The Charade
Authors: Evelyn Rosado
Men like him reminded me of two words – run away. More like three. Run away - fast.
When Victor St. James went on stage to claim his
prize,
his intentions were beyond clear. “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” he said whispering deep into my ear. The warmth and moistness of his breath enchanted me. His voice - velvety and smoldering - propelled a chill throughout my blistering veins.
Instantly, I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
But why did he choose me? There were a dozen girls ahead of me and his paddle didn’t raise once. Not a single time. He sat smack dead in the front row – it’s not like he didn’t see the other girls. I had to outweigh them by almost fifty pounds. All they did the entire night was sip lemon water and twist their forks in their salad.
Why me? They were much prettier than me and their dresses were more expensive and more stylish – with labels by designers I couldn’t pronounce. I agonized over the moment my name was to be called. I stuck out like a sore thumb among those girls. Just my luck, my name would be called last. Why me? Did they pity me? If they did, they would have called my name first. Maybe they were making fun of me.
It was too late to run. When I heard my name called, I prayed I didn’t trip up the steps; my knees knocked that severely. The lights were so bright they blinded me. All I saw was the sparkle from half empty champagne glasses and expensive diamonds. The lump in my throat grew by the second. The lady with the microphone began the bidding at ten thousand dollars.
Dead silence. I stood on that stage feeling about two inches tall.
I just knew no one would bid on me – even if we all were there for charity.
Then he raised his paddle, saving me from any more humiliation. There weren’t any other bidders. “Sold to Vincent St. James for ten thousand dollars,” the host said. The room rang in applause and I exhaled a huge sigh of relief. “Mr. St. James, come and claim your prize.”
I quickly regained my senses after Mr. St. James uttered those words to me. I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or turned on by what he said. Who did this man think he was? Should I have slapped him in front of everyone or spread my legs eagle for him? The boldness of this man.
I didn’t care how much money he had or how attractive he was. I just didn’t sleep with strange men after mere minutes of meeting them…anymore. I could tell he was a man who hadn’t heard the word no since the age of twelve. Unphased on the outside, I kept showing the audience my pearly whites.
As we walked off hand in hand, I looked behind me to see if my pussy hadn’t dripped a trail on the stage of the ballroom. This had to be a practical joke I thought, but as we sauntered backstage, I didn’t see any flashbulbs, video cameras or microphones. Joke or not; he was very convincing. And it made my pussy hot as a firecracker.
“Go to the bar. Order one drink. I’ll send for you in twenty,” he said as we stood backstage between the darkness of the curtains. His domineering voice made you want to do anything he said or if it came down to it, bend to his will. I obeyed his order. What was I to say - no? I was his date for the night. How many times in my life would I be able to look back and say I was a billionaire’s date?
I waited at the bar for an hour. The condensation from my whiskey sour formed a small pond on the bar top. I took another sip. By now the smoky, auburn liquid had lightened from the ice melting in the glass. A drop of water spilled off the bottom onto my thigh. I jumped from the surprise.
The situation floored me. Maybe because he knew all the other men picked the rail-thin model types and just didn’t want me to feel the agony of standing there in the silence with no one bidding on me. Or maybe he
was
interested. His eyes had been on me all night. Up and down my legs. At my breasts. At my lips. He looked at me as if I was his unknowing target on the jungle floor and he was ready for my flesh to be between his teeth. I looked behind me to see if someone was behind me. I sat closest to the wall - there was no one except me.
He was Victor St. James - the man of the hour. His charity co-hosted the fundraiser auction. I had no business being there if Chandra hadn’t asked me to take her place – she had the tickets and couldn’t make it at the last minute. She said
something
came up. Perks of being the lifestyle editor of a local, trendy magazine I guess. I didn’t want to go, but it was time for me to return the favor of her watching my dogs when I was away in Aruba for ten days.
A gentle hand came upon on the contour of my lower back. "Mr. St. James is ready to see you now Miss Yancey," the gentlemen said.
