Natalie E. Wrye
Copyright © 2015 by Natalie E. Wrye. This novel is an original work. It is a fictional writing, a work entirely derived from the author’s imagination. All characters and events are entirely fictional and not based in fact, nor based on any real person(s) living or deceased. Any resemblance or similarity to any real person(s), alive or dead, or event is purely and clearly coincidental. This book contains adult language and in some instances coarse language and, due to its content, should not be viewed by children.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without the written permission of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a book review). Cover Design: Bookin’ It Designs www.bookinitdesigns.com
Table of Contents
Place Your Bet Rolling the Dice Playing the Odds In Times of Stalemate A Rook-ie Mistake Double or Nothing Poker Face All Bets are Off To the Reader Acknowledgements More about the Author
Place Your Bet
The thrill is in placing the bet. Once the race is run or the match is played, you'll either win or lose. Until that happens, you're caught in this wonderful, agonizing sense of expectation… – Kenneth Cranham
LUKAS GRIFFIN I may not be the smartest guy around, but I’m certainly not the dumbest—I know how to fucking count to three. And right now, only three things are registering to my barely-conscious brain. I can’t process where I am or how I got here; what time of day it is or why I feel like shit. Just three—three simple, seemingly insignificant things. For one thing… my phone is buzzing incessantly on the nightstand beside my head.
Two: I’ve got a massive, splitting headache that won’t go away. And three—probably the least simple of all: a blonde bobble-head seems to have permanently attached herself to my cock, and right now… I’m not in the fucking mood. Three minutes, she said. Three minutes, and I’ll be gone. But it’s long past three minutes later… and I still haven’t come. I’ve never been a heavy drinker, but I guess you can call me one now. I’ve been stuck in this routine for the past eleven weeks—ever since I realized I was losing all of my closest friends. The person that I now talk to the most… hates me, and I’ve been trying to find some sort of happiness in the bottom of a liquor bottle since she came into my life. Same story—different Saturday. I binge—I fuck—I come… until I come to my senses. It’s a three-part process, and it’s usually simple… but tonight, those former three things are all fucking up the sequence. When my eyes adjust to their surroundings, I notice large, ornate black curtains by the windows, pristine white sheets on the bed—plush, rust-colored furniture at my sides. The room is nice—neat… but it’s not mine…
I readjust the pillow, removing my hand from underneath my head. I don’t know what to reach for first: the glossy head of hair performing a slip-and-slide on my dick or the vibrating phone on the glossy nightstand beside my head. I grapple for the one shiny thing, bypassing the other… for the moment. I press the button on the phone to pull up the screen. I groan, rubbing the stubble at my jaw. If it isn’t my number one hater now. What the hell does she want this late—early… or whatever the fuck time it is—anyway? I open her text. I called you earlier today. I need your help. Whenever you get a chance to extract yourself from the arms of whatever flavor-of-the-night you’ve decided to pick up, call me. I’ll be up late. I grunt when I read the final words, but the small gesture is a mistake. Sharp pain shoots through my temples, its effect the product of my moan, the phone’s bright light and some God-awful stench streaming to my nose. It’s the girl, her perfume. The blonde bunny is more Energizer than Playboy, and despite her best efforts, I just can’t get off. I only want her to get off—of me. The other nine million texts in my phone are from
one of my best friends, Chris, who I abandoned several hours earlier at the bar, when my “one shot” turned into ten. In my alcohol-inspired stupor, I took off, gallivanting with some buxom, Hugh Hefner-praising nymph that I met outside of the restrooms. One Uber car led to the next, until we finally crashlanded outside of the Marriot. The Marriot. That’s it. I’m in a hotel room. I turn to place the phone down when my equilibrium shifts, turning my vision topsy-turvy. My stomach lurches, and I swallow a mouthful of tequila-flavored bile. What the fuck is this? I’ve never been a sloppy drunk. The nymph lifts her head up, taking note of my sudden jerking. “Oh, what’s the matter, baby? That pill not sitting well with your stomach? I thought a big boy like you could handle it?” she says, smirking. Her mouth returns to its previous position. I knew something was wrong. This cocksucking nutbag slipped me a drug. I become belligerent. “That’s enough. Get the fuck up. Your three minutes are up.” She looks up at me, releasing my cock from her pink lips with a pop. Despite my brusqueness, she’s all smiles.
“Hold your horses, honey,” she mutters. “I’m not done yet.” “Actually, yes… you are.” I clutch her shoulders, rolling her roughly to the side of the bed. I reach for the white duvet, pulling it over my nakedness, sinking my head back into the pillow. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stuffing her fake tits into the nearest shirt. “So that’s it?” she huffs. I roll over. “That’s it.” “You’re going to throw me out? What about fare for a cab or car? A tip?” “Here’s a tip, sweetie. Learn how to suck better cock. You set my expectations way too high.” She finishes dressing, and I’m almost asleep by the time she hits the door. “Good night, asshole,” she cries over her shoulder. “Good night, flavor-of-the-night.” *** Waking up two days later is a chore. Monday morning has never been a friend of mine, but on this particular day, she is an icy cold bitch. I still haven’t recovered from my weekend binger, and the constant ringing of phones is driving me bat-shit. I’m too old for this shit. At twenty-eight, the
hangovers are more brutal than they’ve ever been, and I just can’t seem to rebound from the partying like I used to. Chris chewed my ass out this morning when I arrived for work, and despite us owning the company together, he was ready to kick my ass out the second I stepped foot inside the door. Foxx, my other best friend and third partner in the company, is too preoccupied to even notice. He’s probably in his office, bending his fiancée, Kat, over his desk right now. He thinks Chris and I are too oblivious to catch on. Yeah, right. Lucky bastard gets to have sex at home and at work. Must be nice dating a woman you work with. Kat has had a hold of Foxx’s ear—and cock—since she started working at our magazine, Tripping Out!, and while I like Kat and admire the hell out of her talent, I can’t help but to feel shafted. Foxx has Kat. Chris has Tripping Out! And me? I have the fires of Hell burning up my ass in the form of a flame-breathing dragon named Elena— which reminds me… I have to call her before what’s left of my ass gets handed to me. I start to walk to my office from the break room when the ringing of a phone from Kat’s office grabs my ear. I check my watch. It’s about lunch hour… and I’m
willing to bet that it’s the devil herself on the other end of Kat’s line. I amble into Kat’s office, snatching the phone off of the receiver. “Tripping Out! offices.” “You really should work on your tone, Lukas. You sound bored over the phone. That can’t be good for business. Where’s Kat?” I scoff, switching hands. “You’re not business, Elena. And I am bored—bored with your admonitions. Kat’s… well, Kat’s occupied right now.” She laughs. “Ah. And what better substitute for Kat than one of the premier voices of this company?” “I’m not a voice of this company—just a partner. A very, very silent partner.” “Ok, silent partner, I’ll cut to the chase. Here’s the deal…” She continues on for the next five minutes, barely taking a breath while I listen intently. She’s taken care of this. She’s taken care of that. And I can’t lie; she’s good —meticulous, but what’s the hurry? “Nice,” I respond when she’s finally done. “I think I like it… but what’s the rush? What couldn’t have waited two nights ago?” “The venue. I had to make a decision first thing this morning. I booked it.” She pauses. “Why? Did I interrupt something?” Her octave has deepened, her tone infusing with
curiosity. I sigh wearily. “I apologized for that before, Elena. I didn’t mean to pick up while…” “Please,” she stops me. “Spare me the details of your skanky-ass sexcapades, Lukas.” I laugh. “Trust me; I’m not interested in giving you a blow-by-blow of my sex life. You couldn’t handle it, anyway… I’m just saying that you won’t have to worry about interrupting anything else… nor will you have to expect any interruptions of your sexcapades from me.” “I would never be dense enough to allow you to interrupt me during sex.” “It seems to me that you never really have any sex to interrupt.” She stops short. “Fuck you, Lukas.” “Good day, Elena.” I barely get out the “El-“ before I hear the dial tone. Figures. That girl needs the stick pulled out of her ass and one in her crotch. “Phone sex?” Kat quips from the doorway. Her stunning blue eyes are smiling. “Sorry. I heard the word ‘sex’ and took a guess.” I shake my head, chuckling at the irony. “This is better than phone sex.” She grins broadly, shaking a head full of wavy brown hair from the other side of the room. “This is the third time she’s hung up on you this month, Griff. I don’t think there’s anything sexy about
that, “ Kat says, strolling towards me. I wink at her. “I do. She wants me… She just doesn’t know it yet.” I hop off of the top of Kat’s office desk, replacing the phone on the receiver before my feet even touch the floor. Kat saunters past me on her way to her desk, swatting me with a manila folder. “I’m sure my sister doesn’t want you, Griff, and I’m positive that she wishes you’d stop picking up when she calls my work phone.” Kat sits behind the desk, grimacing at the countertop. “And I’d wish you’d stop sitting on my desk when you do it. You’re going to leave an ass imprint on it.” “What?” I respond innocently. “You mad that it’s better than Foxx’s?” She shuffles the papers on her desk, standing them into a neat pile with a thud. She grins slyly at me. “Trust me, Griff,” she says. “Nothing is better than Brendon’s ass.” “What’s this about my ass?” A footstep thumps across the threshold, and I turn around to find Foxx leaning against the doorway, his blonde eyebrows raised in wry amusement. He fakes a punch to my gut as he passes me and stops directly in front of the wooden desk before bending down to kiss Kat. They start grinning like two Cheshire cats and I step
away from the affectionate pair, attempting to slink out of the office before Kat can goad me any further. Good thing she only caught the tail end of that phone conversation. She doesn’t know… and I don’t want her to know. Elena and I are sneaking around behind her back. Our impromptu conversations? A ruse. Well, Elena hanging up on me is not part of the ruse but I digress. Every Thursday, while Kat takes lunch with Foxx, Elena calls our offices and I pick up. We have a “no-cellphones” policy at the Tripping Out! headquarters. Normally, Elena calls my work phone, but on the off chance that I can catch her calling Kat’s phone, I pick up, discussing updates with her on the party—the surprise party that she and I are throwing for Foxx and Kat. The surprise engagement party for Mr. Brendon Foxx and Katarina Lexington. Soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Foxx. I can’t believe Foxx is actually going through with this thing: this whole tying the knot, “till-death-do-uspart” bit. And I like Kat. I like Kat a lot. But a marriage? A contract? Forever? I’m not so sure I buy into it. Still… ever since Kat’s signed on as a writer with the travel magazine that we founded, she and Foxx have been inseparable. And I’ve never seen him so happy.
