Tainted Love (Book 1)

by St. James, Ghiselle

  “Yes,” I answer in a breathy, sensuous voice.

  “Why?” he rasps through clenched jaws.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You better fucking tell me,” he insists in a harsh tone.

  “Because I want to fuck you and I can’t,” I whimper, fidgeting from the heat of the moment. I had been wound so tight, I needed the release. I need Ben inside me, but he is just too far away. Pressing my legs together, I try to relieve my agonizing core, to no avail.

  “How bad do you want to fuck me, Sullivan?”

  “So bad, it hurts, Ben. My pussy aches for you,” I groan.

  “I want to hear you when you fuck him. And I want you to hear me.” Say what, now? “Do you have your Bluetooth headset?”

  I really was not expecting that. I expected hell on wheels; so, of course, this new possibility turns me on even more.

  “Yes,” I breathe, my voice dripping with carnal desire.

  “You’re going to fuck him with me inside your head, baby. And you’re going to come…only when I say.”

  I am a quivering mess. My panties are utterly soaked. And by every stretch of the imagination, I wish Ben was right in front of me so I could fuck him senseless.

  “Did you hear me, my sweet girl?” Ben purrs. My heart flutters with the endearment, but I am not in the least bit sweet.

  “Only when you say,” I repeat.

  “Good. Now…” Ben pauses. Clearing his throat, he continues, “Put the headset on, loosen your hair to cover it and go to the limo. Fuck him there. Sullivan, I’m hard. And it’s taking every ounce of will-power not to jump on a plane, fly to you and fuck you like I hate you.”

  “Ben…” I moan, almost convulsing at his insatiable hunger. His voice oozes carnality, and I have no doubt that if he could, he would punish me with that big, throbbing rod of his.

  “Shh, baby. Go now.”

  I loosen my hair and search in my purse for my headset. I clip it onto my ear and fluff my hair over it, effectively concealing the device.

  “Can you hear me?” I ask him, slipping my cell into my purse.

  “Loud and clear, baby. Go,” Ben growls.

  I saunter over to Brandon who tugs me outside and into the waiting limo. Inside, he powers up the privacy window and quickly pulls me into a kiss. Brandon licks into my mouth, jolting my libido with every touch of his tongue on mine. There is no doubt he’s a great kisser, but I can’t help but wish that it is Ben who was ravishing me.

  I hear Ben groan in my ear and I can imagine him in sexual agony, wanting to be inside me, wanting to be the one kissing me, but hearing another man do all he wants to do. It must be painful for him and I wonder why he chose to put himself through this.

  “Fuck. What are you doing to me?” Brandon moans. He reaches down and cups my ass, squeezing it and letting out a rumbled groan.

  Reaching under my dress, Brandon tugs my underwear down. He cups my sex and groans when he feels how wet and ready I am.

  “You are so wet for me,” Brandon mutters.

  “No…you’re wet for me aren’t you, baby?” Ben growls.

  “Uh-huh,” I whimper at the sound of Ben’s voice. This is so hot!

  “God, I don’t think I can wait a minute longer.” Brandon undoes his belt and zipper and pulls down his pants. Pulling out a foil wrapper from inside his jacket pocket, he frees his steely erection. After opening it, he rolls the condom deftly onto his impressive length and spreads me wide so I can receive him.

  “Ah!” I scream as he fills me.

  “Picture me filling you, Sullivan. Picture me deep inside that wet pussy of yours, grinding against your sweet spot,” Ben commands.

  I close my eyes tightly and that is exactly the picture that flits across my mind: Ben on top of me, hungry green eyes piercing through me, huge dick impaling me. The picture ignites a primal force in me.

  I clamp down on Brandon’s erection as he thrusts deep and hard inside of me and he whimpers loudly like an injured dog.

  “You’re tearing him apart with that tight little pussy of yours, aren’t you? Oh…you dirty minx,” Ben purrs. “I’m tightening my hand around my dick. Fuck, I can feel you, Sullivan.”

  Brandon grinds expertly into me and I almost go over the top. I scream and I feel my whole body tighten.

  “Not…yet!” Ben growls in my ear. And that command is enough to send my building orgasm back to the depths of me.

