Only Pretend (3 page)

The room was huge, a giant king bed filling one side and hardly taking up space. I barely glimpsed the bathroom, but I certainly noted the huge spa tub.
This room! Mine would have cost three-hundred? How much is this one? Jesus!

He set my bag down by the wall, fingers working at his jacket. "That should be better. Less cumbersome." The clothing fell onto a chair. Fiddling with his form fitting white button-down, Leonide glanced at me. Whatever he was about to say, I cut him off.

"Oh my god, that view!" Brushing around him, my nose touched the giant window. It stretched to the ceiling, looking down on the Christmas-colored lights of Vegas. I'd never seen anything so gorgeous. If all I got from this trip was this moment, it was worth it.

Leonide's steps were soft as feathers on the rug. I didn't see him until he was close enough for his breath to tickle my ear. "A drink, before we return to the vibrancy of the casino.”

Twisting away, I spotted the two thick glasses of copper liquid in his hands. On the clear surface, his nails were immaculate. "Oh, sure," I laughed nervously. My mouth was parched; it wasn't from lack of drink.
God, this man is beautiful. Why is this happening to me?
Me, Celeste Barstow. Even if I was trying to NOT be boring, the fact was there were hundreds—if not thousands—of beautiful women downstairs. Here I was, just feet away from a man who could certainly get the attention of one of them.

Why waste his time on me?

Taking the glass, I sniffed curiously; notes of almond, of smoke and fire. It burned righteously down my throat, brought more fog to my fluffed skull. The concoction was
strong
, and I...

I was not.

"What is this?" I asked, turning the container in the light.

"Does it matter?" His glass was empty. "If something is delicious, does it matter what it is created from?" He was standing too close, watching me with those onyx eyes that threatened to pull me under.

I need to say something.
Instead, I just gazed at his wicked smile. Such full lips for a man. How would they feel, gliding along my own, tasting—
No! Jesus, focus yourself, Celeste. You don't know this guy, you're halfway to wasted and in his hotel room. What are you doing, what do you want from this?

The answer was on the tip of my memory. Looking at the window, I caught my reflection. Blonde hair, flushed, heaving chest. My dress was a glove, hugging my breasts and hinting at the hard tips of my nipples.

Right then, I wasn't Celeste Barstow.

I didn't
need
to be.

I don't want to be boring. If I have to play pretend to make that happen...

Fuck it. I will.

The last of the alcohol ran down to my gullet. Leonide had asked me something. I blinked, saw him take the empty glass from me. His skin was so warm where it touched mine, so kind and gentle.

I realized I was leaning on the window, the surface chilly on my shoulder. Standing was hard, thinking was... harder.

"Celeste?" My name was candy when he said it. I let the sound coil into my ears, shut my eyes and felt myself stumble. "Celeste!" Then he had me, catching under my arm to let me stabilize. "Easy there, maybe that drink was too much for you."

Hair tickled my nose; was I looking at the floor? "No, it was... it was really nice. Sorry, I don't drink much."
No, don't tell him that! Remember, interesting... be exciting, be cool!
Lying was so difficult with my brain washing away.

He led me to the bed. The sensation of his strength excited me, left me lonely when he released my arm. Under me, the mattress yielded. "Just relax a moment," he whispered. "I thought you could handle more than that. My apologies."

Leonide brushed hair from my face, guided it behind my ear. Looking up at him as he bent over me, I was stiff. All I wanted to do was look at that wonderful face, to lose myself in his smell and smile for the rest of my time.
Thought I could handle more, he said.
Guilt ran hard into my guts.
He said I was interesting, I'm making him think otherwise... I...

I needed to do something.

Maybe I just wanted to justify it. It was impossible for me to know, especially then. The edge of his smirk felt decadent on my lips. I'd never been the one to kiss first, I'd always let men take the lead.

Not boring, not boring, I won't be...

He curled his hand on my neck, trapped my hair. Tingles spread from the roots in waves that made me inhale sharply. Leonide didn't
need
to hold me still, to crush his lips to mine while holding me there by my nape. He didn't have to control me in any way at all.

