Use Me

by Mj Fields

  Fuck. That.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Tatum

  I reach out to touch him, and he grabs my hand, stopping me.

  “I want you on your knees. I want to fuck your mouth.”

  “But you said—”

  “On your fucking knees, Tatum, or I’m out the fucking door,” he warns.

  I’m not a weak woman, or one who gives in to demands, but my body... My body craves him even in the state I am in.

  I drop to my knees and look up as I reach for him.

  “Hands behind your back,” he hisses. Then he taps my lips with his cock, avoiding eye contact.

  I open my mouth to him and watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard.

  Knowing that he didn’t want this from me before and seeing pain in his expression now, one that mirrors my own, I start to pull back. However, he closes his eyes tight and thrusts harshly into my mouth, causing me to gag.

  I swallow, my throat closing tight around his cock, and he hisses, fisting my hair back and letting out a low, deep growl before thrusting in again. Over and over, he thrusts into my mouth, using it to his liking.

  I suck hard on his broad head when he pulls back.

  “Fuck yes,” he groans and thrusts harsher, farther, faster in and out of my mouth.

  I swallow and lick. I suck and rub my tongue up and down the underside of his massive rock-hard erection. My pussy throbs with want, with need... for him.

  I want this. I want to give him this. I want to give him everything.

  I place my hands on his thick, strong thighs and take him deeper than I can handle. Then I pull away, gasping for air and gripping him tightly in my hand.

  “Don’t you fucking stop,” he demands.

  I lick up the underside of his hot, hard shaft and he growls, “Lick my fucking balls, Tatum.”

  I do. I lick them and suck each one gently, wanting to devour the man I have fallen in love with. He groans loudly before pulling back on my hair and thrusting into my mouth again, and again, and again. When he finally stalls his thrusts, I feel him twitch in my mouth. He tugs my hair back, and I feel his hot come hit my lips.

  When he is empty, my face sticky with him, I lick my lips as he looks down at me. My heart aches when I see the way he looks at me.

  With disgust.

  “Go clean up.” He turns his back on me. “Come back naked. I need to fuck you.”

  Standing, my legs are shaky. I put my hand on his back. “Angelo...”

  “No, don’t talk. I didn’t come here to fucking talk to you.” He turns around and looks at me. “Go.”

  Legs still shaking, my center wet with want for him, I quickly move toward the bathroom.

  This is stupid. I should be angry with him. The way he is acting, like I did something to him. He knew I was leaving. I haven’t bothered him. However, as angry as I am at him, my body is still on fire for his touch.

  I look in the mirror as I grab a washcloth and turn on the water.

  Angelo is here. He’s here, in New York.

  Euphoric. That’s the word for how I feel. He’s angry, demanding, like he was the first time we met when he thought I expected something from him. I did expect something. I expected an uncomplicated fling. What I got was a man who I fell in love with and can’t have. But maybe... Maybe now I can. I just don’t understand the energy coming off him in waves so strong and... hateful.

  Him coming here today of all days, it’s like a sign that...

  “Tatum, get out here.” His voice is gruff and heat-inducing.

  I quickly wipe my face and walk out of the bathroom.

  “Why are your clothes still on?” he snaps, causing my insides to clench as he steps toward me.

  I hold my hand out, stopping the inevitable collision his body against mine would cause, making it impossible to ask the questions I need to ask and tell him what it is I need to tell him.

  “You’re free now,” I say as he takes my arm and turns me so my back is to his chest.

  “Will be,” he husks out as he pushes us into the wall. “Soon, I will be.”

  I place my hands on it to steady myself as he yanks down my pants and underwear.

  “Angelo, I have to tell you something,” I say as he spreads my legs by pushing my feet with his.

  “No fucking talking, Tatum,” he growls as he wraps his hand around my waist, sliding down to my center then pushing his finger into me. “You been fucking anyone else?” he asks with a bite of anger in his voice.