Maybe it will last… as long as anything really can, anyway. Maybe they’re as perfect a pair as it gets— which is a far cry from what Elena and I have. I’ve been talking to this girl steadily on the phone for more than two months now, and all I want to do is strangle her most of the time. Every time we speak, we wind up aggravating the fuck out of each other until I talk enough shit to piss her off and have her hang up on me. I chuckle to myself as I waltz into my own office, closing the door behind me. Ok, I admit it. Part of me spits a bunch of bullshit just to fuck with her a bit, but it’s only because she’s so tightly wound up. She takes herself way too seriously, and she’s controlling as hell. We clash about every single detail of the party: from the décor to the attire to the location. Honestly? I couldn’t give two fucks about what color lighting we’re going to have at the party, but Little Miss “Can’t Be Wrong” always insists that we talk about more than just the food and booze (which is all I really care about, anyway). The party hasn’t even started, and already, I can’t wait for it to be over. Christ. I scramble to get a good look at my watch again, nearly knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee on my desk. I’m late. I’ve got even more of this party shit to attend to.
Rolling the Dice
It's like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don't know where you’re going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It's like the throw of the dice… – Jim Morrison
ELENA LEXINGTON “What’s up, Elle?” Kat says on the other line when she picks up. I balk, almost tripping over a moving box at the sound of her voice. Her cheery tone is still so shocking to me, and I can’t get over how much she’s changed in such a short amount of time. My little sister is happy… and I’m over the moon about it. “I, uh… Nothing, I guess… I... can’t really remember…” I stammer. “Kat, I don’t know… I just got thrown off. I can’t believe how fantastic you sound.” She giggles—actually giggles—on the other end.
“That’s because I am. I am fantastic. How are you, Elle?” “Me? I’m fan-fucking-tastic. Mom has been calling me all day and night about what we should do for Ana’s graduation celebration, and you know how much I love it when she does that. “Ted has been sending me letters, threatening to kidnap our dog because he’s still bitter about our breakup. “Let’s see… Oh, yeah… I’m leaving the only home I’ve ever known to move to a city where I know no one and my sister and her fiancé have to financially support me… “On the whole? I’d say that life is just swell.” Kat laughs, recognizing my sarcasm for the humorladen façade that it is. “Yeah, it sounds really great.” Her laugh tapers off into a quick, mirthless silence. “Look, Elle… I know that you’re nervous, but believe me; there isn’t anything to be nervous about. Brendon and I are just here to help until you get on your feet. That’s it.” She sighs. “There’s nothing left for you in Memphis, and you know it.” I grow silent over the phone, nearly knocking over another box. I nod as if she can see me. She’s right. There’s nothing left for me here. Not a job. Not a relationship. Not a life… It’s all gone to shit.
The dance studio where I worked is shutting down… My ex-boyfriend Ted is trying to ruin my life… And my two best friends in the world—my sisters— have escaped to the sunny state of Florida where the only connection we’ve managed to have with each other over the past few months has been through AT&T wireless. This isn’t the sort of life I’d envisioned. So, I’m going out on a limb, embarking on a fresh start—heading to Tampa. I’m selling my house and using part of the profit to open up a dance studio—my own dance studio—where I can dance and teach without worrying about someone else closing down on me. With all the disappointment happening for me in Memphis, I’m starting to recognize the importance of venturing out, making a change. Kat did it… and look how well it ended up for her. She’s obtained her ideal… the man, the money and the profession. Now, all that’s left is to ensure that she has the ideal wedding. And that’s where I come in. The engagement party—the wedding. You only get one chance, just one time to do it right. If all goes well, there will only be one wedding in Kat’s future. And I am going to make sure that my little sister has the celebration of her dreams… if I have to kill myself
(or Lukas) to do it. *** LUKAS “What do you know about Elena?” I say, adjusting my tie. “Elena? Kat’s sister? “Yeah. That Elena. Why? You know another one?” Chris adjusts his sleeves in the mirror, turning around to check out his lapels. “Nothing much—just what Foxx has told me… which isn’t a lot.” I stiffen, staring pointedly at Chris. He catches my look, glancing quickly at the other customers in the tuxedo shop. “What? Griff, I don’t know what you want me to say. I know the same things you know. Nothing.” I frown, smoothing out my tuxedo jacket. Chris knows nothing. I know nothing. And I have to come face-to-face with this girl in one week. I know Chris isn’t lying. Foxx wouldn’t reveal much to me, either. When I asked him about Elena, he blew me off for the most part, warning me to stay away from her. “Stay away from her.” What the fuck did Foxx think I was going to do? Fuck her from five hundred miles
away? I promptly told him that I wouldn’t touch Elena with a ten-foot pole. And I wouldn’t… but I am curious. Over two and a half months of talking to this phantom voice—and I have no idea what the face behind it looks like. Her pitch is deeper than her sister ’s. Her laugh is husky and low. When I first spoke to her on the phone, I was intrigued. I Googled her name. I found nothing. I’ve been in the dark ever since. I don’t even know her age… “Hey!” Chris says, snapping fingers near my face. “I’ve been talking to you.” His face is as red as his strawberry-blonde hair, and he looks huffy and flustered in his pre-tailored tux. I almost laugh at his sudden outrage. We make an odd pairing, he and I. Where he has pale skin and red hair, I have a tanned coloring and deep brown hair, almost black. His stature, while not short, appears Hobbit-sized because of his poor posture. I, on the other hand, am built strong and long at 6”1’. Chris places a hand on my shoulder. “Get your head in the game, Griff. I need your opinion on this tux. I’ve gotta go. Lunch is almost up, and I’ve got a meeting with an editor at two o’clock.” I sigh. I wish that Chris were handling this party
planning with Elena; I really do. But with Tripping Out! keeping his hours long and his temper short, I’m the only one left to oversee the party. And if you ask Elena, I’m not doing such a bangup job of even that. “So, how’s the party going, anyway?” Chris asks, intuitively. “Ha.” I unhook the buttons at my cuffs. “Don’t ask. This planning’s turning into a major fucking pain.” He shakes his head, shrugging out of his own jacket. “You know what’s even more of a pain? Exgirlfriends showing up…” I grin. “Which one of your former headaches is showing up to the engagement party?” “Well, that’s the thing,” he grimaces. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you.” “Me? I’m the headache?” “No… but you might have one at the party. I hear Trina’s trying to come.” The color drains from my face. Trina. My ex/”non-ex” Trina—the last girl I had any sort of “relationship” with. Trina was fun when I met her—sexy and breezy— but when I decided that what we were having wasn’t working for me, she flipped, turning from a dreamcome-true into a clingy nightmare. I heard she had been dabbling in the Tampa druggie scene lately, but I’m not very inclined to believe it.
Trina’s never been that type of girl. Or at least, she wasn’t… I shake the notion off. Doesn’t matter. Considering how small the Tampa social circle is, I’m sure that every woman who hates me in this state— plus a few who aren’t—will be at this party. Including one face-less, humor-less dragon herself… *** Saturday night rolls around and for the second week in a row, I waver between whether or not to hit the downtown bars. Chris refuses to hang out any later than midnight, and the run-in with the Roofie/X/God-knows-what pill has me on edge about picking up any new women. I could easily visit some of my old haunts—both women and pubs, but I’m over those scenes. I’m bored. I need something different for a change. I pull out my laptop while in my bed, searching for any new Tampa bars, when I get pinged on my Skype. I glance at the alarm clock near my bed. It’s past eleven on a Saturday. Who the hell could be hitting me up now? I open the message.
Elle-Lexy: Where are you? I’ve been calling your phone all night and getting no answer. I want to talk to you about the music for the party. Elena. What in the world…? How the fuck did this girl get my Skype information? I type a quick response. LukasGriff: Phone’s off. Chris has been a bug up my ass, and I needed the peace. And frankly, you’re disrupting it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Elle-Lexy: Fine. Have it your way. But you’ll be taking a chance on the music selection. If the whole night winds up being one big melody of One Direction songs, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Shit. She wouldn’t do that just to spite me, would she? Yes. Yes, she would. LukasGriff: Jesus. No. Hell no, Elena. This is a party. A party. You can’t torture half of the guests.
Elle-Lexy: No, I wouldn’t want to, but I’m getting overwhelmed here. So, if you want your crappy ass Coldplay songs to get included in the playlists, I suggest you find some time to discuss them with the DJ and me. Coldplay? Who said anything about Cold…? Kat. Kat must’ve told her. LukasGriff: Fine. I’ve got a couple of minutes to talk. Go ahead. I lean back against my headboard, readjusting my boxer briefs as I settle in. It’s barely 11:30PM, and already my night has gone to shit. Elena and I manage to come up with a playlist for the party, and while the party is definitely a black-tie affair, we come up with enough lively music and classics to keep the event fun, but respectable. The bad part of it? It doesn’t take a few minutes; it takes an hour, and I’m not even dressed. My Saturday night is nearly sunk. Of course, I blame Elena. LukasGriff: Looks like you’ve got what you wanted, Elena. You’ve fucked up another Saturday night.
Frankly, it isn’t all her fault, but I don’t give a shit right now. I’m pissed. And horny. At this rate, it doesn’t look like I’ll get to fuck tonight—and I don’t ever go this long without fucking. Ever. Elle-Lexy: Oh, fuck your Saturday nights, Lukas. One night without bar-hopping and bed-hopping won’t kill you. I freeze. LukasGriff: Care to tell me how you know so much about me? Elle-Lexy: I know a lot about you, Lukas. More than you think… My eyes narrow at the screen. She’s fucking with me… and I don’t like it. Elena seems to know quite a bit about me, and I know fucking zilch about her. Is she blonde? Brunette? What color are her eyes? I try to imagine her face, her body. My thoughts begin to wander.
