Down On Your Knees

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Stary Writing III - Chasing her Apollo

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CHAPTER 1

A splitting headache caused Samira to place her hands on each side of her head while her eyes were closed.

She mumbled, “Ouch! My head, hell--” then slowly she opened her eyes.

The gentle light coming from the thin fabric hanging over the window panel made her squint; the whole place would be in pitch black if not for that gentle light.

"Where am I?" She breathed.

It took her several minutes before she became aware of her surroundings. Then small bumps appeared on her skin while feeling the warm air on her nape and heaviness on top of her torso. It made Samira forget about the headache she silently complained about earlier.

“Oh, s**t--”

Samira shuddered in fear, realizing there was a human body beside her.

She vaguely recalled what happened the night prior. However, she silently wished the incidents popping in her mind were a figment of her imagination --a teenage fantasy.

She had to admit that meeting an Adonis or an Apollo, those sexy Gods, was part of her every teenage girl’s fantasy, even hers. More so, if it would take place in a high-end and exclusive bar just like where she was the night prior. An Apollo, the one man who has it all, would be so attracted to her, as she was to him, they would end up in bed together and spend a titillating night pleasing each other--so much for fantasy.

Who wouldn’t have such kind of fantasy?

But--it seemed what happened the night before was not a fantasy --it was a nightmare. A nightmare that she would regret for the rest of her life.

“No! No! No!” Samira whispered in regret and disbelief that she had been so careless.

She recalled a very tall man, hot, handsome, and with a dimpled megawatt smile. She danced, flirted with him, touched him sensually, and gave him a searing kiss. He kissed her back, the best one she had had since she learned how to kiss.

“Ohh! Not that I had too many, I just kissed a few, and only out of curiosity,” she corrected herself.

Her thoughts brought her back to the man—What happened after their kiss?

Samira shook her head repeatedly, trying to purge some more details from her foggy brain, but nothing else was inside her head.

She blackout after she savored those magnificent lips.

Last night, she had one drink too many. She couldn’t recall most of the incidents; however, it was hard to ignore the sensation in-between her thighs and her entire body.

Samira knew she lost something last night. Months after she turned eighteen, she lost her most precious possession.

So what was the problem? It was water under the bridge, and it was not the end of her life.

Samira consoled herself but to no avail.

The real problem was, she slept with a total stranger, and couldn’t even remember his name, which she was sure she knew last night but it didn’t register in her brain thus it was completely erased from her memory.

"Do you want to ask his name? Go and wake him up. He is just beside you." Samira scratched her eyes when she heard the freaking tiny voice inside her head.

"Hell no!" She mumbled.

She swallowed the thick liquid inside her throat and slowly turned to the sleeping man beside her. Her heart hammered vigorously inside her chest.

A pillow was covering half of the man’s face. His chiseled solid chin with a trimmed beard and his tall nose bridge was enough to make her conclude that the man was gorgeous as hell.

“Freaking s**t! Sami," she whispered.

She was too drunk and in dire need to forget what brought her to New York, which was why she decided to get drunk with her friends—and hoped to sleep soundly after replacing the liquid in her system with alcohol. Still, she planned to sleep alone and not with another person, all the more with a man. Sleeping with a god-like creature was just a fantasy. She never intended to make it a reality.

Cold sweat formed on her face, and she quivered.

“Oh, God! What have I done?”

She held her breath as the man moved away from her.

Samira couldn’t help but murmur a simple prayer when the man eventually turned to another side. While she looked at the firm back of the man, who was still naked like her, another memory hit her.

“If you don’t make love to me tonight. I will call the waiter and fvck him right here and now,” it was she who uttered those provocative words. Samira palmed her head several times.

“Shiiiiit,” she screeched silently.

The man was still deeply asleep soundlessly, it was an opportunity to escape. She couldn’t envision what would happen if the man found her in his bed. That would be too awkward and humiliating.

"It is time to escape!" She mouthed.

She quietly and carefully took herself away from the bed, holding her breath while slowly gathering her things scattered on the floor --her strapless top, short skirt, coat, lingerie, and shoes. She dressed herself up without a single sound --like a thief in the night, she left the room.

Samira was so anxious at the same time mad at herself; however, who could she blame? It was her doing. She brought it to herself.

Inside the elevator on her way down, she prayed to get away from the place safely and unnoticed. She looked around like a snooping thief and was sure she was inside a five-star hotel. The same hotel she went to last night.

