DEBT

by Jessica Gadziala

  "I lived on those things as a kid. I wanna try ones without all the shit in them."

  "Maybe the shit is what made them so good."

  "Maybe," he agreed, rocking back on his heels slightly. "But I think yours will be better."

  I felt myself blush slightly at the compliment and pretended like the recipe required all my attention. "Are you dead-set on only the original strawberry with icing ones or can I get inventive too?"

  "Babe, knock your socks off," he said, giving me a warm smile. "You make it, I'll eat it."

  "Nine o'clock?" I asked.

  "Yep."

  "Alrighty," I said, tucking the recipe away a little carelessly while, inside, I was reminding myself it was just till he was out of sight then I could straighten it and tuck it away with the other one that I had already stashed inside my purse for reasons that were somewhat unknown to me at the time.

  "Have fun," he said, nodding at me then moving toward the door. "I'll be back later."

  Then, well, he was gone.

  At six, Ella long gone because Byron didn't plan on being home for dinner, I made my way downstairs to start baking, Prince blaring through the speakers and drowning out my own internal monologue. About an hour and a half later, I had the classic strawberry-filled, vanilla-topped tarts, complete with multi-colored sprinkles, but also brown sugar cinnamon ones, and even a very special Nutella, chocolate, and peanut butter concoction I was particularly proud of. I plated them and set to putting away all the ingredients.

  And then I waited.

  And waited.

  And freaking waited.

  Nine rolled into ten which rolled into eleven. At one in the morning, I was officially pissed.

  True, I had no right to be. Who cared if their boss was late? It didn't mean I couldn't go up and get into bed. But, for me, it did. I wanted to see him. I wanted to give him my food I worked hard on and then let him show me how much he appreciated it. Preferably with multiple orgasms.

  I actually walked around to make sure he hadn't come in while I was rocking out, but found the entire house vacant. Then, deciding I wasn't going to be that girl, I plated the extra tarts and moved outside to look for a guard to give them to so I didn't end up binge eating them all myself to try to drown the swirling feeling inside. I yelped to a stop when I opened the door and almost plowed into Matt.

  "Honey," he said, turning, brow raised.

  "Hey, Matt. Um, I, ah... made a lot of these. Want to share some with me?" I asked, almost choking on the words they sounded so needy.

  To my complete and utter surprise, he shrugged, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and moved to sit down on the front step. "Sure."

  "Oh... great!" I said, false-cheery, as I moved to sit down beside him, putting the plate between us.

  "Are those homemade Pop-Tarts?" he asked, lips curving upward.

  "Yeah, I... it was something different," I hedged. He shrugged and reached for one of my special Nutella ones, considering it for a moment before biting into it, closing his eyes on a quiet groan. "Good?" I asked, unable to stop myself from smiling with pride.

  "Honey, might be sweeter than you, if that's possible."

  I ducked my head to hide the slight blush at that, mad at myself for enjoying it so much, for needing the validation. "Glad you like them."

  "Lonely," he said suddenly after a minute.

  "I'm sorry?" I asked, looking over at him.

  "You're lonely," he specified. "Up in that house with no family and no friends. That's why your plating treats and bringing them out to me." He wasn't exactly wrong. I was absolutely lonely. But it was more because I was romanticizing the encounter with Byron, doing exactly what he warned me not to do.

  "I guess," I allowed.

  "I'm on, you ever need someone to feed, talk to, or just sit next to, I'm right here. Might not be the most talkative company, but I'm company. Okay?"

  "Oka..." I started, but was cut off by the sound of the gates sliding open and Byron's car purring up right in front of us. The car barely stopped before he was out of it, slammed the door, and around the hood. Everything about him seemed agitated, borderline angry. It was in the set to his shoulders, the tightness to his mouth, the ticking in his jaw.

  "Those mine?" he barked, gesturing toward the plate.

