Holly, Present day
I left Adrien on the window seat while I started the water. If heaven had bathrooms this would be one, from the rainfall shower taking up most of one wall, to the massive claw-foot tub, the dual vanity with a backlit mirror, and the heated tile floor, it was everything I could ask for. I stepped under the water and rolled my head back on my shoulders, feeling my muscles loosen up and I realized I was still holding a lot of tension. I was running my hands through my hair when I heard the door open, I smiled to myself as I felt his arms come around my waist. His cock pressed insistently against my ass as he kissed my cheek.
“It appears I left bruises,” he murmured.
I glanced down at my hip instinctively, I knew he had left marks - I didn’t mind either, especially considering how faded they now were. “They aren’t permanent, I don’t mind.”
When he didn’t say anything I turned around and pulled him in for a kiss, trying to distract him as I formulated a plan. I shoved Adrien against the wall of the shower and dragged my tongue up his chest, I wanted to taste every inch of his skin, and feel his muscles flex and clench when I made him feel good. His hands combed through my hair and tugged lightly as I made my way up to his mouth, stopping to suck longer on his neck - I wanted him to have a hickey, marks like the ones he gave me. Hearing him groan and the way his cock twitched against my stomach spurred me on.
“Are you in charge, mon chaton?” He growled, pulling hard on my hair and forcing me to look at him.
I grinned up at him if he wanted control, he would either have to take it or let me rule the show, I didn’t know which idea I liked better.
“What do you think, Maître?” I asked, running my tongue along my teeth as I watched for his reaction.
It was instant, the smirk flickered across his face and pushed me down, grabbing my arm and forcing me to the floor of the shower. He knelt beside my head, his cock hanging in my face, one arm pinned beneath me and the other in his tight grasp. Oh fuck, just do me already.
“You’ve been practicing your Français.” The way his voice was almost guttural, primal, made my pussy clench and every nerve ending light on fire.
I had been practicing alright. “Do you want to know what else I’ve learned?”
He shifted so he was kneeling over me, his cock just brushing my lips. “Oh, do tell.”
I stuck my tongue out, tasting him emboldened me and I met his eyes as I spoke, ”Je suis une pute.”
Adrien growled and thrust forward, his cock filling my mouth. I moaned; my eyes fluttered shut as he started fucking my mouth slowly. The taste of clean skin, the warmth of him, the hot water running over the both of us, and his salty, tangy fluid coating my lips was overwhelming. I didn’t struggle against his hold; the position wasn’t even uncomfortable.
“Yes, you are a fucking whore,” he snarled, driving more of his cock into my mouth.
My throat burned and my eyes watered, he didn’t care as he kept hammering away like he was fucking my pussy. I just writhed and moaned under him, my tongue pressing hard to the underside of his shaft and reveling in the sensation of his pubic hair tickling my chin. I could stay like this forever if he wanted me to, but my clit ached with every thrust, I was so turned on at his aggressiveness, and the dildo he had fucked me with wasn’t nearly as good as what his body could do to me.
“Do you want to look like a real whore, chaton?”
I moaned around his length and opened my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks, he looked savage. His hair hung in wet tendrils around his face and plastered to his skin, green eyes dark and glittering, and his mouth - oh fuck his mouth looked beautiful - curved into a sneer as he sped up his brutal movements. He thrust forward again, this time sinking into my mouth completely and making me gag around him. He pulled out suddenly and before I could react he gripped my hair, holding me in place as he covered my face with his release. I felt disgusting, used, filthy, and it made my pussy flood and my clit throb desperately. I really am a whore now, his whore. The thought made me smile at him as I licked my lips.
“I feel like a Jackson Pollock painting,” I said, unable to hide my sudden laughter.
Adrien laughed and shifted his weight down until he was straddling my hips. Suddenly he leaned forward and my heart stopped, his tongue ran along my cheek, through his release. I was in shock, I had never thought that he would do anything like that. I didn’t realize his intentions until his lips found mine and I felt his fluid coat my tongue. I pushed myself up and clutched his hair in my fists, we had never kissed this roughly before, our teeth gnashed together and I felt like he was exploring my soul with how hard his mouth was on mine. He did it over and over again, licking up every drop and making me swallow it, by the time he finished I was a sopping mess, ready to come at the faintest touch.
"Maitre, s’il vous plait.” Master, please, I whined.
“What do you want, chaton?” His teeth grazed my ear lobe as he spoke.
I squeezed my eyes shut, I had no idea what I wanted, I wanted him to touch me, to fuck me, to make me come, something. He gripped my jaw suddenly and I opened my eyes to see Adrien glaring at me, his expression hard and unnerving. I swallowed before I spoke, trying to find the words. “Please make me come, I need it, I need you--”
He released my jaw and grabbed my hair as he stood, pulling me off the floor with him and pinning me to the wall facing forward. He pressed my cheek to the tile, and I panted as his other hand slid over my ass and down to cup my mound. His fingers moved back and forth, tracing my slit with maddening slowness.
