Page 17 of Van Cort

WEST

Getting up with little thought to how she feels, I head to the shower.

I’m hungry, which isn’t a great place for me.

Rhett always could go hours without eating, but not me.

I hunger and yearn for things he barely even reacts to or needs.

He called it control. I call it denial. Still, I never got the obsessive, jealous streak he has either, so I guess that’s two for two and we’re even on that score.

The shower revives me from post-fucking slumber, and I walk back out to find her sprawled out like a wanton hussy in need of more.

I would, but I’m bored. Hearing her say his name repeatedly is also riding my nerves.

But whilst I’d like her to say mine – to hear her beg and moan for it – I’m enjoying the game.

In fact, I think I’ll call him and let him know about her moaning out his name. He’ll like that.

“Andie?”

She stirs and rolls over to her front and looks at me, pouting ravished lips. “Mmm?”

“Get dressed. We’re going to lunch.”

“Really? And here’s me thinking you’d much rather room service.” She props herself up on her elbows and kicks her feet up behind her, bobbing them gently. “I don’t get to lie in often.” I’ve had them for the last fuck knows how long. I’m bored of them too.

“Do you want me to spank you into it?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You wouldn’t.” I would.

I run my tongue over my teeth. “Try me.” I’ve learned to enjoy bright red asses.

I think it comes from being spoiled, rich, and then broken.

My years away taught me that, or my hatred of Rhett did.

Somehow, the tears of others became something to attain.

They helped me in some warped way, turned me into him when I needed the same venom.

“Everett?” She pauses. “You go for lunch. I’ll wait here.”

Everett, Everett, Everett.

I sit and stare at her from the chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll give you a countdown. I can promise you, you’d rather be in that shower before I reach one. Ten.” She laughs and keeps looking at me, as if I’m joking. I’m not. “Nine. Eight. Seven.”

She laughs again. “Everett? You’re rushing the countdown. Stop it, what’s going on with you?”

“Six. Five.”

Her eyes narrow, and she eventually starts thinking like she should. “You’re serious?”

“Extremely. Four.”

“Everett. Stop.”

“Three. Two.” I get up, very ready to deliver a few ass strikes to get my day moving.

She’s scrambling from the bed instantly, the sheet wrapped around her and a shocked look on her face. “What’s gotten into you?” I watch her tuck the sheet around her ass, shielding it. “You really are a control freak.”

“You could say that.” She sidesteps towards the bathroom and smiles. “It’ll hurt. Last chance. The next number’s on the tip of my tongue.” I step again and she shrieks and runs, laughing as if she thinks I didn’t really mean it. I really did.

I stare at the door, waiting. No Van Cort male has ever been known for patience.

It’s another thing that comes from being rich and spoiled.

Even as young boys we had everything we needed, other than a living mother and an available father.

The mansions, the cars, the drivers and nannies.

There was one nanny called Mother Juliette.

She’d sit us on her knees and read us stories about big, bad wolves and pretty young girls.

I wondered, while I was in Europe, if that’s where it all started.

They terrified us at first, but her soothing hands made it better somehow.

Mother Juliette. I never forgot that story, or the ones after that.

Always fairy tales, where some insidious monster was lurking and a Prince charged in to save the day.

In some fucked-up world where rich children play and pain was inevitable, Rhett must have found some semblance of solace in those old memories.

Maybe I did too? The Prince and the monster.

She gave us that.

Lara.

Half an hour passes and she’s still not out of the bathroom.

I’m not pleased with that.

Add that to her not sucking me off and I’m done playing nice.

I look at the door handle and smirk, reaching my hand towards it as I hear the hair dryer switch off. The feel of her pulling on the handle to open it amuses me.

I hold it firm, making sure she can’t leave.

“Everett?” The door shakes in my hand a little as she tries more pressure on it.

“Everett? The door’s stuck!” I don’t answer or change my grip.

I let her panic start to fill the air. “EVERETT!” My smile broadens, and I continue listening.

“Oh God. EVERETT!” Another pull on the handle and she really starts shouting for help.

“HELP!” There’s no help here. Only games and twisted little attempts at revenge.