  I felt Matt's eyes on me and looked over at him because, quite frankly, I couldn't quite meet Byron's eyes. "Somebody's in trouble," he said, voice low, eyes dancing a little at the idea of mischief and I saw that, maybe, I had picked the wrong guy on the estate to get involved with. While Matt would never be able to read me as well as Byron, he was safer. He was the smarter choice. He was the least likely to rip me apart before he was done with me.

  "Prudence," Byron clipped, using the hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar voice.

  "They're extras," I supplied, forcing myself to lift my head and meet his eye.

  "Are they now?"

  "I just said they were," I said, my tone snippy.

  "Well, this is sufficiently awkward," Matt cut in, standing and re-buttoning his jacket.

  "Probably good to get back to work," Byron said, disapproval plain in his voice.

  Matt seemed completely unaffected though, and gave me a small smile. "Thanks for the sweets, honey," he said, chucking me under the chin and moving away, giving Byron a shameless chin-jerk as he went.

  I watched his back for a long minute until it was out of sight, wanting any excuse I had to not look at Byron whose body was radiating anger. "He wants to fuck you," he declared as soon as my eyes met his.

  "So?" I asked.

  "So you're coming out here all sad-eyes with a plate full of desserts and leading him on."

  "I don't have sad eyes," I said, reaching for the plate and standing.

  "Oh, fuck off..." he said, giving me a humorless smile.

  And, well, I wasn't really in the mood to face off with him right then. I turned and flew into the house, going straight to the kitchen to put the plate down, planning to head back upstairs and lock myself into my room until I got myself under control.

  Planning to.

  Meaning I didn't get the chance.

  This was mainly because as soon as I put the plate down, Byron was behind me, using the whole of his body to pin me against the counter. One of his arms folded across my belly, the other went up to yank my hair until my ear was near his mouth. "I don't do games, Prue."

  "I'm not playing games, Byron," I snapped back, wincing at the smarting in my scalp until I felt his other arm move downward and cup my sex.

  "Then explain the shit with Matt."

  "There was no shit with Matt. I wanted..." I shut my mouth tight, having almost admitted something I knew was dangerous to.

  "You wanted what?"

  I swallowed hard, closing my eyes tight as if it would make the admission any less embarrassing. "I wanted someone to talk to."

  "About?"

  "Anything. I was..." I started, feeling his fingers curl and hit my clit.

  "You were what?"

  "Lonely," I admitted, feeling another layer get sliced off of me.

  Byron paused for a second. "Are you lonely now?"

  "No," I said, exhaling hard as my hips moved against his palm.

  He didn't say anything in response, just released my hair and my sex and both hands moved to the waistband of my jeans, making short work of the button and zip then yanking them and my panties roughly down my legs. "Step out," he demanded, taking a step back. I kicked out of the legs and turned because he had moved back several feet. "Shirt and bra too," he instructed as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

  "Byron, I..." I started, shaking my head a little.

  "Shirt and bra," he said more firmly as his hands went to his button and his zip then reached inside to pull his cock out and slip on a condom. "Now, Prue."

  My sex clenched hard, reminding me once again that my body was a traitor that my mind wasn't strong enough
to fight. I moved to pull my shirt off and reached behind me for my clasps, watching him as he walked toward me. Except, that wasn't quite right. He stalked toward me, stopping when our feet touched, then sliding his hand down my side until he snagged my knee, grabbing it, and hauling it up, giving himself access to the very core of me. His other hand grabbed his cock and moved it to stroke up and down my almost embarrassingly slick cleft.

  "Byron, I..." I started, shaking my head a little, not sure what I was about to say. Apologize? For what? Technically I hadn't done anything wrong.

  "No," he said, eyes on me. "You wanted someone to talk to, you did. Now I am going to demand you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut."

  "What..."

  "I mean that I am going to fuck you, right here in this kitchen. Right here in this very spot. And if you so much as gasp, I am not going to let you come. Got me?"

  Not so much as gasp?

  How the hell was I supposed to pull that off?

  With him, I had been embarrassingly loud, uninhibited, practically wanton. And he wanted me to be silent?

  "You want my cock, babe, those are the rules this time."

  "But what..."

