Authors: A. Zavarelli
Tags: #Romance, #New Adult & College, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense
Falling into Temptation
Cover Photograph © 2015 Dollar Photo Club/ Coka
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Frozen on the street corner, paralyzing fear snakes through my body, effectively seizing all the air from my lungs. I’m in the middle of the Concrete Jungle, but I may as well be a deer in the woods.
It’s the same feeling I always get when I see a woman who resembles my tormentor. Cars are rushing by, horns blaring, people pushing past me. But it’s all drowned out while I try to steady my breath and focus on the figure across the street.
My heart feels like a jackhammer in my chest as I try to make out the woman’s facial features. She’s wearing a hat and sunglasses, but she’s looking right at me. At least I think she is.
We’re at a standoff. I know I should run, but my body refuses to move. I’m so tired of running. So tired of this scenario. Could it really be her?
Has she managed to find me in a city amongst millions of other people? I don’t know, but I can’t take that chance.
I begin making a mental list to gather up my belongings, find Alanna, and leave the city within the hour. But just as I turn to run, a man approaches the mystery woman and kisses her on the cheek.
I’m transfixed by this turn of events and can’t force myself to look away. The woman removes her sunglasses, and an overwhelming sense of relief floods over me.
It isn’t her.
I sprint off in the other direction, relieved and embarrassed at the same time. It looks like I will live to see another day after all.
My real name is Victoria Colletti although I go by the alias Victoria Kelly now. I’m not a spy, or a CIA agent, or anything that exciting, although I often wish that were the case. I’m just your run of the mill twenty-four-year old, except I happen to be on the run in New York City. Before that, it was a long list of other big cities, and the occasional small secluded town where I thought I could hide.
But everywhere I go, there’s always the same scenario. The same almost daily battle of seeing someone who resembles
the woman I can never escape. Fear controls my life if you could even call it that. I’ve been on the run for so many years now I don’t think I’ll ever have any semblance of a normal life. Whenever I’ve tried to settle down in one place and finally get comfortable, the close calls become real. The woman standing on the other side of the street has turned out to be real in some cities. And I’ve learned my lesson from those close encounters, never settling in one place longer than three months now.
This is what my life has become. I used to run because I was afraid for myself. But somewhere along the line, my feelings evolved, and I stopped caring about my fate. I run now, simply because I don’t want her to hurt any more of the people that I love. Anyone who is just an innocent bystander in all of this. It’s happened once before, and I swore to myself I will never let it happen again.
My time on the run has been full of hard lessons and bitter pills. I feel like a coward for letting her win, but I don’t know any other way. I’m weak and filled with self-hatred. I’m not ashamed to admit that because it’s painfully obvious.
I always feel like I’m split in half. There is the shy, timid me who craves love and acceptance. And then there is the reckless part of me, like a willful teenager crying out for attention- the one who will do almost anything to get it. These days, more often than not, my shy and timid side is making an appearance, and it feels good to finally leave reckless me behind.
My eyes sweep the streets while I check my watch for the fifth time in under a minute.
I’m already late for this meeting with my father, and Paul is stuck in traffic somewhere. But Richard Maddox doesn’t give a shit about afternoon traffic reports. No, my tardiness will have no viable excuse. Yet, on some deep level, it will please him. Because it will only serve to prove that he’s right about me.
While my mother is pushing her agenda for me to take over the company, I think Richard Maddox would love to see me fail. And though I have my own suspicions about it, it’s not something I ever plan on addressing. Because that’s what we do in the Maddox family. We get together and drink and eat, and talk about the finer things in life, but never our real problems. Because that would be beneath us.
And though I have no desire to take over this company, it still bothers me to know that Richard sees me as a threat. I think I’ve been more than accommodating in giving into the unspoken terms of this deal. He wants me to be the bad guy, so I am. I take that role, and I wear it well. The whole world thinks I’m one giant fucking asshole.
It’s what’s expected of me. To show up whenever I feel like it. Not to take anything seriously. Because I’m heir to the Maddox throne. The one that all of New York has their eye on.
But today, this meeting…. it’s actually important to me, though I’d never admit that out loud. Because there will be investors in that room. Investors I have every intention of impressing later on. But I’m not off to a good start this morning. And when I arrive late, only to be greeted by one of Richard’s disapproving looks, it isn’t going to bode well for me. He won’t hesitate to give me the same stale lecture about getting my life together. My father and I seem to have wildly conflicting ideas of what that actually means.
I have my own plans, plans that nobody approves of. It seems like the whole world can only ever see me as one thing. The haughty rich bastard of the Maddox family. Everybody seems to have their own ideas about me, but almost all of them are far from the truth. I don’t want the Maddox name or the throne that comes with it. And I refuse to accept that it’s my only choice in life. I’ve earned my own money through investments and the military, and I live a somewhat modest lifestyle. I still work for my father to appease him, but I’m working on building my own company. And Mrs. Caroline Maddox is none too pleased about it.
