Breaking Spades

by W. Ferraro

  CeCe didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The fact he was right—she had hardly anything in her stomach—pissed her off that much more. When she did turn around, those dangerous blue eyes were trained on her. Suddenly, every pore in her body swelled with goose bumps, her mouth went dry, and her panties became wet. Jarod Gates was a gorgeous man, the kind that only got better looking with age. His short light hair looked even lighter with his darkened tan. A tan that proved he spent a lot of time outside, or on a beach. His eyes were the color of an ocean, brighter and more vivid as if the color were taken from the waters of the Caribbean. His muscles bulged beneath his black t-shirt; visually indicating he could handle anything that came his way. She had firsthand knowledge on both their strength and their gentleness. His veins corded down his forearms and pulsated in his hands with every flex of his muscles. His muscled thighs looked strong through his jeans, but she wondered if he was in pain.

  She didn’t move from her bar stool, nor did he from his wingback leather chair, where he sat with one ankle resting on the opposites knee. It was a position indicating relaxation, but she knew he was anything but. He was always on his toes, he was always aware of everything and everyone around him. It was…sexy. Just like he was. Her body remembered what it was like to be filled by him and began to crave and demand a repeat performance, regardless of her mind and heart’s continuing opposing vote. He rested a glass filled with amber liquid on his raised foot, rotating the glass so the liquid swirled in constant motion.

  Not caring if it was the alcohol, or her mind’s way of gaining ground, or just the pure sexuality of it guiding her, she brought the plastic pick with the last remaining olive to her lips, and slowly surrounded it with her teeth, gradually drawing the salty fruit down the pick and into her mouth, never moving her eyes from his. CeCe watched as he swallowed hard and his jaw twitched, feeling empowered and vindicated.

  Jarod rose from his seat and slowly stalked toward her, in no rush as he closed in on his obvious destination. When he reached her, he didn’t even stop to ask permission, or wait to gauge her reaction. He simply placed both hands on the bar, caging her in, and took possession of her mouth. He tasted of strong whiskey and heated intent. His lips and tongue were anything but gentle; they were demanding and unequivocally speaking a language of their own; a language she was fluent in. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, claiming it all. His hands never moved from their grip on the bar, and no other part of him touched her; just his mouth, but it was so erotic. It was apologetic, promise filled, proprietary, and all consuming, all at the same time.

  So many emotions ran through her; she knew this was wrong, she knew this would leave her emotionally bleeding, but she just couldn’t deny what her body wanted, what it needed. Somewhere in the back of her head, she imagined the show they were putting on, but she just couldn’t ask him to stop. To stop would mean to break contact and take in air, and that just wasn’t possible at the moment.

  When he finally did stop, never paying heed to the snickers and mumbled-under-breath comments, he didn’t speak, only handed her the martini glass, and lifted his own. He clinked his glass to hers, and they both drained them. He took the empty glass from her, set both next to the untouched salad on the bar, threw multiple bills down, and pulled her off the stool and along in his wake. CeCe had to walk fast to keep up with his long, hurried stride. Her heart raced at the eroticism of his dominating actions, making the decisions. And she was letting him. She didn’t want to think; she didn’t want to be aware of the complications, or the open wound she would ultimately give herself, all she wanted was him inside her. He walked past the elevator, past the stairs, she wanted to ask where they were going, but knew he wouldn’t answer if she asked.

  When they reached the lobby, she thought he was heading outside, but instead he veered toward the ballrooms. Events were taking place—weddings most likely, given the attire guests wore. Just as they reached the area, Jarod pulled her down a small hallway. They walked to the end and he opened a closed door. He ushered her in to the dark room, closing the door behind them. She couldn’t see anything except for the few windows that showed the darkened sky over the calm harbor.

  Her attention was focused on the quiet night outside the windows of the darkened conference room when she felt Jarod in front of her. Her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, she was able to see his face. He placed a warm, strong finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his eyes as her bottom touched the large oval table and she felt the cool leather of one of the chairs against her bare thigh.

