by R. A. Smyth
Pulling back from his lips, I frantically pull his top up, giving me a glimpse of his gorgeously toned abs and a peek at one of his many tattoos as it snakes up the left side of his abdomen, encompassing his left side and hip and disappearing round to his back and below the waistband of his jeans. I can’t make out the intricate details of the design in the darkness, not that I care when I start to feel his hands roaming over my sides and torso, as though they are trying to touch every bit of available skin. My flesh is on fire everywhere he touches, racketing my need for him higher and higher.
In his own desperate need, Aiden, impatient with my pause to take in the work of art that is his body, begins to pull my own top off and unhook my bra. He leans forward, dipping his head as he sucks on one of my nipples, using his free hand to pinch and twist the other one, releasing a loud wanton moan from my lips. My hips rock desperately against him causing us both to groan in longing.
His hand strokes down my left side, his thumb rubbing over the still sensitive bit of skin where my father burnt me. The skin is rough to touch and is still slightly reddened. He pulls back to look at the mark, but thankfully doesn’t ask me about it, instead moving his hands even lower, to the waistband of my jeans.
I barely get the chance to take in the beautifully intricate tattoos covering his arms, chest, and abdomen before he is pulling on the buttons of my jeans and forcing them down my legs. I hover over him while I unbutton his trousers, as he lifts his hips up for me. I shove them and his boxers down just enough to free his fucking magnificently pierced cock.
There is already a bead of pre-cum on the tip and I can’t help but run my thumb through it, bringing it to my mouth to suck on. He watches me with such desperation in his eyes, releasing a low, animalistic growl as I suck on my thumb, humming in pleasure.
The action pushes him over the edge, snapping the last bit of restraint he had, as his movements become frenzied. He shoves my panties to one side, sliding his fingers into my slick warmth. I’m already soaked and ready for him, and I sigh in satisfaction as he sinks into me. He slowly pulls his fingers back out and runs them up to my clit, rubbing it in a rough, fast circular motion that makes me forget about everything else that happened tonight.
My hand goes back down to stroke his cock as my breaths turn into pants and moans as my orgasm gets closer. Fuck he’s not even inside me yet and I can already sense this is going to be an all-consuming climax.
Aiden’s other hand comes up to grab my hair tight in his fist, causing a bite of pain when he pulls my hair, angling my head to expose my neck. He bites down on the bend of my neck, causing the perfect blend of pain and pleasure, pushing me over the cliff. My orgasm crashes through me in a blinding flash of white light as I scream out his name.
Before I’ve had a chance to recover, I feel his thick length at my opening, and he slams into me, cursing and groaning as I gasp out at the initial sting of his intrusion. However, it is quickly followed by intense pleasure. He holds himself deep inside me, giving me a mere second to adjust to his girth before starting to move, and fuck does he feel incredible.
There is no nice and slow with Aiden. We quickly get into a fast, aggressive rhythm, both of us letting out our anger and frustration on each other as we pump and grind at a furious pace.
His hands hold my hips tightly, helping me keep up with the punishing rhythm he is maintaining, and I know there will be bruises tomorrow, but fuck if I care.
My hands are in his hair pulling roughly on the strands, both of us straddling the pain-pleasure line, as we vent our rage and fury and hate, and damn it has never felt so good.
All too soon I can feel another orgasm cresting as my pussy spasms, squeezing his thick girth tightly, and he groans as I cry out his name a final time before collapsing forward against his heaving chest, resting my forehead on his shoulder.
I can feel him breathing rapidly beneath me, his heart slamming against his chest. His hands loosen on my hips, but he doesn’t let go, instead holding me lightly, stroking his thumb back and forth while we both come down from our highs.
After a few minutes, when I’m sure I have regained some feeling in my legs, I swing myself over into the passenger seat and pull my trousers back up my legs. It's only when I see his cum running down my thighs that I realise we didn’t wear a condom. I had a coil inserted when I became sexually active, so that’s okay, but I’ve never been so stupid as to have unprotected sex with someone.
