Chapter 2: Breakfast Confessions
The voice was sleep-roughened, but entirely alert. It pinned Nelissa to the spot, her hand still gripping the cold hotel door handle. She didn’t turn around.
“I… I have to go,” she whispered to the polished wood.
“Why?”
The simple question hung in the sunlit room. Behind her, the sheets rustled. Nelissa heard the soft pad of bare feet on carpet. She squeezed her eyes shut behind her glasses.
“Because last night was a mistake,” she said, the words tasting like ash. “You’ll realize that. And I’d rather not be here when you do.”
A hand touched her shoulder, gentle but firm, turning her around. Lisa stood there, naked and unselfconscious in the morning light, her hair a chaotic black waterfall. She looked nothing like the idol from magazine spreads. She looked real, and slightly annoyed.
“Who died and made you the prophet of my regrets?” Lisa said, her eyebrow arched. “I make my own mistakes. And last night wasn’t one of them.” She yawned, stretching her arms overhead with a feline grace that made Nelissa’s throat go dry. “I’m starving. Room service. Come on.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She walked away, picking up a sleek black silk robe from a chair and sliding into it. The fabric whispered as she tied the belt, leaving it loose enough to hint at the curves beneath. She picked up the phone by the bed, ordering an absurd amount of food with a casual, practiced ease.
Nelissa stood by the door, a statue in a borrowed blazer. The part of her that screamed to run was slowly being overridden by a deeper, more terrifying curiosity. Lisa hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t looked at her with pity or disgust. She’d just… wanted breakfast.
“Are you planning to hover by the exit all day?” Lisa called from the ensuite bathroom. The sound of running water followed. “The view’s better over here.”
Shamefaced, Nelissa finally unpeeled herself from the door. She drifted into the main suite, which in daylight was even more daunting. It was all clean lines and vast windows, the city spread out below like a glittering toy. The remnants of the night—the torn dress, the empty glasses—had been subtly dealt with, likely by staff who entered and left with ghostly discretion.
Soon, a rolling cart arrived, laden with covered dishes. Lisa directed it to a low, curved table in a dining alcove off the main room. The table was draped in black silk, a single candle flickering in a glass votive even though it was morning. The amber lighting from hidden fixtures made the space feel secluded, intimate.
“Sit,” Lisa said, settling herself on a floor cushion with effortless elegance. She poured coffee from a silver pot into two delicate cups.
Nelissa awkwardly lowered herself onto the cushion opposite, her blazer straining at the buttons. She kept her glasses on, her hair a protective curtain. The spread was intimidating: pastries, fruit, eggs, slices of smoked salmon. It smelled like luxury and normalcy, a combination that confused her.
Lisa ate with gusto, ripping a croissant apart with her fingers. Nelissa poked at a few berries on her plate, her appetite nonexistent.
“You’re not eating,” Lisa observed, sipping her coffee.
“Not really hungry.”
“Bullshit.” Lisa’s tone was light, but her eyes were sharp. “You’re nervous. Which is cute, but unnecessary. The world-ending part is over. We already fucked.” She said it so casually, like commenting on the weather. “Now we eat croissants.”
Nelissa felt a hysterical laugh bubble in her chest. She choked it down. “It’s not that simple for me.”
“I know.” Lisa put her cup down. The candlelight caught the silver rings on her fingers. “That’s why I asked you to stay. So talk to me. Or don’t talk. Just eat something so you don’t pass out on my floor.”
Nelissa took a small, obedient bite of a pastry. It was buttery and perfect. She chewed slowly, avoiding Lisa’s gaze. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. It was filled with the low hum of the city and the memory of skin on skin.
Lisa watched her, her head tilted. She seemed fascinated, as if Nelissa were a complex puzzle she was determined to solve. After a few minutes, she reached across the table. Her movement was slow, giving Nelissa every chance to flinch away.
She didn’t. She sat perfectly still as Lisa’s fingers gently cupped her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. Lisa’s thumb brushed slowly, deliberately, across her lower lip, catching a tiny, invisible crumb from the pastry.
The touch was electric. It was possessiveness and tenderness all at once.
“Tell me about this hot body you’ve been hiding under library sweaters,” Lisa murmured, her voice a low, wicked promise. Her thumb stayed on Nelissa’s lip for a heartbeat longer before she withdrew, leaving a phantom burn. “The one you only let out at night. The one you thought you had to bring to a club to show a stranger before you could ever show anyone real.”
