Falling in between, p.7
Falling in Between, page 7
I'm just having drinks with a seductive man in a designer suit.
For the first time in probably five years, I took over an hour to get ready, and I almost don't recognize myself. Red lips, smoky eyes. A form-fitting black dress and heels. And I'm nervous as hell.
The doorbell chimes and I inhale, wiping my sweaty palms over my thighs on the way to the entrance.
Bon Jovi's “Living on A Prayer” spills in when the door swings open. As loud as the music is, all I can focus on is Elijah and the way his broad shoulders strain against the pressed, light blue dress shirt he's wearing.
His gaze drags over me. “Stunning,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
Anticipation mounts in my chest. I'm going to be forced to make conversation and laugh and not embarrass myself by fucking him. I close the door behind me and check that it's locked.
Just before we reach the stairwell, Whitesnake cuts on.
“Good song,” Elijah chuckles.
“My neighbor's seventy and nearly deaf. You didn't see her on your way in?”
“No.”
“That's surprising. Sometimes she struts around in front of the window in her underwear.”
“Is she an exhibitionist?” he asks, holding the front door.
I skirt under his arm and inhale the masculine scent of his cologne. God, men and their damn cologne. “I'm almost one hundred percent positive she is.”
“You say that like it's a bad thing.”
I carefully make my way down the steps in my unsteady heels. “I mean, it's not my thing, but—”
“So, you've had people watch you have sex?”
I stumble through the open gate. “I mean… No.”
One side of his lips tilt up before he motions me toward the black Tesla idling at the curb. That was his car the other night. “Then how can you say it's not your thing?”
“There's nothing about someone else watching me have sex that I find appealing, and try as you may, you won't convince me otherwise.” I give him a quick glance. “Besides, I'm pretty graceless.”
“Oh, I wouldn't call you graceless…”
When we reach the edge of the sidewalk, a driver hops out of the Tesla and hurries to open the door. I thank the man and slide across the leather seat.
“A chauffeur?” I smirk when Elijah climbs in, the door closing behind him. “You're that big of a deal?”
“Or maybe I'm that big of a liability behind the wheel.”
I'll give him that; he’s cute. “All right, well, remind me to never ride with you.”
The car pulls onto the street, and we weave through the New York traffic, dodging taxis and courageous pedestrians. The vehicle crawls through the bustling financial district, the only sound the hum of the pavement under the tires.
I hate silence like this. It makes me fidgety, and soon, I find myself fiddling with the hem of my dress.
Nervously, I glance up. Elijah's hazel eyes narrow slightly. The way he studies me reminds me of the way Michael Hall's character in Dexter examines his victims after they've been Saran Wrapped on his kill table—or maybe the way James Dean studies a woman before he fucks her. It’s impossible not to notice how that man looks at a woman. I'm not sure whether I should be unnerved or turned on—but, at the moment, it's an odd combination of both.
He leans in. “I know how your pussy tastes, but aside from that, I know very little about you. Is that how you'd like to keep it, Demi?”
“I'm not sure.” My heart pounds, and while that answer may sound flirtatious, it's the truth. Barely knowing each other keeps me from having any expectations.
“You like us as strangers?” He smiles before touching my knee, then moves in closer—so close I can't breathe without drawing his scent deep into my lungs. “Because, there are only so many lines one can cross before a person is no longer a stranger. And I want to cross all of them with you.” His lip barely brushes mine and, just as I close my eyes, practically begging for a kiss, he settles back against his seat.
The tires bump over the road where it meets the start of the Brooklyn Bridge. I tense, my hands instinctively making fists.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod, forcing myself to ignore the tightening in my throat. “Yep.”
“Not a fan of bridges?”
“Nope. I avoid them at all costs.”
“Avoiding the things you're afraid of only gives them power over you.”
The arrogant bastard. “Yeah, well, I've accepted it.”
