We engage in a tussle of tongues as we kiss each other savagely. Hands gliding all over each other, as our tongues dip into, lick and lock around each other.
“Jesus,” he finally says huskily. His first word of the night turns into a few more, “I want you desperately, Sullivan. I nearly tore across the room and devoured you when I saw you on your knees just now.”
“Then take me, Ben…now,” I demand, my voice a cry, as I rub my body into him, full of insatiable need.
“Let me look at you.” He peels me off of him and peruses my body with lustful eyes. He licks his bottom lip and bites it, adjusting himself. “God, look at you. So sexy.”
Ben spins me around, taking me in. Letting me go, he kicks off his shoes and starts pulling the cuffs on his shirt, resting the onyx stone cufflinks on the nightstand in the room. He dislodges his shirt from his pants and loosens his tie. Reaching down to pull his belt, I rest my hand on his, ceasing his movements.
“Let me,” I offer, dropping to my knees. Deftly, I loosen his belt and pull and unzip his pants. I lick my lips upon seeing his thick erection throbbing irascibly in his black boxer-briefs. I stroke along its length applying little pressure and I hear a quake erupt in Ben’s chest as he shudders.
I free him of his boxers and pants and look contemplatively at his long, thick – possibly aching from all the waiting – cock and place a soft kiss on the tip. He jerks and a quiet ahh escapes him. I moisten my lips then spit erotically on his member, glossing my hand all over it, tugging and pulling, teasing him. I know he wants to stop me. He is fighting the urge with every move of his hands. He wants to grab me, throw me on the bed and fuck me, but he lets me take control.
I slide him inside my warm mouth and I begin to suck him gently. He hisses my name and it gives me the motivation I need to slide him deeper in. When I glance up at him, his eyes are closed tight and his mouth wide open. He is lost, spouting something incoherent up to the ceiling. He looks so hot, basking like he is, and desire courses through me, hot and heavy.
My breasts ache for his touch and my needy core is quivering and creaming. I press my fingers between my thighs so I can relieve myself, but the area, swollen with need, refuses to be satisfied by fingers alone. Not even Jerry with his battery-operated vibrations could satisfy this ache between my legs. Only this one man is capable and I have him in my mouth, under subjection to my stellar oral skills.
“Sully,” he groans as I pump him with vicious jerks and slurps. He grabs my hair and rolls it around his wrist, gripping it firmly in place as I juice him. “You want me to come in your mouth? Because if you continue, that’s what’s gonna happen.” His voice begs me to stop, but I don’t.
I want him to be rough with me. I want him to take what he wants and I am going to drive him crazy until that beast comes out of him. I suck him tighter and harder, sending him to the back of my throat so that his cock hits my uvula repeatedly. His toes dig into the carpet and his grip on my hair tightens – painfully and deliciously – as his groans grow more chilling than before. I swallow him deeper this time and I remain there a few seconds motionless. My eyes water and saliva pours out of my mouth, falling to my swollen breasts. Thank God for gag reflex!
With a vicious growl he drags me away from him by my hair, then lifts me and throws me hungrily onto the bed. Yes! I swear I hear a creaking from the bed like it is about to break, but, with my heartbeat booming through my ears, I can’t be sure.
Ben whips his silver embossed tie over his head and throws it to the floor. Instead of pulling his shirt, he rips it open, buttons flying everywhere, and chucks it to the floor; his muscles rippling with every flex of his body.
His is glowing with desire and I see the danger that I had been banking on to show up flashing in his eyes like a warning. He climbs onto the bed, towering over me, chest heaving.
“Tell me,” he growls, his eyes darkening with passion.
I bite my lip, my hips swiveling automatically.
“Tell me,” he urges through gritted teeth. His eyes burn with a need to devour me and I am all too willing to oblige him. I need this ravenous beast, this insane sexual creature. He is the devourer and I am his prey. Take me.
“Fuck me, Ben,” I beg.
