Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  “I forgive you, Ben.”

  And with that, all the ugliness of yesterday melts away.

  Delilah had sat me down in front of the feast and massaged my shoulders while I ate. Then, as part of her forgiveness plan, she blew me in the kitchen and sent me to work with a kiss, a smile, a smack on the butt and the sweet whispered words of “I love you. Have a productive day at work”.

  By the time I got to work, guilt and shame had me wound up so tight that the slightest look from my coworkers filled me with dread that they knew exactly what had gone on in my office yesterday.

  As I drum my fingers on my desk, I feel restless. I don’t know what to do with myself or the situation. I messed up…big time, and I need to fix it. Well, fixing it would require me telling the truth, and I can’t. Not right now, at least. So, pacifying the situation is a much better solution.

  Opening my desk drawer, I take out my invitation to the Philadelphia Cancer Research charity ball for this Thursday. With everything that has happened over the last two months, I haven’t been able to give it much thought, but, I think this is a great way to pacify an intensifying situation. If everyone sees Delilah with me at this event – Molly really – there will be no question as to whom my heart belongs to. I just hope this works.

  By mid-afternoon, I was finished with work and itching to be back home with Delilah, but the guilt I felt just wouldn’t leave me alone and that was the only reason I’d stuck around until five. I suspect it wouldn’t, not until I come clean.

  I had called Delilah to officially invite her to the charity ball and she gave me an enthusiastic yes. When I told her that I would be purchasing a new dress, she’d argued saying she had dresses to wear, even though I wanted her to have something new. She huffed and puffed insisting that she didn’t need me to spend on her. I knew that, but I wanted to because it made me happy to take care of her in every way. That did the trick and she grudgingly relented. I’d imagined her pouting as she did this and I got hard, which led into some very steamy phone sex.

  I’d left work on edge, and although I had had some relief, I was still horny as hell. I bought a new phone and still the feeling didn’t dissipate. Not even Carrie, the personal shopper at Nordstrom’s, in her sculpted skirt and cap-sleeved blouse could get me to think about anything other than Delilah.

  The dresses she chose were sexy but classy. With curves like Delilah had, I had no doubt that she could pull off every one of them; so I bought all three, price tags be damned.

  “Shoes,” I had stated as she gaped at me. “I prefer Louboutins, but you can also throw in any pair you think would fit perfectly with these dresses.”

  Carrie had brought back five pairs of shoes, three of those pairs Louboutins, and once again, I bought them all. By the time I left Nordstrom’s, I had bought three dresses, five pairs of shoes, three sets of sexy lingerie, jewelry, and two bottles of Chanel. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Delilah’s face.

  Now as I drive toward our house, I can’t help but think about our earlier phone sex experience. I shift uncomfortably in my seat trying to adjust my hard on. A brilliant idea comes to mind so I dial her number.

  “Hey, baby, I–”

  “I want you naked and kneeling when I get home,” I command, interrupting her sweet greeting.

  Her breath hitches and picks up speed.

  “Bedroom or Fulfillment Room?” she breathes.

  “Our bedroom,” I answer huskily, already getting a vivid picture of her kneeling with her naked legs spread like a dish to be devoured.

  “Okay,” she whispers. “I can’t fucking wait, Ben.”

  “Neither can I. You do crazy things to me, Miss Keyes.”

  “And you do even crazier things to me, Mr. Hayes. Now bring that sweet ass home,” she insists.

  No need to tell me twice, I hang up and kick the car into full swing, driving at breakneck speed. Homeward bound. I have to take my girl up on her promise.

  “Beautiful,” I muse, as I survey Delilah, glistening with sweat and awash in an orgasmic glow.

  We are in the Fulfillment Room, per the request of Delilah, and she is trussed up a few inches off the floor, attached to karabiners in the ceiling and in the ground. Leather cuffs encase both her wrists and ankles, restraints on each end spreading her wide. I circle her, my cock throbbing with every whimper from my sweet girl. I decided to gag her tonight, but now, I’m rethinking that decision. I so love to hear her scream in pleasure and in ecstatic pain.

