|◁ II ▷|
brandy — say something.
THE DRUNK WOMAN'S eyes were dilated by her drink. She had intended to bruise herself with a £450 bottle of Gran Patron after bitterly watching how Ebén had showered another woman with the attention she had spent years trying to chase.
She had stayed — against her better judgment with slighted hope that their casual relationship would manifest into something long term.
She had tried to be cute but had been fired with his venom. She had also tried to be a type of irresistible; that would cause him to sit up and take notice of her, but was met with his brick wall of of a heart.
She did not know rejection — and had never needed to beg for attention from a man. She didn't understand why she was allowing him to set pace now.
With her lips sucking down hard on the rim; she continued to drink away her shame.
She wanted to stop but the heiress was unfamiliar with self-control of the mind. Waiting was a thing she had not grown used to and was not going to spare herself a lesson now. Projectile vomit had been stained on the corners of her mouth — turning her caustic red lipstick into a messy, red smudge.
She stood, unsteady, as her legs drifted into a sway, raising her back hand to wipe her lips and try to appear as a less of a drunk, "Sorry... babe"
Ebén held the woman upright and was incredibly tempted to let her have it — but noted that she was too drunk to really feel the force of his blows.
Maya's eyes gaped down at the midriff of her dress, who grimaced at the soiled patch of vomit that had stained her dress. She wanted to be rambunctious and blame Ebén and the woman; but did not want his guests to be remember her as such.
She could do without the stern glares.
Ebén exchanged his own covetous glance at her; his orbs slowly roaming down her body and mapping out where the lothario would start first once he got her alone. He decided that her collarbone was where he'd start and slowly travel down towards the thing in between her thighs and motorboat it until he ...
He was getting ahead of himself.
She finally set her clenched gaze on the drunkard, "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll wash out"
She wanted her to worry and hated that she was spirited with the gift of being ultra-forgiving when she could do with holding a grudge or two.
Ezra could not mask her drunkenly burp that had brew the musty smell of Patron from her mouth, "Sorry... it was an accident" She burped again, "I promise babe"
Maya's eye caught something brewing in her silver-white eyes that made her perk up — the tone from her sorry was not apologetic, but was one of vindication. She did not mistake the slight tip in her smile as she said those words and if the circumstances were different, Maya would have pressed the woman more.
"Here" said Ebén; he held his hand out in the shape of a peace offering holding something cotton.
Ebén had let her borrow his hanker-chief, and she tried to excavate the stain, but found herself frowning at the soiled, permanent patch of vomit. She scrubbed on it hard, but the patch only spread and soiled the material, it didn't disappear.
Ebén was not too lucky neither, she had fired at his sable trousers; messing up his birthday get up.
A damp patch of vomit was smeared on his pant leg, the upper part of his right leg taking most of the hit. He watched her eyes that were curious — travel down his crotch with baited breath. She could not help that she was pulled into the direction of his bulge, trying not to look but felt so seduced by it.
His hand then went across, covering her line of sight and forcing her hazel-green orbs to spare him a look. Her head rose slightly as she sucked sharp on her metal straw, blinkering at him fondly.
He had become supremely amused by the stubborn woman's antics — he no longer questioned whether or not she wanted the same things he did. Her eyes gave him his answer as she could not pretend that she did not like what she saw.
She had shown him too much and the ball was now firmly in Ebén's court.
He made sure that no one else heard his husky whisper bar her as he wasn't looking to share her attention with no one — not even her best friend or Samuel, "What are you starting at, Maya?"
Her eyes made sure to evade the intent in his orbs in a futile attempt to appear convincing. She managed to squeeze out a tight breath from her throat.
"Nothing"
He demanded that she look at him but she was not in the business of taking orders — especially from men like Ebén who were unfamiliar with the word no.
"It's okay to admit... that you like what you see"
His athletic frame was ticking with overconfidence; he knew and had no doubts that he was the prize to be won — and not her, she was just a filler that could satisfy his current, insatiable need.
"I didn't, in fact I was repulsed — " she rolled her indignant eyes at him, sucking down on her straw.
