How did I get myself into this? A date at a hotel, for Christ’s sake, can only lead one place. It’s almost Arnold and Tiffany’s first year anniversary, so that means I’m a year celibate, with a desire to last a lifetime. Less than five hours ago, I committed verbal suicide by flapping my gums so much. I can’t stand that man. I don’t even know why. Victor stares at me as if he knows my every thought. Yes, that has to be the reason why I talked so much. I put my foot in my mouth.
As I stand in my bedroom, body all fresh and dewy from a bath and moisturized with Sweet Pea lotion, I look at myself in the mirror. What does Victor see? Through his eyes I was… beautiful. I turn away from the mirror, considering that maybe Victor just wants sex. I want a nice candlelight dinner at Bulgari, and that is all.
The navy blue, silk mini dress goes back into its glossy black box and I settle for a simple lilac cocktail dress that stops just past the calf. While fanning a green tea mask on my face, I consider the Manolo Blahnik shoes that were miraculously my size. A bike courier brought both items. After realizing that there will be no way that I’m 6 inches taller, not ever, I put them back and opt for my best pair of 3-inch black heels. Yeah, that’s enough height for me. Even at a simple 5’ 2, now with the little bit of help, I consider calling Doctor Victor Finch to cancel our date. Then my eyes narrow, as I realize that bossy man didn’t even give me his number. He has all my information, work address, home address, and cell. All I know is that we are meeting at the Bulgari Hotel. Well, I Googled him as soon as I came home from our awkward first meeting.
As I rummage through my purse for make up, I instead take out my phone and Google him yet again. If Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde thinks he can dress me up like a puppet…my thoughts cease as pictures of his beastly, yet handsome face loads onto the screen. My sigh is soft and buttery. Okay, so I won’t wear the dress or shoes, but I’ll still go out with him. After spending an hour straightening my unruly hair, the silky tresses stop just past my shoulder blades. I decide to place it into a high ponytail so I can look long, stark and like a model.
I opt for light gloss, peach blush, and shimmery eye shadow for effect. Luckily, Dad is staying late at the office, so I won’t have to worry about him, worrying about me.
A Mercedes pulls up and honks. I wave out the window, and then start downstairs with my clutch and Victor’s dress box and shoebox. How dare he think he could objectify me in such a manner? Again, I consider standing him up. It might be the safe, easy route.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s time for something new.
The motto is short-lived, as Victor is clearly unsatisfied when I arrive not wearing the skimpy outfit he had sent. Instead, I’ve chosen a Macy’s mark down that was so cheap after a coupon that the store almost owed me money. He barely glances at the lilac fake satin dress that stops right below the knees. I snap, “FYI Doctor, your dress is in the backseat of your Benz. But as we had to come to terms while first meeting, I’ll again remind you to realize I’m not a child and can dress myself.”
“Duly noted,” he says in a cold tone.
We dine at “Beef”, one of the most expensive but busy restaurants in Manhattan, which also is in the grandest part of the Bulgari hotel. Every plush white seat is taken. Candle light flickers off of Victor’s cold blue eyes as he seats me himself, having scared off the maître d’ who walked me over.
Everything about Dr. Finch sets my nerve on fire. He seems dissatisfied with my current look. But for two minutes, just four days ago, we stood hugging over the death of my mother. Besides making the black rose bouquet, and going to give them to Dad, I never think about my mother’s death…
I grab the chunky crystal and take a sip of water. I’m going to enjoy this food, and then join Dad for another night of funny shows. For now, I glare at Victor and wave my hand around at all the fashionable women dining.
I advise, “If you want someone that is wearing a short dress or a certain color, feel free.”
He doesn't reply.
The waiter delivers modern, square plates of food that I didn’t order. Even though the food looks great and the prawns instantly catch my attention, I'm perturbed that Victor assumed he could order for me. As he eats a humongous porterhouse, I take one of the shrimp, and revel in its taste. Then sip the wine. It’s smooth and has a semi-sweet fragrant taste. From the clothes to every morsel of food, he’s made the selection.
I can’t stand this man! He’s picked out my dinner, my drinks, and is already telling the waiter what I will eat for desert. Before the waiter can finish taking the order, I stand up. “Good night, Vic.”
Victor glares through me for a second, he then replies, “Good night, Lux.”
He drops enough cash on the table to pay for the entire menu, it would appear. I didn’t get a chance to look at the menu. Nine times out of ten, this place and its overpriced ambiance must be overly expensive.
My glare is hard as Victor escorts me toward the lobby. I’ll say another goodbye, and good riddance, but I refuse to see this man again. “Good n–”
Victor’s hand wraps around my arm.
“Hey, you crazy bastard,” I snap under my breath, since the lobby is extremely hushed. Victor directs me to an elevator and impatiently jabs on the button.
“Sssstop it, Victor!” My chest heaves, breasts straining against the V shaped material. I try to wrestle my arm away, but it’s useless. I can’t understand why I don’t scream and get help. Instead I ask, “Wh…What are you doing?”
