The girl is up immediately, packing the things up as I get to the table, I glare down at Kyle just as he stutters, "Professor Maddox?"
"What is going on here?" I ask sternly, glancing around the rest of the students. I find it more disgusting that no one bothered to intervene including the manager.
There's a policy of us being taught to take whatever the customer does, our job is to please them at the expense of our decency and this has gotten too far.
"It's nothing, Professor," one of the girls chuckles, hoping that I'd brush it off, "The waitress just slipped,"
"And you found it interesting enough to film, hm?" I' slip my hands in my pocket, balling them into fists to control my anger.
"We didn't film it, " Lies. She says it so smoothly.
The manager makes his appearance then, " Excuse me, Sir? "
"Great, you're here, " I roll my eyes staring at the french-accented man. " Is this how you treat your staff?"
" The girl f-cking slipped, deal with it. " Kyle grits his teeth, glaring at me.
I turn to him slowly, my neck cracking softly, "What did you say?"
"You heard me. We're not scared of you. Oh so just because Darcy Grey is dead,you think you're a hero? Cleared, innocent. You —" my fist meets his jaw, knocking him down his seat to the ground as everyone is immediately shaken.
He groans as tears prick out his eyes, coughing out blood as one of the girls rushes to him.
I'm ready to lunge at him and give him a good beating, kill him if I bloody need to but Mary Jane's grabbed me by my arm,"Please stop...Mr. Maddox,"
"Stop? He did it on purpose,"
She avoids my gaze, wiping her tears as the manager sternly looks at her, "I tripped... it's okay,"
I suddenly feel sick at how pathetic and miserable she sounds like she knows her job is on the line. The truth didn't matter even when she had someone to say it for her.
I yank her hand of me, strolling away from the scene as I walk to the receptionist desk to pay instead with the many eyes on me.
When I'm picking up my coat, the system is back again in my head.
[Seduction Quota Updated!]
[10 souls to unlock tier one!]
[Base Attributes (Initial Stats):
Charm: 67 / 100
Deception: 72 / 100 (+22)
Control (Emotional Influence): 86 / 100 (+37)
Combat Instinct: 50 / 100 (+6)
Lust Energy: 73 / 100
Corruption Rate: 21% (+17.5)]
I don't need that information, I'm bloody pissed.
Sameal comes near me as I walk out of the restaurant, slipping on my coat, "Such an interesting way to improve your combat skills,"
"I'm not in the mood,"
"Oh... I'll see you around then. It's nice talking to you today, Aaron,"
I nod, pulling my car keys from my wallet. I drive for a few hours, still pretty much angry. It's almost 4pm. Maybe I would've done it differently as Kairos, let someone avenge me when things got hard back then.
She's choosing to be a pushover,for what? She's a student at the most expensive school in England.
Why would that job matter so much?
I check through my phone, noting the name of the restaurant 'Eleganza'.. I'm definitely not going back there again.
I drive home, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, the engine's growl doing nothing to quiet the noise in my head. I pull into the garage, the tires screeching a little too sharply against the concrete, and kill the ignition. The silence that follows feels heavier than the anger.
I shove the door open and step inside, the cool air of the house hitting my heated skin. That's when I see her. Betty. Startled in the middle of the living room, caught halfway. She's taken off her work dress, and for a suspended second, her heavy, perky bosoms are fully in sight before she swiftl yanks the wool cardigan in her hands over herself. She pulls it tight, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. She gulps when her eyes meet mine, wide and unsure.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Maddox. I didn't know you'd be home… I'm sorry," she stammers, her voice a shaky whisper in the quiet room.
I just nod, the motion stiff. My mind is a blur of failed escapes, the whiskey that didn't numb, the drive that didn't clear anything, the work that just piled higher. Every possible means of shutting it all out, and none of it worked. It all just led back here, to this tightness in my chest and this tempting, terrible silence she offers.
I'm left with no other options. Selfish ones, maybe. The only ones I have left.
I close the distance between us in three long strides. She doesn't look startled anymore. She looks… convinced. Like this is the moment her months of lingering touches, of lowered gazes and accidentally brushed hands, have been aiming for. There's a fearful sort of triumph in her eyes.
I pull her to me, my hands rough on her arms, and crush my mouth to hers.
She complies immediately. No pretense, no hesitation. Her plump lips part and she's not just accepting the kiss; she's ravaging me back, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer like she's starving for it.
The cardigan gapes open between us. The taste of her is sharp, like mint and the faint, floral trace of her perfume, and it's nothing like I wanted but exactly what I need, a sensation so strong it might just blot out the rest.
My thoughts scramble, trying to focus only on this, on the physicality of it. Just feel this. Just this. Nothing else. I kiss her deeper, my tongue sliding against hers, the kiss messy and devoid of tenderness. It's a transaction. Her need for my oblivion.
I break the kiss, breathing heavily. Her eyes are glazed, her lips swollen. Without a word, I reach into my pants pocket, my fingers closing around the foil square I always carried out earlier this morning. I tear the condom packet open with my teeth, the sound stark in the room.
My other hand goes to the waistband of her black skirt. I yank it down over her hips in one impatient motion, letting it pool at her feet. She's wearing nothing underneath.
I turn her, my hands firm on her hips, and bend her over the low, polished tea table. A stray magazine slips to the floor. She lets out a sharp gasp as her palms flatten against the cool glass, but she arches her back, presenting herself to me, compliant and eager.
There's no more preamble. I pull my trousers and briefs down to my knees, then, I roll the condom on and push into her in one rough, decisive stroke. She's tight and wet, and she cries out, a sound that's part shock and pure gratification. Just this, I think again, a desperate mantra. Just the friction, the heat, the forgetting.
"You feel so good," She hisses underneath her breath.
I set a punishing pace from the start, my hips slamming against hers, the table rattling slightly with each thrust.
It's fast. It's rough. It's everything I wanted it to be; mindless. Her moans are continuous now, muffled against her arm, rising in pitch. I focus on the slap of skin, the grip of her muscles, the sheer, brutal rhythm of it. I'm trying to outrun my own head, to pound every other thought into dust.
Her body begins to tighten around me, her cries becoming sharp, broken gasps. "Oh, gosh… Mr. Maddox, please…" she whimpers, and the sound of my name on her lips in this context finally does it.
It shatters the last of my distance. Her climax hits her hard; I feel her convulse around me, her whole body shuddering, a long, low sob of release tearing from her throat.
The sight of her coming apart, the intense clenching of her, tips me over the edge mere seconds later. My own finish is a blunt, mechanical wave of pleasure, a physical release that leaves my mind empty for one, two, three glorious seconds. I groan, deep and guttural, my body spending itself into the condom as I press deep and still.
Then, it's over.
The silence rushes back in, heavier than before, now filled with the sound of our ragged breathing. The anger is gone momentarily, but in its place is a hollow, echoing cold. I pull out, the reality of the room; the displaced magazine, the dim lamplight, the scent of sex and her perfume crashing down with a sudden, brutal clarity.
I look down at her, still bent over the table, spent and trembling. And I feel nothing at all.