  Each nipple is swollen, shining with a clamp around them. A chain connecting each clamp hangs between her breasts and another connecting chain travels down to her pussy, where another clamp is attached to her clit – a vibrating tweezer clamp. Around her waist is a harness with a vibrating dildo attached to it that is now shoved up her pussy. With every movement, the chain tugs, squeezing the clamp tighter and stimulating her points in madly pleasurable ways.

  She is struggling against her binds, all the while rocking her hips into the dildo; but the cords barely allow her limbs to move. Fuck, she looks like a sexy fucking dream to me right now. It’s taken everything out of me not to rip her down and fuck her until neither of us can walk or even think about walking.

  Her breathing intensifies and her eyes widen in panicked delight, and I know she is cresting again. This will have been her third orgasm, and each time, her eyes flash pleading to not have another, but still she ends up riding the wave into another climax; as she is doing now.

  Beautiful.

  I circle behind her and unsnap the ball gag and she whimpers loudly, her head falling forward and then whipping back on a deep moan. Just as she is about to fall over into her climax, I stop the dildo. She screams in frustration and relief, uncertain of which she really needed: the orgasm or the relief of not having an orgasm.

  Delilah’s body is vibrating, whether from loss of friction or pleasure overload I’m not sure.

  “Please,” she begs, her throat scratchy and soft.

  “What do you need, my sweet girl?” I ask her from behind, my palm brushing over her red ass. I had taken the taws to her beautiful round ass, reddening it.

  “I-I don’t know,” she stutters. “Oh, God,” she moans as I place a kiss to her round globes.

  Trailing a finger between the cheeks of her ass, I feel her inch back a fraction, unable to move further. She whimpers and I know she wants me to fuck her, but not until she asks…begs me to.

  I step around to face her and pull my zipper. Her eyes follow the movements and flash with desire as I pull it out and fist it. Fuck, that feels good.

  “Maybe I should just fist my cock, jerk it until I come and leave you there,” I suggest, squeezing my dick and biting back a pleasurable groan.

  Her head snaps up and her eyes blaze with challenge. My eyes narrow in warning, reminding her of her place and quickly she averts her eyes downward, her breaths coming out in angry, choppy puffs.

  “I could leave you here,” I say, trying not to smile as her head jerks but doesn’t lift. She is fighting not to challenge me right now; instead, choosing to give her pleasure and trust to me. She doesn’t know how much I appreciate it. That alone is why I would never leave her unsatisfied.

  “But I won’t,” I finish.

  She releases a breath of relief, her head bowing further. I tilt her head up to face me and in her eyes is all her want for me. I would take her on the basis that I know she wants me, but I won’t.

  “Beg me, Delilah,” I beguile her.

  Backing away from her, I begin to tug faster on my steely erection. She licks her lips and I feel the sensation down to my toes, causing a tingle to shoot up from my balls.

  “You want it, well you know what to do for it,” I tell her, hoping she begs soon because I am edging toward the brink. I’ve been on the verge of climax ever since I started using the taws on her ass.

  She licks her lips again, parting them. She is a desperate, starved woman when she speaks next.

  “Please, Ben,
oh please, I need it,” she pleads. “I need you. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

  The beast breaks free inside me as I drop my cock like something hot and free her feet. I hold her waist and wrap her legs around me as I free the lock on the karabiners, freeing her arms. I slip inside her easily, impaling her on my waiting cock, the friction enough to make me come.

  We both moan loudly at finally getting what we want, her head resting on my shoulder; but I want to see her face as she comes apart because of me. I love seeing her face in the throes of ecstasy.

  Grabbing her hair, I pull hard, her face now coming into view as I carry her over to the bed. She breaks free on my grasp of her hair and kisses me roughly, sinking her tongue into my mouth with such ferocity that it feeds my own feral need of her. I throw her down on the bed, my cock dislodging from her warm pussy, and spread her legs wide before slamming home once more.