  “No, of course—” I suck in a quick breath when he shoves another finger inside of me abruptly and thrusts in and out harshly.

  “Better not be fucking lying to me,” he warns as I hear a package rip.

  I know what comes next—his big, beautiful cock. My body trembles with anticipation.

  “You don’t need—Oh, God,” I cry as he thrusts into me and stills.

  He grips my hips and pulls me back as he steps back. “Hands on the floor.”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “Ass in the air, Tatum. Now.”

  I do so without argument.

  I hear him growl from behind me as he buries himself unforgivably deep inside of me. I spread my legs, hoping to accommodate his vastness more comfortably. Every touch is an overload to my senses.

  He sprawls his hands out across my ass and squeezes as he thrusts in and out of me hard and fast. The noises he makes calls to me in a way I crave, need, want, and desire.

  I push back against him, and his grip tightens before I feel his thumb grazing across my ass. My body automatically clenches everywhere.

  I hear a noise then feel his saliva slide down my ass crack, his thumb rubbing it around.

  “Angelo, no. Oh... God.”

  He pushes his finger inside me farther as he pulls his cock out of my hot, wet pussy, and then thrusts in as his finger sinks into me deeper. My body tries to fight it, but there are too many sensations

  “Anyone fucked this ass before?” he asks, moving his finger back and forth inside of me.

  I can’t reply. I am full, completely full of him, of Angelo, of the man I missed, the man I love, the man who has consumed my heart, my soul, for three months, and who is now consuming my body.

  I feel him pull out. Then he wraps his hand around my waist and begins playing with me, fingers inside, thumb rubbing circles around my clit, his palm rubbing me... everywhere.

  “Spread wider,” he demands as I feel him rub his broad head against my ass.

  “Angelo, I can’t,” I gasp as he pushes against me. “Too big.”

  “You’ll take it,” he grumbles.

  “I—” I gasp, taking in a deep breath as he pushes in slightly.

  I hold my breath, and he stills.

  I look back over my shoulder at him. He is scowling, and then his eyes squint tightly shut. He pulls back, shaking his head and looks at me.

  “You want this?”

  I shake my head. “I want you. If this is what you want, then take it.”

  His eyes widen. He looks shocked. I wonder why until I feel a tear running down my face.

  “No. No, dammit!” He removes his hands from my body and quickly walks into the bathroom and slams the door behind him.

  I wipe away the tears and try to make sense of what just happened.

  He’s here. He’s in New York with me, for me, yet he’s not acting like the man I left two months ago.

  I pull my pants and underwear back on, fix my shirt, and pat down my hair. Then I walk to the door and look in the mirror beside it.

  I have makeup running down my eyes from the tears. Of all days for him to show up, it’s a day that I actually left the house and wore makeup. I look like hell, yet I feel like heaven and hell at the same time.

  He’s here. It’s Heaven sent. He’s angry, bitter, and determined to make me feel something. I’m not sure I’m supposed to like it, and that is hell.

  After trying to wipe the makeup off, I realize there is no
way without using makeup remover. Who the hell knows if I even have any? I have been holed up in this place for two months.

  I feel a chill run down my spine when I look back as the bathroom door opens and he fills the doorway completely.

  He sighs and looks away from me, eyes scanning the room. Only then do I realize how messy it is, and it embarrasses me. I am totally and utterly embarrassed at the mess.

  “I’ve been busy with the book,” I say as I pull myself together and look around, trying to figure out how to draw his attention back to me and away from the mess.

  He is expressionless as he slowly looks about the room.

  “It’s not usually like this, I swear,” I say as I start to stack the pile of papers nearest me. “I’ve just been busy.” And I have been so exhausted that cleaning has been the last thing on my list of priorities.

  My hands begin to shake, and my chest tightens as I take a deep breath and try to pile the next stack.

  “What the hell is this?” he asks.

