Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  She pushes away from me slightly; narrowing her eyes, bemused, and swipes the screen. Delilah gasps, covering her mouth. A blush creeps up to her cheeks and I know she’s staring at the picture she took of her red ass cheeks, after I had spanked her that night so long ago.

  She throws her arms around me again, giggling.

  “Mister, you’re in for a treat tonight,” she promises in a soft but sultry tone.

  “Can’t wait.” And it’s true. I might not be able to wait with her looking good enough to devour. It’s going to be a long, fucking night.

  “Alright, alright, enough o’ that,” Marshall interjects. “You both can eat each other later.” Everyone laughs at that. “Let the woman open her other presents.”

  Halfway through unwrapping gifts, Delilah says she’s exhausted. She thanks everyone for the gifts and for coming and yells that she wants to get the party started. With that announcement, the DJ I’d hired starts up with his monster mix, Rihanna’s Only Girl in the World bursting through the speakers, and dinner is served by the pool.

  Rachel, Simone, and Delilah’s friends from college, Lizzie and Jan, crowd around her. She’s eating, laughing and having a good time, every so often talking to the other guests that stop by to wish her a happy birthday. Thankfully, no one has brought up her recent kidnapping and I’m glad for that. I’ll be damned if I let anyone ruin her night. This is her day, her happiness, and she glows with the joy of it all.

  I look down on my buzzing phone at a message from Marcus, once again apologizing that he and his wife Tamara couldn’t make it. Eva had been unwell so I understood perfectly. After I tap out a message to him, I look up to find my girl, who has begun dancing.

  Damn.

  Her hips are swaying in a spellbinding fashion to the hypnotic sound of Fall In Love by Phantogram. Both men and women’s gazes are riveted to her and I can’t say I blame them. She is a fucking wet dream to watch. She moves like she knows that she’s being watched and she is putting on a show for all to see.

  Her movements are so sexy that I find myself adjusting my slacks to accommodate my hardening cock. The dress she is wearing molds to her body like a second skin and contours even sexier with every dip and sway.

  I need to feel her against me. I have never danced with her like that and I need to have that experience…tonight. I’ll probably end up dragging her away and fucking her in the pool house, but fuck if I care what people think. She’s my woman and I’m about to lay claim.

  I tuck my phone away and am about to head over to dance with Delilah when I spot one of my friends from college, Bryce, staring at Delilah like he knows her. More like he wants to eat her. She looks good enough to eat, so I can’t fault him. Doesn’t mean I like it, though.

  “Yo, Bryce!” I call out to him.

  He reluctantly tears his gaze away from her and makes his way over to me.

  “Hey, man.” He bumps fists with me, talking a large gulp from his glass tumbler. “So that’s your girl, huh?” He points at her.

  “Yeah,” I answer guardedly. I would think it’s pretty obvious.

  He chuckles to himself, running a finger along his bottom lip. He empties his glass in another large gulp and turns to me.

  “You remember that chick I told you about that I met at that club?” he asks.

  “The bitch that told you to get the fuck out of her house right after you fucked her?” I clarify, laughing at his misfortune. “She burned you, dude. I can’t believe you’re still hung up on that chick! Her pussy must’ve have been something. Did she take your balls when you sank into her, man?” I’m laughing uncontrollably now.

  “I don’t know man. Did she take yours?” Bryce fires at me.

  I choke. The laughter dies on my lips immediately and I start coughing. Bryce just stares at me as I cough, his eyes hard.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Bryce?”

  “My mystery girl is your girl.”

  “I call bullshit,” I snarl.

  “She has a cute little beauty mole on her pussy, right? And what she does with her mouth? Damn,” he muses.

  Bryce inhales and his eyes flutter closed and I know he’s reminiscing. I feel sick.

  “I gotta…” Go? “I think I’m gonna be…” Sick?

  “I need a drink.” I stagger inside, but, instead of going to the other bar set up in the leisure room, I race to the bathroom and throw up everything I’ve eaten.