  “You feel so snug. Your pussy is so needy. I can feel it quivering for me,” Brandon breathes, stroking me roughly.

  I hear Ben’s throaty, mocking laugh and he says, “Oh no…that’s all for me.”

  “Yes,” I moan, taking everything both men are giving me. This is a new experience for me and I am enjoying every stroke from Brandon and every uttered word from Ben. How I don’t get confused is beyond me.

  “Let me hear you, Sullivan,” Ben orders, his voice a rasp. I melt and start squealing and moaning, swirling incoherence in the back of the limousine.

  “Listen to you,” Brandon muses.

  “All for me, asshole,” Ben chips in.

  “I can’t wait to hear you come,” Brandon coos.

  “Only when I say,” Ben reiterates.

  “Your pussy is driving me crazy. God,” Brandon laments.

  “Don’t I know it?” Ben mutters. “You drive me fucking crazy, Sullivan Beal. Do you know that?”

  “Uh-huh,” I mumble in response to Ben.

  “Yes. And you like to drive me crazy, don’t you?” he asks.

  “Yeah, baby,” I answer in a moan.

  “You sound so hot,” Brandon says as he pounds me mercilessly while massaging my over-stimulated clit.

  “Come for me, Sullivan. I’m almost fucking there. Come for me!” Ben commands in a guttural voice. His voice is my undoing.

  I’m gone. I shatter. A million little pieces break inside me as I come viciously, grabbing the back of the leather seat with white-knuckled force.

  Brandon follows with three intense poundings. One. Two. Three. Then he stills into an explosive shudder of a climax that makes my own orgasm roll on and on.

  Soon I hear husky, deep groans as Ben climaxes and I find myself grabbing onto Brandon and sinking him deeper into me, trying to continue my own orgasm. God, I feel so wanton!

  This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever done, but I know it came at a price. I know when Ben comes home on Saturday I will either regret my actions or enjoy the repercussions.

  “Good girl,” Ben says hoarsely. And then he’s gone. He hangs up and I feel like crying. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling, but I know now that all I’m feeling is guilt.

  Not only did I sleep with someone other than Ben – who really likes me and whom I really like – but I slept with my deceased boyfriend’s brother. For the first time since my childhood abuse, I feel dirty.

  CHAPTER 14

  The limo pulls up to my apartment building and Brandon bounds from it, helping me out. Ever since our tryst, I’ve been in misery, wondering if Ben hated me. With all I was feeling, it felt wrong for me to accept his money now.

  I reach into my purse and hand the check to him. “Brandon, I can’t accept this,” I tell him, my face impassive.

  I am drained; not from the sex, but from an over-thinking mind. The sex was great. Brandon really knew how to fuck and with Ben in my ear, it made the whole thing that much hotter, but…what if Ben is upset and says he doesn’t want to see me again? I’ll be devastated.

  “That’s yours, Delilah. I won’t take it back.” Brandon shoves my hand back to me.

  I sigh. “Brandon, what we just did…it was wrong.”

  “I know. I can’t imagine how you must feel.” Brandon clearly understands where I am coming from. “Fucking your dead boyfriend’s brother is fucked up alright.” He runs a hand through his beautiful hair. We had an unspoken understanding. This could not happen again.

  “For what it’s worth, it was very fucking satisfying.” I shove his arm
jokingly and he catches it, placing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

  “I wish I had met you first,” he wishes and I see his eyes glisten and his face redden with unexpressed emotion. “All the best in your studies, Delilah. Jared would have been so proud of you.” He touches my cheek briefly then lets his fingers slowly fall away. With that, Brandon disappears in the sleek black limo, leaving me standing alone on the curb in front of my building.

  “Are you okay, Miss Beal?” Mr. Gabriel, our night doorman asks.

  I clear my throat, to prevent myself from crying and clench my jaws to regain my composure.

  “I will be, Mr. Gabriel.”

  He ushers me inside. I lift my hand lamely to acknowledge Pete who is talking with a resident. His bright eyes turn sad when he sees how exhausted and dejected I look. I know I can expect a call from him very soon.