Is she petite? Tall? Curvy? My cock twitches briefly. LukasGriff: I see…Why do you care? I pull my laptop further onto my lap, watching impatiently for her response. A minute passes before she answers. Elle-Lexy: I don’t. I just want to make sure that I can count on you. LukasGriff: You can… as long as you don’t play any One Direction at the party. Elle-Lexy: I would never. Besides… Justin Beiber’s more my style. I laugh out loud, shaking my head. LukasGriff: You’re really asking for it… Elle-Lexy:
Asking for what? LukasGriff: It. Payback. Punishment. Several seconds pass before she responds. Elle-Lexy: What kind of punishment? The words catch me off-guard… and I shift uncomfortably from where I sit, staring intently at the screen. This is something I didn’t expect… On the outside, Elena’s question seems straightforward, innocent—but there’s something deeper in the sub-context. Something darker. Something erotic. The twitch in my cock becomes a leap, and the tightness in my boxer briefs turns from awkward into painful. I pull on the front of them, shifting my hard-on to a more comfortable spot – as if that were even possible. I stare at the blinking cursor for several more seconds. I go for it. LukasGriff: I’d bend you over my bed. Pin your hands to the mattress. I’d stand behind you and show you just how
hard punishment can be when you misbehave… I stop typing, and I can hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing as I wait for her reply. I wait… and wait… Suddenly, it pops up. Elle-Lexy: How hard? My chest starts heaving the minute I read her words. I take my dick out of boxers and palm it in one hand, stroking it gently before placing my hands back on the keyboard. LukasGriff: HARD, Elena. So hard. I’d push your panties to the side and slam into you. I’d pump you over and over again until you apologized. Until your pussy couldn’t take anymore. Until you came all over my cock. And even when you’d beg, I wouldn’t stop. I’d keep punishing you. Because that’s what happens to bad, disobedient girls. They get punished. I finish the last sentence with one hand, using the other to pump a closed fist over my shaft.
I imagine that my hand is Elena’s pussy, and that I’m slamming into her again and again, punishing her for her testy attitude, for that foul mouth. Elle-Lexy: Yeah? And what if I like to be punished? What if my pussy likes it hard and fast? What if it likes to clench around you? Squeeze you with its wetness while you stroke? I groan, taking several seconds to pump myself harder. I keep a hand on the keys. I can barely type the words. LukasGriff: Even better. I want you wet. Are you wet right now? Elle-Lexy: Yes… LukasGriff: Is it soaked for me? Elle-Lexy: Yes, Lukas LukasGriff:
Touch it, Elena. Put your fingers inside. Feel how fucking good you feel. Elle-Lexy: I am Lukas. Its so wet. It feels so good The more we type, the worse the grammar gets. My hands are shaking. I can’t key the words fast enough. LukasGriff: I know baby. I know. Feel me baby. Feel me pumping into you. Elle-Lexy: I do. And I cant take it. Im about to explode LukasGriff: I want you to come. Come for me Elena Elle-Lexy: Im coming... At her words, I come, releasing myself all over my hand with a muffled moan that resonates deep within my gut. I slump against the headboard, feeling spent and utterly satisfied. Mmm… that was the fastest I’ve come in months.
Granted, I’ve been sexless for two weeks, and my horniness was at an all-time high, but damn. That was different… and I liked it. Except now I’m coming down from my high, and reality is sinking in. I just came over Skype with Elena. I just made Elena come. Kat’s sister. She hates me. Or… she hated me. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is going on… I roll slowly out of the bed, making my way to my sink where I clean up. When I return, there’s a message already waiting. Elle-Lexy: I don’t know what the fuck just happened. I smirk, typing back. LukasGriff: I don’t know what the fuck that was, either. But it was good… Elle-Lexy: I don’t know. Look, I’ve got to go. I scowl, tapping rapidly on the keyboard. LukasGriff:
Wait. Didn’t you still want to talk about the DJ? Elle-Lexy: I don’t know… Ok, yeah, I guess. Let’s just talk tomorrow. My shoulders slump. She’s getting weird on me. This isn’t good… LukasGriff: Yeah, sure. That’s fine. You know how to reach me. A few more seconds pass. Elle-Lexy: Yeah, I guess I do… I’ll talk to you later, Lukas. But I won’t let it end there. LukasGriff: One more thing, Elena… Elle-Lexy: Yeah?
LukasGriff: Coldplay isn’t crap. Good night.
Playing the Odds
The greatest risk is not taking any. – Tim Fargo
ELENA When I wake up Sunday morning, I open my eyes to discover a foggy day… and an even foggier conscience. I just had phone sex with Lukas Griffin last night— or Skype sex, text sex—whatever. Whatever it was… it wasn’t right; it wasn’t appropriate. He’s my future brother-in-law’s best friend… and a regular man-whore—or so I’ve heard. Kat has given me enough details about Foxx’s friends. She loves them all fiercely, but she did give me the full run-down—the good, the bad and everything inbetween.
After all, with me moving to Tampa, I’m going to have to get to know them—at least on a basic level. But what I’ve done with Lukas far surpasses “basic.” We’ve overstepped a boundary, and now I’m not so sure how to double back. He called me early this morning, and he never calls. I’m usually the one that reaches out, but now he’s switched things up and I’m nervous—nervous that he’s eager for round two. And basically… I just don’t need this shit. This morning, I booked a one-way ticket out of Memphis as soon as I could get dressed and hopped on the most expensive flight of my life to get to Tampa ahead of time to get away from it all—to take a minivacation before the party even starts—just for myself. I’ve got too much on my plate already with moving and planning this party. My closest friend Linda has been calling me for the past few days, and I don’t even have time for her. I don’t need another complication, and Lukas Griffin—well, he’s a complication. I always do this. I always let my hormones get me into trouble. That’s how I ended up with my ex, Teddy. I think I was in an ovulation phase, and he happened to be standing by or something. Ugh. That’s my problem. I go these long periods without sex, and then at some point, I just crack; I break down
and try to hump the closest swinging penis. And that’s all it was with Lukas—a tiny breaking point. He just caught me at a bad time, is all. And so what if Kat implied that he was sexy? I’ve never seen his face. He could be the Elephant Man reincarnate, and I could’ve masturbated with the long missing twin of John Merrick—God rest his soul. One week—less than one week—until I have to meet this man, this stranger who made me climax over Internet message like an over-eager pre-teen. Shit. This is going to be so embarrassing, but it’s going to be even more embarrassing if I try to chicken out—which I’ve thought about doing approximately three times today already. But I can’t not attend the party that I planned, so I guess I’m just going to have to tough it out for the next week—grow some balls. I’m pretty good at that, actually… *** LUKAS I walk out of the elevator and onto the top floor of the Grand Hyatt with the gait of a man on the hunt. I am well-dressed. I am poised. I am absolutely, fucking livid. Tonight is the night of the party, and I haven’t heard
one goddamned word from Elena since our Skype night. I’ve called her ten thousand times since that night, wondering about the final party arrangements. Ok… I’m lying. I called to make sure that we both had an understanding—a common acceptance—that what we did was just a fluke, a one-time thing, and that we should never mention it to either Kat or Foxx. I’d hope she would agree… but then she never picked up. She didn’t return my phone calls. She never replied to my texts. All that was left to do was to ponder—to contemplate just how the hell we could make it through this party without creating any more disasters—Justin Beiber music aside. I waltz right into Armani’s, the rooftop restaurant turned engagement party ballroom, bypassing the decorators, the waiters—the staff. I’m here an hour early, and it’s not so that I can attend to the music or the food or even the booze; I’m here in search of her—Elena. And for the most part, I’ve done my fucking job. I’ve convinced Foxx and Kat to attend what they believe is an upscale dinner with a potential client. I’ve managed to drag them out from the depths of their private bubble of sex on a Friday night—and it wasn’t easy. Now, it’s Elena’s turn.
We’re in this shit together, and I’m just hoping and praying that she’s come through in my involuntary absence. In my single-minded pursuit, I blaze towards the center of the floor, but I have to stop in my stampede when a cart full of cupcakes comes barreling past my shoulder. I glare at the staffer who barely missed me when the bustle of the room around me finally registers. Everyone is scrambling, setting up the equipment, the decorations and food. Contrary to my instinct to rush, I pause in the middle of the floor, taking it all in— marveling at what the transformed restaurant has become. It isn’t a restaurant anymore; it’s a showroom. The customary muted lighting of Armani’s isn’t just muted; it’s glowing… in a subdued gold color that makes the air almost shimmer. Huge copper-colored ribbons line the ceiling of the room, twisting and hanging so low that they give the appearance of being touchable. Curvy gold vases sit at the center of burgundycovered round tables. The roses that lay within the vases are identical in color to the table lining, as if they’ve bled right into the fabric beneath them. Trays of food and drink—in hues of amber and cream, beige and light pink—are passed around in a synchronized dance around the perimeter.
So, this is what two and a half months of bitching, haranguing and negotiating with Elena over the phone got us? Hm. I like it. In fact, I more than like it. It’s fucking perfect. But the more I think about what it took to get here, the more my singular focus returns, tuning everything else out. Now my thoughts are off of the décor and right back onto Elena. My eyes skim the entire floor, probing… searching. Where…? Where is she? I don’t know where to look…or even how to look. She could be anyone. I examine the women closely, eyeing them carefully. I jump from face to face. Waitress. Hotel staff. Waitress. Waitress—Oh, wait, she’s kinda cute… There. I hear a loud voice booming near the bar. A woman’s. I don’t think; I just move. Finally gonna get to meet the woman behind the voice, the screen. My heart starts pumping—fast, beating with a toxic mixture of excitement and dread. But when I make it to the woman’s side, it slams, giving a final dull thud before quieting completely. She’s a large, redheaded woman in a button-down white top. Her face is round. Her scowl is fierce. She’s
grabbing people left and right, stopping trays, touching platters. I close my eyes, bemoaning every single sexual thought I had about her. I didn’t know anything about Elena, and still, I had fantasized about fucking her six different ways from Sunday. I’m sick. I’m a sick man. And now look at what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I stop right in front of her, sighing heavily. She notices me out of the corner of her eye before turning to me, giving me her full attention. She assesses me carefully, from the top of my tux to the soles of my shoes. She raises an eyebrow. “May I help you with something?” Her voice is gravelly—rough. “Uh, yeah, actually. It’s me—Lukas.” She shrugs a hefty shoulder. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I balk—confused. Wait… “Elena?” The redhead laughs heartily. “You’ve got the wrong woman, sweet-face. I’m the head caterer. You looking for the organizer of the party?” I nod once. “That’s Elena over there.” She points unabashedly over my shoulder… and in the direction of one of the sexiest women I have ever seen.
