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Once he and Adora were together again, though, Brian could be a friend. As long as she was off limits to him, what did it matter?
That would all come later � first, he had to get back to the office from his lunch a plot the perfect way to reveal himself to his wife. He had even eaten a meat-free meal to keep his breath fresh for their first kiss.
Oh, he could just see it now, like a 1950s movie come to life: she would lay eyes on him and her initial shock would rapidly melt into tears of joy, and she would gasp his name, her bosom heaving as she did so. He would stretch out his arms to receive her in his embrace, and he would tip her backward and bestow an unforgettable kiss upon her awaiting lips.
�Hey, watch where you�re going, will you?� a disgruntled voice interrupted his thoughts. Charlie shook his head, as if to clear away the fog his fantasy placed over reality. He had nearly collided with a man coming out of the set of revolving doors that served as entrance to the skyscraper that housed the office.
�Sorry,� he mumbled, still dazed as he continued into the lobby. �Sorry.� Stepping onto an empty elevator car, an unfamiliar pang of anxiety suddenly hit him. He gazed into the chrome plating on the wall as he pressed the button that read ��23.� He�d shaved his beard and sideburns � would she approve? She�s always loved a bit of scuff on him, he thought to himself as the car glided smoothly up the elevator shaft.
The arrival bell sounded and the doors silently parted, revealing a waiting Brian on the other side.
�Charlie, old chap!� he cried theatrically, blocking Charlie from exiting. �You can blow this crackstand now. No need to even set foot in the office.�
�But� what about our meeting with that wrestler, Adora Reed?� Charlie asked as Brian stepped in.
"My meeting with that wrestler,� Brian corrected with a wink. �You just go on home, okay?� The elevator doors closed once again, and the reflection Charlie now found in the chrome plating was no longer the face he remembered putting on that morning. Brian reached over and pressed the �L� button with a finality that made Charlie�s heart sink deep into his stomach.
If Brian hadn't rushed him, perhaps he never would have witnessed what he had.
He entered the office quietly, and even though he didn't expect anyone to be there, he tiptoed cautiously around each corner, turning each doorknob he touched slowly and silently. Perhaps that was why the murmur of voices, mostly low, except for the occasional hiccup, startled him so much. Charlie crept to the door that harboured the voices behind it and pressed an ear curiously against the cool wood.
He easily recognized Brian's voice, but he could also make out the lilt of a woman's laugh. Adora.
"What's his face has a mini fridge in his office," Brian garbled, followed by some more indecipherable words. Sounds of shuffling and chairs scraping against the floor ensued, and it wasn't until footsteps were hurtling toward him that Charlie realized they were about to open the door. In a panic, he leapt to his feet and sprinted down the hall, letting himself into a room - any room - to hide in.
The footsteps and voices did not recede, and they neared him once again and grew louder until they reached Charlie's hiding spot. Panic struck him again, and without thinking, he dove behind a bar in the far corner, opposite the large desk he now recognized to be Geoffrey Faust's, and he was grateful that he didn't knock any bottles or glasses over.
Brian and Adora tumbled into the room like a MAAD commercial gone wrong and headed straight for the mini bar stashed conveniently beneath the desk. They pulled out several condiment jars in search of the alcohol, and Charlie silently thanked them for being too stupid to notice the fully stocked bar behind which he crouched and watched.
And before he could get a grip on his situation, Brian kissed Adora. Brian kissed his wife. He blinked, and time seemed to crumble and slow around him. A hand drifted to his head to try and quell the vein that now throbbed in his forehead, and when he opened his eyes, Brian was deep inside his wife, simultanously pushing her to the wall and pulling her down on him, as if he wanted to impale her and make her shriek in pain.
But where her eyes should have been wild with agony and her face contorted in a monstrous scream, she had her head tilted to the side, bearing a serene expression. He eyelids covered any hints of discomfort in her eyes and she bit down on her lower lip as Brian ran his tongue from the base of her throat to the tip of her chin. He proceeded to trace her jawline halfway through, before biting violently down on it with a set of gleaming teeth. He could see her body jump at the sensation, but she was held too firmly in place for it to make any difference.