  “You deserve better than me. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and if I had even a shred of decency in me, I would walk away from you, but I can’t. I would rather saw off my own limbs than walk away. I know what I did to you then; by God, I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I did was make us both miserable, and both of us miss out on time. That was the worst mistake of my life, and I swear to God, a day—hell, a fucking minute—has not gone by that I haven’t regretted saying that to you, from the moment the words left my mouth.”

  Could this be true? Did it change anything? She honestly didn’t know; all she knew was the demand her body, and its sexual needs, put on her. Here, in this room, there was no history, there were no bad decisions, or regrets; There was just a man and a woman who wanted each other in the most primal of ways.

  “I’m every bit the asshole you accuse me of being, but please, just let me experience peace again,” he whispered as his fingertip ran from her chin, down her neck, swirling around the circle there and lower, until he was gently following the seam of her t-shirt where it touched her breasts.

  Between the warmth and liquor smell of his breath, and the feeling his touch caused, she was amazed she could form a thought. Surprised by his choice of words she was compelled to ask, “Sex is peace to you?”

  He cocked his head to the side, focusing his attention on the track of his finger before returning his gaze to hers and replying, “No. Sex isn’t my peace; you are, CeCe.”

  He lifted her up, setting her on the edge of the table, placed a hand on each side of her face and kissed her. If his kiss in the bar was demanding, this was its opposite. There was no rush; there was nothing to prove, just flesh ready to touch flesh. Her nerve endings pleading and waiting to feel every ounce of stimulation they could.

  CeCe wrapped her arms around Jarod’s neck, pulling his head closer, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, reveling in the hardness that pressed into her. Her mind took her back all those years, reminding her she’d experienced this gentleness, this tenderness, before; many times, in fact. Every time he touched her, all those years ago, he was always gentle with her, never demanded anything, and if it got too intense, he always withdrew, sometimes leaving her to wonder why. Every time, but the last time—that night, he took. He showed her the side of him everyone else saw, the reputation which preceded him, the side that she had since concluded was the true him.

  Until now. Now, she took too. Every time they were intimate, she took her pleasure; maybe she needed to show that she could be unselfish. Perhaps she needed to prove something to him; that she was capable of acting on desires, regardless of the ramifications of emotions. She owed him that much, she owed herself that much. She had been given a redo, so to speak, a second chance to take what she wanted from her first lover, but also a chance to give pleasure, for both of them to carry on when they part ways, again. She pulled away from his embrace, taking his roaming and magnificent hands into hers, keeping them still.

  Jarod let out a long held breath, and rested his forehead against hers. She knew the thoughts he had, and the vixen in her let him think them. “I don’t blame you,” he breathed, “I made my bed, now I need to lie in it.”

  “I don’t plan on letting you be alone in your bed, just yet.”

  “What?” his blue eyes searched her face, trying to decipher what she could possible mean. She was truly a horrible person because she relished in his
confusion.

  She leaned over, pushing the closest chair out and with a light shove to his hard chest Jarod fell backwards into the waiting chair. CeCe slid off the table and with her arm draped across the back, she swiveled the chair around so he faced the windows.

  CeCe enjoyed Jarod watching her as she stood in front of him, her back to the harbor, and deftly pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. His eyes took her body in, the smile on his face growing, but quickly vanished when she dropped to her knees before him.

  “CeCe, you don’t have to…” she cut him off with a gentle hand to his mouth.

  When she was sure he would remain mute, she went to work on his belt. Quickly and expertly, she freed his hardness of its prison. He smelled incredible, like musk, sex and anticipation. With a final seductive stare, CeCe let her gaze drop to her new focus. She bent her head over his hard rigid cock, letting her hair fall to his abdomen and thighs. CeCe licked the head like it was a dripping ice cream cone.

