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Charlotte nodded, her hesitance drawing a frown across her face. “Sure. I trust you,” she lied. Her nostrils flared as she tucked closer to the band, where the drummer drew white lines of powder across a book
As her eyes danced around the room, Quentin wrapped his hands around her waist, trying to catch her back in his embrace. “Come on, baby. You want a little bit?” he asked, preparing to go next, after the drummer. “I promise, it’s good shit. It’s only good at these parties.”
Charlotte’s heart yanked at her brain, fueling panic. She looked up into his eyes, small tears drawing themselves from the corner of her eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry. Maybe I’m too much of a novice to handle this.”
“Hey,” Quentin said, his voice becoming quieter. He spun toward the band. “I’ll be back in just a second.” He drew Charlotte from the band, into a far corner, and then cupped her face with his hands in an intimate motion. “You think I’m going to get addicted again, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, realizing, suddenly, how much she truly cared for him. “I want you to be safe is all. I don’t want to lose you, the way the other girls did.”
Quentin’s eyes grew softer. He leaned closer to her, kissing her deeply and sucking at her bottom lip. He only broke the kiss to breathe. “Baby, I’m not going anywhere.”
After an intense moment of silence, during which not even the band played, Charlotte turned her eyes toward the entrance of the rooftop party. Still wrapped in Quentin’s arms, she watched as a redheaded girl, approximately her age, dressed in a bright pink skirt, stared at her, mouth agape, her eyes filled with anger and darkness.
It was Pamela.
“Shit,” Charlotte exhaled quickly, shoving Quentin from her grasp. She parted from him, still staring at Pamela.
Befuddled, Quentin knocked his arms on either side of his torso, glancing to where Pamela stood, but not recognizing her. “What’s going on?”
But before Charlotte could explain, Pamela ducked toward the side steps, disappearing from sight. Charlotte felt her stomach drop out; her knees grew weak. She fell against the side, half-wall, quivering down to the ground. Quentin began to call her name, recognizing her panic.
“Charlotte? Hey? Are you okay? Baby? Char?”
But he sounded as if he was a million miles away.
“Shit. Shit, shit,” Charlotte finally exhaled, visibly shaking.
Quentin laughed, in spite of himself. “Morgan always makes that face. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—”
“Can we just go?” Charlotte begged, not wanting to explain the horrible thing that had just occurred. In her mind, the world had just split in two. In another reality, in another timeline, she and Quentin were snorting cocaine till dawn, celebrating her successful interview into infinity. But in this one, Pamela was racing home to call Maggie, to tell everyone the truth, that Charlotte had only gotten the feature because she was sleeping with the editor-in-chief. And beyond that, she was busting the no-fraternization clause, thinking she would get away with.
Quentin hailed a taxi outside the rooftop party, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, becoming a pillar on which she could lean. The moment he tucked her into the back, he swept her hair behind her shoulders, easing her cheek against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I wanted to do that back there,” he answered firmly. “It won’t happen again. Really.”
“That’s not it,” Charlotte murmured, watching as they laced through the darkening streets, darting through cars, racing the sun. “We’ve been found out.”
“What do you mean?” Quentin asked, seemingly not dismayed.
After all, losing his job probably wasn’t a big issue for him, was it? He was a millionaire, perhaps more. He’d fought his battles. He wouldn’t fight to pay for groceries again.
But Charlotte, no. Her battle had just begun. And she’d just fallen on her sword.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You’ll find out soon enough,” she whispered, cutting her head closer to his chest. “Just hold me for now, won’t you? I want to be as close to you as possible. I don’t know what tomorrow will look like. And I don’t know what I’ll feel when it all falls apart.”
“Charlotte. I can’t resist you,” Quentin said, after a long pause. “You might be single-handedly saving my life. I’d given up on love.”
But Charlotte couldn’t find the words. She began to shake at the beauty of what he’d revealed to her. Devastation clouded her mind. She held her tongue, waiting till they arrived back at their apartment.
Her shoulders aching with the horrible promise of tomorrow, she wrapped herself tightly around Quentin, ripping his pants to his knees and wrapping her perfect lips around the tip of his cock, rubbing her tongue in a light, flirtatious circle around the tip. She listened to his moan, and then dove down to his balls, sucking on their perfect, circular shape. He caught her head with his hands, bringing her upward, kissing her again and then ripping her dress above her head, revealing her bra and underwear beneath. Her underwear was slightly wet, as her pussy had begun its insistent pounding, its silky lips separating, its clit poking out from above. Quentin slipped her panties to her feet, then unhooked her bra, watching as her tits bounced casually in front of his face. He wrapped his mouth around the darkness of her nipple, sucking at it insistently, with need.