We don’t say anything while we each rearrange our clothes. I’m running my fingers through my hair, trying to untangle it a bit when Aiden starts the car and we drive back towards the mansion.
Neither of us says anything the whole journey back to town, but it’s a nice silence, a comfortable one.
Only once he is parked just out of sight of the guardhouse does Aiden speak up. “I’m clean by the way. Just so you know.”
I look over at him, trying to suss out if he’s lying, but I don’t think he is. “I’ve, uh, never had sex without a condom before,” he adds on sheepishly. Who would have thought I would ever see Aiden looking embarrassed. It’s not an expression you would ever associate with him, and it looks so out of place, seeing this confident, dangerous man look shamefaced.
Appreciating his honesty, I offer him mine. “Same, and I’m protected, so you don’t have to worry about anything on that front.”
We look at each other for a few minutes more, neither one of us sure what to say, before I offer him a soft smile, grab my bag and climb out of the car, heading towards the house.
Only once I’m safely back on my father’s property, with the gate closed behind me, does he take off down the street.
Chapter 25
The next day, when common sense has found its way back into my brain, I realise how stupid I was. I should never have had sex with Aiden. It only adds another layer of complication and confusion to everything. Aiden isn’t some stranger I’m never going to see again. He works for my father, a man that I know I cannot trust, and that is definitely bad news.
By association, that makes Aiden and Tyler bad news. I need to be staying away from them, not getting myself further invested, and all caught up in chemistry and sexual tension.
My vagina needed a little lovin’ but now she’s gotten it and that’s all she’s getting. My head is running the show from now on. I will just have to relive the highlights on my bean screen from here on out.
I also woke up this morning to a text from Neill, apologising for last night. I’m not sure what to make of that. What he said was out of line, and I have no intention of forgiving him, but I am also aware I have been stringing him along these last few weeks, which wasn’t fair of me either. Our relationship has definitely reached its natural ending though, and, considering his behavior last night, I’m totally okay with that. Not knowing what to say to him, I ignore his messages, deciding any discussion we have should be face to face.
Today is Thanksgiving, which would be like any other day if it wasn’t for the fact we have to share it with the Donaghues and Belmonts. As if it isn’t bad enough that I have to see Preston and Barrett at school, I now get to spend my downtime with them too. Yay. I just hope we don’t have to go around the table and say what we are thankful for. It might get awkward if I have nothing good to say.
I’m also not looking forward to seeing Mr. Belmont again after our last run-in at the party. I can only hope, since there will be fewer people here today, that he won’t risk doing anything inappropriate that someone else might see.
I’m dressed in a simple red dress that hugs my new-found curves. It stops mid-thigh and dips low in the middle showing a hint of cleavage, and does the same down my back, while having long sleeves so as not to show off too much skin. I combine it with a pair of Louboutin’s - I’m really not a heel girl but damn my legs look like they go on for days in these things, and they are way comfier than any heel has a right to be.
Once I’m ready, I head downstairs, finding Thomas bossing around the c
atering service that has been hired for today and perfecting the already immaculately decorated table.
“Hey Thomas, everything looks and smells amazing!” I praise him, knowing my father never would, and Thomas works his ass off to look after us day in and day out.
“Thanks, Miss” he replies, giving me a quick smile before moving on to sort out something else just as the door goes, announcing our guests.
“Ah, your guests are here; your father wants to have a pre-dinner drink in the sunroom, and I will call you in to eat in an hour,” he lets me know, before heading to answer the door and greet our guests.
Deciding there is no rush to greet them, I take my time, inspecting all the hard work Thomas has put into today before slipping into the kitchen. The room is bustling with servers and has food prepared and ready to be served on every available surface. Spotting a stack of champagne flutes and numerous bottles of bubbly, I make my way over to them and pour myself a generous glass in a bid to calm my nerves before this shit show of a day begins.
