by Brandy Ayers
“Okay? I think it’s great. Stay as long as you need. Stay forever.” The idea of her in my space for all of time just feels right. I rest my hands lightly on her hips and bend to kiss her shoulder. Lacy shivers, but I’m not sure if it’s from the brush of my lips against her skin or the chill coming from the fridge. “You hungry? I can make you something.”
She cranes her head around, staring into my eyes for a long moment. The sadness and pain there drill a hole straight into my heart. “I’m not hungry for food.” A cat on the prowl for fresh cream has nothing on Lacy as she turns in my grasp and starts walking forward, trying to get closer.
I back away. She’s had a tough day. She should rest. We need to talk. I can’t keep taking her to bed with so many half-truths and secrets between us. I need it all out there. “Let’s sit down. I’ll get you some wine. I have the fancy boxed stuff.”
That wrings the tiniest of laughs from her.
“We’ll chill out, order take out. Just veg. Sound good?”
“No. I’ve got a taste for something else. Something better than take out. Something…” She grips my cock through my shorts. And yeah, I’m hard. It’s just the natural state of things when the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen or known is standing in front of me. Touching me. “Something more filling.”
My throat goes dry. There’s no hesitation in her touch. The grip she has on me, not only my dick, but my heart, too, is so strong, my knees go weak for a moment. “That can wait, Lace. I want you to tell me about everything that happened.”
An unfamiliar darkness clouds her eyes. Similar to the times she’d been half awake after the attack in the alley. Someplace between conscious and sleep, still terrified. Only she’s awake now, and the fear coating her features is palpable. She quickly shakes it off, replacing it with that sassy glint in her eye that I love. But a shadow lingers.
She leans in, her lips a hair's breadth away from mine. As she speaks, her mouth brushes against mine, testing every ounce of willpower I have. “Come on. You don’t honestly want to talk when my hand is on your cock…right?” The pink tongue I love to suck on darts out, swiping at my lips. Teasing me into reacting. “We both know you’re only good at one thing. And it doesn’t involve words. You’re good with your hands. Great with your tongue. Fantastic with your cock. Let’s focus on your strengths.”
Yeah, her words piss me off, more because I know she doesn’t mean a goddamn one of them. We’ve had a lot of conversations the past few weeks. Talked about philosophy and art. Fashion. Books. Movies. Not music, though. That’s been off limits.
“Come on. Be a good boy-toy and lick my pussy until I cream on your face. Buy me some presents. That’s how this works, remember?”
My eyes narrow. Somewhere, my brain is telling me she’s trying to push me. Get a reaction. But the rest of me is boiling with resentment and fear. “Make you come and buy shit. That all I’m good for?”
“You know it is. Just like I’m only good for making you come and being a pain in the ass.” She snakes her hand into the elastic of my shorts, her hot palm against my even hotter flesh. Without mercy, she pumps me up and down until I’m damn near out of my mind with lust.
Hands fisted at my sides, I refuse to give in. She needs something from me, but it’s not my cock. I need to give her understanding, a shoulder. The need to comfort rips me from the inside, but I don’t know how to give her those things, which hurts just as badly. “That isn’t all you’re good for, and you know it.”
“Sure, it is. I’ve got a hot body men can’t help but want. And a smart mouth they want to shut up. Preferably with their cock.” She leans in further, bringing her sinful mouth to my ear. “Tell me you haven’t thought that exact thing when I’m giving you shit. That you wanted to shut me up by fucking my face.”
Shame and arousal pound through me in equal measure. I have thought that. Pictured it. But she’s more than that. Her business savvy and mind for public interest are unlike anything I’ve seen. Without a doubt, she could give my entire PR team a run for their money. And when she allows it, she’s sweet. Funny.
Before I can refute her words, Lacy drops to her knees, taking the loose gym shorts I’d been working in with her. My hard cock slaps against my stomach, and a new wave of shame crashes through me that I’m erect while Lacy is obviously hurting.