  I’m in the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes before getting out. I don’t want to be anywhere near Bryce or Delilah right now. The bar is calling me with its liquored up siren’s song, so I make my way over to the crowded area. I order a shot of Tequila and down it in one swift gulp. The burn eases the hurt and betrayal I’m feeling right at this moment.

  So…drinking until my liver shrivels it is.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  What Bryce told me has totally floored me. Right now I feel like I can’t breathe. The drinking helps, but I can’t help but stare at Bryce sitting outside right now. He’s nursing two tumblers of amber liquid and staring at Delilah. I feel sick all over again.

  My friend…and my girlfriend? I had heard him talk about the super-hot bitch that kicked him out after he fucked her brains out. He didn’t get the tart’s name, because her mouth was, and I quote: “otherwise occupied”, end quote.

  Now to know that his super-hot bitch is my super-hot bitch, no disrespect, I just can’t wrap my mind around any of it. I’m angry, jealous, and I can’t think straight. The smug smirk that’s painted on his face right now doesn’t make things any easier either. Every time he shifts his gaze to her, I know he’s reliving every moment, every inch of her that he explored.

  I need another drink…or five.

  Swedish House Mafia is pumping through the speakers, pounding my chest, telling me not to worry. What plan could Heaven have for me with the knowledge that my girlfriend slept with my college buddy the same night I slept with her? The thought is disconcerting and pretty bitter to swallow.

  Fuck.

  After seven shots of whiskey and a scotch made neat, I am hammered. Up to this point, I have successfully avoided Delilah for the entire night, only seeking her out twice…or was it maybe twelve times? I’m not counting. Matt had to physically restrain me from walking over to her and ripping into her. He threatened to let mom kick my ass if I ever ruined Delilah’s party with my anger and petty jealousy over something that happened when she and I weren’t even serious. I don’t give a fuck.

  Delilah is laughing with Simone and sipping on her fruity, pussy drink – an apple martini or some shit. She’s handling that straw between her lips like a pro and I am immediately thrust back to what Bryce said about her lips. He’s right. Fuck!

  I growl to myself, not able to wipe the image of the two of them fucking out of my head.

  “Hey, a shot of Patrón,” I call to the bartender. He looks at me warily. “I fucking pay you to be here! If I want to fucking drink myself to a withered liver, I can damn well do it! I pay you to serve drinks, not to have a fucking conscience!” I spit, my anger rising from the depths.

  The guests around the bar are staring me.

  “Hey.” I snap my fingers to get his attention as something behind me clearly has captured it. I rub the back of my neck as a tingle runs down it before pointing at him.

  “Drink. Now!” I demand.

  “Hey,” Delilah admonishes softly. I should’ve known from the chills. “Are you okay?”

  I don’t care for her tone…all caring and concerned. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is Bryce and how good his cock felt. I bet she’s picturing it right now. Fucking cunt.

  My liquor-filled brain is going on a rampage. I am not at all rational at the moment.

  “Get the fuck away from me right now,” I say, not able to face her. I just don’t know what I’ll do or say to her.

  “Excuse me?” Yeah, she’s pissed now.

  “I can’t deal with you right now, Delilah.�
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  “Deal with me? Deal with me?” she shoots. “Do I look like your fucking child, Ben? Am I damn problem to you? Deal with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “You!” I snap, spinning to face her now as the rage builds; images of her and Bryce’s writhing bodies taking root in my mind.

  “You’re a fucking slut, that’s what’s wrong!” Apparently when I’m drunk and angry I have no filter. I swear to God I don’t mean the things I just said or the things I thought, but it’s too late to take back.

  Delilah smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s chilling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you right now or what’s gotten into you, but I will take that little remark and chalk it up to the alcohol.” Eerily, Delilah is calm and it makes me very afraid.

  And the universe just can’t seem to stop laughing at me.

  “Hey…De-liii-lah,” Bryce slurs. “Aren’t you looking mighty fine tonight?” He’s drunk too.

