Pierce My Heart - J Leigh
The perfect sister. Well, perfect is never truly possible, but I come very damn close. At least, I do when it comes to being a sister. At only one year older than Alexis, I’ve always been more like a second mother. I advise, protect, reassure, and, as in this case, help her obtain her goals.
Alexis is one of New York’s top marketing executives. With my tutoring, she graduated with her master’s from Yale two years earlier than average. I found her the internships that stood out, and she was quickly hired. After some smart investing, she bought out the company.
Of course, the fact that she’s also the most demanded model for her campaigns didn’t hurt either. Unlike me, Alexis was tall, slim, stunning. Everyone’s eyes flew to her when she walked - more like glided - into a room. Her nearly black hair was perfectly straight, sleek, shiny. Her dainty, delicate features were small, save her large doe eyes. Those hazel gems melt even the coldest of hearts and bring the strongest of men to their knees.
Those eyes and their ability to sway others to do their bidding is what brings me here today. Again, to the fact that I am the perfect sister. Alexis might look perfect, she might make others believe she is perfect, but when it is all said and done, I am the perfect sister.
Alexis came to me yesterday with her predicament. She had been invited to two New Year’s Eve parties. One is being held in Jamaica, hosted by the young cruise line tycoon, Brock Holder. Alexis has been trying to not only catch his business, but also catch his eye for years. The other is being held in New York City by Killian Pierce, the head of the Pierce Empire, who owns more businesses than beaches have grains of sand. So I thought her choice would be obvious - get the bigger business deal. It’s only logical!
To my dismay, however, dear Alexis came to me with her big hazel eyes filled with unshed tears, begging me to attend the Pierce party in her stead. When I pressed her for reasons, she began with the fact that she truly believed Brock Holder was “the one”. She was the typical younger sibling, still believing in a prince charming out there waiting to whisk her away on his trusty steed…or in this case, his trusty luxury yacht. I have no doubt that she will succeed in this endeavor. After all, everyone wants Alexis!
I, on the other hand, have never known the feeling of being wanted. I was the accidental pregnancy and didn’t hold the newborn beauty that was expected in a daughter the way Alexis did one year later. To add insult to injury, I became the broken daughter when I was diagnosed as Type 1 Diabetic at four years old. Brains I had, beauty I did not. Likewise, I had inner strength, but my body was broken.
As I went through school, I had difficulty forming friendships. I was never in a class of academic peers, only “peers” of age. I found it tedious to dumb down my words just to speak to the other children. So, in turn, I was bullied for being smart, “having a disease”, sitting out during certain activities in P.E. so my blood sugar wouldn’t drop too low, and being unwanted in general. Homecoming court was Alexis’ life, whereas I passed through school without friends, or boyfriends, finding solace in books. Here I am turning thirty in a few weeks and still haven’t been on my first date, which is fine with me since there really aren’t any Mr. Darcys in the world anyway.
Even now, I wonder just how disappointed Mr. Pierce will be when I walk into his party as my sister’s proxy. I know I can handle the business, but something tells me this invitation has more to do with Alexis the beauty, not Alexis the business woman. Imagine his disappointment when he gets Jimi the brain instead. Not only that, but I will be breaking the parameters of the invitation as well.
The Pierce party is their annual Blood Ball Benefit. Women are to wear red, men to wear black. It is a fundraiser for various diseases of the blood, and the red is symbolic. The event is formal, so tuxedos and evening gowns are expected. I assume that the other guests will fall in line with these stipulations to appease Mr. Pierce, but I cannot bring myself to wear red.
While Alexis got her dark brunette hair from my father, I was not as fortunate. I inherited my blond mother’s father’s unearthly red hair, hair the color of blood. Truly, apart from boxed dye, I have never met another human with hair as deep a dark red as my grandpoppy’s or my hair. Being diabetic and having this hair fueled the name calling as a child - “blood girl”. Wearing red clothing intensified the taunts, so I vowed to never don the color.
This brings me to my current state. I am now in an elevator with a man twice my size heading up to the penthouse of the most glamorous skyscraper in New York City. Self-consciously, my fingers try to smooth the black velvet gown against my curvy body as if they have the power to make the dips of my body disappear. My insulin pump is discreetly tucked into the built-in bra cups with my ample breasts concealing it, yet I keep nervously glancing at my reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator to see if it’s poking out awkwardly. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unused to wearing heels. I honestly wonder why women have sex, when taking off a pair of heels is more than orgasmic!
The ping of the elevator draws my attention. I try to fix myself quickly before the door opens. Just as I move my clutch to my other hand, the big security guy advises, “You need to relax. I can practically smell your nerves and hear your frantic heartbeat.”
