The Last Emperors.
Chapter Eighteen: However you want it.
By Jolie Adam
A wonderful smell of fresh vegetables and eggs wafted through the bedroom, right into Lorra’s nostrils. Waking from a profound and restful sleep, her hunger pains roiled like tumultuous ocean waves crashing into the shore and this amazing culinary fragrance wasn’t doing much to assuage it. Then she remembered that she now lived alone. In fact, she had lived alone for the past two months now in Tokyo, in her own apartment courtesy of Shori Media. A sense of alarm and panic set in as she clutched the light sheets against her bare chest, suddenly reminded of her natural state. A habit she’d formed in the independence of her own space. Sleeping in the nude. Inexplicably, she’d found that she always awoke feeling more in touch with her body. Wrapping the floral pattern of bed sheets firmly around her, she tip-toed quietly to the closet to throw something on. Peeking into the kitchen, she saw a shrunken afro hovering over a large bowl containing a rainbow of vegetables being whisked softly and blended with the yellow, slimy content of eggs. Lorra slammed her palm into her forehead suddenly feeling ridiculous for thinking someone had broken into her apartment. Not only would they have to know one of the residents’ code to enter the building, they’d have to pass by the guard and the concierge. Surely, an abductor, rapist, torturer, murderer or any other tormented assassin of the genre wouldn’t go amiss to the nosy glares of the lobby’s personnel. Besides, how the hell had she forgotten about last night? Laurent had come over in the late afternoon for a casual stroll but when he arrived, they never quite made it out the door. Two weeks of pent-up sexual tension mixed with betrayal from one party and frustration from another made for steamy, messy make-up sex.
She had just arrived home a few minutes earlier from a lunch with Dawn and was still wearing the only prim and demure outfit she had. A white and blue brocade designer dress that cost her a pretty penny with matching white pumps. All she needed was pearls and a classic-cut diamond ring and she would’ve resembled the character Bree in Desperate Housewives. Her make-up had been simple to corroborate the intricacy of the dress’ design. He’d been wearing an Eleven Paris Tupac Vest with old-wash jeans and black sneakers. Although she was dressed in her classiest attire, all lady-like mannerisms escaped her the minute she laid eyes on him. It was as if she’d been dormant the past few weeks, a heavy, wet log in a secluded forest and he lit a fire in her. He looked effortlessly good and his smell, that smell of his she could never quite put her finger on. Like a blend of different things. Clean laundry, light cologne, fruit-scented shampoo, body wash and his own personal smell. It tantalized her senses rendering her a slave to his charms. He’d barely managed to lock the door when she pounced on him. A big, sloppy, uncalculated, almost awkward in its greediness, needy kiss. They’d had sex against the door before landing on the floor. Then on the couch. Once more on the kitchen table whilst waiting for their food to be delivered. And lastly on the bed, when they were almost thoroughly exhausted but no longer famished and just couldn’t manage to keep their hands off each other. The earlier trysts had been sudden, lustful, raw, energetic and sexy, with the combined stamina of a team of Olympian sprinters. But when they finally made it to bed to rest, it had been slow, deliberate, romantic, meaningful and emotionally gratifying. At least for Lorra.
Laurent looked up at her gazing at him in the doorway, wearing an oversized mint-green Nike t-shirt. Unkempt hair and slightly rosy cheeks, she looked rested and fresh-faced. He smiled genuinely, letting it reach his eyes,
“Good morning,” she giggled watching his eyes drift to her breasts inside the loose t-shirt. She suddenly became a little conscious of her morning appearance.
“You look like you slept well,” he grinned cockily at his insinuation. She let out a laugh, falling further for his boyish charm.
“The physical exertion probably had something to do with it.” She raised a groomed eyebrow, trying to give him a stern look but failing with the flirtatious tone of her voice. “What are you making?”
“A frittata. It’s my specialty. You’re going to love it.” He placed a large pan on the stove, coating the inside thickly with olive oil.
“If you haven’t started cooking yet, what smells so good?” She inhaled deeply, holding the smell as if she was trying to retain it in her memory so that she could savour it again and again.
“It’s the bread.” He pointed to the oven non-chalantly.
“Um, well damn Betty Crocker! You never told me you could cook?”