  I don’t miss it when Delilah blanches and a whispered “fuck” escapes her lips.

  “Did Ben tell you we are college buds? I told him that I know you very well.” Bryce pokes at Delilah’s chest, cocks his eyebrows and licks his lips like he wants to devour her.

  I.

  See.

  Red.

  Before I know it, I’m leaping toward Bryce and landing repeated blows to his face. Delilah is begging me to stop, but with the adrenaline pumping through my veins I’m finding that hard to do.

  Matt finally drags me away from Bryce’s bloody self and Simon picks him up off the floor. Everyone has stopped to take in the spectacle. Even the music has stopped.

  “What is wrong with you, Ben?” Delilah screams at me and rushes over to Bryce to check if he’s okay. She doesn’t check on me. She checks on him! Him!

  I see red…again.

  I slip out of Matt’s grasp and I push her out of the way to land a blow to Bryce’s side. Just when I am ready to give him another, Delilah shoves me so hard that I tumble into Matt. She launches at me and hits me so hard that I sober up for a few seconds. Whoa.

  “You stupid…mother…fucker!” she screeches and pounds my chest before stalking off. Her family and two college friends follow behind her, all killing me very slowly with the looks they are casting in my direction.

  I am stunned by Delilah’s reaction. Turned on – she’s such a little spitfire – but stunned. The guests are staring at me, mouths agape. A flush of embarrassment creeps up my neck to my forehead.

  What have I done?

  “Get that douchebag out of here, Simon,” Matt finally speaks. Simon doesn’t hesitate. “Everyone, thanks for coming, but as you can see, the party’s over.”

  There are a few murmurs, but I think everyone is too stunned to move, much like I am too stunned to even speak.

  My mother clears her throat as she approaches. Before turning to the guests, she levels me with narrowed green eyes. I know what that means, and I gulp in trepidation of my mother’s wrath.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am very sorry that the night has come to such an abrupt and unfortunate end.” She shoots an angry glare at me once more before turning back to the guests. “We all thank you for coming. Please collect your gift bag on your way out.”

  With that, everyone starts filing out. I am still stuck at my position at the bar. No one comes over to tell me goodnight – as I’d expected – except for Artie.

  “Son, you messed up,” he highlights. Yeah, no shit.

  “She slept with my friend, Artie,” I say to him blankly, not knowing how else to explain my behavior. Artie winces and pats me on the shoulder in understanding.

  “Fix it,” he advises then walks off. That is always his advice to me when it comes to Delilah. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, seeing as I’m still miffed about the entire situation.

  “You fucked up, bro,” Matt acknowledges.

  “Would everyone just stop with the fucking obvious?” I bite out. “Yeah, I fucked up royally! But what about what she did, huh?”

  “Shut up!” Mother castigates, her face red with anger. Dad is just behind her, his face grim. “I have half a mind to take you over my knee,” she threatens. I take her seriously. She would.

  “You ruined the poor girl’s birthday party, after you promised to make tonight wonderful for her.” Mother walks up to me and I actually flinch, afraid she might hit me. Putting on a faux brave face, I stand my ground.

  “Get yourself together. Go upstairs and make things right with her.” Her tone brooks no argument. Mother stomps off, dragging Matt behind her.

  No one seems to care that I’m still upset. No one seems to care that she betrayed me. What the fuck? God! I can’t get those images out of my goddamn head!

  “Son, you’re angry right now,” Dad soothes with a hand on my back. “Cool off. Don’t do anything while you’re still upset,” he suggests.

  “Whatever it is, I know you both can work it out. Goodnight, son.” He walks away and I am left alone. I don’t think my father has ever been this…caring. Maybe he has changed?

  Work it out.

  The thing is, I don’t think this one will be so easy to fix or work out.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  I trudge upstairs, still riled up. Bryce got a piece of what’s mine. I had to endure him talking about this girl for days. Even I had started to have the same love/hate feelings that Bryce had toward her. I can’t say how many times I’d thought about that girl he met at the club and how much I’d wanted to bring the bitch to heel myself, under a flogging or caning. Now to find that this same girl I was thinking so perversely about is my Delilah. Well, it just isn’t the greatest feeling in the world.