“You haven’t let me taste it yet. I’ve wanted to, so many times.” Her hands grip my hips, even while I try to back up, she pulls them forward and takes my cock to the back of her throat. Then swallows.
My body bows, shoulders pressed against the wall and hips arching toward her warm wet mouth.
I need to stop her. This isn’t right. But fuck, it feels right, and my brain begins to shut down as my dick takes over. He’s in charge now. Somewhere behind the rush of erotic sensations, I know I’ll regret this later. But fuck if I can stop myself.
Lacy begins bobbing up and down my length. Her fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, those long nails of hers most likely leaving angry red slashes. I don’t care. I’ll take them, because I know they aren’t a fraction of the pain she’s feeling. Taking me deeper and deeper with every pass, her lips are brushing against the course hairs at my base in no time. She’s moaning, her eyes locked on me. The shadows are gone now. Lust is lighting up those pretty brown irises in a way that is completely familiar to me by now.
“This what you need, Beauty? Need me to take everything else away?”
She nods without letting go of my cock.
“Okay then, get to work.” I gather her hair into my palm, not tugging or directing her, but simply holding it out of her way. She attacks the blow job like she’s on a mission to get my cum down her throat. God help me, I want to put it there too. If this is how I make her feel better, I'll do it, but the resolve to get to the bottom of what happened at the meeting with Agent Rose solidifies. Plus, she needs to get off, too. I would be the worst kind of bastard if I let her get me off while she’s obviously struggling with something and didn’t give her anything in return.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I know I’m seconds away from exploding. I pull her off my member, ignoring her whimper of disappointment. Picking her up, I reverse our positions, pushing her against the wall and lifting the skirt on another one of her damn dresses. I shove her panties to the side and test her with my fingers. I find her wet and ready.
“Sucking me off get you wet like this, Beauty?”
“Nah, I was picturing Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans fucking me at the same time. This has nothing to do with you.”
I put her down on her feet and spin her to face the wall. The crack of my palm against her ass is a welcome song we both love. “Bullshit. My cock down your throat is what made you cream your panties. Admit it, or I won’t give you what you need.”
“Now that is bullshit. You always give it to me.”
I slap her ass again. Because she’s right. I’ll give her anything she wants.
“Admit it anyway.” The desperation in my voice to hear her confirmation is easily recognizable. Thankfully, she gives in.
“Yes. Just the thought of your cock anywhere in me makes me gush. Happy?”
In answer, I push myself deep into her body. Lacy’s hands come up to brace herself on the wall. The slippery heat of her cunt welcomes me home. I’m still on edge, and praise everything holy in the world that her walls begin to flutter around me immediately.
In earnest, I pound into her. For her part, Lacy pushes back against the drywall, meeting each of my brutal thrusts with one of her own. “So good.” She leans her forehead against the wall and rocks it back and forth. “Why is it always so good?”
I can’t answer. My heart is in my throat and my brain in my cock. I want to take away all her pain, giveth her only pleasure. But part of me knows this isn’t going to fix anything for her, not beyond the temporary anyway.
“Get there, Lacy. I can’t hold on.” I grunt at her, reach my hand around, and then pinch her swollen clit
between my calloused fingers.
Her hands slip down the wall, and as we both let go, we collapse into a heap on the floor, half kneeling half sitting in a weird crouched position. She continues to pump up and down on my cock, chasing the rapidly dwindling orgasm as it crests and dissolves. My cum is everywhere. Seeping out of her onto my lap, dripping onto the floor.
My heart constricts, breaks, as I realize the heaving of her shoulders isn't only from the exertion we both just expended. But from her crying.
Lacy sobs. “I need more.”
Chapter Nine
Lacy
Air refuses to fill my lungs.
The edges of my vision go blurry.
Beneath me, Scott has slipped from my body, then turns me to cradle across his lap. “What happened, Lacy?”
