Tainted Love (Book 1)

by St. James, Ghiselle

  I choose to change the subject, “All this…” I gesture around the restaurant. “All this you did to apologize to me. What is with you and trickery, Mr. Hayes?”

  He exhales, thankful for the change in topic. “Conventional methods don’t work with you, Sullivan.” He waves off the comment like it is no big deal to him.

  “Have you tried any conventional methods with me?” After his contemplative silence, I speak, “I thought not.”

  “So you don’t like all of this?”

  “I love it, Ben. I love that you’re trying to get my attention with these grand romantic gestures that you once said you had no time for,” I say, calling to mind our first conversation in the ladies’ bathroom at his company’s Christmas party.

  “I want more than your attention, Sullivan,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. When he opens them, his eyes become a deep green. I freeze and watch him crawl inside me with his penetrating gaze.

  If not for the interruption of Matt, I’d have told him that I wanted the same thing. I blow out the breath I’d been holding and Matt stares down at me, a twinkling mischief in his eyes.

  “You can blow–”

  “Don’t even think about saying it, Mapollo,” Ben warns. Did I miss something?

  “Don’t call me that, Benji,” Matt snaps as he rests our meals on the table.

  I snicker at Ben’s nickname. Isn’t that the name of some dog in a movie? “Mapollo and Benji?” I laugh.

  All eyes are on me as I shut my mouth and look everywhere but at the two brothers.

  “Matthew Apollo Hayes, Mapollo,” Matt explains, gesturing to himself. “And of course, Benji is short for Benjamin.”

  “Like you’re one to laugh about names,” Ben challenges. “What kind of first name is Sullivan?”

  My alias actually. “It’s a unique name for an equally unique girl,” I respond.

  “Touché.” Ben lifts his empty wine glass to me, smiling.

  “I’ll leave you two lovely kids to enjoy your meal. Before you is beer battered tilapia and grilled asparagus stalks coated in a warm Hollandaise sauce with a side order of garden salad. Your bottle of Shiraz will be brought to you in short order. Please, do enjoy.” Matt pivots, leaving us once again.

  “I hope you don’t mind me ordering ahead?” Ben says.

  “No, that’s fine. It all looks delicious,” I observe, eager to taste the fish.

  Another man enters and pours the red wine in both our glasses. Leaving, he rests the bottle on the table for us.

  “By the way, I love your name,” he commends. The compliment gives me flutters, despite it all being a lie.

  He stares at me with adoration, a look that makes me very nervous.

  “Thank you.”

  Knife and fork in hand, I cut into the meal before me.

  “Well…?” Ben asks, brows rising, as I take my first bite of the tilapia.

  I moan in appreciation, tilting my head back and chewing.

  “That’s a very sensual sound Sullivan.” His voice is deeper and his eyes hooded. “You’re making me hard.”

  I swallow, painfully, taking a quick gulp of wine. My core clenches at the sound of his voice so filled with lust. I free one foot from my sandals then, extending it, I start rubbing my toes over his hardening length. He grips his utensils tighter, and I see him fighting the urge to tear across the table and devour me. I continue eating in mock innocence.

  “You don’t play fair,” he groans.

  “Neither do you, Mr. Hayes. Eat up before you starve to death.”

  He eases into my probing toes, biting his bottom lip in conjunction with my touch. Taking a swig of his wine, he finally settles down to eat, rocking every so often into my foot.

  “Don’t get mad,” I advise, taking a sip of wine. He tenses, but I continue, “We need to work this arrangement out thoroughly. We need to know the rules, the expectations, fine tune things so that what happened last night doesn’t happen again.”

  His face hardens, but he relents, “I agree. I’m assuming you’ve had this kind of relationship before?” Ben takes a cautious sip of wine, not breaking eye contact with me.

  I clear my throat and respond, hoping it doesn’t cause an argument, “Yes I have and I won’t get into the details of those relationships with you.”

  We sit eating and talking. We end up arguing over the public appearance aspect of the relationship. He wants me to be his date at functions he’d be invited to. I had refused, but eventually gave in.