I stare at the floorboard until we've crossed the bridge, then I take a deep breath. The vehicle winds around the exit and stops at a green light, the driver honking at a group of jaywalkers. Finally, we stop in front of a looming building. The door promptly opens, revealing a man in a suit waiting at the curb. He lends his hand to help me out while Elijah struts around the back of the car.
Dusting invisible lint from his shirt, he leans through the passenger window. “Thank you, Simon,” he says. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
Elijah guides me along the tree-dotted pathway that leads to the building.
I stare at the line zigzagging around the corner. “That's an impressive line.”
“It is a rather exclusive, rooftop bar.”
We amble past the waiting crowd, garnishing several nasty glares in the process. Uneasiness tightens my chest as we go straight to the front of the line. Part of me wants to turn and apologize to the people behind us, but that would only make this more awkward.
The doorman nods at Elijah. “Mr. Banks. Pleasure to see you this evening.” He slides a black velvet rope out of our way and allows us through. As if on cue, the glass door in front of us glides open. A heavenly mixture of lavender and vanilla envelops me as Elijah escorts me thru the stylish lobby filled with sleek, stainless steel tables and lounges with faux fur. We pass a suspended stairwell held by nearly invisible cables. Behind the concierge desk, water trickles down a concrete wall. This is urban elegance at its finest.
A bellhop waits beside the elevator. The doors ping open. He reaches inside and presses a button. “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Banks.” He backs away with a slight bow.
“Wow,” I mutter once we’re closed inside.
Elijah shrugs a single shoulder, that sexy, arrogant smirk nearly permanent on his face. “I aim to please. On most days at least.”
“How do you know that was an impressed wow, and not a ‘wow this is ridiculous’?”
“Was it?”
“Maybe…”
His teeth rake over his bottom lip, his gaze dragging across my body like I'm something he intends to ruin. I shift on my feet when he takes a step toward me. All the sordid text exchanges run through my mind. And I'm not ready for…whatever's going through his head.
“So, you're a regular here?” I blurt.
His gaze drops to the floor on a half-laugh. “Yes, we're becoming less of strangers by the moment.”
The elevator opens, and the warm, summer breeze creeps inside.
“After you.” Elijah holds out his arm, allowing me to exit first.
An unobstructed view of the East River and the glittering Manhattan skyline greets me when I step onto the rooftop. Lady Liberty stands to the side, dwarfed by the massive structures. From here, I can appreciate the size of the city.
“You never realize how big it is when you're in the middle of it,” I say, hypnotized by the sight in front of me.
“No, but you get to see how big the world is when you're in the middle of the city.” His dimples pop, giving him a Hollywood-royalty edge.
To my right are several marble-top tables with wicker chairs. We walk to one set with a stainless-steel wine bucket complete with a bottle of champagne. There's a placeholder with Elijah's name written in calligraphy.
“Just so you know,” I say as I take a seat. “I'm still not impressed.”
“So I have some work to do?”
“Afraid so.”
Elijah offers a closed-lip smile while grabbing the champagne from the bucket. “I do hope I can deliver.” He pops the cork.
I would imagine the level of refinement laced with filth he possesses would be an attribute that would take years to master. But I’m almost certain he’s younger than I am.
I drum my fingernails over the tabletop, debating on asking his age while he pours our drinks. “You get escorted into swanky rooftop bars with velvet ropes. The employees at a high-end gentlemen's club know you by name. You have a driver for your Tesla. Is the mob still a thing in New York?” I quirk my lips.
He cocks a brow and passes me the flute, strands of bubbles delicately floating to the surface. “If you truly think I may be a criminal, your survival instincts must not be as good as you claim.”
I chuckle, and he grins, nodding toward me.
“Your laugh is what caught my attention the night I met you. I'd just left a business dinner and was on my way to my room when I heard you. It was so carefree.” He takes a sip. “And to me, there's nothing more attractive than a beautifully innocent woman with an infectious laugh.”
My cheeks heat. I hate his ability to make me feel like a swooning teenager. My hormones are too mature for this crap.