  "No buts. I'm going to fuck you and you're going to be silent. Got me?" he asked, the head of his cock hitting my clit and making me let out a small whimper.

  I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be allowed to come.

  But then his cock slid down my slit and pressed inside me, filling me to the hilt. My mouth opened as he stretched me; his brow raised as a reminder to be silent. I didn't doubt for a minute he would follow through on his threat. I exhaled slowly, trying to focus through the clawing need inside me, making me rock against him as he stilled inside me.

  "I asked if you got me?"

  I nodded my head.

  And then he was fucking me. Hard, each thrust shifting my body upward several inches as he filled me completely, eyes intent on my face. I sucked in air greedily to try to distract myself from moaning as his cock continued its relentless torture, driving me up fast, knowing exactly what he was doing to me.

  My hands curled hard into his biceps as his hand urged my leg around his waist before releasing it and settling it on the side of my neck. His other hand slid down between us, pressing into my clit as his thrusts got more frantic, more demanding.

  At the contact, I sucked in air hard, so hard that it was audible, almost a gasp.

  "Careful," he warned, fingers digging into my neck a little. "That was close."

  With that, I drew in another shaky breath, leaning forward and burying my face in his neck, pressing my lips hard against his skin to muffle any sounds, my arms going tight, almost crushing, around his neck. His free arm traveled down my back, grabbing my ass, then slapping it hard, making my fingers dig into his neck to keep from crying out. As if sensing the battle, his hand pulled back, swung out, and landed harder. Then again, even harder. Until I was biting my lip hard, my entire body taut as a bow trying to keep silent.

  His hand stopped, grabbing my ass cheek hard again. "As of last night, this pussy is mine. And what's mine is mine alone. You don't even tempt someone with the idea of a taste, got that fucking straight?" he asked. And, helpless to do anything else, I nodded frantically into his neck as his finger did another swipe of my clit and my orgasm slammed through me hard, unexpected, making my legs give out suddenly as I clung to him and, unable to help it, moaned out his name.

  He fucked me through my orgasm before planting deep and growling out my name. We stayed that way for a long minute, my heart slamming hard in my chest as my body trembled slightly, feeling overworked and frazzled. There wasn't an absurd urge to cry like there had been the night before, but I didn't want to let him go either. So I didn't. I held as tight as I had during sex, keeping my face buried, breathing in his scent, enjoying his strong body holding onto mine.

  "Ease up, babe," he said, his tone infinitely softer than it had been before. When I shook my head and squeezed tighter, his hands went around my back, giving me a tight squeeze for a second. "I need to deal with this condom. You need me after that, I'm right here." With that, I slowly unfolded my arms from him, the muscles sore from holding on so tight as I moved to press back against the counter. Byron took a few steps back, grabbing his suit jacket and tossing it to me. "Throw that on. I'll be right back," he declared and walked out of the kitchen.

  I shrugged into the jacket, fastening two buttons then bringing my hands up to cover my face, trying to deep breathe through the weird warm feeling in my belly and chest again. What was it about him? Why was he able to get to me so much? Not just sexually, though that was certainly intense, new, life-changing. But as a whole. I barely knew him, but him showing up late sent me into a hissy fit that made me go seek attention elsewhere? That wasn't me. I wasn't that kind of woman. I wasn't the one who needed to run to her best friend for a pint of ice cream and a bottle of wine when shit hit the fan. Mainly because I never fostered any close relationships with anyone, but also because that just wasn't who I was. I was very self-possessed. I didn't need to branch out. I didn't need a shoulder.

  But maybe that wasn't the case.

  Maybe that was just something else I had been trying like hell to make true about my life.

  Maybe there had always been a part of me that wanted more, that wanted to connect.

  Byron walked back into the room, stopping short at seeing me, eyes raking over me in a way that made me feel naked. "That's a good fucking look," he declared, moving over toward the island where the rest of the tarts were situated. He snagged the plate, then turned back to walk out of the room, making my heart feel like it plummeted to my feet. But then he turned back, brow raised. "You coming or what?" he asked, then turned and walked out of the room, leaving me to scurry behind, grabbing my clothes off the floor as I went.