  It stands to reason that the moment Bryce had revealed his mystery woman to be Delilah, our friendship was over. Maybe it was over right after I punched him in the face. Who knows? Who cares? What is certain is that I lost a friend today…because of Delilah’s slutty past actions. I mean, who meets a guy at a club, dances with him, takes him home, fucks him and doesn’t even ask his name?

  Opening the door to the dark bedroom, I try not to disturb Delilah who I know is probably brooding. Well…I’m pissed too.

  I kick off my boots and start unbuttoning my shirt. Without turning the lights on, I head into the bathroom and take a calm, sobering shower, rationale returning to my inebriated brain. I fucked up. Bad.

  Making my way back to the bedroom to try and salvage a night that my foolish, jealous actions ruined, I flick the switch on, illuminating the space and alerting me to an empty bed.

  Sighing, I turn on my heel and go in search of Delilah; because no matter how mad I am at her, I need to have her close. She’s my center.

  She’s not in the theatre room when I check it. Neither is she in the kitchen. I go outside into the cold night air, hoping she’s not dumb enough to go out there while it’s freezing, but she’s not by the river either. The gym is locked so she couldn’t be in there, so I backtrack to the Fulfillment Room. My stomach sinks when I don’t find her there.

  A surge of panic rises through me.

  I search frantically through every bedroom for her. No Delilah and no one has seen her. Grabbing my cell, I dial her new cell number. No answer.

  Finally, I decide to go outside to the security room.

  “Have either of you seen Delilah?” I ask Thomas, Cole and Geoff, my security crew.

  Their bewildered stares give me my answer before any of them can respond with a “no”.

  Frantically, Cole checks the security monitors while Thomas and Geoff stalk out to check the parameters. I call Delilah’s cell yet again, this time only voicemail. Where the fuck is she?

  Rachel.

  Realization dawns brightly on me. But…how did she get there?

  Simon.

  Hurrying out to the garage, I see the traitor closing the door to the Phantom.

  “Take me to Delilah and Rachel’s,” I order him.

  He hesitates…hesitates!


  “Did you hear me, Simon?” I spit out.

  “Sir, I,” he stutters. “I was told not to–”

  “Who the fuck pays you, Simon?” I shout. “Get in this motherfucking car right now and take me to her.”

  I slide into the car, radiating with anger. How dare he defy me because of a directive from someone else? Who employs him?

  “And remind me to fire you when this is all over,” I snap.

  Simon bristles and the hurt look on his face is enough to make me take back all I’ve said to him. He recovers quickly, but I know I’ve hurt my main man. We’ve been through a lot together and he’s stood right by my side through it all. Right now, though, I’m pissed as fuck and I just don’t give a damn about people and their feelings. Especially the feelings of people who work for me.

  “Simon, get the fuck in this car right now and drive,” I command through clenched teeth and with clenched fists.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barefooted, I graciously, but determinedly walk through the doors the night doorman holds open for me. As I walk up to the front desk of Delilah’s apartment building, I see Pete, one of the receptionists, talking to one of the residents. He immediately stops talking with the woman and directs his attention toward me, knowing that I am not about to stop and ask his permission to go up to Delilah’s floor. The cops would have to barricade me from her.

  “She told me not to let you up,” the fairy says to me.

  I stop to face him, my face red with anger at his audacity to try and stop me.

  “Call the cops then, Pete,” I menace before stalking, barefooted I might remind, to the bank of elevators.

  I know he’ll call her and warn her. I am about to raise hell. If I have to break down her door, I will. She owes me an explanation, damn it!

  I am vibrating nerves and anger when I arrive on her floor. I stalk around to her door and am about to pound the living shit out of it when it swings open. Delilah is standing there, sexy and mad as hell, pinning me with a glacial stare. She’s still in her dress and her big eyes are red and puffy. She’s been crying.