Sick Bastard, page 3
As usual, the guys are overly sweet and a little grabby. They try holding my hand, putting their hand on my lower back as they speak to me, things like that. It goes with the job, but I never said I like it. It’s a means to an end for me, that’s it.
I start to walk away when I bump into a hard chest, “Excuse me, Mr. Marx. Can I help you?” I ask him, failing to sound as cordial as I should.
“Come with me,” he whispers harshly. His face is just below my ear and right at my neck, making my body feel things I don’t want it to, at least not with him.
“I'm busy working, if you hadn’t noticed. I'll be with you in a moment.” But he doesn't go.
“Now,” he growls. What the fuck is wrong with him? I don’t know who this man is or what his problem is with me, but to keep from causing a scene, I agree to go with him.
I look at the men at my table …hell, at all the tables. We’ve become the center of attention. The back area of the restaurant is dark and dingy with old rusty lights keeping the hallway poorly lit and shrouded in darkness. Being back here alone with Mr. Marx gives me the creeps. Taking a few more steps down the hall I stop, but he doesn’t. He takes my hand and begins dragging me to the back door, which leads into the alley. This can’t be good.
He doesn’t let me go even when I try to pull away. He just shoots me a warning look when I try to dig my heels in to stop. My heart’s in my throat and my stomach’s in knots as he shoves the door open, which obviously wasn’t even locked, and pulls me into the alley behind the restaurant. All kinds of crazy shit flies through my head. Is he going to rape me? Kill me? No, he can’t. Too many people saw us together so there’s no way he’d do such a thing, at least that’s what I’m hoping.
I begin to shiver, and it’s not from the temperature, but from the dark look on this man’s face. He makes no move to do or say anything. He just looks at me, breathing heavily and twists his watch around his wrist like it’s a calming exercise. He looks deranged and unhinged as he continues to do this repeatedly.
As freaked out as I am, I also have a big mouth that gets me into trouble quite often, and just when I’m ready to let loose, I reign myself in and breathe through my nose a few times before I speak. “Mr. Marx, what is it that you want from me?” I say in a defeated tone, “And please, would you stop with the watch? It’s unnerving.”
“Sure, if you’ll stop letting those fucking perverts touch you,” he fires back.
Where is this coming from? He doesn’t even know me so why is he making an issue out of this? Maybe it’s not so much to do with me, but something else. Maybe he just doesn’t like to watch women get groped, but who knows. “I appreciate your concern, I really do,” I say as he continues to glare at me, “but what I do and how I do it is none of your fucking business. I can handle them and I can most definitely handle myself. So, your concern is appreciated, but not needed.” I assure him.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he barks at me.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I counter, giving him as much attitude as possible. So he can curse, but I can’t? I hadn’t realized he was my father. He's pushed me too far at this point. “If that’s all, Mr. Marx, I've got customers to take care of.”
I start to walk away, but he's not finished with me yet. “I wish you'd have more respect for yourself. Those pricks only see you as a piece of ass. It's wrong. You should never give them the impression that you are.” I stop and whip around to see his face, but he’s not angry now. He looks… sad? And was that pity I detected in his tone? He thinks I don’t have respect for myself? I respect myself more than he'll ever know. He steps closer to me, bringing us face to face, although I have to look up. There’s no anger there because it’s been replaced with something else―lust.
Before I can process his intentions, his lips are on mine. I know I should stop him because really, he’s a perfect example of a man who would be cocky enough to kiss a lion, even if it would tear his face from his body. He’s dangerous. Normally, someone like him would have me running away as fast I can, but something about his brand of arrogance has me giving in, and grinding into him. I have no shame at this moment as he moves me up against the brick wall. He’s a sexy as fuck puzzle that I want to piece together, and I love a good puzzle.
I let him fuck my mouth with his until he slows it down, giving my lips one long, lingering lick. I want more. This man has me standing in a goddamn alley – a wet, needy mess – sagging against a dirty brick wall while my heart hammers away in my chest.
With him finally stepping away, the fog in my brain begins to clear and reality sets back in. I feel ridiculous. I was just arguing with this insane asshole, but I was so ready to fuck him right here in an alley. Shit!
I look to him but his face shows no emotion. The only effect I can see is the quick rise and fall of his chest as he tries to calm himself down, along with the twisting of his watch again. I suddenly feel dirty and as he said, “Like a piece of ass.”
