Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 89142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
They’re the lightest silvery blue, and I could easily get lost in them.
I make it a requirement to never get lost in a woman. I’m not looking for companionship. I’m looking for playmates. Women whom I can take to the club and engage with in a scene.
So I don’t concern myself with names.
Because if I did, I’d have to reveal my own name, and I don’t do that here.
No one knows my name here, other than Alfred. I’m known only as Phantom, and I always show up in costume.
Many times, a woman has tried to get me to reveal my name.
I never have.
This is separate from my other life—the life where I make a living, do my work.
Here, I dive into the deepest and darkest parts of my desires with willing partners.
And I never tell them my name.
Nor do I ask theirs.
So why is curiosity engaging me tonight? This woman is beautiful, yes, and her outfit is stunning. Except it’s only black leggings and a black tunic with a low-cut neck that shows the swells of her gorgeously shaped breasts.
Her nails and lips are painted red, and I can imagine those lips—held open with a spider gag—around my cock as I fuck her lusty little mouth.
Before she takes a drink, I lift my glass and clink it to hers. “Here’s to alcohol, the rose-colored glasses of life.”
She smiles. “Rose-colored glasses. I could use those about now.”
“I wish I could take credit, then. But I didn’t coin the phrase. F. Scott Fitzgerald did.”
“The author?”
“Do you know of another?”
She smiles again. “Yeah, my butcher.” Her eyes dance. “I’m kidding.” She takes a sip.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She pauses a moment, cocking her head, as if she’s trying to find the right words. “It’s strong for sure. But it’s…unique. I honestly expected the juniper of the gin to overpower the elderflower, but it doesn’t. It’s more like…a floral scent that comes on a light breeze. A breeze that’s also scented with pine needles and wood and earth. Like the autumn. The soft breeze of an autumn day. The kind that makes the leaves rustle around your feet.”
I stare at her for a moment, at those red lips, as she picks up her glass and takes another sip.
I’m not sure how she did it, but she almost took those words straight out of my head.
That’s exactly what this martini is like.
It always reminds me of a line from my favorite novel, The Great Gatsby.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
That’s what this drink is like. Sure, there are other drinks that are more seasonally appropriate, like crisp apple cider, wassail, hot buttered rum.
But something about my special martini—the juniper and the elderflower—takes me to the crispness of autumn.
I need to get to know this woman better.
If she has me quoting Fitzgerald and then brings out the Gatsby in me, I definitely need to get to know her better.
Chapter Three
Frankie
I take another drink of Phantom’s special martini.
It goes down way more smoothly than I expected, and I realize I need to be careful. I can hold my liquor, but this is a strong drink and I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I skipped lunch thinking I’d have a big dinner at the restaurant, but I left before we ordered food.
I don’t like myself very much tonight. I acted like an absolute baby at dinner. But on the other hand, none of them remembered what today was supposed to be.
Not that it matters. I’m way better off not being married to Penn. If he was cheating on me before we were married, he’d certainly cheat on me after. Plus, he’s kind of a loser. Sure, he has a trust fund, and I would’ve had fun helping him spend it, but I’m better than that.
That’s what Mandy told me.
“You’re better than that, Frank,” she said after I told her my wedding was off.
Phantom and I don’t talk as we each finish our drinks, but the silence between us isn’t uneasy. We don’t even know each other. I’m wildly attracted to him, and just being near him has my body wound up like a bowstring.
Before I know it, I’ve drained the last of my martini and I’m eating the olives off the toothpick.
“Can I get you another?” Phantom asks.
“No, I’d better stop at one. I haven’t eaten anything yet this evening.”
“Then we should remedy that,” he says. “There are a few tables available. Can I buy you dinner?”
“This is a bar,” I say.
“That’s true, but they still serve great food. You look like you could use a burger with all the fixings.”
As if in anticipation, my stomach lets out a growl.
Phantom smiles.
“Guilty. I am hungry. I’ve kind of been on a diet, though.”
He rakes his gaze over my body, making me warm all over. “You don’t need to be on a diet.”