With a ferocious, bone-chilling growl, he lunges into me and immediately, I climax, shattering the silence of the room with orgasmic cries. But he doesn’t stop; his movements unrelenting, feral, hungry. His tortured growls are music to my ears. I latch on to him cradling his hips as he rocks expertly into me.
“I want you like this, yeah?” He eases off of me and spreads my legs wide.
Pressing down on my thighs, he enters me again and continues his impaling thrusts. Looking at my feet, it’s then that I realize that I am still wearing my red pumps. The thought is fleeting as Ben continues to touch that sweet spot inside me.
My channel squishes with every thrust inside, and I come over and over and over. I have no voice left, but I still manage to scream his name. The sweat drips from his forehead onto my stomach and it’s like hot splashes on my heated body.
I am exhausted. I’m tired of coming. My head is in a cloud, my vision hazy. With me in a constant state of climax, it seems, I begin to think multiple orgasms are overrated, because I’m tired of the feeling. Oh, it feels good, no doubt, but it is driving me crazy!
“Please,” I plead, my voice squawky and hoarse. I don’t want “sexual beast” Ben anymore. I want sated Ben.
He looks at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes and with that I know he can go on forever. I don’t know where the strength comes from, but I squeeze my vaginal walls over his dick, tightening my grip on it.
“Ah, fuck, Sully!” he cries.
Ben falls on top of me and pounds into me – three hard thrusts – and with a roar, he explodes into an orgasm. I feel his semen warm me inside as he fills me. He grinds into me to rub out the rest of his climax, whimpering into my ear, his chest crushing me as he heaves for air.
I don’t know how long we stay like this. I caress his back as he lies on top of me. I don’t even know how I support his weight, but I do. He buries his face into my breasts, running his beard over them, but I feel nothing as my body is still buzzing from that truly orgasmic experience. Oh my God!
He isn’t just a god in the business world, but a god in the sack. And how lucky am I? I get to fuck him whenever I want. I’m starting to think that I got the better end of the deal.
I try to bring some semblance back to the room. Picking his pants up, a small roll of condoms falls out. It’s then I realize that we used no protection.
“Fuck, Ben.” I show him the condoms. “We forgot.”
“Shit! Aren’t you on birth control?” He leaps off the bed toward me, his tone one of panic.
“Yes, I am. But–”
“Then what’s the problem?” Relief lining his voice, he pulls me to him.
“But–”
“I trust you,” he assures me, caressing my cheek. “Don’t you trust me?”
“But you don’t know me, Ben. We don’t know each other.” I am overwhelmed by his blind trust. I know I’m clean, but how can he just trust me to be? And how am I to be sure that he, too, is clean; although I am pretty sure that he is.
“Do I look like the type to carry around diseases in my body, Sullivan?” He stares at me with an incredulous look.
“I know, but–”
“I trust you.” He kisses my lips. “I knew I could trust you the moment you wrote your contact info on my business card and left me standing in the ladies’ room. Plus…” he pauses. “I saw your test results when I was at your apartment yesterday,” he confesses, bracing for my reaction.
“What?” I say calmly, stunned at his invasion of my privacy, but pissed as hell.
“It was right there on your vanity, so I peeked at it. I’m sorry.”
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, to quench my rising anger. When I open them, my heart stutters under his green-eyed gaze. I flus
h and try to look away, but his fingers tip my jaw back to face him. I start to squirm, my heart racing. My vagina can’t possibly stand another pounding, how can I possibly want him again?
“I should go,” I say, trying to get away from him.
“What?” There is that incredulous look again.
“I should go. We’re done here, aren’t we?”
We were finished. No need to linger. We’re friends with benefits, heck, barely even friends. Cuddling would only serve to complicate our arrangement. A complication I am trying very hard to avoid.
He releases me from his hold and judging from the wounded look in his eyes, I’d hurt him.
What does he even want from me? I told him I didn’t want a relationship. He should have known that we can’t spend the night together, unless that night was going to be filled with hot, tawdry sex.
“Yes. We should get you home.” His voice is bland. It pains me. I feel like reaching for him and telling him that I’ve changed my mind, but the less complication, the better.