“I’m okay. My brother is the better cook!” She squirmed at the mention of Larry, remembering their last, unfortunate interaction. Deep down, she felt a strong urge to tell him what happened. It was only a matter of time until she saw his twin again and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to act as if nothing happened. She’d told Dawn yesterday, making sure to stress the fact that he was surely only acting out due to her unceremoniously dumping him. Lorra was convinced that she was going to be the mediator and matchmaker as Larry obviously cared more about their arrangement than he’d let on. But Dawn was deaf to her friend’s appeal for him. Even Lorra had found it odd how she’d dissed, dismissed him and ceased to care at the drop of a hat. She was going to find out what the hell had caused this abrupt turn of consideration. But with Dawn giving her very little to go on and practically speaking in riddles, she’d have to put her investigation skills to good use. For the sake of everyone.
“Give yourself some credit. You know how to make bread. I know how to boil water,” she said, “Oh, and eggs. I can boil eggs too.”
“What do you do at home?” He looked baffled.
“Well, Dawn is like the mother hen so she usually cooks for us at home. Since we’ve been here, all of our eating habits have taken a drastic turn. We’re almost always away from home so it’s usually restaurants and soup bars.”
Laurent shook his head disapprovingly at the austere nutrition she’d mentioned but he also understood how traveling and working in their field took a toll on proper alimentation. It made him a little happier that they both had the day off and he had taken the initiative to cook her breakfast. He’d only ever cooked for two women before. His mother and an ex-girlfriend.
“I’m going to go clean up while you’re finishing. Thanks by the way, for cooking.” She stammered slightly at the last part. She wasn’t used to having someone be so diligent and caring. More specifically, a man.
Watching her walk away, Lau could see the silhouette of her toned butt through the thin fabric of the shirt. He exhaled and bit his lip, pausing momentarily as if deep in thought. Looking back at the hot pan with sizzling oil, he smirks as he turns off the oven and places it on a trivet before tracing her footsteps.
Lorra’s in the washroom, having just finished a quick face wash and mouthwash gargle. He approaches her from the back like a peeping tom, starting with a few strategic kisses on her upper neck, then upwards to the demarcation line, taking a small playful bite of her right earlobe. Leaving her large tee-shirt on, his hands grab both of her breasts, cupping them over the material, using the fabric to rub against her erect nipples. She’s watching him in the mirror, watching herself get hot under his influence and his skillful touch. Unconsciously, her back arches, pushing her butt against the seam of his jeans, hoping to feel something other than the rough material. Restricting all groping to the outer layer of her sole item of clothing, he tweaks her nipple, softly at first then turning into gentle yet harsh, quick tugs. The air conditioner is on, she’s sure of it as the humming dissolves into the noise and chaos in her head. She’s not thinking clearly, clouded by arousal and his proximity and his lips. Those lips are traipsing unapologetically everywhere they should, emitting a cold warmth each time he places them elsewhere. Now, they’re right at the back of her neck, a soft spot she didn’t even know she had but they’re teaching her what she likes. She fumbles to grip the sink, feeling as if it’s no longer concrete beneath her hands, escaping her just like reality. Her gaze is hazy, trying to focus on that spot in the mirror to keep her cool but squinting as she waits eagerly for him to do more than touch and kiss her. He looks too composed, too controlled and surprisingly that only drives her over the brink of desire. She needs him now. She grinds purposefully against his crotch, hoping for a reaction but only sexually frustrating herself more.
He likes this shirt on her, this veil on her nakedness. It’s the knowledge of what’s underneath that’s turning him on. Beneath this thin fabric, she’s completely nude and he can reach anywhere inside her within a few seconds if he wants to. And he does. But the look on her face is worth the wait. He has her right where he wants her. On the verge of begging. The tease is immense and she’s losing poorly. His bulging erection is stiff against his trousers but he puts his willpower into practice as she whimpers with every kiss, every tweak, every nip, every soft bite.
“I can’t wait any longer.”
Her voice is weak and low. He breathes in her neck, tempted to give in. But he chooses to wait just a little bit longer. On her face is a portrait of sheer lust and pleasure and grief. The tension builds and she looks like she’s going to lose it. If he doesn’t act on it soon, he’ll lose her because she’ll climax without him.