  “You have to understand that I don’t usually do this. Casual sex, yes, but friends with benefits? That’s a whole different ball game for me. I just don’t see the sense in being friends with benefits,” Ben argues. “The whole thing is already set up like a relationship, why not just call it what it is?”

  “I see your point,” I agree, then continue, “But what if one or both parties just aren’t interested in having a relationship? Why tie them down to something so rigid? It’s best if people approach relationships with no barriers and issues of heartbreak and jealousy, fuck like feral rabbits, and leave after their nuts are busted.”

  He spits his wine laughing, then says, “You never cease to amaze me with what comes out of those lips of yours, you know that?”

  “I’m more amazed with what slips between them,” I flirt, caressing the stem of my wine glass.

  “I know I love the feel of them all over me.” His lips twist in a salacious grin and his eyes darken. He sets my vagina ablaze with that dark gleam in his eye. “Let’s take a walk, Sullivan.”

  I rise quickly, knowing what I am in for. And boy…am I ready!

  We venture to a wooded area just outside of where we dined. My thoughts, as does my heart, races. My underwear is already damp with my juices and I can feel my clit engorging with every stroke of his finger over my knuckles. My nipples harden, giving me away by protruding through my dress. Ben’s hand tightens on mine and I can feel the heat from it. The strength of his hold sends tingles through my body; every nerve standing on end. Holy smokes!

  We approach a large English oak tree and Ben hauls me to him in an inescapable kiss. Backing onto the tree, he cups my behind, urging me to wrap my legs around him, which I do. I fist my hands in his hair, grabbing them at the root.

  “God, Sullivan. I’ve never done this before,” he breathes against my lips. “But I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want you right now.”

  “Ben,” I moan. I’ve had outdoor sex too many times to count, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  His lips travel down to my neck, sucking vigorously. I surrender to him. He switches positions, leaning me against the tree. He frees, first one breast then the other, groaning in delight at the sight of them propped up for him to take advantage of. Teasing one nipple to a tight pucker with the pad of his index finger, he takes the other in his mouth.

  “Ah,” I moan softly, my eyes squeezing shut as the wave of pleasure overtakes me.

  My legs wobble as his teasing takes its toll on my body. He rubs his knee in between my legs, kneading my clit in a delicious way. I grind shamelessly on his knee, loving the friction it creates. He laps at my nipple expertly, causing me to shiver with every touch. I am lost under his ministrations.

  “Look at me,” he growls.

  I shake my head as I continue to writhe in the pleasure of his knee.

  He grabs my chin roughly, growling yet again, “Look at me.”

  I open them and I fall lax against him, as I stare into heated, dilated eyes.

  He shoves his hand under my skirt, replacing his knee with probing fingers.

  “Ben,” I whisper in sexual agony. I want him so bad it hurts. I am weak with want and he chooses to tease me further.

  “God, you are so wet,” he groans in my ear. The sweet rush of his voice makes me cream even more. He slips his middle finger inside and I feel his body quake against mine. “Jesus Christ, Sullivan.”

  Taking his finger out, he swipes it across his tongue, tasting
my essence. I take his hand, bringing it to my lips and start sucking my slickness off his finger. His eyes widen with wonder and his breath hitches in his throat. A low rumble escapes him as I suck harder. He has reached his breaking point.

  He whirls me around and bends me over. “Hold onto the tree, Sullivan. I’m going to take you from behind,” he commands, the sound of his low, rough but sensual voice sending a sweet message to my trembling core. “Hold on!” he bites out as he slaps me hard on the ass. That felt good.

  I grab onto the tree for balance, awaiting the onslaught of his thick, pulsating member. I hear the scrape of his buckle and the rip of his zipper. He throws my dress up and, with ferocity, rips away my lace underwear, pinching my skin. That’ll leave a mark.

  He glides his hand over my rear. “Look at this perfect ass,” he muses, leaning over and placing a light kiss on my butt cheek.

  I groan, tired of waiting, “Ben, please.”

  “Please, what?” He grips my hips with one hand and circles my slit with the tip of his throbbing cock.