Samira straightened her back and walked gracefully towards the lobby and out of the hotel. She didn’t mind the stinging pain in between her thighs and in her lower back, a horrifying reminder of her steamy night with the man. “The fvck!”

She took the waiting cab outside, and inside the vehicle, she let out the tears that formed in the corners of her eyes.

One awful night made her think twice before consuming alcohol again. One horrendous night she surrendered herself to a total stranger.

Was it a horrible experience, or did she enjoy it as well?

"Holy--!" she muttered disgustedly.

Except for her crystal clear invitation to the man, his attractive physical attributes, and the kiss that made her insane.

Her memory was so blank. "No more alcohol for you Samira, not a single drop!" she promised to herself.

***

Seven years later

The scorching heat of summer penetrated Samira’s fair and luminous skin instantly, making it glow and shine, but specks of crimson appeared on her delicate skin. She frowned and twisted her luscious lips in one direction as soon as she stepped out of the airport.

She muttered, ”Damn this heat! If it’s not for the old man, I will never be back to this place even if I die from hunger in a foreign land.”

Samira immediately put on her sunglasses and shielded her hazel eyes from the blinding rays of the sun. It was what she hated about summer in Manila. The humidity surged to the level that was bound to affect her mood. The snobby and grumpy side of her showed uninvited.

The pearl-like beads appeared on her nape and her forehead. She flicked her long honey-colored hair as they stuck onto her nape. To make her feel better and to improve her cranky mood, she placed a small hair accessory to bound it all together, away from her nape.

“Welcome, sweat! It’s been a while since we came across each other,” she grumpily pushed her cart towards the area where the staff assigned by her grandfather could see her.

When some travelers bumped into her cart from side to side, a bitchy curse formed in her throat, but she heaved a sigh of relief when the tall, dark man approached her.

“Good afternoon Ms. Tantaco!” The man’s big hands grabbed and steadied the cart with her luggage.

“Where's the car?” She snapped at him. She didn't even glance at his tall and muscled form.

“This way, please,” he answered politely.

He took care of her cart and assisted her to the waiting car, parked a few steps away from them. He instantly opened the car door and placed his big hand on top of her head as she slid her form at the back seat. She didn’t even smile when the driver greeted her.

Samira Tantaco, 25-years-old; the grandchild of the Chairman of Tantaco Group of companies —the sole heiress. Her parents died in an accident seven years ago. She went to New York a few months right after and never came back... until now.

She was at odds with her grandfather, for her, he was demanding and domineering --an authoritarian man. Samira would never submit and be walked over or manipulated by any man. Going back to the country and living with him again was never in her plan, more so, because he was insisting on meddling with her future.

Samira fled to New York when she learned of her engagement to the grandson of his lost love when her parents passed away. Apparently, the engagement was arranged since her birth, and her grandfather wanted her to marry the man immediately.

Getting married at 18 was not her ideal life.

Samira decided to live in New York for the rest of her life and away from him. However, his recent heart attack struck a nerve in her heart. He was, after all, her grandfather, and hating him in his last few years was something she couldn't carry in her heart. Nevertheless, she was determined not to follow the desires of his heart-- an outdated whim.

"Damn. Why believe in such a tradition?" Samira cursed in annoyance.

More so, Samira never wanted to inherit from Don German the business empire. She was happy with her simple life. However, she was told that everything would be donated to charity if she wouldn't marry her husband-to-be.

Samira heaved a deep sigh, "Let him donate everything to charity, for all I care!" she told the attorney who was sent by her old man.

While thinking of her grandfather, she inadvertently looked at the seat in front of her. Samira found a set of eyes looking at her from the mirror.

Her face creased, "You need me for anything?” She asked, coming out as a sneer, then she furrowed her brows at the man on the shotgun seat.

He replied, without averting his stare, “Water is inside the compartment Ms. Tantaco, you might be thirsty. We are hitting 40 degrees,” He murmured in a deep tone voice —bass type, so, so deep.

His voice was commanding, and the aura he exuded was cold and controlling. It was frightening, hearing a few words from his mouth send chills down to her spine.

Was he the assistant, her grandfather, hired? Samira muttered silently.

The old man was a pain in her neck. He hired someone like him. Nevertheless, no one could break down the wall she built around herself. She was determined to fight for her right…fight for her freedom.

“I’m good.” She responded disinterestedly.

The man in front of her was very tall as his head was hitting the ceiling of the car. His eyes were very expressive as he gazed on her from the mirror, the most bottomless black eyes she had seen resting on thick black brows and crescent formed thick black lashes.

