The Condemned: A Dark Psychological Thriller (Victim of Fate Book 2) by JG Koratzanis

Author:JG Koratzanis [Koratzanis, JG]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

9

“Can I just say, for the record, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Grace tilted her head towards her as she drew two wine stems from the hotel dresser top. “Are you sorry you did?”

“No! Oh, God, no. I just don’t know what came over me. Should I be getting dressed or something?”

Grace sauntered to the side of the bed and sat. She noticed the woman roll her eyes from Grace’s knees, across her supple thighs, and follow the curve of her spine. The woman let out a breathy sigh as she looked into Grace’s eyes.

“I would prefer you stayed. Here,” Grace said as she eased over a half-filled goblet. “We have the room for the night. I thought it would be fitting for your first time with a woman to make love until the sun arose.”

A drop of Burgundy fell from the corner of the woman’s lip. Grace leaned forward and greedily sucked it from her chin. The woman’s sigh filled into a groan. Grace withdrew and smiled.

“How—I probably sound like a college freshman—but how did you—”

“Intuition,” Grace said.

The woman propped herself on her elbows. Grace’s regard didn’t relent from the woman’s doe-eyes, though the spring in her bust demanded attention. A few years Grace’s junior, gravity had not yet drawn any part of the woman’s body earthward. The shock of white that striped her black mane was distinguished, if not ageless. No line nor crease had made its marking intent around her lips, nor her neck. If Grace didn’t peer at the woman’s driver’s license she accidentally withdrew from her wallet earlier that evening, Grace would surely believe the woman had the best plastic surgeon in the City.

It was only a few hours ago, how many, Grace didn’t count nor notice, that they met. Grace made her way from SoHo, New York to Boerum Hill, Brooklyn in eleven minutes. She studied the woman sitting alone at the bar in Dickinson’s.

There was a hint of suspicion as the woman seemed invisible to the excited, Friday night crowd. Surely the plunging neckline on her form-fitting, almost poured into, blood red dress should have garnered some attention. It couldn’t have been the streak of white in her hair. It made her stand out from the other Brooklynite bimbos that probably fucked like a limp dish towel. It was almost as if the woman’s emotional affliction bled through her pores. Though the sly smiles and flirtatious flip of hair caught Grace’s attention, no one else seemed to notice.

She watched as Sam placed the glass of modestly expensive Barolo and Truffle Fries before her. The rooftop grown Rosemary, four-year aged Parmesan Reggiano imported from Parma, and the virgin pressed truffle oil was a sinfully delectable touch that Grace made sure never to skimp on. The woman in red certainly appreciated the finer tastes in wine and foods and knew how to pair them. Grace smiled when emotion seemed to overcome the woman with each bite.

The woman ordered two more glasses of wine in the next hour as she spent most of her time turned on her stool and faced the crowded establishment.

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