Color Me, Black

Twenty-two minutes after leaving the Pearl Grove Memorial, River enters the relative calm of his small, rundown apartment. Its decor is second-hand furniture, displays of amateur art, plastered in every corner, or standing on an easel. The two-bedroom, one-bath apartment is spotless except for River, the only other case of disarray against the washed out, but immaculate space. The paved tile floors cool his feet after he kicks his shoes off to free himself of its restraints. River releases his messy bun and whisks his curls out of his eyes. He takes a few awkward and pained steps towards the dark green, floral couch, sitting in the middle of the room, across from an out-of-place smart tv.The small, but frail, rectangular table sitting between the couch and the television set becomes River's only moment of peace when he crosses his feet atop it. Slowed by his own weariness, River rubs his pale knees with delicate, defined arms. A futile attempt to soothe

--River sits up, heart palpitating so loud, he can hear it beating as if within his eardrums. With a fidgeting thumb, he opens the email. To further aggravate himself, he waits ten seconds, but nothing happens. Another ten seconds later, his patience breaks. Yet there was still nothing. He opts to wait another ten, but he gives up after three, the moment he remembers owning a laptop. The only thing in the apartment connected to the next-door neighbor’s Wi-Fi.“Crappy phone!” River curses under his breath, chucking the device on the bed.River then forces himself to his feet and begins skipping towards his uncluttered computer desk where his laptop sits, half-cracked. He opens it up, narrowing his gaze as the screen lights up and within seconds, he enters his password and smiles. He pauses for a second, even more agitated than before. Head swollen with trepidation and rising anxiety. River squeezes his two eyes sh

-Sebastian Black falls back into the inviting, silky-soft sheets of his bed. A sound of pure pleasure, enraptured in his deep, guttural grunt.Two smaller hands, manicured to perfection, roam his chest. The hands of Kellie Cardin, a bombshell blond with more silicone than morals. She sits atop Sebastian and straddles him. Bouncing, moaning, gasping, and groping at his light mat of chest hair. An irreverent session of sex. Sending long, raucous waves of ecstasy between them. In seconds, they orgasm with simultaneous moans of pleasure. Both too drained to speak, or to even breathe properly.Kellie climbs from atop him, falling down into the softness of the bedding. Panting and sweating. Pleased and irrevocably satisfied. Her body clings to Sebastian’s, like milk being poured into coffee. Soft, tiny fingers roaming his chest, leaving tingles on her fingertips. She shifts her weight, turning to lie on her side. Her nakedness glowing u

-"I want to experience the world of finance and accounting. To delve into the cluster of the national and international world's financial services and its significance to investment and its investors. Stock exchange was my main focus, but as for my internship, I'd like to be involved in analytics." River speaks with conviction, aware that Sebastian keeps his gaze glued to him.He had been watching River with the same calculating expression on his face, since the moment the young man had walked in. So unreadable, yet he knew exactly what he was doing. He was studying River, reading his body language, reading all of his languages.Grace nods with a smile at River, who already grew on her. "A marvelous choice indeed, your resume-,""Hold on." Sebastian leans forward, palms clasped together atop the glass table. "What are your views on modern day comparisons?" Sebastian queries, capturing both River and Grace's attenti

-While he stands in the center of a spacious living room, James scans the integration of wooden, metal and marble furniture. The entirety done in colors that remind him of mocha coffee’s eclectic shade and tone. The wooden floors are glossy, with a hint of tile and granite, forming crown moldings against walls of paneled dado. It was a ballroom by night sometimes, when parties get hosted at Jameson Manor. Its source of light, an exquisitely crafted chandelier that glistens like diamonds.“You might like this house if you take me up on my offer to give you a tour.” Anton Boleyn walks into the vast living room, dressed in his expensive slacks and loose, tan button-down shirt.A handsome man that had barely aged after becoming thirty. Blessed with chiseled, dark features, matching that of his equally elegant son who bears a striking resemblance to him.James lets out a grunt, then says. “It is a delightful