THESE PAST COUPLE of days will go down in history as the hardest, most emotional, sexually frustrating days ever. Every night, another vivid, sensual dream that leaves me throbbing and wet by morning. The days are no better- walking around like a zombie, feeling so sluggish and lethargic as if I haven’t slept in weeks. I can’t concentrate in class, no matter how hard I try and have even been caught zoning out by my instructors when called upon to answer questions.
“Damn, Gabs, are you sure you’re ok? You haven’t been yourself all week,” Jared asks, obviously exasperated by my dispirited state. It’s Thursday. Finally. And he’s had to deal with my dejected disposition long enough.
“I’ll be fine by tonight.” I know exactly what’s wrong. I need Dorian. This goes so far beyond wanting him. My body literally needs him.
“Good. I’m getting tired of seeing you moping around like this. It’s downright depressing to watch,” Jared chuckles. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up. There’s an open air concert this weekend. Over at Palmer Park. Bunch of different bands, food, drinks. Come with me.”
“Oh Jared, I’d love to but I think I have to work,” I lie. I’ve never purposely lied to Jared but I can’t tell him about Dorian. He’d flip, especially since I turned him down. That would surely put the nail in the coffin of our friendship.
“That sucks. Oh well, maybe next time.”
Work is like being stuck in quicksand and I have half a mind to tell Felicia that I’m sick just so I can go home early. But since I changed my schedule to free up my weekends, I just have to suck it up and try to get through the long, torturous hours until closing time. All is prepped at home and I just have to shower and leave. I’ve even prepared a story for my parents about a weekend trip to Denver with Morgan just in case I stay the entire weekend at the Broadmoor. I’m getting ahead of myself. Dorian and I agreed on Thursday. Who’s to say he won’t kick me out Friday morning?
“Hey, Kiddo, can I talk to you for a second?” my dad calls out as I pass his office, rushing to my room to get ready. I reluctantly turn on my heel and walk into the study to face him.
“Everything ok? You’ve been kind of down and out lately and I just want to make sure nothing else happened.” I can tell Chris has wanted to broach the subject all week but let me have time to work it out myself. That’s what he’d want for himself- space and time to deal.
“I’m ok, Dad. Just been a rough week. But I’ve got a fun-filled weekend with Morgan planned that’ll pull me outta my funk,” I smile.
“Speaking of Morgan… I think it’s important that you know who she is.” Chris takes off his reading glasses and motions for me to sit down. I do as he wishes and wait for him to continue. What could he possibly tell me about my best friend? “I know you two are very close and Morgan is a wonderful young woman. But Morgan is a little something extra, if you know what I mean.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘extra’?” I’m on the edge of my seat.
Chris sighs and rubs his tired eyes like he usually does when he has to talk about something uncomfortable. “Morgan’s grandmother was a very powerful Haitian Vodou priestess. That same black magic runs through her veins, though it’s quite possible that Morgan has no idea. But because of it, she is naturally drawn to you. She can’t help it. You are a source of power. Being in your proximity is like sustenance for her.”
The news is beyond anything I could ever comprehend. I seriously thought Chris was going to inform me that she was involved in some type of scandal with a powerful government official. Okay, that I could believe. But Morgan has black magic in her lineage? How does that fit into the fiasco that is my life? Is she really even my friend or is she drawn to me by some inner influence?
“You have to understand just what you are, Gabriella. You will soon be the single most powerful magical force. Ever. There will be others that will draw from your power. Be wary of people around you, especially those who want to constantly be in your presence. They are trying to harness your energy, and it will only get worse once you ascend.”
The first person that pops into my mind is Dorian. He came into my life so unexpectedly, and has been persistent in staying there. But I feel like I need to be around him. He has been a source of energy for me. Every time we are together I feel so anxious yet good. He makes me forget about the burden of my birthright. With him, I am free of those worries. All I feel is pleasure.
“Can I draw energy from others?” I don’t know how Chris knows all this but he seems to have all the answers.
“I suppose so but I’m not entirely sure. Did Natalia say anything about it in the book?” Of course. The book.
“I haven’t finished it yet. Just haven’t been able to bring myself to read any more bad news.” After learning that I will never have children of my own, I couldn’t put myself through anymore disappointment. Not until I was strong enough to deal with it.
“Well, it’s certainly possible. Although I’m not sure how Morgan’s bit of power would be enough to sustain you. I’m assuming it’d have to be a very powerful force of Light.” Chris sighs and rubs his eyes again. “Or Dark,” he mutters.
“Good thing we don’t have to worry about that right now,” I say, standing. I give my dad a smile and kiss him on the cheek. “I gotta go, Dad. I’ll check in later.”
Chris’s words haunt me as I mindlessly shower. I’ve been feeling crappy for days, ever since the strange encounter with Dorian in the coffee shop. And I know I need him to feel better. My body literally craves him. And not just in the sexual sense either. I just need to feel his presence. Even the thought of him momentarily clears my troubled mind. Could he be…?