  A moan of pleasure ripped from his throat, and at the sound, she adjusted her head to the side, so she could watch him, watch her orally satisfy him. She took him into her mouth, shallowly at first, lightly sucking on the head, then taking in more and more of him until he tickled the back of her throat. Slowly, she worked him, over and over, driving them both insane. She could taste the salty secretion that began to bead on him and its taste only fueled her to continue.

  Jarod gripped the back of the chair, the muscles in his forearms tightening, manifesting her effect on him, physically and sexually. Talk about empowering. She increased her pace, adding more suction, rolling her tongue around the head and along the shaft, thrilling in his moans of pleasure and his pleas for her to continue.

  She caressed his balls with her hand before moving to his shaft, mimicking the movements of her mouth causing him to buck in pleasure. Breathlessly, he begged her to stop, “Kitten, I’m going to come. Stop your talented mouth right now unless you plan on taking all of it.” She responded by sucking him harder; exploding a moment later, he let out a guttural moan at the release.

  The first blast of hot salty cream hit the back of her throat and just kept coming. His entire body constricted, and his teeth ground together, making the veins his neck throb. When he was finally spent, he collapsed back against the chair, heaving for breath and covered in a film of sweat.

  CeCe sat back in triumph; using her thumb, she wiped the corners of her mouth and waited for him to regain his bearings. God, he was sexy when he was sated. Seeing Jarod like this made her feel sexy, ultimately female.

  “Kitten…” he began, still breathless.

  Coyly, she stood and placed her hands in her back pockets of her shorts, knowing full well this position caused her breasts to thrust forward. He always was a tit man. Her breasts threatened to spill out over the plunging cotton cups, and her hard pointed nipples could be seen easily even in this low light.

  “That was as much for me, as it was for you,” she explained, feeling her own sexual excitement reach a fevered pitch. CeCe always enjoyed giving oral sex, but this experience was beyond her usual enjoyment of giving a blowjob. The intensity of her arousal was threatening to make her self-combust.

  As if he could read her mind, he stood, ignoring the cry of pain from his thigh. He grabbed her around the waist and whispered, “I want to take you, now; this wasn’t supposed to be about me.”

  “Then take me,” she answered firmly, issuing the challenge. She stood up on tiptoes and kissed his lips before blazing a path to and from erogenous zones.

  He could only take her torture for so long before he stepped behind her, directing her to the large table. With her back to him he served up his own torture, kissing and nipping along her neck. He pressed his chest against her back, gradually increasing the pressure, bending her forward until her chest rested on the table. He slowly ran the tips of his fingers down her spine, until they reached the waistband of her shorts. His hands slid around to her front, easily unsnapping them. He eased her shorts and thong over her hips, letting them fall to pool at her feet. Jarod reversed the motion of his fingers along her spine, and CeCe felt the goose bumps again. The cool table felt amazing against her overheating skin. He flicked open the clasp of her bra then replaced his fingers with his mouth, continuing the exploration of her succulent skin. Wet open kisses ran from her hairline down to the curve of her lower back, occasionally venturing from side to side, to kiss her outer rib cage.

  “I want you like this,” he mumbled against her back.

  She could only answer with a “Mm hmm.”

  Her entire system was in overdrive. The unyielding table heightened the sensations racing across and through her body, showing no mercy to her aching breasts and nipples. Jarod’s once again rigid and stiff cock pressed against her ass cheeks, as her own equally ready and waiting scent filled the room. She heard the sound of foil being torn as he quickly sheathed himself then she felt his head probe her entrance, sliding in slowly, only allowing the tip enter her, toying with her. Then, with exquisite control, he filled her, inch by glorious inch. He reveled in the sensation of filling her this way for the briefest moment before he flexed his lower body, brushing his hips against her ass, shattering his control. Soon an aggressive pace was set. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room as the scent of sex increased in intensity. CeCe pushed her palms down on the tabletop, levering up to counter his demanding thrusts. His hands clamped onto her hips as he repeatedly drove himself into her, hard. She was so full and he was so deep, the only word fit to describe this kind of connection was ecstasy. He was as unapologetic in his demands as she was. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Both repeating those words to each other multiple times.

