Okay, this two shot was a massive pain in the ass. It took me 3 days...yes, 3 DAYS! To write this. I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am that it's done. Whatever. This story was inspired ages ago by the song Take it Off by Ke$ha, which I don't own, obviously. It was abandoned quickly, until I suddenly felt a need to pick it back up (two days into working on it this time around and I was kicking myself in the ass for doing so). Anyways! Once again, I own nothing Twilight, but this pair just wouldn't shut the fuck up. Now that they're out of my head though I have to admit, I do kind of like them and I hope you do to. Enjoy and please review!
Turn Me On
I apply a layer of thick black eye liner to the bottom of my dark brown, doe eyes as I lean over my bathroom sink to see into the mirror. I live in a studio apartment so technically, it's not really a "bathroom", but the frosted IKEA walls that surround my bathtub, sink, and toilet do make it feel that way. Whatever, this place is a mansion in New York City standards, and not having actual walls doesn't bother me as much as it used to. I love living here, in this apartment, in the city in general, especially on Saturday night, and not just because I get to go clubbing at the Hole in the Wall. No, the best part about Saturday night is I know I don't have to work tomorrow. Tonight and tomorrow, I can be myself without judgment. I don't have to worry about wearing a skirt to my knees because my boss deems that length appropriate. My wavy, chocolate brown hair that I normally spend an hour messing with to get it to stay in a bun can remain down, in all its, so the boss says, "unprofessional" glory. I don't have to get that prick coffee, or run around town to pick up his dry-cleaning, or work my ass off trying to do something that will make him say, 'Good job, Bella.' or even 'Not the worst job ever, Bella.'
"Pfft…like that's ever going to happen," I tell myself.
In the past 11 months that I've worked for him, he hasn't said one nice thing to me. It's always, 'this coffee is too cold, Bella,' or 'that skirt is too short,' or 'your hair's falling out of your bun, fix it.' Although, to be fair, he hasn't said anything nice to anyone.
When he hired me, I thought Edward Cullen was the hottest man I had ever seen, okay, so he's still the hottest man I've ever seen, but I know the personality behind the gorgeous face now. The fact that he's always negative, combative, or down right dismissive, makes it hard to see anything nice in him, no matter how hot he is. I groan in irritation because my body thinks otherwise. Just the thought of one of his dismissing nods makes my nipples hard. Stupid body, it's hell bent on betraying me, it has been since I first saw him. Okay, so in my body's defense, I never would have pegged him for a complete dick at first sight, it was after the interview that I was able to make that observation. I remember that day all too well. I was incredibly nervous and I only managed to keep my cool because I had to.
There I was, 23 years old, with no job, money running low. I was a graduate already one year out of the University of Washington's business program, and I had a chance at a job with Cullen Advertising in New York City. Granted, Carlisle Cullen, the new resident doctor in my childhood town, got me the interview and I wasn't really given a choice. When he told my parents that his son was one of the world's youngest marketing CEOs at only 25 with headquarters in New York, they asked if he could contact him about hiring me. I wasn't happy when I found out. I knew my parents were just proud of me, but I was set on paving my own way, I didn't want help. That's the whole reason why my ex, Peter, and I went our separate ways after school. Wanted or not, when I was handed the opportunity, I had no choice. The interview was already set, it was too late for me to protest. I could have not shown up, I thought about it, except that would have been rude and with the lease almost up on my apartment it was enough to make me sick with anxiety. I wanted to stay in New York and in order to stay; I had to get the job.
I leaned forward, bracing myself on the sink to try to get a handle on my churning stomach. My mouth tasted like stomach acid and the cornflakes I had for breakfast, it was not delicious the second time around. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a small bottle of mouthwash and rinsed until I could smell nothing but spearmint. Much better or so I thought. Lifting my head, I noticed my lipstick was nonexistent and my eyeliner on my right eye was smeared, making my eyes appear lopsided. I felt the panic in me rise and I took a deep breath.
"It's just an interview, Bella," I told my mirror self, dabbing a bit of water on my face to remove the stray eyeliner, being extra careful not to destroy the rest of my make-up. I didn't want my hours of work that morning to go to waste.
