Mia And Vincent Pulp Fiction Costume นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Pristine's POV My heels clicked against the stairs. I took a seat in the living room, crossing my arms. My chest felt heavy, but I forced my face to stay blank. “Five minutes,” I muttered under my breath. “Not one second more.” It didn’t take long before Vincent came down the stairs. He was wearing only a robe, tied lazily around his waist. Behind him, the woman followed. Her dress was rumpled, her cheeks flushed, and she kept brushing her hair back like she wanted to look presentable.

Age hadn’t dulled the pencil strokes, even though the paper was yellowing at the corners. It was a drawing, but it felt even more lifelike than any picture that could ever be taken. “You threw all of this away, Vincent, and for what? What did the Mafia possibly do for you? Why were you working for them? I saw your silly patent. A drug to cure mental illness? Bullshit! What was the real mo… Wait a second.” I hurried down the hall and tore open the room that used to belong to Vincent and Mary. It was clean, the bedding still fresh, still having the scent of laundry detergent clinging to it.

"As much as I hate admitting it..." Mia pinched the bridge of her nose. She glanced at Vincent and also agreed that neither woman was entirely wrong. Vincent Ross looked nothing like the terrifying crime lord they had imagined. That somehow made him even more intimidating. The secretary eventually returned carrying a thick folder. She placed it on Vincent's desk and quietly departed. Vincent opened the file. Several minutes passed. The atmosphere became increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, Vincent closed the folder. Then looked directly at the three women for the first time.

My cock throbbed in response. Then I saw her. Mia stood in the middle of the room wearing a short baby-doll nightgown, Mickey Mouse printed across the chest, the hem barely reaching the tops of her thighs. She looked equal parts ridiculous and devastatingly innocent. "Do you really want to have sex with a man whose face you've never seen before?" I asked again, voice low behind the mask. "You don't want me to take off this mask?" Mia's throat worked. For a long moment, she said nothing, and I watched her, noticing the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her thighs pressed together, and the way her eyes kept dropping to my mouth and away again.

I padded across the cool hardwood floor, my hand trembling slightly as I reached for the brass doorknob. I pulled the door open. Vincent stood in the dimly lit hallway. He wasn't in his tailored suit, and he wasn't in his swim trunks. He was wearing a dark, silk charcoal robe, tied loosely at his waist. The lapels hung open just enough to reveal a tantalizing strip of his bare, muscular chest, still faintly smelling of expensive sandalwood cologne and the clean scent of the outdoors. His hair was slightly damp, falling casually across his forehead.

"Damn, baby, you look... edible in that." She blushed, smoothing the dress self-consciously. "It's just something light for the night." But his appreciative gaze made her pulse quicken, a familiar heat stirring low in her belly. They settled on the outdoor couch, a plush, cushioned sectional facing the screen, with a bowl of popcorn between them and glasses of wine on the side table. Vincent had selected the film, an erotic thriller, full of steamy scenes and forbidden tension. As the movie started, the opening credits rolled with sultry music and soon the characters were entangled in a heated encounter, clothes shedding in a dimly lit room.

Vincent and I made our way across the large yard and was led to what seemed to be the Alpha's office. Our gazes met just before he twisted the door knob and walked in. A woman was sitting on a chair, her legs crossed. She was wearing a shiny leather one piece, her short hair was dyed bubble gum pink. She was wearing a pair of leather boots and gloves. The fact that she looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, made me want to scoff. When her gaze met mine, her smile widened. Vincent had gone stiff beside me. I could feel the tension rolling off him in a waves. "Maryse" he said through gritted teeth, keeping his face emotionless.

Vincent's voice rang out behind me, sharp and instinctive. "Vincent!" Sofia clung to his arm immediately, her voice soft and aggrieved. His steps faltered. … There were only four days left until the Costa family's birthday banquet. I returned home and began packing. The so-called matching pistols, the custom-made jackets, even the matching toothbrushes in the bathroom, I threw them all into the trash. In the early hours of the morning, Vincent came back drunk. The heavy smell of alcohol mixed with a woman's perfume woke me.

The silk shimmered faintly under the sun, and for a brief moment, the simple grace of her presence drew the air around her still. “Maybe kings can be both,” she said lightly. Vincent turned, his smile breaking through his previous stiffness. “You’re saying that because you don’t have to wear this costume.” She tilted her head, amused. “I have layers of brocade and hairpins the size of daggers. I’d say we’re even.” He chuckled, the earlier irritation easing from his shoulders. For a moment, the heavy tension that had lingered since Sophia’s scene simply… evaporated. The makeup artist stepped back. “You’re good to go.”

Jason Vincent pulled up to a modest apartment building on the east side of town, far from the luxury I was used to. He killed the engine and turned to look at me. "You sure about this?" he asked. "Absolutely," I replied, already opening the door. We walked up three flights of stairs to apartment 2C. Vincent knocked and within seconds, the door opened. Melyn stood there in casual clothes, jeans and a fitted sweater, looking nothing like the woman I had met at the club. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was bare of the heavy makeup she had worn that night.