  I look up to see he’s holding the white plastic stick—the test I took this morning. The one that told me I am pregnant. He looks absolutely furious.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Angelo

  “I asked you a question, Tatum. What is this?” I hold the fucking stick out; the one I have seen a dozen times in television commercials. I know damn well what it is.

  “It’s a...” She pauses and shrugs.

  I’m enraged. I asked her if she’s been with anyone else. She said no. If that’s the case, then why the fuck is this stick in her bathroom?

  “I just found out this morning.” She grips her shirt and starts to wring it like a towel. “I’m going to call the doctors tomorrow. Maybe it’s wrong?”

  “It better damn well be wrong!” I snap.

  She looks hurt by this, but hurt is better than dead.

  “Don’t you look at me like that. You want to die, Tatum?” I step closer, and she bursts into tears then lets out a pain-filled cry.

  The door to her apartment flies open and that woman, Melanie, bursts in.

  “You leave her alone, or I’m calling the cops. Do you hear me!”

  Fuck you is on the tip of my tongue, but I clench my teeth together, stopping it.

  “Get out.” The redhead points her phone at me. “Get out before I call the cops.”

  “No, Melanie, no,” Tatum cries.

  “He just threatened to kill you,” she says, looking at Tatum like she’s some abused fucking dog.

  “No,” she says then sniffs loudly. “He thinks, because I’m pregnant—”

  “Tatum,” I warn her not to divulge my reasoning.

  “You’re what?” the redhead, Melanie, yells.

  “Fuck.” I shake my head and look around her place.

  “Yeah, well, that’s what causes pregnancy,” Melanie says, clearly trying to make me out as an idiot.

  “No kidding,” I smart back, still looking around the apartment.

  I see the bags that Tatum took to the airport the day I dropped her off—the last time I saw her—sitting in the corner and walk toward them. I pick up the large, black suitcase and unzip it.

  “What are you doing?” Tatum asks, walking toward me as I dump it out.

  “Two months, and you haven’t even unpacked?” I ask, picking up the smaller one and dumping it out, too.

  She sniffs before saying, “I’ve been too busy.”

  I don’t say a damn thing. I pick up the bags and head to what I assume is her bedroom and place them on her unmade bed. This room is a fucking mess, too, Starbucks cups littering the dresser, the nightstand, the bookshelves.

  I turn and look at her. “You supposed to be living on coffee when you’re knocked up with my spawn?”

  Her hands fall protectively over her belly as if to shield the thing growing inside her. “I just found out.”

  I look past her and see a closet; the door open. I walk into it and grab an armful of clothes off the rack and throw them in the suitcase.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Melanie asks as I walk back into the closet.

  “Packing her shit,” I answer, carrying out more clothes.

  “What? Why?” she asks, stepping in front of me and blocking me from taking the clothes to the suitcase.

  “She’s not fucking living here; she’s existing,” I explain, realizing Tatum has been as miserable as I have. She told the truth. She hasn’t been with anyone but me. This pregnancy, it’s my baby. She’s not going to be alone. We are not going to be apart.

  “This is her home! Her friends are here.”

  “Her friends aren’t paying attention to what she fucking needs. Now move,” I sneer.

  “Or what?” she challenges.

  I drop the clothes on the floor, grab her by the waist, lift her, walk her out of the bedroom, drop her to her feet, and then turn around and shut the door behind me.

  “Angelo,” Tatum sighs.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done by getting yourself pregnant by me,” I scold.

  “Right. It was the plan!” she cries. “Find a muse, use him, fall in love with him, and get pregnant by a man who will never want me or his child because he’s too scared to live!” Every word is strained, like it’s causing her physical pain.

  “Is that what I am?” I ask, shoving the pile in her suitcase.

  “I’m not even sure I’m going to keep—”

  “You wanna end this pregnancy, that’s your choice. But I sure as fuck am not going to plant a fucking seed and watch you drown it in caffeine and feeling sorry for yourself,” I snap.