No. That’s impossible. I’ve entertained that possibility before and concluded that I’d be dead by now if that were true. Maybe all that Dorian is to me is a mystery that I can’t solve, a challenge I can’t conquer. Maybe what draws me to him is his unattainability.
After I am sparkling clean and meticulously groomed, I look down on the skimpy lingerie I purchased from Frederick’s of Hollywood, or as Morgan calls it, Victoria’s slutty younger sister. The piece is completely see-through, black, and has light blue detailing on the bodice. It comes with a matching thong that looks more like a piece of black dental floss than underwear. Morgan insisted that Dorian would love it and chose it for me after we had looked at several risqué pieces on Tuesday night. I moisturize with the shimmery scented body butter we also purchased before slipping on the short chemise. It hugs every curve in the right place and the stitching at the bust is the only thing obscuring my nipples. Satisfied and praising Morgan for her impeccable taste in lingerie, no matter what may run in her bloodline, I finish dressing and grab my small overnight bag.
The ride to the Broadmoor seems like hours instead of a mere 15 minutes. I let valet take my little hatchback and pull my coat tightly around me as I make my way to the Lakeside building of the resort. My anxious stride takes me to the elevator and to my dismay it’s occupied by a man and woman who are passionately kissing. I think they are going to step off, being that it’s the ground floor but they stay on and squeeze their panting bodies into a corner. I try to stay towards the front to give them privacy but I can’t help but catch their hushed conversation.
“How long do we have until you have to go back to her?” the woman whines. She sounds desperate and saddened at the prospect of losing her lover.
“A couple hours. Whitney is starting to really get suspicious.” It sounds like the man is planting kisses on his forlorn companion.
“You said you would leave her last week. What happened? You said we would be together.”
“Look, Rebecca, it’s just not that easy. You know I love you. It’s just complicated. She will take everything if I’m not careful. Just give me more time.”
I bite my lip in an attempt to stifle a snicker. That man is not leaving his wife. He’s scum, and I fight the urge to turn around and tell him and his mistress so. The memory of Dorian’s late night narrative enters my mind. He did say that there’s a man and woman here having an affair and that he would never leave his wife. Lucky guess, Dorian.
I stow away the information I’ve gained on the heated elevator ride, and step off eagerly when I reach the top floor. Only a few yards separate me from him at this point. Finally I’ll be free from this hell I’ve been experiencing for the past few days. I know that he is the cure. All I need is right behind that door.
I finger comb my long, dark hair, take a deep breath and undo the waist tie of my long coat before knocking. Seconds tick by and there is no answer. No sound from the other side of the door. Shit. I knock again, this time a bit harder. Still no activity or noise. Shit! I begin to panic, my chest rising and falling dramatically with my rapid breaths. I lift my fist to knock one last time before retreating back to my car humiliated and frustrated when the door suddenly opens, startling me.
Dorian stands before me wearing a stoic expression, his bare arms glistening with tiny droplets of water. He’s wearing only a low-hanging pair of grey sweatpants, a white tank top, and nothing else. It’s amazing how such pedestrian attire can look so damn good draped on his luscious body. His dark hair is damp, reminding me of slick black oil. I am momentarily stunned by his disheveled yet sumptuous appearance and nearly forget my own plan of action. I tear my eyes away long enough to open my long trench coat, exposing the see-through chemise and thong. I’m wearing my spangled platform heels accompanied by silk black thigh-high stockings and soft ringlets cascade down my back and shoulders. I’ve applied more eye liner and mascara than I’m used to wearing and my lips are perfectly glossed and pouty. I place my hands on my hips for added effect and take in Dorian’s hungry, appreciative expression.
“Get in here. Now,” Dorian growls between gritted teeth before grabbing me by the arm and pulling me inside his suite.
He slams the door behind him. For a second I think he’s angry at my brazen display until his firm, eager lips find mine. His kiss is deep and desperate, like he has just sought nourishment after days of famine. He’s missed me. Just like I’ve missed him.
Dorian reluctantly breaks our impassioned lip-lock and leads me to the living room. He leaves me in front of the couch and goes over to the bar, pouring amber liquor into two crystal glasses. He takes a sip from one of the glasses and then walks over and hands it to me. I take a small sip and let the silky liquid make its way down my parched throat. It doesn’t burn as bad this time and I welcome its warmth after being outside nearly naked. Dorian picks up a small remote and presses a button. Racy, provocative music resounds through an unseen sound system, filling the dimly lit room with hypnotic melodies. I instantly raise my eyebrows in recognizance.
“Interesting choice in music. I never would have pegged you as a Prince fan,” I remark.
Dorian smirks. “You know of him,” he observes. “I’m surprised. A bit before your time.”
“Morgan is obsessed with him. She’s made me watch Purple Rain with her at least twenty times.” I take a sip of my liquor and stifle a gasp at the burn sliding down my chest. Then I turn to Dorian with a questioning narrow of my hazel eyes. “Uh, before your time, too.”
