Dark Pleasures

Maybell parked the car at 7:28 pm. Nearly twisting her ankle, she dashed from the car, up the curb, and across a clean and manicured lawn to a large white fence that encircled a brick mansion. The mansion had a wide chimney, countless windows, and nearly eight rooms, not including the living room, two kitchens, a garage, and a giant pool. It was a mansion that he owned.

Wasting precious seconds, Maybell fumbled in her purse for the ID card that she was going to have to slide across the digital locks on the gate. The gate appeared to be made of old picket wood, but was in fact composed of metal and wires. Maybell swiped the card, then screamed in frustration when she had to turn the card around and swipe it again... the right way this time.

Finally bursting through the gate, Maybell was suddenly in an immaculate garden. Rose shrubs as tall as a man and filled with red perfection spread all around. Elegant patio sets, stylish umbrellas, and empty Grecian benches dotted acres of open land far into the encroaching night.

Maybell ignored it all. The splendor held no candle to the weight of time. Ahead of Maybell stretched a pleasing path of cement stones in various shades of pastel that created a little walkway through the green grass and fragrant flowers.

Dropping any facade of grace, Maybell dashed straight to the front door. The woman was solid, but easily in shape, and she reached the door quickly, curls swinging and breasts dancing up and down as she panted from the exercise.

"Did I make it in time?" she asked herself. But too afraid to know the answer, Maybell left her phone in her bag as she reached out and pressed the small doorbell beside the door. A silver plaque with black letters spelled out the surname of the people who owned that large mansion and yard, and a multi-million dollar dynasty.

Lee Residence... spelled the letters.

Maybell stood there, heart racing, soul turning flips from worry. In seconds, the door swung open and there he stood, with a phone in his hand, smirking like a fox.

He was a young man, only a few months older than Maybell. At the sight of him, Maybell's pulse only got more unbalanced. He was tall, swallowing up the doorway, with a healthy girth. He was lean and fit, tapered off at the hips, with long legs and a face as sinful as it was appealing. He had thin lips, a high nose, thick lashes, and eyes that were a two-toned mix between amber and amethyst. His sharp black hair, cut close to his head, was wavy and well-groomed, as was the hair at the tip of his short chin.

"Isiah..." she started to say, still panting, naming the man she had come to see.

But before Maybell could say more, Isiah shoved the phone in her face and quietly told her, "You're late, May..."

"May" was his nickname for her, a nickname he only used when he planned to do something wicked and sinful to her. Maybell didn't know if she hated it or loved it anymore. Isiah's voice was heavy and full and utterly commanding, and Maybell had come to desire the timber of it in her ear over the years, no matter what it said.

Eyes locked on the phone in silent denial, Maybell never got the chance to respond before a large warm hand snatched out of the door and Isiah grabbed Maybell by the wrist, pulling her inside.