Chapter 6 – Julian
Tell me that wasn’t the best sex I’ve had in months. Maybe years, if I dare to be so bold.
Alyssa is more woman than I’ve encountered in that long, anyway. She may be younger than most of the other women 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 fuck 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 cock had been in her. Hell, it had made her come so hard I almost lost complete control of my own orgasm. That never happens.
I text my chauffer that Alyssa will be coming down to my car. I include a copy of her company ID card so he’ll know what she looks like. Because Alyssa is going to obey me. She’s going to 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 politics. I deserve a night or two of unwinding pleasure with a woman of the moment. By the time Alyssa comes to work Monday afternoon, I’ll have taken every one of her holes at least twice over. She’ll be mine in everything but legalities.
If I wanted, I could make that happen too.
Preston returns at 10:30, as I’m cleaning up the last of my raunchy rendezvous off my desk. My clothes are in order, and I’m as composed as ever, but I can’t yet hide the scent of Alyssa’s sex and my semen all over her soft skin. One step in my office, and Preston takes two back in mock disgust.
“Open a window, man.” I’m already ahead of him. I’ll let the office air out overnight. Staff will close it for me early tomorrow morning.
Alyssa’s black cotton underwear pops out of my top drawer. I toss them at Preston, who catches them with a start. “Some tangible proof,” I offer. “In case you think all I did was jack off.”
“We once shared a place in college. I know what the room smells like after you’ve done that, thanks.” Do other men talk about that? Preston does. It doesn’t bother me anymore. There are a lot of things he does that no longer faze me. “Wow. You did it. I guess you really can fuck any woman you want.”
“I’ll be fucking her again tonight.” I pack up the last of my things for the weekend and adjust my tie in my illuminated computer monitor. I then turn that off too. “You have good taste, Preston. She was more than adequate.”
“Which means she was amazing.” He tosses the underwear into the air. “Good for you, man. Me, I’ll be licking my wounds over a lost bet and no girlfriend of my own 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 actually 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 wanting to pay their bills. “Besides, I’ll be plenty busy for a while.”
“Right, right. 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 other women off me.” I’ve slept with 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 actually is your girlfriend.
“Enjoy yourself.” Preston gives me a half-assed salute before showing himself out of my office. “I’ll get you in Rio soon enough, though. You can’t escape a vacation forever.”
I wait for Preston to get the hell out before turning off my monitor and tucking the leather strap of my briefcase across my chest. That way I can use both hands to carry the extraneous folders and books I don’t have room in my briefcase for.
When I’m not exploring the depths of Alyssa’s virginal 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 woman in between bathing, eating, and pouring over figures.
Like Alyssa’s figure. Damn me for still thinking about her. The last time a woman has occupied my mind like this was…
Damn. I don’t think one ever has. I’ve had women that 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 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. Wife, children… perfunctory. No dreams of mine.
Perhaps one day I will find a decent enough wife who will agree to an arrangement that is beneficial to the both of us. Her job will include having my heirs and keeping my image agreeable to 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 Alyssa 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.
What that means for her position in my company? Too early to tell. If she’s willing to stay but keep quiet, I don’t care. Or if she’s willing to go with a small, under the table settlement to tie her over until she finds another position? Even better.
I nod in farewell to the security personnel on the ground floor. One steps out from behind her counter to open the glass doors for me. I barely spare her 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 own vehicle. “Where is the woman I sent down here?”
“I have not seen her, Mr. Marcus.”
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 chomp to ask me for money. Portland is insufferable even during the day. At least at night it’s a bit quieter.
Too quiet. I should hear Alyssa’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 get any of my work done.
Alyssa 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 screwing 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 hard-on I woke up with. What am I, fourteen? Because this was no ordinary morning wood that I’ll get whether I want it or not. This was a direct reaction to Alyssa’s mere existence.
So I did what any other man 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 personal gym.
So it went for all of Saturday. I even called my brother, which should tell you how badly I wanted to get Alyssa off my mind. My brother and I don’t get along even on the best days, and yet we still converse as if we’ve always been ol’ pals talking about girls and cars. 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 actually involved with the planning of his wedding is one significant difference.
“Make sure you bring someone acceptable,” he says with a drawl. “I can’t have my best man bringing one of his usual tawdry stewardesses or bargirls.”
“When was the last time I brought a low-class woman like that to a wedding?”
“Last year? Henry Warren’s wedding?”
I struggle to remember who I took to that particular 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.”
I cringe. Something else that is absolutely not my sort of thing.
My brother laughs at my obvious discomfort on the other end of the phone line. “One day, Jules, it’ll be your turn. You’re not getting any younger. Cupid will snap your ass with his love-towel at some point.”
Only Ted Marcus will talk to me like that. He gets away with it only because he’s my older brother.