This new woman is facing towards me, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks. Unlike the caterer, she is neither loud nor boisterous but she is commanding the attention of everyone around her. Her blonde hair is full, reaching to her naked collarbone. Her shoulders and back are bare and seemingly silky smooth. Her clothes are red—a dress? I’m not sure. All I see is her face… and skin… and legs… Fuck—this is Elena? I have the sudden urge for a cigarette… and I don’t even smoke anymore. I start walking. I pay no attention to the audience at her helm; I don’t even see them. I cut through the crowd like the parting of the Red Sea, stopping right in front of her. Right in front of her. I am close. Too close. I could reach out and touch her. The thought is tempting. The man talking to her notices me before she does and when he sees the look in my eyes, he backs away. Smart man. Finally, she sees me. She turns on me, regarding me curiously. “Yes?” I rock back on my heels, placing my hands in my pockets. “Mm. An answer before prompting… That’s funny.
I couldn’t seem to get an answer for the last six days.” Her expression drops. “Lukas,” she says simply. My sardonic smile is my reply. For several seconds after, we stand still, staring at one another, piercing each other with hot-tempered gazes that blaze a line of fire. Her blue eyes are a liquid flame, and the heat behind them is indescribable. They glow with some sort of subtle passion—a form of anger or desire… maybe both… I’m almost sure what I see in her eyes is reflected in my own, but suddenly, a voice cuts in. “Elena,” a staffer says, close-by. “Where should I put the roses?” Elena breaks the stare, shifting her attention to the waiting woman. “Over there,” she points. “On the dining tables. I need a bouquet in each centerpiece.” I pull her eyes back to mine, ignoring the interrupting staffer. “We need to talk.” Her eyes flash. “Maybe we do… but definitely not right now.” She starts to turn on her heel. My hand shoots out, grabbing her securely by the wrist. Touching her skin gives me a jolt, electrifying me down to my toes. I know she feels it, too. She shudders. My voice lowers. “You know damned well we do.
Right now.” “Or what?” she challenges. Her head swivels, her eyes roaming the restaurant’s span. “You going to make a scene? You wouldn’t dare.” My stare hardens. I pull her closer. “Try me.” She snatches her wrist back, shrugging noncommittally with her next step. “I think I just did.” She takes another step and then she doesn’t stop. Before I can blink, she is halfway across the floor, sashaying her way back to the fully stocked bar. I almost call after her until a hand lands on my shoulder. “Chris. Jesus, man. What the hell are you are doing here this early?” Chris’s face is red as usual, his breathing short—his expression pained. He looks as if he’s just finished sprinting. I suspect that he has. “I wanted to get a good look at things before the festivities began. Plus, I needed to talk to you. I need you to look at this Voyager article before it goes to print.” I glance at Elena’s retreating back. The skin there is bare, and I’m doing all I can to not follow it. “Can’t it wait?” “No,” he exhales. “This article’s rolling out soon. Just take a look for me, ok?” He unloads a briefcase at the nearest table, sitting down beside it. I take a deep breath. Typical Chris.
All he can think about is work—and all I can think about right now is play. It’s a game, really, and I’ve been sucked into it against my will. A round of “Catch the beautiful blonde,” and I’m already losing by a mile. I’m two seconds from bailing on Chris. I can tell that he sees the urgency written all over my face. He pulls out another chair, looking up at me. “It’s not like you have anything better to do.” Boy, if he only knew. If he only really knew.
In Times of Stalemate
A draw can be obtained not only by repeating moves, but also by one weak move. - Savielly Tartakower
ELENA The surprise entrance of Foxx and Kat goes off without a hitch, thanks to Lukas. Kat hadn’t the slightest clue that I was coming, and when she sees me, she nearly squeezes me to death with a hug. The band kicks in. The streamers go flying. Even our little sister, Ana, is here for the night. But I can’t stop looking at Lukas. I can’t stop remembering what we did. For the few times that we’ve been forced to interact with each other at this party, all we’ve done is throw barbs at each other—slyly insulting, stealthily jabbing. Foxx and Kat have already given up the fight—the will to force us to “play nice,” and as soon as we are
relieved of our conjoined duties, we spring apart like magnets, making our way to opposite ends of the room to avoid further contact. But it is useless. Like the magnet that I’ve suddenly become, I still feel his field—still feel the effects of the invisible energy that emanates off of his beautiful body in palpable waves. Good God, he looks great in that tux. He’s in and out of the room, moving here, talking there. A flock of women are surreptitiously following him around the restaurant, but he doesn’t seem to notice… or care. In fact, I think his mind is fully focused on something else entirely—me. Now, either my mind has been playing tricks on me, or Lukas Griffin is casually stalking me around the entire expanse. If I grab a drink, he’s at the bar. If I stop by a table, he strolls by. My arm has permanently attached itself to my younger sibling, Anastasia, and I am unashamedly using her as my protection—a sort of secretive shield against a green-eyed glare. It’s his eyes—they’re everywhere to me. Around each corner. Next to each window. Beside me. Behind me. Blazing right into my face and then away again. I watch his eyes skim the room several times and then land on me. Always on me.
I can’t avoid them. And frankly? I’m fucking terrified. There’s something wicked in his glance, something sinister in his stare. And it’s because he knows… I know he knows… that I want him. I’ve wanted him from the second he touched me. And at the same time, I can’t stand him. I can’t stand his cocky attitude, his overblown arrogance. He’s chauvinistic. He’s whorish. He’s a prick. But why the fuck does he have to look so damn good? Whatever you decide to do, Elena, just do not fuck him tonight. *** LUKAS I take another sip of my scotch, scanning the crowd for tonight’s lucky lady: my next lay. Blondes, redheads, brunettes. All decked out in sultry cocktail dresses. All goodlooking… and pleasantly drunk. But my eyes keep straying back to one person. You can’t miss her in that dark red get-up: that deep, plunging dress with the skin-tight wrap.
Her legs are unusually long, especially considering her height. She’s only got a few inches on Kat, and every extra inch seems to have fallen from the waist down. Miles of slim calves and toned thighs, shooting up from these sky-high heels, cross my line of sight from fifty feet away. Elena. Son-of-a-fucking-bitch. I hate to say it, but it’s true. Kat’s sister is a certified bombshell… and has been plucking my last fucking nerve all night. She’s mouthy. She’s uptight. And she’s so goddamned arrogant… I am definitely going to fuck her tonight. *** ELENA “Do it,” Ana says in my ear. “You do it, or I will.” “Do what?” “Lukas.” “Ana!” I nearly drop my drink. Anastasia is so close to me that she nearly dunks her caramel-colored hair in my sweet-tasting whisky. Five minutes ago, she let her hair down… in more ways than one, it seems.
I, on the other, am becoming as stiff as a board. Ana pokes me for the seventh time. “Look at you,” she says. “You’re as rigid as a corpse. It’s all this sexual tension. It’s holding you as tight as a string.” I grip my glass tighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, so you haven’t been eye-fucking Lukas all night?” Suddenly, I feel poke number eight. “Don’t lie, Elle. It’s unbecoming.” She circles me, gripping my elbow from the other side. “You can’t keep your eyes off of him. And he clearly can’t keep his eyes off of you… so why don’t you do all of us watching a big favor and go over there and talk to him?” “I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t have anything to say to him.” Ana shrugs. “Fine, then don’t. Don’t talk to him. Just fuck him.” Down goes my drink. I catch it last minute. “Jesus Christ, Ana…!” I whisper fiercely. “Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?” Poke number nine. “You,” she says, taking a sip out of my whiskey glass. “Well, stop it,” I say, swatting her hands away. “I don’t like it. You’re too young.”