“Giving you exactly what you want.”
“What is that?” I reply, at the same time feeling super tiny as he glares down at me. I’m tempted to ask it again, as he gives a quick smile to the patrons stepping off the elevator. He pulls me along as if my value is of extreme importance. He even treats me like I belong to him.
The numbers keep climbing 11-35-58… Where’s he taking me? Heaven. My heart is racing, and even though we are standing still, Victor is thinking a mile a minute. I can feel his thoughts, can’t read them, but I know how calculating they must be. Instead of grabbing my arm again, his fingers glide through my hand and entwine around mine, making me feel so tiny as they almost engulf mine.
“You were a sucky date, you know that?” I try as we continue to climb. Soothing elevator music cuts through the tension. “Victor, you’re downright childish if you think I’m supposed to dress like you want. Hello?” I snap a finger in his face.
We walk out and toward the only door on this top level.
“Vic…” My throat tightens on not kissing on the first date. That clichéd statement was trying to tumble off of my tongue. Yet, I know that even if said it, he wouldn’t allow it. After knowing him so little a time, it’s obvious that Victor doesn’t listen!
“That dress is unflattering,” he finally says, opening the door to the suite.
I take in the surroundings. We’re high in the sky. The bright lights from downtown stream through the windows. They provide the only lighting, though just enough to make this even more picturesque than a trillion-candle show. It’s a beautifully clear night. I take it in for a brief moment.
I turn to see Victor is seated smack dab in the middle of the living room. He's in a single, large leather chair. One of those big ones, the type of chair that actually keep you warm, even with the wrong kind of blanket. They engulf you. Make you feel cozy on a snowy night. Yeah, this is that type of chair. But Victor owns it. He dominates it and leans back. Next, he commands, “Undress.”
“No!” I snap. I will my eye to not connect with his because I know I’ll weaken. But, I’m beckoned with such crystal blue eyes. A war begins between my brain and body, with neither fully aware of what to do. I’m cognizant that Victor wants to take this a little too far. But my heart knows that if we don’t go there, we might never again…
Being my father’s daughter provides me with a splash of stubbornness. “I said no. This date sucked ass, so I don’t know what you’re trying… trying to prove…” I gulp back saliva. My mouth instantly waters.
His eyes finally lock with my hazel ones. Before his wide and powerful lips can utter the same request, I try to speak again.
“Nnnn…” I become speechless. Freewill is dashed aside. I bite my lip and reach for the zipper. The metallic sound breaks through the silence. When I get it down to my lower back, I arch my tailbone just enough to finish off. His eyes zoom in on my apple-shaped ass. His eyes reveal his thoughts. So, I take one arm out, and then the other.
“Do it again,” Victor orders. That damn British accent makes it easy to comply.
“Wha…”
The tension in Victor’s mouth means he’s grown short of patience. I put the shoulders of the dress back on. Imagining the scenario from his perspective. How should I undress? Victor is turning me into one of those philosophers that want to take in all aspects, all over the mindless act of undressing. My hand grazes my shoulder, as I slide off one silk string, and then the other. I’m in no haste this time. I focus on my grace and poise, as my short frame stands “tall.” Then my hands are like paint strokes, brushing the material over each side of my hips. As the dress falls to the floor, I stare at Victor. Wanting, needing, seeking his approval. His tension lessens. I know not what he wants but can only hope that I have pleased him.
I step away from the dress one foot after the other. He was right, I now consider, as I stand there looking at in the floor. It did nothing for me.
“Come here,” this command reaches out and pulls me.
Dressed only in a hot pink panty and bra set, I move to him. Victor leans forward in his seat. It’s so quiet; time is next to nonexistent. And I’m just waiting for everything to freeze. My heart stops. His hand skims my thong. He reaches around and grabs my ass.
Oooo, I give a shaky breath at that. I turn to the side on key, instinctively feeling that it is what should be done. Instead of pulling my thong down, Victor forces it up, making the material rub against my clit, my hands go against his as I moan at the intense feelings shooting throughout my body. “Ple… plea… stop,” I can barely speak. My body needs Victor.
Victor makes no move to honor my request. I suck in a tense breath, realizing that I’m 22 and have never made love before. Never had sex. No, no, losing my virginity at prom and the scheduled, monotonous crap with Arnold can’t even be considered as practice.
My hand reaches to caress the angle in his jawline, but I flinch back when he tells me no. I cower, becoming the low self-esteem girl whose freckles have made her ugly.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” Victor offers, knowing my every thought. I’ve heard the words before. Arnold told me I was so fine on many occasions. This is the first time I feel it is true. Like a singer strumming a guitar, Victor’s fingertips graze over each and every freckle on my trim waistline. He whispers this word - “cinnamon” - and I can only wonder if he’s comparing it to my freckles. A tiny smile finds my lips, since this reference is totally new. His fingers continue, strumming a cord on a guitar, each and every one sends thrills and vibrations crashing throughout my body…