My Soulmate is Not My Type

If dreams could have a texture and a scent, this one would be velvet honey. The small haze that hovers around me clears as I walk into an unfamiliar room and see him lying on the bed. His torso is exposed, but his waist is hidden by a thin white sheet. I can see from the imprint of his erection that his underwear is nonexistent. I sweep forward in a gown that is a crimson dream and crawl onto the bed beside him. He smirks, pulling me into a tight embrace. The kiss is gentle, still it awakens the feral urges within my body that stay dormant during the morning hours. I become wet with anticipation as his tongue dances with mine. His hands, smooth as cream, brush along my legs pulling my gown up past my waist and over my head in one lithe, practiced motion. These hands know how to undress a lady. I lay beneath him, my body completely exposed to his whims. For the first time, I feel beautiful as my curves are gazed upon by this man. He trails kisses along my neck, quick flicks of his tongue leaving behind a trail of heat along my skin. He passes my collarbone, pausing only to nip at the rise of skin there, before proceeding to my n*****s. My back arches off the bed as he teases, bites, and pulls me into an orgasm just from that part of my body. He shows no mercy for my trembling form as he travels lower, licking along my pelvis until his tongue finds the throbbing bud between my lower lips. My body trembles as he savors my c**t like a ripe cherry. Two fingers slip into me. I gasp. “Jason…” I say in a breathy whisper. He teases me relentlessly until I climax again pouring my nectar into his mouth. He grins up at me, his mouth glistening with my essence. I pull him to me desperate to taste myself on him. He presses his c**k into my opening, not entering, but teasing. He nibbles my ear as he whispers, “Leave your body and soul to me.” He pushes into me deeper and I open to receive him. The shrill ringing of my phone alarm jolts me into reality and the dream shatters. I lay there staring at the ceiling as Monica Malone, one of our new artists, sings loud pop music at my side. My mind is still reeling from the orgasms that never happened and I press the ‘dismiss’ button with more aggression than I had intended. I roll face down into my pillows and groan my despair into the cotton. I lay there contemplating my life choices before sliding out of bed and heading to the bathroom and the trusty shower head that awaits me. If you know, you know. The smell of coffee soars into my nose and I drift towards my coffee maker. A fresh pot of steaming liquid life greets me. I grab my favorite mug “Coffee Me, Please!” printed on the front, and fill it up. Three tablespoons of hazelnut creamer and three lumps of sugar later, I am sitting in my breakfast nook watching the first rays of sun peak over the city skyline. I sip my coffee, thinking back on the dream and the man that had a starring role in it. My heart, and lower things, squeeze with the memory and I find myself grinning. I take several more sips of coffee until the cup is half empty and trudge upstairs to trade my fluffy purple bathrobe for business casual attire. And high heels. Ugh! Miracle Talent Agency is a five-story brick building in the heart of LA. Started eight years ago by 90’s pop sensations, husband and wife duo, James and Wanda Miracle, it has produced some of the greatest talents in the industry. Celebrities come and go through these doors on a daily basis. I work closely with these stars as part of the talent management team. My job isn’t anything special. I assign idols to managers, mediate between the managers and production companies, oversee fan meetings and press conferences. Nothing too exciting, but nothing too boring either. I also help others with their jobs, but somehow, they still can’t seem to remember my name. “Good morning, Lia.” Wanda says as she gets on the elevator with me, a thermos of steaming coffee in her hand. “It’s Miyah and good morning, Wanda.” I correct her for the hundredth time, but she ignores me and types away on her phone. I shrug and get off on the third floor, leaving her to her own devices. The entertainment industry is a busy one. People rush by me, barely muttering a greeting before disappearing behind a desk or into the elevators. Celebrities never speak and I never expect them to. I go into my tiny office and close the door. The noise outside is shut out and the tension leaves my body one muscle group at a time. I’m an introvert by nature, which is weird working at this job, but I know when to be bubbly and outgoing if I have to be. ONLY if I have to be. I plop down behind my desk, power up my computer, and begin answering emails. The gentle tick of the wall clock marks the seconds before he appears. I force myself to focus on my computer screen and not the time. Still, beyond my computer monitor, my office windows have a clear view of the elevators. My eyes dart from the screen to the pane and back again until finally the elevator doors open and he walks out. I sit up a little straighter in my chair so I can get a good look at him from head to toe. Jason Min, dressed like a walking wet dream, nods at the female employees and celebrities who damn near trip over themselves to greet him. His jet black hair is styled neatly and glistens in the fluorescent lights. His pale blue shirt is neatly pressed with two of the buttons undone revealing an expanse of toned, smooth chest. His black pants fit his long legs perfectly and cling to his hip enough to make me jealous of every stitch that is touching him. He is carrying a cup of coffee from the java place across the street and a paper bag swings loosely in his other hand. I admire his every stride before I realize he is walking straight for my door. “Oh my God.” I gasp and quickly check my reflection on the black screen of my computer. I groan a little realizing I had stared at him long enough for my computer to go into sleep mode. I run trembling fingers through my afro curls and smooth up my edges. I barely have time to refresh my light brown lipstick before he is knocking on my door. My heart is racing as I toss my lipstick into my drawer, adjust my blouse, and repower my computer. I clear my throat and say, “Come in.” I flinch as the words come out sounding more like a squeak than actual human language. I don’t have time to feel embarrassed by the time he enters. He smiles at me and I smile back hoping he can’t hear my heart thundering in my chest. “Good morning, Miyah.” He says in a voice that is smooth and deep. His accent is thick, a tone that is more used to speaking Korean than English. His dark brown eyes stare into mine with a confidence only attractive people possess and if I weren’t sitting I would have hit the floor. “G…” I clear my throat, “Good morning, Jae. How are you?” “I’m good. Listen, I need that contract for the new singer that’s coming today. You sent it to the lawyers right?” He leans on my desk and he is so close I can smell his cologne. I swallow, “Yes. I got in touch with the studio as well.” I riffle through the piles of folders on my desk until I find the one with his name on it. I hand him the folder and he stands there for a moment scanning through the pages and I scan over him. His eyes dart to me and my eyes dart to the ceiling. “Thanks.” He says and I think I hear a slight chuckle in his voice. He leaves without another word. I slump back in my chair forcing myself to breathe. I watch him go up to Mika, one of the members of the sales division. There are rumors going around that they are having an affair. Rumors like that always follow Jae. The way she clings to his arm, there might be truth to it. They walk arm in arm to the elevator, her slim body fitting perfectly against his side, her long auburn hair swinging carelessly, and her ruby lips smiling up at every word he is saying. I look at my reflection again and feel that tight clench of self consciousness. Mika is everything I’m not, the main thing being his type. I might as well be invisible to him.