“What do you want?” he growled.
His teeth dug into my shoulder and I moaned wantonly. A thousand scenarios played through my mind, asking for the dildo, the showerhead, his mouth, or a washing machine on the fucking spin cycle. As his fingers slipped back towards my opening again I found my voice.
“Finger me,” I gasped out.
Adrien didn’t disappoint, two digits driving deep into me almost instantly. I couldn’t do anything but writhe under his touch, my mouth hanging open as his fingers thrust into me over and over. I cried out as he suddenly flexed them, pushing hard on my g-spot making my knees shake and a flood of wetness drip down my thighs.
“You can’t be ready to come yet, chaton.”
I was more than ready, I screamed out again I felt myself going over the edge, stars dancing in my vision as his fingers drove as deep as they could. I clamped down around him and waves of indescribable pleasure radiated from my groin. He didn’t let up for even a second, the constant pressure on my g-spot making me come over and over until I thought I would pass out.
“Red,” I whispered. My nails dug into the tile as my body shivered and jerked.
He stopped instantly, pulling me to his chest and cradling me there while I came down from my high. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, his embrace tightening.
I nodded against him. “Just hold me.”
It was gone; the tension, the headache, the horribly debilitating fear of what people thought about me - all gone. After far too long with the two of us just standing there under the water we finally moved, he let me return the favor of washing my hair and I took great delight in massaging him as I did so. He felt the need to rub me down with his shower gel, a ploy to feel me up I think, I enjoyed it all the more. When we finally pulled ourselves out of the shower, I insisted on making lunch, he was required to find a movie since I needed to hold him to that promise from the night before. I stood at the counter chopping vegetables while he flicked aimlessly through the iPad across from me. I had on the flannel top to his pajamas, which just barely covered my ass, and he had the bottoms - I think he was more amused than I was.
“There’s no good movies on here, there never is,” he grumbled.
“If you don’t pick something I will, and it will be a Meg Ryan movie - probably Sleepless in Seattle,” I said happily, dumping the potatoes in the pot.
He snorted but didn’t outright object. As I continued preparing a salad while the pot boiled we chatted about his work, I wanted to know more about his wine business. He was so happy when he talked about it, calling it his baby and proudly showcasing several of the wines he had on hand. I tried each and every one of them, mostly reds, and after many tastings, he pulled out the prototype whiskey. It wasn’t horrible, which was the only compliment I could give since I usually couldn’t stomach dark liquor. He didn’t mind my lack of refined ‘adult’ taste, just merrily described every previous version and how he wanted to get working on a scotch. I leaned against the counter after putting the chicken in the oven, feeling wholly relaxed and at home in his apartment, a feeling I never thought I would experience again. I heard my phone go off and excused myself from the kitchen.
It was Mya, and I started to get worried when I realized how early it was for her on the other side of the world.
“Are you pregnant or dying?” I answered, panicking.
She laughed. “Neither, but thanks for the concern. You didn’t respond to my email, so I just wanted to see how you were, how’s Paris?”
“My boss sexually assaulted me, I’m in Adrien’s bedroom, and I was offered a job by a British designer,” I blurted out.
There was a very long silence before she responded, “I don’t even know where to begin unpacking all of that.” She paused briefly then continued, “Let’s start with the job because that seems like the least loaded one.”
I gave her a quick rundown of Abigail, and how we met. Mya was impressed and informed me that she would be blocking any further communication with Ian. She will always have my back.
“What about you, how is L.A.?”
“It’s amazing, it’s a huge place, and there’s a lot to do...” She sounded funny, high pitched.
“And it would be a great place to live?” I asked, suspecting this was the news she wanted to tell me.
“Not full time, but maybe like a couple months here, a couple months in New York.” She paused again, and I didn’t want to push her. “I feel like I’m breaking up with you, it’s kinda fucked up to do this over the phone - I wanted to wait until I saw you in person.”
“Oh, I see how it is, I’m losing my job and my place to live.” Wow, that sounded a lot bitchier out loud. “I’m so sorry, that sounded a lot funnier in my head.”
To my relief, she laughed. “I mean yeah, that’s sorta what’s happening. But it’s going to be a while, and I’ll be keeping the apartment so it’s not like I’m gonna kick you to the curb--”
“Mya,” I interrupted, “It’s okay, I love you, we don’t have to worry about it right this instant.”
We went back and forth for a bit, she cried and I miraculously didn’t - for once this week. She had called because it was eating at her, and she couldn’t sleep. I assured her we would figure it out and told her to text me when she woke up, we could Skype later since I didn’t mind staying up late.
