Ben wraps my hair around his wrist, sinks his other hand in my lower back and batters into me over and over and over.
With a rasp, he commands, “Come for me!”
I wail as I fall apart into a much-needed and long-awaited climax.
Ben follows as he releases my hair, grabs my waist with both hands and hammers into me until he comes in a visceral growl and violent shudder; prolonging my own orgasm.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ben curses as he exits me. He spins me to him and I slink against him, too worn.
Leaning me against the elevator walls, he lifts my blouse and frees my breasts, sealing his lips over one nipple and working his tongue across it. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down on my bottom lip, absorbing every ounce of pleasure. He slips his hand between my legs, spreading me, and shoves two fingers into my come-moistened core.
Ben works me into a frenzy and I thrash against the elevator walls as I near another orgasm.
“You forget who has control,” he breathes as he teases my nipple.
“Ben,” I whimper. “I’m sorry.”
Ben doesn’t let up. And when he flicks his thumb over my swollen clit, I convulse; grinding against the rhythm of his finger. With a strained moan, I come; falling apart into pleasurable oblivion.
Ben straightens his clothes while I do the same. Feeling like an errant child – which I am – I don’t look at him. It was such a childish way to behave and I mentally kick myself for it. Well, it wasn’t that bad since I’d gotten what I’d wanted.
But at what price?
“Look at me,” Ben orders.
I turn, keeping my eyes downward. He tips my chin up, but still I train my eyes to the floor.
“Look at me, Sullivan,” he demands harshly.
I timidly gaze up at him, meeting his intense eyes. He looks pissed and rightly so.
“Are you pleased with yourself? I’m late for my meeting,” he says coolly. Too cool, if you ask me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No, you’re not. I think you get a kick out of driving me crazy; out of making me lose control,” he contends.
“No, I–”
“Don’t,” Ben interjects, cutting me off with a raised palm. “You got what you wanted.”
He pulls his key out, restarting the elevator’s descent. My mood worsens when he doesn’t look at or say a word to me the whole way down. Have I ruined this relationship before it’s gotten anywhere?
The doors open on the first floor and a few of his security team is waiting in the lobby for us. I step out of the car and turn to face him, wanting desperately to make sure everything is alright between us.
“Is everything okay, sir?” one of the men asks.
“Yes,” he answers icily. “Good day, Miss Beal.”
An implacable mask slides over his face as the elevator doors glide slowly to a close. Miss Beal? Oh no. Is this the end?
CHAPTER 19
My heart twists when the doors close with Ben not giving me a passing glance. What have I done?
He is going to have to do a lot of damage control because of my little stunt. I guess I went too far this time and I caused him to lose control at the one place he embodies it. Will he still have the respect of his employees after this?
I gasp and stifle a sob as I remember his boss who must’ve seen what went on. Have I ruined Ben’s chances of becoming CEO? Is that what his meeting is about? Dread builds inside me and all I want to do is disappear, or turn back the hands of time.
If I had been thinking…no, I wasn’t thinking. I never think when I want to have my way. I’m stubborn and foolish, and Ben would do well to never see me again after the stunt I’ve pulled.
“Miss Beal?” Simon calls.
I turn to Simon whose concerned face threatens the tears I had only just tucked away. Smoothing my hair down, to hide the look of just-fucked dishevelment, I walk shamefacedly toward Simon who takes my book bag and follows me.
Smiling weakly at Simone who looks absolutely stunned and scared, I exit Fielding House with a burst. Simon rounds me and opens the door to the Phantom so that I may slide in. Handing me my bag, Simon gets into the front of the vehicle and starts the car, setting off into traffic.
“Take me home,” I tell Simon, too despondent to face anyone at the moment.
“Will do, Sullivan,” Simon answers.
At the apartment, I strip out of my clothes and head for the fridge where I take out an open bottle of Chardonnay. I know I should be quitting, but the events of today call for it. Pouring it into a champagne glass, I gulp it down quickly and head to the bathroom to run myself a bath.
