EMMA, PROVING IT
"You knew it was going to be a long day! Why wouldn't you clean this fucking place up before I got home? Jesus Christ you lazy bitch!" The punch in my gut knocks me to my knees. I should have remembered. Why didn't I remember? This is my fault. He had auditioned all day so of course he's tired. I worked too, but I could have gotten up earlier, or left work sooner…
"I asked you a goddamn question! Now you're too good for me? Huh? Is that why nothing got done? You were out fucking someone else? Huh? Whore!" I scramble quickly to my feet as he grabs me by my hair so he can punch me again. We have to be careful so no one sees my punishments, or else they might not understand. I'm nothing without Jarrett, and I'll die without him. He only does this for my own good.
He reminds me every time.
"No baby, no. I love you. You're my everything," the voice is mine, but I stopped recognizing it a long time ago. Separate and detach. It's easier. I stopped being me a long time ago. Only his version remains now.
"Prove it bitch. Prove I'm the only one you love." As if by remote control, I drop to my knees in front of him and undo his pants. He's angry, so something I already don't enjoy doing is going to be even worst. As soon as he's free of his pants and shorts, he pushes his cock into my mouth. I know the tears running down my face only excite him more, as does my sounds of choking when he cuts off my oxygen. I'm no one to him at this point – simply a wet hole for him to fuck. I touch him where he likes it, perform exactly as I'm expected to. The better I do, the faster this will end.
"Oh ya! Take it all in!" I'm sure the neighbours can hear him scream as he ejaculates into my mouth, watching to ensure I swallow every drop. I smile, showing him it's the best thing I've ever tasted. Maybe if his ego is appeased, that'll be it for tonight. He smiles and starts stroking himself, already starting to become erect again.
I won't be getting off so easy tonight after all.
NOAH, SHE HAS STYLE BUT NO GRACE
"Your three o'clock is now at five, and your five is now at six," Lorna tells me as she plops down one sticky note after another. Christ.
"Lorna? My desk looks like fucking Mardi Gras…" I know I'm being irritable. I don't know why and it doesn't matter. I'm the boss and I can be this way if I want to. And if I want to take my crayons and go home there isn't anything you can do about it. Jesus Christ.
"Since your head has been so far up your ass lately, I colour coded your life for you. Kept it simple so your only screw—ups are personal and not professional." I'm stunned. Or at least I should be. She is my assistant after all. And that's how she speaks to me? What the hell? "Don't even try to pretend to be upset – it's an insult to my intelligence. You're an asshole and you know it." She's pointing her sharp nail at me to drive home her point. Good thing I love her as much as I do. She's amazing at her job, keeps me good at mine and has been with me now for eight years. She's beyond gorgeous which never hurts in business dealings and has the body of a fucking goddess.
Too bad she's gay.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Now tell me my schedule you crazy shrew," I say as nastily as I can. I don't mean it, and she knows that. Still fun to say. She fills me and then tells me that my best friend and CFO Eric needs a few words.
Grateful for the break from Lorna, I make my way to Eric's office. He's three floors below, and I can hear his voice through the door labelled Eric George, Chief Financial Office. I knock lightly and peek my head in. Eric is on the phone but waves me in.
"How many ribs?" Ribs? Who is he talking to? A butcher? "Yeah, lucky. Not your arm, or Christ, a leg." Nope, not likely a butcher. Probably someone in an accident maybe? "Be more careful Nugget, okay? Promise?" Nugget? Who or what is Nugget? "I love you too."
When he hangs up his phone, he stares at it silently. I've known Eric since college, so more than a decade. In all that time, I don't think I have never seen this look on his face. Concern. Upset. Worry. Anger. Sadness.
No. Wait. I have.
When his parents died. About five years ago – car accident. Drunk driver if I remember correctly – he doesn't talk about it. As upset as he was to lose his parents, he was more concerned about his sister. Yes. I remember her. She was a dancer. Tiny little thing, fucking gorgeous and completely off—limits. My best friend's little sister, and she was in mourning. My dick twitches in my pants so ya, he remembers her too. Haven't seen her since, haven't really thought about her since. She was in college at the time, and Eric made sure she finished. Beyond a few other sightings over the years, that's about the extent of my knowledge on the subject. What the hell was her name?
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Noah. That was my sister, Emma." Emma. Yes. That's right. Emma. Now I remember very well. She never completely faded from my memory despite being untouchable due to my friendship with Eric.
"Shouldn't you be happy to hear from your sister? Because you sure don't look like it." What if he got bad news? They don't call me Mr. Sensitive for nothing. Christ. I'm so stupid. He tries to smile, but it looks ridiculous and is a poor imitation of the real thing.
"I'm always happy to hear from her Noah. Always." Uh huh. Who is he trying to convince? I don't say anything though, this has to be his initiative. "She's just so…" Gorgeous? Beautiful? Sexy? Do—able? His eyes flick to me and for a second, I worry he can hear my thoughts. Shit. "She can just be really clumsy sometimes, that's all." I know that's not all, but that's where he leaves it.
Clumsy, huh?