After reapplying the liner and pink lipstick, I stepped back to take another long look in the mirror, checking my make-up for any more flaws, and making sure my hair was still perfectly curled to curve around my oval, almost heart-shaped, face. With cautious hands, I smoothed my clothes. I'd spent days picking out the right outfit for my ivory skin tone, finally deciding on my nicest black pencil skirt, it clung to my body and ended between mid thigh and my knees. I coupled it with a long sleeve, blue, button-up blouse, and short blue heels. My reflection gave the impression that I knew what I was doing, that I was savvy in business and brilliant, but inside, inside I felt like a frightened child. I wanted to run back to Forks, WA, back to my simple life and my parents. Not for the first time, I considered what that would be like. Mom and dad would be ecstatic; I'd get a job at some place like J. Jenks car dealership and probably run his marketing department. Then, after my big career dreams had been thoroughly squashed out, I'd settle for a small town boy with small town dreams like Mike Newton, who worked at his father's sporting goods and outdoor supplies store, or Jacob Black, my dad's best friend's son who owned a car repair shop.
I shook my head. I would never be able to live with myself if I gave up and ran home. I'd always known that I wanted a great career in New York City, the city that never sleeps, the big apple...I was far too close to turn around and run away. Peering at my cell phone, I noted the time; my interview was in 15 minutes. That was all right though; it's not as if I wasn't already in the building. I'd arrived close to 20 minutes earlier. Grabbing my purse, I took one more peek in the mirror and walked out into the hall, towards the elevator. The distinct click of my heels on the tile floor only made my heart pound more furiously into my chest. I tried to tell myself again that it was just an interview, just a job, but it wasn't, this was my life on the line.
With my nerves growing worse by the minute, I stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the floor that I was told to go to, 52, the very last button. I was alone as the doors started to close, ready to have a small breakdown when they shut; I never got the chance. A hand attached to a cell phone reached through the one-foot gap between the steel, a masculine, sturdy hand. My heart gave a start at the sight of it and I became a bit hazy as the doors opened. The man before me was a god in a black suit and black tie, tall and tone, his body proportioned impeccably well. He placed the cell phone to his rugged jaw with one hand while holding a suitcase in his other as his eyes traveled up from the floor and locked onto mine. Oh, sweet baby Jesus...His eyes were green, so vibrantly green that it seemed impossible anyone could have such eyes. I thought I was a fan of blue eyes before, but these made me forget all about Peter and his ocean blues, these were mesmerizing, body melting. I stared, unable to look away, as a strand of unruly bronze hair fell in front of his face and my eyes drifted to the insanely stunning mess of hair atop his head. It twisted and curled every which way, a mixture of red, gold, and brown. It looked soft and I wanted to touch it, run my fingers through it. My thighs quivered, my lady parts screamed, and I immediately turned bright red at the dirty thoughts flashing into my brain- sweaty hands groping flesh, whispers, screams, and shouts of pleasure. A tiny smirk curved up his smooth, evenly shaped lips. We hovered in limbo for a second or two, me staring dumbly at him and him looking appreciative and maybe a little smug, until a shrill, womanly, voice on the phone broke the tension.
"But I want to work things out. Don't you love me?"
He walked into the elevator with a sigh, talking quickly and angrily into his phone.
"No, Tanya, I don't, and I'm beginning to realize that I never did. You're manipulative, psychotic, and pretty much an all around bitch. Our relationship was all about you taking and taking and taking, and never giving a thing in return. Now stop calling me, coming to my house, e-mailing me, texting me, and get it through your artificially dyed, brain-dead head, we're done and have been for months. If you contact me again, I'm calling the police."
He ended the call abruptly and I pretended to look away to spare him any embarrassment, but he seemed fine in my peripheral vision, smiling pleasantly. His long, far too sensual, finger reached to press the number 52 button. When he noticed the button was lit, his lips pursed suddenly. I guess he forgot I was in the elevator.
"It's alright. We all have our past relationship issues," I tried to speak to him comfortingly, in a reassuring way that made him feel better, and found myself spilling my own secrets with ease. "My ex won't take no for an answer either. He still sends me flowers as if it's going to send me running back to Seattle and crawling to his side so I can ride on the coattails of his success. He doesn't understand that I'm better than that. I'm good enough that I can make a name for myself without help, especially without that kind of help, having the title of so-and-so's girlfriend to push me up the ladder. I'm not some hoe out to sleep my way to the top. He doesn't get that."