Texting Rachel, I write:
Having one of those fluffy robes and French vanilla coffee days. Come straight home.
She responds shortly after:
Will pick up dinner on the way. *big hug*
I then type a quick message to Lizzie, just in case she is worried:
Hey Liz. Not feeling well. Went home.
Lizzie responds:
Feel better hon. I’ll get you the info from the honors seminar.
Shit. I didn’t even remember that. I can’t afford to miss too many of those.
Heading back into the living room, I dial the number for the center manager at First Steps and wait for her answer.
“Sarah Lyle,” she answers.
“Sarah, it’s Sullivan.”
“Hello, Sullivan. Are you coming in today?” Her voice is so warm and inviting that it makes me reconsider, for a moment, my decision to stay away. Considering my state of folly, though, it’s best for me to lick my wounds and live to fight another day. Besides, I’d have been too distracted to do any kind of counseling, mentorship or group session.
“That’s what I called about,” I say. “I won’t be coming in today. I’m not feeling so well.” I’m feeling wounded is more like the truth.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it the flu?” Sarah asks concerned.
“No. It’s probably a bad reaction to something I ate,” I fib. More like a bad reaction to something I did, I chastise myself inwardly.
“Well I hope you feel better,” she wishes, and I don’t know why, but I feel guilty about lying to her.
“Thanks, Sarah.” I hang up and pour out another glass of Chardonnay and bring it to the bathroom with me.
Lying in the tub, soap suds frothing over my breasts, I take occasional sips of my champagne. The images of what happened earlier plague my conscience and I can’t help but think that Ben deserves better.
Sighing, I rest my glass on the side of the bath. Picking up my cell, I type out a quick message to Ben.
If u never want to see me again after the stunt I pulled, I totally understand.
I don’t expect him to respond and am startled when my cell phone alerts me to a new message. From him.
You piss me off more than anyone I know. And right now is no exception. I’m in a meeting.
My eyes water and I toss my head back in full knowledge that I have royally fucked up.
I feel a familiar pulling in my groin as I sleep. Tossing in bed, the hairs on the back of my neck rise and I’m filled with goose bumps as need swells in my core. My God, I feel him; my body hyper-aware of him even in slumber, indication enough that my body belongs to him.
I inhale his scent and open my eyes to see him watching me with his hands in his pockets. His face is placid, but a twitch in his jaw betrays him, making me aware that he is still angry. He no longer has his vest and tie on. His shirt is open at the top, revealing a chest that I desperately want to trail kisses on. Grabbing the chair I have in my room, Ben takes a seat in front of me.
I sit up in bed, unsure of what to say and equally afraid of saying any words, all at the same time. Crossing his legs, Ben watches me eerily. He’s here, so that must mean something…right? How did he even get in? I didn’t give him my key.
Rachel. She must’ve let him up.
The silence is excruciating, but I know what he needs.
I slip out of bed and strip out of my tank top and pajama shorts, revealing my naked body. I grab the belt from my bathrobe and I hold it out to him in supplication.
He needs control. He needs my submission. He needs me in contrition.
Ben rises slowly. Taking his jacket off, he takes the belt from me. He doesn’t say a word when he seats me on the chair and places each leg up on either armrest so I’m spread eagled.
He secures each foot tightly to the chair. Loosening his belt, Ben proceeds to bind my hands behind the chair, making me officially helpless, left up to his whim and fancy.
And, it’s just so fucking hot!
Ben undresses while behind me and I close my eyes, envisioning him: his chiseled frame, the tattoo splayed across his right pectoral, the light smattering of hair that meets his happy trail, his tight ass, toned legs and sexy feet. I imagine his muscles flexing with every contraction of his body. My sex clenches deliciously and I lick my lips in delight.
“Do you understand why I am doing this?” he asks from behind me.
Nerves are licking at my bones like a crackling fire, my voice comes out in a lustful tremble when I speak, “B-because I disobeyed you.”
