Someone's definition of Jezebel: ... an impudent, shameless, or morally unrestrained woman
This is my Jezebel...inspired by an SRP I am honored to write along side with Tseranc.
Samuel watched the group of women laughing, their heads bent around the table in hopes to stifle their words and keep their secrets to themselves. Their laughter though, as much as they tried, could not be contained. One woman in particular had a laugh that drowned out the others. Most occupants in the room found her to be the most annoying, yet Samuel found her the most intriguing. He noticed the way her head would be thrown back as the hardy belly laugh was pulled from her. He couldn't help but be drawn to the ivory flesh of her neck. He imagined running his fingers down the slim column, wrapping his hand around it and bringing her closer to his lips. Samuel shifted in his seat, felt the growing arousal and knew without a doubt that the woman would be the only one who could satisfy the need. After all, she'd caused it, only fair he give her the joy of easing him of his burden.
Samuel rose from his seat at the club's bar, left several bills by his empty glass and made his way to the women. His eyes never left the one that had caught his attention. He reached her side and waited for them to notice him. It didn't take long. Five pairs of eyes stared back at him, and then a sixth pair, the pair he had wanted focusing on him since he'd noticed her. Samuel smiled at all of the women, then looked into the eyes of the ocean. His pulse quickened as he watched one brow lift. Curiosity. He cataloged the emotion, locked away the hint of what she was thinking, knowing he'd use that lifting brow as well as other facial expressions to learn all about her.
"Can we help you?"
Her voice rippled over him. It was full of both wonder, humor, and a slight bit of annoyance. How many times had she been approached by strangers he wondered. How many ever made it past the ice that seemed to cover eyes now forced to acknowledge another male who showed interest. Samuel smiled, a charming smile that he knew often melted the hearts of single as well as attached women. Even men were susceptible to his charm, though he never ventured down that path, at least not too far. He would use his charm to further himself financially, but never would he use it in the bedroom...not for a man anyway.
Samuel bent down and whispered into the woman's ear. His breath stirred her hair; he breathed in her scent and recognized it immediately. Lilacs. He would be sure to provide her with that scent for as many years as she'd allow him to. When he rose, he nodded his head to the other women and walked away. His body was stimulated as was his mind, and all she'd said was 'can I help you...'
"Who was that?"
Jezebel's gaze was drawn away from the stranger's back. "I don't know," she answered honestly. Her sex had tightened the moment he'd whispered against her ear; if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit it had tightened as soon as she saw him approaching out of her peripheral vision.
"What did he say?" another friend asked.
Jezebel chuckled softly. "He demanded I meet him for drinks."
Light laughter trickled around the table, bouncing soundlessly off crystal and silver.
"Demanded?"
"Yes, demanded," Jezebel answered.
Rita snickered. "No wonder you didn't say anything. No one demands Jezebel Saint Claire."
Jezebel smirked, winked and lifted her glass. "Right you are." The girls clicked their glasses together and went back to discussing the antics of some of societies most known gossip mongers. Soon all but Jezebel had forgotten the stranger and his demand placed on her shoulders.
The conversation ended on promises from each lady to return to the same table, and at the same time, with the exception of it being one month later. Jezebel slipped behind the wheel of her red Ferrari F430 after tipping the valet and being rewarded with his wide and grateful smile. She eased onto the road and then disappeared from the sight of envious eyes. Jezebel polished her lips with a light sheen of gloss, glanced at her reflection and tried to focus on the music that resonated throughout the car's interior.
She couldn't concentrate though. She could still feel the stranger's breath on her skin, still feel the tingling sensation that his presence had poured over her. Even his scent had somehow lingered on her and had become a constant plague. His voice had been low, soft, seductive. It was as if he knew she would cave to his whim and she would too. She knew it as soon as she had seen him rise from the bar. A part of her wanted to rebel, a larger part however wanted to see who the man thought he was. What gave him the right to demand anything of her and how had he known she would do as he had told? What had he seen in her that others hadn't seen, including herself?
Jezebel drove the short distance needed in order to reach her home. The security gates swung open once the password had been keyed into the control box. A computerized greeting of "Welcome home Miss Jezebel" greeted her upon entering the house. She pulled a silver hair comb from the soft bun that she'd twisted her crimson curls into earlier that morning, tossed it onto a nearby table, along with her car keys and her purse.
The soft sound of her sandals sliding across the floor as she kicked them off was the only sound in the house. Jezebel liked the silence. She had grown up in a home full of servants, yelling siblings, fighting parents and had often found herself retreating to the closet of her room, a place where the noise was muffled and went partially unnoticed.
All those sounds though had stopped when she moved away after graduating from high school. She'd cut herself off from her family, her past and began to live life the way she wanted. Jezebel used her looks to gain herself employment. First in the porn industry, but only then it was for a short spell, she had no desire to actually become a star. For one year she worked, earning her place in the credits and learning how to fake every emotion that the cameraman needed. She took her money, thousands and thousands of dollars, and disappeared again, this time entering college and though she didn't earn a degree, she took courses that aided her in understanding how to make her money work for her. A few more years passed and she became known to those in the business field as a women to be reckoned with. Someone that knew what she wanted and how to go about getting it. A mystery to most and that was how Jezebel liked it. The ladies she met each month were women that she had known since college. Women that she'd taken under her wing. Together they added zeros to their bank accounts and learned how to depend on no one but themselves, or each other.
Jezebel walked past a mirror that hung just outside her bedroom door. She stared at her reflection, once more wondering what the stranger had seen in her. Her face was one that a former lover had called captivating, mesmerizing, alluring. Jezebel however saw the flaws that only she could see. Round cheeks, arched brows, a few crows feet around her lips and eyes. Freckles too... how she hated her freckles. She would spend a fortune on trying to rid herself of the soft brown dots. Her mother had scrubbed her face raw trying to erase the sun damaged flesh. Her mother was crazy... Jezebel knew this, but still the freckles were a reminder that she had been flawed. So were her eyes. They were the color of the sea, one man told her. Her father however had damned her to hell several times, because they were the color that reminded him of her mother's infidelity. Another flaw, another thing to dislike about herself.
She pulled her way from the reflection she desperately hated and moved to her bedroom. The door remained opened as she peeled off her top and shimmed out of her shorts. The expensive Versace shorts were kicked away, as was the matching emerald blouse. Her fingers slipped along the edge of her lace thong and soon it too was nothing more than a piece of lace on a silver, gray carpet. Deftly she unsnapped her bra; it floated to the ground and Jezebel disappeared into her bathroom.
Her eyes caste a quick glance at the clock on the shelf where her favorite bottles of lotion, soaps, and perfumes rested. She had a little over two hours to ready herself. She hadn't told her friends everything the man had whispered. Yes, he had demanded she meet him for drinks, but in the short amount of time that he had whispered in her ear, he'd also demanded she come clean of all but the scent of lilac and sex. That was the clincher for her. The demand had not been the usual come on line, but he had actually come right out and told her what he expected. He expected to fuck her and she'd do it his way.
She would to. There was something in her that told her she would, but what?
Jezebel started the bath water, poured in a generous helping of lilac oil and slid into the water. She pressed the controls that rested on the rim; immediately the water was rolling over her. She angled her leg so that the powerful streams bounced across her thighs. Her body slid deeper in the water and the jets hammered her lower back and shoulders. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and sighed, allowing her mind to go back to the intensity of the stranger's stare.
A few minutes passed before she opened her lids, reached out with her foot and twisted the water's faucets to the off position. Once the final trickle was gone, she slipped her toes back under the water and returned to the man's haunting image.
