Break Me Beautifully

by Nora Flite

  Still wearing his knowing smirk, Marshall takes my hand, tugging me along as he enters the club. Music assaults my ears. It's loud enough that I know we'll have to shout to understand each other. Strobe lights flash all over the ceiling and walls.

  Marshall keeps a firm hold on me. His skin is deliciously warm. That plus the club's heat makes me start undoing my jacket. "Where are we going?" I yell.

  Shaking his head, he guides me around the throngs of sweaty bodies. The club has a few levels; he's taking me deeper and deeper. I nearly slip on the stairs in the darkness. He catches me, looking into my eyes to see if I'm okay. When I smile, he smiles back, and we're off again.

  We make our way to booth separated by a velvet rope in a far corner of the club. The space is still thrumming with people but less claustrophobic. Marshall undoes his jacket and tosses it on the plush looking rounded couch. His eyes catch the flashing lights, the rich blue makes them look like sapphires. "Here we are," he says.

  "Here we are," I repeat, swallowing nervously. "Now what?"

  Lifting his chin, he studies the chaotic room. I swear he's checking it for any evidence of danger ... like he's committing the place to memory, a man fully aware of his surroundings.

  I gasp when he grips my coat, sliding it off of me in a single jerk. It lands on top of his in the booth. "Wait, what are you doing?"

  "The point of coming to a club," he says, speaking next to my ear so I can hear him over the music, "is to dance."

  My heart beats violently with his body so close to mine. He scoops up my fingers in his, pulling me even closer. "I told you I've never come to a club before."

  "Are you telling me you can't dance?" he asks.

  "Barely. I might hurt you, honestly." I laugh nervously, but his face is starkly serious.

  Marshall drags his fingertips down my bare arms, creating a swirl of lightning in my belly. "Yes," he says, a quiet voice without a hint of humor. "You might."

  He slides against me, rocking his body in gentle waves. Rhythm is easy for him; it comes like breathing. I warned him I was bad, but he should have warned me he was incredible. "Did you take lessons?" I ask.

  "My father made me. He said a man has to be able to dance if he expects to make a woman fall in love with him." The front of his dress shirt rubs against my breasts, my nipples hardening from the pressure. I think he knows what he's doing to me because he grins and sandwiches against me once more.

  I don't have his grace. He places his hand on the middle of my back, leading me, taking control. His mouth is near my temple, letting me hear how ragged his breathing is getting. Nothing he does is unintentional.

  The pounding music moves from the air to my blood. I'm lost in it, in him, the world a swirl of flashing lights and his hands as they explore me. One rests on my hip, driving me against his muscles. This heat that's growing between us is maddening.

  He makes it easy to forget who he is.

  He makes sure I'll remember what he can do to me.

  "Oh!" I cry when he spins me, his arm around my waist, his fingertips brushing the top of my plump ass. He stares at my face, lips parting, the music stealing anything he's saying. I don't need words; I know what he wants.

  He kisses the side of my neck. It thrills me and my panties are slick. I should stop him but fuck, I don't want to. I don't know if I even can. We move together, my rhythm at its best as I ride his wavelength.

  He runs a finger around my collar bone. Then further, dipping between my breasts. My skin buzzes. I watch him through hooded lids. "Marshall ..."

  His lips are ready to taste mine. I'm vibrating down to my bone marrow, my pussy hot, throbbing, eager for things I've never had, but I could, with him.

  "Shit," he growls, backing away. I have the perfect view for watching his lust melt into torment. Something has changed. "We have to stop."

  "We do?" I ask uncertainly.

  He's already gathering his jacket, arms sliding into the holes, handing me mine. "Yeah. Come on."

  "Marshall, what's wrong?"

  He pretends he doesn't hear me. I almost ask again, but I can't. I know he won't tell me and I don't want him to try and dodge it.

  As he rips us from the sweltering walls of the club, past the stream of people waiting in line, I can almost trick myself into believing everything is okay. That this was a good memory we created together.

  Then I remember how he ran from the theater tonight.

  What if he was running from me?

  Chapter 9.

  "Are you ready yet?"