The rest of the night is endured in silence – as we get dressed at the hotel, when we leave, the drive home. Even the elevator ride up to my apartment is endured in silence. Just…painful, awkward silence. His face had been icy the whole time. Uncaring. Absent.
When we reach my door, I fish for my keys. He stands a few feet away from me, close to the elevator. Facing him, I can hardly stand his aloofness.
“Thank you for tonight.” I barely say, looking down at my keys. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs his shoulders then says something that bites into my soul, “What? At least you were a good lay.”
I stare at him with utter vehemence. Did he really just say that shit? I want to bite his head off Ozzy Osbourne style, but instead of cursing and getting upset like I usually do – because nobody talks to me like that and gets away with it – I quickly pull my door and slam it shut behind me. I stalk to my room, holding my breath. I never knew words could hurt me like that, but, I guess coming from him, they would.
But, damn it! He means nothing to me. We have no relationship, so no complications! Why did his words make me feel like crap?
I lock my bedroom door, not wanting Rachel’s company at the moment, and crawl into bed and curl into my pillows, sobbing quietly. Tonight is the first night since Jared died, that I cried myself to sleep.
CHAPTER 9
I stir quickly at hearing keys jingling in my door. I’d forgotten that Rachel has a key to my room. When she enters, I groan and cry harder as she sits on the bed, pulling my head onto her lap. I really want to be alone.
“Shh,” she soothes, caressing my hair. “What happened? Talk to me.”
“He got so cold on me, Rae.” I squeeze her tighter trying to calm myself down. “He said I was a good lay and shrugged like it meant nothing; like I was just another notch on his belt. And I hate myself for letting his words get to me. I hate that I fell for his tricks. All that wining and dining for what? To treat me like I’m some piece of ass he can rub one out in?
“And he was so sweet, you know? Saying how he trusted me and all that bullshit. But as soon as I told him I wanted to leave, he slipped into this mask. His whole demeanor changed. I was no longer a prize in his eyes. I was conquered and he was done with me.” I let out a stifled sob, curling further into Rachel’s lap.
“That prick,” she hisses. “You want me to find him and kick his ass?”
“He’d probably fuck you then throw you out,” I scoff.
“I promise not to enjoy it if he does,” she vows.
I laugh and I realize that I am feeling much better thanks to Rachel. I sit up in bed facing her and throw my arms around her.
“Honey, to hell with him, he doesn’t deserve you,” she assures me.
“Yeah, to hell with him.” I wipe my tears. “Is Ryan still here?”
“Yeah, he didn’t want to leave me alone,” she answers.
“Well, go back to him. I’ll be fine.”
“Excuse you?” she says with raised eyebrows. “I’m not going anywhere. No man is going to come between me and my best friend, especially when a megalomaniac asshole treats her like shit. I’m staying.”
“Thank you, Rae.”
“Okay, go scrub that prick’s scent off of you. And when you’re done, fluffy robe and French vanilla,” she advises, strolling out of the room.
I thought I wanted to be alone, but having Rae to dry my eyes and help me cope is much better.
The next morning I wake up with a pounding headache. Rachel isn’t on the bed and the house is quiet, so I guess she has already left for work. I stare at the clock on my bedside table and see that it’s 10:15 a.m. I was really knocked out after everything last night.
I am still feeling down as I stride out of my bedroom and into the living room. My eyes are puffy from crying and my face feels swollen. Thankfully, Ryan has also left.
Opening the fridge, I see some leftover chicken stir-fry sitting on the top shelf with a note on it.
Eat me, Sullivan. You’ll be glad you did.
Rae.
Rachel knows how to make me smile, even in the worst of times. That is why she is my best friend. Years of counseling got me over my past, but Rae helped me get through everything else. Frankly, I don’t know why she insists on following me wherever I go. She doesn’t need me, I need her.