“Don’t ever fucking do that again.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t feel the need to use that kind of language, unless it’s in the bedroom. That’s the only time it should be used coming from your lips. That’s the time it would be sexy as hell.” It’s official. He’s just proven that he was dropped as a small child.
“Whatever. I need to get back to work and I would appreciate it if you would just go.” My voice sounds shaky. I don’t wait for a response. I open the door and duck inside, letting it slam closed behind me with a heavy thud. Slumping against the door, I try to recover my frayed nerves and focus on getting some much needed air into my starving lungs.
He doesn't attempt to follow me and I'm so thankful for that. I swear if I see him again and he says one more thing to me, I'll throat punch him. If I ever again have to watch him twist that watch around, I’ll throat punch him with a knife. If he touches me again, well, I might rip my own clothes off and climb him like a tree. I’m such a hussy.
I've worked here for a long time, and nothing like this has ever happened to me, not even outside of work. For my own sanity, I’ll reason that I was bound to do something crazy at some point, and who better than a total crazy fuck to bring it out of me.
I pull my shit together and work to shake it off as I head back to work, that kiss never far from my mind. Well played, Mr. Marx. Well played.
~~~~~~
The rest of my night flies by in a blur. Customers, orders, seating’s, chitchat and drink orders consume me. It's a packed house and a busy evening. Mr. Marx didn’t leave as I asked. In fact, he came through the front door and resumed his spot at his table. Asshole.
I don't speak to him, but he watches me the rest of the night. I see lust, anger, and irritation―three signs of a multiple personality disorder. He can’t make up his mind what he is. I’m just ready for him to leave and never see him again.
I can’t help feeling slightly annoyed by all the flirtatious attention he's receiving from other women, though. I can’t blame them because he is beautiful. He’s all man and sexy, so I get it.
My shift is finally ending, but Mr. Williams and group are still here. They usually leave as soon as I do, so while I wait, I collect all my bills and tips, sorting my portion and what will be shared with other staff members. My last bill, which is included, is from Mr. Williams’ table. My usual five hundred dollar tip is in there along with something else―Mr. Marx’s business card.
Flipping over the shiny white card, I see something has been written on the back.
I'm sorry.
Along with the business card are ten, one hundred dollar bills. Is he paying me a thousand dollars for services rendered in the back alley, even though it was just a kiss… a very hot, sexy kiss? That was more of an assault on my mouth and my panties. I should probably be paying him.
This makes me feel cheap. I think I’d rather have him slap me in the face. He's fucking crazy so I’m sure he’d be happy to do it. I look over at his table and there he sits, watching me with a smile. I can only shake my head in disgust.
I know he's still watching me so I grab the card and throw it in the trash, knowing damn well he sees the small card float down into the garbage can, but I take the money and fold it in half. Plastering a lovely smile on my face, I let him see as I shove the cash into Lena's back pocket as I pass her. “That's for you, love.” I say as I plant a kiss on her cheek, then pat her ass as I walk away. She deserves it. She's trying to support herself and her ailing grandmother. If I would have kept it, I’d feel like a skank who got paid for acting like a whore.
“What the hell, London? This isn't mine,” Lena calls after me, waving the money in the air.
“Oh yes it is,” I yell back over my shoulder with a smile. That’ll teach that fucker. I’m guilty for my part and I accept that, but I don’t appreciate what that money implied. It’s over and I only have two more weeks. If I have to deal with him again, then I’ll be as pleasant as possible and never let something like tonight ever happen again. I’ll be gone soon enough and I’ll forget all about this.
I glance back one last time to find him standing by the bar, hands shoved in his pockets. I can’t tell if he’s amused by my antics or if he’s gonna throw a serving knife at my head. He’s strange, that’s for sure, so on that thought, I rush to the employee lounge, hoping I don’t get that knife to the back as I go.
Dante
Well fuck, that worked like a charm. Sometimes I wonder if I have any manners at all. My sole purpose of going there tonight got shot to shit the moment I saw her. I threw my scouting and scoping to the fucking wind and now tonight’s goal has changed to one of lurking and prowling. She’s not something I need in the business aspect of my life so I let that go, at least for now. However, my bedroom issues are another matter. She should be warming my bed tonight.
I acted crazy, even by my standards. I have my issues and I deal with them, but it was like I had no control of myself. I just lost it and did whatever the fuck I wanted. Watching other men touch her made me sick and horny, all at the same goddamn time. Seeing those sick fucks’ hands all over that body was fucking wrong, but I couldn’t stop watching. I want her tied up and begging for me. I’ve got it all planned out in my head.