“Um, thanks…” I nod. “Thank you.” And then, because I need to stop my mouth before anything dumb slips out, I take a big swig of champagne. The bubbles tickle my nose as panic slowly sets in. This is why I hate dating. My stupid responses to compliments. The stress of conversation. The awkward pauses.
It's too quiet. I glance around. People trickle onto the rooftop. Everyone is dressed exceptionally well and carries themselves as though they're walking the red carpet. I catch sight of a striking blonde, her hips swishing side to side as she approaches.
“It's been a long time, James,” she says, holding out her hand to Elijah.
James? This guy gave me a fake name. Oh, the irony. Elijah—or James—takes her hand, his eyes locked on me as he kisses her knuckles.
Then he leans back and crosses an ankle over his knee. “How is Nathan?”
“Oh, he's fine…” She touches the bare skin between her breasts; the diamond bracelets dripping from her wrist catch in the light. Her blue eyes are trained on Elijah like nothing else in the world exist. “How much longer until you move?” she asks.
And Mr. Fake Name is moving. I wonder where, and then tell myself I shouldn't care and not to bring it up.
“A month.”
“We'll miss having you over.” Her words hang in the air long after she's spoken. Elijah's jaw subtly tics before his gaze drifts to me.
“Demi,” he says. “This is Meredith.” My glass is halfway to my lips when Elijah reaches across the table and laces his fingers between mine. “Meredith, this is Demi. The woman I plan to fuck tonight.”
I nearly choke on champagne.
There's a wild flicker in his eyes when he arches a single brow at Meredith.
I'm partially offended, tempted to slap him and leave. But, there's a part of me that's intrigued by his audacity—honesty, whatever you want to call it. And then, much to my horror, I find the jealousy pouring off Meredith intoxicating. After all, she's married.
“Well, enjoy your evening, Demi,” she says before strutting off with her nose in the air.
Smiling, he glances at me. “I hope that didn't offend you.”
“I'm trying to decide whether to slap you or not,” I say with a lilt.
“It's the truth, though. I plan to fuck you.”
A slight tremble works its way through my core. “I'm not fucking you.”
He grins, dimples and all, as he leans across the table, bringing his palm to my cheek. His thumb strokes my jawline while my mind whirls. “Stop trying to anticipate what will happen,” he whispers. “I assure you, you'll never know what to expect from me.”
“I can see that, James…” I laugh and open my mouth to confess my sins when he holds up a finger.
“Only certain people know my first name. So now that you know my first and middle name, what's your middle name, Demi?”
“Elizabeth.” And that's not a lie.
“How fitting. Demi Elizabeth…”
“Williams. Demi Elizabeth Williams.”
11
Within an hour, we’ve discussed psychology, Tartuffe, and Ted Bundy—an eclectic mix of conversation. Elijah’s easy to talk to. Easier to stare at.
The champagne is nearly empty when he excuses himself, and here I sit, like a sore thumb amongst New York’s elite socialites. I watch them dance to the trendy music pumping through the speakers. They laugh and flirt, ordering bottles of expensive vodka and champagne by the droves.
While everyone here looks like a somebody with their designer clothes and surgically sculpted faces, I wonder if maybe they’re more lost than I am. Surely, most would lose themselves trying to keep up. Trying to fit in within such a world of extravagance.
I’m busy studying the subtle nuances of the crowd when I feel a hand on my seat. I glance up as Elijah pulls out my chair.
“I want to dance with you,” he says, taking my hand.
He leads me toward the swarm moving in beat beneath the flashing strobe lights. Maybe it’s my own paranoia, but I swear, several women stare at us. I wonder if they’re curious what he’s doing with me. Maybe they’re questioning who I am. If I’m his newest toy, because a man such as this must have women as play things.
Elijah’s hand skims the small of my back, then he turns me, bringing me flush against his body. Even though I’m five-seven, I feel petite next to his tall frame. His hands move to my waist. His fingers sweep the flare of my hips before he grabs ahold of them. He must guide women just like this when they fuck him from the top. This has to be how he holds them, because this touch feels sexually charged.
