Chapter 6
Julianna
Tell me that wasn’t the best sex I’ve had in months. Maybe years, if I dare be so bold.
Alessa is more woman than I’ve encountered in that long, anyway. She may be younger than most of the others I date, and she may be inexperienced in a few things, but there’s a spark in her I’ve never recognized before. I thought it was a passing attraction. She would be a convenient lover to hold me over until I found someone worthier of my time. I didn’t expect her to be more than worthy.
I’m still thinking about her after she leaves my office. She may have washed up in my bathroom, but her flushed face and the careful way she walked broadcasted that I had made her mine. Anyone who saw her would know my touch had been on her. Hell, it had made her come so hard that I almost lost complete control of myself. That never happens.
Ever.
I text my chauffeur that Alessa will be down to my car. I include a copy of her ID, so he’ll know what she looks like. Because Alessa shall follow my whim. She will be waiting for me when I get downstairs. She’ll do whatever I tell her for the rest of the night. Maybe the weekend.
I’ll focus on tonight for now. It’s been a long week of dealing with international business politics and the even stranger workings of local business procedures. I deserve a night or two of unwinding with a woman. By the time Alessa comes to work Monday afternoon, I’ll have taken every one of her erogenous zones at least twice over. She’ll be mine in everything but legalities.
If I wanted, I could make that happen too.
Presley returns at 10:30 when I’m cleaning the last of my rendezvous off my desk. My clothes are in order, and I’m as composed as ever, but I can’t hide the scent of Alessa’s sex and my passion all over her soft skin. One step in my office, and Presley takes two back.
“Open a window, please.” I’m already ahead of her. I’ll let the office air out overnight. Staff will close it for me early tomorrow morning.
Alessa’s black cotton underwear pops out of my top drawer. Presley happens to see them “Some tangible proof,” I offer. “In case you think all I did was make her miserable.”
“We once shared a place in college. I know what the room smells like after you’ve done that, thanks.” Do other women talk about that? Presley does. It doesn’t bother me anymore. There are a lot of things she does that no longer faze me. “You have to be kidding me, though. I don’t recall saying you should sleep with her. Damnit, Marcon, you’re going to get us fucked in the news one day. Then what? The last thing anyone in this town needs is the headline ‘Femme CEO Fucks Her Interns’ in the Willamette Weekly. I didn’t even know she was queer.”
I ignore every word she says. “I’ll be seeing her again tonight.” I pack up the last of my things for the weekend and adjust my scarf in my illuminated computer monitor. I turn that off too. “You have good taste, Presley. She was more than an adequate conversation partner.”
“Which means she was amazing.” Presley tosses Alessa’s underwear into the air. “Good for you, Marcon. Me, I’ll be licking my wounds over a lost bet at Kitty’s Corner Club.”
“Your latest and favorite strip joint?”
“You haven’t seen the women there.”
“I don’t need to.” Strip clubs do not amuse me. Those women aren’t interested in me, for one. Second, I can find women more than willing to take their clothes off for me anywhere. I’d rather hire an escort for a night of no-frills business than be surrounded by men and lethargic women trying to pay their bills. “Besides, I’ll be plenty busy for a while.”
“Next you’ll be telling me you’re taking your new girlfriend to your brother’s wedding.”
I shrug. “Maybe I will. I’ll need a date to keep the single guests off me.” I’ve dated women I’ve met at weddings before. Never again. Better to take a woman posing as your girlfriend than to go stag.
Even better if she is your girlfriend.
“Enjoy yourself.” Presley gives me a half-assed salute before showing herself out of my office. “I’ll get you in Rio soon enough, though. You can’t escape a vacation forever.”
“Watch me.”
I wait for Presley to get the hell out before tucking my briefcase strap across my chest. That way I can use both hands to carry the extraneous folders and books that don’t fit in there.
Wait, where’s her underwear?
I search the drawer and beneath my desk. Presley. Did she take them on purpose? On accident? I make a note on my phone to ask her about it later because right now, I have other things to think about.
When I’m not exploring the depths of Alessa’s fascinating body, I plan on getting some decent work done at home. Glad I cleared my schedule. I was going to relax because spending a weekend at home with a stack of work is my idea of a vacation, but I don’t mind exerting myself with a beautiful lover in between bathing, eating, and poring over figures.
