AN: Hi everyone, this is a random story I began writing today. Not really my best, but I'd really appreciate it if you guys read and review!
God was a male. He had no doubt in that. His proof? The female body.
Darien gazed admiringly at the swelling curves of the young woman clutching onto Mr. Jamison's arm. He was a regular patron at Bella Notte. Like the other fifty-something year old men who frequented the bar, he had earned his fortune on Wall Street, loved the company of barely legal girls, and his wife was in some beach house in Malibu.
Darien had to applaud the elder gentleman's choice of date for the night. She was a pretty redhead with pale porcelain skin and an ample pair of breasts that threatened to spill out of her barely-there top. The hem of her mini cocktail dress left nothing to the imagination: long toned legs and round ass cheeks fell out at the bottom.
"I'm Natasha," she purred, holding out a hand to Darien, her eyelids lowered sultrily.
"A pleasure to meet you." He shook her hand and then bent his head to graze the back of her hand with his lips. Her fingers trembled in his grasp. Darien looked up, pleased that he had affected her so.
"Hello, Darien," Mr. Jamison greeted, handing him the keys to the red mustang parked in front of the valet. "Take care of her like you always do."
"Sure thing, Mr. Jamison," Darien replied, hopping behind the steering wheel. As he shifted the car into drive, he watched the provocative sway of Natasha's hips as she and Mr. Jamison made their way inside of the bar. When they were out of sight, he shook his head in an effort to forget the dangerously sexy redhead.
There were two things that these ultra-rich men took very seriously: their money and their woman. When Joe, two bartenders before the current, was caught diddling with Mr. Caldwell's busty blonde twenty year old, he got cut and spent the night at the ER. Rumor has it he moved out of Manhattan and now resides in Willow Creek, Maine, working the register at a gas station.
He wasn't going to let that happen to him. Unlike most of the young men working at the bar, he had plans—real ambition. Not the type of ambition that would cast him on the next season of the Jersey Shore or whatever it was that people his age aspired to be these days, but the type of ambition that would put him as the head of his own company. One day, he wasn't going to be parking other rich men's cars—he was going to own them.
Not many people saw past his handsome face to the talent that lay interior. It's the same problem in Justin Timberlake playing Sean Parker in The Social Network. No one believes it. They'd rather believe he was an aspiring actor or model or musician, and it frustrated Darien to no end.
Today, he was valeting, but by the end of the year, he would be launching his business online. That thought was the only thing that kept him coming back each day to his minimum wage shifts at the Bella Notte. That, and the enormous amount of cash rich people left in their cars just waiting to be pocketed. And even after the tips, he was barely scraping by in the city.
Part of his plan was to move out to California. That's where all the big titans of industry began: Facebook, Google, Apple, etc. Apparently the soil there is fertile for business.
"Hey Darien," the other valet, Johnny, called to him as he reappeared at the front of the bar, "You're on break now."
"Break? If I go on a break now I'll be going on an NBA lockout and I'm not coming back," Darien joked. He got a good laugh from Johnny.
"You'll come back," Johnny replied, "The lockout is already settled."
"That's because they're getting paid what they want," Darien quipped, "Hey, I'll be in the back if you need me, man."
"Just make sure your ass is back here in 10 minutes."
The Bella Notte was the finest bar in the entire city. It boasted three dance floors, 2 world class restaurants, private theatre rooms, and a live band every night. Claiming the "Most Beautiful Staff" in People magazine, they only hired the best looking applicants. Tall, toned girls in black cocktail dresses served drinks in crystal glasses. Handsome, well-built men in tailored suits waited on tables. And all this added to the ongoing illusion of the importance of beauty, youth, and money in high society.
Passing the hostess stand, Darien was stopped by the sight of a young blonde lady in a prim grey cardigan over a black pencil skirt. Although he could tell that she was from money by the way she was bejeweled, she seemed too demure to be a guest. As she continued to speak with the hostess, she shifted to her left, and Darien caught sight of her face.
She was stunning.
Nearly tripping over his own two feet, he recovered and kept on walking to the employee break room, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from her face. She had wintry eyes, not like ice, but like snowflake blue. Her nose was thin and regal, with a cute button-like end, and her cheeks were full and round and glowing. His gaze lingered on her lips; they were full and pouty and pink and perfect. She wore a thin layer of gloss that made them glitter so invitingly he wanted a taste.