For a brief moment, I think that maybe they are all right about me. Maybe it’s a joke to think I could ever do anything else with my life. Maybe I shouldn’t bother showing up at all. I could just take the rest of the day off, get a nice bottle of whiskey and call Anya. Yes, Anya… always so eager to please. I could fuck her senseless for the rest of the day as long as I don’t have to listen to her talk. Maybe if I duct taped her mouth…. I wonder if she would go for that? Of course she would. Because she’s trying to get her claws into me. She will do anything I ask.
I really need to find someone new to fuck. Someone not so… boring. I need a challenge. Like that model from the gallery last week. What was her name? Brittany or Bethany… something like that.
As I lift my head to check the traffic once more, I’m hit by a flurry of dark hair, ripped jeans and a red jacket. I stumble back a step, momentarily knocked off balance, and all the paperwork in my hands flutters down around me.
“God dammit!” I growl.
This is just what I need right now.
I cast an irritated glance at the petite figure on the ground in front of me. She’s scurrying to collect her own belongings, with no apparent concern for my own. She hasn’t even bothered to acknowledge me, or offer up an apology. I can barely see her face under the unruly tangles of long dark hair, and that only irritates me further. She’s panting hard, her fingers trembling from what seems like fear. For a moment, an unwelcome pang of sympathy hits me in the gut, but I don’t let it show. I’m already late, and I don’t have time for this bullshit.
I step closer, brushing out my now rumpled suit. Still, she refuses to look up or acknowledge me. So I clear my throat and tap my foot impatiently.
That ought to get her fucking attention.
Nope, still nothing. I try to reign in the anger brewing inside of me as I stare at the haphazard figure on the ground. She is petite and short, in other words not my type at all. Still, my dick jumps to attention as I scan the curves of her slim figure. My dick doesn’t seem to be particularly picky today.
And yet, she seems content to just keep ignoring me. Does she even realize who I am?
I can’t remember the last time someone was this rude to me. Even if people don’t like me, they always pretend to my face. It comes with the name. But not this chick.
I fight the unwelcome image of taking her over my knee right here in the street for pissing me off. Slapping the shit out of that sweet little ass of hers. I wonder what this rude girl would think of that….
I shake my head and try to shrug off the errant thought. The last thing I need is another Chandra Freestone on my hands.
Fuck. That. Shit.
“Would you mind giving me back my documents?” I bark.
Finally, my voice seems to elicit a response from her as her gaze meets mine for the first time. And she has the audacity to look angry at me. She’s actually scowling at me.
Normally, that kind of insolence would have sent me over the edge, especially after this morning’s events. But I’m distracted by the pair of eyes staring back at me. They are a dark amber color with flecks of light honey all around them. I’ve never seen anything like them before, and it’s unexpected. Her creamy white skin is flawless, contrasting starkly to her dark mahogany hair. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s clenching her jaw in annoyance.
But, oh those lips.
They are tinted with a bright cherry red lipstick that matches her ankle length red leather boots. My eyes travel down her body greedily, taking in the soft curves under the fishnets and ripped jean shorts. She looks both sweet and wild at the same time. My cock hardens painfully and I fight the urge to adjust myself.
In a moment of extraordinary bravery, the girl shoves the papers into my chest as she glares up at me. “Here asshole, now get lost!”
I stumble back a moment, disbelief washing over me. And I have no idea why but I’m grinning back at her. This temperamental, wild creature in front of me who has the nerve to put me in my place. She’s staring back at me, just as bewildered as I am about the stupid grin on my face. As I reach down to retrieve the papers pressed against my chest, I purposely brush my hand against hers. Her skin is soft, just like I expected, and I can only imagine how well it would do beneath my flogger.
But I can see that she’s getting ready to leave, and I have to engage her somehow. I have to know more about her.
“Excuse me,” I say. “But how am I the asshole here? What have I done to warrant that response?”
My mocking laughter only makes her more determined. “Well, let’s see…” She cocks her hand on her hip as she rises to her feet. “You’re standing there like you think you own the damn place, tapping your foot at me while you treat me like I’m an idiot. A gentleman might have offered to actually help instead of worrying about getting his expensive suit dirty.”
My jaw clenches at her response.
Of course, that’s how she would see me.
“Well, technically speaking,” I say coolly, “this is my building you almost took me out in front of. So forgive me for not feeling obliged to help when I, in fact, did nothing wrong.”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Spare me the bullshit. I know exactly who you are and I’m not impressed. You can forget about me pandering to your ego if that’s what you expect. I don’t give a shit what your last name is, your manners suck. And on that note, I have already taken up too much of your precious time, so you can leave now.”