His coarse voice floated in her ear, attempting a rescue with Ebén continuing to single her out as Samuel's walnut-brown eyes stared back at the woman that owed him a slow dance.
His fingers rolled close to her danger area; but hadn't got there out of respect for her reluctance to commit.
"May I have this dance?"
She gladly obliged as he whisked her away from the glum birthday boy and spent the first few moments taking in and admiring the soft shade in her hazel green eyes. He reacquainted her lips with a light smile of his own; astounded that he had broke through her reluctance.
"Are you glad you came?" asked Samuel, who she let grip and allow his hands to place along her waist, exploring the curves that she had kept hidden.
"I am. Thanks for... convincing me" she said, fiddling with his tie as she clung to him.
As Samuel was about to utter something else, Maya could sense Ebén's dark shadow loom over her — and then she felt the soft graze of his thumb against her tailbone as he wandered up her body.
She had not given him the licence to touch her; and wondered whether asking permission was a dated concept in the world of Ebén. Boundaries, too.
"D-do you want me t-to get" His lip quivered.
She interrupted his stammer, "Get me what?"
He steadied his rumbling lip, albeit partially, "Clean"
He meant, irritated, that she had watched him flounder in front of her and her lousy date. She could not hold in the maniacal laughter that left her lips and Ebén hated that she was laughing at his expense. And would show her that things weren't that funny in the bedroom as soon as he cracked her hard exterior.
"I don't need you body guarding me"
He didn't like the defiance that was present in her tone and felt like she was a woman that needed to be knocked down a few pegs.
He would be the man that would do it.
Then came her condensing laugh, "I don't need special treatment, Ebén. Go give it to someone else"
He decided, then and there, that he wouldn't compel her to accept his offer. He would lie-in-wait to give himself adequate time to plan his steps. His face hissed defeatedly as his lips were sucked onto the rim of a bottle of Hennessy with his body slumped on the edge of a bar stool.
His glower travelled down her tailbone with a moody squint in his eyes.
She had never known or met anyone to be this melancholic on their birthday.
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THE PATCH OF VOMIT that came out of the stale mouth of the drunk woman had somewhat dried because of the transfer of vomit onto Samuel.
Maya hated that she could feel the wetness sticking to her stomach which made her coral-pink dress look unflattering. She was also not a fan of how Samuel's tuxedo had suffered and tried to make amends by using Ebén's hanker chief, but he too, was bound tight to the woman's vomit.
Maya tensed up after realising that though she had mocked and laughed at him, she would now have to rid herself of her pride and ask Ebén where the toilets were, in this absurdly-large mansion of his.
Samuel read through her physical tension as she clucked her lips, tipping her head back, "Ebén?"
In an effort to boast his faultless record with women, a smug smile was painted on the lothario's lips, "I'm guessing you changed your mind then?"
Disbelief rasped her tongue as Ebén puffed out his chest proudly; she hadn't wanted to ask him and would have preferred surfing through his many rooms and trying to find the ladies herself.
But she knew that she was bound to get lost.
Samuel stepped inside the hook of her elbow, staving Ebén from hauling her to ride on his emotional roller coaster that had no regard for feelings and was only pre-occupied with getting his, "I'll take her, bro"
Ebén stepped forward, his shoulders level, "It's my house. Think I've got it covered, "bro"
"I'd rather take her myself since she came with me"
Maya shrank inside herself; watching both Samuel and Ebén make such a public display of who was going to escort her to the toilet — when she didn't need either of them. She was fine to go by herself.
Ebén was taken aback by his unwillingness to lose his ego. By now, his smug grin had disappeared and he spoke at the man curtly, "Don't cause a scene, bro. I don't want to have to throw you out. Don't provoke me, aight?"
The tensing leer in his eyes gestured at Maya to follow him — but she actively ignored him as she refused to allow herself to be one of his puppets that he would in turn walk all over.
"I'm not trying to" he winced, his neck stiff from all the plastic smiling that came with the territory.
Ebén roused him even under the glare of the rich and the famous, "So, what are you doin' then?"