  In our apartment, I’m glad that Rachel is alone. No Ryan to distract my best friend from listening to my woes and making me a hot cup of French vanilla coffee, with a tip of vanilla vodka. After changing into my fluffy robe, I tell Rachel everything.

  “Shit, Lilah,” Rachel exhales. “First of all, that limo sex thing with Ben in your ear was hot. Second, it was gross fucking your dead boyfriend’s brother. Third, you feel terrible right now because you like Ben,” she surmises.

  I bury my face in her lap and I scream. I like Ben freaking Hayes! But we aren’t even in a relationship yet and already I am hurting him.

  “You like him, sweetie,” Rachel says, caressing my hair. “Call him.”

  Quickly, I straighten, gaping at her. I can’t possibly do that. I am much too scared. What if he doesn’t answer? Or worse, what if he says that he never wants to see me again? I don’t want to experience that rejection. Ben is the one guy I’ve ever truly liked, aside from Jared. Do I tell him that I like him after I fucked some other guy? Even I know that that is some evil shit.

  “Yes, call him. Tell him you got home safe. Gauge his response and see if he’s angry. If he answers, it means he’s still thinking about you. If he doesn’t get angry over the phone, he still likes you,” she points out. Rachel was always great with advice, but this time, I found it hard to take her advice.

  “And what if he doesn’t answer?” I bite my lip and knit my brows together, worried that his not answering my call was a strong possibility.

  “If he doesn’t answer then you move on. Just add him to the list of handsome, successful moguls that you’ve slept with,” Rachel advises, and I smile because only she knows how to make me smile in the midst of a rough patch.

  I pad into my room, closing the door. Rachel had gone to bed while I stayed up watching some business news. The business analysts had been talking about the business conference in New York and mentioned Ben as one of the highest paid C.O.Os in attendance with the smartest business sense. They praised him for his work with Fielding House and revealed that he was primed for the position of CEO of the company as the current CEO, Artie Fields, was retiring soon. CEO? Whoa.

  I slip into bed and scroll through my BlackBerry, looking for Ben’s number. I dial it twice, hanging up each time, before settling my nerves the third time waiting for an answer.

  “Sullivan,” Ben answers, his voice tight.

  “Hi,” I manage to say.

  “You’re home safe,” he deduces, exhaling with what I think is relief. Or am I fooling myself into hearing that?

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good.”

  “Sir,” a female voice echoes in the distance through his cell phone. I don’t hear what she says, but I hear Ben sigh on the other end of the phone. Maybe I called him at a bad time, but I need to know if he is upset with me.

  “Is that all, Sullivan?” he asks, seemingly annoyed.

  I quail at his tone. He is mad at me. “Yes,” I answer, dejectedly.

  “Ok. Goodnight, then.” Before I can even say goodnight, the phone is disconnected.

  It’s over. He didn’t say it, but I know it is. Dread floods me as I weep into my pillow.

  I hate myself. I hate the type of person I am: cold and unfeeling. Right now, though, I am feeling. I’m feeling every bit of sadness I can feel because, possibly the only other man I’ve ever cared about, with no hidden agenda, I hurt and he is now pulling away from me.

  The next morning greets me with a pounding headache and puffy eyes, all as a result of crying so much. The last time I cried like this was the day of and months after Jared’s death.

  I pick up my phone to check the time. It’s 9:30. Scrolling to my messages, I notice a new message notification. I freeze when I see it’s from Ben. I open it shakily and a flood of despair takes me over when I read:

  I think we made a mistake in doing this.

  Hot tears course down my face as I clutch the phone to my chest. I cover my mouth trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s impossible. I lost Ben before I even had him and it was my own fault. I fall to the floor and curl into a ball as I weep bitterly. It is like that time I first found out about Jared’s death all over again. I had cried until I passed out then.

  Determined not to let that happen again, I steel myself, shakily fingering the buttons as I type a response.

  I agree. It was fun while it lasted though. Please enjoy the rest of your conference days. Have a happy life.

  I don’t wait for a response. Putting the phone on charge, I amble toward the bathroom. As I shower, I cry some more. The loss is overwhelming. How he came to mean so much to me is an anomaly in my fucked up existence, but I am strong. I have been through worst situations and here I still stand. Crying, yes, but standing nonetheless.