Dorian nearly snorts with amusement then shakes his head. “I told you, Gabriella. I listen to whatever moves me. And it is very fitting for what I have planned for you.”
I place a hand on my curvy, lace-covered hip. “And that is?”
Dorian takes a seat in the middle of the very same sofa that he violently sexed me on. The memory is harsh, vulgar. It instantly makes me wet with anticipation.
“Dance,” he commands.
I look at him incredulously as if he’s just instructed me to bark like a dog. “Dance? I don’t dance.” At least not the kind of dancing Dorian has in mind. I’m tempted to wrap my coat around me and hightail it out of there.
“If you can fuck, you can dance. Drink.”
I do as he commands like a good little girl and am instantly repulsed by my submissiveness.
Dorian takes a sip of his own poison. “You’ve come all this way dressed like that. I want to enjoy you, savor you. Imagine what I see right now. How sexy you are. I want you to be as aroused by your body as I am.” Dorian takes the small remote and turns it up a bit and then walks over to me, standing at my backside. He places his hands on my hips and presses himself against my ass. Slowly he sways my hips side to side in rhythm with the music, grinding against me with the stiffened bulge constricted in grey cotton. I stifle a low groan at its pulsing hardness.
Never in my life have I had a guy make me want to abandon all my morals and boundaries. Here I am, standing in lingerie, a trench coat and heels in the middle of a man’s hotel room, seriously considering doing a striptease for him. And why shouldn’t I? He wants me; he thinks I’m sexy. Why can’t I be as confident and uninhibited as Morgan, who can nab any man she pleases? I should own my sex appeal, and flaunt it heartily in front of Dorian. This gorgeous, drop-dead sexy man wants me. I arouse him and he only wants to take me to new heights. I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I shouldn’t start now.
“Sit,” I demand, taking Dorian’s hands and gently pulling him back toward the couch. He smirks and licks his lips, taking his front row seat.
The song ends and another sexually-charged tune takes its place. I take a gulp of the burning liquid courage and set the glass down, ready to show Dorian that he isn’t the only one with methods of seduction. Here goes.
From right to left I sway my hips, riding the beat of the music, running my hands over the soft lace of my lingerie. I keep my hooded eyes locked on Dorian’s fervent expression, biting my bottom lip a little. I decide to switch it up a little and start to roll my hips, definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. It makes me feel free and sexy. The move is not lost on Dorian and he responds with a lick of his succulent lips. I begin to slowly slide the coat off my shoulders, never breaking eye contact or halting my sinful dance. The sight of my bare, creamy skin causes Dorian to gasp. The gesture is appreciated and motivates me to continue. The trench coat is only covering the lower half of my arms. Instead of letting it drop to the floor, I use it to entice Dorian, letting it slide down inch by inch until it hangs around my waist. Dorian’s mouth is partially opened and I can tell his breathing is deep and labored. Time to go in for the kill.
I let the coat drop to the floor, exposing my curvy frame draped in see-through mesh and lace. I saunter over to Dorian with catlike grace, putting a little extra oomph into each sway of my hips. When I am standing directly in front of him, I nestle between his parted legs, inviting him to touch me. His eyes are aflame with blue fire, burning pure lust and desire. I up the ante by propping my stiletto-heeled foot beside him on the couch, giving Dorian a full view of my shapely thighs and lace covered sex. His breathing is ragged and shallow. He swallows loudly and looks like a thirsty man at a well. He’s affected, and I mentally relish in my victory. I’ve done it; I’ve won. Dorian isn’t the only one who can play this game.
With a tentative hand, Dorian finally reaches out to caress my extended leg. His fingertips dance over the sheer stocking, making its way up to my thigh. I think he’s about to take it off but instead he runs his hand up towards my bare backside. He slides it up under the flimsy material and gently grasps my cheek. A low moan makes its way from my lips as Dorian continues up my other leg, again clutching my behind. He leans forward and grazes my now damp panties with his nose. It teases the swell behind the skimpy fabric and I can’t contain my raspy sighs. My knees are beginning to shake and I’m in fear of losing control. No. This is my show.
“Sit back,” I command.
Dorian looks up at me quizzically and does as he’s told, leaning back on the couch. I place my foot back on the floor and take an admiring glance at the bulge under Dorian’s sweatpants. I lean forward and place a single finger under his waistband, grazing his firm, defined abdominal muscles. Geez, he must work out like a madman. I pull the waistband a bit and bite my lip hungrily at the sight of the trail of fine, dark hair leading to his generous erection. I want it. Right now. I yank down his sweats, allowing his hardness to spring to freedom. I kneel down on the plush carpeting and let my carnal instincts take the driver’s seat as I greedily take Dorian deep into my mouth. He sucks in a large gulp of air in surprise, followed by a chorus of deep groans, harmonizing with the slow, seductive music, as I feed the Dark beast raging within me.