I went to the kitchen and checked the oven before heading back towards the entertainment room. Adrien was lounging shirtless on the recliner chair, flicking through channels aimlessly. I couldn’t help myself, I perched myself on the arms of the chair, straddling him. He grinned up at me and dropped the remote to run his hands up my legs.
“Do you remember when we watched porn in here? It was the first time we did butt stuff.” I kissed his cheek and he laughed.
“I remember begging you to call it anything other than butt stuff,” he replied. “I also remember you being horrified at the mere idea of watching porn together.”
I rolled my eyes. “Terribly sorry, but anal is a gross word. And the porn was embarrassing, you wanted me to show you what I watched when I was alone.”
“Yes, how dare I want to see what you fantasize about,” he said dryly.
I laughed, at the time I had been embarrassed by my inexperience, but in hindsight, it was kind of funny. We cuddled on the chair while watching some awful romantic comedy, and I loved him even more for suffering through it for me. I served us lunch and we spent the rest of the day lounging lazily around the apartment. It was late in the evening when I decided to get my stuff from the hotel, Adrien wanted to go for me, but I insisted it was fine. I did somewhat regret not letting him go instead since the only clothes I had on hand were my bar clothes, but I pushed through it - too proud to back down. He did convince me to take the car instead of a taxi, and it was every bit as odd as I thought it would be to ride in the Maybach without him.
I felt weird being back at the hotel like I was going to have a Groundhog Day moment if I went up to my suite. When I got upstairs and into the room, the first thing waiting for me was Ian, in the living area with the adjoining door open.
“Why are you in my room?” I snapped.
He glared at me. “It’s not like you’re staying here anyway, what does it matter?”
“It matters because this is my space until Sunday, and it’s inappropriate for you to be here.” I surveyed the room as I spoke, and quickly realized he had gone through my belongings. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” I screamed, grabbing my purse and suitcase off the floor.
I ran to the bedroom, packing everything as fast as I could. Something was missing, I had gone through everything twice, cataloging every item and glancing around the room in confusion. My blood ran cold as I realized the necklace was missing, no longer in the drawer in the bathroom. He had to have taken it, there’s no other place it could be.
“Where is it?” I growled at him, my arms crossed and my jaw clenched.
“The necklace, Ian. It was here last night, and now it’s not - and the only other person that has been in here is you.” My patience was wearing thin, I was glad Adrien wasn’t here to see me losing my cool. Or the very expensive piece of jewellery he had given me.
Ian cocked his head to the side and smiled sardonically. “Does he give platinum collars to all the whores or just you?”
“You’re so fucking charming you know that? No wonder your fiancée left you.”
His face changed instantly, his mouth hardening and eyes narrowed. “You’re talking out your ass, Mitchell. I left her, not the other way around.” He stood up and stalked towards me. “I didn’t have to buy her either; not with necklaces, or a chauffeur, or expensive dinners. That’s the difference between a gold digger and a loving girlfriend.”
“Adrien didn’t buy me, but you sure seemed to think that this-” I gestured around the room. “Was the way into my pants.”
Ian held up his hands defensively. “I’m terribly sorry for that, honestly. I didn’t know that the way into your pants was to call you a whore and beat you with a fucking paddle.”
I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. “Excuse me?” I managed to choke out.
He picked up the Nikon from beside the couch, my throat tightened and I begged myself to not cry, not again, not in front of him. Ian turned the device around in his hands, I had uploaded the footage to my laptop but I hadn’t erased the camera, I didn’t want to until I had two good edited copies of the footage. I wanted to kick myself in the ass for putting it off.
“Yeah, you know this one dude - Brad - I guess he was right, he told a couple of us that you were deep into the rough shit. But this?” Ian paused and chuckled. “This is a hell of a lot more than I expected.”
“What goes on between me and anyone else is not your business.” I willed my voice not to shake the way my insides did.
He came closer and I backed up until my knees hit the edge of the bed, suddenly he leaned down to whisper close to my ear, “What was it you called him, master? Why not daddy?”
My skin crawled when he said ‘daddy’, I had called guys that before, but the way he said it was different, creepy in every way. “Because he’s my Master, that’s the word we chose together - the one we mutually agreed on.”
“Then how about our word is daddy, and you can get on your knees and be my little girl?” he asked, in the slimiest porn voice I had ever heard.
Ugh, gross. “How about you give me the necklace and the camera, and I won’t report you for blackmailing me.”
He howled with sudden laughter. “Please, with what proof? Camille loves me, she doesn’t even know you.”
“Where are all your other assistants, Ian? I hear there have been new ones every time you come here, and something tells me it would only take a bit of digging to find them.”
