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“‘Oh, fuck – Ella!” I feel my cum spurt inside her as it leaks out of me. I fall on her, pressing her into the mattress, and shove my face in her neck, inhaling her delicious, lavender perfume.
Once I've caught my breath I lean up as her eyes flutter open. They are the bluest of blue, clear and gorged. She gives me a shy smile and I trace the tip of my nose down the length of hers. I half-heartedly ease out of her.
“Miss Hart?” I call for her, after a minute of silence. “So,” I quip with a smirk, “is this part of the interview? Should I expect a detailed review of my performance?”
She just chuckles.
“Oh, this is definitely going in the review.”
“Well, don't forget to rate the host. Five stars, I hope?” I joke.
“Excellent hospitality, though I'll reserve the final rating until after this interview is over. For now, it’s a solid three stars,” she says, playing with her hair.
God. She looks like a dream.
“So, you want more?” I grin at her as I ask, hopeful she will consent for a round two.
“Green?” she teases and winks at me.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Chapter Four
ELLA
The morning air is crisp as I walk away from The Odeon, the sound of my heels echoing in the quiet streets of Bel Air.
The faint yellow glow of the streetlights cast long shadows, and I pull my shawl tighter around me, as if it could cover me from the lingering traces of my unexpected night. I smile at my craggy reflection in the window of Tim’s Treats.
Hailing a taxi from across the street, I slide into the backseat. The leather feels cool against my skin. The fancy neighborhood blurs into a series of passing lights, but my mind refuses to let go of him.
“Tommaso”, I whisper his name, playing with the hem of my dress. The contrast between the warmth of his penthouse and the cool leather of the taxi is jarring.
As the taxi makes its way through the manicured streets, my eyes are suddenly drawn to the extravagant mansions and huge bungalows lining the road. It's a world where the rich effortlessly get their hands on everything they desire, anything they can think of.
A world I got to see from up-close for one night.
Pocketing the night’s quaintness, I brace myself for real life beyond these rich gates. My life, which revolves around my flat mate Reed and work. “39-B, Brentwood,” the driver says sluggishly as the taxi comes to a halt.
I pay the fare, the driver offering a quirky smirk as I step onto the sidewalk and adjust my dress.
As I step to the door, my phone vibrates with an incoming email. With a sinking feeling, I glance at the notification. An email from Frank, my boss? Eye roll-worthy as usual. The subject line is “Urgent” and I end up opening it.
Ella,
We have an interesting development that requires your immediate attention. We need you to probe and deliver an in-depth article by the end of the week. Your skills and discretion are crucial. See you in my office. 2 pm sharp.
Your dedication to quality work is highly appreciated.
Best,
Frank
“Yeah, right,” I frown at his last line. But as the weight of the email sinks in, I can't help but feel excited, more than anxious.
What if this is it? A real article? Not another riveting food review, but an actual, bona fide story? The kind that doesn't involve me rating the flakiness of croissants or the ambiance of dimly lit cafes in downtown LA?
I can almost hear the heavens parting in celebration, if Frank consents to this.