But... fuck if I didn't like it. I'd never felt my pussy throb in connection with my breathing. Hell, was I breathing? It was a struggle to think about anything beyond his tongue grazing my teeth.

Under my back, the bed springs shifted. I was lying down without knowing when I'd fallen—or been shoved. I was just there, his weight on me like a familiar blanket.
How far will he go?
I wondered, blinking when he pulled away.
How far will I let him?

Crouching over me, Leonide studied my face. Two fingers ran down my cheek, then tugged my lower lip. "Beautiful." The word was ample; I loved his god damn accent more and more. "Am I moving too fast?"

Closing my mouth took a second; opening it was slower. "No."

His smile was tainted by something. "Good."

Inching down my body, his beard rubbed over my collar bone. I'd said he wasn't moving too fast, yet the sensation of him fondling my left breast tightened my spine. I wanted to sit up on my elbows, to get a better look the lower he went. Moving was a chore. "I feel weird," I mumbled.

He left embers where his fingers scraped. "I feel it too, Celeste. Perhaps it's love."

My eyes rolled to the ceiling; had I shut them?
No, not love. Something is off.

Reaching under me, he pulled the zipper of my dress. Leonide tore the garment down my thighs, peeled me like a piece of fruit. My blood was pumping, thighs feebly pressing together while he stroked over the front of my panties. Dazed as I was, I could still feel my own slickness through the material.

Everything in my mouth was numbing. I wanted to say something, didn't know what. Leonide spoke first. "You smell intoxicating." His words tickled across my barely hidden lower lips. "Tell me, are you a virgin?"

The question caught me unprepared. I tried to lift myself, to look down my body and see him. It was all too hard, shadows dancing in my vision. "I—what? Why?"

His response was quick, fingers spreading my skin roughly. My moan was wild, silky underwear digging into my soaked slit. "Have you fucked a man before? Your boyfriend?"

I felt the blanket on my cheek. It was cool on my melting face. If I bit it, maybe I would stay silent... avoid answering his embarrassing question—

With deliberate purpose, he thumbed my swollen clit through the fabric. "Celeste."

"Yes!" I gasped, delirious from arousal and—and something more. Surely just alcohol, except nothing in my muscles felt right. Nerves were decaying, more than just his expert touch should have caused.

Over my own heavy breathing, I heard his morbid sigh. "Pity."

Why is that a pity?
I wondered.

"It's fine." He tore the clothing from me, the air caressing my exposed pussy. "There are other things worth cultivating than chastity." Bending deep, Leonide sank his tongue into my wet pinkness. What feeling I still had, it resonated there. My center, my very being, it all became involved with the pulsing ache of my loins.

He whispered things, lapped and tasted me like I was a fine meal. Jones had never done that; I'd never let him. I wouldn't have called myself a prude, I'd just been shy about letting anyone touch me so intimately.

It had taken someone as direct as this stranger—this man I didn't know beyond smell or voice—to make me give in.

He must have sensed how on the edge I was. Tension boiled, my knees vibrating as the orgasm rose. Two fingers curled inside me, my walls hugging down as heat exploded. I was too weak to scream; I whimpered instead.

Chuckling, Leonide slid free. His weight settled over me. I knew he was there, why wouldn't my eyes open? Darkness was taking me under, energy fleeing. "There's something to be admired about the classical blonde," he said against my throat.

Groaning in my throat, I felt myself falling. Far above, in a black world somehow more dangerous than the abyss I was tumbling into, I thought I heard him speak again; I couldn't have. I must have been dreaming, drunk on sex and alcohol and the power of being someone I was not.

"Yes. I do love a good American whore."

Dreaming. That was all it was.

I was content to dream forever.

Celeste

––––––––

I
t held my limbs. Copious, dripping and squeezing my mind and memory until I was lost forever in the void. I'd never dreamt like that.

I'd never awoken with hands on me, either.

Bit by bit, I began to resurface. My ears came awake first, working so hard to make sense of what I was hearing.
Voices?
The pattern was clipped, mixed—
Yes, two people talking over me.
My joy at understanding was lost to fear.
Why are there people touching me, what's going on?