I had to have a little taste. I needed it, really. I had to taste those lips and don’t regret for a second that I did it. I had to fight myself to keep my hands from pulling up that dress and fucking her up against that nasty ass wall. I wanted to take her hard and hear her scream, but I took control of myself and didn’t do any of it. I didn’t hurt her, no matter how much I wanted to.
She wanted it. She would’ve let me do her right then and there, but I have other plans. I wanted her attention and I got it. The only thing I really accomplished with her tonight though was pissing her off. I acted like an irrational dick, but she’ll get used to it. She gave me a little of what I was looking for. Watching her throw my card in the trash and give my tip away to someone else was fucked up. No woman has ever turned me down like that. She was telling me she wasn’t interested, but that’s bullshit. She may not like it, but she wants what I can give her. Once I have my eyes set on something I want, there isn’t a fucking thing anyone can do to keep me from taking it.
This beautiful, sexy woman is gonna make me chase her, and little does she know, I’m more than willing to put in the time. So first, I need to act like a gentleman and at the very least, apologize in person. For that reason, I wait outside in the employee parking area while the rain fucking pours down on me. I’m beginning to think no bitch is worth this much trouble, but still I wait. When she finally leaves, she doesn't come out the door I’m expecting. Dammit.
Walking around to the front of my car, I watch her getting into a waiting town car. Ah, something I didn’t think of, but no bother.
I jump into my own car, soaking wet. “Follow the town car,” I yell at Branson. He nods and pulls into traffic right behind her. I don’t know what I expect to accomplish by stalking her. I take that back, I know why. I have a tendency to take everything I do to insane, even dangerous extremes. If I set out to do something, I do it, no matter what the cost. I just don’t give a shit what I have to do to others as long as I get the results I desire.
I'm stalking a woman I don't know, and not for the reasons I intended. I've officially lost my fucking mind. I make a mental note to contact my therapist in the morning. Tonight, I just need a few strong drinks.
The car doesn't go far, only about a mile and a half from the restaurant and pulls up in front of a luxury apartment building that I recognize immediately. I looked in to moving here a while back when I came back to town. They had nothing available, so I stayed in my old place. I already knew she lived in the city, but now I know where to find her. I roll down my window as I see her get out of the car.
“Thank you, Al. I'll see you tomorrow at noon,” she says to the driver. I love the sound of her voice.
“You're more than welcome, my dear. See you tomorrow.”
I watch her go and put things to memory. I memorize the sway of her body as she walks, the very real smile that lights up her face, making her even more stunning. It's not just her looks, although she is devastatingly beautiful, but it's her being. There's something about her that calls to me, and it’s something I couldn’t explain if I tried. It’s something I’ve never felt before.
In all honesty, it scares the hell out of me and I don’t like that. Not one bit.
“Take me home.” I’ve at least concluded that her family is doing better than I thought, putting her up in such a place. Security is certainly something that’s not taken lightly when it comes to her. She’s obviously accepting what she’s been given, possibly to please him. I see that I personally need to do more digging into London’s life. I’m more than happy to take on this task myself.
~~~~~~
I head straight for my home office and my computer as soon as I'm through the door, tossing my jacket on the couch as I pass. Sitting down at my desk, I flip open my laptop and get to work. I want to know everything there is to know about London DeLacourt.
She's only twenty-five. Fuck, she's young. I know everything about her family, or at least for the most part. Her mom is dead and her dad is a low life criminal who she doesn’t have any relationship with, but he’s more than that… a lot more. I check everything from bank accounts, which is only one, to her work history, you name it. I know where she went to school, where she goes now, and what she goes for. I run her address though a property search. The apartment is in her name along with another, Matt Smith. My heart stops.
There’s a man. A friend, a boyfriend, whatever he is. I know she’s not married, but I check anyway, and I don’t find a marriage license. I’m beyond annoyed at this information. Fuck. Of course, there’s a man. Why wouldn’t there be? Who the fuck wouldn’t want that beauty in there bed on a regular basis. I wouldn’t mind her in my bed, but not for longer than it takes me to fuck her good and proper as often as I’d like. She’s proven to be a challenge.
It’s been a long night, and this information only has me thinking too hard. I need to peel myself away from my computer before this turns into something it shouldn’t, but who the fuck am I kidding? It’s already headed down a dysfunctional path. I need to get some sleep.
