How many times did she think He would explain it to her?
She kept "asking" or maybe she couldn't understand. He had finally reached the point He had been dreading.
Damn! He hated doing this. This was only the second time He had felt this for a woman. And the second time the woman, His woman, had pushed and pushed until He had no choice. Maybe she just didn't understand?
Never mind that, she had taken it to either/or.
Spotting the street number He was looking for He pulled into the condo lot, parked, got out and locked the door. He knew how unimpressive He appeared walking to the entrance. He couldn't care less what others thought, He knew what He was. Five foot seven inches tall, one hundred forty five pounds and slender His hair was dirty blonde. His eyes were the only thing betraying Him.
He chuckled thinking of it. Top dogs were supposed to be BIG. They were tall, heavily muscled and looked either overpoweringly masculine or scary and dangerous. He looked... like Casper Milquetoast. Yet the most prominent Alpha Males from the last century were small men, Hitler and Stalin.
Checking mailboxes He saw His party was on the top floor. "The penthouse?" He asked himself.
In the elevator He composed Himself. Emotion would be counter-productive. He couldn't have that.
The elevator opened to a single entry with a door opening to His left and another on the right. As He had guessed, there were only two apartments on the top floor. "Very elite!" He chuckled to Himself. He heard laughter and music coming from the door on His right. "That has to be the one," He told himself.
Not bothering to knock He opened the door and walked in. The rooms were large and sumptuously appointed. The décor was masculine. Colors were bright but "aristocratic" if there were such a thing. Chairs and sofas were dark leather, the paintings modern and the cabinets finished in bleached oak. A miasma of perfumes and alcoholic fumes clogged his nose. An underlying aroma of heated sex emanated from the bodies, male and female, trying to make connection in the room. The door to the outside patio stood open and cigarette stench drifted in, further polluting the air.
The crowd matched the décor. Cocktail dresses with skirts that had never covered a knee and necklines that varied from navel to throat. The larger the bust they were sewn to display, the lower they fell. Those rising to the throat were sans backs, allowing the wearers dance partners to enjoy naked skin under their hands. The men were casually dressed, slacks and sport shirts, some wearing jackets, no ties.
He was surprised at the small number of party goers. The last time He needed to fetch her the crowd had been larger. Looking around He spotted His woman talking to the individual who had captured her attention. Her petite, perfect form was almost dressed in red. Her dark hair swept up in an elegant style, displaying her slender neck which was adorned with the emerald choker He had given her on her last birthday.
Her companions hand lay possessively in the small of her naked back.
As He made his way to the couple standing next to the fireplace He saw the man's lips curl in amusement and scorn. He knew Boris had spotted Him. Just before He reached where they were standing the blonde giant bent down to whisper something in the woman's ear. Emily turned, spotting Him immediately. For a moment He saw compassion and sadness in her eyes, then she schooled them away.
As He approached she spoke to Him in a low voice, "I'm sorry you came. I can't go. Please believe me, I love you and always will. But Boris is something I must have, someone I can't leave alone. Don't make me choose, please."
"Last time you told me Boris would not let you make a decision, Emily. The impression was that whatever he said you would have to do."
.... There is more of this story ...