  “Like you do?” she snaps back.

  “Is it selfish not to want the woman I love to suffer the fate of all the others in my life, Tatum?” I roar at her. “Is that fucking selfish!”

  “You are not at fault for a damn thing—”

  “Shut your mouth right now, get the shit you need, and let’s go.”

  “You think I’m going with you when you’re—”

  “I’m not asking you, Tatum; I’m telling you.” I zip up the overstuffed suitcase and storm toward the bedroom door. When I open it, Melanie is standing in front of me, arms crossed.

  “You can’t do this to her!” she yells at me, and then starts the same shit—crying.

  “Well, she clearly can’t do it alone. Now move or I’ll move you... again.”

  This time, she moves.

  I grab another suitcase and storm back into the room.

  “I’m not going to use this child to make you—”

  “Like you used me?”

  “If I had known that you—”

  “Were a murderer, a cursed man, a virgin? If I was what, Tatum?” I walk over and open her top dresser drawer, pulling out handfuls of socks and undergarments, tossing them into the bag.

  I hear her sniff loudly again and look over my shoulder at her.

  “Don’t fucking cry, Tatum.”

  “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you! I didn’t want to. It wasn’t a choice, Angelo; it just happened. So just go, leave, pretend I don’t exist because—”

  “Enough! That’s enough, dammit.” Frustration and pain consume me. This is a mess. One big fucking mess.

  I storm toward her and grab the back of her head. A slight gasp escapes her pretty pink lips when I pull her closer. Then a moan escapes when I kiss her, taste her, rub my tongue up and down hers. Her body nearly goes limp, and I grab and pick her up, still kissing her.

  She kisses me back now, grabbing my hair and sobbing into my mouth. I pull back to tell her, ask her... Hell, I would beg her to stop crying if I knew it would work.

  “You can’t be here.” She kisses my face over and over again. “You’ll get in trouble.”

  “I don’t care,” I admit, pushing my face against her lips as she kisses me repeatedly.

  “You need to go back, and you need to clear your name.”

  “You’ll come with me. I need to ma
ke sure you’re okay now more than ever. If there is any fucking chance you can get sick or hurt in any way—”

  “I love you,” she says, looking into my eyes and pushing her forehead against mine.

  “Then God help us both.” I grip her elbows and push her back, though her kissing and touching me is so fucking nice. “Let’s get you packed.”

  “There’s too much,” she says, laughing and crying at the same time, which would have been confusing as hell to me a month ago. Now, my heart and soul understands.

  I want her. I need her. I love her.

  “Then just get what you need now.” I walk past her and out the bedroom door, past her friend, who I don’t bother looking at.

  I open cabinets in the kitchen to find garbage bags because her place will be full of roaches if food and half-filled Starbucks cups are left for an indefinite amount of time.

  While I throw shit out, her and Melanie are talking, crying, and laughing. I don’t listen to a word they say. My entire world has been rocked so hard I can hear blood flowing throughout my body.

  I get to the piles of papers, and she says my name.

  “Please don’t throw them away.”

  “Tatum, there are dozens of piles.” I shake my head, not understanding what the hell would make her want to keep them.

  “I’ll take care of them,” Melanie says.

  I look down at the pile in my hands and see the top page has the words:

  Breathe Again

  by T. Longley

  I flip the page to find a dedication.

  Love is real.

  I have been lucky enough to have breathed it in twice.

  To Gregory and Angelo, who are both part of me now and forever.

  To the readers, breathe freely and without regret.

  T. Longley

  Angelo, not Jonathon.

  Real, not fiction.

  My chest tightens as I look at her, needing to say something, but I am unable to, not now, maybe not ever.

  “Okay.” I nod and hand her friend the stack of papers.

  I love a woman who lives and breathes.

  I love her and cursed her, with a part of me growing inside her beautiful body that I just fucked like an animal. I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself for either.