That was the moment my heart drummed like a piston about to blow. Each step towards the lobby caused my breath to stifle. The logical side of me said I was a fool for meeting a man whose first words to me were about what he wanted to do to me sexually. The other side…well…the other side of me wanted to find out if he would live up to what he said. My bed had been ice cold for weeks.
This was crazy. I didn’t care if it
was
for charity. Who talks to someone like that? This wasn’t the movies. This was a mistake, but why were my legs continuing to move towards him?
He stood at the elevator. His hands clasped when he saw me, making a loud slap. He stood over six feet tall. His broad shoulders and thin waist formed a v-shape in his tuxedo. His jaws and mouth were speckled with brown hair. His hair was trimmed to a close-crop – an irresistible shade of bistre.
I sauntered towards him. He moistened his lips with his tongue. His lips – unforgivable. His smile – dangerously alluring. He was dressed impeccably, tailored to capital
T.
Clad in a slim European-cut black tuxedo and cufflinks that shined so bright they would make a blind man turn away. He looked fresh from photo shoot from an international men’s fashion magazine. His gorgeous exterior intimidated me.
His sugar-brown eyes scanned me from the loose strands of hair on the top of my head to the red toenail polish which adorned my feet. His eyes were sinful.
“Welcome,” he said. He extended his hand to me. His hand dwarfed mine. He lifted my hand and planted his lips on top of it. I always thought this was the corniest thing for a man to do, but to have it happen, it was very beguiling. “Shall we begin our evening?”
“Let’s,” I said. He pushed the button marked 20 and ushered me into the elevator by the small of my back. He was raunchy one moment and full of gentlemanly manners the next. Who
was
this man?
The doors slid close to a metallic thud. I stood in the corner of the elevator. I pondered if he could see my teeth chattering between my jaws. “We haven’t been formally acquainted. It’s rude of me to not have introduced myself. For that I apologize,” he said.
“It’s okay.” The confidence dripped from him. Even though he
had
to be no older than thirty and had boyish good looks, there was nothing boyish about his demeanor. I knew what I was there for, so why was I afraid to give in? Maybe if I didn’t give in, he would
make
me. Maybe I
wanted
him to.
“My name is Vic. Victor St. James.” His voice reverberated off the gold plated interior. He tilted his head down, like a panther in heat. He inched towards me, further cornering me in the elevator.
“I’m Natasha. Natasha Yancey.” The closer he came, the more handsome he became. He paused in front of me; his russet eyes drank me in. Our bodies stood no more than a half an inch from each other. The heat radiating between us poured over me, tightening my throat. This man knew how to make a woman’s pussy throb with anticipation. He played a seductive game of chess. And he played three moves ahead.
“Pleasure to be of your acquaintance Natasha.” He reached over and pushed the emergency stop button on the panel. Our bodies jerked up and down from the sudden halt. What was he doing? Would anybody catch us? I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I was his for the taking. “Do you find me intimidating, Natasha?” I loved the sound my name made rolling off his tongue. I yearned for my nipples to be rolled off his tongue next.
“No…I-I don’t.” The air thickened by the second. He exhaled a smooth hiss. My palms began to sweat. We stood suspended in the elevator shaft, trying not to remind myself that I was claustrophobic. I was more concerned with
his
shaft.
“Good.” He nodded up and down. “Very good.” His index finger graced my jawline down to my chin. It sent a current from the top of my spine down to my sex. I choked on a breath when he grabbed my hip and pulled my body to his. Our lips met each other’s. His soft lips melted into mine. Victor’s tongue teased the tip of my mine. It graced every crevice. He flicked it, then his teeth bit it with the just the right amount of softness to drive me insane. He grabbed my ass and his tongue explored deeper into my mouth. His hand raked through my hair and then gently held my face. His scent was intoxicating, the smell of sandalwood and authority. The taste of his lips - marvelous. I could’ve sucked them forever. “Tonight this entire hotel will know my name from you screaming it so loud.”