Nelissa’s breath hitched. The directness was a blade, slicing through her defenses. “How did you…?”
“See you at the bar?” Lisa finished, leaning back. She smiled, a little sadly. “Baby, I’m in the business of being seen. I know what it looks like when someone is screaming to be noticed while doing everything possible to disappear. The blazer was a dead giveaway. Designer armor two sizes too big. You were the most interesting person in that room.”
Nelissa looked down at her plate, her cheeks burning. “I’m not interesting. I’m a mess.”
“We’re all messes. Some of us just have better stylists.” Lisa plucked a grape from the fruit platter. “University freak, right? That’s what they called you?”
The words, thrown back at her in this serene, beautiful space, were a shock. “You remember that?”
“You muttered a lot last night. In between the moans.” Lisa’s eyes glinted. “You talked about your glasses. Your baggy clothes. How no one at school knows what’s under them.” She popped the grape into her mouth. “So. I’m asking. Tell me.”
The invitation was terrifying. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. But Lisa was just sitting there, waiting, her robe gaping slightly, looking more genuinely curious than anyone had ever looked at Nelissa Jane.
So, she started to talk. Haltingly at first.
She talked about the endless cycle of hoodies and jeans, the calculated slouch to minimize her frame. She described the library not as a place of study, but as a bunker where she could be invisible. She told her about the crushing loneliness of walking through crowds feeling like a ghost, and the secret, illicit freedom of her bedroom at home, where she’d stand in front of the mirror in just her underwear, acknowledging the truth of her own form.
“It’s like I’m two people,” she whispered, finally meeting Lisa’s gaze. “And the one I like is a secret.”
Lisa listened, never interrupting. When Nelissa trailed off, she asked, “And the first person you showed was me? At a club? Why?”
“Because you were safe,” Nelissa admitted, the truth spilling out. “You were a fantasy. I thought it wouldn’t count. If the fantasy rejected me, it would hurt, but it wouldn’t be real. You were never supposed to be real.”
Lisa absorbed this, her expression unreadable. Then she stood up, coming around the table. She didn’t sit beside Nelissa; she knelt in front of her, on the carpet, putting them at eye level. The silk robe pooled around her.
“Look at me,” Lisa said, her voice soft but firm. “I am real. This is real. The way you came for me last night was real. The way you felt inside me was real.” She reached out and slowly, carefully, removed Nelissa’s glasses. She folded them and set them on the table. Then she brushed the blonde hair back from Nelissa’s face, tucking it behind her ears. “And this,” she said, her fingertips tracing the line of Nelissa’s jaw, down her throat, to the top button of the blazer, “this is real. And it’s breathtaking.”
Nelissa’s eyes filled with helpless tears. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do.” Lisa’s fingers worked on the first button of the blazer. Then the second. “But I need you to mean it, too. So let’s make a deal.”
“What deal?”
“You stop hiding from me. Right now. In this room.” Lisa’s eyes were dark pools of intent. “And I’ll show you what it’s like to be seen. Really seen. Not as a fantasy. Not as a freak. As you.”
She undid the third button, her knuckles grazing the satin of the dress beneath. “Do we have a deal?”
Nelissa’s heart was a wild thing in her chest. This was insanity. But the alternative—going back to the shadows, to the library sweaters, after tasting this—felt like a death sentence. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Lisa’s smile was a sunrise. She stood, offering her hand. “Then come on. The bedroom’s cleaner.”
She led Nelissa back to the bed, which had been remade with crisp, white sheets. The morning light was full and bright now, exposing everything. Lisa untied her robe and let it fall, standing proudly naked. Then she turned to Nelissa.
Her fingers were steady this time as she finished unbuttoning the blazer. She pushed it off Nelissa’s shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. She grasped the hem of the satin dress and lifted it up and over Nelissa’s head, leaving her in just her plain black boxers.
Nelissa stood trembling, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest.
“Uh-uh,” Lisa chided gently. She took Nelissa’s wrists, unfolding them, holding them at her sides. “Look at me.”
Nelissa forced her eyes up. Lisa’s gaze wasn’t on her face. It was traveling over her body—the slender shoulders, the small, rounded breasts, the flat stomach, the gentle flare of her hips. It was a slow, deliberate inspection, devoid of judgment, full of appreciation.