He could be the assistant and mentor that would train her for the next twenty days. She forgot the name of the man, but she wouldn’t ask. He would probably bully her for the next 20 days to ensure she would learn fast. He was one of her grandfather's watchdogs that would bark at her every mistake soon. He was not a friend, and he deserved a cold treatment.

Samira decided not to be friendly with him as she presumed he would report everything to her grandpa.

"s**t, my life!" She inhaled and exhaled irritably.

Samira was not usually bad-tempered and churned. The thought of marriage to someone she didn’t know made her decide to show the ugly side of herself to everyone she would encounter while staying with her grandfather. Aside from that, she wasn’t sure if she could stay and manage her grandfather's empire.

She liked her simple life in the States working for one of the most prominent fashion designers in the world. She loved fashion design; although she had no previous experience, she learned a lot over the years.

Samira has gone to most of New York and Milan, Italy's fashion design events, and she liked the stylish and luxuriously clad women she met over the years. Her full awareness of fashion trends made her dress effortlessly, choosing elegant and appropriate clothing for all occasions.

Even without the help of her family, she managed to live a decent and appropriate life. The inheritance she got from her parents was more than enough to live a comfortable life. She didn’t need the inheritance from her grandfather.

After thirty minutes of traveling, they arrived at the mansion in New Manila. The place was known where the old rich dwelled.

Samira's family belonged to the elite class. A lineage from a mix of Chinese and Spanish was evident in her appearance.

When the car halted, the tall-lean man opened the door for her when they reached the porch of the mansion.

Samira let her gaze roam around the facade of the main house; everything was the same as imprinted in her memory, except her --she never belonged to the place.

She was no longer the high-spirited and easy-to-please teenager. The lady who came back was more determined and smeared by her experiences in life.

Samira wanted freedom, and she would get it at all costs.

Without looking at the man at her back, she walked towards the porch of the mansion. Two servants opened the door for her and greeted her; she ignored them.

She sashayed proudly towards the receiving area and found an older man sitting on one of the imperial chairs. She made her way towards him.

All his hair turned to grey, and his face harbored deep lines, so much deeper than she could remember; obviously, the previous years had not been good to him. Her heart compressed for the man.

“Grandpa, I am here,” she said politely. She couldn't be impolite in front of him; he was still her elder. Simple elegance and politeness were part of her upbringing.

“Is that you. my Sami? You look even more gorgeous,” his pleased expression was evident in his old eyes. He assessed her from head to toe and back again at her face, admiring her perfect form.

Samira was taller than average ladies in her home country but shorter than those in New York. Her 5 feet 7 inches tall height towered an average Filipina.

Her slim frame, long legs, and curves in all the right places would merit her a second glance. She was an epitome of beauty and grace, externally.

Samira walked near him and gave him a hug and kissed his cheeks.

Don Germanio "German" Tantaco was very excited when he saw his granddaughter. Even if they clashed in character, they were still family.

“Good, Good, You are finally here. Thanks, my apo (grandchild),” he said while stroking his granddaughter’s hair, just like he used to.

“Grandpa. Would you please stop it?" She took his hand away from her head, "I am no longer a child,” Samira remarked bitchly.

Samira was determined to show her bad side throughout her stay. It was her only hope that the other party would back out from the wedding. She had to try, even if it would mean disappointing her grandfather.

She wanted to be out of the place as soon as possible and out of the ties of marriage he arranged without her consent.

“In my eyes, you will always be young and beautiful, mi unica nieta (my only granddaughter).” Don German smiled at her adoringly, and then he looked at the man standing behind Samira.

“I will see you tomorrow, Andi,” he said, dismissing the man.

“Si senor,“ (Yes sir) the man replied in his low tone voice.

Samira turned to look at the man her grandfather called Andi, but he had stepped away from them in steady manly strides. She had captured the back form of him, and she smirked.

Silently she mumbled, “Lookie, even his back form is hot!" She never thought that the man she had ignored since they met at the airport was formed to perfection.

With his strong aura, body like the god of war, and bottomless black eyes—he’s dangerous! If by any chance he kissed like heaven? —He was the perfect man she was looking for-- Her absolute sin!

“I will see you again tomorrow, Andi.” She murmured under her breath. She laughed silently and smiled wickedly.

Then she kissed her grandfather's forehead and walked away from him stepping to the grand stairway towards her room.