Gossip was the mother tongue his guests shared — who were intent of seeing a war of words between David and Goliath (albeit figuratively) as Ebén and Samuel continued to stay deadlocked. Her shoulders sunk into her chest as her words cut sharp at them.
"Can you both stop it? Please?"
Their heads axled to the desperate croak that floated out of her mouth and Samuel was the only one — out of the two, who caught wind that this attempt of a macho-fest didn't endear her but made her feel... nervous. She was the type who had an aversion to big crowds and preferred intimate things.
Samuel's sighs sounded penitent but Ebén, like the inebriated woman, looked vindicated.
He tipped this brows upwards in an arch, his tongue dripped with smug, "Rhodes?" he rallied, thinking his gallant theatrics would tip the scales in his favour, "Escort her to my ensuite and don't let her out of your sight. That's an order — "
She slammed back at him, defiant, "No"
His eyes weren't narrowed on her but this made him look up from the rim of his drink and take notice.
"Pardon?
He was unamused.
She cleared the phlegm that had taken residency in her throat as she spelled it out for him, "I said no" She paused, shifting on to a soft croak so that he could feel the force of her non-budging tone, "I can go by myself, Ebén. I don't need a bodyguard to accompany me to the damn toilet?"
Eben took a couple more sips of his drink slowly with his face glum, "Was just trying to do you a favour" he said pensively, as he downed another glass and reluctantly walked away.
Samuel readjusted his tie; his near-miss punch up with Ebén had his skin feeling flushed from all the side glares. He laughed at himself dryly, "That was awkward, weren't it?"
"He's just — ugh"
Maya's attempt to hide contempt for him left Samuel looking at her, somewhat puzzled, with the thought that maybe there was history between the two. But he didn't press her — because he was grounded with the belief that right now, they weren't that serious and it really wasn't his place to go and demand clarity on a situation he didn't even understand himself.
Her eyes were not centred into Samuel's as she scanned the crowded room for signs that pointed to any odd restroom but only noticed elevator doors.
They both, together, approached the polished gold-elevator doors with her hands in his and found herself stroking the nail of his thumb and wanting to make the next step up. She blew bubbles with her lips, gripping the inside of Samuel's bicep.
"Do you want... company?" His voice was low and undaunted by where they were — and his request did not have a tinge of innocence in it. Though, Samuel's intent was not dark in the same vein as Ebén; he did want to take the next step with her, if she'd let him.
"You want to help me wee?"
He blew with parted lips, "Maybe"
His brown, wanting eyes were lifted up at her — wanting to receive her green light as Samuel was determined not to overstep her firm-set of boundaries. She, too, inspected her own reluctance as to whether she could brave the prospect of meeting another man's lips in a passional kiss. She ignored her own mental protests as she fixated her attention on his lips and stepped in.
With the opportune he had been given, Samuel's lips bit, pulled and kissed the skin of her lips, neither of them counting how many times the doors had flew shut and re-opened.
She hushed softly on his neck, "I'll hurry"
The sliding doors flung open, the corridor walls coated with paint of Clancy Grey. Lost, she stumbled into a room with a sliding door wardrobe decked with sleek fumé glass and black mango wood.
Her nose reacquainted itself with the acerbic stench of Ebén's musk which was the room's fragrance. The walk-in wardrobe was moderately tidy but there was a loose drawer open which held a rich walnut-brown wedding ring box was posited in a open drawer.
Siempre was the inscription engraved on the bridge. Maya, invasively, picked up the ring and vetted it.
The ring, whoever it was, notably feel in the company of the rich, and not middle-class — broke-ass, living on cheque by cheque women like Maya.
Ebén boomed lowly against her ear.
"What are you doing in my dresser?"
She fell back on her back foot, her words jumbled.
"Sorry, I got lost"
"I did offer, Maya? I don't know why you mistook that as me trying to take advantage of you" A brief smile fell on to Ebén's sculpt face, his posture bent as he gripped the box away from her nimble fingers.
"You haven't... exactly got the best track record" She dragged in her uncouth mouth, still defiant.
He wondered what her immediate thought was when her aglow hazel green eyes had set its sights on the ring box and whether her presumptions about who he was — would now fade and make room for her to finally figure him out herself.