~~~~~~
Today's going to be hell at work. Long and drawn out with little getting accomplished is what’s on today’s agenda because I didn't sleep for shit last night. I finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t for long. I woke up to a raging hard-on that I took care of as I thought of every kinky thing I wanted to do to London’s body. I'm fucking delusional and screwed up, but I like what I like.
Every little noise from the ping of an email, the swishing of the overhead fan, to the light hum of traffic below grates on my goddamn nerves. The never ending phone calls, emails, and meets provide me with a lovely fucking headache.
By the end of my day, I’m ready to throw myself off my forty-story balcony into the traffic down below. My Friday is a huge fail, which only serves to irritate me more. Pouring myself a drink, I toast to the weekend. I’ll worry about what to do with all my new employees next week.
~~~~~~
My weekend is spent finishing work that I couldn’t bother with on Friday, working out, and I even visit “The Bar,” but not even a naked women tied up underneath me can keep me distracted long enough to get her out of my head. I take out all my frustration on the poor little brunette, knowing she’s a kinky bitch who’s more than willing to take whatever I give her. She begs for it.
The only naked woman I want under me is the one who tortures my thoughts. Nothing is helping, not a goddamn thing. I feel like I'm losing my control―a control I value dearly. I won’t give it up, not to anyone. Not even to that beauty.
~~~~~~
Much to my disappointment, my Monday morning is starting the same as it’s been since Friday; sleepless, horny, and frustrated. I sincerely hope my workweek will bring my mind some relief from thoughts of London, although at this point it seems like a long shot. I figure with a little time and keeping myself busy with the new company I just acquired, I can work her out of my system.
Walking through the building to my office, people try to stop me as I pass but I ignore them and keep walking. I have no patience for anyone right now and have nothing to say. My mind is on the verge of self-destructing.
Getting to my office door, I slip in covertly and breathe out a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to kill anyone, that is until I see Victoria, my worthless secretary, perched on my desk like the annoying bird she is. This morning she’s wearing an obscenely short skirt and her blouse is missing a few buttons. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or she just didn’t have time to go home and change this morning, doing her usual walk of shame. It’s no secret around here about her promiscuity, and she doesn’t try to hide it, either. She’s actually quite proud of it by the way she flaunts it around.
I start to walk away when I bump into a hard chest, “Excuse me, Mr. Marx. Can I help you?” I ask him, failing to sound as cordial as I should.
“Come with me,” he whispers harshly. His face is just below my ear and right at my neck, making my body feel things I don’t want it to, at least not with him.
“I'm busy working, if you hadn’t noticed. I'll be with you in a moment.” But he doesn't go.
“Now,” he growls. What the fuck is wrong with him? I don’t know who this man is or what his problem is with me, but to keep from causing a scene, I agree to go with him.
I look at the men at my table …hell, at all the tables. We’ve become the center of attention. The back area of the restaurant is dark and dingy with old rusty lights keeping the hallway poorly lit and shrouded in darkness. Being back here alone with Mr. Marx gives me the creeps. Taking a few more steps down the hall I stop, but he doesn’t. He takes my hand and begins dragging me to the back door, which leads into the alley. This can’t be good.
He doesn’t let me go even when I try to pull away. He just shoots me a warning look when I try to dig my heels in to stop. My heart’s in my throat and my stomach’s in knots as he shoves the door open, which obviously wasn’t even locked, and pulls me into the alley behind the restaurant. All kinds of crazy shit flies through my head. Is he going to rape me? Kill me? No, he can’t. Too many people saw us together so there’s no way he’d do such a thing, at least that’s what I’m hoping.
I begin to shiver, and it’s not from the temperature, but from the dark look on this man’s face. He makes no move to do or say anything. He just looks at me, breathing heavily and twists his watch around his wrist like it’s a calming exercise. He looks deranged and unhinged as he continues to do this repeatedly.
As freaked out as I am, I also have a big mouth that gets me into trouble quite often, and just when I’m ready to let loose, I reign myself in and breathe through my nose a few times before I speak. “Mr. Marx, what is it that you want from me?” I say in a defeated tone, “And please, would you stop with the watch? It’s unnerving.”
“Sure, if you’ll stop letting those fucking perverts touch you,” he fires back.