  “FUCK!” he groaned.

  CeCe felt her body build to its peak, but every time she thought she would shatter, her body played a cruel joke on her and just kept enduring and building again.

  Jarod’s pace slowed as he laid his chest against her back, sliding in and out of her torturously, yet erotically, slow. He slid his right hand around to her front and applied pressure right where she needed it. He strummed her engorged tissue, and soon she was screaming out in climax. He followed right behind, and together they rode the wave of their passion on and on, Jarod gently covering her mouth with his hand to stifle her screams before someone investigated.

  Both remained bent over the table, heaving breaths and unable to talk or move, just reveling in complete orgasmic pleasure. Jarod regained his composure first as he kissed her back, shoulders and neck, anywhere his mouth could reach.

  “That feels nice,” she mumbled, her cheek pressed against the solid table.

  “I want you to feel a whole lot better than nice, but what I have in mind should probably be handled in one of the hotel rooms, rather than in here.” With one final kiss to the base of her neck, he slapped her ass before fastening his pants. He bent down, pulling her thong and shorts up her smooth legs. When her ass was covered, he stepped away to retrieve her shirt from where it landed, a few feet away. When both were dressed, he kissed her forehead, and once gain grabbed her hand, pulling her along in his wake, out of the room and back toward the elevators.

  When they reached the waiting elevator and stepped inside, he pulled her into his embrace, holding onto her waist possessively. Without even asking he brought her to his room, opened the door and ushered her inside. When the door swung closed, he clicked the deadbolt, ignored the light switch and bent down picking her up, cradling her in his arms, as he carried her across the room. Jarod laid her down on the bed, quickly removing their clothes. Once they were both naked, he covered her body with his, and set out to rid her mind of all the mistakes he made in the past, hoping he was replacing them with promises of a future.

  The bedside clock read 2:43AM beneath the soft glow of the lamp next to it on the side table. CeCe gently turned her body so she faced Jarod, who was lying on his back with his left arm tucked under his head. His eyes were closed and his breathing even. She
was able to see just the edge of the tattoo on his bicep. With great care, CeCe pulled back the sheet that covered his waist so she could examine his skin. High on his left side, around where his ribcage began, the skin was pitted and discolored. The pattern continued down to his waist and farther beyond to his hip and thigh. His thigh was the worst. CeCe had never seen badly burned skin, but she guessed it looked something like this. The rigid and jagged scars along the marred skin looked painful. She wanted to touch it, not to bring attention to it, but so she could hopefully take away some of the agonizing pain he felt. Such scars must never truly heal.

  CeCe replaced the sheet and let her eyes roam north, taking in his strong, carved abdomen, his sculptured chest, and his gorgeous face that now had two concerned blue eyes watching her. She felt her cheeks redden for being caught.

  “Find anything interesting?” he asked, sounding upset.

  She steeled herself not to get riled over his tone, she was sure if the roles were reversed her feathers would be ruffled, too. “Yes, a gorgeous man,” she answered honestly.

  Bringing the attention back to the top half of his body, she touched his bicep. “Tell me about your tattoo.”

  Jarod moved his arm enough so she could see the unusual design. It had deep, thick lines running from his low bicep up to his shoulder, but it made no image or sense to her.

  Sensing her confusion he explained, “It’s an ambigram.”

  CeCe studied the tattoo that much harder, “So it is supposed to look the same to me as it does to you from a different angle.”

  “Right, but given the hard look on your face you can’t tell what it says.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered as she continued to try to figure out his ink. “Okay, I give up!”

  “It’s a reminder of what I have to live with, day in and day out.” His intense eyes stayed focused on her upturned face. Suddenly, the lose sheet that covered them both felt like air and all of her was exposed to him. His eyes turned back to his own bicep and remained focused there before he said, “One regret.”