He couldn't shake off how mesmerizingly beautiful she looked standing there in the dim light of the foyer, her angelic brow creasing into a frown. He wondered who she was, why she was there, who she was with. Catching himself before he made the mistake of involving himself with a patron, he forced his eyes forward.
"How's your mum, Darien?"
It was Andrew Finnegan. He had just recently arrived in the United States from Ireland. He joined the Bella Note staff as a dishwasher just a few weeks ago. The hiring managers took their "casting" job very seriously. Andrew, tall, lean, dirty blond, and boyish cuteness, fit the staff requirement exactly. He was twenty-one years old, just a few months older than Darien, and right away they hit it off like kindred spirits.
"She's getting better, Drew, thanks for asking," Darien replied, taking a seat next to his friend on a vomit-colored couch in the break room.
"That's good to hear, mate. I'd like to meet her one day," Andrew drawled, "I'd like to tell her she's raised one hell of a rascal." Darien chuckled, amused. "A rascal? That's the best you've got?"
"That makes you a man whore, don't it?" Andrew grinned.
"It's not commonly used that way anymore, I think," Darien replied, shaking his head, trying to discern his friend's accent. "And I resent that. I am not a man whore."
Andrew rolled eyes. "Right, says the man who has slept with half the women he works with. Jessica just came looking for you."
Darien sat straight up at that bit of information.
"Don't look too excited mate," Andrew said sarcastically, taking a sip from his coffee cup.
"Where did she go?"
"Told me to tell you she'd be waiting out back for you," Andrew answered; there was a knowing look in his eyes.
"Drew, whatever you're going to say, just shut up. I'll see you later," Darien murmured in a blur, and then he got to his feet and briskly made his way to the back door.
He found Jessica standing behind a large dumpster, waiting for him in the dark of night. Jessica was twenty-five years old, and was an aspiring singer, working part-time at the Bella Notte until she could get her record deal. She had short, pixie-cut brown hair that framed her angelic face. She was a fireball, despite her innocent appearance. In fact it was she who initiated their work-place affair.
As soon as she spotted Darien, she slipped a breast out of her black cocktail dress and demanded, "Suck it."
Darien didn't waste a second as he closed the space between them and cupped her soft flesh in his hand, bringing his mouth over the hard nub of her nipple.
"Oh, God….Darien!" She shrieked in pleasure as he began to bite down on her sensitive skin.
"Shhhhh…" Darien shushed her, raising his head from her chest. He began to kiss her carnally, feeling his penis swell in his slacks. "You're going to unzip my pants," he told her, forcing his tongue erotically into her mouth, "And you're going to blow me until I cum down your throat, you hear me?" And then he grasped a handful of her hair and pushed her head down his body.
"Oh, God, yes," She moaned in reply. "I love it when you're like this."
Darien groaned as he felt the wet warmth of her mouth slide along his sheath. She knew exactly how he liked it. Leaning back against the wall, he let himself relax and enjoy the ride.
Ten minutes later, Darien returned to his position at the valet station. The highlight of his night was driving the special edition Ferrari Mr. Atherton just bought. After that, he was just counting the minutes until his shift was over.
"Here you go, Darien, a little something special for you," Mr. Jamison said, folding a fifty dollar bill into Darien's hand as he got out of the car.
"No problem, sir, always a pleasure," Darien said, grinning brightly.
"Do you mind opening the passenger door for my beautiful lady, Natasha?"
"No, not at all, sir," Darien replied, hastily making his way to the other side of the car.
Darien flashed his smile at the hot bombshell, quickly opening the door for her. As she moved to take her seat, she bent exaggeratedly until Darien could see the lacy black thong covering her slit. And acting as though she forgot something, she backed up, grinding her butt against his groin. She straightened and readjusted her skirt, and then sat down.
There was no mistaking the look she gave him as the red mustang pulled away.
"Darien, can you come here, please," a haggard sounding Johnny called to him from the doorstep.
He turned around and saw Johnny struggling to upright a woman who seemed to be inebriated. Grabbing hold of the girl's torso, Darien lifted her up against his body. Her head tilted back at the heaving motion, and Darien was shock to see that it was her: the beautiful blonde from the foyer.
"You're almost off, right?" Johnny asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"Well…can you take her home?"
Darien cleared his throat to hide his shock. "Uhh…Aren't we supposed to call a cab if they get too drunk?"
