Chapter 6 06

06

E L L I O T

~Later That Night~

A groan left my lips as Camille pounced on me when we barely made it into the elevator. She was handsy like that, always hot for me and I loved it.

Her lips met mine in a frenzy, and I sank my hands into her hair, wrapped it around my wrist and tugged. I sank my teeth into her exposed neck, pulling a whine from her.

With a ding, the elevator door opened and deposited us into the penthouse. Blindly, we pulled on each other's clothes, as our teeth and tongue wrestled together in sweet pleasure.

Camille had been my secretary-and my favorite distraction-for two years. She was easy, willing, and never asked for more.

We tumbled onto the couch and she giggled, then straddled me in a blur of teeth and breath.

Somehow I'd managed to strip her of her blouse and bra while my shirt was untucked and unbuttoned. My pants were unzipped and my dick strained to burst through.

Her skirt had ridden up to her waist, leaving nothing to the imagination. I could feel her wetness seep through my slacks.

"Kiss me," I growled and dragged her down to my lips. We kissed again while she rocked on me, her moans and sighs permeated the atmosphere.

I gripped her hips, ready to lose myself in the one thing that didn't ask questions when a rustle and squeak met my ears.

We stopped. We were not alone.

When I turned, I saw the bane of my existence. The low life girl Marianne dragged into my life, and for the life of me, I couldn't even remember her name. She stood there eyes wide and frozen to the spot.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation. Then Camille leaned down and whispered loudly. "Is this the caricature? The low life that you've been tied down to?"

The girl heard it and her eyes widened in shock. Camille did it on purpose, but I didn't care.

"Unfortunately, yes, she is the one," I replied dryly to Camille. "Doesn't she look like I described?"

Camille laughed. A high pitched sound that could grate on my nerves sometimes. "Yes, she looks exactly like you described, bland yet still disgusting."

The girl's breath hitched and I noticed the bag of clothes she had in her hand. She looked like she wanted to cry, but wasn't that how she always looked? Pathetic? Hopeless? Worthless?

"I was–" Her voice cracked as she tried to speak, then she cleared her throat. "I was just about to leave," she finally said and turned to leave when Camille stopped her.

"What is your name? Maybe your name can salvage your appearance."

I almost kissed Camille for asking. I'd wanted to know too so I could stop referring to her as 'the girl'. It got tiring after a while but I couldn't dare ask her myself.

"Ivy," The girl whispered. Then she looked down to Camille's bare breast and my rumpled form. Her cheeks reddened, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was aroused from the sight. Whores like her had no preference as long there were bills at the end of the day.

"Still shabby. Should've known better." Camille laughed and the girl turned and practically ran out of the penthouse. I watched her go, but I couldn't feel bad for her. I couldn't feel... period.

Camille kissed me again but my appetite was gone. My dick had deflated and I just wanted to sleep... or maybe take a drink. I pushed her off and stood.

"Hey!" She reprimanded from the floor with a frown but I couldn't be bothered. I made my way to the bar and poured myself a glass of bourbon then I downed it in one go. And poured another. And another. And another.

Camille slithered up to me, and gently massaged my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I wasn't. But I didn't respond. I wanted to be left alone and that was what I told Camille. "Please, leave."

"I can't leave you, Elliot. Not like this," she told me. But I downed another shot of whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. This was the thing with girls, you give them a little dicking and they suddenly find it difficult to comprehend simple English.

"Leave!" I boomed at her. She flinched and her eyes flashed in fear and surprise. Then she scrambled around and picked up her things before walking to the door.

She managed a small smile in my direction but I looked away. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

And she was gone.

"Fuck!" I flung the glass across the room and it landed on the wall before shattering into a mess of shards on the ground.

Digging into my pocket, I found my phone and quickly played the last voicemail my mom left me.

"Hey, baby. My Elliot-" followed by a cough that lasted more than ten seconds. "I'm so sorry. So so sorry." Another cough, and my eyes welled up.

"I don't have much time left, and I don't want you to see me like this. By the time you come back from Dublin, I would be gone," her voice cracked and I could hear her broken sobs even if she tried to conceal it.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. Forgive your mom. I wish I didn't have to leave you so soon in this world but-"

I jammed my fingers on the phone repeatedly until it went off. And my heart ripped in my chest as I fell to the ground and let my tears fall.

I regretted my trip to Dublin. He made me go, and I hated him for it. I didn't get to say goodbye.

My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, like a fist was holding it. I wheezed, trying to breathe through the pain in my chest. But it didn't seem to let up.

I'd give myself one more night to grieve. Just one more night. And I hoped everything would get better tomorrow. Even though I knew it wouldn't.