Blood Diamonds

Chapter 15

Henry

The morning after my conversation with the increasingly charismatic Leila, I sat quietly in my spacious office on the twentieth floor of Monroe and "Mundane" Attorneys, trying my best to not be distracted from the daily tasks which awaited my attention.

There was still much to do after the tragic death of my dear friend, Doctor Crowley, and yet the image of Leila still stuck obtrusively in my head like a dysfunctional cog in a machine—my mind was unable to turn or focus on anything save her. I thought every female colleague who walked by my large windows was her and kept seeing her large, illustrious eyes, full of sparkling, starry enigma in the dull eyes of privileged blondes and brunettes in this and that power suit or mini-skirt, trying to make an impression in the male-dominated business world but not quite having the edge of the woman I sought.

By midday, after my second attempt at reading a lengthy report on a project that would benefit the entitled at the expense of the nobodies (by letting these "nobodies" think it was for their own benefit), I grew bored and restless. So, I summoned my assistant, Armand. He was a Spanish heart-throb with perfectly tanned, always oiled and glistening skin, and a square jawline of a man probably used to breaking more hearts than that doe-eyed face let on—definitely not used to rejection by anyone.

Armand waltzed into my office confidently, his tall stature was erect and his sexy physique was impeccably squeezed into those tailored chinos and tight shirt, which clung sensually to his body, purposefully accentuating all the right curves in all the right ways. "Yes, sir? You called?" he asked with his lips in a heart-shaped pout. They were always succulently beckoning me.

"Armand," I began, trying to not salivate lustfully at the boy before me, "I will be going out for a little midday... snack. I will be back in, let's say, two hours at most?" I told him with a quick glance to my watch.

He smirked devilishly. The handsome bastard.

"Yes, sir. I will let front desk know."

"Thank you, Armand."

He turned to exit.

"And Armand," I called before he left.

He turned to face me again, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow that matched his flawlessly styled black hair. "Yes, Mr Eckhart?" he asked.

"Please arrange my dessert as well. You know the one we both enjoy?" I asked. My tongue salivated greedily within my mouth.

He smiled kindly. "Anything else?" he asked.

"No, nothing. Thanks," I replied and watched him with a steady gaze as he disappeared into the froth of workers down the hallway.

After a while, when he was out of sight and I was sure that he had gone a good distance, I stood up, smoothed my shirt and tie (ignoring my rock solid, throbbing penis), and left the office, locking the door carefully behind me. One would think I was attending an important business meeting.

Twenty minutes later I stood before the door of my apartment. I walked into the curtain-drawn, shadowy space, slowly, deliberately letting my presence be known by the heavy thump of my footsteps, and approached the bedroom, then stopped suddenly at the doorway, not at all surprised by the figure sitting casually on the edge of the bed, relaxed, with one leg crossed seductively over the other. "Well?" I asked. "What are you waiting for? Take your clothes off and let's get started."

I licked my lips, hungrily eyeing Armand's own lips, which curled into that mischievous smile I loved. He slowly stood up and moved to the dresser. I watched him ravenously snort a line of cocaine (his favourite dessert—a high for him, and an erotic high for me), then pulled him up gently to kiss those heart-shaped lips that cushioned my mouth; always soft, always so tasty, driving me wild with lust. I cupped my hands on his firm, bubbly buttocks and brought one hand around his hip to carefully stroke his hardening manhood. He moaned in pleasure (almost like a woman would—most boys his age did) as our tongues entwined and I fondled his private parts. "You're so beautiful, look what you're doing," I breathed heavily in his ear. "Driving me crazy." I nibbled his ear the way he enjoyed it. He whimpered loudly, making me even hornier.

Within five minutes we were both completely naked on my king-sized bed (he atop me) and moaning erotically like a boy being gratefully pleasured while straddling my shaft. I enjoyed the pleasure in just my socks, thrusting my hips and grunting at the feeling of sheer ecstasy whenever I slipped into him. I was swimming, very possibly drowning, within the dark sewerage waters of my mind.

I closed my eyes as we built up a sweat and lost ourselves to our sexual cravings. When I opened my eyes again, straddling me was not Armand, but the more intensely seductive Leila with her long, lustrous hair and bare breasts moving like sensual, rippling waters igniting my deep-set passions even more, and spurring me to thrust deeper, harder. I felt dazed. The moment passed by in a slow blur; the sensation was amazing and aroused every inch of my heated body. Had I taken a line of coke? Not at all, but so dizzyingly satisfying was the movement of our conjoined bodies that I felt an electrifying rush.

During this giddy high, with the room spinning, I thought I spotted something tall in the periphery of my eye; a dark figure standing still in the corner of my room. I turned my head to look, away from the primal sounds of Leila's lust, and for a moment I thought I spotted a woman. That corner was particularly dark, and she was inexplicably shrouded in this darkness. I squinted my eyes to have a better look, completely forgetting that I was in the middle of a very lewd activity. The mysterious figure suddenly vanished, leaving me dumbfounded.

Just for that fleeting instant, a second of delusional madness, I thought I saw the almost corporeal image of Estelle Smith. It couldn't be, I told myself, and turned my head to focus on reality, back to the now and back to the boy gyrating and moaning insatiably on top of me (Leila had vanished), squeezing me harder between his thighs and successfully driving me to sensuous highs. I was elevated with each thrust, the feeling reaching beyond my divine cravings, so I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, telling myself it was just a side-effect of the hormones coursing madly through me, and continued with the carnal dance, enjoying the fiery release that spasmed me to unrealistic heights.

* * * *

I felt very light-headed while I buttoned my shirt after our little rendezvous and our little escapade of the flesh. I pinned the feeling down to dehydration and exhaustion. My personal cell phone vibrated suddenly within my pants pocket. I fished the buzzing device out instinctively to read the email that had caused the alert. My eyes lit up with delight and excitement before I had finished reading it. "Armand?" I called from the bedroom, still staring at the cellular screen with a wicked grin.

"Yes?" he asked curiously, stepping half-dressed from the en-suite bathroom.

"Hurry in here, will you. We have costume shopping to do. How good are you with masked balls?" I looked at the last-minute invitation to Estelle Smith's Gothic Red Ball again with a glint of hopeful elation. I was almost certainly going to see the impeccable Leila there. She wouldn't be in my dreams then, she would be there in splendid flesh. "And Armand?" I asked again, still lost in my blissful thoughts. "Please arrange a meeting with Mrs. Leila Smith—as soon as possible. Clear my schedule if you must. We have a business venture to discuss."

"Yes, sir," my sexy fuckboy replied while slipping on his underwear. "Sir?" I ignored his call, lost in my own dreamworld. "Henry!" he said more forcefully.

I snapped to the present and looked up at him.

"Look, you're bleeding!" he yelped.

I turned around in shock to look at myself in the mirror and see what he was talking about. Thin trickles of blood gushed from my nose and on to my shirt. "Oh shoot!" I cried and ran to the bathroom to rinse it off. Just a silly nosebleed, probably from the heat and the physical exertion, I thought as I buttoned a new, freshly laundered and untainted shirt. Nothing at all to worry about.