As if my eyelashes were glued to my cheeks, I couldn't make myself look.
Why won't my body listen to me?
I was a swollen, cotton-stuffed head floating in nothing. No limbs to touch, no way to feel what was around me.
Open eyes, fucking—open up! Look around!

Panic was what did it.

Blood pumped in my veins, sluggish but growing. My flesh felt like it still slept, numbness that was vaguely aware of sliding along something.
I'm being dragged.
There was a pain hatching in my head. It split across, one temple to the next.
Open up, eyes. Open up.

Open up!

Blurry. So blurry, I thought it hadn't worked. The sheet in front of my face was yellow; my own hair. My chin was hanging, sight fixed down towards my feet. I
was
being dragged! Heels scuffed along a smooth floor, brown so dark it could have been old blood.

Rocking my head to one side, trying to see who was pulling me, was my first mistake. Instant nausea, warm vomit exploded across my chest and dripped to the floor. Coughing, I felt myself stop moving. The voices chattered, high pitched. As off as I was, it was clear they were angry.

Then we were moving again. It was short, that time; the loud wail of a heavy door shutting behind us. Foreign hands dropped me. Too weak to hold myself, I rolled on my side, lungs still shuddering. My stomach wanted to be free of whatever poison was in me. And, still, my brain was in chunks as I hurried to understand what was going on.

Where am I? What was I doing before I—what? Fell asleep?
It was all frayed, thoughts that washed away before letting me near. The door open, shut, then opened again. I didn't know how long it took, if I passed out again or not. Time was disintegrating for me.

The music of running water got my attention. Voices came, hands lifting me carefully. I couldn't stand, but whoever had me was strong. My head dropped to one side, and finally, I saw the woman. She was taller than me, or was it because I was slumped on her? Red curls tied in a knot so tight it threatened to rip her hair from her scalp, a thin lipped mouth; I didn't know her. I didn't know her at all.

Someone spoke. My eyes took forever to move, finding the other girl across the room. She knelt at a deep tub, speaking in a language I didn't know. This one looked stocky, wide shoulders supporting both muscle and curves. It was like someone had mashed together a farmer and a classic baker, disturbingly grim and motherly at once.

I wished I could lick my lips. The urge to speak, to cry out, was welling in me. Instead, the red-head dragged me towards the tub. Standing fluidly, the thicker woman brushed back her dark braid and looked me up and down. They spoke briefly, tones low.

Together, they stripped my clothes off of me. Through my horror, I saw the black dress. It jogged something deep in me, memory dropping like rotten fruit.
That's right! I was in Vegas. I... why was I...

My stomach swirled, guts going hard. I would have been sick again, yet it seemed everything in me was already out. I noticed I had no panties on, nothing under that dress. The air was far away, my skin too dull to feel if the room was hot or cold.

The dark-haired stranger mumbled something, touching the top of my head. The other girl laughed, the sound itching at my bones. Inhaling feebly, I found the strength to make a pathetic sound of argument.

The women froze; I swore they shared a look.
Leave me alone,
I thought desperately. That was not what they did. If they read my mind, my appeasing stare, they ignored me. Rolling up their sleeves, the two lifted me gently into the tub.

I was grateful for my numbness when they began to wash me. Each stroke they made with their rough sponges, how they spread me open to leave no part of me untouched... all of it fueled my disgust; my rage. It was the razor coming out, the red-head holding it to the light, that caused terror to crawl back inside my cells. The whole time, I willed my limbs to work.

One of them lifted my legs, straddled my knees open on the edges of the tub. Not wanting to watch, I used all my energy to turn my cheek to the porcelain. Nothing could hide me from the feeling, the scrape of metal on my exposed nethers.

I heard the girls mumbling, didn't know about what, of course.
The language they're using, it sounds... familiar. I should know what it is.
Heavy, their accents. I'd heard it before.

Pulling me from the tub, the braided girl held me steady as the other dried me with a towel. It was coarse, my skin pink and tingling from the heat. I was sure, now, that I had been drugged. The concoction was a mystery, but it had left me near paralyzed.