At least he’s the distraction I need. After I hang up, I’m still fuming over my circumstance with my brother. The man hasn’t had to work for much. Since he’s six years older than me, he’s had ample time to take over the family business that splits its time up and down the Pacific coast. Right now Ted is in LA, where he met his intended. Jordan’s decent enough, I suppose. I don’t care about that. I care that my brother doesn’t take his job as CEO of my family’s business more seriously. As for me? I’ve worked my ass off for the business I established with Preston, and that was with minimal capital from my father. I come from privilege, naturally, but I used up most of my own money establishing my now lucrative career. How the hell would I have had time for this love bullshit Ted loves to dabble in? This will be his first marriage, but far from his first whirlwind romance. He’s rather infamous for his serial monogamy, so we’ll see how long this marriage lasts.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to obsess over a woman I currently don’t have.
That must be what it is. Obsession. Every once in a while, a woman comes along whose body is enough to hypnotize a man until he’s a mere shell of his former self. It was bound to happen to me at some point. Unlike my brother’s assertions, however, I won’t succumb. This is a mere, temporary annoyance that I will get over in due time.
One terrific way to do that would be by having her here with me.
My investigator has long returned the information I required. Personal information, of course. Contact information. I start by personally calling Alyssa.
I’m sent straight to her voicemail.
Instead of leaving a message, I hang up and text her. “This is your boss. I would like an explanation for your disappearance last night. When you’re doing apologizing, I want to meet you somewhere. Tonight.”
Nothing. No reply. For hours.
Hours I could spend working. Instead, I continue to obsess.
The curve of her throat.
The mounds of her breasts.
The little sounds she made as I opened her up to a brand-new world she’s always desired, but never tasted before.
The scent of her body as it begged for me.
The damn feeling of her wrapped around my cock and turning me into a man I rarely indulge in.
I’d be disgusted with myself and my complete lack of self-control, but fuck it. I’ll nip this in the bud by continuing to fuck Alyssa until I’m finally sick of her.
All right. That was harsh. When I’m finally bored with her.
A part of me worries that something happened to her last night. She disappeared without a trace or a word. She won’t respond to me. The only reason for that must be something unfortunate happened. Back to my phone I go, calling my investigator and asking him to confirm Alyssa’s safety.
Two hours later, he emails me photos of her sitting by the window in a café. A pen is in her hand, a large textbook opened before her. I had forgotten she was still in college. That’s how young she is. Even more reason to be over her soon.
Really, though. She’s blowing me off for homework? I could hire her a tutor or a Pulitzer Prize winning author to write her term paper. There’s no reason for any woman to reject me when I have enough money and the right connections to take out whatever obstacle is in our way.
The investigator gives me the name of the café. It’s a few neighborhoods away from here, but I could drive there within twenty minutes.
No. No, that’s ridiculous. And a complete waste of my time.
It’s late Sunday evening. I should be in bed, resting up for my early morning meeting at the office.
Besides, Alyssa will be there, and the sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I’ll see her. Assuming she hasn’t quit.
She hasn’t responded to any of my messages. Today, I sent a dozen red roses with a note, asking her to get in contact with me. Nothing bad, I assured her.
I want to see her again.
I want her again.
I’m reaching critical mass here. Every five minutes I get hard at the thought of her body pressed against mine, aching for me, her tender voice begging me to fuck her again. I’m her first, after all. Before, that would have meant nothing to me, but now I want her to be obsessed with me back. Aren’t women supposed to obsess over the first man they have intercourse with?
My ego is honestly not on the line. The only thing on my line is my God damned sanity.
How dare she reject my offers of communication? The least she could do is openly turn me down. That’s better than this silent treatment. I’d rather have her scream and yell at me that I’m an awful man than hear nothing at all.
It’s ten at night, but my personal assistant Vern is used to me calling him around this time.
I go over the usual bullshit for the next day, particularly pertaining to the meeting, but before he becomes confident that our conversation is over, I say, “I need you to type up a memo to distribute to the offices tomorrow morning. It needs to go out as soon as you get in. It must be the first thing every employee sees when they open their company email.”
“Yes, Mr. Marcus.” The pause tells me Vern is opening up a new note tab on his computer. “Go ahead and tell me what to write.”
“First of all, I’m taking on a second assistant, at no risk to your job. As of tomorrow morning, Alyssa Pendleton is my second assistant.” I adjust my Bluetooth as I approach my window and gaze out at the blinking lights of a sleepy northwestern city. “There’s something else, too.”
Vern asks me to repeat myself multiple times regarding the second note, because his disbelief is that overwhelming. Am I stuttering? I’ll say what I have to say a hundred more times if that’s how long it takes for his brain to work again.
After I hang up, I call the head of my company’s HR department. There are a few matters we must sort out. Now.