Oh God. This man has already seen me at my weakest. At my worst. I can’t add on another vision of me as the poor little rich girl to his memory. All too quickly, he’s become the person I need most. I want to be the best for him. But despite what I might have thought mere months ago, I’m nowhere near the best.
“I can’t.” I stand to my shaky legs, rearranging my dress as I search for my shoes. Where did I put them when I came home?
Scott grips my arm, but I flinch and push him away. The hurt which crosses his face causes my stomach to knot tighter than it already was. I press my eyes closed to block the sight of him pitying me, but then the pictures appear behind my eyelids, and I force them open again.
The only thing to make those images go away since my interview with Agent Rose is Scott’s arms around me, his cock in my mouth and in my cunt.
He makes it all go away.
Wiping the tears from beneath my eyes, I advance on him, and he takes a step back. I’ve learned over the past few weeks, Scott has a quick recovery time. Sometimes only minutes are needed for him to be ready for round two.
Even half-hard, he’s still the most magnificent man I’ve ever seen. My fingers slide against his cock, still a little wet from the raging orgasm he just gave me.
“Lacy, I’m not going to fuck you when you’re crying.” The disgust lacing his voice has me backing away. I disgust him right now.
Before either of us can respond, I turn on my heel and sprint for the door. Thank God we never got me completely naked.
No clue where I’m going, just need out. Away from that look Scott gave me. Away from Agent Rose. My father. Hell, life. I run, afraid that eventually, Scott is going to get his shorts back on and come after me.
After a while, my feet begin to ache, which will happen when running through the streets of Brooklyn with no shoes.
Finally, I come to a stop, struggling to catch my breath. I lean against an iron fence surrounding a restaurant patio. People trying to eat their meals shoot concerned glances my way, and I look away to avoid their eyes. Which is when it dawns on me. I’ve run straight to Marci’s building.
Despite her being my best friend, I’ve only been to her apartment a handful of times. Not my side of town. Disgusted with myself, I shake my head and swipe at more tears. It’s like suddenly, sunglasses have been ripped away from my face, and the truth of the world around me, the brightness of the sun, the bleakness of everything else, is blinding. But mostly, my stupidity is what keeps me cringing as I walk into the lobby of Marci’s building.
There’s no doorman. The elevator is broken, and I’m pretty sure it was broken the last time I deigned to make an appearance here as well. With no other choice, I start the seven flight walk to her floor. On the third landing, I step on glass and bleed all over the stairs for the next four flights. Just as I approach her door, it occurs to me she might not be home. She has a thriving career as a writer for a popular magazine, and if I didn’t totally fuck things up for her with the guy at the cafe, possibly a boyfriend.
But I’ve made it this far. I’m not chickening out now. With a deep breath, I knock on the door.
Immediately, feet shuffling and low mumbling filters through the door. My heart jackhammers inside my chest, and nausea ripples in my stomach. This day has been fucktastic. Now, I’m just going to heap on top of it by most likely getting chewed out by the one person I counted on without having to pay them.
The door swings open, and the same huge lumberjack of a man from the cafe stands there stunned, shirtless, and holding his wallet. “You aren’t the Chinese delivery guy.”
“Stunning observation.” Man, the bitch just slips right out sometimes.
Lumberjack guy immediately glowers at me, not impressed with my sass. I guess I forgot that not everyone finds it adorable like Scott.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Unable to meet his eyes again, I stare at the floor. There’s a welcome mat just before the threshold that I never noticed before. Looking up and down the hall, I notice it’s the only one. More than anything, that right there makes me realize how much I’ve missed my friend. “Is Marci here?”
“Stud, you don’t have to strike up a conversation with every food delivery guy.” Marci peeks out around the broad frame of her boyfriend and gasps when she sees me. “Lacy? What are you doing here? Are you wearing flats?”