Johnny looked sheepish. "Yeah…but she's Mr. Caldwell's daughter. He specifically asked that I take her home, but my shift's not over for another two hours, so…I was thinking maybe you can?"
Darien just stared blankly, his eyes shifting from the unconscious angel in his arms to his coworker.
"He gave me a hundred dollar bill, I'll even give it to you if you go," Johnny implored, digging in his pocket for the cash. "You're trustworthy. I don't want Mr. Caldwell to cut me if I don't get his daughter home safely."
"She's Caldwell's daughter?"
"I think so," Johnny answered. "I don't think he's sleeping with her if that's what you're wondering."
"Well, I don't have her keys," Darien said.
"I have them right here. She drives the pretty little Mercedes over there in the corner."
Darien sighed, "Oh, alright. I'll take her, but hand over the money."
Johnny gave him the cash and clasped him on the shoulder, "Thanks man."
"Whatever. Clock me out will you?" Darien called over his shoulder, gently cradling the lady against his chest as he walked towards the car.
The top two buttons of her blouse had come undone in the shuffle, and Darien couldn't help but glance at her creamy breasts, cupped in a pink bra, every couple of seconds as he maneuvered through traffic. They were mesmerizing the way they jiggled with the motion of the car. He was so distracted by them that he almost ran a red light.
Coming to a stop, he carefully reached over with shaking hands to button her top. He did one, and moved up to complete the other when suddenly she woke up with a start.
"Who the hell are you?" She shouted, her hands clasping at the lapels of her cardigan, stretching the material over her chest. Frantically, she checked her surroundings realizing she was trapped in a moving car. She moved as far away from him as possible until her back was pressed against the passenger door.
Darien groaned. He knew this would be a bad idea. "I'm Darien Shields," He replied, "Your father instructed me to take you home, Ms. Caldwell."
"What the hell were you doing? Trying to cop a feel? You pervert!"
"No, I was trying to button up your shirt!" He yelled in his defense.
"Ha!" She snorted in disbelief. "You think I'm that naïve? I may be eighteen, you bastard, but I'm not stupid!"
"No, no." He said, exasperatedly, "I wasn't trying to cop a feel, I promise! Your first two buttons came undone from all of the carrying and shifting you around, and I was going to let it be and stare at your perfectly round boobs all the way to your home, but I felt bad and so I decided to button up your shirt!"
She stared, wide-eyed and stunned by his honest confession. A bright pink blush tinted her cheeks. She let go of her cardigan and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"Well…" she began, clearing her throat uncomfortably, "I suppose you're telling the truth."
"Why would I admit to anything so embarrassing?" He retorted, making a sharp right, and then pulling over to the curb. "And would you mind telling me where you live? I forgot to even ask."
"63rd and Jenkins," she said, laying her head against the head rest and relaxing a bit.
This had to be the single most awkward moment of his life, Darien thought. He dared not look at anything but the road as he pulled the car back into traffic and continued to the Caldwell residence.
"I thought you were drunk," he said, breaking the silence several minutes later.
"No, I fell asleep waiting for my dumbass father," She replied.
"Why were you waiting for him, if you don't mind me asking?"
From the corner of his eyes, Darien saw her shift in her seat, giving him a scrutinizing look. "What's up with that obnoxious red jacket?" She blurted.
"I'm a valet at the Bella Notte," he explained, "This is my uniform. And it's okay, I forgive you for ignoring my question," he responded sarcastically.
"How old are you?" She asked. "No. Wait. Let me guess," she interrupted, squinting her eyes in a discerning manner that was unbelievably attractive. "You're thirty-one."
Darien choked at that vastly inaccurate guess. Admittedly, his ego was slightly hurt. He didn't think he looked that old.
"Twenty-one," he corrected.
"Twenty-one?" She repeated, "Huh, you don't look it."
Once again, he choked at her blatant frankness. Concerned, she reached out a hand and began giving him back slaps, which didn't help at all, because, truth be told, she was only hurting him. Pushing her hand away, he turned to give her a stern look as they came to a red light.
"Well, missy, you are a poor judge of age."
"No," she said in disagreement, shaking her head. "It's that ugly thing you're growing on your face."
He gawked at her blunt disrespect.
"Shave it."
"I'm not shaving my beard," he said.
