Chapter 5 - ETHAN
Today has been a long day. Meetings on top of meetings.
Talking to the dumbest people on Earth. I’m currently trying to secure land in Bali to open a holiday resort and it’s proving a nightmare.
It’s gotten to the point where I was fantasizing about all the ways I could kill my Project Development Manager, while he was listing off all the reasons we may struggle to make this work.
I wanted to remove his tongue and peel the skin slowly off his ugly face.
But I realize that’s not a realistic outcome.
I’m becoming restless. Day by day the itch under my skin grows.
For what? I don’t know. I need something to entertain me, to make me feel alive.
I think tonight I will go to my old hangout, and see if that helps curb my irritance.
An old acquaintance owns a bar on the outskirts of the city.
A few drinks and some chill music may prove to be the remedy.
“If you don’t need anything else, I will be off for the night, Ethan,” Lilian says to me. I was miles away, staring out of my window, watching the nightly traffic build up on the streets.
“That’s fine. See you tomorrow,” I say with a nod as Lilian grins and leaves the penthouse.
I have a quick shower and dress into something more casual, black jeans and a light black cashmere sweater.
We are still in Spring so the weather remains mild, with a chill at night.
I text my driver, David, and get him to wait for me as I finish getting ready.
The need for a bourbon and distraction taking over.
About an hour later, I arrive at the bar, the sign like a beacon calling me back home. Starlight. Yes, this is just what I need.
I walk inside the decadent bar that oozes money and sex appeal.
A jazz band is playing tonight so the mood is dark and sensual.
It’s a cabaret/burlesque bar, so you never know what treat you are in for.
Only people with money come here, alongside people with money in the dangerous part of the world. You never know what’s gonna go down.
There are a few tables and booths left, and deciding I want to be hidden, I walk over to one of the dimly lit booths and relax into the leather seats and focus on the band on stage. The guy has a hell of a voice. I immediately start to unwind as my shoulders loosen.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Been a while, Ethan,” a deep voice penetrates my ears and I look up to see a smirking Dima.
Dima is one part of the Kozlov brothers.
Dangerous family. Powerful. Also hot as fuck.
I’ve never considered myself gay. Or straight.
Or anything. If I like it, I fuck it, or even hurt it depending on my mood.
But it’s never been like that with these guys.
We’ve known each other for years and helped each other out a time or two.
We know every secret about one another. They are part of a small group of people who know who I really am. What lurks in the darkness.
Dima sits across from me, and clasps his hands on the table. He’s assessing my mood. Those sharp blue eyes are like an x-ray. He has a talent for reading people. His black hair is styled to perfection as is his beard. I appreciate a man who looks after himself.
“It has,” I say, just as a waitress turns up at our table.
“Bourbon. Neat,” I say, and she nods politely and turns to Dima.
“Same,” Dima says, and she scuttles off.
“So, what are you after?” Dima asks, and I raise a brow at his question.
“What makes you think I need anything?”
“I can see the signs. You’re tense. Stressed. Is it violence or sex that’s on the list?”
“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?”
Dima laughs. A smoky deep rumble courtesy of his love of cigars.
“I am. Come on, Ethan. You only ever come here when it gets difficult or you need help clearing up an issue.”
“Fine. I don’t fucking know what I want. I just need….something. I’m bored out of my mind.”
The drinks arrive quickly, and I take a large gulp, enjoying the soothing velvet liquid that slightly burns my throat as I swallow it.
“How can you be bored? Work not busy?”
“It’s always busy. But boring busy.”
“Maybe you need to get laid.”
“Maybe you need to mind your business and shut the fuck up.”
“Feisty. So it’s blood you want.”
I sigh in annoyance, and he only grins at me.
“I’d forgotten why I stopped coming here. It’s because you talk too much. I don’t know what I want. Maybe both. I’m itchy all of the time.”
“You’re wasted doing what you do, Ethan. You would’ve fit perfectly into our world. You could have done anything you want.”
“Not for me. I like to be alone.”
“I know.”
“Your family would drive me insane with their constant yapping.”
“Oh, you bet they do. Why do you think I spend most evenings here?”
“I thought it was to keep an eye on the husband.”
“Ahh that’s just one of the perks.”
We sit for a while, he catches me up on his life, which, to be honest, I couldn’t give a shit about, but it’s the kind of white noise that I needed for distraction. So I settle down and take advantage.
It’s the end of the week and there is an underlying sense of relief that buzzes through the office.
It’s something that I’ve picked up on over the years while studying my employees.
The change in their behavior when Friday approaches.
Everyone is more eager to complete their work.
Smiles on their faces. Talking more to each other about their plans.
I cannot fathom why anyone cares what someone else does outside of work.
Is all of that interest and nodding their heads emphatically when discussing plans with family real?
Or a lie so that their conversation ends quicker, because the person feels satisfied that they have had their five minutes of attention? So dull and exhausting.
I assess the two women gossiping in front of me.
Sharon and Mia. Sharon is the hotel manager for New York and Mia is my company lawyer.
I have no idea how they got to know each other, but they haven’t taken a breath to breathe in the past three minutes.
You could actually mistake them for sisters.
Both the same height. Shoulder length light brown hair.
Round faces, brown eyes and make-up that looks professionally done.
They even have the same length and color nails.
Dark red. I’m staring at them so hard, completely engrossed in their body language that Sharon must sense me, as she breaks me out of my haze.
“Are you okay, Ethan?” she asks. It’s a very high toned voice that I’ve heard turn shrill when she gets angry with the hotel staff. That’s why I like her. She keeps the machine running on fear.
