once she learns my true identity;
I do as I was told. I count to thirty after I hear a door close, stand and turn to my left. I didn’t hear him approach, but I felt his presence before a single word was spoken.
“Stunning as ever, Miss Smith,” his deep, sexy voice has my body reacting in a way I shouldn’t allow. Goose bumps instantly freckle my skin from his warm breath brushing over the sensitive area at the crook of my neck. He hasn’t touched me yet but I know he will soon. My body anticipates that heated moment of when he can’t help but place his hands on me.
Although I have yet to see the man who holds my attention this very moment, I can tell you for certain that The Shadow is just about six feet tall. I came to this conclusion based on the fact that I am five foot six and when you add another five to six inches with my stilettos, I can feel his sweet breath brush my lips when greeting me.
I hate that I haven’t seen The Shadow’s face, but it’s exciting at the same time. My hands have learned the curve of his trapezoid muscles down to each bicep, while my fingertips have committed to memory every intricate line that defines his chiseled chest down to his six-pack abdomen that forms into the sexy V that even a nun would find difficult to resist. The man was blessed with a cock that requires both of my hands while my tongue runs up and down the length of his hardness before I take him into my mouth as far as my gag reflexes allow, when I’m gifted the opportunity to suck him off.
I don’t have to see his face to know he’s beautiful. My fingers have traced his strong jawline that is dusted with a manicured beard that feels fucking amazing between my thighs when he’s working his magical tongue over my pussy. His nose is perfectly symmetrical and his mouth has the softest lips I have ever felt. He heats me from the inside out no matter where he touches or kisses my body.
He brings my wandering mind back to the now when he wraps an arm around my waist pulling my back to his front.
“Sip,” he whispers right when I feel the rim of a glass at my lips. I already know it is champagne from the fruity scent and the sound of fizzing bubbles. Gladly, I take the drink he offers, enjoying the sweet sensation of the chilled liquid sliding down the back of my throat.
“Mm,” is about all I manage audibly. I don’t know where he gets all of these fabulous wines and champagnes but they aren’t your typical two-buck Chuck you would buy from the grocery store. He hasn’t given me a bad wine yet, but the merlot and champagne are by far my favorite.
His lips brush against my cheek, and then I hear him take a sip from what I can only assume is the same glass of cold bubbly. I hear him set the glass down before he turns me to face him; my hands immediately find his biceps to brace myself. My heart rate just kicked up a notch knowing that soon his perfect mouth will be on mine, possessing me in way that should be illegal.
“Precious,” he hums my pet name after gently cupping my face, dusting his lips ever so lightly across my lips before completely claiming my mouth. The sweetness of the champagne still lingers on his tongue. All I can think about is that I want to devour this man. Each soft flick of his tongue against mine causes me to sway on my feet. I’m light headed and my legs are wobbling like they are made of Jell-O. Wetness continues to pool between my thighs from the skilled movements his tongue has mastered over our time together. He’s kissed me plenty but something is different about this kiss; it feels as though he’s cherishing it more, if that even makes any sense.
The Shadow reads my body well, knowing just how wet I am from that mind-blowing kiss. He removes one of his hands from my face; seconds later that same hand slides up under the hem of my dress, between my legs, meeting the heat at the apex of my thighs. My body involuntarily shudders when his fingers glide over the barely-there lace fabric that separates our skin on skin contact of his fingers to my slit. Every sense is heightened when one is taken away from you. With each calculated movement The Shadow makes, he knows he has me on the cusp of an orgasm without even trying; teasing me, not taking me fully over the edge. It’s almost painful but I relish in the prolonged foreplay.
“So fucking wet, precious. The things I want to do to you could potentially be illegal.” His voice is deeper, huskier, which is his telltale sign that he’s ready to move our two-person party onto something with less clothing.
“Tell me you want my cock,” he hisses between clenched teeth, grabbing my hand, and placing it over the thick bulge that is restricted by the slacks he is wearing.
“I want your cock shoved down my throat until I can’t swallow anymore,” I pant out my request while his fingers continue to work their way across my soaking wet thong. “Then I want to suck you off until you coat the back of my throat with your hot, thick- Oh dear god,” I moan, clutching onto his bicep to keep myself vertical when his fingers quickly move the lace fabric to the side, allowing his fingers to slip inside me.
“Fuck,” he growls, removing his fingers just as quickly as he inserted them, causing a short-lived whimper to escape my mouth before I’m picked up and slung over his shoulder, completely catching me off guard. Thank god, he’s walking with the same sense of urgency that I feel too. I want this man to set my body on fire and scorch out the flame, as only he knows how to do. He makes his way hurriedly down a corridor. I only know it’s a hall by the way the sounds of his shoes make bouncing off the closed in space. It isn’t long before he swings me back over his shoulder carefully, holding me close as my body glides down the length of his until my feet connect with the carpeted floor, and I can stand on my own accord.
“Goddamn, I want to be buried deep inside you. Precious, forgive me—” but before he finishes his sentence or I even have time to ask why he would need forgiveness, my brand-new dress is shredded down the middle, stripped from my body, and leaving me in only my black lace thong, matching strapless bra, and red “fuck me” heels.
This story isn’t about love, like, lust, or a happily ever after. This story, my story, is about struggle, pain and suffering. Fighting to stay afloat while being pulled under by what feels like the murky and powerful undertow of the ocean. Fighting for strength I so desperately need when all I am feeling is desolate and weak. I’m a girl who exudes hatred when a normal girl of my age and pedigree should be the picture perfect portrait of love.
Alcohol consumes me. Drugs numb me. Sex for money feeds the hollow abyss deep within me. How does a soon-to-be twenty-five year old escort turn her life around when the last several years of her life has been spent traveling down a very dark path?
She became my obsession, my every thought. She is the reason I wake up in the morning, plotting, scheming, exacting a revenge she so desperately deserves. But will she take my offer once she learns my true identity; sees the darkness within me, or will she hate me for lying to her all of these years, leading her to lose herself to the drugs and alcohol that have kept her ghosts at bay? Will she be my Precious?
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