or better, maybe it wasn't there last time.
"You asked for me."
He didn't stop cleaning but he acknowledged my presence by simply saying, "Sit down, Rosaleen."
We both sat, unfortunately on different seats. I sighed, only then realizing that my shoulders were tense. The principal spoke, "We need to talk."
I wanted to roll my eyes.
"I know what you're trying to do. Stop it."
He said coldly as he stared me down with disgust. Exciting.
I smiled sweetly, "What am I trying to do?" I asked, wanting him to acknowledge it.
"You're flirting with your principal."
He looked weirded out saying it. Camillo crossed his arms, "From innuendos to disturbance of personal space. I should inform your brother."
No you wouldn't.
"But this isn't the first time that a student attempted inappropriate acts upon an admin so I'll spare you some mercy and give you a verbal warning."
I licked my lips before my smile grew wider, "You forgot exhibitionism, sir."
He calmly tilted his chin up, "I can't recall a particular situation. Your body is no point of interest."
Ouch? I scoffed, "You didn't stare at my ass when I bent in front of you?" I raised a brow, "Such a waste of a pretty red thong, Mr. Camillo."
"Language, Rosaleen."
My eyes rolled at that, "You sound like my father. Should I call you Daddy?"
Mr. Camillo sighed, got up, and made his way in front of me looking pissed, "I was expecting an apology, but since you insist on continuing to behave the way you do, maybe I should take my mercy back."
He reached for the phone on his desk.
"You're not telling my brother."
I bolted up from my seat and let my hands make their way to the top of my blouse. Calmly, almost bored, I started undoing the buttons.
"You're no stupid man, Mr. Camillo. I know you can see right through me and I know that you see a problematic, lonely, and spoiled brat who needs attention. I have issues and we both know that telling my brother would threaten my emotional stability and we don't want that, do we? What if they send me to a nuthouse and torture me there?" though that was a stretch.
I could tell that he was doing his best to keep his eyes on my face and not the action happening just inches below.
"Goldenlux Academy is the best Academy in the city and its reputation is immaculate. One small issue of a student spreads like a forest fire. What more if it involves the principal himself? Oh, I can see it now: donations withdrawn, students transferred, maybe even media coverage."
I laughed at that last part. My white blouse opened, revealing my lacy white bra that supported a pair of C-cup breasts. I let the shirt fall off my shoulders, "Plus, you're hard."
Right then, the bell rang.
Mr. Camillo's jaw clenched like my insides. He stared at me long and hard like the tent in his pants. Fuck, I wanted to go camping.
My skin was needing his touch. There was at least a foot in between us and I wanted so badly to close in. Nikolas Camillo looked murderous and if it's my sex he'll murder, I'd let him.
"Get out," dangerously calm, he told me.
I cracked a smile, "Sure," and turned, intending on leaving in only my bra and plaid skirt. The bell rang a moment ago, meaning that students must be filling into the hallway. He caught my idea quickly because two seconds later, his large hand grasped my arm and pulled me back. Wet. The only word that could describe me right then. And shameless, I guess.
In a marvelous second, I had one hand gripping his harm to keep myself steady. My chest brushed against his only slightly, yet it was enough to make my sex mimic the Nile. I felt his erection touch my belly before he pushed me back, keeping his hands on my arms. His fingers were hot against my bare skin and I reveled the feel of it. Take me now, fucker.
His eyes never left my face. My inner self was dancing knowing that he was doing his full best not to do anything impure. He released me.
"Get dressed," said Mr. Camillo in a voice that could freeze oceans. The only move I took was a step closer.
Harshly, he grabbed the shirt in my hand and held it in front of my chest. "I won't repeat myself."
I spread my arms out, indicating that I wanted him to dress me. Just when I thought he couldn't glare some more, he glared some more. When he sensed my plan on staying stubborn, Mr. Camillo spread and held my uniform out. Turning around, my arms slid through the sleeves, intentionally brushing my butt against his crotch in the act. I stayed against him. The man was probably too stunned to move me away. His bulge was pressed perfectly in the middle of my rear. My eyes closed to the rugged breath against my neck. Then, I ground against him—the tiniest movement of my hip going side-to-side.