“I’m waiting for Mia, considering we have a meeting booked that started five minutes ago,” I say, unable to keep the mask in place for a brief second as my gaze rests on her. I hate tardiness. Her face blushes and I can see her pulse beat in her neck.
“I’m so sorry Ethan, I was on my way and got distracted,” she flusters, grabbing her bag off the desk next to her and moving at a swift speed toward my office.
I follow behind her with long strides, enjoying how she is reacting.
I like it. I like the doubt and worry that I can instill.
The over the top responses to please me, rather than annoy me.
It’s powerful. It’s a shame I don’t have a spark of interest as I’m sure I could have some serious fun making her my toy.
I walk into my office behind her and take satisfaction from the little jump I get out of her as I slam my office door. I plan to make her sweat during this meeting. Just to please my inner monster who paces inside of me everyday, looking for a new challenge.
After my meeting with Mia finishes, she heads off to her own office, slightly unbalanced on her feet and rosy cheeked.
After making her squirm for the past hour, I decide to stretch my legs and make myself a much needed coffee.
I don’t have a PA. I delegate evenly to my staff as I like to keep complete control.
As I start to walk down the large corridor to the drinks area, I check through my phone, paying no attention to what is in front of me. This lack of awareness is what changes my life.
I don’t believe in accidents. Not really. But when it happens, when I turn the corner at the end of my office corridor, I collide with a solid, warm body. A hand catches my arm, steady, firm, unapologetic.
“Sorry,” he starts.
Then I look at the man in front of me. This was no accident. This was fate. And everything narrows.
This guy is fucking sexy. He’s only an inch shorter than my six-foot two and close enough that I can feel heat through his clothing.
Dark hair, slightly messy like he has been tugging on it.
The kind of thick hair you want to pull on until he screams while you stuff his mouth with your cock.
Then there are his eyes, large hazel eyes where the green sparkles more intently under the harsh lighting.
They widen as the look of recognition lands a beat too late.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sir.”
Leo.
The name surfaces instantly, plucked from memory with surgical precision. New hire. Mail room. I have a photographic memory and like to know everyone who works at my company. But his picture did him no justice.
I release his arm, though every instinct tells me not to as I watch him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple moving with such force to portray discomfort. Nervousness. My senses peak, like I have scented a mate. I can almost smell the horror emanating off him and it’s fucking intoxicating.
“It’s fine,” I say, smooth, calm, already wearing the version of myself the world prefers. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
I fight all of my inner instincts to remain calm, to portray a normal reaction. Understanding and compassionate. When what I really want to do is grab him by the throat, throw him against the wall and suck on his neck until he cums.
His mouth twitches with a half a smile, half uncertainty. “Still. I should’ve —”
“You should get back to work,” I finish gently. Clenching my fists to keep myself under control. I need him to leave before I do something.
Authority settles between us like a held breath. His shoulders straighten. He nods, professional, obedient in a way that sends something dark and electric through me.
“Yes, sir.”
He moves to step around me where I refuse to budge.
For a second, just one, he hesitates. Our eyes lock. Something passes between us, quick and unnameable. Curiosity. He has questions about me, I can tell. I quickly scan his hands where he is holding a large folder of mail and notice the ring on his finger. Married. Straight?
Without another word, he slips past me, his cologne trailing behind him. It’s very subtle but clean and unreasonably distracting. I stand there long after he’s gone, as my mind is already plotting.
This is new.
Attraction usually comes to me as an abstract thing, an assessment of basic sexual need where beauty is cataloged. Their usefulness weighed and desire is distant but manageable. But this… this is immediate. Physical and borderline feral.
Predatory.
I resume walking, but my mind doesn’t follow. It stays with the way Leo’s pulse jumped beneath my fingers. The way his voice dipped when he realized who I was. The way he looked at me like he was trying to decide something.
Normal people talk about crushes like they’re sweet, inconvenient aches.
For me, it’s a narrowing of my thoughts.
The world reduces itself to a single point of interest. Everything else fades into the background.
Work, money, reputation, all the irrelevant background noise.
What matters now is proximity. To have access and gain control.
I want him.
Not in the clumsy, emotional way people mean when they say that.
I don’t want dates or confessions or emotions offered freely.
I want him — his attention, his reactions, the way he’ll look at me when he realizes exactly how deep this goes.
My thoughts get carried away, I want him to become obsessed with me.
For me to have so much control over his life, I become his oxygen.
Something has clicked inside of me, like a missing puzzle piece that’s activated stimulation of my mind. A purpose.
I retreat to my office, deciding against the coffee, close the door, and allow myself to sit with it.
The hunger.
Leo is a variable I didn’t anticipate. A flaw in the system. I could eliminate it easily and distance myself, maybe transfer him, forget the way his name sounds in my head. Instead, I open his employee file on my computer. I’m impatient to know more.
Leo Jones. Photo. Basic information. Schedule.
I smile. I’m fixated on his picture, imagining all the ways I can consume him. When something stimulates me, or in this case when someone does, I don’t let go. I create a plan.
I’ll be careful. Of course I will, he does have a wife I need to think about, who I need to remove from the situation. But when I do claim him, he won’t feel trapped. He won’t feel hunted. He’ll feel chosen. Desired. Safe in a way he doesn’t understand.
By the time he realizes I’m the center of his orbit, it’ll feel natural. I close the file and lean back in my chair, my pulse steady, my thoughts razor-clear.
Leo isn’t just attractive.
He’s inevitable.
And I am very good at getting what I want.