“You’re perfect,” Lisa breathed, her voice hushed with awe. It didn’t sound like a line. It sounded like a discovery.
Her hands followed her eyes. She traced the contour of Nelissa’s collarbone, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. When her fingers hooked into the waistband of the boxers, she paused, looking up for confirmation.
Nelissa, lost in the intensity of being witnessed, nodded again.
Lisa drew the boxers down, letting them fall. She knelt, her eyes level with Nelissa’s stomach. She didn’t look away. She took her in, completely. The elegant lines of her legs, the soft thatch of blonde hair, the full, heavy length of her cock lying against her thigh.
Lisa let out a slow, shuddering breath. “God,” she whispered. Then she looked up, her eyes blazing with something fierce and protective. “All this. And you let them make you feel small?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She leaned forward and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Nelissa’s stomach. Then another, lower. Her hands came
around to grip Nelissa’s hips, her thumbs pressing into the soft skin. Nelissa’s breath caught, a sharp gasp escaping her as she felt the warmth of Lisa’s breath so close. She looked down, her vision slightly blurred, her body rigid with a tension that was equal parts terror and desperate need.
“Wait,” Nelissa whispered, her voice strained.
Lisa paused, her lips a hair’s breadth away. She tilted her head up, her expression patient. “What is it?”
“My glasses,” Nelissa said, the request feeling absurd and vital. “On the table. I… I can’t see you properly. My vision’s shit. I want to see. I need to see.”
A slow, understanding smile spread across Lisa’s face. It wasn’t mocking; it was profoundly tender. “You want a better view?”
Nelissa nodded, her throat too tight for words.
Lisa released her, rising with that effortless grace. She padded naked to the dining alcove, retrieved the folded glasses, and returned. She opened them gently and slid the arms behind Nelissa’s ears, settling the frames on her nose. The world snapped into sharp, painful focus. Lisa’s face, her smudged eyeliner, her swollen lips, her intent gaze—all of it was suddenly, breathtakingly clear.
“Better?” Lisa asked, her voice a low hum.
“Yes,” Nelissa breathed.
“Good.” Lisa sank back to her knees, her hands reclaiming their place on Nelissa’s hips. “Now watch.”
This time, she didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward and took the full length of Nelissa’s cock into her mouth in one slow, devastating motion.
Nelissa cried out, her hands flying to Lisa’s hair. The sensation was a live wire, a scorching, wet heat that traveled straight up her spine and exploded behind her eyes. She’d imagined this—God, how she’d imagined it—but the reality was a physical shock, an obliteration of every lonely fantasy. Lisa’s mouth was impossibly soft yet firm, her tongue working a ruthless, knowing pressure along the underside.
“Fuck,” Nelissa moaned, her head falling back before she forced it up again. She had to see. Through the clear lenses of her glasses, she watched Lisa’s head move, watched her own cock disappear into that perfect, idol’s mouth. The visual was obscene, glorious. Lisa’s eyes were open, locked on hers, watching her watch.
The slurping, wet sounds were loud in the sunlit room. Lisa pulled back until just the tip remained between her lips, her tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive head, before plunging down again, taking her deeper. She hollowed her cheeks, applying a suction that made Nelissa’s legs shake.
“I can’t… I’ve never…” Nelissa gasped, her fingers tightening in Lisa’s black hair.
Lisa pulled off with a lewd, wet pop. A string of saliva connected her lips to Nelissa’s glistening shaft. “Never what?”
“No one’s ever… done this for me,” Nelissa confessed, the admission raw and stripped bare. “Ever.”
Lisa’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. She nuzzled the thick vein on the underside, her breath hot. “Then I’ll make it good,” she murmured, her voice gravelly. “Tell me what you like. Tell me what you do when you’re alone.”
She took Nelissa back into her mouth, her hand coming up to cradle and squeeze her balls, rolling them gently. The dual sensation was overwhelming.
“I… I used to think about you,” Nelissa panted, the words torn from her. “In my dorm. At home. I’d get off to your photos, the concert videos. The way you’d move on stage. I’d imagine… fuck… I’d imagine you looking at me like you are now.”
Lisa moaned around her, the vibration traveling straight to Nelissa’s core. She sucked harder, her pace increasing, one hand sliding back to press against Nelissa’s perineum. The pressure was exquisite, a direct counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of her mouth.