Not being able to put it off any longer, I finally saunter through into the sunroom to join everyone else. The sunroom isn’t a room I’ve been in very often, although it is a beautiful room, with floor to ceiling windows and a glass roof, all of which can be retracted in the summer to provide an extra outdoor patio, if needed. It also has underfloor heating for this time of year and is split into several different seating areas, ensuring you can sit in the sun’s rays as it moves across the sky throughout the day.
“Ah, there she is,” my father announces, giving me a stern look to remind me I need to be on my best behaviour today.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say without any sincerity or genuine regret.
“Ah don’t worry dear, perfection takes time to make,” Mr. Belmont says, giving me the same leer he did at the party. Well that’s not a creepy thing to do or say to someone half your age. Thankfully he doesn’t attempt to kiss me on the cheek this time.
I smile politely at him and notice Barrett flash his father a look of disgust, carefully rearranging his face into a blank mask a second later, before anyone else can notice it.
“Pleasure to meet you again Mr. Donaghue, Mr. Belmont,” I greet pleasantly. The last few run-ins I had with my father are still fresh enough in my mind that I don’t need any new threats from him to keep me in line.
I move on to take in Mrs. Belmont. She, once again, looks like she is totally out of it, clinging to her husband and already holding an empty class of champagne, even though they have been here for less than twenty minutes.
My father, Mr. Donaghue, and Mr. Belmont sit down in one of the seating areas and start discussing work and the Governor election campaign, while Mrs. Belmont stares unseeingly out the window, sipping on a new glass of champagne her husband just put in her hand, leaving Preston, Barrett and I to take the remaining seats on the other side of the room.
Not wanting to have anything to do with either of them, I choose the seat instead of the accompanying sofa and blatantly ignore the two boys as they sit down opposite me. Of course, that doesn’t stop me glancing at them out of the side of my eye, taking them in.
Preston is smartly dressed in blue chinos with brown dress shoes and a maroon shirt and jumper combo. His hair is styled neatly back, looking as put together as always.
Barrett on the other hand is his usual nonchalant self, wearing a pale pink shirt rolled up at the elbows and a navy tie knotted loosely around his neck, with matching navy trousers and white trainers on.
Watching the two of them sitting side by side, the difference between them is striking. Uptight, put-together Preston vs laid-back, unconcerned Barrett.
Intent on ignoring my presence as well, the two of them start discussing some party they are going to tonight, likely thinking it will upset or annoy me if I know I wasn’t invited.
Oh, how little they know me. If they did know me, they would know being left out of a simple party means nothing when you’re dealing with a mentally unstable mother, scrounging for money, and so hungry you can hardly think straight.
Instead of rising to the bait, I pretend to find my nails super interesting, tuning them out while I debate how long I have to show my face for before I can duck out. I’ve already had enough. I definitely have to stay until dinner is finished. But I’m sure then the men will go to my father’s office and I can sneak away.
Realising that they aren’t getting to me, Preston switches tactics, “Did you see Neill last night? He was all over that chick. Guess he must have had enough of hanging around trash,” he says, laughing. Barrett, the asshole, just laughs along with him, as though he hasn’t kissed me stupid or sunk those thick fingers of his inside of me. I knew those encounters meant more to me than to him, but damn it hurts having it confirmed.
Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of thinking they are getting to me, I make sure to keep my facial expression neutral, not showing how pissed off I am at their digs at me. So, after Neill left me in buttfuck nowhere last night, he went to a party. What a douche. I don’t even care that Neill got with another girl last night. I was waiting until we were face to face to end it, but whatever.
What I don’t appreciate is how Preston and Barrett talk about me like I’m less than them. Like they wouldn’t bleed the same colour of red as me if I was to fucking stab them with my steak knife at dinner. Fucking dimwits.
Thankfully, Thomas saves the day by calling us in for dinner and I trail along behind the rest of the crowd. As we leave the sunroom I lift a spare glass of champagne that was left on a tray and down it before anyone can notice, needing to keep a slight buzz if I want to survive dinner.