"Daddy's got plenty of razors at home; I'll gladly shave it for you if you want."
"Are you deaf or just ignoring me?" He shouted, stunned by her outrageous request.
"Oh, please let me shave it! I find razors fascinating!"
"Clearly, you're ignoring me." He decided she was a nutcase. There was no point in arguing with her. Razors fascinating? What kind of a girl finds razors fascinating?
"So, Darien," she began after a pause, "Darien, that's your name isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Do you go to school?"
"No."
"Why not?" For some reason he thought she looked disappointed. "College not your thing?"
"No, I dropped out," he answered, the same answer he told everyone else.
"Oh pity. You seem like a smart guy."
"I am," he replied, surprised by the sincere note of sympathy in her voice.
"Why?"
"Why am I smart? Genes I guess," he replied, slightly confused by the question.
"No, not that," she shook her head as though what he said was the most silly thing she'd ever heard. "Why did you drop out, of course?"
He hesitated, looked at her expectant face and reluctantly answered, "My mom got sick. Cancer. We didn't have the money to start her on chemo, so I dropped out and got a job to help pay her medical bills."
She fell silent. Darien reveled in the peace and quiet, for he felt strangely naked and vulnerable for disclosing such a private detail of his life to a stranger. Yet, something in the way she didn't say anything at all was comforting. She just sat there. Not judging. And he felt relieved.
"Can I shave your beard?" She asked again, breaking the silence. He watched the corners of her mouth curve into an irresistible smile. And he was rendered with one thought: my God, she was beautiful.
An hour later, she was sitting on the bathroom counter shaving the last patch of hair off his chin.
Somehow she had convinced him to come inside. "Please," those snowflake blue eyes had begged, going all big and…devastating. Maybe it was because she had just turned eighteen, but there was something so innocent, so wholesome and so pure about her. She was practically a child, with no guile of experience or age. Hell, he wasn't that much older than her, but he was damaged, messed up, dirty.
Serena Caldwell was born in California. She loved surfing, eating Chinese dim sum, and was an advocate user of Windows Phone. Having just graduated high school she was headed off for college in the fall and was spending her summer in New York visiting her father who worked three-quarters of the year in the Big Apple.
It didn't take long for her to convince him to let her give him a "little trim". One thing led to another and now he stood clean shaven with no dignity left to his name.
"There!" She proclaimed. "I am all done! Now you may rinse your face."
Darien had been shaking in his bones with worry what she might do to him with that razor in her hand. He couldn't even shave without cutting himself at least once, and somehow he was supposed to let her shave the beard he'd been growing for the last month.
She scooted over on the bathroom counter to give him access to the sink. He felt strange, having her look on as he washed his face under the running faucet, but from her angle to the mirror he could see the crevice between her breasts so he didn't say anything of it. When he finished, she handed him a towel, and he patted his face dry.
"There," She said, pleasantly, "Now let me look at you."
"How do I look?" He teased, grinning broadly as he turned to face her.
As her eyes looked upon his smooth chiseled jaw, her mouth fell open. She stared at him in a weird way that he didn't understand, and he asked, running a hand over his face, "What's wrong? Am I so deformed you're speechless?"
She shook her head, suddenly incapable of finding words, despite how chatty she was earlier. "You look…" she began, abruptly looking away.
"I look?" He prodded.
"You look twenty-one," she finished, her perfect lips stretching into a breathtaking smile.
He returned her smile. "That's better," he teased, chucking her lightly under the chin.
When he noticed she was avoiding giving him eye contact, he moved closer to her, tilting her chin up with his thumb and forefinger. "Are you okay?"
She was blushing. It was clearly evident even beneath her California tan. And she was warm to his touch; so very warm and soft, he wanted to get just a little closer.
Before he knew what he was doing he was kissing her, and he was pretty sure she was kissing him back. She was tentative at first, soft, gentle, but then she became bolder, lifting her chin up, offering her heavenly lips up to him. Without leaving her lips, he took her arms and wrapped them around his neck. From there he got all the encouragement he needed, she tightened her fingers in his hair and pressed into the kiss with such force he felt his own knees buckle from the pressure.
Ravenous now, he grabbed hold of her thighs pulling her toward the edge of the counter until her legs straddled his waist, her pencil skirt bunched around her waist forgotten. Lifting one hand, he gently nudged her mouth open for the invasion of his sensual tongue. He plundered her mouth slowly, lingeringly, masterfully, until she was shaking with desire.
