I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

11. frontpage.

|◁ II ▷|

brandy — say something.

THE DRUNK WOMAN'S eyes were dilated by her drink. She had intended to bruise herself with a £450 bottle of Gran Patron after bitterly watching how Ebén had showered another woman with the attention she had spent years trying to chase.

She had stayed — against her better judgment with slighted hope that their casual relationship would manifest into something long term.

She had tried to be cute but had been fired with his venom. She had also tried to be a type of irresistible; that would cause him to sit up and take notice of her, but was met with his brick wall of of a heart.

She did not know rejection — and had never needed to beg for attention from a man. She didn't understand why she was allowing him to set pace now.

With her lips sucking down hard on the rim; she continued to drink away her shame.

She wanted to stop but the heiress was unfamiliar with self-control of the mind. Waiting was a thing she had not grown used to and was not going to spare herself a lesson now. Projectile vomit had been stained on the corners of her mouth — turning her caustic red lipstick into a messy, red smudge.

She stood, unsteady, as her legs drifted into a sway, raising her back hand to wipe her lips and try to appear as a less of a drunk, "Sorry... babe"

Ebén held the woman upright and was incredibly tempted to let her have it — but noted that she was too drunk to really feel the force of his blows.

Maya's eyes gaped down at the midriff of her dress, who grimaced at the soiled patch of vomit that had stained her dress. She wanted to be rambunctious and blame Ebén and the woman; but did not want his guests to be remember her as such.

She could do without the stern glares.

Ebén exchanged his own covetous glance at her; his orbs slowly roaming down her body and mapping out where the lothario would start first once he got her alone. He decided that her collarbone was where he'd start and slowly travel down towards the thing in between her thighs and motorboat it until he ...

He was getting ahead of himself.

She finally set her clenched gaze on the drunkard, "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll wash out"

She wanted her to worry and hated that she was spirited with the gift of being ultra-forgiving when she could do with holding a grudge or two.

Ezra could not mask her drunkenly burp that had brew the musty smell of Patron from her mouth, "Sorry... it was an accident" She burped again, "I promise babe"

Maya's eye caught something brewing in her silver-white eyes that made her perk up — the tone from her sorry was not apologetic, but was one of vindication. She did not mistake the slight tip in her smile as she said those words and if the circumstances were different, Maya would have pressed the woman more.

"Here" said Ebén; he held his hand out in the shape of a peace offering holding something cotton.

Ebén had let her borrow his hanker-chief, and she tried to excavate the stain, but found herself frowning at the soiled, permanent patch of vomit. She scrubbed on it hard, but the patch only spread and soiled the material, it didn't disappear.

Ebén was not too lucky neither, she had fired at his sable trousers; messing up his birthday get up.

A damp patch of vomit was smeared on his pant leg, the upper part of his right leg taking most of the hit. He watched her eyes that were curious — travel down his crotch with baited breath. She could not help that she was pulled into the direction of his bulge, trying not to look but felt so seduced by it.