Charlie closed his eyes, disbelieving of the sight before him. His head spun and he felt sick to his stomach, but he could not bring himself to look again. Even if he kept his gaze from the atrocity before him, their shadows still danced on the walls, taunting and daring him to look again.
He saw himself rise from the floor and stalk confidently to the traitorous pair, and he easily pulled Brian off of his wife, sending him flying into the opposite wall. Adora fell to the ground, a startled cry of pain getting caught in her throat. Charlie practically tore his tie off and went to grab Brian, sending a fist to the back of his neck first for good measure. He was too drunk to fight back properly, and all his punches and kicks were received by the air. Adora pleaded for him to stop, but to no avail, and her attempts to pull Charlie off her lover earned her an elbow to the chest that knocked the wind out of her.
He removed Brian's tie as well and tied his wrists with it, before wrapping his own tie around his neck. He pulled the ends in opposite directions with all his might, and his throat produced sickly gargles as his tongue bulged out of his mouth. Spotting an ornate coat hook high on the wall, Charlie hoisted Brian and pinned him agaist the wall beneath it, just as he had previously done to Adora. He secured the ends of the tie around the hook so that Brian's feet dangled mere centimetres from the ground - he wouldn't die, but he would sure feel like it.
He walked back to where Adora lay, her chest rising and sinking with sparse, troubled breaths. He was sorry; so sorry. He didn't want to do this to her, to his beautiful wife. Grabbing her by both ankles, he dragged her to the other side of the room, where Brian struggled to keep his larynx from being crushed. Her top rose above her ribs and her skin squeaked and turned red as he pulled her along the shiny floor. He unceremoniously let go of her legs and positioned where Brian could clearly see her. Her skirt was twisted around her hips, and her underwear had long since been removed. He knelt down and gripped her knees firmly before pulling them apart to examine her. Her pussy glistened in the dim light, slick from another man slamming into her only moments before.
Dizzied by rage, he unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his knees before moving in between Adora's legs. He was going to purify her, he told himself, taking one of her limp hands to stimulate himself. He would take away Brian's tainting of her, and he would watch helplessly as he did so.
Without any warning, he pulled Adora by the hips and onto him, clemency to her pain the last thing on his mind. He was doing her a favour, after all, purifying her and her filthy ways with every rhythmic thrust. Over and over he slammed into her, her pussy swelling and reddening with every blow. She winced in pain and whimpered lightly, her moans gradually becoming louder and louder. She liked it, he thought, just like she fucking should.
A sharp cry of pleasure pierced the air and Charlie's eyes fluttered open again, his head throbbing and the scene before him remained unchanged from when he shut his senses off to it. Brian groaned, pulling his wet cock in and out of Adora, and she did nothing to pull him off as he violated her. His pace quickened and his breathing shallowed, and Charlie watched with a nauseous lurch of his stomach as a gutteral sound escaped Brian's parted lips and he came.
"Ugh," she grunted, disgusted by herself and her surroundings. The bed she lay in was not her own, and the way the starchy, white sheets reflected the morning light made her regret the night before even more. She rolled out of the bed carefully and left the room, hoping not to wake Brian, whose mouth hung open, emitting laboured wheezes.
She remembered tossing her purse on his kitchen table when they'd returned to his apartment early that morning, and she found it there, its contents spilling out. She plucked her cellphone from the pile and held down the '1' number - Morgy on speed dial. The line rang only twice before Morgy answered.
"Dorita, where are you?" she asked immediately. "You didn't come home last night and I've been worried. You need to call your shunny if you're going to do that!" she said, clearly annoyed.
"I done a baaaad thing," Adora replied, her voice low. "I guess everyone is right, I'm a big whore," she said with a laugh that came out louder than she intended.
"Oh dear, what did you do?"
"I drunkenly slept with my lawyer?" Adora offered meekly. "He's just so hot," she pouted, and Morgana could imagine the pseudo sad expression that her face surely wore as she spoke the words.