I smelled her before I saw her. I know that sounds creepy, but it’s true. Unlike every other woman at this Gala, she wasn’t wearing perfume. She smelled clean, pure, sweet, perfect, but there was something else - a medicinal smell that tainted its perfection. When I set my eyes upon her, I realized that not only is she unique compared to the other women by not wearing expensive cologne, but she was also not wearing red as I’d specified. To my amusement, however, her hair was the most glorious shade of red I had ever seen!
I stepped away from whomever had been speaking to me. One perk of being me is that I’m given allowances in social settings that others aren’t. Case in point, the buffoon who was speaking only stutters himself to a quiet, yet he still thanks me for my time as I step away coldly.
She differs from every woman here in every way. The others are tall, slender, elegant as if they are each part of a ballet taking place amidst the Blood Ball. She, however, isn’t part of their dance. Her velvet gown hugs her full, curvy, hourglass of a body. The back is open, but her bare back is hidden behind red waves and curls that shimmy across her skin like flames. It seems she knew that there were no pins that could tame its unruliness. Her low back, however, is exposed, the soft velvet beginning just above the crest of her rounded ass. No, she isn’t part of the ballet crowd; she is a far more dangerous dance indeed.
I walk up behind her and place my hand on that delicious patch of exposed skin, resisting the urge to slide my hand into her gown. “I’m not sure we’ve met yet,” I observed, my voice low and seductive. Much to my merriment, I watch as goosebumps spread across her flesh in response.
She turns to face me, and the air leaves my lungs, sucked away by the shock of her beauty. The golden flecks in her brown eyes sparkle as they meet my gaze. She has full cheeks with a slightly squared jaw. Her nose is straight, not small, but not large either. Her lips are full and broad. She has a face after which the greatest of Grecian sculptors would’ve modeled the goddesses. Anyone who truly knows me knows my appreciation of such art.
She juts her hand out, “Jimi Onasis. I am here on behalf of my sister, Alexis Kincaid.”
I take her hand into both of mine and hold it. “Killian Pierce. I will need to send your sister quite a thank you gift for sending you rather than attending herself.”
Jimi laughs, her head thrown back and eyes closed. I must have missed the joke, but I’m glad it caused this reaction. Seeing her like this only causes me to envision her with her head back and eyes closed for other reasons.
“I’m sorry to laugh. Never has anyone said such a thing! As if you’d prefer my presence over my sister’s!” She chuckles slightly again.
“I assure you…Ms.?...Onasis that I am no liar. I’m quite pleased to have this opportunity to meet you,” I assure her. Alexis Kincaid had been invited at my advisor’s behest. He believed she’d be able to bring new life to the Pierce companies’ marketing.
“It’s ‘Miss’, actually. My sister changed her surname when she was in grad school. She had never liked the way Onasis sounded with her first name - too many esses.”
“I see. Onasis is Greek, correct? Meaning ‘lover’ if I’m not mistaken,” I reply, to which she blushes.
“So I’ve been told,” she utters, glancing down before meeting my eyes again.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Onasis?”
“Oh, I’m flattered, really, but I don’t know how.” She glances over at the dance floor nervously.
“Didn’t they have dances at your schools growing up?” I ask.
“They did, I was just never invited to go with anyone, so I usually stayed home. I was more of an academic than a socialite. This is really more Alexis’ thing,” she replies, her eyes relaying her pain and embarrassment - two things I hope to never see in them again. “Maybe we should just discuss business somewhere quiet? It shouldn’t take too long. Then you could enjoy the rest of your evening. If the glares of the women in this room are any indication, I’d say you have plenty of dance partners waiting for you.”
“Ah. Yes. I do believe you have it wrong though, Miss Onasis,” I state before leaning forward and whispering into her ear, “Those looks are jealousy, not because you currently hold my attention, but because every last one of them knows that they do not hold a candle in comparison with your beauty. Come with me.” I look down, the dramatic rise and fall of her luscious breasts both drawing my attention and causing my cock to come to life.
“Come with me.” Dear God, I nearly did cum at his command. I know it wasn’t what he meant, but his sheer presence ignited a fire within my body that I’ve never experienced. I mean, I have helped myself out when needed, but I’ve never felt this lascivious. The warmth of his breath against my ear sent desire straight down between my legs.
He skimmed his fingertips down my arm and took my hand in his to guide me away from the crowd, grabbing two glasses of champagne in his free. A moment later, we’re alone in what I assume is his office. He escorts me to a couch and hands me one of the glasses as he takes a seat beside me, his body turned so he can face me.