She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “For God’s sake, Elle. I’m graduating college soon. And I can drink and curse and do lots of things.” She smirks. “Including piss me off. You’re doing a helluva job at that.” I laugh, giving Ana a nudge. She smiles back at me because she knows I’m trying to deflect. I smile at her because I know she’s right… about two things. Firstly: she’s a grown woman; I can’t tell her what to do anymore… but dammit, I’d wish she’d stop growing up. I miss my sweet little Ana. Guess I have to accept… that that sweet little Ana is gone, and in her place is a nearly twenty-two year old titan with brains and beauty and ambition. As for her second assertion? Well, that’s even more true. I’m wound tighter than a drum… and you could probably play a beat on my ass, it’s so clenched. Everyone at this party is letting their hair down, cutting loose, but me? I’m only becoming even more rigid—even more firm. In an effort to be more austere, I’ve pinned my hair up instead, and I’m walking around like a stick figure with an inflated head. And it’s all because of my control. Like my drink, it’s slipping intermittently from my fingers, threatening to crash like glass against the floor. I can’t do as much as cross my legs properly at this
party without squeezing them too tightly. Linda’s called my cell three times already while I’ve been here, and I can’t even work up the composure to open my little wristlet and answer. Flashbacks of me fiddling with my keyboard rock my consciousness at random times. I see myself leaning back in my computer chair as Lukas fucks me on the screen. I feel my fingers drift as they reach towards my clit and start rubbing upon his command. I was a slave to the page, letting him sex me via Skype text, and I’d never felt so turned on. I didn’t even know his face… And now that I do, the ache that he started is only made worse—heightened, by his presence, his swagger —his style. There’s something so despicable—and delectable— in it all. I can’t make up my mind. Ana pulls me back into reality. “Elle?” She pulls at me. “Hm?” “Make up your mind. Either, you’re going to go over there and say something to Mr. Melts-My-Panties, or you are going to be on your own. I’m done playing bodyguard. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I tighten my hold on her. “What? Are you saying you’re going to abandon me?” “You’re a big girl, Elle, so yes. I am leaving you to
your own devices.” I grit my teeth. “Dammit, Ana. If you do, then this old creepy guy that’s been ogling me all night is going to try to sweep in!” “Just crush his dreams like you do every other guy’s.” She flashes a mocking smile. I scoff. “I would… except I’m not in the business of geriatric abuse.” “Just take out one little hip. That never killed anybody.” Ana winks and then takes off. I grasp for her arm, but she’s already out of reach. “Ana!” I hiss at her. “Psst! Ana!” She blows a kiss at me from thirty feet away and disappears among the partygoers. Shit, Ana. I growl out of frustration, nearly stomping my foot. Where the hell is Kat? This is her party, anyway. Where the hell are my sisters when I need them? Who the hell is going to be my buffer for Lukas now? A shadow descends upon my back. I turn around. Or him, for that matter… A set of falsies is gleaming right at me the second that Anastasia leaves my side, the geriatric Casanova making his way over to me in record time. I don’t have the patience for this shit. “Hello,” he says suddenly. He flashes a mouthful of dentures that are as gray as his hair, and I nearly choke on my drink as I attempt a
swallow. I sit my glass on a nearby tray. “Hi.” “Would you like to dance?” I start fumbling for words. “Oh, no. No, I’m, uh…” “Here with someone?” Ha! Inspiration. “Yes,” I smile with fake enthusiasm. “Yes, I am.” “Well, where is he?” the past-his-prime pimp begins to ask. “Excuse me?” “Where is he? I’ve seen you alone all night… or with some other woman. I don’t think you’re here with anyone… except for me right now.” He smiles wickedly. My blood boils. “Well, you’re clearly mistaken,” I respond. “So if you don’t mind…” He steps in front of me, blocking my path as I try to escape. Now, I’m starting to see red. I’ve underestimated the old timer. He’s faster than he looks. And though I may have been a pansy-ass about Lukas all night, I certainly won’t cower to this “canttake-a-hint” geezer. “I do mind, actually,” he continues. “I’ve been watching you all night, and I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than a dance with you.” He pauses, extending a hand. “You might enjoy it, too.” I’m done being polite. “Doubtful, Mister…
Whoever-You-Are… but I will tell you this: You’re pushing your luck… and any second my…” “Boyfriend is going to be here.” I stop and turn to face the solid wall that now sits at my back. It’s Lukas. All six feet of him. Standing directly behind me. “Sorry it took so long, baby.” He hands me a drink. “The bar got really crowded.” I nearly stammer. “Don’t worry. I was just telling this… fine gentleman about you.” “Ah, I see. Well, that was very thoughtful of you.” Lukas circles around me, standing between the other man and me. He clasps a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Beat it, Pops.” He gives a slight head nod to the persistent prick who’s still standing there dumbfounded, and then he turns to me, effectually dismissing the embarrassed man and his advances. I stifle a chuckle. Lukas smiles at me. A real smile. No dentures. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and the shadowy stubble on his face frames perfectly white teeth. His silent charm is rubbing off on me, and I’m doing everything I can to not give in. “I saw you needed help,” he declares. “I came to save you.” I give an incredulous laugh. “Save me? I didn’t need
saving.” “I overheard,” he says. “You started to say that any second…” “’My knee would be in his balls.’ That’s how I was going to end that sentence.” I lean into my glass, trying to hide the gratitude that’s on my face. As thankful as I am for his small interference, I know better than to lose my wits. Owing Lukas Griffin will undoubtedly come with a hefty payment, and it’s the type of debt that I can’t afford to have him collect. I keep my face stoic while he watches me. “Touché, Miss Lexington. Tou-fucking-ché.” He takes a sip of his drink, grinning casually. “Well, since you seem to have everything over here handled, I think I’ll go rescue some real damsels in distress.” My heart stops at his implication… but I shrug. “Be my guest.” His stare turns smoldering. “I will.” He steps away. I watch him go. I let go of a shaky breath when he’s far enough way. I don’t see him again for what seems like the rest of the night.
A Rook-ie Mistake
My opponents make good moves too. Sometimes I don't take these things into consideration. - Bobby Fischer
ELENA After Lukas leaves, I resign myself to actually having some fun. I dance. I dally. I drink. A LOT. There seems to be a surgically irremovable glass of liquor in my hands at all times, and I am casually entertaining so many people that one might even mistake me as the “life of the party”—which I never am. I don’t even recognize myself. My world has been turned upside—unwittingly flipped by my new uprooting, my new career goals… my new “family.” First, the addition of Foxx—now, Griff, and
honestly… I just don’t know the rules to this. Am I supposed to treat him like family? Invite him over for barbeque and beer? He’s like a brother to Brendon. How the hell am I supposed to act? *** LUKAS “Stop staring at her,” Chris says to me, knocking his knuckles against my chest. I feign ignorance, peering at him over the lip of my quickly disappearing scotch. “What are you talking about?” “Elena. Stop staring at her. You’ve been gawking all night. I know when you’re eyeing someone. Just like you used to gape at Becky Fletcher in eighth grade. You’re not as stealthy as you think you are.” I shrug with a laugh, sitting my empty scotch glass on a nearby waiter ’s tray. “Delusion is a sickness, Chris. You might want to see someone about that.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I already see someone about my anxiety-based delusions, Griff; this is not one of them. I know you. I know when you’re scoping someone out. Even if no one else can see it.” “The only thing you might see in my eyes is
irritation. I’m tired of this dark liquor. I need something white. And I am not scoping out Elena.” I try to play it cool. “Besides… I’ve never nabbed a girl with short hair before. What would I hold onto?” I smirk, dismissing Chris’s accusation. “If you’re as good as you say you are, Griff… you’ll figure it out.” “Damn straight,” I say, toasting him with an invisible glass. “Except…” Chris begins. “Except what?” “I don’t know, bro. This Elena, man… She’s different…” I narrow my eyes at him. “Different how?” “I don’t know… Can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something different about her… and Kat. These Lexington women… they don’t come cheap.” “So, what are you saying, Chris?” “I’m saying that this won’t be as easy as you think. You remember the few things Foxx did tell us about her, don’t you?” I squint harder, placing a hand in my pants pocket. “Yeah, I do. Something about Elena being hard as nails… a real ball-breaker or something like that…” “’Ball-breaker?’” Chris guffaws out loud. “He said any man’s nuts will be able to fit through a flour sifter by the time Elena’s done with them.”
He winces, looking conspicuously down at his family jewels. “Ahhh¸ but you’re missing one important thing here, Mr. Johnson,” I say, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “I’m not just any man. This is me—Lukas Griffin you’re talking about. “Surely you haven’t forgotten my, uh… special skills.” He laughs. “Not going to lie, Griff. When it comes to women, you’re the master at bagging the best. I’ve never seen someone have ‘em eating out of the palm of their hands the way you do, but… I’m just saying…” “Say no more, Chris. Just let me handle Elena… that is, if I decide to even give it a go…” Chris shrugs. “Whatever you say, man. Can’t say I didn’t warn you…” His eyes look over my shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a dance with the pretty redhead in the corner.” He passes his drink to me, flashing me a mocking smile. “Good luck.” He takes off into the crowd, heading towards the furthest nook of the room. I frown at his retreating back. Luck? My ego scoffs. Hmph. I don’t need luck. Forget being the Master; I’ve got a goddamned PhD in women. I can have any woman I want in this room. I glance at the long legs under the red dress. With the exception of maybe one—the most
difficult one. Every man in here wants her—including me—and I’m doing my damnedest not to show it. I down what’s left of Chris’s drink. No. Fuck that. Nabbing Elena is definitely a challenge… but I have never (and I do mean never) backed down from one. And I sure as hell am not going to start now. I head towards that red dress when a hand snakes out of the crowd, gripping me tightly. “Looking for me?” she hisses seductively. She pulls me into her, leaving me no choice but to gaze into her eager eyes. Her glossy tendrils are framing her face, her dark hair pulled up into a high, messy bun. She’s as beautiful as she’s ever been, but her features are hardened, made grotesque by the unhinged look emanating from her wide, green irises. Trina. “Trin,” I call her like I used to. “Hi. No, actually… “ I stall. “I’m only looking for the head. Gotta take a leak.” My voice is gruff: clipped. I’m not looking to be near her any longer than I have to. I pull slyly out of her grasp, taking a step in the opposite direction. “No way, handsome,” she coos, tugging me fullcircle back into her body. “I deserve a dance. It’s the least you can give me, don’t you think?” I stiffen. I don’t know what to say to that. It’s been over for Trina and me for a long time, but I guess I always knew that she got the shitty end of the stick.
I knew I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship when we first hooked up; I told her so right away. When she got too clingy, I ended it as amicably as anybody really could in those circumstances, but she never really got the picture, no matter how clear I’d been. I scan the dance floor for Elena again, but she’s gone, those long legs and blonde hair missing from the spot that she once occupied. I turn back to Trina, swallowing a lump in my throat. I’ve dumped a lot of girls in my time, but this is the only one that I feel guilty about. Trina used to be a nice girl; I should’ve never gotten involved with her. “Ok,” I relent with a nod. “One dance won’t kill me.” She grabs onto my palms, wrapping my arms around her. “I make no promises, Mr. Griffin.” And then we start to move. The band starts to play “The Girl from Ipanema” and Trina begins to sway seductively. I’m no slouch on the dance floor. I lead, spinning her skillfully as we swing on the beat. But she’s clutching me just a bit too tight and sliding just a tad too close. I back up by a step. “Watch it, Trina. You’re going to get us in trouble.” I smile, trying to thwart her unwanted advances. She gives a high-pitched giggle, grabbing onto me.