“I’d imagine your mouth,” Nelissa rushed on, her hips beginning to stutter forward of their own accord. “Your hands. I’d imagine you knowing what I was, and still wanting me. Still touching me. Lisa… I’m gonna…”
The coil in her abdomen was a white-hot knot, tightening beyond bearing. Lisa seemed to sense it. She pulled off again, her lips slick and swollen. “Come for me,” she commanded, her voice ragged. “Come in my mouth. Let me see you.”
She sealed her lips over the head again, her tongue dancing over the slit, and reached between Nelissa’s legs, pressing a firm, insistent finger against her entrance.
That was all it took. Nelissa’s vision whited out. A raw, guttural sound was ripped from her throat as she came, pulsing hot and deep into Lisa’s waiting mouth. Lisa took it all, swallowing around her, her throat working, until Nelissa was shuddering and spent, her legs buckling.
Lisa guided her down onto the edge of the bed, never breaking contact. She cleaned Nelissa with slow, tender licks, softening as Nelissa softened, until the sensation became almost too much. Only then did she sit back on her heels, looking up at Nelissa with dark, satisfied eyes. A stray drop glistened on her chin.
Nelissa, trembling and utterly exposed, reached down with a shaking hand. She wiped the drop away with her thumb. “You…” she started, but had no words.
Lisa caught her wrist, turned her head, and kissed her palm. “I know,” she said simply.
“I know,” she said simply.
The silence that followed was thick, humming with the echo of what had just happened. Nelissa’s skin felt too sensitive, every nerve ending raw and exposed to the quiet room. Lisa rose from her knees, her movements languid, and sat beside her on the bed, their thighs touching. The heat from her body was a brand.
“We’re sticky,” Lisa stated, her voice practical. She ran a hand through her own hair, then glanced at the dampness on Nelissa’s stomach. “Shower?”
The word was a bucket of cold reality. A shower meant movement. It meant navigating the aftermath. Nelissa just nodded, mute.
The ensuite was a temple of marble and steam. Lisa turned on the rain showerhead, and water cascaded in a thunderous curtain. She stepped in first, her back to Nelissa, head tilted up into the stream. Nelissa followed, the hot water a shocking slap. They stood under the spray together, not touching, the water sluicing between them. It was profoundly awkward. The intimacy of minutes ago had retreated, leaving two near-strangers sharing a practical, silent cleanse.
Lisa soaped her arms. Nelissa stared at the water swirling at their feet.
“The, um. The blowjob,” Nelissa blurted out, the words clumsy in the steamy enclosure.
Lisa paused, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked over. “Yeah?”
“It was… physiologically incredible.” Nelissa’s mind, her safe place, engaged like a overheating engine. “The concentration of nerve endings in the glans is about four thousand, I think. The mechanical stimulation combined with the psychological release of oxytocin and vasopressin… and the visual feedback, seeing you, it created a feedback loop that basically short-circuited my prefrontal cortex. The orgasmic intensity was probably quantifiably off any chart. The suction you applied, the intra-oral pressure, it mimics ideal…”
Lisa was staring at her, soap forgotten in her hand. Her expression was one of utter, delighted bafflement.
Nelissa faltered. “I’m rambling. Sorry. I do that when I’m… overwhelmed.”
“It’s cute,” Lisa said, and she meant it. The tension broke. She stepped closer, the water plastering her hair to her skull. “Really fucking cute.” She placed her wet hands on either side of Nelissa’s face. “Now shut up about charts.”
She kissed her. It was a deep, searching kiss that tasted of mint and herself. It dissolved the awkwardness, melting it in the steam. The shower became something else. Lisa pressed Nelissa back against the cool marble, her mouth moving to her throat, her breasts. The water beat down on them as Lisa’s hand slid between Nelissa’s legs, fingers slipping inside her with an easy familiarity that made Nelissa gasp.
“Still thinking about nerve endings?” Lisa breathed against her collarbone, her fingers curling.
“No,” Nelissa gasped, her head thumping back against the wall. “Just you.”
They fucked right there, against the wall, fast and desperate, water filling their mouths, their eyes, slicking every movement. Lisa rode Nelissa’s thigh, grinding down with a frantic, choked-off rhythm until she came with a sharp cry, her teeth sinking into Nelissa’s shoulder. It was quick, messy, and left them both panting, clinging to each other as the water finally ran cool.