“Miss Onasis, the reason I am as successful as I am is because I’m a no-bullshit man. I don’t believe in drawing out a decision when one can be executed quickly and permanently.”
“I understand. Do you have questions about the presentation Alexis sent earlier? Or concerns regarding the contract? I am happy to help make this transaction quickly,” I say, trying my best to hide my nerves and appear like a confident business woman rather than an advisor to my sister who hides in her home office.
“My questions are about you, not about your sister’s business,” he hums, scanning his eyes over my body. I lift my glass to my lips and discreetly bring my elbows to my waistline to hide the little pudge roll that sitting on a couch creates. “Please don’t do that.” His request is unexpected.
“Don’t do what? Was I to wait before sipping my drink?” I ask earnestly.
“Please don’t get self-conscious around me. Don’t hide yourself from me.” His tone is soft and warm, yet demanding. He means what he says. “Never hide from me, Jimi.”
It isn’t what he says, but the meaning behind it that sends the sharpest of pains to my heart, as though he was actually piercing through its armored hide. But when he says my name in such an intimate tone, it takes every ounce of my strength to hold back tears.
I gather myself emotionally and look up into his turquoise eyes. “What questions do you have?” I try hard to sound strong, confident, but I fear I let a small waver out, revealing how he is affecting me.
“Jimi, for as long as I can remember, I have searched the world for a woman who spoke to my heart with just her being - my soul mate. When I saw you this evening, I felt my heart come alive after years of lying dead in my chest. I am going to be honest, I’m interested in courting you, with the intention of marriage. So I have just a few questions. First, is there another man in your life? One whom you would not consider leaving for me?”
“No.” My voice is barely audible. Did he really say marriage?! Yes, I feel drawn to him, but I am sure any woman with a functioning pussy would be attracted to him. Hell, I’d half expect some straight men would swing for a chance with Killian Pierce!
“Good,” he breathes out as though he is relieved. “Next, would you be willing to leave your job? Being with me will not be conducive to employment. We will be traveling often, with extended stays in other countries. If you are in my life, I would want you with me at all times.”
“I guess I could always advise Alexis over the phone or via email.” Again, my mouth seems to be answering on its own without consulting my brain. Could I really leave Alexis and let her run her firm all on her own?
“Good. Now, I would like for you to give me a little biographical presentation about yourself - a highlights and lowlights reel, if you will.” His eyes trace the outline of my face with a look of adoration.
“Okay,” I drawl. “I am almost thirty years old. I have been Type 1 Diabetic for twenty-six years. Growing up, I was the friendless nerd of my school, which gifted me with a passion for reading. I got my undergrad degree in history with a minor in finance, and my master’s in art history and a second master’s in historical literature. I tutored my sister through her college courses and became her assistant when she landed her job at Saxon. When she bought Saxon out and started Kincaid Marketing Firm, I became her advisor. I live alone in a townhouse in Manhattan. That’s pretty much all there is to know about plain, boring me.”
“You are neither plain nor boring! I’d be willing to bet that over the next two hundred years, you’d still have knowledge and ideas that you’d yet to share with me. And I’ll be honest with you, I want you to do just that - share with me everything you know, think, imagine,” He proclaimed softly, his deep, gentle voice soothing my soul in ways I’ve never dreamed of experiencing. He leans forward and takes my hand in his as he continues, “I know this all sounds abrupt, impulsive, maybe even reckless, but I need you to trust me when I say that I am smitten with you. From this moment on, I want to spend my life cherishing you if you’ll let me.”
Is this not Killian Pierce, the man that tabloids insist views commitment as a plague? Granted, tabloids are usually trash, but sometimes they do find a truth among the filth.
“Do you doubt me, Jimi?”
“Sincerely, I am not sure what to think. You are you - the most beautiful, eligible bachelor in New York - probably even the world for that matter! And I am me - the chubby, broken girl who has never even been asked on a date, and yet you say you want to potentially marry me? It is unheard of!”
He stands abruptly, takes a step forward, and holds his hand out for me to take. My heart slams to a stop, thinking I’ve offended him and that he is no longer interested in me at all. And if it was that easy to break the spell, then did he mean any of his prior sentiments? I place my shaking hand in his, stand up with a deep breath, and smooth my dress down where it had bunched up while sitting.
But rather than directing me to the door, he wraps an arm around my low back and keeps my hand in his other hand. He begins to sway side to side taking me with him in the motion. The hand he has on my low back presses into me, forcing my chest against his and placing my hips in brushing range to his own. When his hand begins stroking my back, I can’t help but take a deep sigh.