  I get dressed and head downstairs with the intention of paying my tuition and maybe doing some consumer therapy. Buy some textbooks for school, maybe some shoes, even chocolate. Yes, I like the idea of chocolate. Chocolate and sad music is a great combination.

  Outside the apartment I am shocked to see the Phantom dawdling on the side walk. Simon hops from the front and opens the door for me.

  “Good morning, Miss Beal,” he greets, tipping his hat to me.

  “What are you doing here, Simon?” I ask, confused; tears threatening as I remember that Ben had Simon follow me last night.

  “Mr. Hayes asked me to make myself available to you in the event that you wanted to go out,” he replies.

  I exhale exhaustively. My chest tightens. So, Ben breaks up with me, but still orders his help to drive me around? How confusing!

  “Thank you.” I step inside the luxury car and Simon closes it when I am comfortably seated.

  When he enters the driver’s side, he asks, “Where to, Miss Beal?”

  “The bank please, and then to UPenn,” I tell him.

  Simon gives me a curt nod then sets off into traffic.

  I sit in the seat, my head bracing the back of it, lost in thought. Why does Ben insist on having Simon take me wherever I want to go if he broke off our arrangement? And how the fuck could he break off our arrangement via text? I grow angry. That was cowardice. He didn’t even have the decency to call me, to let me hear him say it. If he’s going to be this adolescent about shit, I don’t want to be with him anyway.

  Oh, but, I do. I miss him desperately.

  I don’t know how many times I wished it, but I wished that I could turn back the hands of time and had never gone out with Brandon. My tuition wouldn’t have been able to get paid and I would have had to sit out the semester, but anything would have been better than the rest of my life without Ben. The rest of my life? Yes, I can see myself with him for the rest of my life, but now, that possibility is gone because I couldn’t damn well keep my pussy in my drawers.

  The ache in my chest grows and I grip at it, choking back a garbled sob. I swipe at the tears that trickle down my face, not wanting Simon to see me cry, but the soft moans that escape my throat betrays me. Looking in the rearview mirror, Simon shoots me a sympathetic look. Then, reaching into his coat pocket, he hands me a grey and white handkerchief, with Adonis
printed in embossed silver threading.

  I clutch the handkerchief and sob into it, grief setting in once more. Suddenly, I hear the radio tuning. Simon, as if he understood me, finds a radio station that plays alternative rock. Hoobastank rings through the speakers with “Reason” and I cry even more.

  With the music playing as we sit in traffic, my mood gradually lifts. Simon is so much more different than when he’s around Ben. He is fun and a lover of music like I am. Never would have guessed. We sing out to Third Eye Blind, Barenaked Ladies and The Offspring. Simon and I talk music, finding out that Aerosmith is both our favorite rock band.

  By the time we arrive at the bank, I have gathered myself together, hiding my swollen eyes behind dark brown Dolce and Gabana shades.

  The last stop is the University. With my payment coupon in hand and my check ready, I successfully pay off my tuition; the last one I’ll ever pay.

  “Hey Sullivan,” Lizzie hails as she makes her way over to me.

  “Lizzie!” I hug her gladly as she faces me.

  Elizabeth Hauer is also a final year psychology honors candidate. I met her in the second semester of my freshman year, even though I had seen her in many of my classes before. Lizzie has waist-length black hair, olive skin, with a modelesque figure. She is a spoiled rich kid, but has a great head on her shoulders. We clicked immediately after we were placed on a group project in a one of our psychology classes.

  “How’s your Independent study coming along?” she asks as we walk down from the Franklin Building.

  “It’s going good actually. The research paper’s a pain in the ass, but it’s coming on. I meet with my supervisor next Tuesday and, as you know, our honors seminars are on Mondays. I’m looking forward to them this year,” I say.

  She goes on to tell me about her challenges with her Independent Study and I promise to assist her as best as I possibly can. We part with another hug and I set off toward the car.

  “Hey!” I hear a male voice calling after me as I walk. I turn to see a tall man in blue jeans and a light green polo shirt. His ear length blonde hair is tucked neatly behind his ear. He is preppy looking, but very handsome. As he nears me, I am drawn to his pale blue eyes. He is sexy, not just handsome.