Chapter 28
Damon
"A Miyazaki single malt and a Manhattan for me."
She's leaning against the bar wearing a black silk kimono to cover her nakedness and casting me a coy wink when I express surprise at her resolute order.
"That is your drink, isn't it?" she asks.
"In here it is," I say, nodding.
I place my hand at the small of her back, keeping her close as I fondle the curve of her naked ass beneath the silk. Despite the black that adorns her body, she's mine, and I want to make sure that everyone in here knows that. The Velvet Rooms are well-attended tonight, causing the area around the bar to be much louder and more crowded than it was on the other nights I was here. My hand rests on her perky ass, pulling her closer as I turn around to scan the room, searching for a more private spot for us to retreat to.
"Let's go over there," I say as our drinks are served, pointing toward a dark corner at the far end of the room. It's almost hidden behind the stage, a seating area consisting of two unoccupied love seats and a crystalline coffee table nestled between them.
She nods and follows my gesture when I beckon her to walk in front of me. She's not wearing high heels today, but shorter pumps that don't stretch her as much. But still, she's taller than most of the people we pass, walking with a poise that seems much more natural than the way she stalked on her heels. She doesn't look left or right, ignoring all the eyes on her as she crosses the room. She's the only girl wearing a kimono that covers most of the skin on her upper body, but her ass keeps peeking through with every step. With the way her nipples poke the thin material on top, it's pretty obvious that she's completely naked underneath.
My cock twitches with need, begging to be inside her. I just came on her gorgeous body, unable to resist the mesmerizing allure of her expressions when she climaxed in front of me. Still, the hunger for her doesn't recede.
Good. Very good.
I relish this feeling as it is rare.
"Here?" she asks as we reach the secluded lounge area.
I nod and beckon her to sit down, plunging into the cushions right next to her once she has decided on one of the love seats.
"You know we can't do stuff down here," she says, fixing her kimono to cover herself. "In case you were thinking—"
"I know, that's why I agreed to come down here," I interrupt her. "And whatever dirty thoughts you have on your mind will have to wait too, Elene."
She pouts playfully and sips on her Manhattan, her eyes never leaving me.
"You are strict with me," she says. "I don't think any man has ever made me wait that long."
"According to you, no man ever made you come before," I remind her. "Would you rather be fucked and miss out on your orgasms like you did before?"
She creases her eyebrows. "Touché."
I place my drink on the crystalline table in front of us and wrap my arm around her, mostly to see what it feels like. Just like her, I have little experience in just sitting and talking without an agenda on my mind.
It's... nice.
"Why did you want to leave?" she wants to know, casting a quizzical look in my direction.
"Because I thought I had to."
"Why?"
I sigh and avoid her eyes. "It felt like the safe thing to do."
She huffs. "You'll have to give me more than that for an explanation."
"No, I don't," I object.
I can feel her eyes on me, but I refuse to reciprocate the look. I can't look at her right now, because I know I'm powerless against the blue depth of her eyes, the ethereal face, those bright blonde strands framing her pretty face and giving her fairy-like features. She's so dazzlingly beautiful, looking so pure and innocent, even though I know she's anything but that.
"How long have you been working for the agency?" I ask without looking at her.
She shifts in my arms, seemingly uncomfortable at the question. "Why do you want to know that?"
"Because I do," I say, now turning to meet her azure gaze. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I would like to know."
The expression on her face is blank when she replies: "About four years. I started right after I turned eighteen."
She's much younger than I thought she'd be. Despite her pristine and innocent looks, she's radiating a kind of wisdom that doesn't suit a twenty-two-year-old. It might come with the job and the kinds of things she's been doing for years. She has spent a lot of time with men who are significantly older than her, engaging her in conversations that are very different to the ones normal college kids would enjoy, doing things with her that went far beyond the normal sexual experiences of a young girl.
"Not what you wanted to hear?" she probes, cocking her head as a hint of insecurity scurries across her face.
I smile at her, shaking my head. "You're just younger than I thought."
Our eyes meet and for a moment I fear that she might have taken my words as an insult when she knits her eyebrows together.
"I'm not saying you look old," I assure her.
She smiles. "It's fine. You're not the first person to say that to me."
Her expression turns somber as she reaches for her drink to take another sip. I watch while she brings it her lips, wondering whether I regret my comment or not. She doesn't look hurt, but it definitely affected her.
"I guess it's this job," she says, her gaze absentmindedly traveling through the room. "It does things to you."
We're sitting in a darker corner of the guest room, partly shielded by the stage that spreads out before us. A dim red light illuminates most of the area, hiding everybody's secrets in blood-colored shadows.
My gaze follows hers before I turn to her, pulling her closer in an embrace.
"You don't look like it left traces on you," I tell her.
She huffs. "You mean I don't look used up?"
"Not in the slightest. You look oddly innocent, even in black."
The smile on her face freezes and she turns around to me, reciprocating my look.
"Is that why you don't want to fuck me?" she wants to know.
"I do want to fuck you," I say. "And I will."
"When?"
Our eyes remain fixated on each other while I try to gather a response that is neither a lie nor giving away a truth I'm not willing to share. I hate lying as much as I hate being lied to, but giving her an honest answer would inflict unnecessary pain.
The truthful answer to her question is as simple as it is daunting, and I'm not quite sure myself whether I'm ready to accept it.
I wish it were different, but I know myself well enough to know that it isn't.
I know that the moment I decide to fuck her is also the moment I decide to let her go.