Written in the Scars (The Damaged Souls #1)

Reagan

“This story isn’t going to write itself, .”

I could hear his voice on repeat in my head like a foghorn, droning on and on, like nails down a chalkboard.

Of all the bubbly blonde journalists at the magazine jumping to be here, yet Nathan insists I cover it, bullshit.

I find myself recapping the few details I'd been given on this place and the apparent going on’s.

I begin to fidget in this godforsaken overpriced dress, if you could even call it that, it is more like one of those silky under slip dresses the upper-class women wear under their dresses, black, thin material with a built in bustier, clings to my skin as if it is holding on for dear life.

If you ask me, I do not understand the need to wear a dress under a dress, it seems unnecessary and uncomfortable.

But in a place like this, you must dress to their standards and fit in, so to say, yet here I am still feeling like I stand out and still I am only wearing one dress.

Selene, my flat mate, and for all intents and purposes best friend, helped me with getting ready for this evening.

My glossy black hair is pinned high, the odd curl resting on my shoulders, grey shaded make-up giving my jade green eyes a seductive look to them.

She gave me some tips and tricks on how to perform for a night here, because that is what I am doing.

She forced me into this painful dress, pushing my tits up to my chin, made to only just cover the important parts and leave nothing for the imagination.

The sharp clinking of ice against the crystal brings me back to where I am and out of my head.

Straightening my back, I stroke the hem of my dress, ensuring I do not flash the other guests the slick slit between my thighs, however that would make for the most action I’ve had in months.

Damn work, no correction.

Damn Nathan, over working me on all these shitty stories that either go nowhere or nobody will read anyway.

“Same again, miss?”

the bartender calls to me.

Once again, I’ve gotten lost in my own thoughts.

I am not doing the best job at chasing this story, am I?

I turn myself to face the 5ft something blonde standing behind the bar, a smile that would have any man on their knees crawling for her, never mind the huge rack she is sporting.

I cannot help but stare and wonder if they are real, the all too natural curve of her cleavage tells me they are.

Shifting my gaze back to her eyes, I noticed the flush of heat coating my cheeks as she smirks at me, like she knows exactly what I was thinking.

Then again, when someone is staring at your tits there are only a few things they can be thinking, right?

Sliding my tongue across my bottom lip, I unconsciously begin to lightly bite.

WHAT AM I DOING!?

Clearing my throat and hoping I do not trip over my own tongue, I say: “I’m so sorry, you must get enough of that working here.”

I'm slowly glancing around the room, breaking our eye contact and trying to keep myself calm and collected, as I try to make sense as to why she is making me so nervous.

Keep going, you are doing great, I tell myself.

“No, thank you for the drink, though.

I am going to call it a night”.

Well, that came out more flirtatious than I wanted it too.

And there she goes again, that body melting smile, making me weak at the knees.

I cannot help but watch as her pink painted lip’s part, seductively moving around the words bouncing from her tongue, as it makes a slight appearance, a beautiful contrast of the red muscle against her pale pink skin.

“Well, that is a shame, I hope we get to see you again soon”, she says, leaving me with a wink as she heads towards the opposite side of the bar.

With a sigh of relief and confusion, I grab my clutch from the glittered marble and make way for the exit, pulling on the hem of my dress again.

After being sat in the same position for three hours and two glasses of wine, because women cannot enjoy a beer in a place like this, I am in desperate need of crashing into my bed.

I steadily make my way towards the cloak room, glancing around at all the upper-class businessmen and women, as they numb themselves after another day of corruption and illicit affairs, making sure I have not missed anything that might pique my interest in this so-called story.

As I hand my coat number to the attendant, I am distracted by the goosebumps taking over the skin of my neck, whipping my head round.

I can feel eyes on me.

Fondling my keys out of my clutch as I head for the apartment door, I can already hear that Selene has a guest.

Nothing like rubbing salt in the wound, but at least one of us is getting some.

Maybe we should look into sound proofing this place.

Who am I kidding? Just her room would be enough.

Trying to be quiet as I enter the living room, it’s completely pitch black, I shift slowly towards the side table to my left for the lamp, falling flat on my face as my foot catches something on the floor.

The side table is flying onto its side, the sound of the lamp smashing a foot away from my head. Fuck. And to top it off, the evidence of my ridiculous attempt of getting in unnoticed is illuminated as Selene rushes in, to find who I am sure she thought was some clumsy loud intruder, with her hopes of me getting some tonight.

“How many drinks did you have? I thought you were working”, Selene vibrates with a hint of condescension and confusion in her voice.