Where is this coming from? He doesn’t even know me so why is he making an issue out of this? Maybe it’s not so much to do with me, but something else. Maybe he just doesn’t like to watch women get groped, but who knows. “I appreciate your concern, I really do,” I say as he continues to glare at me, “but what I do and how I do it is none of your fucking business. I can handle them and I can most definitely handle myself. So, your concern is appreciated, but not needed.” I assure him.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he barks at me.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I counter, giving him as much attitude as possible. So he can curse, but I can’t? I hadn’t realized he was my father. He's pushed me too far at this point. “If that’s all, Mr. Marx, I've got customers to take care of.”
I start to walk away, but he's not finished with me yet. “I wish you'd have more respect for yourself. Those pricks only see you as a piece of ass. It's wrong. You should never give them the impression that you are.” I stop and whip around to see his face, but he’s not angry now. He looks… sad? And was that pity I detected in his tone? He thinks I don’t have respect for myself? I respect myself more than he'll ever know. He steps closer to me, bringing us face to face, although I have to look up. There’s no anger there because it’s been replaced with something else―lust.
Before I can process his intentions, his lips are on mine. I know I should stop him because really, he’s a perfect example of a man who would be cocky enough to kiss a lion, even if it would tear his face from his body. He’s dangerous. Normally, someone like him would have me running away as fast I can, but something about his brand of arrogance has me giving in, and grinding into him. I have no shame at this moment as he moves me up against the brick wall. He’s a sexy as fuck puzzle that I want to piece together, and I love a good puzzle.
I let him fuck my mouth with his until he slows it down, giving my lips one long, lingering lick. I want more. This man has me standing in a goddamn alley – a wet, needy mess – sagging against a dirty brick wall while my heart hammers away in my chest.
With him finally stepping away, the fog in my brain begins to clear and reality sets back in. I feel ridiculous. I was just arguing with this insane asshole, but I was so ready to fuck him right here in an alley. Shit!
I look to him but his face shows no emotion. The only effect I can see is the quick rise and fall of his chest as he tries to calm himself down, along with the twisting of his watch again. I suddenly feel dirty and as he said, “Like a piece of ass.”
“Don’t ever fucking do that again.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t feel the need to use that kind of language, unless it’s in the bedroom. That’s the only time it should be used coming from your lips. That’s the time it would be sexy as hell.” It’s official. He’s just proven that he was dropped as a small child.
“Whatever. I need to get back to work and I would appreciate it if you would just go.” My voice sounds shaky. I don’t wait for a response. I open the door and duck inside, letting it slam closed behind me with a heavy thud. Slumping against the door, I try to recover my frayed nerves and focus on getting some much needed air into my starving lungs.
He doesn't attempt to follow me and I'm so thankful for that. I swear if I see him again and he says one more thing to me, I'll throat punch him. If I ever again have to watch him twist that watch around, I’ll throat punch him with a knife. If he touches me again, well, I might rip my own clothes off and climb him like a tree. I’m such a hussy.
I've worked here for a long time, and nothing like this has ever happened to me, not even outside of work. For my own sanity, I’ll reason that I was bound to do something crazy at some point, and who better than a total crazy fuck to bring it out of me.
I pull my shit together and work to shake it off as I head back to work, that kiss never far from my mind. Well played, Mr. Marx. Well played.
~~~~~~
The rest of my night flies by in a blur. Customers, orders, seating’s, chitchat and drink orders consume me. It's a packed house and a busy evening. Mr. Marx didn’t leave as I asked. In fact, he came through the front door and resumed his spot at his table. Asshole.
I don't speak to him, but he watches me the rest of the night. I see lust, anger, and irritation―three signs of a multiple personality disorder. He can’t make up his mind what he is. I’m just ready for him to leave and never see him again.
I can’t help feeling slightly annoyed by all the flirtatious attention he's receiving from other women, though. I can’t blame them because he is beautiful. He’s all man and sexy, so I get it.
My shift is finally ending, but Mr. Williams and group are still here. They usually leave as soon as I do, so while I wait, I collect all my bills and tips, sorting my portion and what will be shared with other staff members. My last bill, which is included, is from Mr. Williams’ table. My usual five hundred dollar tip is in there along with something else―Mr. Marx’s business card.
Flipping over the shiny white card, I see something has been written on the back.
I'm sorry.
Along with the business card are ten, one hundred dollar bills. Is he paying me a thousand dollars for services rendered in the back alley, even though it was just a kiss… a very hot, sexy kiss? That was more of an assault on my mouth and my panties. I should probably be paying him.