I laugh because it can’t be helped. There is something about this woman’s hostility that turns me on.
Nobody- especially women- ever talk to me that way. And I find it oddly refreshing. She’s intriguing and exciting in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. In an attempt to save face with her, I bend down and help her retrieve the rest of her parcels. Her mouth almost falls open in astonishment.
Paul the driver emerges from the black sedan at the curb, surprising me. I didn’t even see him pull up. He clears his throat nervously before speaking.
“I apologize, sir, for running late. I can take you now.”
I wave him off without speaking, much to his relief. I was probably a complete dick to him on the phone earlier whether I meant it or not. Maybe my manners really do suck.
“You were right before,” I say. “I forgot my manners. I should have helped you. It’s New York, and it’s not often you meet people who aren’t inherently rude. But I can see now you obviously aren’t from here, and I apologize for being an asshole… in your terms.”
She tries to hide the small smile from her mouth. “Well, that’s a roundabout way of making an apology, but I’ll take it. Anyway, I should have been paying better attention, so I guess I should apologize as well. I’m sorry I ran into you, and that now I’ve apparently made you late as well. Um, so anyway… have a good day.”
She turns to leave, and I can’t help myself. I need to get her name. I reach for her elbow, effectively stopping her as she turns back to face me.
“I said I was sorry that I was an asshole.” My eyes travel her body once more. “Not that you ran into me.”
She doesn’t respond. She just stands there looking nervous as if she might run at any moment.
“So where are you from anyway?” I ask. “I can’t place your dialect.”
Panic sweeps across her face and she shakes her head. “Uh, trust me it’s not anywhere you would know. Look I’m really sorry for interrupting your day and I’m running late myself, so I really have to go. Have a nice day, Mr. Maddox.” She pulls back and turns to walk away. But when she reaches the end of the block, she glances back over her shoulder and smiles at me.
I feel even more frustrated as I climb into the back of the waiting sedan. I lost all track of time talking to her, and I didn’t even manage to get a name. I must be really off my game today because I can’t recall that ever happening before.
By noon, I’m back to the confines of my office. As expected, my father was a huge dick to me. I don’t know why I even bothered showing up at all.
To top it all off, I can’t get the woman from earlier out of my head. After this morning, my sexual frustrations are at an all-time high.
I need a good fuck.
I scroll absent mindedly through my contacts, contemplating my options. But after a few minutes I set the phone back on the desk in frustration. There are plenty of women I could call, but none of them sound appealing. I’ve grown bored with all the high society princess types, and even worse are the up and coming gold diggers. Yes, they are all eager to please, but it always comes at a cost.
I take a sip of coffee, staring out the window at the busy streets below. My mind wanders back to
the woman who practically crash landed at my feet.
The woman who royally fucked any chance I had of salvaging my meeting. But for some reason, it doesn’t bother me.
There was something about her that sent all of the blood straight to my cock. Maybe it was that sweet voice of hers swearing at me.
Yes, that had definitely done it alright.
Or perhaps it was the fact that I couldn’t quite picture her reaction to me taking her roughly. Would she like it? I have no fucking clue… and more importantly, why do I give a shit?
But that damned red lipstick.
When I saw those plush red lips for the first time, I had an overwhelming urge to fuck that mouth of hers. To punish her harsh words with my cock. Yes, I think I would like that very much. I just have to wonder what this woman’s price would be. Because everyone has a price. It’s something I’ve learned the hard way.
I’m known for my scandalous affairs, the gossip columns always painting me as a cold hearted bastard. But it never stops the women from falling all over themselves trying to get my attention. When women look at me, they either see one of two things, a cushy life as a trophy wife or a publicity boost for their career.
I realized a long time ago that a determined woman will do just about anything to get what she wants. I may have been naive for a little while, but that phase didn’t last long. I was thinking with my heart then, and not my dick. But now, my dick always gets what it wants. And if a woman isn’t willing to provide that, then she is of no use to me. Pure and simple. I always have the upper hand and I’m always in control.
The women I date may not like it, but they sure as hell never say otherwise. They let me whip them and spank them and fuck them brutally all while moaning my name like I’m a God. It’s all fake of course… their eagerness to submit to me. But the amount of fucks I give are exactly zero. I get off on seeing them kneel before me, doing whatever I ask. It’s the one place in my life I have control, and I won’t be relinquishing that any time soon.
It’s not that I hate women because I don’t. There’s nothing better than the feeling of a beautiful woman in your hands and in your bed. I just despise the fact that over the years I’ve come to find out they are all the same. I find their groveling attempts to please me annoying, even though it’s exactly what I want. Call me fucked up if you will, but that’s me in a nutshell.