“Good girl, you have acknowledged your misdeed,” he commends and my chest rises with pride like a peacock. I did good.
Before I know it, his lips are on mine. His tongue prods, begging for permission. I part my lips granting his probing tongue access. It strokes in my mouth delicately and he moans gratifyingly. All too soon he breaks off the kiss and I am left wanting more. I hear him tinker with something and then music starts playing.
The beat of the familiar song starts up and Ben murmurs, “Hmm” in what sounds like intrigue and approval. Addiction by Ryan Leslie starts blasting through the room – definitely to block out my potential screams of pleasure – and excitement builds, desire unfurling deep within me. My only wish is that he would free me from my bonds so that I could give him a steamy strip dance. This is one of my go-to songs for such occasions and he could very well become my addiction.
Ben slides an eye mask over my face, blocking him from my view. My heart races as anticipation grows and threatens to burst inside me. It’s not panic I feel as my breathing picks up in pace. Every breath now more coarse and unnatural is laced with a pungent longing. My sex throbs, needing relief; my breasts swelling with expectancy of his touch.
“I am not doing this to scare you, my sweet, but to reinforce your submission, to strengthen your trust in me,” he announces, his voice a deep vibrato as I feel his presence hovering over me.
I bite my lip, wondering when, if ever, had I become his submissive. It’s a daunting idea, but I can’t say I am completely averse to it.
“I don’t consider you my submissive, Sullivan,” Ben chimes in, reading my thoughts. “But I do want you to submit to me because your submission pleases me. And my pleasure is yours, thus making your pleasure my own. It is symbiotic.”
He makes such perfect sense. Who wouldn’t want to submit to that? This shoots my desire up to epic proportions, my pleasure points tingling for this powerful man’s dominant touch. I need him to claim me, tame me…to own me.
Soon my desires are stoked with the expert flick of Ben’s tongue over a peaked nipple.
“Ah,” I moan, tugging at my bound hands. A premeditated gesture from him no doubt.
My vision is clouded with thick sheets of darkness and I am left to imagine all of Ben’s movements, every action, every flick of his tongue; which makes me even wanton.
Ben sucks softly on my nipple while he rolls the other between his thumb and index finger. My sex ripples with need and my body – though bound and held in place – writhes. A low sound escapes Ben’s throat and it vibrates in my chest. It drives me crazy that he still hasn’t said a word to me. It can only mean that he’s still angry with me. Well, if every time he’s upset with me, I get fucked, why complain? It’s a win-win for everybody, isn’t it?
“Oohh,” I let out a vibrated moan at the sudden feel of Jerry on my clit.
Ben presses the vibrator with more urgency on my clit and suckles on my peaked nipple. My hips swivel under the pressure and I ache for him to be inside me. Ben slips the vibrator into my slick cleft and works it lazily. I try to grind on it to feel more vibration so I can get to my much needed orgasm.
“Ben,” I mewl when he pulls Jerry out of me and stops his gentle lapping of my nipples. My breathing is rumbling now, my body eager for pleasure and release.
I hear Jerry whirring at my ear and soon the vibration strikes my sensitive breasts, fluttering over each nipple. I throw my head back, tugging at my restraints. I need to grab him and urge his thick cock inside me. I need him.
Ben traces the vibrator down my body and thrusts it inside my welcoming sex once more. He works it harder, faster, hitting my sweet spot oh so deliciously.
And I’m building. Yes!
No! Ben pulls out of me and I scream at him, shuddering and bereft, the building orgasm quickly passing away.
He’s punishing me. He’s punishing me? Oh yeah, for my childish behavior.
“Ben, please. I’m sorry,” I cry, needing the release. My heart rate is so spiked that I feel like it will eventually stop. Still Ben says nothing.
He rams Jerry inside me once more, taking me by surprise, and I bellow in response to the feel of the dildo vibrating my core. I hear Ben’s ragged breathing as he feeds the dildo inside me. He wants me and his ministrations are as much torture for him as it is for me.