The handle shakes again, this time followed by her banging on the door to try getting attention.

It goes on and on, and I listen to it all, almost laughing at her cries for assistance.

Perhaps she’s claustrophobic. That could be useful.

“Everett? Please, please help me.” Ah, begging.

Cute. “Please.” Another few weak bangs and I hear her slide down the door, sniffing and snuffling to herself. She’s crying. Perfect.

I back off the door quietly and go to the main entrance, opening it silently so I can let it slam. “Andie?” I call. She scrambles, banging the door again rapidly.

“Everett?” She bangs again. “In here! The door’s stuck!” It opens the moment she tries tugging it again.

She flies backwards, tripping over until her ass is on the floor. I look at her, mock concern on my face, when I see her tear-stained cheeks.

“It doesn’t seem stuck.” She just sits there, sprawled legs and shock on her face. I go over and crouch, ready to help her up, but she crawls into me, almost desperate for me to hold her and console her.

“It wouldn’t work,” she says, as she sniffs and rubs her face on my shirt. “It wouldn’t. I tried calling and banging but it wouldn’t open and no one answered and-”

“Ssshh. It’s okay.”

I do console her for a few minutes. I let her stay in my arms, and I rub her back and hair, and I let her think I’m some fucking saviour.

I enjoy it, though, because the feel of her shaking, the tears on my shirt, and the feel of her calming is all down to me.

I suppose that’s more like me really, more natural.

“Are you okay now?” She nods on my chest and breaks from me, swiping her face as she gets up.

“Yes. Sorry. Silly. I get… Thank you.” She walks over to the other side of the bedroom and gets dressed quietly, probably embarrassed and stressed about her breakdown. “That was mortifying,” she confesses.

I watch her slip her heels on and shove things into her bag. “What was?”

“Hanging onto you like that. It makes me seem pathetic. Juvenile.”

I move over to her and take her face in my hands. “Are you?” She looks at me, not sure what to do with that question. “Are you pathetic, Andie? Weak?”

Her lips waver, and her eyes widen. “No.” She attempts to step back, but I hold firm.

I look over her face, running my thumb over the lush cupid’s bow of her lips. “Are you sure?”

She frowns. “Yes.” I let go and smile.

“Nothing to worry about then.”

Another few minutes of her fucking around in the room and she’s finally ready to leave. I grab both of our bags and walk us down to the lobby, where the hotel staff store our luggage so we can head to lunch.

Conversation, whilst we eat in one of the restaurants, is uninspiring, but pretending to be my brother, who was always anything but conversational with women, means there’s only so much I can do on this date.

The food is palatable. I really wish American Italian restaurants would learn to cook as the Italians do, though.

Having said that, why would they? They’ve never been.

I, on the other hand, spent four years on the outskirts of Milan and two years in Turin.

“Everett?”

“Yes, Andie.”

“I know we said this was casual, but I just wanted to let you know that I’ve had a really nice time, apart from the bathroom thing. I liked seeing you let your hair down last night.” Let my hair down? Jesus. He can’t even have a good time with her? He needs a few drinks in him.

“You must bring out the best in me.”

She giggles. It’s a nice sound. “Well, I hope so.”

“Do you?”

She looks up at me from her wine. “What? Yes, of course. As long as you keep your word-”

“My word?”

“Yes, about transparency and you actually calling me. If you do that, then yes, I’d like to think you enjoyed my company.”

I’m not sure if I do or not yet. Beautiful, yes. Interesting, unsure. Pliable, definitely. “I’m just going to make a call.”

I get up and walk a few tables away towards the entrance, dialling.

He doesn’t answer, so I call again.

Finally, he picks up.

“What do you want, West?”

“We’re in Portland. She’d like you to know she’s enjoyed your company. Apart from the bathroom thing, which was the best bit.”

“What? What have you done?”

“I think she might be claustrophobic. She called your name repeatedly. Begged.” She looks at me from the table, smiling her lips around a glass of wine. “And she cried. I liked that. You would have done, too. Wouldn’t suck my dick, though. Pissed me off.”

He sighs. “West-”

“Goodbye, brother.” I end the call.