She brings her face close to mine, whispering. “Oh, Griff. I am the trouble.” I stare into her eyes, mesmerized. Those wide, green irises. They aren’t just wide. They’re dilated: unnaturally and inexplicably large. She’s as high as a kite. I grab her shoulders. “Trina…” She digs her nails into my arms, standing on her tiptoes to try to kiss me. I dodge her lips. “Trina,” I grab her harder. “Listen to me…” But she doesn’t. She puts a finger on my lips, nearly into my mouth. “You’ve been avoiding me all night, Griff…” I snatch her finger. “I haven’t even seen you all night, but I would have avoided you because of...” “Me.” The voice over my shoulder startles me, and I turn to find piercing blue eyes staring back at me. Elena reaches out, prying Trina’s small fingers from around my stiffened arm. “I’m his girlfriend… Trina,” she spouts mockingly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d give him some air to breathe and some space to dance with his actual partner. “And might I suggest you hit the ladies’ room while you give us room? You’ve got a little snow under your nose there.” Trina scowls, stepping away from the both of us with a heated glance. Elena slips into the circle of my arms where Trina just was.
She dips a few fingers into her cleavage, tossing a handkerchief at Trina, which she catches. “Probably would be a good idea to wipe that look off of your face as well. Your desperation is seeping through your pores.” Ouch. Even I feel the sting of that one. I stand still, waiting for a comeback from Trina, but it doesn’t happen. She takes what shreds of dignity she still has left and hightails it towards the hallway where the restrooms lie, the golden tail of her dress dragging as she scurries away. Elena and I continue dancing as part of the ruse. Mm, this feels good. “Wow,” I say to her. “You’re a natural.” “At dancing?” “No. At making people cry.” She laughs, bowing her head to cover up a small smile. Her soft blonde hair smells fragrant, like vanilla. She raises her face towards mine again. “She didn’t cry,” she remarks. “Not yet…” She shrugs absently, moving slowly to the music. My hands squeeze gently on Elena’s hips, and I realize that we still haven’t stopped dancing… “Uh huh, Miss Lexington,” I tease. “Nice coverup… but you get what you give.” “Oh, you mean karma?” she asks. I nod slowly. “Don’t think that’s going to happen. I don’t cry easily…” “You might be surprised.” My eyes shoot to her
lips. “You know… when some women experience intense orgasms… instead of moaning or screaming, they cry… “ She snorts softly. “Cry?” “Uh huh. Full-blown boo-hoos. Sometimes, the pleasure is just too much, and the tears just overflow. The intensity is just too overwhelming, and their eyes start to water from an overload of sensation.” Her expression tightens. “Thank you for that interesting and unwelcome lesson, Lukas,” she quips, deadpan. “Like, I said… I am not a crier.” I shake my head at her response. Goddamn, she’s so stubborn. And I usually can’t fucking stand it, but tonight —tonight feels different… “I don’t know. I’ve seen some… interesting things happen,” I continue to press. “It seems like one of the rare nights, doesn’t it? Where the unexpected just… takes place…” I can tell that she’s intrigued. She cocks an ashblonde eyebrow, causing her blue eyes to twinkle. “The unexpected? What unexpected stuff? Enlighten me…” I shrug casually. “Like you… coming over here, getting rid of Trina, dancing with me… That’s all pretty unexpected, wouldn’t you say?” I tighten my hold on her ever so slightly, using my thumbs to caress the silk at her sides. Her lips are bright red, as red as her dress. They’re
slightly parted and all of a sudden, all I can think about is putting my tongue between them. The thought makes me grow hard. Irrationally and undeniably hard. I’m close to Elena, but not close enough for her to feel it. If I step one millimeter nearer, I’ll be skimming the “v” of her thighs with an erection that could hammer nails. She starts speaking, and I have to look away from her lips and concentrate back on her eyes. Those amazing, light blue eyes. “It’s really not unexpected,” she declares. “After what you did earlier, I owed you one. And now… the favor ’s returned. Have a good evening, Lukas.” She extracts herself from my arms, turning away without a backward glance. She walks in the direction of the ladies’ room, and I am confused about what to do next. Damn. My cock tells me to follow, but my pride just plants my feet. The latter wins the battle this time, but then again… he always does. I’ve never been one to chase after a woman. Never had to… until now. Sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought. I need another drink.
Double or Nothing
“When you see a good move, look for a better one.” - Emanuel Lasker
ELENA I act as if I’m going to the bathroom in case Lukas follows. When I’m sure that he isn’t, I make a detour, heading for the preparatory kitchen. Cake. Cake. Cake. I need some cake. Something to calm me down. Sweets were always a go-to in our household growing up. My mother always said, “There was no illness that sugar couldn’t cure.” If we hadn’t gone to the dentist regularly, our teeth would’ve rotted right out of our heads. Luckily, we made it into adulthood with our original bicuspids in tact, but that crazy sweet tooth hasn’t escaped a single one of us.
I need the cake to bring my nerves back to neutral. And I’ve already had enough alcohol to drown a small nation. I whiz past waiters and trays and chefs with large hats. I scan the countertops, the cabinets until bingo—I hit the fridge. The rush of air is cold and refreshing, and my eyes are gobbling up every square inch of space. Cake. Cake. Cake. Cake. Ah-ha! But the cake is far too large, and I wouldn’t be able to sneak it out of here without getting discovered and dropping the large sheet all over the kitchen floor. Think, Elena. Think. Oh, yessss. Cupcakes. They sit on the bottom shelf with champagne and creamy white hues of frosting, topped with decorative and shiny round-shaped sprinkles. I reach for them like a crack-fiend. I’m no better than Lukas’s coked-out groupie in the ballroom, but I have no choice. I need this. I grab two cupcakes, pulling them close to my body before closing the fridge completely. I shield them with my arms as I pass the unsuspecting and, frankly, unconcerned wait and kitchen staff. I stow away with my stolen stash into a separate side-room near the kitchen, where I sink into a white and unused foldout chair with my treasure, ready to eat. The minute I sink my teeth into the frosting, I feel calm. Mmmffff, I mumble through a mouth full of
buttercream. There. That’s better. Eating the cupcake gives me time to simmer down, time to think. Time to reconsider all of these crazy ass ideas that have been popping into my head. Like kissing Lukas. What… the hell… is wrong… with me? My subconscious is screaming at me at this point. What are you thinking, Elena? You hate this guy. Hated this guy. Wait… Is this past tense? Or present? Have I all of a sudden stopped hating this guy? No… that can’t be right, but then… Why did I want to kiss him? Why do I want to kiss him? Present tense. As in now. Like, right now. While my lips and teeth are sinking into this soft and succulent cake. Soft… So soft… Like Luke’s lips. My thoughts meander. His bottom lip looked divinely supple. I tried not to stare at it, but then I would have had to stare into his eyes, and that would’ve been infinitely more dangerous. They’re a deep evergreen color… like a forest. They’re framed by lively, dark eyelashes that constantly move as his eyes look me up and down. I feel lost when I look into them: abandoned in an evergreen wilderness from which there is no escape. I shake my head. I’m talking crazy. I’m drunk. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this drunk.
And I’m a mess. Not on the outside, but on the inside. On the outside, I think I’m still passing off as calm and collected. But internally, my stomach is going nuts, and I am secretly craving a taste of something else. Something stronger than alcohol. Something sweeter than confection. Something like Lukas. A loud sound rings out in the empty room, almost making me jump out of my seat. I start to panic from where I sit, my head rotating on a rapid swivel, when I realize that the sound is coming from me. It’s my cell phone in my wristlet. It’s ringing. It’s Linda calling. I’m a piece of shit. I’ve been putting off returning her phone call for days and now she’s resorted to calling me at the party. She knows I’m here… so why would she call? It must be more important than the fashion emergency that I had previously assumed. I pick up the phone. “Hello?” “Elle? What the hell, girl? I’ve been calling you for days on end. Where have you been?” I huff heavily. “In Tampa… trying to piece my goddamned life together. I’m sorry, Lin.” Her voice softens. “Don’t be sorry for me, Elle. I have some bad news.” She hesitates.
“Looks like one of our pieces dropped out of the puzzle. Someone purchased the studio space we were buying.” A long pause stretches out while I try to gather my thoughts. A minute passes. Two. Linda shows infinite patience. I finally manage to find my words. “Wait… what? That can’t be… My offer on that space was pending.” Linda sucks in a breath over the phone. “Not anymore. And as your friend, your attorney and your active representative, they broke the news to me a little over a week ago. “I just didn’t want to break the news to you through voicemail or text. Just didn’t feel right.” She gives a small sigh, and it drops like a final axe, like the thud of a gavel, closing the case. Game over. And there it is. That’s all, folks. Looks like I’m back to square one. I don’t know what I feel. Hell… I’m not even sure what feeling is at this moment. I’m too tipsy to process anything—too drunk to register any true emotions. I wait for the additional kick to the gut, for the fiery onslaught of outrage to hit me, but neither one appears. In fact, something totally unrelated starts to happen. I laugh. The sound is almost hysterical, and I can hear myself cackling uncontrollably, but I can’t do anything
to stop it. I can barely hear Linda’s voice over the noise. “Elle?” “I’m sorry, Linda baby, but this is a party,” I squeak. “Sure, I’m going to have to tuck my tail between my legs and go crawling back to my misery in Memphis. But tonight? “I am fully fucking sedated. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get fully fucked as well. I’ll talk to you in person tomorrow.” I hang up at the fading sound of my name, stuffing my cell phone back in the small pocket of the purse attached to my wrist. I pick up my cupcake to take another bite. A minute passes before I consider what I just did. Shit. Did I really mean what I told Linda? I just don’t know… Maybe I’m using all of this hoopla to self-medicate. The party, the cupcakes… Lukas. It could all be a numbing method—a temporary anesthetic. A large clatter from the adjacent kitchen interrupts my thoughts. I hear a voice soon after. A very distinctive voice. I can’t avoid him. And if what I’m thinking really does apply, he may be just what the doctor ordered. ***
LUKAS Despite being caught in a game of “Cat-and-Mouse” with the elusive Elena, I’m actually enjoying this party that we’ve arranged. The drinks are cold. The women are hot. But why the fuck doesn’t anyone here speak English? I make a drinking motion with my hand. “White cognac,” I say. “White cog-nac.” The kitchen staff stares back at me with blank eyes. I point to an empty glass on the counter. White… Clear… They don’t understand a word I’m saying. Where’s the damn water? They motion towards each other, speaking to one another in fluent French. I hear the word “tequila.” “Tequila! Yes!” I slam an excited fist on the counter. “Tequila. I’ll take some of that.” A chef in a large white hat nods, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of amber-colored liquid. “Yes! No!... Not gold. Silver. Sil-ver.” I enunciate as if it will help them understand me any faster. Ask me anything in Italian, and I’ll spit it right out. Talk to me in French, and watch my brain fry itself from the stress. I start pointing at random staffers. “How about you? Ingles?” No, that’s Spanish. “Aleman?” Fuck. No. What’s the French word for English?
