Killing Kate(19)

The view is beautiful. I can see the Chicago River through one set of floor to ceiling glass windows and Navy Pier through the other set. Drake turns the lights on and the city lights become less prominent, but I can see that his color scheme of his apartment is the complete opposite of his car. Everything is completely white and immaculate. While my walls are white, my constant chain smoking has probably tinged them a dingy yellow over time. His are glowing, and the word “pristine” comes to mind. Various pieces of abstract artwork covered his walls which tied in the red shag rug and plush red sofas. His kitchen was an open area with shiny white cabinets and light granite countertops, all gleaming from lack of use, no doubt. Christ, what the hell was I doing with this guy? I spot a glass sliding door and I step onto a balcony and light up before I hyperventilate. Drake follows me outside. I am still wearing his jacket but it’s so warm outside, I start to shrug it off. Drake looks amused.

“Do you realize that people have telescopes and binoculars around here and are probably enjoying the show you’re giving them?” he asks me, looking pointedly at my bare chest. I shrug. My level of caring went on permanent hiatus years ago.

“So cover me,” I tell him and pull him over and put his hands over my breasts. I finish smoking and pitch the cigarette butt over the balcony. I lazily drape my arms over his shoulders and link my fingers behind his neck and push myself against him and find his lips with my own. He tastes of bourbon and I notice he’s poured himself a drink. I realize that he’s a non-smoker kissing a smoker. I’ve heard that kissing a smoker is like kissing an ashtray, which is a disgusting thought. I decide to help the cause and take a swig of his bourbon. I note that it’s definitely good quality stuff. I could get used to this lifestyle.

“Follow me,” Drake says. He leads me off the balcony and slides the door closed behind me. I follow him down a short hallway to a large bedroom. Again, I am comparing my shoddy mattress and sheets on the floor to his lavish masculine black wood sleigh bed. His room is simple in décor (like mine!) with a bed, two nightstands and a bureau in the corner where I assume a television is concealed. The curtains are closed otherwise Drake would have a view of Navy Pier, I judge based on the layout I recall of his living room. It occurred to me that Drake is classy enough to have a “living room”, while the rest of Chicago has “front rooms” or “fronchrooms” as we tend to say. “Sit in the middle of the bed and strip,” he tells me flatly. Now I see there is a chair off to the side and he sits on it, fully clothed and calm with his drink, sipping casually.

I go along and sit down on his soft duvet, feeling myself sink in. I now notice it’s not completely white like everything else but rather a very light silvery grey. Since stripping doesn’t really involve much at this point, it doesn’t take much effort to hook my thumbs inside of the bikini straps across my hips and pull my panties down and toss them off toward Drake. They land on his lap. His hand picks them up and holds them in a ball, clenched in his left fist. “Play with yourself,” he instructs me. His tone doesn’t change at all.

“Why don’t you join me?” I ask him. Drake shrugs and gives me a slight smile.

“I like to watch,” he tells me.

Oh, interesting, I think to myself. The disappointment must be obvious across my face because he reassures me, “I will join you…soon.” I smile and settle back against the pillows that feel like silk on my bare skin and decide to do as I’m told, not because he told me to, but because I want to do it for him. I put my finger in my mouth to get it wet, which is cliché but I watch a lot of dirty movies and think that men like to see girls actually do the things that only tend to happen in porn. To confirm this I trace my wet fingertip around my nipple until it turns into a stiff, hard peak while watching Drake’s face. He is annoyingly difficult to read, though the slightly faster movements of his chest indicate I’m performing well. I press my nipple down gently and watch as it springs back up instantly.

With my other hand I reach down to stroke my thigh, which has a lingering stickiness to it from the drink and my own bodily fluids from earlier at dinner. I watch Drake the whole time. He is calm and still but I can see the clenching muscles on the arm he is holding my panties in. I know my actions have some effect on him. I part myself with my hand and give him a good view by lying on my back with my feet pointed toward him and my knees in the air. Sliding two fingers inside of myself, I feel how wet I am again. I wonder if it’s possible to make myself come without Kate tonight. It certainly feels like I might, but I want to wait for Drake. I ache for him to join me, but for now I am alone with myself. I close my eyes and let my mind wander. Bad idea. Suddenly I am in a place I haven’t been in a very long time….