Page 32 of Obeying His Rules

“Will he totally let us in?” I reply in a mocking tone that he completely misses.

“Oh, he totally will!” he replies as he takes the lead, indicating that Jasmine and I should follow him up the sidewalk. “And you can thank me getting you in later by paying for the ride home!”

I glance over at her, and she just smiles, shrugs, and links arms with me as we thread our way through the dense crowd.

I shouldn’t be out tonight. I should be at home working on my drawings for my collection so I’ll have something to show Randy, but I know that if I go back to the apartment, I’m just going to end up staring at my sketchpad and getting absolutely nothing done.

And it’s all thanks to him. Marlon Carnell.

It’s been three days since I was last at his apartment–three days since we had our…encounter back at his penthouse. I don’t really know what to call it after what happened.

It was like eating the best meal of your life, but having it force fed to you and then being denied dessert and being thrown out of the restaurant by an angry bouncer. That’s the best description I can come up with.

I couldn’t even sleep that night when I got home.

I thought about calling Jasmine but decided against it. There was just something too intimate about what I’d just gone though that I couldn’t even share it with her, my best friend. So I just went home and wrapped myself up in my comforter, put on my favorite playlist, and opened my sketchbook to try and come up with some new designs.

But I wasn’t even able to do that. My brain simply would not function. All I could think about was Marlon.

Why wouldn’t he kiss me?

Why was he so rough with me?

Why couldn’t I ask him about his wet clothes?

Why won’t he let me ask him anything about him?

And what’s with that necklace he always has with him?

I give him my virginity and he can’t give me any answers?

All those questions scurried through my mind like rodents, biting for a bit of my brain, making it impossible for me to focus on anything but what had just happened.

I was so angry, but at the same time, I was longing to be back with him, cradled in his arms, nuzzling up against his warm skin, feeling protected and wanted within his incredible strength. Because there’s one thing for sure; when I’m with Marlon, I feel wanted.

We reach the entrance, and Taylor steps up to one of the doormen, who has a terrible rouge dye job in his hair and a broccoli cut that is far too young for his age. He smiles at him, and the two begin chatting. He glances over Taylor’s shoulder and waves to us to enter.

“Thanks so much, Petey,” I hear Taylor whisper as we push past and slip inside. “Call me!”

“I will,” Petey replies.

“Did I or did I not tell you?” Taylor asks victoriously as he steps up behind us, throwing his arms over our shoulders.

“You told us,” I reply, doing my best to remain upbeat, but as we thread our way through the crowd, I can’t stop my eyes from drifting over to where Marlon was seated at the bar when we first met. It’s like he’s left behind a gravitational pull despite not even being there.

“Let’s grab that booth over there,” Jasmine says, pointing to the last open booth to our right. We quickly race over to it and grab it before a group of four guys who look like they work on Wall Street can get there.

“Sorry, bitches,” Taylor whispers, tossing them a side-eyed glance that causes us all to laugh.

“So,” Jasmine says simply, eyeing me mischievously.

“So…what?” I reply, fidgeting with my nails.

“So did you figure him out yet? Your mystery man?”

“Oh God,” I sigh. “You do not want to go there.”

“You mean you don’t want to go there,” she laughs.

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