"Ewww, the dead guy?"
"Yes, wifey, the dead guy. I broke into the morgue and took advantage of his rigor mortis."
"Shut up, slut," Morgy defended herself. "Well so what's the problem? He's hot, right?"
"Heeell yes, motherfucker."
"Nice cock? Good lay?"
"I wish I could remember," Adora sighed, certain she could feel her brain pulsate against her skull. "My head fucking hurts."
"Good, you deserve it, drunky."
"I should've just booty called Evans or something," Adora said, shaking her head disapprovingly at her own actions.
"The fact that you call him Evans now doesn't sound like you guys would mesh quite as well as you used to," Morgy laughed.
"True. I'll be home soon," she promised.
"Okay," Morgy said. "Seen you then."
Adora flipped her phone shut and spun on her heel to confront her mistake, who now snored loudly. She re-entered the room and stopped to watch him for a moment as he lay on his back and, even in his sleep, looked mean. His brows were furrowed judgementally and at that moment she decided she wasn't about to confront anything.
She gathered her things as fast as she could from where they were strewn on various parts of the floor and reassembled herself hastily. She felt disgusting in her wrinkled, day old clothes, but would scrub them - and herself - clean as soon as she got home. She practically leapt out of the room, her butt tingling with fear that he would wake her and catch her before she could escape. She stuffed her things back into her purse, and, before putting on her large, dark sunglasses, she paused to apply a quick coat of red lipstick, as if it would make her feel better about herself.
She let herself out of the apartment, feeling guilty that the door would be left unlocked, and bounded down the hallway to the elevators. Embarrassing memories of the night before put an extra bounce and urgency into each step, and she had to wonder to herself... if she was such a whore, why did she feel so ashamed for sleeping with someone who was not her boyfriend?
Oh, wait! You already are!
Honestly though, I don't want to be repetitive here (and I wish you all felt the same way), but I have so little choice. Every week, I explain very clearly why it is absolutely futile to make stuff up and call us sluts because you're:
Let's put it this way: if either of us sucked cock to get somewhere in this business, wouldn't Corey Page be infinitely happier? He wouldn't be sad and drunk because of Kitty's departure, because he'd be well taken care of, right? And don't say that he's sad because we sucked bad cock, either, because if that were the case, we still wouldn't be where we are.
So with that ruled out, whose cocks, exactly, are we sucking for our success?
I was going to complain that I have nothing to say about anyone this week, because Shane is mysteriously absent, and even if he was around, he'd only spew drivel about glory and Destiny Daniels's leg crossing abilities, but luckily she stepped up to the plate herself!
Good old Destiny Daniels took it upon herself to accuse me of just about everything she is twice as guilty of herself: entitlement, greed, a superiority complex and stupidity, among other things.
How was anything handed to me? I worked consistently hard to get anything that I have at SW. If anything, you were the one who waltzed back in here with everyone fellating you for past achievements. The difference is that you didn't really deliver and have successfully proven yourself as a has-been, who only got as far as she did because people like me weren't around.
I may not have the best title in this place, but one thing is for sure - it's a whole lot better than your pile of nothing. And I think you misconstrued my sentiments as angry or upset when that's not at all what I was going for. What I feel is disdain for a bunch of people who value mediocrity like yours because you represent a totally unrealistic ideal of a female.
But thanks for your cute little outburst, that's what I like to see. I really like the part about "irony slapping my stupid ass in the face," because that not only made sense, but it sounded toootally like something a female would say!
This Shane Donovan and Destiny Daniels relationship is a beautiful one; really, it is. The meshing of two such pig-headed personalities is always something to rejoice over. They're going to become a regular Mr. and Mrs. Smith, popping both stiffies and caps into each other's asses every chance they get.
The bottom line is that nothing that I say is unprovoked: I simply reply to what you dumbasses say in your fits of jealousy for not having what Morgana and I have. And you're lucky that at least I talk about you, because nobody else really gives enough of a shit to.
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