Instead of taking disparaging articles that were written about him as gospel.
"You don't have any manners, do you?" supposed Ebén with his dark, brown eyes getting lost in her hazel-green — and had to shake off his grown sense of longing that wanted to shut her up.
Pride coursed through her and she didn't have leverage to barter as she was bursting, "Fine" — she stomped, "Take me to the ladies, please"
Ebén escorted her out, his shoulders locked to his tower frame and his hands, skating softly across her open back. He tipped his top lip up as the bathroom door widened, "Now you can do your lady business"
She flung her eyelashes up at him as she made her demand, "Don't follow me in" An incredulous eyebrow slant unfolded from his stoic face, "Are you going to make me pinky swear?"
She hissed sharply, "You still do that?"
"No?" Ebén's head shook and shot down the accusation, but he couldn't fool her.
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The glass doors flew open with Ebén's six foot build almost levelling the panes of the door as, unbeknownst to her, he silently watched her scrubbed her scrub hard.
She cursed at herself and frowned at the stain, throwing her hands up exasperatedly that her efforts to wash out the vain had been in vain.
She turned around and heard his laugh, "You've just broken your pinky promise"
"The whole purpose of rules is that they are meant to be broken" he said deep through his nose, the fountain tap pooling out water. Distracted, she could only hear splashes of water rippling against the drain.
And not him.
"And I thought you might need the help" he whispered lowly, his wet cloth sliding down her neck with his hands. "I think I can manage, Ebén" she clicked her tongue, feeling him loom over her and flood her with his shadow.
It was hardly a surprise that he had cursed her with his attendance and on the tip of her tongue; she wanted to set her own pace and tell him to leave.
But, she enjoyed manning the controls.
"Women are not known to multitask," he said casually with her lips inching near his parted lips that didn't move towards him tentatively but looked down at that shade of soft pink like she wanted it. But, she couldn't lose her power as succumbing to the pleasure that was his lips would only leave her wound up and wanting more.
Maybe, it would be the worst thing to do?
But the reality was that she knew that it would.
"That's sexist?"
He crouched down, personally attending to the patch, "I'm yet to meet a woman who has proved me wrong. Incase he didn't tell you — " his tone sounded tenantive, "You look... beautiful"
"Don't I always?" she baited, angling her stiletto heel against the marble flooring.
He picked the worst time to laugh and Maya didn't like not being in on the joke. But it wasn't the sound of a comfort laugh; it was more pitched, strained.
She asked curtly, "What's funny?"
"You. You completely throw me off my game"
"Oh?" She now slowed down, "So you don't always do this for your dinner guests?"
His head shook as his lips prowled closer and closer, "Nah. I rarely make the effort" She wasn't fishing for a compliment but ended up surprised that naturally the man was harmless when she had always assumed him to be opposite.
She could sense where this was heading and was at a crossroad as to whether she could listen to the protests of her head and her heart.
"Are we done?" A croak fell from her lips.
His husky whisper felt bass deep in her ear as his palms were pressed against the rim of the basin — locking her in, "Do you want to be?"
She choked, "Samuel's waiting for me"
"That wasn't my question?" His groan was silent, but his ice-brown eyes were busy with lust, wanting to start against her exposed collarbone.
His chin jutted with his hands crowding her, giving her a front row seat to his open buttoned cotton skirt, oiled up and brown. She battled with her own temptation to touch him but did not want to saddle herself with women who he would fuck and then abandon.
She sucked in a sharp breath — short-winded.
"Repeat it?"
He didn't.
His buttery lips assumed complete control of her lips, steadying her jaw so that his tongue could enter. Deeper, he dug. Slowly, he pulled and more he tore.
A bright flash broke through the glass — they had been caught, red-handed with a picture that was bound to paint a thousand words.
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A/N: We do love a domesticated man.
Can I just say, a massive massive thank you for all the reads, all the votes and the comments. It really does overwhelm me, I never thought that people would be interested in my book, so the fact that you are... is amazing. I wish I could personally thank you all ] 🥰