  It's the third time Marshall has asked me that in the past hour. I'd finished getting dressed and dolled up in the first twenty minutes. But, no, I wasn't ready yet. I was sitting on my bed, looking at my phone, trying to make sense of all the pieces to this puzzle that was Marshall Klintock.

  He knocks lightly. I don't look up from my phone.

  Me: Hey.

  Me: u there?

  I trace my thumb-pad over the edge of my phone. There's no response from Katy. I'm sure she'll answer eventually, I just wanted to talk before I walked out the door and saw Marshall's face. I need to clear my head of all the strange things swimming around. Between touching his gun, catching him with someone in the mall, then the weird way he behaved in the club, my brain is mush. Katy will hear me out, she'll have advice.

  Me: I need to talk.

  The knocking comes again, louder this time. "Leona, we have to go if we don't want to be late for the Gala. Are you okay in there?"

  No, I think. "Yes," I say. Pushing my phone into my purse, I stand and dust my dress off. The mirror across the room reflects my red-velvet clad body back at me. It's like I dipped myself in rubies from my eye shadow to my lips to my toes. Way more dramatic than I've ever done.

  I've taken out my frustrations on my own face. Makeup isn't my usual go to for passionate, artistic emotional outlet. There's no point in trying to tone it down now with Marshall tapping on the door. Taking in a full breath, I twist the brass knob. He's standing right there, his shadow slipping over me, his eyes twinkling as they take me in.

  "I know," I say, smiling sheepishly. "It's too much, I just—"

  "You look incredible," he whispers.

  My mouth goes dry. "I ... thank you." The moment the words leave me I start blushing. I wish I'd said something cleverer. Talking to him has been hard since, well, it was always hard, but after the club the other night it's been hell.

  He continues to stand there, his hot stare making it impossible for me to look away. I can't even see what he's wearing, I'm too distracted by the powerful, electric pull that he creates inside of me. I say, "Sorry I took so long."

  "What?" he asks.

  "The Gala. You said we have to go." The corners of his mouth lower. It's his only movement. I wait anxiously for him to say something, to do anything. "Are you angry at me?" I nearly shout, because I can't hold the question back any longer. "I didn't mean for things to go too far at the club. I thought we were just dancing, having fun, but ..."

  "You think I'm mad at you for dancing with me?" he asks incredulously.

  "I don't know. Maybe? You've barely spoken to me since we went to there. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around here. If I did something wrong, just tell me so I can apologize properly."

  A ragged breath exits his lips, caressing my forehead. "You can't apologize for this, Leona. It's too big."

  "Let me try. Just give me a chance."

  "Can anyone apologize for existing?" he asks curiously.

  "What?"

  His lips close on mine in a swift motion. Heat radiates from my mouth; he makes me feel scattered, like my pieces are shifting away from my center to opposite ends of the world.

  On an island somewhere there's a lone thought that says, “You shouldn't do this.” The voice is smothered by the waves that roil in my blood. I squeeze my knees together, moaning around his warm tongue. I know he's a good kisser because of what happened in the elevator, but I'm still not prepared for how
dizzy he makes me, how furiously my pussy drenches itself with a few seconds of lips on lips.

  My hands wrap around his shoulders, letting me feel the smooth texture of his suit. Through blurry eyes I can tell it's a dark navy. He's dressed so classy that, when he lifts an arm, brushing my cheek, I'm confused by the tattoos I glimpse on his wrist. I forgot they were there.

  "Stop," I manage to say. He kisses me again, gripping my jaw, holding me against his hard body. "Marshall," I whimper.

  "I'm not stopping this time," he assures me in a throaty growl.

  "I don't want you to." I press harder until he releases me. Raking my eyes down his body, I take in the sight of his pin-straight navy pants, matching jacket, the peek of a white shirt and sapphire tie, and how his combed-back hair makes him look sleek, like a predator cat on the prowl.

  Reaching across, I trail a finger over his tie. My voice trembles. "I just wanted to see how you looked before we changed."

  "Changed?" he repeats curiously.

  I shake my head, because I know I can't explain. Maybe he won't be different after this, but I know I will be. Nothing survives a hurricane like Marshall. When we leave this room, I'll be transformed forever.

  "Let me see," I say, tugging at the top button of his jacket.