This makes me feel cheap. I think I’d rather have him slap me in the face. He's fucking crazy so I’m sure he’d be happy to do it. I look over at his table and there he sits, watching me with a smile. I can only shake my head in disgust.
I know he's still watching me so I grab the card and throw it in the trash, knowing damn well he sees the small card float down into the garbage can, but I take the money and fold it in half. Plastering a lovely smile on my face, I let him see as I shove the cash into Lena's back pocket as I pass her. “That's for you, love.” I say as I plant a kiss on her cheek, then pat her ass as I walk away. She deserves it. She's trying to support herself and her ailing grandmother. If I would have kept it, I’d feel like a skank who got paid for acting like a whore.
“What the hell, London? This isn't mine,” Lena calls after me, waving the money in the air.
“Oh yes it is,” I yell back over my shoulder with a smile. That’ll teach that fucker. I’m guilty for my part and I accept that, but I don’t appreciate what that money implied. It’s over and I only have two more weeks. If I have to deal with him again, then I’ll be as pleasant as possible and never let something like tonight ever happen again. I’ll be gone soon enough and I’ll forget all about this.
I glance back one last time to find him standing by the bar, hands shoved in his pockets. I can’t tell if he’s amused by my antics or if he’s gonna throw a serving knife at my head. He’s strange, that’s for sure, so on that thought, I rush to the employee lounge, hoping I don’t get that knife to the back as I go.
Dante
Well fuck, that worked like a charm. Sometimes I wonder if I have any manners at all. My sole purpose of going there tonight got shot to shit the moment I saw her. I threw my scouting and scoping to the fucking wind and now tonight’s goal has changed to one of lurking and prowling. She’s not something I need in the business aspect of my life so I let that go, at least for now. However, my bedroom issues are another matter. She should be warming my bed tonight.
I acted crazy, even by my standards. I have my issues and I deal with them, but it was like I had no control of myself. I just lost it and did whatever the fuck I wanted. Watching other men touch her made me sick and horny, all at the same goddamn time. Seeing those sick fucks’ hands all over that body was fucking wrong, but I couldn’t stop watching. I want her tied up and begging for me. I’ve got it all planned out in my head.
I had to have a little taste. I needed it, really. I had to taste those lips and don’t regret for a second that I did it. I had to fight myself to keep my hands from pulling up that dress and fucking her up against that nasty ass wall. I wanted to take her hard and hear her scream, but I took control of myself and didn’t do any of it. I didn’t hurt her, no matter how much I wanted to.
She wanted it. She would’ve let me do her right then and there, but I have other plans. I wanted her attention and I got it. The only thing I really accomplished with her tonight though was pissing her off. I acted like an irrational dick, but she’ll get used to it. She gave me a little of what I was looking for. Watching her throw my card in the trash and give my tip away to someone else was fucked up. No woman has ever turned me down like that. She was telling me she wasn’t interested, but that’s bullshit. She may not like it, but she wants what I can give her. Once I have my eyes set on something I want, there isn’t a fucking thing anyone can do to keep me from taking it.
This beautiful, sexy woman is gonna make me chase her, and little does she know, I’m more than willing to put in the time. So first, I need to act like a gentleman and at the very least, apologize in person. For that reason, I wait outside in the employee parking area while the rain fucking pours down on me. I’m beginning to think no bitch is worth this much trouble, but still I wait. When she finally leaves, she doesn't come out the door I’m expecting. Dammit.
Walking around to the front of my car, I watch her getting into a waiting town car. Ah, something I didn’t think of, but no bother.
I jump into my own car, soaking wet. “Follow the town car,” I yell at Branson. He nods and pulls into traffic right behind her. I don’t know what I expect to accomplish by stalking her. I take that back, I know why. I have a tendency to take everything I do to insane, even dangerous extremes. If I set out to do something, I do it, no matter what the cost. I just don’t give a shit what I have to do to others as long as I get the results I desire.
I'm stalking a woman I don't know, and not for the reasons I intended. I've officially lost my fucking mind. I make a mental note to contact my therapist in the morning. Tonight, I just need a few strong drinks.
The car doesn't go far, only about a mile and a half from the restaurant and pulls up in front of a luxury apartment building that I recognize immediately. I looked in to moving here a while back when I came back to town. They had nothing available, so I stayed in my old place. I already knew she lived in the city, but now I know where to find her. I roll down my window as I see her get out of the car.