The song changes and I hear the familiar voices of two people.
“No, big head,” the woman says.
“Come on, just sing it,” the man urges. Oh no. Not this song.
“Fine, but just this once.”
The woman then breaks into song. It’s me. It’s the song I’d written for Jared just before he left for France; just before he died. I hear the familiar strings of the guitar he’d bought me for my birthday strumming and my heart cracks into a million pieces of memories and devastation.
“Adonis!” I scream at Ben, using my safe word.
“Adonis,” I say more urgently. “Adonis!”
The vibrator comes to a halt and he pulls it out of me.
“Untie me!” I bark at him, as the song goes on.
“Promise…to love and always cherish you. I promise…to make sure all your dreams come true.”
“Untie me right now, damn it!” Tears spring to my eyes as Ben hurriedly loosens my legs then my arms.
I scramble to a standing position, still blindfolded. My legs wobble and with the blanket of darkness covering me, I fall hard to the floor.
“Jesus, Sullivan! Careful.” Ben helps me up and I shake violently from him, dashing the sleep mask off my face.
I grab the iPod from the dock and I press stop. My heart aches inside my chest, pounding beyond its usual exertions. I sink to the floor, tears brimming at my eyelids. I can’t even look up at Ben who I’m sure is way past concern.
“Sully?” Rachel knocks on the door. I know she heard the song and I know she knows what it means.
I shoot up quickly and rush to the door, naked. Opening it, she grabs me to her and takes me to her room.
“Shh, honey,” she strokes my hair as I sob into her lap on the bed, clutching the iPod.
Rachel had wrapped me in a fluffy robe when we got to her room. I am a mess. I haven’t listened to that song in over two years, but I can’t delete it either. Promise is too painful for me to hear and too painful for me to delete.
“He needs to know,” I say through tears.
“God, he must be so terrified. I thought he’d have left by now.” Rachel says, surprised.
“He won’t. Not until I explain, and I need to.” I straighten from Rachel’s lap and wipe the tears from my face. What I must look like!
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” she dabs my face with the sleeve of her robe.
“Whether I’m up to it or not, I owe him an explanation
for the way I behaved.” I rise and open Rachel’s bedroom door.
My steps falter when I see him, larger than life in my apartment, sitting on the chaise by the window. He seems lost in thought as he looks out over the Philadelphia skyline, one bare foot propped, with a hand outstretched across it, on the chaise.
Ben is bare-chested, only in his suit pants. His hair is disheveled, like he has been running his hand through it. My fingers twitch to do the same, but mostly just to hold him. At this thought, he runs his hand through it and turns his face toward me.
Ben appraises me, his eyes dancing with…fear? He rises from the chaise and stretches his arms out to me and I run into him. Fresh tears trickle down my face and I rub my face into his chest, needing to be closer to him.
“Shh, my sweet girl,” he coos, his deep voice vibrating in his chest against my cheek.
“I’m s-sorry.” My voice cracks and my lips tremble, threatening to turn quiet tears into vulgar sobs. I bite down on my bottom lip to distract my inner pain: the memory of a world-shattering loss.
He sinks to the chaise, pulling me onto his lap and cradles me. “Talk to me,” he bids.
I inhale long and hard, then exhale deeply, trying to gather my bearings, trying to stop my tears. Pushing away from him, I sit facing him and it’s then that I see his face up close.
The look on his face, in his bright, worried eyes, makes my heart constrict and once again, tears sting my eyes. I take another deep, steadying breath and then I speak.
“You wanted to know how I knew Brandon Mayhew,” I begin. “It’s his brother I knew.” I pause, tears brimming.
I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, to try to urge them back. I continue, “We dated for a year before he died.”
Ben rests his hand on mine and I lift my big brown eyes up to meet his. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, a squeeze that communicates ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. A genuine ‘thank you’ smile curves my lips. He strokes my hands gently and with that I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this man cares for me.
Tainted Love (Book 1) Page 23