Ang-something. Anglee. Anglass. Ah! It’s Ang… “Le monsieur veut savoir comment dire en anglais en français,” says a voice from behind me. I wheel around to find myself staring at the “lady in red.” She raises her eyebrows, glancing quickly at me, and then back at the kitchen staff. “Il veut aussi savoir si vous avez une liqueur claire.” Her French is impeccable, mellifluous. The staffers exclaim simultaneously, throwing their hands into the air with mirthful enthusiasm. “Ahh, liquer clair!” They talk excitedly. “Au début, nous ne savions pas ce qu'il voulait,” one of the chefs cries out. “À un certain moment , nous avons pensé que peutêtre même qu'il demandait des faveurs sexuelles.” He finishes the sentence with the same drinking motion that I used earlier. Elena bursts out into laughter, prompting my eyes to dart between her and the staffer. She catches my narrowed eye. “Something funny?” I ask. She giggles, covering her mouth with a small hand. I realize that I’m the butt of some French-fried joke. My anger is taking turns with desire, and the two jockey for position on the tip of my tongue. I don’t know whether to kiss Elena or curse her. “They’re saying you confused them—that at one
point, they thought you might be, uh… asking for sexual favors.” She makes that same “bottoms up” gesture. Watching Elena do it, I realize how close the motion is to the act of sucking… I bristle, getting ready to wipe the smirk off of the chefs’ grinning faces. They may not understand English… but they do understand the sudden anger that is radiating from my direction. Their smiles drop. The last chef to speak shakes his head at Elena, speaking even lower. “Aucune liqueur blanche.” She nods ruefully in response. “Merci beaucoup, Messieurs. A bientot.” She tugs insistently on my sleeve, pulling me gently into the next room. It’s quiet in this smaller space—with just me, Elena, and some extra chairs. In one of the chairs sits a swirly beige cupcake. I turn to Elena. “That’s the second time you’ve rescued me tonight. Didn’t know you were as tired of the brown liquor as I was.” She grins. “Who said anything about liquor? I was there for the extra cake.” She motions towards the small sweet that’s in the seat. “And as the bride’s sister,” she continues, “I get first dibs.” Her smile is genuine this time—real. It’s the first time she’s shown teeth since I’ve met her—teeth that weren’t involved in any snarling or growling at me.
Her eyes sparkle with uninhibited humor and when they do, my previous anger melts like butter. I am no longer pissed off; I am turned on. It’s like all the boiling blood that ran heatedly through my veins because of her has conveniently made its way to my cock, and in its absence, all I am left with is want. Her eyes are strikingly blue, and the gentle curve of them makes me think of guilelessness, of innocence. But there is nothing guileless or innocent about the filthy words we used just days ago, and the dichotomy of her sweet and sultry face mixed with the naughtiness beneath is more than I can bear. I have to have this girl. The words are out before I can think. “I’ve got something better than that cupcake. Have a drink with me.” Elena giggles. “We’ve got drinks here.” “Not what I’ve got. It’s white liquor… and it’s good. Have a drink with me.” “But the party…” “Will be fine without us for half an hour… Have a drink with me.” She huffs. “You sound like a broken record.” “And I will continue to do so… until you…” “Have a drink with me,” we say in unison. She shakes her head slightly, staring down at the floor for a few seconds. Whatever excuse she comes up
with, I am more than prepared to spoil. I wait… Suddenly, she raises her head. “One drink… and this place better be damn close.”
Poker Face
“When you defend, try not to worry or become upset. Keep your cool and trust your position - it's all you've got.” - Pal Benko
ELENA The place to which Lukas brings me for a drink is close. Damn close—just like I asked. In fact… it’s in the same hotel… exactly one floor below… in his hotel room. Lukas leads me down the elevator, guiding me through a short walk down the hallway of the Hyatt’s thirteenth floor. Lucky number thirteen. Or unlucky… That remains to be seen. I stand by, nervous and giddy, as Lukas removes a dark key card from his pants pocket and inserts it into
the hotel door ’s slit. The door lock blinks from red to green, and we enter the room with a simple flick of a handle, the clicks of my heels marking the passage of each agonizingly slow second. Each second, every single millisecond, alone with Lukas is an individual test of my will, and I have to fight the urge not to press my nose into his now-unbuttoned collar. It’s the drinks… my hormones… his aura. They’re all combining into this heady mix—this elixir of naked lust and sudden wanting. He drips sex with every footfall, leaving a trail of wantonness in his wake. It’s impossible to ignore. He doesn’t know it, but I am lapping up every single drip, licking and swallowing to my heart’s delight right up until the very last drop. I follow him like a lost puppy, past his gigantic King bed, past a ginormous flat-screen TV. His room is long and large and lined with soft beige furniture. Looking at him now, I know that I was a fool to ever come here, to accompany him to his hotel room, knowing that the temptation was so great. I never claimed to be a fan of Lukas Griffin. In fact, I’m not sure that I even like him. But I do know this… I don’t just want to fuck him. I need to fuck him.
I need him to pound out all of the latent frustration that’s been building since I got off of the flight from that God-forsaken city—to stroke away all of the sudden sorrow that I feel at losing the life in Tampa that I never had. I need to lay all of my lust on the table tonight… and forget him by morning. But can I do that? Can I be that woman? The type of woman to lay her inhibitions on the line? To bed a man that she damn near despises? What’s that even called? A Wham-Bam-Thank-YouAsshole? The abrupt stop in his trek jerks me back to reality. He stops by the fridge, opening the door and reaching inside to remove a singular bottle of vodka, the bottle frosted over with a chill that makes the iciness look like smoke. He sits two glasses out, pouring a shot’s worth of vodka into both before adding individual cranberries from a nearby bowl. He swallows one, offering me a taste of one from his fingers. I’m tempted, but decline. We drink the vodka in silence, and I prepare to grimace at the inevitable burn that will hit the back of my throat. But there is none. The vodka is smooth, so smooth in fact that it’s almost like tasting water—a sort of cranberry-flavored seltzer spritz.
I swallow the shot with one gulp. Lukas reaches over, extracting the glass from my hands. There’s an inexplicable scowl on his face. “That’s not how you’re supposed to taste that.” I scoff. “Well, excuse me. I thought we were taking a shot.” He looks down at my glass. “Not of this. This deserves to be savored, sampled. Not rushed.” He puts my glass down, raising his own. He brings it to his lips. “With this, you’re supposed to relish the liquorinduced tingle on your lips, let it slide down your tongue. “You extract each flavor, each silky smooth nuance. You’re not even supposed to realize that you’ve swallowed until you feel the small fire that starts to burn in your belly.” He tilts the glass, draining it slowly. I watch his slightly scruffed Adam’s Apple bob with the motion and find myself somehow unable to even breathe until he’s finished. He licks the last drop from his lower lip, and my knees literally go weak. I thought shit like that only happened in the movies. Feeling like this seems almost unreal. The fire in his belly seems to have lit him from the inside out, and he regards me closely with a molten look that causes a searing sensation on my skin.
He steps closer, and I expect him to stop—but then he doesn’t. My chest rises and falls rapidly, mimicking the pace of his stride. He moves nearer and nearer and nearer. He doesn’t stop until he is toe-to-toe with me. He twists the glass within his hands. “That’s what you do with the finer things in life. You savor them.” He laughs softly, placing a hand below my jaw. “And I can’t lie to you, Elena—you are one of the finest things that I’ve ever seen in this life.” He brings his lips to mine. “And you deserve to be savored.” He pushes his lips down onto mine, and I moan from the (finally!) released tension that leaves my body at his kiss. His taste is strong and sweet, an intoxicating mixture of the liquor and the fruit that’s on his tongue. I can feel the small pricks from the stubble on his face, and each sweep across my skin is like an electric charge that turns me further and further on. His lips are as soft as I’d imagined and they angle insistently over mine—pushing and pulling, giving me everything that I need and then taking it away with each breath. I suck hungrily at his lower lip, as he bites erotically down on mine, and in the midst of the licking, sucking and biting, we are performing a tango with our
mouths—dancing the two together only to break away briefly and come back even stronger. It is the best fucking kiss of my life. And then something happens. A shattering crash that pulls me from the depths of desire. The glass that Lukas had held has slipped from his hand and smashed directly on the floor beside us. It is exactly what I need. We break from the kiss, staring down at the obliterated glass and then each other. “I have to go,” I blurt abruptly. “It’s been over half an hour, and I have to get back.” The party. I had almost forgotten it in my Lukaslaced dream world. I pull my back straight, regaining some semblance of composure. “Thank you for the drink.” Lukas squints at me curiously, and I think he’s going to protest—but then he doesn’t. He concedes, nodding once at me. “It was my pleasure, Miss Lexington.” I turn at the sound of my name, taking quick steps to reach the door before I can reconsider. I can’t do this. I can’t be this woman. I can’t lie with what may be the sexiest, and most frustrating, man that I have ever met… even though it nearly pains me not to. But at least, I did it. I looked temptation right in the face and resisted.
I deserve a cookie for it, at least, right? Maybe cake. That’s right. The cupcakes… I’ll take a thousand of them. I reach the elevators, pressing the button and waiting not even a single second before the doors open. I hop inside, leaning haggardly against the wall, literally drained from the intensity of my internal battle. The doors start to close, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, a hand shoots out between the doors, and they start to jolt apart. When they open, I discover Lukas on the other side, his eyes harried, his jacket open. He looks directly into my face. “One more thing, Elena…” he breathes. I perk up. “Yes?” And then he grabs me.
