Moonlight Kisses

another game

I don't think I've ever loved and hated someone so much in my entire life.

Two opposite ends of the spectrum, so far spread out it seems as though you can only feel one or the other. Both emotions are so intense, so passionate. Before tonight I thought you could only love someone with everything you had or hate them with everything you had. There wasn't enough room in your heart and mind to take on more than that, I presumed.

Fuck was I wrong, painstakingly wrong.

As I look at Beau now, I only see the source of my love and my hatred. His soft lips bring that feeling of hopeless love only for them to curl into a malicious smirk that makes the feeling of untamed hatred swallow any other thought whole. But it's replaced by the incredible sensation bursting between my legs. Only to be yet again conflicted by the fact that this is not the time or place. But that was the point, wasn't it? To make my body fight so hard against itself that I just can't take it anymore.

Although I'm not much of a saint either. While it's still torturing to have this device sitting between my thighs and unable to do anything about it without drawing attention to myself, I'm stubborn enough to act as if I'm indifferent to it to prove a point. I don't know which point it is exactly, but it's all a matter of who's pride will get them further. Whoever breaks first loses this game we're playing. And I was not about to cave after a measly hour and a half.

The same couldn't be said though for when we got to the banquet. By the time I rushed out of the car, my cheeks were flushed red, showcasing the embarrassment I felt. Beau, on the other hand, was looking nonchalant as if he hadn't been the reason for my flustered mannerisms.

It's not like I didn't have my fun anyway. His nonchalant facade was purely that, a facade to hide my influence on him. His pink ears gave him away point-blank. He couldn't hide that from me no matter how hard he tried. As I said, I'm no saint. So while he was fucking around with the remote control I was palming over his dick in retaliation. An eye for an eye.

If only he would let me get him alone.

The game didn't end there, no. Here we are, mingling like we said we wouldn't purely to amp up the stakes. Considering touching him wasn't enough for him, I had to punish him one way or another. Get under his skin some way, somehow.

And he makes it pathetically easy for me to do that. He keeps a watchful eye on me from the other side of the room while I strike up an offhand conversation with the very first guy Beau glared at in possession of me. He's tall, dark, and handsome. Sun-kissed skin, perfect blonde hair, suited up very nicely just like every other guy here. I hate to use him as a pawn for our little game but he's one of many 'pretty boys', as Beau likes to call them, here to do the same as everyone else, form connections within this expensive world. But the only thing that sets them apart from Beau is they have that clean image, whereas Beau has that raw edge that I prefer over those pristine cookie-cutter assholes that always seem to be a different person when not in public. So maybe I don't feel that bad.

His name is Jackson. Of course, it's got to be a fucking J name. And he talks my ear off about where he's traveled, what he owns, anything to accentuate the shit ton of money he has as if I didn't know it already. Everyone here has money. Everyone here has traveled to Italy or Paris or Rome at least once in their lifetimes. He doesn't stand out among the rest, not his cars or his vacation homes or whatever the fuck else he thinks he could buy a girl with money. I mean, yeah some girls will fall for that kind of stuff, but others prefer to work hard for themselves. It's no use to rely on a man for anything really. They're good for some areas of life, but financially aren't one of them, no matter how many Ferraris they've got.

I scoot closer to him, moving around the small round table to eventually stop right by his side. Right where, conveniently, I get a glimpse of Beau's eyes practically shorting the sharpest of daggers straight ahead. Jackson couldn't be any more oblivious. Me, I know what the fuck I'm doing. "You know," I sigh dreamily, "I've always wanted to go to Italy. Venice, actually. Rowing through the Grand Canal late at night, when the city comes alive with beautiful lights." I go on in a sly seductive voice, casually running my finger up and down the back of his arm. Making it appear to Beau that I'm 'feeling him out'. Jackson gives me the reaction I'm pawning for, gazing at me with that look.