Dissent (21 page)

“Oh,
a little shame. Some disappointment. The usual,” at his eye
roll, I shrugged. “It's a dinner party. Michael is in town. I
have to show up in something decent, with an appropriate man on my
arm, and make friendly small talk for a couple hours.”

“You
should bring Isaiah,” he said, moving toward a rack of white
dresses.

“White?
Seriously?” I asked, wanting to avoid the conversation about
having already asked Isaiah.

“Yes,
white. Clean and virginal.”

“That
ship sailed a long time ago.”

“So
should we sew a red “A” on this instead?” he asked,
holding up his choice. “Come one, go try this on.” I was
ushered into a fancy dressing room, all silk drapes, flattering
mirrors, and a tufted bench to sit on and cry if I suddenly decided
my thighs or ass was too fat. “So like I was saying,” Jay
called from the seat outside, lounging and sipping the champagne an
employee had given him, “Bring Isaiah with you tonight.”

“Why?”
I asked, shrugging out of my clothes.

“Well,
I mean, even if you slapped a five-thousand dollar suit on me,
everyone would see through it. And Todd would look meek and beneath
you. The kids are, well, kids. Isaiah comes from money. He does
cocktail hour and business meetings. And dinner parties. He will fit
right in. Plus, he's good looking and probably wears a suit like a
second skin.”

“Very
logical,” I said, pulling the dress on. And, once again, Jay
was right. It was a lightweight, very white color that was almost,
but not quite, sheer, tight around the bust and torso, flaring out
slightly from the hip and falling just above the knee. It was at once
chaste and sexy. “Maybe he wouldn't want to take me,” I
said, turning around slightly, running my hands down my belly.

“Oh,
please,” Jay said, sounding amused.

“Oh,
please what?” I asked, opening the door.

“That
man looks at you like you have a fucking golden vagina. He'll do it.”
He stood up, putting his flute down and moving up to me. “That'll
do,” he said, nodding. His hands reached out and grabbed my
breasts. “You'll need a bra or those petal things,” he
said, grabbing the ends of my nipple piercings. “I can see
these.” And we both knew that the piercing holes on nipples
could close by the second when you take them out.

“Augh,
fine, I'll put a bra on,” I grumbled, swatting his hands away.

“So
are you going to ask him?”

“Yeah,”
I said, nodding.

“Maybe
you should let him get the gold,” he said, smiling devilishly.

“Shut
up,” I said, going back into the dressing room.

Little
did he know... he already got the gold.

There
was a knock at my door at seven-thirty that night. I had left my hair
down, put on my dress, and slipped into low nude colored heels. I was
brushing on a coat of light pink lipstick as I opened the door.

And
there was Isaiah. He had on a dark gray, almost black, suit with a
white shirt and black tie. Classic. Sleek. And, judging by the cut
and material, incredibly expensive. He looked good. Way, way too
good.

“I'm
assuming you're suitably impressed,” he laughed and I shook my
head, realizing I had been staring.

I
backed up into the room. “You look great,” I said.
Because it was true. Isaiah closed the door behind him, reaching out
to grab my hand and holding it out to inspect me. He looked for so
long, I felt uncomfortable. “Jay picked it out,” I said,
self-consciously.

“You
look beautiful,” he said, his tone so serious that I felt a
slight blush creep up my cheeks.

“Thank
you,” I said, pulling my hand from his.

He
walked closer, smiling slightly as he reached out toward my ribs,
reaching his hands out to settle just under my breasts. “You
have a bra on,” he said, sounding surprised, like it wasn't a
totally normal thing that most women wore every day. But, then again,
I wasn't most women. And I almost never wore one.

“Yeah.
This material is thin and...”

“And
you don't want your parents to know their little girl has her tits
pierced.”

I
flinched at the word, sounding almost insulting coming from him.
“Yeah. Come on,” I said, moving away from him, “we
need to go catch a cab before we're late.”

“We're
not taking a cab,” he said, shaking his head like it was the
most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“My
parents would freak if I showed up with eyeliner on. You think they
would be cool with me showing up in a fucking tour bus?”

“We're
not taking a tour bus either,” he told me, taking my clutch
from me and putting it down, taking my room key and slipping it into
his pocket.

“So
what?” I asked, smiling. “We're hitching?”

“I
rented a car,” he said, stepping out into the hall and waiting
for me.

“Oh,”
I said, following him down the hall. It was really stupid of me to
not consider renting a car. I glanced at him in the elevator, glad to
have someone with me to help keep me grounded.

He
led me out to a late model luxury car that must have cost a small
fortune, opening my door for me and easily plugging the address into
the GPS. Ten minutes later, we pulled up outside my parent's
sprawling estate, the grounds perfectly manicured, dozens of cars
parked on their driveway, a valet out front doing the job for us.

Isaiah
opened my door for me, offering me his hand to help me out. “You
nervous?” he asked, close to my ear, as we went up the steps.

“Only
in the way that I feel like I can't breathe,” I admitted.

His
hand moved to my lower back, pressing in, steady and reassuring.
“It's just a couple hours,” he reminded me as we went
inside.

The
foyer was massive with a huge staircase leading up to the second
floor, opening to either side with a dining room and a study and then
toward the front where the kitchen was situated.

“Nice
place,” Isaiah said, nodding.