  I whimper and he slaps me hard once more, making me almost come, and demands, “Tell me.”

  “Fuck me.” My voice is a rasp as I beg, dripping with licentious need.

  He launches into me with force, hurling me into the tree. My shoulder rams into it, but he doesn’t notice and frankly, I don’t feel a thing. The feeling of him inside me is all my body responds to and my legs shake, trying to keep up with his plunges. My hands brace against the tree as he thrusts deep and hard inside me and I jerk forward; my pussy gripping him as he plunges inside me repeatedly.

  “Ah! Ah!” I scream in delicious sexual agony as he grinds and pounds, angling his hips so he touches my sweet spot from every direction.

  “You feel so fucking good,” Ben moans, hitting inside me harder and digging deeper.

  I’m building. Ben grabs my hair and pulls it painfully and he sinks his hand onto my lower back, forcing me to open my eyes. I glimpse Ben’s brother, Matt, a few feet away staring at me, his face flushed. I see the desire unfurling in his eyes as he bites his bottom lip and gives me an erotic smirk. I am even more turned on with our audience of one eyeing us or, rather, me.

  Ben drives into me and pushes me over the top. I come with a guttural scream and a thunderous quiver. My legs give way but Ben steadies me by the waist.

  “Listen to you. You sound so fucking hot. I’m right behind you.” Ben grinds into me, prolonging my orgasm, and with one hard thrust, he comes hard with a strained growl.

  He splays his chest on top of my back as he empties himself inside me. Running kisses along my back, he sweeps his lips down the curve of it, settling both of us as I stare back at his brother. Matt closes his eyes as if in pain and then walks away. That was a very erotic experience.

  Ben rises, pulling up his pants and wraps his arms round my waist. Cradling me, we sink to the ground. Breathless. He brushes my wrist with the side of his thumb, his breath like a whisper in my ear. He trails a gentle finger along my right arm and up to my bruised shoulder. Scooping the hair over my shoulder, Ben nuzzles my neck.

  “Your shoulder’s bruised.” He traces my injured shoulder with the tip of his nose. “Was I too rough with you?”

  “No, I can handle it. I can handle you,” I answer, snuggling further into him.

  “Hmm,” he mumbles in satisfaction, tightening his grip around my waist.

  We are so comfortable in each other’s arms. How can I not want to be here all the time? I feel safe. I feel treasured and this is what I feared. I don’t want to succumb to his charm or create a fantastic world of love and fuzziness with him, because I know the kind of person I am. I know my past and I know my present, and for a man of his standing, his popularity, I can’t risk him having to deal with either of those things. That’s what made me panic earlier. That and what I’m feeling right now. They conflict.

  “What are you thinking about?” he entreats, his voice a melody of concern. How does he even know I am preoccupied with my thoughts?

  “Simone told me about the tantrums you’ve been throwing all day,” I tell him, not wanting to bring up any of my present musings.

  “Simone,” he gripes.

  “You shouldn’t take your problems out on your staff,” I chide.

  “I was having a sour morning. I didn’t even get much sleep,” he confesses.

  “That’s ’cause you were being an asshole.” I turn to face him, then lay on the hard truth. “Truth? You were projecting your short comings on your staff and taking your own frustrations with yourself out on them.”

  Ben blinks at me not saying a word, his face impassive, giving nothing away.

  My familiarity with psychology always came in handy with other people. I could always psychoanalyze others and give them advice that would help solve their problems, but I could never do the same for myself. I could never follow my own advice.

  Finally, he breaks the silence, “Are you psychoanalyzing me?” He backs away, shooting me a quizzical glance.

  “You need to apologize,” I tell him, avoiding his question.

  “Apologize?” he repeats, testing the word.

  “Yes, apologize, the action of being sorry for your actions. You need to give that poor man you shouted at and to the rest of the staff an apology.”

  “I don’t do that. That would require me to actually feel sorrow,” he responds, easing me from him as he stands.

  “You don’t do what? Apologize?”

  “I sign their checks, so I don’t have to apologize for the way I treat them; which is good as long as they follow instructions and do their damn jobs,” he snaps, scowling as he re-adjusts himself.

