MEERA KENT
He chose her over me. For years, I've waited for him to see me, for him to see that he had no future with her, that I was the one for him, and that she would never leave her husband for him. Especially because she had known him all her life and still picked her husband, whom she had known for just two years, over him.
But none of that happened. He still pined after her as a married woman. He'd look for her first whenever he entered a room, and his eyes would light up even though April Cole never smiled at him.
I died slowly over time, and my despair reached an all-time high when a scandal broke out in the city. April Cole was cheating on her husband with him, Christian King, the man I've always loved. Even then, I really didn't allow it to get to me. I hoped the public outrage towards April would make Christian abandon her, but it only made them closer. Christian stood by her more, and eventually, the truth of everything came out.
And April Cole not only divorced her husband but also announced that she was getting married to Christian King.
That was why I broke. That was when I did the unthinkable. I went to his office and stripped naked. I was unsure if he should see my body; he'd come to his senses when he realized what he was missing out on. But Christian only pulled my clothes over my body, buttoned me up, while I broke down about why he didn't pick me.
"You're a very charming lady, Meera, and any man would be lucky to have you. But I've loved April for as long as I could breathe. You don't deserve a half-baked love; you deserve a man who'd worship the ground you walk on. I'm sure you'll find a man like that. I'm sure countless men are waiting for you."
Countless men weren't waiting to worship the ground I walked on. They were waiting to sleep with the almighty Meera Kent. I was nothing more than a conquest to them. The last man I dated broke up with me after two months because, to him, he just wanted to know what it'd feel like to sleep with me.
I couldn't even hate Christian. The encounter at his office was over a week ago, and he even had his driver drive me back home. I've thrown myself into work. Over the week, I've done numerous sketches and come up with hundreds of designs. I wanted to distract myself, and they worked until Friday evening, when I lay awake on my bed, and the loneliness I felt was too much. It felt like a vine around my neck.
It worsened when I opened my Instagram, and the first thing I saw was a paparazzi shot of Christian and April on vacation in the Maldives.
My mood soured, and I didn't know when I left my bed. I threw open my closet and fished out the sexiest piece of *** that I owned.
Going to the club was impulsive. I wasn't a club girl but needed loud music to distract me. I needed another distraction that wasn't just my work. I couldn't even work again if I wanted to. My fingers already hurt from excessive sewing and sketching.
The club was packed because it was a Friday evening, but that still didn't deter me. I got the drink I wanted and found myself in the middle of the dance floor. I swayed my body to the beats, raised my hands, and threw my head anywhere the beat led me.
It worked. The loud music. The excited people on the dance floor, the smell of other people, the crowd… It made me forget about a man named Christian. It made me forget about the ache in my chest. It made me unaware of anything except the lingering sensation of being watched.
It started slowly, that feeling of someone's eyes on me. At first, I didn't think much of it. I was in a club, and there were definitely lots of men admiring ladies and watching for one to go to bed with. Too bad I wasn't here to get laid.
So I ignored it. Until I couldn't anymore. And even though I was still on the dance floor with probably a hundred other people, I looked around for the person who was watching me. I was about to give up when I saw him.
He was sitting at the bar side of the club, glass in hand and eyes completely fixed on mine. The most distinct thing about him was that he was dressed in a pair of suits, because who wears a suit to a downtown club in this day and age?
The dancing bodies soon blocked my view, and I got lost with twisting my body and twirling to the beats until the crowd cleared again, and I saw that he was still looking at me.
And this time around, even though it was dark and there was an ample distance between us, I could tell the interest in his eyes. He looked different from everybody in the club, uniquely different in his dressing alone and sitting by himself while other guys were in groups of twos and threes.
He wouldn't stop looking at me. That was what fuelled me. That was what made me maintain eye contact with him, despite the distance, as I struck a seductive move. If he wanted a show, I'd give him one. Especially since I knew he wasn't going to get anything after this.
I wasn't interested in sleeping with any man unless I was sure he was the one for me.
He watched me through it all, and when I was done, he raised his glass in mock salute while the ghost of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.
I discarded him as I walked away from the dance floor, even though I couldn't deny the tingle of awareness I now felt and the surge of desire that his appraisal had unlocked in me.
I sat at the other end of the bar and hardly took my seat when one of the attendants walked up to me. He hadn't even spoken before I knew why he was here.
"That gentleman over there has asked that you come over."
I looked up to see him still watching me before I turned to the attendant.
"No, he should come over."
The attendant visibly trembled at my statement. He looked startled and darted a nervous glance at the stranger who waved him over. He left me, and I busied myself staring at the dance floor and duos in varying levels of intimacy.
A dark shadow suddenly fell over me, and when I looked up, it was the stranger easing into the seat opposite me. Now in proximity, I could see him clearly—his sharp jaws, pointed nose, and lips so red they looked like they were coated in blood. My eyes moved downwards to his well-tailored black suit, and even though he was fully clothed, I could tell how ripped he was and the muscles flexing in his arms.
I swallowed, suddenly painfully aware of myself, of the sizzling tension brewing between us, of the heat between my legs. He looked like the kind of man you'd throw away your home training for, the type of man you'd drop to your knees for in less than 10 minutes of meeting him. His aura was both powerful and intimidating.
I sat up, the heat between my legs picking up.
When I raised my eyes to him, he was drinking me in and devouring me with his eyes. He wasn't subtle about it at all. He wasn't subtle about what he wanted to do to me. Men have always looked at me like that, but there was something darker about the want in his eyes, something sinister.
Something predatory and primal.
And also very much exciting.
I suddenly wanted to get laid. I suddenly wanted to be fucked by this man. But unlike before, when I waited for men to call the shots, I wouldn't wait this time around.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, my voice having an undertone that hinted at seduction.
He smirked, eyes still drinking me in, "Like what?"
I licked my lower lip, and he followed the movement with dark eyes.
"Like you want to fuck me."
"Tell me, little dove," he leaned over the high bar table in between us, "do you want me to fuck you?"
My throat dried up, my nipples stood erect, almost too painfully, and heat pools more between my legs. His words made a couple of images flash in my mind, and every single one involved both of us naked and panting.
"Yes."
"Good," he raised his left wrist and I glimpsed the unique wristwatch around it plus a bright red stain, "how many times do you think I can make you cum before you can't take it any more?"
"What?" I blanched, the stain and uniqueness of his wristwatch forgotten at his audacious question.
I couldn't deny that it made my panties stick from wetness.
"Don't look so surprised, little dove," he asked in all seriousness, his eyes not leaving mine for once. It was a bit uncomfortable, especially since we were talking about sex. "I'm at your service tonight, so tell me, how many times do you think I can make you cum before you can't take it anymore?"
I licked my lips, "two," I replied in all seriousness. Orgasms weren't my strong suit. I never cum during sex. I only do it when I touch myself, and even that wasn't a frequent thing.
He smiled as if my reply amused him, "Well, let's prove you wrong, shall we?"