Looking straight in the mirror, he lifts the t-shirt off her pert butt, just enough to give him access. She feels naked, not physically but emotionally as all of her intentions are bared and facing her. His eyes fixated on the mirror in front of them, he eases his way into her soft, warm haven. Her face melts and relaxes. He keeps his eyes on her face, on her expression, on her need. Her mouth is slightly agape, letting out soft gasps and moans and he enters his thumb right between her top and bottom teeth and she bites down gently. The rougher he gets, the farther she bites down as they both intertwine pain and pleasure into this private act of sheer exhibitionism. She grips around him in climactic clenches and it’s his turn to lose control. Utterly and completely. Every time he slides inwards, she can feel every taunt nerve and vein of his member and she’s closer to that orgasm. Her body is so warm now that if they were having sex inside a walk-in freezer, she’d melt the ice or frost she was standing on. She’s not sure if it was because of the overwhelming foreplay or the primal, raunchy look he’s giving her in the mirror that’s tipping her over but he pounds right into her and she crashes, like a malfunctioning car, around him. Her face contorts into a really bizarre person that looks like her, but she is so far gone that she could care less about anything but all of the nerves inside her going berserk. Her breasts, her sex, her skin is sensitive, tingling from her scalp to her toes. She can see clearly again and notices her flushed face, the small sweat beads on the curved flesh just above her upper lip as he withdraws his thumb from her mouth. A visible bite-mark on her neck that occurred when he finished. She hadn’t even felt that. And he was so caught up in the moment, in her juices, in the climax that he hadn’t felt her teeth gripping his finger painfully. Now that other sensations were being welcomed back, his thumb throbbed and he noticed a crimson shade of red beneath the nail.
“That was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.” They both burst out laughing, relieved and back to their normal selves again.
“MERDE! The bread.” Lau ran into the kitchen, as quickly as he could manage with his energy running low and popped open the oven door. She could hear his sign of relief from the washroom and smiled to herself. She couldn’t even stand to hold eye contact with herself, feeling the mirror was a dangerous witness to the amazing sex she’d just had but she tried her best to fix her hair anyways. A rhythmic knock on the door claimed her back from her short daydream. She moved quickly through the kitchen to check who it was. As she looked into the peephole, Lau remembered and announced,
“Oh, it’s Julia. I saw her on my way to get the food and invited her for breakfast.”
Lorra bulged her eyes, showing that she would have appreciated a little notice. If she opened the door in a wrinkled shirt, Julia would know what they had been up to. If she took the time to go back and change, she would just assume what they had been up to. She was busted regardless and with Lau catering to his baking, she’d have to just open the door herself and face the wrath of Julia’s mockery and comical criticism. But when she did, Julia stood there with a passive look on her face, not even acknowledging Lo’s attire. She shoved a phone into Lo’s face and Lo grabs it trying to bring focus on the article open on Julia’s Android. Almost immediately, she recognizes the familiar prose of a certain gossip site.
Dear ravers and commoners,
Did you think I forgot about you? There’s still so much dirt to clean before I retire from the mid-class faux-celebrities. It’s been a long week since Ty Shori threw that epic party to celebrate his daughter’s 18th birthday. And what better gift than birthday sex? Nothing incestuous, you perverts! Although that would make for a saucy little autobiography later on.
Cat’s out of the bag and things are about to get messy. The Shori’s may be mega-rich but what is it they say about wealth? Money can’t buy you love. But not if you’re Mrs. Shori who was spotted getting very cozy with an American “hand model” aka professional male gold digger. How is that evidence going to play in this complicated divorce? A little birdie tells me Mrs. Shori has her share of secrets on her ex-husband to eradicate any claims that may come against her.
And have you heard – Our two favorite dance groups Les Twins and The Last Emperors have finally kissed and made up after getting off to a rocky start. Although, I reckon it’s pretty easy to forgive and forget when you are sharing a lot more than mere reputation and dance street-cred. Guess who was spotted making noise in the Shori library? Call it even since the other half of Les Twins was also busy with his brother’s sloppy seconds. Remember boys, swapping is sharing and sharing is caring.
Before I reveal names, I need a good lawyer and a stiff drink. And luckily, those are two things money can buy.
Tokyogirl, the secret charmer.