He moves slowly. Sensually. Like sin. Sex. Each roll of his hips holds a promise, and I find myself closing my eyes, indulging in the way he feels against me.
He treats seduction like a fine art, as though he’s Van Gogh or Picasso, and I’m the blank canvas begging for the stroke of his brush. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of my throat, and goosebumps scatter along my arms. “What are you thinking, Demi?”
How you must look when you fuck women. “That I like this song,” I whisper through my tightening throat.
A low chuckle rumbles next to my ear and quickly travels down between my thighs. I’m almost ashamed of the effect this man has on me with minimal effort. Almost…
“That’s not what I’m thinking,” he says.
I swallow. “Oh?”
His fingers ghost along my spine until he’s fisting my hair. I close my eyes, and his hold on my hair tightens before he moves his lips mere centimeters from mine. I can taste the champagne, the mint on his breath. “All I can think about,” he says against my mouth, “is how badly I want you. And I’m a man who gets what he wants, my sweet Demi.”
Anticipation snaps through me like a live wire, humming and crackling in my veins. Without another word, he leads me to the emergency exit on the side of the rooftop and ushers me through the doorway into the stairwell.
The music fades into the background as the door closes with a heavy bang. The emergency lights cast a hazy, yellow glow over his face. Tilting his head, he outlines my lips with his fingertip. “Do you know what I’m thinking now?”
“What?”
“How perfect your lips would look wrapped around my cock.”
My heart pounds. No man has ever talked to me like this. I’m so far out of my element that I don’t know how to respond, but the dampness between my legs begs me to do something.
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a slight smirk before he pins me between his hard body and the wall. I expect a brutal kiss, but instead, he rolls his lips along my neck, blowing warm breaths against my skin every few seconds while one of his hands tangles in my hair.
“You’re gorgeous.” He nips at my throat.
It feels like I can’t drag in enough air. I knot my fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer while his other hand inches the hem of my skirt higher and higher. I’m wound so tight I fear I may detonate at any moment.
The dark.
The muffled noise from the rooftop.
The fact that I have no idea what he’s going to do…
I’m absolutely invested, even though I’m scared shitless.
He tugs my hair. “I know you’re a good girl, but I want you to pretend to be bad when you’re with me.”
Then his mouth is on mine. My inhale catches. A daring thrill darts down my spine.
The kiss is gentle. Timid until he catches my bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers wrap around the back of my neck. His tongue thrusts into my mouth while his hand slides further up my thigh. I find myself widening my stance. It’s as though I’m no longer in control of my own body, like I’m merely a puppet on his strings. Jesus. I’m about to let this man finger fuck me in the stairwell of a high-end condo building.
I grip the sleeve of his shirt, tempted to rip it off when I deepen the kiss. I grab his wrist, forcing his hand higher. He smiles against my lips as his finger trails the apex of my thigh.
“Please,” I beg, ready to climb the walls.
Just then, the door bangs open, and I jump.
Elijah glances behind him while slowly slipping his finger under the edge of my panties. I fight a groan at the sudden touch. I should shove Elijah’s hand away, but I don’t. I’m like an addict, craving my next fix. Desperate for the way he burns through my veins like a lethal dose of something forbidden. Instead of pushing him away, I tilt my hips, inviting the tip of his finger to slip inside.
Our eyes lock. He bites at his lip when his finger plunges deeper. “You’re so wet.” He groans against my ear, nipping at my lobe before he delves another finger into me.
I look over his shoulder, but whoever came into the stairwell is now gone.
My head falls back against the wall. Each second that ticks by, my orgasm builds, my breaths grow more labored. I’m toeing some dangerously indecent line. One more step and I’ll freefall over into a place that’s not safe.
Another loud bang comes from somewhere lower in the stairwell. Maybe it’s the abrupt noise that jolts me to my senses, but suddenly, self-awareness prickles me, and the brink of the orgasm I was dancing on is swallowed.
