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Maddox
Swathesofpinksilksweep over the ornate entryway stamped on the wall with a statement piece that looks like a huge gaudy chest pieces old women like to wear as jewelry. The color matches the uniform of the waiters who are lined up by the entrance, with painful-looking smiles on their faces. A little before them, press waiting at the corners and at the base of the stairs cameras taking pictures of the illustrious guests ascending the stairs.
It’s not quite a red carpet but it’s almost as bad.
We're here for a truly ridiculous event. Under the thin veneer of charity, a bunch of wealthy elites show up to show off how rich and successful they are. Then for the rest of the night, we walk around and decide who’s worth talking to and who's not. Normally, I wouldn't bother attending something like this. I would send in a check and skip the farce, but today, I’m here. After all, what better way is there to announce Ava’s existence as my girlfriend than to plaster it over the news, right?
Speaking of Ava…
Nervousness flashes through her eyes as I bring the car to a slow stop. A valet immediately jogs down the stairs and comes around but I open my own door before he gets there. I toss him the keys before walking over to the passenger side.
“This is the gala?” Ava asks as I pull the door open.
“Yup,” I respond and nearly laugh at her incredulous scrunched up expression. Apparently, she thinks the event is a bit over the top. I just find it ridiculous.
“It’s like a rich tacky fairy threw up on it,” she says as she places her palm into mine and gets to her feet. I can’t contain my smile as I watch her stretch to her full length. It’s not the first time I’m seeing her in the dress but the effect is somehow expounded by the fact that we're here.
She looks like a diamond in a sea of plastic.
Desire slams into my gut as my eyes follow the white silk caressing her curves and falling into the valleys before flowing at her feet. Her hair is a coiffed mass on top of her head, and I want nothing more than to snatch off the ribbon and watch it fall gloriously around her shoulders. My cock is rock hard, and I nearly groan when she tugs the bodice of the dress, clearly trying to cover up the little cleavage that peeks through. Unlike the majority of the people in the city, she manages to remain relatively pale.
And I want to take a bite out of that porcelain skin dotted with strawberry freckles.
“This is torture,” she mutters, tugging it again.
Tell me about it.
I knew instantly when I saw this dress that it was the one. Knew it even before I saw her face light up when she saw it. It wasn’t my first time taking a woman dress shopping but it was the first time I’d taken an active role in choosing an outfit. Usually, I attend to business on my phone while they go gaga over this or that designer, but this time I had to pay attention because it became clear that if I didn’t watch her, she was determined to choose the cheapest drabbiest thing in the store.
And I just couldn't let that happen.
It's a shame that such a beautiful woman has such terrible taste. Or maybe she was stressing out over price tags. Either way, I wasn't going to let her get anything less than pure luxury. Only the rarest and most beautiful gems deserve to sit on her skin.
So, I had no qualms about vetoing her choices and completely torpedoing her to try on whatever I chose. And then I saw this dress, with the white lotus silk. I imagined it against her body, the white contrasting with the violent red hair. I dreamt about taking it off her or sliding it up her body, nibbling her nipples through it, turning the pure material filthy with lust.
God, so many possibilities. So many images of her half-clothed in that dress with my cock inside her.
And as she stands there staring around the venue with disgust, I hunger to make good on at least one of those fantasies. Maybe even right here against the car with all these rich assholes watching us while I show them she's mine. All mine.
But I satisfy myself by placing my hand around her waist and drawing her against my body tensing my muscles to prevent me from doing more.
“Why is there so much pink? It's not a breast cancer event,” she mutters to herself as we ascend the stairs. "Or do they have unicorns locked up somewhere?"
“I think unicorn puke is the motif they’re going for. Smile for the cameras.”
I pull her closer and turn her the way of the flashing, watching her lovingly the whole time. My expression is perfect for what we're portraying but her smile is a little more grimace than I would like. Still, I figure it will do for now.
We continue through the accursed doors into the room that’s already full of mingling socialites. A few eyes meet mine, interest sparking, but I ignore them. I’m not in the mood to fraternize with them, and today, I have the perfect excuse. My girlfriend, whom I’m supposedly enamored with, needs my full attention. Ava's smile is getting tighter and she's getting tenser as we walk.
“Relax, “ I tell her. “Looking like you’re being led to the guillotine doesn’t exactly sell our little love story.”
“People attend these things on purpose?"
“Yes,” I answer even though I’ve thought the same thing. “Some of them even enjoy it.”
“How?”
I'm wondering the same thing myself. "Think of it as a big, showy open house. Or a conference where you can network with a lot of potential clients.”