The elevator started to move and his attention snapped to me, his eyes were cold, his face a blank mask of emotion.
"Is that really something that you should be telling your possible future employer, Ms. Swan? Besides, I happen to have gotten a certain call from my father to get you here in the first place. It makes you sound quite hypocritical, don't you think?"
A lump rose in my throat. Oh, fuck, no! Damn it! I saw it then, the perfect angle of his chin, the shape of his nose. He didn't have the blonde hair and blue eyes that I saw on his father the last time I visited Forks, but Carlisle's other features were so obvious. How did I not see them?
"I-, uh, I didn't know who I was talking to, Sir," I murmured nervously, choking back the lump in my throat.
"Ah, I see." Edward declared emotionless, staring down at his watch. "Well, in the spirit of granting my father's demand to interview you, you have until the doors open to convince me that you are not two-faced like my ex. If you can, you get a job."
I tried to find something to say, praying that I could save this. The elevator climbed floors with rapid speed, we were already passing floor 45, and we'd be there in moments. I blurted out my words.
"My parents bragged to your father and it was too late to back out when they told me about this interview and if you don't hire me, I still won't go back to my ex. I'd rather work at a car dealership in Forks then get back together with him, even if he is the founder and owner of Lincoln Insurance. Peter won't hire me unless I go back to being his girlfriend and I have more respect for myself than to be some guy's trophy."
The doors slid open and he turned to me.
"So your ex was Peter Lincoln?"
I nodded my head, hating the fact that he knew exactly who Peter was, and the fame he had gained, all because his daddy bought him an insurance company. He sighed loudly.
"You're hired…not as my marketing manager, but as my assistant."
"That's great." I replied, my attitude changing abruptly from joy to confusion as the rest of his words sank in. "Wait, assistant?"
His eyes took on a stern gaze.
"I thought you were adamant about earning your own way. Is that not what you just said?"
"Yes, Sir," I answered automatically.
"Well, than you need to start at the bottom. In a year, if you last that long, I'll consider promoting you. Now, do you want the job or not?"
I gave a nod. If he had offered a job in the mailroom, I would have taken it. I had no qualms with proving myself. In fact, I rather preferred it, this way no one could say I didn't earn the job.
"Alright, be here tomorrow morning at 7am with a longer skirt and put your hair up. Absolutely, do not forget my coffee, I like it black."
He stepped out into the hall without another word, shaking his head in annoyance with an angry look on his face.
"What an asshole," I murmur to myself at the memory.
It's not that I don't get it, I do, he wants me to work for my position, but that doesn't mean he has to be a jerk all the time- running me on ridiculous errands, criticizing me, or ignoring me all together. He doesn't ignore his other employees, he also doesn't yell at me either though. I can practically see the scrunched up look on his face, the pained expression he makes every time he says something to me, as if he has to control himself, fight back how truly angry he is. I've seen him blow up before on employees like Aro Volturi, Jane Stanley, and Marcus Wade, and he didn't make an effort to hold in his rage at them so I guess I should consider myself lucky, but I don't. It annoys me. It makes me thinks that he hates me and he holds back because if he fires me he'll have to explain that to his father, who adores me.
Carlisle comes to town every few months, and when we cross paths, we chat like old friends. He even offered to buy me coffee. I declined of course; I hate when people buy me things. Truth be told, he kept trying to coerce me into it, and I almost blew up on him. Thankfully, Edward cut in and dragged his father into his office for a meeting. They were in there for almost an hour that visit. I really admire that about Edward actually; he greatly values his father's opinion. That's why Carlisle visits so often. I groan, wondering why I'm even thinking about Edward. It's Saturday night, I shouldn't be thinking about work.
With an expert hand, I brush some metallic blue eye shadow on before dusting glitter over it. I look like a pimp or a freak, but for where I'm going, that's perfect. A laugh falls from my lip-gloss covered lips and I lean back to admire my finished look.
"Not bad," I conclude when I take in my eyes looking fuck hot with the blue shadow and glitter.
After giving my wild hair a toss, I shift my strapless black lace bra under my sheer, skin-tight, blue halter-top and smooth down my black mini skirt. My phone goes off and I smile brightly, pushing the frosted sliding door to the bathroom aside as I rush to answer it. I already know who it is. I pick it up off the bed and press the answer button.
