Page 19 of Omega Artist
Mr. DJ keeps busy and remains professional. I keep busy listening to my friends. We keep busy eye-fucking each other as discreetly as possible. We both know where this is leading, and sooner or later, I wander over to pretend to ask for a song.
Damn, I need to scratch that itch.
“Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Alie,” I greet him in French. I have no intention of making this something it’s not, yet I don’t see a point in lying about my name. Only he doesn’t need my full name, since there’s no point to that either. He nods, his striking blue eyes flickering over me, then returning to his track before settling on my mouth.
“Hi. Goran.” He grins, his glance going back and forth between me and his table. Now that I pay closer attention, he kind of looks like a young Goran Visnjic. That’ll do.
“When’s your next break?” That earns me a pleased chuckle.
“Straight to the point, aren’t you?” In the dim light, his pupils dilate further from lust.
“I don’t see why not.” The fingers of my right hand toy with the table cloth.
“True.” A knowing smile brightens his amiable face, and he leans his upper body across the table to whisper in my ear. “Ten minutes.” Then he straightens and brushes my fingers with his. “There’s this room… where I keep my stuff. It’s on the other side of the apartment, by the catering area. I locked it.” He tells me to find the door with a sign that saysPrivé. Patting the pocket of his black pants, he adds, “I have the key.” His deep, reassuring voice stirs welcome tingling in all the right places. “I’ll meet you there once I’m done here. Fifteen-minute break.” That’ll do.
Damn, I need to fuck you, Goran.
I make a point to verify that his fingers are skillful on more than one type of equipment. His tongue, too. He doesn’t disappoint on either front. Then, once my tights and undies are out of the way, we proceed to fuck like rabbits. Him, butt-naked on the couch, thrusting his pelvis upward frantically. Me, my legs straddling him so that I’m in the ideal position to get myself off while my hands course all over his taut torso. Us, joined in raw pleasure. Quickly, fine with that! Shamelessly, thanks for that! Quietly, too bad for that!
Panting, our lips don’t meet once, but from our matching ruddy faces and satisfied expressions, it’s obvious that we both enjoyed the diversion. He thanks me, which I find endearing, and we part ways. I get back to my so-called friends before he takes post behind his table. My heart beats faster, and I feel more alive than I did minutes ago.
There’s dancing. There’s drinking. There’s eating. Tiny desserts, to be precise.
“I’ll grab you some more,” I offer to my friends. “Who wants what?”
Requests include anything chocolate, tiramisu, andbabas au rhum. Unfortunately, one of my spiteful exes stands between me and the food display with a proud smile stretched across his stupid face.
“Well, well, well, look who’s here!” His snide tone tells me to brace myself. “Looks like you’ve had your appetizer with the DJ…” See! What the fuck does he care? “Who’s going to be the main course?” And the asshat dares to smirk at me. He fucking smirks and eyeballs me with such contempt, I want to punch his nip-tucked nose. Within seconds, he shoots a look in Goran’s direction with an expression that’s so different than the one he gave me that bile fills my mouth. It disgusts me only because it’s all too familiar: awe.
I put on my poker face. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” I’m about to say more when a thought fuels my outrage.
We were gone no more than ten minutes!
“Well, we were an item once.”Not quite. “A randomDJ nailing you in the bathroom like the slut you are is bad for my image…”Since when is this about you, moron?
“It would have been wise to behave since our families have common interests.”What?“Your father will be shocked to hear this story.”Leave my father out of this…
I sigh and soon recover, smirking right back at him. I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t need his judgmental glare. I don’t care about him. Goran and I are consenting adults. What’s his problem? Then it hits me. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
Threading his fingers through his preppy haircut, my stuck-up ex fidgets. “What?” His right hand flies through the air and lands on his heart dramatically. How did I ever find him attractive? “Are you kidding me?I’mjealous becauseyou’reflattered by letting a stranger use your body? You should have a little more respect for yourself and your loved ones, as well as those who share interests with your family.”Such as yours? Guess what? I’ll never be a trophy wife. “Can’t you see that it sullies your family’s reputation?”I trust you to spread the word to anyone who’s willing to listen to your crap tonight.
“You’re right.” I start in an even voice, and he straightens his posture victoriously. My eyes are locked with his, and they won’t falter. My fists are so tight that my nails are digging into my skin. “Keep telling yourself that.” I’m thankful that the music covers the words that I hiss next, after giving him a once-over full of disdain. “If it’d been you fucking a random girl’s brains out, let’s say a female DJ or one of our friends maybe, in a public park, it would’ve been so much more glorious! Because you’re such a lady killer. Because you fuck like a god. Because your dick is magic. Your rugby buddies would have applauded your exploits, don’t you think?” His mouth opens to form an O, but no sound escapes. The index finger of my right hand suddenly reaches the corner of my mouth, as if I’m debating. “Oh, wait! That did actually happen when we were…” I pause and air quote his expression. “An item.”
And with that, I leave him in the middle of the crowded dance floor, too sexed-up to care about our little fiery exchange.
Hypocrite!
Changing course, the nagging thought that either Goran opened his big mouth or someone saw us makes me forget all about the desserts. I walk back his way, and the moment our eyes meet, I know that he isn’t to blame. My feet are glued to the hardwood floor, and I’m sharing a genuine smile with a guy who brought me intense pleasure, who happens to be grinning right back at me. And here I thought that we’d been discreet.
Oh… It’s a little too late for that!
I shrug and mouth a thank you his way. He nods as I check my Hermès watch—my beloved Cape Cod that was my thirteenth birthday present—to find that it’s almost midnight. I abhor the annoying kissing part of New Year’s Eve.
Especially under these circumstances.
To circumvent the hassle, I swing by the bar, down a couple of vodka shots, and swiftly make a beeline for the bathroom. At least, I’ll be left alone for a while. In truth, my fingers are twitchy. I haven’t contacted Tig today, and he’s my perfect excuse to dodge the crowd.
Locked in a stall, I listen to a couple of girls gab as they fix their makeup. They’re spreading more rumors about me, oblivious to my presence. I recognize Solène’s voice.