She was literally trembling, clinging on to him for support. He knew from her soft moans that she didn't want him to stop. And he had no intentions of stopping.
Feeling her legs tighten around him, he ran his hands through her golden tresses and began to pull them away from her shoulder. As he did so, he began to trail hot, wet kisses along her jaw to the crook of her neck, where he began to suckle desperately, making her gasp in ecstasy.
"We shouldn't," she managed to sob as he began to unbutton her blouse.
The hazy blur lifted from Darien's mind, and he let go of her. "You don't want to?" He asked, embarrassed by his uncontrollable behavior.
"No, no, no," she shook her head, laughing almost manically, "I want to too much, that's the problem."
Darien smiled then. "I won't do anything you're not ready for," he said reassuringly, placing a hand on her knee.
At the friendly gesture, however, he saw her eyes smolder as she raised her gaze from his hand to his face. "Good," she whispered, hoarsely, slightly afraid, slightly excited. And then she did something that was totally unexpected. She grabbed his hand and slid his fingers along the inner part of her thigh until he could feel the wet warmth that emanated from her centerfolds.
"I want to go all the way with you."
With those words said, Darien lifted her by her round buttocks off the counter and out of the bathroom. "Where's your room?" He asked, in between searing kisses on her lips.
Fumbling through dark halls under Serena's muffled directions, Darien finally laid her naked form onto the cover of her silk bedspread. She watched him in awe as he yanked off his shirt, revealing his sinewy chest and rippling abs. He grabbed her hands and placed them on his belt, which she did not hesitate to undo, sliding his pants down his legs so that he could step out of them.
Desperate to be inside her, he ran a finger along her open slit to feel her wetness. Feeling the dripping liquid, he thrusted one finger into her warmth and was surprised by how loud she moaned and thrusted her hip. He withdrew his finger and thrust it back inside, slowly fingering her, watching the tense expression on her face as he did so. She was whimpering ever so softly, heightening his sexual arousal, he couldn't wait much longer. Moving his finger away, he positioned his hardness along her opening and—
"Wait!"—
But it was too late, he had sunk his weight into her, and she let out a painful gasp.
Realization dawned on him then. She was a virgin. "I'm so sorry," he apologized, his breath heavy, "I didn't know." He struggled with every ounce of restraint he had to keep himself from thrusting forward into her tight sheath.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and as he watched it, he felt like a complete ass. He began to withdraw himself.
"No, no!" She insisted, wrapping her legs around his hips. "Don't pull out. I'm ready."
He shushed her, and continued to withdraw until only the tip of his manhood was inside of her. Slowly, he began to gyrate his hips, teasing the walls of her womanhood, until a low moan elicited from the back of her throat.
"Oh, God…" She breathed, arching her hips slightly.
Inch by inch, he moved deeper into her, gently thrusting back and forth until she was begging for all of him.
"Please….please…" Serena whimpered, sweat dripping down her body.
That's better, Darien thought. He knew how to do it right for a girl's first time. Appeasing his guilty conscience by the sobbing cries of pleasure he was able to get from her, he then let himself slide his entire length into her.
"Serena," he panted, "I'm going to…ahh, screw it." She was thrusting her hips against him, fucking him hard and fast.
Lifting her hips to his, he began a hard and steady rhythm in and out of her wetness until he felt the stirring of fulfillment in his loins. She was pretty close too, he could tell, because of the way she was restlessly thrashing against him, purring and scratching and arching her back. He told himself to hang in there, to keep going, that she was close to orgasm and he had to let her come first, but…
"I'm coming!" He shouted, quickly withdrawing as jets of white spurted from his penis splashing Serena across her stomach and chest.
She lifted herself on her elbows and watched in amazement. "So that's how it looks," she said, before collapsing exhausted onto her back.
As he left the penthouse apartment, Darien gave himself a mental slap. Did he just have sex with Mr. Caldwell's daughter? He didn't know if he should be happy that he had just had the greatest sex of his life, or to be scared that Mr. Caldwell would come after him with a knife for defiling his innocent daughter. Either way, Darien couldn't get Serena off his mind. Walking down the steps into the subway, Darien let his mind relive the feel of her naked skin against his and the sound of her impassioned moaning. He wondered if he would ever see her again.
End Note: Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you think.