  “Excuse me?” I shoot him an incredulous look. I can’t believe his arrogance and complete disregard of people’s feelings because he is the big shot who signs their paychecks. “Please tell me you’re not that guy.”

  “What guy?” He narrows his eyes, a frown forming between his brows.

  “The asshole that wields his check book and expects that everyone should fall to their knees in submission to his will.” I am furious.

  No one should be treated that way, ever, and a part of me fears that he wants to treat me the same way. He has another thing coming.

  “That guy.” I purse my lips and fold my arms, mirroring his scowl.

  “People get paid for what they do for me, not how I treat them. I don’t want to have this conversation,” he dismisses. “What I do at work is my business and Simone had better remember that.” He thrusts his hand through his hair, bringing some semblance to his sex-ruffled hair. God, he’s sexy, even when he’s irritable.

  “Are you threatening Simone’s job?”

  “Once again, none of your business. Let’s go, Sullivan,” he barks with an extended hand.

  “Screw you, Ben,” I huff, stomping past him.

  He can be such a prick sometimes. I guess it’s a requirement for all rich men…douche-baggery. So what is he with me? He has been unbelievably sweet to me. Or is it a ploy? Shower me with kindness, sweep me off my feet, and then the horns come out? Well, I am not sticking around for those horns.

  “Sullivan!” He catches me by the arm and spins me to him.

  “Get your hands off me!” I growl. Who the hell does he think he is pulling on me like I am his child?

  He tugs the skirt of my dress down then releases me. Whoa-oh.

  That would have been embarrassing. I thank him for the gesture, giving him a tight but grateful smile. I am still mad at him though.

  We say a hasty and awkward goodbye to Matt. Well, awkward for me really. His attention to me and sly perusal of my fucking frame had me flushing the whole time. What is it with the Hayes’ boys and their enchanting eyes?

  As we set out on the drive home, we are silent and steaming. The atmosphere in the car is charged with anger. Neither of us has said a word to each other for five minutes.

  He must have grown tired of the silence between us because he clears h
is throat and I can see him face me through the corner of my eye.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.” His eyes are implacable and his lips are thin with irritation. I figure that no one has ever challenged him the way I have been.

  “You can’t treat people like that,” I say with an exasperating drawl.

  “Says who?”

  I stifle a scream, which turns into a low growl. “So, I’m supposed to feel comfortable about you threatening my friend’s job?”

  He remains silent, his body radiating annoyance.

  “You can’t treat people that way.” I fold my arms stubbornly across my middle.

  “What I do at work doesn’t concern you!” he grumbles.

  “It concerns me when my friend’s job hangs in the balance.”

  “Then maybe I should just fire her for real this time,” he answers coldly.

  It is like a slap in the face. This is why I didn’t want to be with him in the first place. He was my friend’s boss and if he and I didn’t work out, how could I be sure that he wouldn’t fire her? This is my confirmation. He would.

  My eyes water, but he isn’t going to get the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  “Pull over, Simon,” I demand of his chauffeur, locking my eyes with the cold C.O.O. in front of me.

  “You will do no such thing, Simon,” he snorts and settles back into the seat, tugging his jacket closed.

  “Simon, I want to get out. Please, pull over.”

  “Simon, please remember who signs your checks,” he threatens his driver.

  I can see Simon’s eye’s flash in surprise. He is conflicted. His eyes flicker to mine through the rear-view mirror as if to say his hands are tied, but I am not having it.

  “Simon, if you don’t pull over, I swear to God I will scream the entire…way…home,” I threaten and I am dead serious.

  Ben glares at me and his mouth drops open in shock. He readies to say something which turns into a scoff of disbelief. He turns and signals to Simon to pull over, which Simon does quickly.

  I burst from the car before it comes to a complete stop, and with deliberation, I walk away from the vehicle seeking to get as far away from Ben as possible. I hear his footsteps behind me as he calls my name, but I don’t care. I am too angry. I stretch my arm out to signal for someone, anyone to pull over but Ben grabs it down.