“Darling!”
my mother's forced socialite voice called from across the room, a
glass of white wine raised as she excused herself from her crowd and
made her way toward us. Bethany Monroe was an older version of my
former blonde self. Tall, shapely, soft face, large eyes, though hers
were a light blue. She had her blonde hair pulled back from her face
and wore a red dress that made me agree whole-heartedly with Jay's
opinion of that color. “You look lovely,” she told me,
air kissing my cheeks. “And you brought a man,” she
smiled as if it was the most magnificent thing she had seen.

“Mom,
this is Isaiah Meyers. Isaiah, this is Bethany.”

My
mother had just leaned over to kiss his cheek when my father walked
up. Six foot three in a dark blue suit, his blonde hair kept short
and pushed backward from his temples. His face was the polar opposite
of mine, all sharp angles. The only part of me you could see in his
face was his eyes that matched mine. “Darcy,” he said,
nodding at me as a greeting.

“Dad,”
I said, giving him a tight smile. He didn't even attempt to feign
warmth. “It's nice to see you again.”

“Sweetie,”
my mother said, touching his arm. In public, they were a perfect
couple. “Darcy brought a man with her.”

As
per orders. I felt my spine straightening and Isaiah's hand pressed
harder into my lower back. “Dad,” I said, doing my duty
lest I get criticized for losing my manners in my heathen lifestyle,
“this is Isaiah Meyers. Isaiah, this is John Monroe.”

My
father's hand moved out to take Isaiah's when a hint of recognition
hit his eyes. “Isaiah Meyers?” he asked, shaking his hand
hard. “The Isaiah Meyers?”

Oh,
so he like... really was someone. Especially if my father knew who he
was from several states away. “Yes, sir,” Isaiah nodded.

“Wow,”
my dad nodded, looking surprised, glancing at me, confused. “How,
exactly, do you know my daughter?”

“She's
my neighbor,” he supplied, smiling down at me.

“Oh,
isn't that wonderful?” my mother gushed, looking at him with
what I could only explain as feminine appreciation.

“Would
you care for some scotch?” my father asked him, not leaving any
room for objection and I felt Isaiah's hand fall from my back.
“Darcy,” my father called over his shoulder, “make
sure you say hello to Michael.”

Great.
That was just great. I would have to face that creep without a man
around to discourage his disgusting advances.

“He
is quite a catch,” my mother said, watching Isaiah be met by a
group of other businessmen. “Don't screw it up,” she
said, back to her usual sharp tones with no one around to hear it.
She patted my cheek and walked away.

I
took a glass of white whine from a passing server, drinking it
quickly, then grabbed another to sip. I moved around, saying hello to
the few people I recognized, hedging around my lifestyle because that
was what my parents expected of me, then made my excuses and moved
on. Over and over. Until I felt completely wrung out and exhausted. I
had lost sight of Isaiah at least an hour before and didn't have much
hope of seeing him again until it was time to leave.

“Is
that little Darcy Monroe?” a voice called, making the hairs on
the back of my neck stand on end, cornering me in the far end of the
study.

“Hello
Michael,” I said, turning and offering him a weak smile.

“Well,
well, well,” he said, grinning, his eyes quickly falling from
my face to land on my chest for a long time. “You're all grown
up.”

“Time
will do that,” I nodded, feeling my skin crawling under his
inspection. Michael Gregory was a few years older than my father,
stocky, gray haired, and a complete and utter creep. I remembered him
ogling me as a teenager when I would swim laps or come home in my
cheerleading outfit. He made comments that were completely
inappropriate to say to a minor that my mother pretended didn't
happen and my father never knew about.

“You
turned out real good,” he said, stepping closer.

I
shifted slightly, moving so my back wasn't against the wall, giving
myself an escape because there was a predatory look in his eyes
mingled in with the lust and it made me feel like I needed to get
away from him as soon as possible. I glanced over my shoulder,
looking for someone I recognized and could make an excuse to go talk
to. But there was no one.

“How's
business, Michael?” I asked, my tone cold.

“Oh,
why talk about business, when there is so much... pleasure,” he
said, reaching for the strap of my dress and pushing it off my
shoulder, “in the world.”

“Baby,”
I heard Isaiah's voice say right behind me and felt my body fall
slightly back against him, his hand going around my stomach as
Michael snatched his hand back, looking up at Isaiah with wide eyes.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Isaiah asked.

“Yes,”
I managed, taking a deep breath. “Michael it was... nice,”
I said, the word frigid, “to see you again.”

Isaiah
led me silently away, his hand going to my lower back again as he
steered me toward the back of the house and up the stairs. “What
are you...”

“Shh,”
he said, looking back over his shoulder to where my mother walked
into the kitchen to yell at the caterers.

At
the top of the stairs, he opened a door, and pushed me into a
bathroom, locking it behind him. “What are...”

“Shut
up,” he said, grabbing my face and pushing me against the wall,
his lips crushing into mine.

“Isaiah,”
I objected quietly, “someone will hear...”

“Not
if you shut up,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. He grabbed
me, turning me away from him and pushing my hips up against the sink
cabinet. His hand grazed my thighs, pulling up my skirt and bunching
it around my waist, his other hand slid between my legs, pushing my
thighs open and stroking my heat over my panties.

And
I sank into it. Into the pleasure of his touch. Into the danger. Into
the inappropriateness. Into the intoxicating taboo that was screwing
around in your parent's house as an adult. His fingers pulled away,
grabbing my panties and pushing them down. His eyes went up the the
mirror, watching mine as he unzipped his pants and pulled a condom
quickly on. The he grabbed a handful of hair at my neck, pulling
backward, making me arch up, and slammed his cock deep inside me,
forcing an involuntary groan out of my lips.