“Thank you, Al. I'll see you tomorrow at noon,” she says to the driver. I love the sound of her voice.
“You're more than welcome, my dear. See you tomorrow.”
I watch her go and put things to memory. I memorize the sway of her body as she walks, the very real smile that lights up her face, making her even more stunning. It's not just her looks, although she is devastatingly beautiful, but it's her being. There's something about her that calls to me, and it’s something I couldn’t explain if I tried. It’s something I’ve never felt before.
In all honesty, it scares the hell out of me and I don’t like that. Not one bit.
“Take me home.” I’ve at least concluded that her family is doing better than I thought, putting her up in such a place. Security is certainly something that’s not taken lightly when it comes to her. She’s obviously accepting what she’s been given, possibly to please him. I see that I personally need to do more digging into London’s life. I’m more than happy to take on this task myself.
~~~~~~
I head straight for my home office and my computer as soon as I'm through the door, tossing my jacket on the couch as I pass. Sitting down at my desk, I flip open my laptop and get to work. I want to know everything there is to know about London DeLacourt.
She's only twenty-five. Fuck, she's young. I know everything about her family, or at least for the most part. Her mom is dead and her dad is a low life criminal who she doesn’t have any relationship with, but he’s more than that… a lot more. I check everything from bank accounts, which is only one, to her work history, you name it. I know where she went to school, where she goes now, and what she goes for. I run her address though a property search. The apartment is in her name along with another, Matt Smith. My heart stops.
There’s a man. A friend, a boyfriend, whatever he is. I know she’s not married, but I check anyway, and I don’t find a marriage license. I’m beyond annoyed at this information. Fuck. Of course, there’s a man. Why wouldn’t there be? Who the fuck wouldn’t want that beauty in there bed on a regular basis. I wouldn’t mind her in my bed, but not for longer than it takes me to fuck her good and proper as often as I’d like. She’s proven to be a challenge.
It’s been a long night, and this information only has me thinking too hard. I need to peel myself away from my computer before this turns into something it shouldn’t, but who the fuck am I kidding? It’s already headed down a dysfunctional path. I need to get some sleep.
~~~~~~
Today's going to be hell at work. Long and drawn out with little getting accomplished is what’s on today’s agenda because I didn't sleep for shit last night. I finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t for long. I woke up to a raging hard-on that I took care of as I thought of every kinky thing I wanted to do to London’s body. I'm fucking delusional and screwed up, but I like what I like.
Every little noise from the ping of an email, the swishing of the overhead fan, to the light hum of traffic below grates on my goddamn nerves. The never ending phone calls, emails, and meets provide me with a lovely fucking headache.
By the end of my day, I’m ready to throw myself off my forty-story balcony into the traffic down below. My Friday is a huge fail, which only serves to irritate me more. Pouring myself a drink, I toast to the weekend. I’ll worry about what to do with all my new employees next week.
~~~~~~
My weekend is spent finishing work that I couldn’t bother with on Friday, working out, and I even visit “The Bar,” but not even a naked women tied up underneath me can keep me distracted long enough to get her out of my head. I take out all my frustration on the poor little brunette, knowing she’s a kinky bitch who’s more than willing to take whatever I give her. She begs for it.
The only naked woman I want under me is the one who tortures my thoughts. Nothing is helping, not a goddamn thing. I feel like I'm losing my control―a control I value dearly. I won’t give it up, not to anyone. Not even to that beauty.
~~~~~~
Much to my disappointment, my Monday morning is starting the same as it’s been since Friday; sleepless, horny, and frustrated. I sincerely hope my workweek will bring my mind some relief from thoughts of London, although at this point it seems like a long shot. I figure with a little time and keeping myself busy with the new company I just acquired, I can work her out of my system.
Walking through the building to my office, people try to stop me as I pass but I ignore them and keep walking. I have no patience for anyone right now and have nothing to say. My mind is on the verge of self-destructing.
Getting to my office door, I slip in covertly and breathe out a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to kill anyone, that is until I see Victoria, my worthless secretary, perched on my desk like the annoying bird she is. This morning she’s wearing an obscenely short skirt and her blouse is missing a few buttons. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or she just didn’t have time to go home and change this morning, doing her usual walk of shame. It’s no secret around here about her promiscuity, and she doesn’t try to hide it, either. She’s actually quite proud of it by the way she flaunts it around.