All Bets are Off
In chess, as in life, opportunity strikes but once. - David Bronstein
LUKAS I don’t know that I can be friends with her. I don’t even know that I can stand another twentyfour hours without wanting to stick a fucking pen in my eye at the sound of her name. But I do know this… I want to fuck the shit out of her. Now. At this very moment. And right now, that is all that fucking matters to me. I reach out toward Elena, grabbing her waist and dragging her right into me. The cry that she gives is soft, and I can’t tell if it’s out of surprise or protest, but it comes out muffled as I crush my mouth to hers. She stills for a split second and then responds
almost immediately. Her kiss is eager and anxious and irresistible. I reach down, hiking her dress to her upper thighs so that I can scoop her into my arms and carry her outside of the elevator and into the hallway. Her high heels drop one-by-one as I make my way out, and I press her lithe body against the wall, using my hands to cup her delectable ass while she tightens her legs around my waist. The slender straps of her dress slide down her delicate shoulders and I kiss the skin where they just were, taking voracious bites as my mouth moves down towards her cleavage. I press my tongue between her breasts and listen to her moan as I pull one perky tit from underneath the dress and slip one reddened, taut nipple into my impatient mouth. Her legs are out, her breasts are exposed and I am two seconds away from ripping off her panties, as we go at it in the hallway of the hotel—a mere multiple doors down from my own room. At any given moment, anyone could catch us here in this hallway… And I do not give one single damn. The strained groans of the word “Inside” are all that stop me, and at this simple request from Elena’s lips, I sweep her into my arms, reconnecting my lips with hers as I carry her to my doorway and quickly inside.
I don’t even remember getting the door open, but as soon as we’re in, I am placing her down on my bedroom sheets, trapping her between my legs and lavishing attention on each beautiful breast, as I take my turns with one and then the other. She writhes on the bed with need, and I use her motion to slip her completely out of her dress, marveling at the perfection that is her soft, creamy body. She is warm and fragrant. Not just with that vanilla scent from earlier, but the smell of her ache, her pleading. I can smell the sex on her skin. Her pussy is completely bare, and I love the view that I get when I open her legs. I can practically see the pulse in it. I dip a finger in its confines so that I can feel it as well. Her grinding never stops, and she sways her hips back and forth on the bed so that her entrance tightens and closes around my digit. I keep prodding, keep swirling, and her sighs turn into groans. I decide that one finger is not enough; she needs my tongue—my mouth. I lick her slit slowly from end to end, taking my time to savor her taste. Contrary to all the bullshit about flowers and pineapples, she tastes like neither, the flavor more appetizing than either of those palates could ever be. The taste is more brackish than those, the flavor
hinting of a muted tang. The taste of pussy. It tastes like nothing else in this world. And though it isn’t often on my menu, when I place it there, I devour it very well, giving it all the proper courtesy and sampling of any delicious meal. And I just so happen to love the way that Elena tastes. “Please,” she pleads. “Lukas, please.” I replace my mouth with two fingers, speaking the words over her clit. “Please what, Elena? What?” Another finger slips inside her. “Tell me what you want, Elena.” “You,” she exhales. But I’m relentless. I pump her with my hands. “What do you want me to do, Elena?” “F-fuuu…” I lean in to lick her folds, and she whimpers. “Tell me or I will punish you, love. Just like I said I would.” “But… but…” she squeaks out. I back up from the bed, standing up. I remove my jacket. “All right, love. You asked for it.” I unbutton my shirt, shrugging out of it. I kick my shoes off, unbuckling my belt in front of Elena’s wide eyes. “Look at me, Elena,” I say. I drop my belt. “Don’t take your eyes off me.” I lose the pants—drop the boxer briefs.
“I’m going to punish you now… and you’re going to like it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; don’t say you weren’t prepared.” I grab her ankles, sliding Elena further down the bed. “Don’t cry out for help. Just cry out.” I palm the condom from my pants pocket, slipping into it as I stand. I reach for Elena, but instead of her hands, I grip her hips, flipping her onto her stomach as she gasps. I place my knees on the bed, pushing slowly onto hers, driving them closer to her elbows so that she sits magnificently on all fours. I enter her from behind, slamming myself inside her wetness to the very hilt. She cries out, and it is music to my ears. Over and over, I crash into Elena, sliding her smoothly on my cock. She is tighter than a vice, as slippery as a slide. It doesn’t take long before I am certified steel and on the brink of impending ecstasy. I growl as she groans. “Look at you, Elena. Hear yourself. Remember what you said, baby.” She moans in response. “Look at you—loving it. You love it, Elena. You love it when I punish you.” I slam into her. She cries out, and her pussy soaks me to my base.
“Tell me you love it.” Another pound. “Tell me, or the punishment will never stop.” She moans into the sheet, gripping her fingers into the covers. “I—I love it!” I squeeze her waist even tighter. “Good girl…” I place a kiss on her bare back. “Now, I can finish your misery, baby.” I slide in and out, stroking to my heart’s content while Elena’s pussy clenches and unclenches the hard length of me. She cries even louder. “Wait, n—no, Lukas, I ca-can’t… Lukas!” “Elena…” She comes fiercely, screaming softly into the nearest pillow… and I thrust into her the entire way through. She falls forward into my hands and I catch her, using my fingers to pull gently at the pinkish, taut peaks atop her incredible tits. With my hands on her breasts and my lips on her lower back, I come inside of Elena, feeling completely depleted from the height of this immeasurable pleasure. We collapse together on top of the cool satin sheets and I lay with her body fitting closely next to mine, relishing in the feel of her slightly damp skin. I run my fingers up the side of her shimmering body, brushing aside her hair to place my lips at her nape. And when I do, she turns slowly towards me,
revealing a tear-streaked face, full of wonder. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are glistening. And she has never looked more gorgeous. I wipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs, tasting the salty remnants on her lips with my kiss. I withdraw slowly. “See? I told you that you were a crier.” *** When dawn breaks, I am out of the hotel room and heading into the parking lot. A wave of guilt hits me as I walk, but it is buried by all of the other things that I feel… The adrenaline, the fatigue—the satisfaction… Elena and I never made it back to the party. We fucked each other until the sun came up, taking turns riding the other until we were too exhausted to move—our limbs splayed out against the sprawling expanse of the King-sized bed. The only reason I’m even heading to my car is to retrieve my last condom, so that we can send each other off with a proper farewell… and then forget this ever happened. I retrieve the keys and car remote from my pants pocket, smiling. Elena is still gloriously naked in my hotel room, and I’m going to enjoy every bit of this good-bye.
But when I hit the automatic car key from far-off, something sounds wrong. Something is wrong. Under the cover of the barely-breaking dawn, I can just make out the flicker of lights from a nearby car. I look toward the lights, but what I see is not my black Porsche. In fact, I’m not sure that it’s even a car… I hit the car remote again, and a beep sounds from the pile of trash at the end of the lot. I stiffen… before breaking out into a full sprint toward it. The spring air is chilled this time of day, slapping briskly against my bare chest where my shirt lays unbuttoned. My barely-fastened pants are sliding at my waist. My untied shoes are slipping off my feet. I hardly notice. That pile of trash is my car. I run up to the black heap, discovering that my black Porshe has almost been demolished, the windshield and all of its side windows shattered, rendering the vehicle unrecognizable. It looks like it’s been in a horrible accident. But it hasn’t… because it’s been here in the parking deck all night. This is no accident. Someone’s destroyed my car. And they did it right under my nose. I grasp my hair with both hands, sliding them down to scrub exasperated hands at my cheeks. I can’t believe
this shit. And there’s another thing that’s right under my nose —a piece of paper sticking precariously from underneath a broken windshield wiper. I reach carefully for the piece of paper, reading the text written on its surface. I start to grip the note so tightly that it rips in my hands. Looks like you got fucked twice in one night. Enjoy it while you can. Pawn to B3. Your move. I flip the note over, searching for text on its back. I find nothing else. I squint at the message on the front again. A chess reference… like it’s some sort of game. Fucking up my car—a game. And how they know that I’ve been with Elena last night is even more alarming. Beautiful, feisty, sexy Elena—all alone, sleeping in my bed, while somebody does a “Monster Truck rally” on one of my most prized possessions. It was a calculated move, one designed to send a clear message: Someone is watching me, and somehow I’ve been playing blindly. A match has just begun and already, they’ve got the upper hand. I glance at what used to be my car, crumpling the
note and throwing it to the ground. I grow resolved. Irrational… but resolved. If this psycho wants to play games, then that’s what we’re going to do. They picked the wrong chess piece to fuck with. I didn’t start this game… but I sure as hell am going to finish it.
To the Readers:
I really hope you enjoyed Round 1 of the Games & Diversions Series. As you now know, this is only the beginning… Round 2, Hour by Hour, begins December 1st, 2015…. If you’d like a look at my other books on Amazon or Goodreads, please feel free to stop by! Please feel free to leave a review while you’re there, too! If you’d like to chat me up any time, g’head and e-mail me at
[email protected] OR leave a comment on NatalieWrye.com OR on my Facebook. More on Hour by Hour: Round 2 on the next page….
**ROUND 2 in the Games & Diversions series** My head says, “Fuck him.” My clit says, “Go ahead!” I gave in to him, submitted myself to our fiery passion… and it blew up in my face. I can’t afford to do this again—not when he holds all the cards. Not when he makes all the rules. He’s lured me into a game—a game I’ve never played. A dangerous one. And if I raise the stakes and place another bet on him, will he burn me again?
Acknowledgements
I’m going to keep it simple this time and not ramble on like I love to do. To my family and the people I love most… To the readers and bloggers and fellow book-lovers… To every person who has believed in me… I, as well as this series, wouldn’t be the same without you. I love you with everything in me.
More about the Author Natalie E. Wrye is a math geek by day, writer by night. She is a quirky, former Yankee living in Northwest Georgia with nothing but her Friends and Gilmore Girls reruns to keep her company. Natalie started writing nonsensical stories at the ripe age of 6; she hopes things have changed since then. She loves chocolate, cuddly things, and large libraries. Oh...and she thinks it's pretty cool to talk in 3rd person.
