Even through the phone I’m there with him. His designation echoes across the line so much I swear his honey scent gets more and more evident.
I hear him grunt. “Fuck!” And as he comes, he doesn’thide one noise from me. My pussy gushes thicker with slick, fire licks up my back so hard and fast I bow off my bed, but I don’t drop into the abyss with him. I skate along the edge. And while it’s a beautiful place to be—suspended in pleasure and promise—it’s where I stay.
He laughs under his breath but it’s not condescending or demeaning, it’s the noise I think lovers make when they’re both spent and heartful.
“I like this. And so, you know, it’s not a one-off. We’re doing this. Until you agree to meet with me in person, Sin, I’m going to be your long-distance lover. Faithful. Hungry. Determined.”
I laugh and continue to rub my fingers through my swollen, slicked-up pussy. Just because I didn’t come doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy myself. My body is buzzing softly and for now just knowing I can nearly get there is better than remembering the pain of Brody’s brutal ownership.
“Photos. Long sex sessions. You’re my inspiration now and one day I’m going to write lyrics on your body with my tongue.”
I sigh happily. And while he starts humming a strange melody, my eyes get heavier and heavier.
Chapter
Eight
SIMONA
My phone died during my nap. The positive was Ryder didn’t get to hear me freak out realising I only have a few hours to get ready for dinner with Brody.
Leaving my phone charging, I race through a shower before slathering copious amounts of the Unity provided products. Since Brody had an issue with the desensitizer, at least he’s already aware I’m using it, and saying it’s a requirement as a student is a lot less dangerous than confessing how much his scent makes my stomach turn.
As much as I don’t want to, I log out of the profile I have for my Ryder interaction, before I also mute my Scorned Girls chat, and log out programs, even going so far as deleting them off my phone in case Brody demands to go through it.
Leaving a note on the kitchen island for the girls, I let them know I am out for the night. There’s a sense of relief at someone knowing where I am. My faith in Brody is non-existent and this way, at least if anything goes wrong, people who care know where I am.
There’s a car waiting for me when I walk out of the gates at Unity. Not a town car or a limousine, a yellow cab. The only thing that would be of concern is if I was in heat, because the cab doesn’t have any protective shields between me and the driver. The joke is on him, though, as the driver is a woman and by the looks of discontent on her face, we share the same views on men.
“Are you Simona Vanderling? I’m getting paid for this, child, so what I’m gonna say is all business and none of me, all right?”
I drop my eyes so she doesn’t see my eyes roll, but I tip my head to the side slightly as a sign for her to continue. I was looking for a seatbelt, but there is none. It’s nearly poetic really, considering I’m on a collision course in life.
She clears her throat then starts talking in a more masculine tone. “You’re late. We couldn’t wait.” She takes a sigh before handing me an envelope. “Apparently, I was meant to pretend that dumbass dropped this in my cab for you to find. But, girl, he didn’t even put his ass inside my car.”
The envelope is heavy and has an expensive feel to it. Lifting it up to my nose, I get a hint of the cab driver’s scent along with Brody’s, but under it, more predominant, is something familiar. but with the pressure of her gaze and anxiety thrumming through my veins, I can’t quite put my finger on it.
The drive is finished in minutes. I probably could have walked the distance in under fifteen minutes, but the drive is also a message.
I dig in my purse, pulling out a twenty, and I go to hand it to her even though she already told me she got paid. The money isn’t something I can afford to throw around becauseof course Brody is still being a tight ass when it comes to my allowance. I feel like I owe her, regardless.
“Yep, you clearly know who set up this whole fake ‘look at what I found’ drama shit. But I’m not taking your money, honey. I have a feeling you’re going to need all the help you can get if you’re meeting that unfortunate excuse of a man. Between us women though, don’t you forget any man comes at you and you don’t feel safe, you knee him right in the ball sack and scream fire.”
She nods her head then pulls into traffic without a backwards glance. I’m left standing in front of a restaurant straight out of the movies. The exterior a masterpiece of monolithic architecture—the solemn grey facade paired with aged black-framed windows draped in ivy. It reminds me of something meant for rich supernatural creatures, as if it’s unattainable for ordinary people. Judging by the line stretching down the sidewalk, it’s unattainable for most.
Considering it’s Brody I’m meeting—and knowing he wouldn’t have bothered making arrangements with the door man to let me skip the line—I take my place at the end of the queue. Naturally, it moves slowly. For the first twenty minutes or so, I watch the people who arrive after me, half-listening to their conversation while mentally preparing myself for the dressing-down I’ll get because of how long it’s taking me to get inside.
The line shuffles forward. I take a step, and the envelope from the cab slips out of my bag. Swooping down to grab it, I realize I’d forgotten about it—my mind busy bracing for the night with Brody instead. Dread pools low in my stomach as I tear it open, already knowing it was left to inflict some kind of hurt or damage.
Lifting the edge of the envelope, a small black card slides out, and the world gets ominously quiet. Turning the card to see if I can figure out what the heck it is, the metallic strip onone side and the name of ‘Porte Noire’ on the other doesn’t give me much to work with.
Another mystery for me to solve. Great.
“Name?”
The terse, bark-like question from the security man at the door startles me, and I realise why the conversation behind me has fallen silent. I step nearer so I don’t need to raise my voice like he did, stopping at the bottom stair, unsure if I’m supposed to be on the landing beside him. Much like the restaurant’s imposing exterior, he’s just as intimidating. If not for the air of superiority radiating off him—emphasised by the caustic arrogance on his scent—I wouldn’t second guess myself as much as I do. But that’s the nature of this place. It’s all about power here, and apparently the man working the door holds more of it than me.
I raise my head but not my eyes. “Vanderling. I’m part of a dinner reservation under the name of Henderson.”