Like Alessa’s figure. Damn me for still thinking about her. The last time a woman occupied my mind like this was…
Damn. I don’t think one ever has. I’ve had women who completely captivated me whenever we were in the same room together, but I rarely think of specific ones when I’m alone. I suppose there is some hyperbole in there, but as far as I’m concerned, I speak the truth.
Women don’t interest me outside of the occasional bouts of fun. That isn’t to say I don’t care about them. I vote, I donate, I stay educated on causes, particularly the ones my mother hates the most – since that probably means they’re worthwhile. Yet outside of the occasional date, the only time I engage with other women is in the office. My father encourages me to at least get engaged, especially now that my brother’s wedding is on the horizon, but I’ve never cared much about marriage. Spouse, children… perfunctory. No dreams of mine. Why bother, if I’m not 100% invested? It only leads to resentment and unadjusted adults.
Perhaps one day I will find a decent enough wife who will agree to an arrangement that is beneficial to us both. Her job will include having children I can’t be bothered to carry and keeping my image agreeable with the public. Otherwise, I don’t care what she gets up to behind the curtains, and I expect the same in return.
So these thoughts of Alessa haunting me as I step into the elevator and head down to my car, where she will be waiting for me, must be the result of great sex. I’ll be over her by the end of the weekend, surely. I will then make her sign every NDA my lawyer can draw up and pay her off to keep her mouth shut about me becoming carnally intimate with every inch of her body. It works every time. Presley has nothing to concern herself with.
I nod in farewell to the security personnel on the ground floor. One steps out from behind his counter to open the glass doors for me. I barely spare him my thoughts as I hurry to my limo parked alongside the curb, motor purring. My driver opens the door as soon as he sees me.
The backseat is empty.
I refrain from entering my vehicle. “Where is the woman I sent down here?”
“I have not seen her, Ms. Marcon.”
The dark sidewalk is empty this time of night. Buses roar by in the background. A few blocks up, parties let out, drunken revelers booming their voices until they echo between buildings. A few drug dealers are surely out tonight. Someone’s probably biting at the champ to ask me for money. Downtown Portland is insufferable during the day, no matter how empty it is these days. At least at night it’s a bit quieter.
Too quiet. I should hear Alessa’s voice greeting me as I slip in beside her.
“Drive around the block so we can look for her.” I already know I’m not going to see her again tonight. Either the woman’s so daft she can’t find a huge limousine waiting right outside the buildings, or she’s disappeared on purpose.
I’m too annoyed to give a shit. Yet I still give enough of a shit to contact my private investigator yet again.
Something is wrong with me. Something so incredibly vexing that I’m unable to work.
Alessa has not left my mind. I thought a good night’s sleep would make me forget her, or at least forget how she slighted me. Instead, I woke up this morning with a dream suspending me between a blissful slumber and a stark reality.
I dreamed about making love to her. Again. Again. Again. My subconscious couldn’t decide if it wanted her tied up in my bed or bent over my kitchen counter. Either way, she was mine, and I made sure she knew it.
Absurd. Almost as absurd as the physical need I woke up with. What am I, fourteen? Because this was no ordinary sex dream desperation that I’ll get whether I want it or not. This was a direct reaction to Alessa’s mere existence.
So, I did what any other woman in my unique position would do. I meditated until my mind was clear of such bothersome, unproductive thoughts.
Unfortunately, they came back only two hours later when I was in my gym.
As it went for all of Saturday. I even called my brother, which should tell you how badly I wanted to get Alessa off my mind. My brother and I don’t get along even on the best days, yet we still converse as if we’ve always been old pals talking about girls and the opera. Naturally, all Ted wants to talk about is his wedding. For as similar as my brother and I are in a lot of aspects, the fact he’s involved with the planning of his wedding is one significant difference. God, I can’t think of anything worse than planning a wedding.
“Make sure you bring someone acceptable,” he says with a drawl. “I can’t have my best woman bringing one of her usual tawdry stewardesses or bargirls.”
“When was the last time I brought a low-class woman like that to a wedding?”
“Last year? Helen Warner’s wedding?”
I struggle to remember who I took to that social function. “That was my accountant.” Well, one of them. When you have six on one team, who keeps track?
“Even worse, Jules.”
“I’ll make sure that whoever I bring to such an auspicious event has your stamp of approval. Give Jordan my best.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it for the bachelor party.”