I’m…focused.
I grunted. Once my mind went there, I couldn’t stop. Visions of her bare breasts played in my head. She sipped more wine, then leaned forward even more, placing her elbows on the table.
Motherfucker.
Zola had an incredible mouth too. Perfectly shaped. Designed by the gods. She bit her lip as she stared back at me in the mirror’s reflection. I yearned to do some biting there too. But I’d begin with her toes and work my way up, nibbling those thighs and lapping at her pussy. I’d leave small bites around the sensitive tips of her nipples, then go back lower, delve between her thighs, and just feast until my tongue was so saturated with her taste and texture.
Goddamn it! What are you doing?
I worked hard to appear unaffected as she gazed back at me. Meanwhile, unaffected was the absolute antithesis of my feeling. Currently, I stood behind a kitchen counter, camouflaging my erection.
Fuck. Get a damn grip, man!
“I’ll be back.” I left them all there, unable to be around Zola anymore and not think of her naked. The confession had brought everything back full speed.
I went into my bedroom and stared in the mirror.
Why did you tell her? If she’s disgusted by it, then she won’t talk to me. If she’s turned on by it, then I’ll have to deal with the fact that I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking her.
It was a puzzle I would have to solve later. There would be time. Zola would remain professional for the evening. Later, we would need to talk it through.
Damn it. No matter what she says, I won’t lose her. I know that.
Whatever she wanted to do to fix this, I would do it. I’d let my fear stop me from talking to her. Now I felt stupid, after confessing everything. Her reaction hadn’t been one of the many things I thought would happen.
She looked shocked and…turned on. No. That’s just what I want.
Sighing, I took a quick shower and dressed. It had taken me only a few minutes to put on my Brioni suit. Hand-tailored. Hand-sewn. Cashmere and silk. Embellished, but minimal. When wearing Brioni, there was no need for anything else.
I walked back into the living room. Time had passed. Another girl stood next to Zola. She introduced herself as CiCi. I made a note of everyone, snapped some quick pics of them, and sent it to Baptiste. Anyone around Zola would be a suspect until I found the psycho.
I surveyed them all. Some appeared supportive. Others professional. There were definitely some that came off as ego-inflated, but none gave me the psychopath vibe.
Zola had already showered and now the team had taken over. Every second of that time, they swarmed around her, buzzing and primping. Flat ironing and curling. Applying this color and that. Bright plum powders. Hot red lipstick. Perfume lingered in the air.
The whole time I watched, unable to take my gaze off her.
Stay…focused.
The outfit showed off that curvy body. The top and bottom of the dress was full, exaggerating her narrow waist. Nothing was sexier. Still the dress was short and skin-tight in many places, displaying every curve of her body. Running up her legs were black stockings. An inch or so of garter belt showed on her thigh; the rest disappeared under her dress. It made me hunger to see what kind of underwear it connected to. A thin necklace of diamonds covered her throat and a long diamond pendant dangled from her neck all the way down to the low V which just exposed the jutting swell of her breasts.
And those breasts pressed against the fabric appearing ready to escape. Each time her makeup artist moved Zola’s position, Zola’s cleavage jiggled, and I had to run my fingers through my hair to stop myself from going over to touch her.
One good tug and I could free them for her, taste her perky nipples, drag my teeth across them. Stop it. Fuck.
Still, I imagined leaving love marks all over her breasts. I forced myself to think of something else.
You’re supposed to be watching her team for suspicious people, not drooling over her.
I gestured to the makeup artist. “What’s your name?”
She gave me a nervous smile. “Takako. By the way, I prefer the pronoun they and their.”
“Excuse me?”
Takako stopped and stared at me. “When you refer to me, instead of he or she, use they.”
“Understood.”
I studied Takako. Earlier, I’d thought she was a female, but with the whole spiel, she might’ve been born a male and identified as female.
They raised their eyebrows and grabbed a brush. “You’re wondering, aren’t you?”
Zola remained quiet but smiled.
“Wondering what?” I asked Takako.
“You’re wondering what I am?” They said.
“The thought crossed my mind, when you discussed your pronouns.”
“I was born a boy.” Takako dusted a dark gold on Zola’s forehead, the tip of her nose, and both of her cheeks. Surprisingly, it didn’t show gold. Instead, Zola’s face looked more highlighted and seemed to glow.