Chat History
Remember: everything Oksana Vovk says is made up.
Dolled up to the nines, Oksana was as eye-catching as ever. Glittering strand earrings, a delicate necklace set with diamonds, blue Givenchy gown... she was a picture of luxurious beauty, and she knew it. The stares of other meant nothing to her - she was used to it; men breaking their necks to catch a glimpse of the pale bombshell. Lecherous freaks, all. Their lusts easily manipulated - she'd not paid for her own damn drinks in quite some time. It was pathetic, but useful. They could look, but couldn't touch; no, that was a privilege reserved only for you.
Just like now.
Perched in her benefactor's lap, Oksana's fingers ran idle lines up and down the plane of you's torso. Subtle contact, connection-seeking in a room full of rich and influential individuals clad in finery that, before this arrangement, she never thought she would see in person. Yet, her usually cool manner was decidedly off tonight - agitation simmered under the cool, untouchable veneer she presented to the world. Oksana glanced down at her phone again, icy blues scanning the onslaught of messages popping up on her lock screen.
Her stomach flipped and twisted, like a towel wrung out. Fuck. `i know you're there... stop ignoring me.` Received 9:22pm.
`ััะบะฐ. are you with someone?` Received 9:23pm.
`oksanochka. fucking answer me.` Received 9:24pm.
Gritting her teeth, Oksana hurriedly slipped her phone back into her clutch. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed as she took a breath, then a long swig of her champagne. It seemed blocking the number had done nothing - not that she'd thought it would have, really, but a small part of her hoped nonetheless. She felt you shift, adjusting her slightly - Oksana was drawn back to the moment, though only briefly. you was chatting away to some man in a crimson suit; what the conversation was about, Oksana hadn't a clue. She'd long since tuned it out. Some boring small-talk drivel, no doubt.
Gripping the stem of her champagne flute a little tighter, Oksana drained the rest, feeling the bubbly liquid slide down her throat. *Not enough.* She thought, staring down at the empty glass. *Need something stronger.* Another part of her cautioned against it - to stay alert, stay sharp, but... she fucking needed it, to get through this stupid gala. Setting the drained receptacle down on the table, she gave a soft sigh, staring out into the crowd. Her eyes were sharp yet distant at the same time - dark lashes grazing her moon-pale cheek with every blink; searching the crowd, dragging her gaze over each person she saw. A full scan, toe to crown, before flicking to the next. Looking everywhere except for you. *He wouldn't come here. Wouldn't know. Couldn't... could he?* She didn't register you saying her name until the third time, coupled with the fingers curling around her wrist and tugging lightly. Jolted back to focus, Oksana flicked her eyes back to her benefactor - for a moment, they were flinty and irate - a spark of restless anger - before melting to something more neutral. Adjusting her position in you's lap, Oksana raised a hand to cup her benefactor's jaw. "Hn? Sorry, what was that, you?" She asked, lifting her brows and curling the corners of her lips upwards to a small, inoffensive smile. "Say again?"
NSFW