By the time I catch up to everyone, they have already situated themselves at their assigned places around the table, with my father at the head of the table and Mr. Donaghue on one side and Mr. Belmont on the other. Preston is seated beside his father, with Barrett on the other side of him, sitting opposite his mother. Leaving a spare seat between Mr. and Mrs. Belmont, opposite Preston, for me.
Mmm strange, I could have sworn when I was nosing around in here earlier that I was meant to be sitting where Mrs. Belmont is currently seated. Perhaps she drunkenly sat down in the wrong seat, but I can’t help wondering if a particular sleazeball switched the place cards. The thought has my lip curling in disgust. I do not want to spend the next couple of hours beside that scumbag.
Looking around the table, I don’t see that I have any option but to take the empty seat. If I hover here much longer it’s going to look suspicious. Reassuring myself that Mr. Belmont won’t try anything at the table, I take a breath and sit down.
For the most part, my father talks to Mr. Donaghue and Mr. Belmont, ignoring the rest of us, while the servers bring out the first course and top up our glasses with alcohol, thankfully overlooking the fact neither myself, Preston or Barrett are twenty one. Alcohol will be a must if I’m to get through this day without blowing a fuse at someone.
Mrs. Belmont, who must be on glass five or six since she arrived, sits quietly on my left, occasionally giggling away to herself. Every time she does, Barrett looks at her with a look of loathing and disappointment. It’s hard to watch, seeing the failure that is their mother-son relationship.
Deciding to tune everyone else out, I dig into my meal, some fancy salad dish. It doesn’t look like much, but it tastes amazing. I continue ignoring everyone else until we are halfway through the main course and I feel a palm slide onto my lower thigh, just above my knee. I’m so startled by the gesture that I drop my fork, which clatters against my plate, drawing the attention of everyone else at the table.
Muttering an apology as Preston and Barrett continue to give me weird looks, I chance a glance in Mr. Belmont’s direction to find him continuing his discussion with my father as though nothing is happening.
Properly confused now, I sit back in my seat and glance under the table, and, yup, Mr. Belmont’s hand is definitely on my knee. What the actual fuck?
I go to shov
e his hand off me, but he squeezes my knee tightly, digging his nails into my skin and causing me to hiss out, in pain, between my teeth. Barrett is still watching me, giving me a strange look that I can’t decipher. I carefully ensure my facial expression is blank, not giving any indication of what is currently happening under the table. God knows, if anyone found out, I’d probably get blamed for whatever the fuck is going on right now.
Having lost my appetite, which is a fucking shame as the food is delicious and I absolutely hate to waste food, especially good food, I clench my legs together as his disgusting pervy hand starts to slowly make its way further up my thigh. My hand tightens around my knife and I wonder if I could stab him with it, without accidentally hitting myself. Deciding I probably couldn’t, I stand up abruptly, finally dislodging his hand. Once again, everyone looks in my direction and I can see my father is starting to lose his patience with me.
“Uh, sorry. I have to use the bathroom,” I explain lamely, flashing a fake innocent smile which I hope smooths over any disruption and prevents any further ire from my father, as I quickly dash out the door.
Once I’m safely locked in the bathroom, I lean against the door and take a deep breath. I can’t believe that actually happened at the dinner table, with my father right there. The balls on that guy. The problem is, I really don’t know what to do about it. Looking down at my leg I can see the asshole left red nail marks that are going to bruise. It makes me furious how people like him think they can just touch, mark, another person like that, without their consent.
After hiding out for a few more minutes, I figure I can’t stay here any longer without raising any concerns or incurring my father’s wrath. Heading back into the dining room, I subtly drag my chair as far away from Mr. Belmont as is socially acceptable, and carefully sit down, ensuring my legs are crossed and bent away from him and his grabby hands. Thankfully, he doesn’t try anything else for the rest of dinner, and I sit there quietly pushing food around my plate until we are excused.