Looking me up and down, she seems confused, and it’s then it hits me that she probably hasn’t seen me without heels on since college. Hell, even then, I practically lived in them. Another gasp rips through the air, and before I know it, Marci is grabbing my arm and pulling me into the apartment. “You’re barefoot. And bleeding. Are you okay? What happened?”
Lumberjack moves out of the way, not fighting my entrance into their happy little love nest, which kinda surprises me. His hatred for me is plain as day on his face.
“It’s fine. I stepped on some glass in your stairwell.” I’m shoved down onto a kitchen chair before Marci starts zipping around her kitchen gathering supplies.
“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
I shrug, looking at my hands which haven’t been manicured in weeks. “I ran out of my apartment without them. Ran here the whole way from Williamsburg barefoot.”
“There is so much to unpack in that sentence, I barely know where to start.” She plops down on the floor in front of me, a bowl of soapy water in one hand and a kitchen towel in the other. “First, why are you living in Williamsburg?”
“You’ve seen the news about my dad?”
Marci lightly wipes away the blood from my foot, her eyes darting up to look at me every so often. “Yeah, I saw.”
I explain to her about the investigation, my accounts being frozen, and the night I last saw her. The night of the attack. Scott. By the time I’m done, Marci’s jaw is practically on the floor, and her hands hover above my foot where she had been applying a Band-Aid.
“I… Wow… I don’t know what to say.” Shaking herself from the shocked stupor my little speech has placed her in, Marci finishes patching me up and moves to sit across from me at the little table. “I hope you know, despite how things were left between us that night at the cafe, I never would have turned you away if you had called me. Yes, I was mad at you that night. I was fed up with the way you treat people. But when we first met in college, the first couple years there, things weren’t that bad. You were always a bit spoiled. Always wanting your way and acting like a brat when you didn’t get it. But we had a bond, otherwise, I wouldn’t have stayed friends with you the past five years since you got famous. Despite what I might have said to you that night, I would never have turned you away when you were in need.”
For some reason, Marci calling me a brat makes me smile. Makes me think of Scott and his scowl when I start throwing a tantrum. He must be worried out of his mind right now. But her words also open a wound inside me that has been festering.
“Until just now, I really thought you would have just kicked me out. The people in my life have never been there just for me. My father sent me away the first chance he got. The people who raised me were paid to do so, and when I was too old to have nannies, they disappeared. I never heard from them again.” I suck in a
deep breath, preparing to speak some truths that have been a long time coming.
“Your friendship has meant everything to me, but I have always been waiting for you to leave. I’ve been preparing for that moment you decide I’m not enough. But, since meeting Scott, I’ve realized it was the other way around. I pushed you into cutting ties. No one would put up with the kind of crappy friend I was. No one should.”
We’re both quiet for a moment. Marci obviously doesn’t want to rub salt in the wound even more by confirming that I was the world’s shittiest friend.
“I’m sorry, Marci. I was awful to you and giant lumberjack dude…”
“Micah.”
“Right.” I cringe, once again having put my foot in my mouth. “Micah.”
“Lacy, why are you here? Everything with this Scott guy sounds great. So, why on Earth are you sitting in my kitchen with a bleeding foot?”
Good question. The events of not just today, but the last month and half weigh down my shoulders. The pain goes bone deep, an agony I have no idea how to deal with, though I’m smart enough to realize fucking my sorta boyfriend against the wall wasn’t the best coping mechanism. “Today, I went in to talk with this agent from the FBI that froze all my accounts. I never really believed what they were saying about my Dad. He’s never been a good guy, but I didn’t think he could have done something this horrid. I was wrong.” The images of those poor girls flash before my eyes, adding a searing heat to the pain slicing through me. I squeeze my eyes shut tight until sparks of color obliterate everything else.
“But you believe them now?”
“Hard not to when you see photos of the man whom you share DNA with passing off suitcases full of money to men in warehouses. Or worse, inspecting girls lined up in shipping containers like they’re nothing more than a race horse he’s about to place a bet on.”