  He led us up the stairs and into his bedroom, putting the plate down on his nightstand and moving to discard all his clothes. As in... all of them. Then he pulled back the sheets and slid underneath. "Take that jacket off and get your ass in here," he demanded as I stood at the foot of the bed dumbly. And, well, I was helpless but to follow. I unbuttoned the jacket and shrugged out of it, picking up the sheets, and quickly climbing under, pulling the sheets almost up to my chin, something that wasn't lost on him if his smirk was anything to go by. "You gonna snuggle in or what?" he asked, reaching for a remote and flicking on the television in his cabinet beside the bedroom door. When a man like Byron suggested you snuggled in, yeah, you snuggled the hell in. I turned on my side and rested my head just under his shoulder blade, my arm resting on his chest. "Alright, so what do I have here?" he asked, reaching for the plate and resting it on his stomach.

  "The strawberry with vanilla icing you requested, of course," I started.

  "Of course," he agreed and I could swear I heard a smile in his voice.

  "Then there are the brown sugar cinnamon ones."

  "Classic," he agreed and I knew he was smiling.

  A part of me wanted to tilt my head up and see it, not a condescending smile, not a wicked smirk, just a genuine smile. But instead, I just finished with, "And a Nutella, chocolate, and peanut better recipe I made up."

  "Did you, now?" he asked, his one arm snaking around my back and giving me a squeeze. He reached for that one first, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a bite. "Fuck, woman. No way should your ass have been working in a fucking bank. Wasted talent."

  I felt his compliment settle somewhere deep inside, seeming to break open and seep through my system, mingling into my bloodstream and becoming a part of me.

  And maybe that was why I heard my mouth run away with me before my brain could weigh in on the situation.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Don't need to fucking ask me if you can ask me a question. Just ask," he said, putting down the Nutella tart and reaching for the strawberry one.

  "Why did you come to live with your uncle when you were ei
ghteen?"

  There was a short pause. It was barely five seconds, but it was long enough to make me feel like I should have kept my mouth shut. "Ella's been talking, huh?" he asked, but went on before I could say anything. "I was seventeen," he surprised me by going on, "not eighteen. I ran away from home. If you can call it that at that age."

  "Why?"

  "Dad was a fuck up. Mom was too jaded to give a fuck that he whipped my ass every time the mood struck. Which was often. I got old enough, I got wheels, I got the fuck out of that shit situation."

  "You and your uncle were close?"

  "Not at first. I was a shit. No manners..."

  "You? No manners? I can't believe it!" I teased and he surprised me by chuckling.

  "Yeah, well, think of a testosterone-flooded, immature, headstrong version of me with a massive chip on his shoulder..."

  "Your poor uncle," I said, smiling a little at the idea.

  "He took me in under the understanding that I would earn my keep, do what I was told, and respect my aunt."

  "Reasonable."

  "You'd think. I bitched about it, but it was that or back to the shithole I came from and I knew enough about my uncle to know he could give me opportunities I could never find anywhere else."

  "Was he your maternal or paternal uncle?"

  "Maternal. But he and my ma had a falling out when I was still biting ankles. Probably over money knowing the two of them. My dad couldn't keep a job and my mom never tried to get one. And my uncle didn't believe in loaning money to family. He knew that once you started, there was no stopping," he added, giving me another squeeze. "He and my aunt Mandy couldn't have kids. I think they were happy to have my surly ass around, no matter how big a fuck I was."

  "Mandy?" I repeated.

  "Yeah my uncle and his wife had one of those stories every woman thinks that, if she looks for long enough, she will find."

  "What story is that?" I asked, knowing damn well what he meant.

  "Babe, you're favorite movie is Beauty And The Beast, you know exactly what story I am talking about. The great love story. The happily ever after. Until Mandy took down with cancer."

  "Oh, Byron..." I said, detecting a hint of pain there, whether he intended to share that with me or not.