Corbin Murray

The numbers printed on her skin enticed Lillian as she sat in her favorite restaurant. She had a half glass of Pinot Noir to her right, an empty bottle to her left. A small salad sat in front of her untouched. I should have eaten the cookie at this point, she thought. Her cell phone was on the booth next to her, looking tempting as ever in the dimly lit Italian bistro. Lillian grabbed her wine and swirled the burgundy liquid slowly. Inhaling it over the scent of coffee that had dried into her black dress. She brought the glass to her mouth and swallowed it. She grazed her fingers over the screen on the bench, and it lit up brightly. The time, eight thirty, appeared in large white numbers over a picture of her accepting an Effie award. Her smile beamed in the photo, being one of the more prestigious marketing awards. She was at the top of her game then, and unstoppable. It was only a year ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Lillian was rarely distracted. That is why she was so successful....

The man between her legs did not stop thrusting right away, he grabbed her hips tighter and pinned his body to her. Lillian was desperate to wiggle away. It was as if she was inside some science fiction movie, staring at the two Tristons, bare chested in front of her. Finally, she freed herself, and jumped to her feet. Lillian yanked the robe off the desk, and fumbled to cover her body. The newer Triston groaned in frustration, using a hand to brace his body against the wood. Lillian was now backed up into the glass wall. She closed her eyes and shook her head violently. Hoping that when she opened them, her double vision would be corrected. Sadly, it was not. “Someone explain what the hell is going on,” she growled. The men glanced at each other and both shrugged in unison. The simultaneous gesture made her stomach lurch into her throat. “Alright Atticus, since this was your idea you can explain,” the man in the towel said. He ran his fingers through his jet black hair. Atticus was c...