My lips quivered – the ones on my face and between my legs. I knew for a fact he wasn’t telling a lie. A man that confident, almost arrogant of his sexual prowess was so attractive. Any man besides him wouldn’t be able to pull it off so well.
His hands grabbed the bottom of my dress. His skin moving steadily up my thigh causing me to moan. My dress hiked up to my waist, exposing my feminine parts. “Mmmm. You smell so good,” he said in my ear. His hot breath moistened my ear. “I wonder what you taste like.” He laughed. He enjoyed this dance between us. “I want to taste you.”
I nodded up and down; my eyes shut and rolled in the back of my head. His finger swiped my slit. I was so hot, I could’ve burned down the entire city block.
His hands gripped my hips and hoisted me up into the air – my back made a thud against the elevator wall. His strength was immense, handling me like a ragdoll. My legs rested on his shoulders and Victor buried his face into my sex. His lips teased my pussy his with kisses.
His tongue swirled up and down, wetting my entrance. He pursed his lips against my clitoris, swelling it in size. He kissed it, making more juices flow. His tongue lapped up every drop. His kissing turned to sucking. The smacking sound drove me crazy it was so hot. He moaned while my sex was in his mouth. His tongue flicked against my hot button in a circular motion. The licking started slow, then graduated to rapid pace. I moan uncontrollably.
“Oh my god!” I said. I balled my fists, trying to catch my breath. Victor slurped loudly, teasing his tongue against my fleshy cavern. Finally he buried his stiff tongue into my pussy. I trembled under his touch. We went in and out, fucking me with his tongue.
Right before an orgasm was about come crashing down, he brought me down to my feet. He stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked the juices off. He closed his eyes and reveled in the flavor. “This is just the beginning,” he said. He slid my dress back down. I leaned against the wall. My throat was dry and I panted. The way my heart raced I thought I would go into shock. I tried my best to gather myself – this was only the appetizer. The main course next.
He sneered at me with a devilish smirk, scheming the entire time. He smelled the hesitation, the apprehension, the unworthiness on me. “I’m just getting warmed up. And so are you. Your little pussy will set this room ablaze after I get done with you.”
I believed every word he uttered. Victor St. James didn’t strike me a man who went back on his word. His tongue already made me a believer – I wanted to experience what his cock had in store. If we were to be trapped in that elevator, hanging by a thread, close to death, it wouldn’t have mattered. The only thing on my mind was my naked body being taken by him like a thief in the night.
I dripped with anticipation. He buttoned his tuxedo jacket and tightened his bowtie as if he were to enter a meeting with a board of directors. He pulled out the emergency button and we ascended to the thirty-first floor. This wasn’t real, I thought to myself. In a few days I’d be back in my meager studio apartment, wondering how I would pay rent in the coming autumn months. I didn’t deserve the fantasy. I just didn’t match with his lifestyle. But his touch made me feel entitled to any and everything in his world.
We exited the steel doors – I thanked my lucky stars I could walk straight. He slid the key card down into the slot and a green dot lit up. The doors cascaded open to the presidential suite. It felt straight out of a James Bond movie.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked heading over to the expansive bar. There was every variety of wine at our disposal: from the sweetest grapes of Argentina to the vintage Malbecs of Spain.
“Sure,” I said. He whipped out two glasses and opened the bottle of cabernet sauvignon with a corkscrew.
“Relax. Sit,” he said. His fingers gestured for me to sit down on the sofa. I kicked my heels off, preparing for his body to mount mine. The sheets were a chocolate brown and made of the softest silk. The thread count had to be over nine hundred.
His eyes locked on my body as he walked closer to me, holding two glasses of red. “Cheers,” he said. He handed me the glass. Every move he made - measured and charismatic. My irises studied in awe the glorious way he held the wine glasses. He had me eating out of the palm of his hand.