  He lifts his eyebrows with a knowing smirk. "You want me to get naked so quickly?"

  Yes. But not for the reasons he thinks.

  Well.

  Some of those reasons.

  What I'm after is more than the reveal of his sculpted, muscular body. I'm eager to get a close look at the secret ink splashed over his skin. I've only seen it in snapshots. The best glimpse was when he was wearing a towel, but I covered my eyes.

  In a couple of button flicks, the peeling of a jacket to the floor, the opening of a shirt, I'm there. Like his back, his chest is dark with swirling clouds and blue dragons. Red scales mix with fire down to his wrists. He's nearly fully covered; the art piece vanishes into his belt. "Wow," I whisper honestly. "This must have taken forever."

  He hesitates, then grabs my fingers, pressing my palm to his skin. The ink hid the roughness of old scars, but I can feel their raised surfaces. His heart is beating, just not as wild as mine. How is he so calm? "It took as long as it took," he says gently.

  It reminds me of what he said about oil paints. What makes him worship the idea of time so much? And where did he get all these injuries? He's slipped off a layer of clothing only to reveal more mystery.

  Curling my fingers, I ask, "How did you get these scars?"

  "Just by living," he whispers. His hand crosses over mine. Leveling his half-lidded eyes, he dips his head to kiss me. He's soft as butter until his teeth tug my bottom lip. A rich moan ripples through his chest, making my hand flex as I feel it in my fingertips.

  He guides me to the bed. When my ass touches it, I sit. The light overhead creates severe shadows on his face, but his smirk is pearly white in contrast. He traces a finger over the strap of my dress, fingering the red velvet. "This reminds me of something."

  "What?"

  "Of how much I've wanted to claim you since I saw you sitting in that bed of roses."

  The rush of arousal cripples me.

  His hands slip to the hem of my dress, flipping it up my hips. “I need you, Leona,” he hisses in my ear. “I need all of you, right now, no more waiting.” Dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed, he kisses the tops of my thighs one after the other. I have barely enough power to look down and see the desperation in his face. “I need to taste your perfect little pussy.”

  Hot waves of lust leave me speechless. I have no clue what's gotten into Marshall. I should care, I should wonder, but I don't. "Marshall," I say, tongue weighed down by desire, "I've never ..."

  "I know." His eyes flick from my face down to my white satin panties. "You told me."

  "What? No, I didn't."

  "You did, in your own way." He traces his fingers over my pale skin, cupping my bare knees, following the indentation of my inner thighs.

  Shivering, I ask, "Have you ever done it with a virgin before?"

  He pauses. "Do you think now's the time to talk about other people?"

  "I don't care what you did with anyone else," I assure him, "Just tell me it'll be okay. Say you won't hurt me." Break me.

  He's gone quiet. Then he surges towards me, kissing me in a single fierce motion. "I won't do anything you don't want. I promise that." Curling his grip in my panties he guides them down; they stick to me, my arousal making me slick. Then he's between my legs, palms fondling my ass cheeks, trapping my pussy close to his mouth. My puffy lips and swollen clit protrude for easy access to his starving tongue.

  Smothering my hands over my mouth, I muffle the oncoming moans. Heat swells through my body. I've never felt something so stunning, not even on my own in the middle of the night when my hands would wander.

  Marshall is the first to eat me out. My honey drips freely, none of it escaping him. He catches each drop until it smears his face. The ink on his chest glistens in the light, making him glow with flames of red and black swirls. And as I watch, transfixed, I wonder if anyone but me has had their pussy licked by the Devil.

  He's not a devil, I chide myself through my haze. He's a normal man.

  But I don't believe it. Not when he coils his elegant tongue over my clit, coaxing a raspy squeal from my throat. “Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” he huffs, breathing so hard it stirs across my pussy lips, making me twitch. “How are you so perfect?”

  Gripping his bare arms, I push at him, then pull, unsure if I want more or less. The tight pressure in me needs release. I'm scared of what that will feel like, but eager to experience it from his coaxing. "Marshall, my god, you're amazing!"

  “Hold your compliments, sweetness. I'm just getting started.”

  What? I wonder, fighting to make sense of his dirty promise.