I pop the dish into the microwave then head for the iPod dock. I decide to play my Come on, get happy playlist as I need a picker-upper. I shuffle the playlist and the first song that starts to play is “I Get Knocked Down” by Chumbawumba. Immediately I catch a vibe and I start singing loudly and off-key – the best way to sing this song if you ask me.
When I was a teenager, if I had a bad day or if certain things from my twisted past came to the forefront of my mind, I’d use music to combat it all. Back then, Rick was a strong advocate of me medicating my pain. We’d shoot up in his room while his parents were out and listen to music for hours. Then, we’d fuck each other like rabid animals and tire ourselves out so much that we’d sleep the rest of the day away. If I was smarter then, I’d have realized that that relationship was unhealthy; but I was too “in love” to see the truth behind the monster.
Besides, monsters were supposed to be 30 to 40 year old men with a penchant for drugging up little girls and fucking them. Monsters were supposed to be Mommies who sold their daughters to these other monsters for enough money to cover their drug habits. Monsters were supposed to be girls who constantly made bad decisions that made her adoptive parents sick with worry. Monsters were supposed to be gold digging whores. Monsters were me.
The stir-fry was really delicious. Rachel had put her foot in it, I swear. It was absolutely delicious. As I take the empty dish to the kitchen, my intercom buzzes.
“Yello,” I answer, my mood finally picking up.
“Hey, Sully.” It’s Susie at the front desk. “You’ve got a guy out here with a delivery.”
“A delivery?” It must be more cheer-ups from Rachel. “Ok, Susie. You can send the person up.”
I open the door to wait on this delivery and spot my neighbor Mrs. Wade.
“Hello, Sullivan,” Mrs. Wade greets me.
“Hey, Mrs. Wade. How are you?”
Mrs. Wade is a recent divorcee in her mid-fifties, who looks like she has a few more years to offer the world of dating. She is wearing black linen Capri pants with a white sleeveless round-collar linen blouse and black high-heeled thong sandals. She keeps herself in shape and always looks so fresh and well put together. I want to be like her or my adoptive mom when I get older. They age gracefully. My mom is 52 and doesn’t look a day over 40.
“Ah, I’m fine darling. Just heading to the spa,” she answers sweetly, her voice smooth and cultured, obviously once a rich snob.
“Ugh, I’m so jealous.” I lean against the door jam with my ankles crossed and arms folded, wishing I could go, just to get some relaxation and potentially drown my sorrows in a Swedish massage
.
“Oh, darling. Come with me. What do you do but sit home all day while you wait for your classes to start?” she coaxes.
“I’m waiting on a delivery,” I tell her.
“Pish tosh, Sullivan. You’ll come with me. It’s on me. Meet me out front in thirty minutes. I will not take no for an answer. Even college students need pampering every now and then,” she implores. How can I turn her down?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Oh, darling, please don’t send me into depression with that word. I even hate the name Mrs. Wade – and the man who gave it to me – but I’ll take it over ma’am any day.” She hates being called ma’am as it signifies that she’s old, when clearly she doesn’t think of herself that way.
I laugh, causing her to laugh also – a rich, wholesome laugh. We are then interrupted by the ding of the elevator and a tall man in a dark suit exits and stalks toward me. I remember seeing him in the Rolls Royce. He’s Ben’s driver. He seems much younger than I had previously thought, maybe his early 30s.
My stomach dips into my legs and I wobble a little knowing Ben sent him, but steel myself as he draws closer with a pretty blue box in his hand and a small gift bag.
“Remember, thirty minutes darling,” Mrs. Wade shouts from the closing elevator. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d left my side.
The man clears his throat then speaks, “Mr. Hayes asked me to drop these off for you. He says they’re yours. The small bag contains the cell phone that you’d left in his car last night.” My phone? I hadn’t even missed it.
Taking the items, I wonder what the blue box contains. I don’t remember leaving anything behind at the hotel.
“Have a wonderful day, miss.” The man tips his hat to me and pivots to leave.
I open the box and part the light blue paper that covers the item. It is the black and white silk robe that Ben had bought for me.
Tainted Love (Book 1) Page 8
