The Revenge Games Duet
I climb off him, laying against the seat and taking a deep breath. He pulls me back onto him, a slight struggle as my dress tangles on the heel of my stiletto. His stare—deep and with intention—only makes me more self-conscious.
I’m not like any of the Hollywood women. I pluck my eyebrows and never professionally wax anything. I think life can be solved with a razor and tweezers. Once, Phoebe made me go to a beauty salon so she could get false eyelashes for prom. I remember sitting there, flabbergasted. The lengths that women go through to beautify themselves. Mama once told me that women would kill to have my lashes.
Then there is the whole body-image thing. I expect only the finest of plastic surgery tonight—artificial breasts and pouty lips, Botox faces and still expressions.
“You’ll run circles around these women. They know it. You’ll feel the wrath of their jealousy. And the men… you just stay by my side.”
“But…”
He kisses my lips, softly, pulling back and gazing at me with his mesmerizing eyes. “You’re beautiful… and mine. Stop worrying.”
The calm of his voice eases my concerns. I pull myself off him, resting into his side as we continue the drive. I take note of his advice. This will be the first time I have ever attended such an event. I’ve done the prom nights, weddings, and the occasional bar mitzvah but nothing that involves rich people throwing around their money for a charitable cause.
The car turns the circle, past a massive stone fountain, and parks out front. The driver courteously opens the door, guiding Wesley out first. Wesley extends his hand, allowing me to hold on as these new stilettos are difficult to balance on.
I wonder if the driver sees anything behind the privacy screen, but as I watch his goodbye, he remains professional and doesn’t let on anything.
In front of the main entrance, a white strip of carpet leads to double doors which open, courtesy of the doorman. He kindly offers to take our coats. Wesley has his suit jacket on which he hands over without a thank you, and I take mine off, revealing my dress in full. I thank him, unsure if I need to tip him, but I’m not left with much choice as Wesley whisks me into the foyer.
“Again, you look sexy as fuck.” He kisses my neck, not caring that people lingering in the foyer are gazing at us.
“You said I dress like a nun.”
“Well, if nuns dress like this, I will be lining up at the convent begging for forgiveness.”
I slap his arm gently. “You look handsome… okay, kinda hot.”
“Kinda hot?”
“Okay, you look hot. But if I focus anymore on your hotness, I can mop the floors with my panties,” I tease, the excitement running through me.
“Damn, and here I was thinking you were going commando.”
“Maybe I am. What if I said that to throw you off? Nothing like an unsolved mystery of panties versus no panties.”
As if commando isn’t my thing. I haven’t even graduated to a thong. I’m wearing this lacy number—French cut which is as small as I can go without my ass cheeks hanging out.
He shakes his head, laughing. “Save it for later, baby. And thanks for your visual.”
With my hand in his, he leads us to the main room but not without a cheeky gesture of ‘accidentally’ brushing my hand against his crotch. He’s rock hard, testing me with a delicious smirk that only fuels the desire burning through me.
We enter the large room filled with guests. It’s such a beautiful room with high ceilings and fancy chandeliers that light up the room and create a warm ambiance. Each wall is covered in expensive-looking artwork, though put together with the lighting and silk drapes makes the room look amazing.
People are standing around, happily chatting in small circles. Almost everyone is wearing black or white, a few wearing some daring colors and stand out in the crowd. A waiter walks past carrying a tray of champagne, which brings attention to my thirst. Wesley grabs two for us, at least, I thought they were for us. Instead, he drinks both of them, one after the other.
Annoyed, I grab my own and follow on cue.
“Waiter,” Wesley yells, annoyed. “We aren’t done yet.”
The waiter, a young fellow, looks rather bored and uninterested at Wesley’s rude behavior. To avoid coming across like rich snobs, which I’m not by a long shot, I grab another and thank him kindly.
“Why don’t you just go to bed with him,” Wesley bellows, out of nowhere.
“What did you just say?”
“Never min
d.”