"Hey, Rosie!" I say into the phone while putting on my blue, fuck-me pumps. I groan. I haven't been fucked in ages, not since I was hired at Cullen Advertising last year. I'm always too busy working to find the right guy and I don't fuck random strangers, it's not my style.
"Hey, bitch, hurry up, the cab is waiting," she replies and hangs up.
I find my way to the curb out front in minutes with my blue clutch purse in hand. I see the cab and grin widely at Rose; she always looks like a fucking super model. Her long blonde hair is curled in big, loose curls, falling to her mid back and her eyes; they're a beautiful, sharp ice blue, and intimidating as fuck. When I first moved in down the hall from her, I was scared shitless of her, but I cracked a joke in the lobby once about her wearing clear stripper heels to get the mail, and ever since, we've been attached at the hip.
"What corner are you working tonight?" I joke with her and she smiles, the gesture reaching all the way to her eyes surrounded in smoky gray eye shadow and red glitter.
We both know I'm kidding, although we do look like we could be hookers, but we're going to Hole in the Wall so the less clothes, the better. I'm just glad that it's the middle of July or we'd both be freezing right now. She's dressed in a curve-hugging, see-through, black, spaghetti strap dress that reaches to the edge of her ass. I can clearly see her red bra and garter set underneath. She's dressed to kill. Hell, I'm sure she could kill something with those red stilettos. I'd never wear heels that high.
"Why, you want to work it with me?" She replies, pulling me into the cab.
The drive is short, and the cabbie keeps looking back at us in the mirror, Rose winks at me.
"No, Rosie," I warn her.
She places her hand on my thigh and moves in slowly towards the hem of my skirt, her fingers caressing my skin feels so good that I can't think straight. Before I can unscramble my mind enough to protest, she leans in and presses her lips to mine. She tastes like cherry chapstick and bubblegum. Her tongue twirls with mine and I moan lightly as her fingers rub my inner thigh, moving closer and closer to my pussy. It makes me feel high on lust, even if I'm not all that into girls. We fucked once when we were really tanked and discovered that we both couldn't live without the cock. Still, I won't deny that it feels fantastic to have her talented fingers so close to my lace panties and they're getting wetter by the second. When the cabbie parks, letting out a groan, I try to reign myself in enough to stop her, but there's no controlling her when I can't even breathe right. Rose takes her hand free from my thigh and while I'm half-dazed, she smacks the privacy window and screams at him.
He freaks out, putting his hands up in defeat. I know without even looking where one of those hands was a moment ago…gross. Rose storms out of the cab, appearing outraged as she pulls me along with her. The cabbie drives off, squealing the tires as he goes.
"Nothing better than a free cab ride, huh, Bella?" She grins
"You really shouldn't do that," I murmur in disagreement, dirty thoughts of her head between my thighs making the statement sound less than angry.
"Yeah, yeah! You need to get laid," Rose laughs, wrapping her arm around my waist as we walk to the front of the club, bypassing the line. The bouncer lets us in without question and I feel my stomach bubble with insecurity at cutting in line. I wish Rose had let us wait in line like everyone else. "You know I'm always willing to lend a hand if you need it."
She smiles at me and I shake my head, pushing the images away of her and me that drunken night we had sex. I enjoyed it, but I would never ask her to do that for me. I can't stand favors. Not to mention I would feel like I'd need to reciprocate no matter what she said about it. That reminds me, I make a note in my phone to call the cab company to pay our fare tomorrow and report that cabbie.
"No, I'm still hoping for the cock prince to come along and save the pussy in distress," I chuckle, trying to make light of the situation. I don't want to hurt her feelings.
We check our bags in at the front, place our phones in our bras, and get our wristbands to enter the club. We won't need money; we have a running tab that I secretly pay every month. Rose has no problem with strangers buying us drinks, but I do. She says that it's not as if we ask guys to pay for us. Regardless, I don't want anybody buying me anything. I'll feel like I owe them something. It's loud when we walk in, so loud that I forget how to think, perfect, it's just what I need. The room is bathed in ultraviolet light, pulsating with noise and smelling heavily of sex. I take a glance at the dance floor and notice there are already some people dancing in their underwear. It's not even 9:30 yet, but it's not very surprising. Most people arrive and take one look at the glitter and paint and they lose their shit, throwing their clothes off as fast as they can. It's quite funny to watch actually. In my case, I need a few shots before my clothes come all the way off.