  He spreads me open, burying two fingers inside, like he's testing me. I pant hard, writhing as I fall back on the bed. Taking my cue, he pumps faster, curling his fingertips against the tingling roof of my pussy.

  “You're squeezing me so tightly, Leona. Look at me."

  I do as he demands.

  Not breaking eye contact, he runs his tongue over his thumb on his other hand. It's easy for him to pull my dress down and expose my breasts. My nipples get harder in the air, his eager stare making them throb anxiously. Reaching down, he grazes his slippery thumb over my right nipple, tugging until I arch into the touch with a low mewl. He shoves his fingers further inside of me, wagging his digits.

  "Marshall, wait, I mean, don't wait, I ... Jesus I can't tell what I want!"

  "I know what you want," he purrs. There's a torrent of wicked desire in his black eyes. "And I'll give it to you.”

  He kisses me hard, darkening my vision. All at once his fingers exit me, leaving me achingly empty, before he flips me onto my belly. My face is buried in the blankets I've barely slept in.

  He has no patience for clothes. He grabs my panties and shreds them down my legs. Spreading me wide with his thumbs, he buries his face between my thighs and goes to town. Moaning in ecstasy, I glance at him over my shoulder. Radiant lust glows in his tense expression. A ripple of pleasure shakes me to my toes. I nearly come.

  "Leona," he breathes, staring at me with my juice dripping down his chin, "I felt that. You almost came, didn't you?" I blush furiously; he runs his tongue along my snatch. "Answer me."

  "Yes! I almost came," I shudder. A flash of dangerous longing travels through his eyes. I know he wants me as much as I want him. How did we get here? What stopped us last time?

  The gun. The memory hits me like a bolt of ice. But there's no weapon this time for me to see or feel. There's only the pulsing need for release reaching a crest inside my virgin body. Redness flickers on the edge of my vision. I'm nearly there, his tongue flicking my clit on and on and on.

  I grind my pelvis onto the bed. I can't wait any longer. Words creep up my throat,
slipping over my tongue and leaving my fibers buzzing. “Fuck me.”

  Marshall breaks away. I hear something tear, glimpse the flash of foil as the condom wrapper is tossed to the floor. The thick, warm head of his cock glides between my thighs. “Tell me you want it.”

  “You know I want it!” I whine.

  He waits a heartbeat. Then another. “You have to be sure, sweet girl. After this, there's no regrets. No taking it back. Do you want your first to be with a monster like me? Everything about me is wrong for you. I'm fucked up more than you can understand. I've seen things ... done things ..."

  Why is he warning me like I might change my mind? Why give me a shot at walking away? I wonder, again, about what my sister told me about Marshall Klintock. What my mother said. What I myself learned firsthand.

  He could be a killer. He could be the devil, or close enough.

  I don't know.

  I'm only sure of who he is right now.

  "I'm more than a pretty toy. I mean it when I say I'm ready. Be my first," I whisper. "Do it, Marshall. I want this. I'm not scared you'll break me."

  "You should be," he says somberly. Marshall drives into me, spreading my inner walls in a rapid advance. The ridge of his dick scrapes as it goes. Rumbles of pleasure slip in my veins, my cells, my tensing pussy. He clamps onto my middle to keep me in place on the bed. He wants to control the pace, but I'm ramming backwards, demanding more of his cock.

  “Slow down,” he growls, fingers in my hair.

  I don't. I screw him harder, thrilling from the way my scalp bursts with mild pain, creating colors behind my eyes that remind me of swirling paint. This is sex. Sex is art. I'm art. We're art.

  “Take it easy, Leona!”

  “No!" I crow, feeling my orgasm rising up. “I want to come, I have to come, I'm nearly there!”

  Marshall says no more. Gripping my hair, he yanks me onto all fours. My spine bends, a beautiful arch, like I'm some crafted sculpture. I yelp when my climax takes me. Disoriented, I'm lost in the vibrancy of our filthy encounter. I'm not a virgin anymore. I gave up a piece of myself that I'll never get back, and I gave it to a man who could be my doom. I hate that I don't care. For a moment I'm just bliss, my body hot, swollen, careening with endless pleasure.