They got dressed in the bedroom’s quiet. Lisa tossed Nelissa a soft cashmere hoodie and a pair of designer sweats that hung off her frame. “Yours got… spirited away,” she said, nodding toward the torn dress from the night before. Nelissa just pulled the clothes on, savoring the scent of Lisa’s perfume embedded in the fibers.
Luckily, they were mostly decent when the suite’s main door clicked open.
A man walked in without knocking. He was all sharp lines and casual expense—Mark, Lisa’s manager. He carried a tablet and an air of impatience. “Lisa, the car’s downstairs for the fitting. You’re late.” His eyes, calculating and quick, scanned the room and landed on Nelissa.
His gaze wasn’t hostile. It was an appraisal. It lingered on the too-big clothes, on her bare face, on the vulnerable set of her shoulders. It was the look of a man categorizing a new variable, assessing its potential impact and its cost. It was the look Nelissa knew from university hallways, from over-the-shoulder glances in cafes—the look that reduced her to an inconvenient mystery.
Nelissa took an unconscious step back, her heel hitting the leg of the chair.
Lisa saw it. She saw the minute recoil, the way Nelissa’s posture folded inward. In one fluid motion, Lisa closed the distance between them and took Nelissa’s hand. Her grip was firm, possessive. She didn’t look at Mark.
“Mark, this is Nelissa.” Her tone brooked no discussion, no further appraisal. “She’s leaving. She’ll take my car.”
Mark’s eyebrow twitched. “Your car? Lisa, the schedule—”
“Is mine to manage,” Lisa finished, her voice cold. She looked at Nel.
issa, and her expression softened into something private. “The key’s in the bowl by the elevator. The black one. Take it home.”
Nelissa, still reeling from Mark’s entrance, just nodded. Lisa squeezed her hand once more, then let go, a deliberate release that felt like a public claim. Nelissa moved past Mark, feeling his eyes on her back, and retrieved the heavy, sleek key fob from the ceramic bowl.
The elevator ride down was a blur. The lobby staff bowed slightly as she passed, her odd attire noted but politely ignored. The doorman gestured silently to the curbside.
Parked there, low and viperous in the concrete belly of the building, was a Ferrari Spider Roma. Its paint was a deep, liquid black, looking less like a color and more like a slice of void. Nelissa stopped dead. The key fob in her hand felt alien, radioactive. She’d seen pictures. This was a fragment of a dream, illegally parked in the real world.
A valet, in immaculate gloves, opened the dihedral door for her. It swung upward like a black wing. “Ms. Manoban said to take you wherever you need, miss,” he said, his face neutral.
Nelissa slid into the driver’s seat. The interior smelled of hot leather and cold, clean metal. The engine woke with a bark that echoed off the garage walls, settling into a predatory idle. She drove through the city streets in a daze, the power of the machine a distant thrum beneath her terror. She didn’t go far.
Ten minutes later, she turned into a gated driveway in the oldest, most quietly moneyed part of the city. The iron gates swung open silently. The house wasn’t just huge; it was a landmark. A restored Georgian manor set back behind acres of manicured gardens, all understated limestone and wisteria. She pulled the roaring Ferrari into a circular drive crowded with her parents’ more sedate luxury vehicles.
She sat there for a long moment, the contrast screaming at her. The borrowed clothes, the idol’s hypercar, her family’s cold, palatial museum. She was a set of Russian dolls, each layer a different lie.
Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. A message from an unknown number. Did you make it?
It was her. Lisa. Nelissa’s heart hammered against her ribs. Yes. Thank you for the car. It’s… insane.
The reply was immediate. Good. I have a proposition.
Nelissa stared at the words. Proposition?
Your dick was the first dick to ever give me real pleasure. The text was brutally frank. You did a job no man has ever done well. I want you to be my fuck buddy. On call. Discreet. No strings, just that.
The phone almost slipped from Nelissa’s sweating hand. The world tilted. The marble facade of her house, the leather steering wheel, the obscene words on the screen—they spun in a dizzying carousel. Shock flooded her, cold and bright. It wasn’t a romantic declaration. It was something else entirely. A raw, carnal contract. An offer from a goddess who wanted only one specific, hidden part of her.
She looked from her family’s vast, empty house to the message, and her breath caught in her chest.