Rose navigates us to the bar and lifts me onto the counter, pulling my shirt up to expose my stomach and bra. It's like fucking magic, a burly man slams down money and the bartender, a sweet pixie girl named Alice, who's covered in glitter and dressed in fairy wings with spiky black hair and aqua eyes, slyly slides the money back to him while giving me a wink and pouring tequila into my navel. Rose is distracted, placing a lime in my mouth and sprinkling some salt on my cleavage. Her head dips between my tits and I can feel her tongue glide along the valley there. My breath hitches in my throat, flashes of her tongue there for other reasons coming to mind. Following the same path as my memories, her tongue trails down my body, but stops at my stomach so she can suck the liquor from my navel, and I'm dazzled by the way her tongue dips in as she slurps, purring in contentment. Without intending to, I moan loudly. Rose just smiles, lifting her head from my stomach to bite into the lime, kissing me in the process. The burly man howls appreciatively. When Rose pulls back with the lime between her teeth, Alice tips a shot of whiskey into my mouth. I swallow the alcohol with a hum of approval, shaking my head at the bitter taste.
"Thanks, Alice!" I scream over the music, she smiles.
I absolutely adore that girl, she always remembers exactly what we like to drink, and she's great with the secret tab thing. She looked at me funny the first time I asked her to do it, but she's done it without complaint. One of these days, if that dick ever gives me my promotion, I'm going to tip her big.
Rose helps me off the counter and strikes up a conversation with the burly man with the short brown hair, hazel eyes, and dimples.
"Another?" Alice asks, tipping the whiskey in my direction. I know I should probably take it slow, but it's been a rough week. The thought of Edward's temper tantrum this morning alone makes my decision for me. A couple drinks are good for getting rid of my stress.
"Definitely!" I holler and she pours a shot into a glass. I down it quickly, ignoring the horrible flavor, wondering if Edward would benefit from a few drinks. I'm not sure what exactly causes his attitude, but I'm sure his stress level only contributes to the issue.
I signal for Alice to fill my glass again and she raises an eyebrow at me as if to ask, 'Are you sure?' I nod, answering her silent question before tipping back the drink that she pours me.
She refills the glass again, and I swirl the caramel colored liquid, eyeing the club around me as I try to think about anything other than Edward, which of course makes me think more about Edward.
Why is it that he pisses me off so much yet my thoughts always wander to him? I can't seem to hate him, at least not like I should or want to. Perhaps it's because he's undeniably attractive. My nipples stiffen, and my stomach flips as I recall that smile in the elevator. How can a man who's that handsome and smart with a smile that makes my knees weak be so cruel and dismissive anyway? More so, how in the hell does he still manage to turn me on despite how mean he is to me? Whatever…maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. My head swims a little and I giggle, my thoughts getting hazy. I look again at the dance floor, now crowded with men in boxers and women in lingerie, splattered in body paint and glitter.
I pull my shirt off and tug myself out of my mini skirt, tossing it to Rose with a grin. She'll take it to the check in for me. I gulp my last glass of whiskey and make my way to the dance floor in my black lace bra, panties, and heels. As a new song begins, I join the cheering crowd and glitter drops from the ceiling. Who cares if my boss hates me? Tonight, I don't give a fuck!
A pulsating headache wakes me out of a dead sleep, echoing in my ears with a thudding that seems unfeasibly loud, and I roll over with a groan in the dark. I feel like I've been hit with a semi-truck. I'm not all that sure how I got home or when, all I want is to fall back asleep. With a whimper, I curl into my soft blanket and bury my head into the pillow, breathing in the smell of…wait a minute. I take another sniff of the pillow I have my face in and realize that it smells nothing like the freesia scented laundry soap I use or my peach body wash. The scent is familiar, kind of like honey and sandalwood. His gorgeous face with his perfect smile pops into my head. Why does my pillow smell like Edward? I open my eyes and sit up with a gasp, my head pounding with a newfound vigor. Oh, holy fuck…this is not my house.
Who else is turned on by mean Edward...I think he's kind of hot myself. Don't forget to leave a review in appreciation for my 3 day long write-a-thon. Reviews turns me on. Lol