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More of You
You must be shitting me right now.
I stood beside a man dressed in in a tailored gray Armani suit who wore his black peppered hair combed back. He sat, leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chin as he debated the meal he would be having.
With my back stiff as a board, I hovered over him with a pad in hand and a pin waving back and forth impatiently waiting to perform its duty in writing. As the man before me mumbled under his breath I continued sneaking peeks over to D. The entire time his eyes never left me.
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Most of the evening went as such. I knock on the door, it opens. I walk in, the room is silent. Don stares into my very soul, I grow uncomfortable. I deliver food, I leave. Lather, rinse, repeat. That was about it. They did not want me in the room listening to their conversation, but they also did not want me to serve any other party in case I was needed. So, when I was not needed, I did absolutely nothing. Well, not completely. The bar grew busy, so I did assist with that, but that was about all
What It Means to be His Danger
My fingers shakily went to the buttons to the vest of my uniform. My eyes watched his as my fingers continued the routine on my blouse. The heat of his gaze burned down my torso. Once the final button was undone, his hand moved to my shoulder. I trembled as his fingertips brushed over my skin, pushing back the clothing and a few strands of my hair. He peeled the clothing off my body and revealed a gray jersey fabric bra. How was I supposed to know I would be fucking someone on a table in a private room at my job? If I had known, I would wear something less comfortable and sexier, but you do not get heads up for these kinds of things.
What It Means to be His The Ride Home
Words could not describe how I was feeling as I walked out of that room. Though I was able to pull myself together and fix my appearance well enough to hide the events that played out moments ago, I still felt like everyone was staring at me with judgement in their eyes. But I knew it was all in my head. At least for the most part. I am quite sure all four of his guards knew what went down behind the doors they stood in front of. Before I could walk away to finish my job, Don grabbed my arm.
What It Means to be His Steinway and Sons
Sighing, I stared down at my cellphone in dismay. Today is my day off and I am currently standing beside the piano gallery. This morning, I received several text messages from my boss in an exchange about my health. It started off with him checking in on me. He wanted to make sure I was doing okay after the “incident” that occurred last night. After I assured him that I was doing fine, he told me that I needed to stay home for the next week. This enraged me.
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My head was bowed, and my eyes glued to the fingers that played upon the piano keys. I was excited to play this song. It spoke to me on another level. Each time I heard it, and ache of need panged my bones. It spoke of something I never had the chance to experience. Love. But not just any kind of love. The type of love this song spoke of was the type of love that I always wish I could witness myself. To have someone see the very things that make you shine. The one that will set my skin ablaze and allow me to sparkle with a glowing glitter. I never had some
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“Your words are truly flattering. I am honored you would consider me as a teacher, but I am absolutely not interested.” Both gave me shocked expressions. Mrs. Davis smile was still plastered on her face, but I could the ease drip off as the force caused tension to her cheeks. Her right eye twitched in irritation as she began to realize that I caught on to her manipulation. “I’m afraid you misunderstood,” she began.
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“I have to have you.” My heart pounded in my chest from his words. I frowned at him and licked my lips. They felt dry despite the rain growing heavier and pelted them with their droplets. This action drew Abaddon’s attention to them. He began to slowly lean in, and I shook my head. I placed my hand on his chest and softly pushed him away. This was the problem. Every time we meet, he ends up between my legs. I cannot continue to act this way. I cannot keep a clear head around this man. I am more than just a body he can pounce on whenever he is in the mood.
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"That night at the nightclub," I continued, "I was intoxicated and not in control of my actions. I made a mistake, and I... regret it deeply.” That was obviously a lie. That night was something only heaven can procure. Each memory that I gain that led to the entire moment – beginning to end – that I can now happily recall plays in my dreams every night, but I had to put an end to this immediately. This behavior that I have adapted was not good for me. It is not who I am, and I do not think it is someone I want to be either. “I'm not that kind of girl, and I can't allow myself to be defined by that one impulsive moment."
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