In the few seconds we stayed as we were, I throbbed just thinking about how he would feel inside me: long, thick, warm, hard, pulsating. His fingers gripped my hips and pushed me away.
I turned to face him again. "I'd ask you to button the buttons and tuck my shirt in but I'll spare you some mercy and do it myself."
That was it for daytime. Like with all other memories of Nikolas Camillo, that latest one played in my head on loop. Its tape was burning in my skull and the only reason I had to stop my marathon was to prepare for Sean's birthday party. Jie and I got ready at my house. Just like my other friends, the woman swooned when she saw a picture of my brother. May God forbid she sees him in real life.
I helped Jie with her hair and makeup and she returned the favor. Her two-piece bodycon set was the same shade of pink as her hair. Her set was matched with white boots. If I were into girls, I would've shot my luck.
As for Rosaleen Martin, her body was clad in a backless peach satin dress paired with nude heels and completed with a selection of thin gold necklaces. My black hair was in a sleek ponytail courtesy of Jie. By eight, we were ready to go.
Fortunately, I was allowed to go to the party, given that someone would fetch me with a curfew. It was a small step for mankind and a huge leap for Rosaleen.
Jeric pulled up at my driveway in a white BMW. Jie sat shotgun and I took the backseat. Ten minutes into the ride, I concluded that the two secretly like each other. Why? One, Jeric stole glances at Jie whenever he could. Two, Jie was aware, thus, the reason why she keeps fixing her appearance. Three, it was awfully quiet. There was some sort of invisible connection between them that made things awkward for me. I scrolled through Instagram, doing my best to ignore the two.
Sean's house was massive—as massive as his dick, and that says a lot. Our home was bigger, but the Caron's lot was unnecessarily spacious. The main location of the party was in a separate building from the main house. It looked like a large cottage with glass windows overlooking the sparkling pool. The sliding doors were open and kids filed in and out of the venue. The main house was open, too, but one could clearly see that most of the activity happened in the separate structure.
Blinding strobe lights of pink, blue, and purple shone everywhere. Jeric reunited with a group of friends the moment he set foot in the backyard. Jie and I wandered throughout the main house, stopping for drinks in the kitchen, and gossiping with other girls in the foyer. We hung out in the living room and I, by then, was surprised that I have not seen Sean yet. You'd think that he'd be wandering around greeting newly arrived guests since it was his birthday party.
"I think I'm gonna check out the cottage," I told Jie.
She giggled. "It's supposed to be a guest house but Sean occupied it. Technically, he lives separately."
I entered the guest house and was met with familiar faces. I greeted all the people who needed to be greeted back. It felt as if it were my birthday. The dance floor was in the middle of the rectangular structure where the ceiling lights were off and replaced with colorful lights that shone through the windows.
"Mi rosa!"
I whipped my head to the left and found Sean with four other guys trailing behind him. Then I wondered the whereabouts of Aiden Phillips.
"Happy Birthday!" I greeted and reached up to kiss him on the cheek, accidentally landing dangerously close to his mouth.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close, "You enjoying the party?" he yelled over the music.
I held onto his arm, feeling comfortable with our intimacy, "Yeah. The place looks great."
"I'm glad you like it." He led me to a quieter place. The other guys had disappeared.
"Where's Aiden? I haven't seen him yet." We held hands as we walked to a table full of drinks.
"Really?" he chuckled as he opened a bottle of beer which was handed to me, "I assumed that you've seen him already. Big tendency that he sticks out tonight."
I took the bottle and drank. "What do you me—" I cut myself short when I glanced over Sean's shoulder to see a glimpse of cake. Cake. A human cake that looked like Aiden. The cake started walking. Fuck, the cake was alive.
It stopped before us as a shirtless Aiden covered with icing from his waist up.
"What the fuck?"
Up close, I was able to see that he also had sprinkles scattered on his body.
"Rose! Glad you made it!"
"What is... this?" though I already had a strong idea.
"I'm Sean's birthday cake." He spread his arms and gave us a turn, "Taste me!"
