The next day Chloe calls me to inquire about my thoughts on Mariano. That's where my beautiful nightmare begins.
****
Mariano "courts" me in his controlling, warped way, for one year. During this courtship, we never spend time alone together. He makes sure we attend the same gatherings, but holds me at arm's distance. He remains covertly on the peripheral; keeps a close eye on my social life; but never asks me out. I know he's gathering Intel. He reads my body's language. He's clearly a master and I'm sure my body tells him all he wants to know. I suppose we have little need for conversation at this stage of our game, anyhow. I know how to play when I have to, so I don't pursue Mariano. Instead I anticipate his presence at every engagement. When he doesn't show, I'm distraught. When he does, I fly into an internal frenzy. I fantasize about him constantly.
Every damn night, in the privacy of my exquisitely lonely bedroom, my dark and twisted imagination runs wild. In my most animated fantasy, I sit at one end of an elegant dinner table of drab socialites, engaged in mindless conversation about some unimportant matter. Mariano sits at the opposite end of endless mahogany, conversing on some equally boring topic. I excuse myself and stand. I catch Mariano's gaze beneath the dimly shimmering chandelier. I make my way toward the powder room. His stare burns my ass as I walk. I enter the ladies room and close the door without locking it. I face the vanity with my back to the door. I wait for him. Anticipation rises from between my legs, to my gut, to my chest, to my throat. I can hardly breathe.
I tremble as Mariano enters the room and locks the door. Without a word he approaches me, pins me to the vanity, bends me over with the weight of his body. I moan, terrified and yearning. He claws at my dress. He finds his way to my sheer panties and pulls them taut so they cut into my flesh and make me wetter. He rips my panties aside, exposes my pussy and coaxes my legs apart. He spreads my cheeks so I'm wide open to him. With hungry fingers he roughs up my pussy, until my pulse pounds like a heartbeat in his hand. I watch his handsome face turn savage in the mirror. It thrills me. He releases his swollen cock from his pants and stabs into me from behind. He splits me open in one swift movement. I let out a heated cry, sensitive to his thrust as I climax. My pussy contracts around his shaft. He drills into me—grabs a handful of my hair—sends a sensual shock through my convulsing body. He moans as he releases inside me. I relish the taboo sensation of his cum filling me up. When he's finished, Mariano discards me without a glance. He returns to the dinner party. I freshen up.
I've fantasized the fuck out of Mariano for a solid year when an invitation arrives on my doorstep, with a red rose and a note—a car will pick me up at eight. Is this guy for real?
I oblige without question. I dress in sleek, ivory satin. I still hold a fading image of my unscathed self—the way I was before he invaded my psyche. Tonight I'm going to pay homage to that image one last time, dressed in ivory.
To Be Continued ...