He stopped laughing instantly, his lips parted slightly as he searched my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, they left of their own accord.” His voice faltered, cracking on the obvious lie.
I steeled myself and held my ground, refusing to break eye contact. “Camera, and the necklace, or I will call Camille right now and tell her everything - and then I’ll leak the information about Blanche myself.” I would never do that to Blanche, but he didn’t need to know that.
It felt like an eternity standing there locked in a staredown, but he gave in. I watched with elation as he handed me the camera and retrieved the necklace from his pocket. I studied it carefully, making sure there were no dents or missing gems.
“You’re fired,” he said quietly, glaring daggers at me. “I’m calling Camille tonight, letting her know you were giving information to another outlet. I’ll be changing your flight as well, don’t bother coming back here or contacting me.”
I didn’t respond, I just packed away the items while he stomped away. The adrenaline rush I had from confronting Ian started to seep away, leaving me shaky and nervous. I called to have my bags brought down to the car and sat on the end of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. I have no job, Mya is moving, I’m leaving Paris in two days, and I have no idea what to do. The tears didn’t come, I expected waterworks - especially considering I had been a crying mess for the better part of a month. I wasn’t upset about my job, I didn’t even like my job, and Mya moving wasn’t the end of the world. Sure, I’d have to move out of Manhattan, but I had my master’s in business management, I was definitely employable in other cities. Leaving Paris didn’t scare me either, Adrien had been so good to me for this whole trip, we could figure shit out. I’m actually being rational, shocking. I started to laugh hysterically, unable to help myself and flopped back on the bed as I covered my face with my hands. This is what it felt like to be rational? I missed it. When I finally stopped laughing and had the bags loaded into the Maybach I pulled out my phone, I hoped Abigail wouldn’t mind a call this late.
“I have connections in London, I can get you in for an interview for a television talk show - not as the host of course, but the behind the scenes management,” Abigail said as she sipped her tea slowly.
I thanked her and relaxed back in the soft chaise lounge. We had spoken the night before and she told me to come to her office today, her shows were wrapped up and she was about to leave Paris but she was more than happy to hear from me. I don’t know what I really expected her office to look like, but I definitely hadn’t pictured a therapist’s office. I mean, I had never been to a therapist’s office, but it looked like a TV version of one. From the pastel blue walls to the off white carpet, the weird abstract paintings, and the recliner chair facing the sofa, it didn’t at all seem like a fashion designer’s office. I felt this was sort of an interview as well, so I had worn my creme sweetheart peplum top, fitted black dress pants, and black pumps. I think I passed her test when I stepped into the office and she had me turn in slow circles while nodding appreciatively.
“When will you be leaving Paris?” She asked.
I crossed my legs as I thought about it. “I’m sure honestly. I was supposed to leave tomorrow, but I think Ian had my flight changed to Monday just to fuck with me.” I hadn’t read the email he sent, not the entire thing anyway, but I did know my flight had been changed.
She scoffed. “What a twat, do you have somewhere to stay at least?”
“Oh, yes actually, I’m staying with...” With what? Adrien and I hadn’t discussed labels, we had been too busy having sex on the couch, and the carpet, and the counter, and in the shower, and in front of the window...
“A man I’m assuming, based on that look.”
Oh. My face got hot. “I’m really not sure what to call him, but yeah, I’m staying with my ex-boyfriend.” I paused and stared down at the empty teacup in my hand. “It’s complicated.”
She chuckled and stood up, taking my teacup and hers and setting them on the desk. She came back and sat down beside me on the chaise, her amber eyes seemed much larger behind the massive purple glasses she wore.
“Can I ask you something, Abigail?” I asked, feeling oddly self-conscious.
“Of course, dear.”
“Why are you helping me? Like, I don’t want to seem ungrateful, or rude, but why are you taking time out to help my career.” I hoped that didn’t sound as rude to her as it did to me.
She assessed me for a long time, her eyes narrowed and her face unreadable. “I see potential,” she began. “In you, in your attitude, and you seem eager to do a good job - to prove yourself. And I would be lying if I didn’t mention that I take great delight in screwing over NEXT, and anything associated with Ian Johnston.” She smirked.
I couldn’t help my laugh. “NEXT isn’t really that bad, aside from Ian anyway.”
“I promise you that a company that overlooks the safety, and well-being of its employees is not a good one. Camille Rothstein and I have had words, and that ignorant bitch thinks that the sun shines out of the pricks ass, despite the amount of evidence that he was misusing company funds and abusing power over his assistants.”
She was so blunt, so open and honest, and I loved it. We stayed in her office for a while longer, she explained more about the station she had connections with and when I should expect to hear from them. I got a text from Adrien reminding me that we had to leave for Marseille in a few hours, I wished Abigail a good day and we agreed to speak again - hopefully before I left Paris.