He leaned close, having me flinch before the icing could touch my nose. "Come on," he urged. Reluctantly, I placed a finger against his arm and brought it to my mouth.
"It's mixed berries icing," said Aiden proudly, "I couldn't bring myself to make strawberry only."
I nodded slowly, "It's your life, not mine."
"Well, see you later. I gotta retouch," Aiden pointed at a clean patch on his upper back.
"Go ahead," I said. Aiden turned to walk away and I caught a glimpse of his ass which had the word CAKE written in white. I chugged the rest of my beer.
"Wanna dance?" asked the birthday boy. A grin broke across his face before he downed the rest of his gin and held my hand in his. After my nod, he led me to the dance floor.
A lot of eyes were on us and I could not blame them. I was the new girl and Sean was the birthday boy. People parted to give way until we reached the middle of the crowd.
The smell of alcohol and sweat were intoxicating, but nothing I'm not used to. I locked my hands behind Sean's neck and he pulled me close but not too close to mistake us as exclusive because we weren't.
The dance-floor-touching turned daring and we had to haul ourselves into his bedroom before we could make a live porno. We fucked, basically, and would've gone for a second round if my brother hadn't called asking where I was.
Sean's bedroom was similar to mine: white walls, a massive bed, a bathroom to the right and a walk-in-closet beside it. His carpeted floor was navy blue instead of red. While my room was all glam, gold, vintage, and shiny things, Sean's was silver and white, one wall covered with posters of sports teams, bands, and video games. They look like they've been there for years and he hasn't taken the liberty to remove them.
"Sorry." I approached him as he buttoned his shirt, "We can pick up where we left off next time."
He put both hands on my ass and squeezed, pulling my body flush against his. "It's okay," but from the strain in his pants, I could tell that it was definitely not.
"We can hang out on Sunday." He kissed my forehead.
"Sure," I kissed his lips which tasted like strawberry gin. Before the kiss could become heated again, I pulled away and let him walk me to a car that came to pick me up.
Instead of my Audi, Jared had brought Wyatt's Escalade. He held the car door open.
"Wow, look at you," I said as I made my way down the unnecessarily long stone path to the sidewalk, "Forgot to go to the dry cleaner?"
For the first time, Jared wasn't wearing a suit. Instead, he was in a white thermal long sleeve, sweatpants, and a coat. A beanie was also on his buzzcut head.
"Your brother forgot to mention that you needed fetching. I literally just woke up from a nap."
"Well, sorry to disturb you, sir," I teased as I got inside. The backseat of the Escalade was more comfy and toasty compared to the usual Jared vehicle.
"It's fine," he joked back, getting into his seat, "Just don't let it happen again."
"How was the party?" he wondered. I've realized through the weeks that Jared and I are becoming a bit more like friends. Unfortunately, that still doesn't change my mind about wanting him gone. Or at least wanting him to stop following me.
"Fantastic." I opened my phone and scrolled through photos, "I got laid."
"Congratulations," he said as he pulled out of the street and into the highway.
I posted a few photos and spent the rest of the ride wondering what Nikolas Camillo could be doing. Is he getting ready for bed? Is he still working at home? Is he eating dinner? Maybe he's making love to his wife? I sighed heavily.
I recalled the moment I had with him earlier. He was hard. For me. Not because of his wife or any other woman. He was hard for me and that gave me hope. If he ever were to have sex with his wife tonight, surely I'd cross his mind. He might even fuck just to to relieve the frustration I caused earlier. The idea pleased me.
I was oblivious to the smile that masked my face as well as the fact that I was already home. I opened the car door myself and stepped out, a shudder buzzing down my spine when my skin met the breeze.
"Goodnight," I said to Jared as he walked towards the cabin. He simply smiled tight and waved. Laid-back Jared was unnecessarily cute but I had too way too much men in my life already.
Once I was inside the living room, Wyatt appeared from the terrace. He had his phone in hand and his hand to his ear. The face he showed me was expressionless and somehow, it worried me. The person on the other line talked as Wyatt only muttered monosyllabic replies.
"Thank you, Mr. Camillo. Have a good night," my brother finally said.
I felt something drop. This time, wasn't my panties.