“If I would have had the opportunity to be in school with you, you would never have been home alone while others danced. Yet, it brings me tremendous joy to know that I have the gift of being your first dance.” He speaks quietly into my ear again and I release what can only be described as a silent moan, one made of a thickened, lustful breath.
He brings his head back and looks into my eyes. I see the moment he decides to act on feeling. His eyes almost lighten in a flash before he brings his lips to mine. His lips are closed at first. He then parts them brushing his lips around the edges of mine. He traces the outline of my lips so gently, it can barely be felt, and yet it is beyond any sensual scenario I’ve ever conjured before now. I cannot stop myself as I part my own lips, taking his in mine. The kiss is slow, seductive, sensual, and its effects invigorate my former desire.
“Jimi,” he moans between gentle sucks of my bottom lip, “stop me. Stop me if you are uncomfortable, or need more time. Stop me before I go to far.”
“Do you really want me?” I am sure to stress the ‘me’, insinuating all of me - the diabetes, the extra weight, the nerd no one has ever wanted.
“God yes! Today, tomorrow, and forever!” His voice comes out rough, nearly a growl. My flood gates open to release 30 years of suppressed sex drive, and I feel the moisture seep through my panties and onto my thighs.
He steps back and looks at me properly, not attempting to hide his desire. He sheds his jacket quickly, then his bow tie. His fingers fly down his shirt loosening his buttons until my eyes connect with his lean, muscular body. He steps forward and kisses me again, using his tongue to stroke, swirl, and seduce every inch of my mouth before he slides his beautiful lips down my neck. My head falls back on its own, giving him more access to my neck and chest.
He gently pulls my dress straps forward, exposing my breasts. I raise my hand quickly to catch my insulin pump before it crashes to the floor. Turquoise eyes flick up to mine in an unspoken apology for the pump, but forgiveness is not necessary. As he takes my first nipple into his mouth, my back arches in encouragement. Likewise, my fingers take on a mind of their own, sliding into Killian’s black hair, undoing the tidy bun on the back of his head and releasing the silken waves.
I feel the zipper slide down my side and I step out of my gown in just my panties and heels. Leaving my body for just a moment, Killian’s hands open his tuxedo pants and he sheds them quickly, leaving him in only a pair of black boxer briefs hugging his muscular ass and thighs, his hard-on pulling the fabric into a magnificent tent. I am shocked that I could create such a reaction in a man as strikingly beautiful as Killian is.
He takes a step back and looks at my lace panties, the view permitting a peek of my trimmed red hair. “Gloriously perfect,” he whispers, his eyes wide. “You will always be my favorite Greek sculpture, Jimi Onasis.”
He takes my hand and leads me to a door beside his desk. We step through the doorway into a small suite, which I assume he must use when working late. He lies me down on the bed and strokes himself through his boxer briefs.
“Jimi, I need to know now if you are willing to be mine, mine forever,” his voice vulnerable. “There will be no going back after this.”
“Yes, Killian. I want to be yours,” the words fall from my mouth, surprising me that they are true. My heart seems to be binding itself to this sinfully gorgeous man.
“Can you take this off? You won’t be needing it anymore. I have your cure ready for you,” he asks as he takes my insulin pump from me.
I detach the tubing from the cannula as I warn him gently, “Please don’t say such things. No matter what you’ve read, there is no cure. And if you say the words ‘cinnamon’ or ‘keto’, things might turn violent in here.”
He smiles adoringly at me, the way a parent smiles at a child when they make a wrong guess about a Christmas gift, because they know it is actually something better. The fingers of his right hand slide my panties down, as his left hand removes his own briefs. For the next two hours, he brings my body repeated pleasures using his impressive length and skilled tongue.
Fully sated, I step out onto the attached balcony, letting the light snowfall cool my heated body. Having been unwilling to use energy to dress myself, I am wrapped in only a flat sheet. Killian steps out behind me, wrapping his strong arms around me in a tender embrace.
“Forever?” He asks, planting soft kisses against my neck.
“Forever with you is a dream come true, Killian,” I murmur.
The sound of party goers and people throughout the city reach my ears as they count down to midnight.
“Three…” his mouth opens against my neck, and he sucks the skin gently, his hands finding my breasts through the sheet.
“Two..” His teeth scrape the skin erotically, causing me to moan in a new wave of desire.
“One…” I feel his teeth pierce my skin, and the world comes alive in new ways as pleasure courses through me.
“Welcome to forever, my beloved,” Killian husks through his lengthened fangs. “The world is ours; but you, Jimi, you are my world.” And with that he kisses me into the new year.
Pen Name: J Leigh
Previous work: Zari, a completed novel on Dreame.
Facebook Group: J Leigh’s Steam Room.
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