1 Mia

My hands shook as I picked up the crimson lipstick from the marble benchtop. I wasn't really partial to such a loud color. The bright rouge shade made me feel uncomfortable. It made me feel like I was laid bare on stage, the center of attention, people leering at me, which I didn't like. I was more of a natural-color-type girl. Nude pink was my favorite, followed by a peachy orange. Those colors I would describe as both beautiful and innocent. Yet I was neither beautiful nor innocent.

Touching the scarlet color to my lower lip, I gazed at myself as my heart continued to beat too fast for my liking. Within the mirror and staring back at me was a young woman I barely recognized. Slim, oval face with high cheekbones, eyes the color of walnuts with a hint of gold radiating around the rim of the irises, straight but not prominent nose, and lips a little bit on the plump side as the dominating feature. She was plain. Her hair was a rich, raven black that sometimes sparkled a hue of blue in the brightness of the sun. She was of medium height and slim build. Overall, she wasn't model material.

According to me, she wasn't at all beautiful. She was just another girl. You wouldn't even notice her at all in the crowd. She was that invisible. That average. Yet she was noticed by James Maxwell, a business multibillionaire with too much money to throw around and too much power and influence.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.

"Slow down." The words shakily escaped my colorless lips. "Just calm down. Everything is going to be okay."

Instead of alleviating the tremor within my chest and along my throat, it was exacerbated. My stomach couldn't stop flipping either.

"Shit!" The profanity flew out of my mouth before I could inhale another lungful of oxygen.

I dropped the lipstick in frustration and raked my fingers through my curls. After a few more deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly, I managed to calm myself, then raised my face to the mirror once again.

Picking up the lipstick, I chanted, "Everything is going to be all right, Mia. He's going to like you for what you're going to offer him tonight. It's his birthday."

This was my redemption, I supposed, for disobeying him. For rebelliously, cunningly, secretly, but stupidly cutting my very long curls. He liked the length of my previous tresses, which had reached all the way down to my waist. He liked to run his fingers through the soft strands. He liked it brushing and caressing his naked skin as he made me ride him, his fully erect shaft deep inside me.

I knew how much he adored my hair, yet I had underhandedly cut it simply to spite him. I wanted to show him he couldn't really control all of me. I think a part of me had secretly wanted to rile him up, to displease him just to see how far he'd go. Well, I'd learned that the hard way, hadn't I?

I finally managed to calm my nerves and carefully applied the lipstick. After patting my lips with a Kleenex and then reapplying for a matte finish, I stepped back and noticed how red my lips were compared to my pale face. I very nearly looked like a geisha with my dark hair and milky-white skin. Except, of course, without the kimono.

I blinked, thinking of rubbing some of the color off. With the sound of the clock ticking, indicating another minute had just passed, however, I changed my mind. Instead, I turned my attention to my attire.

Tonight I wore the pink lacey panties and James's favorite pale blue work shirt. It was his favorite simply because I'd worn it by accident after he'd finished having his way with me for the third time that night three weeks ago. I'd wanted to leave immediately and be in my own room. Not that I didn't like him ravishing me and having his hardened rod inside me; it was just that I was exhausted and wanted to be by myself after the long foreplay and hard, deep thrusting. I unthinkingly grabbed his shirt and donned it for decency's sake. After all, I hadn't wanted to walk naked across the hall of the mansion. My thin dress and underwear had all been lovingly ripped to pieces. I hadn't wanted Ms. Lane, the housekeeper, to see me without a stitch of clothing.

"Is my shirt your robe now?" he'd asked, his dark brows rising mockingly.

I held my head high and said haughtily, "It is."

I didn't even get to exit before he roughly grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back onto the bed. A fourth round of rough sex ensued, me with nothing on but his pale blue shirt as he thrust into me.

The thought of that night brought a delicious shiver down my spine, and my core heated and tightened knowingly. Jesus! I was turned on by just the memory. I glanced down at the lacey panties and felt a delicious twist of sensation coursing there.

That particular type of pantie was one of the many he'd bought for me to wear on our nights of amour. Lacey, see-through, and way too sexy compared to my briefs I'd usually wear for comfort.

Apart from the shirt and panties, there was nothing on me. That was how he liked me. Actually, no, he preferred me without a stitch on and writhing beneath him as he devoured me. The panties and his work shirt came next.