Looking towards her, I notice her dark auburn hair in disarray, her long slim body wrapped in the forest green sheet from her bed, her silver baseball bat hanging down by her beautifully curved hip, a shimmering sheen of sweat coating her neck and collar bone.

I cannot help but feel a little turned on at the sight of her.

That's it, I need to get laid.

Attempting to get myself up and out of my head, again, I realize the stupid too-small-for-me dress has ridden up over my ass, showing my bottom half in all its glory to not only Selene, but her friend too.

Standing just to her side, he however did not grab a sheet to cover himself.

He stands just a little taller than Selene, with jet black hair and so clean cut, chiseled to perfection you would think God herself molded this man for her own pleasure.

Looking down at his gloriously molded body, there below his remarkable abs and the delicious V dying to be teased by any woman's tongue, standing to full attention is one of the most glorious cocks I have ever laid eyes on.

What is this man?

My mouth fills with saliva and I realize I am staring at his cock, while they wait for me to respond.

Shaking my head, I say: “Sorry to, um, interrupt.

Please continue.

I am just going to clean this up and head to bed”, embarrassment seeping from my words as I quickly make myself disappear into the adjoining kitchen, as fast as I can.

I hear them mumbling and shuffling around before the door slams shut, cloaking the apartment in silence.

Having cleaned up the broken glass and ceramic, I head straight for the bathroom and start filling the tub.

A shower is not going to cut it now, I'm tired, embarrassed, and down right in need of an orgasm.

I watch as the thick red liquid flows from the bottle mixing with the steaming water and creating a layer of clean white bubbles, it's unusually sensual to watch.

As the room fills with hot steam, I finally peel myself out of the skimpy black dress, the rings that tread my nipples covered with condensation almost immediately.

Pulling my hair from the thousand hair slides holding it up, I enjoy the release of tension from my scalp and begin to slowly lower myself through the bubbles, the heat washing over my pale skin and tinting it with a red blush.

Before I can even rest my head on the porcelain, Selene barges in with two glasses of wine, the liquid sloshing around like thin blood.

“So, tell me all about your night.

I want to hear every juicy detail you got for this top-secret story of yours”, she hums, “and the delicious businessmen”, she finishes as she hands me a glass and perches herself on the closed lid toilet, crossing her long-tanned legs in preparation for a girl gossip fest.

I sink back, letting the ends of my curls float along the top of the water and mixing in with the clouds of bubbles, taking a sip and savoring the warming sensation as the merlot hits my tongue.

She’s in for a boring night, I think to myself, as I drone on about the up-sight middle aged businessmen ogling the slim busty staff, the overpriced drinks and bar tabs costing more than our monthly rent.

“Anyway, enough about my incredibly boring night”, I declined to tell her about the blonde that made me second guess my sexuality, not that there is much to say anyway.

I would just sound like a hot for blonde teenager.

“Who’s the guy? And for my future needs, where can I get me one?”, I try a light-hearted approach.

We don’t discuss guys often.

Probably because it is always a one-sided conversation, I just lay there, ready to listen in pure jealousy.

I guess you could say I'm living vicariously through her.

“That was Todd”, she responds with a not-so-subtle devilish look in her eye.

“He’s a colleague, just been transferred to the marketing department.

We all went out for drinks after this afternoon’s meeting and well… you know the rest.”

Not even a glint of embarrassment crosses her face, and I wonder how magnificent that would be, to just be a woman empowered and not give a flying crap what other people think.

Jealousy courses through my veins as she goes on “he is absolutely divine, isn’t he? All that toned muscle and holy fuck, his cock! You saw that, right? Well, how could you not, we could have pitched up a tent under that beast!”, she giggles away, and I feel my cheeks glow red at the mention of Todd’s penis.

“He was rather large in that department, yes”, I chuckle trying to normalise the conversation.

“How was he?”

my curiosity gets the better of me, I couldn’t stop the words from leaving my lips, even if I wanted to.

A huge grin stretches across her face as she gives her perfectly shaped eyebrows a wiggle, though soon disappearing.

“Oh! , asking for the dirty details?”, she sticks her tongue out playfully carrying on, “If me sending him home after your interruption, as you so elegantly put it, isn’t enough to tell you… Body of a god from Greek mythology, yes, however I have more fun and creativity masturbating alone.

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing with anything, with himself or me.

Imagine having that god given dick and not knowing what to do with it!”, the frustration in her voice tells me more than the words she used.

She did not get off.

I'm a little less jealous now.