  Delilah releases a piercing scream and her body shudders as she achieves the orgasm that had been waiting on the edges of sanity. She chants something unknown over and over and reaches above her to grasp some kind of invisible control.

  Beautiful.

  As I begin a rhythm, I grab her legs and lift them to my chest, crossing them. The feeling creates a more snug fit and I slide in and out of her, chasing my own orgasm.

  “Oh, God, Ben,” she cries, grabbing and pulling her hair. “Please, baby, no more.”

  There would have been a time where a pronouncement like that would’ve only made me go harder, but she’s right, I’m done for.

  I untwist her legs and grab her hips, dragging her to meet my repeated slams into her. Her pussy squishes and it’s music to my ears. Staring into each other’s eyes, we follow the amazing sensation over into a climax that shatters us both, our mangled screams mingling to create a roar of ecstasy.

  I empty myself into her then fall down next to her. We both try to settle our breathing, but Delilah claws closer to me and I curl my body around her as she places kisses all over my chest. My hands rove all over her body, careful not to touch her raw bottom, completely satisfied.

  After a few minutes, the frenzy dies down, our breaths evened out. We find ourselves further in bed, still wrapped around each other. I stroke Delilah’s hair as she runs her fingers over my Chinese symbol tattoo.

  “What does it mean?” she asks.

  “Allure,” I answer. “It was something me and a few of us got when we started our club.”

  “Club?”

  “Yeah, I own a…club.” I don’t even know how to explain it to her.

  “O…kay,” she drawls. “Explain.”

  I sigh then go into a rundown of the club. Intrigued, she sits up and stares down at me in wonder.

  When I finish, she looks me dead in the eye and says, “I’m going.”

  “Uh, no,” I refuse, settling back on the pillows and closing my eyes.

  She’s gonna go.

  Chapter Thirty

  It’s Thursday and I am a bundle of nerves. I want to go home, but I’m stuck in this meeting with Fields. Anticipation is killing me because I can’t wait to see which of the dresses Delilah has chosen to wear. During the meeting she sent me a total of seven pictures. Three of them were of her in each dress, the other three were of her in just lingerie, and the last one – which made me excuse myself to make a quick call to her – was of her completely naked.

  I could still see a few of the bruises from last night where I had gripped her hips and the faint pink mark between her shoulder and neck where I bit her. As promised, the sex between us was rough and earth shattering. I had held up my end of the bargain and let her flog me again and afterwards we fucked like the hot-blooded mammals we were.

  For long moments neither of us could walk and I could hardly catch my breath. We tangled ourselves in each other trying to satisfy the unquenchable need to be close, then we ate the dinner Vivian prepared, and made sweet love in the bathtub. I finished off the night with her by showing her the dresses. She loved each of them and told me that she would surprise me with her choice today.

  I want her to choose the black dress that contours her shape perfectly and has a sinful neckline that plunges between her breasts but is covered by lace. Something like that doesn’t fit a function like this, however, and wouldn’t fit with what I’m wearing. I’ve chosen a black Armani suit, crisp black shirt and black bowtie with diamond studs all over it, diamond cuff links, and the shiniest black Oxfords. What can I say? I like looking good.

  I’m sure whatever she chooses will be perfect. I can’t wait to see her all dolled up, so I can mess it all up when we get home – something to look forward to.

  Artie continues to brief us on Fielding House’s latest charitable investment. It is a surprise for Delilah. We are investing in First Steps. It is in need of funding and, as a gift to Delilah, and a very profitable investment opportunity for Fielding House, we did everything we could to acquire it. The idea came to me the day we’d visited there with her family.

  “Do you have anything to add, Ben?” Artie asks.

  “Only that we want to do the charity ball in three months. If neither of you mind, I would suggest that Delilah be the main speaker at this event since she has been working with the organization and is acquainted with the work being done there,” I suggest.

  “Does anyone have an issue with his request?” Artie inquires.

  “Who is Delilah?” Paul Marchand, head of marketing, questions.

  “She’s my girlfriend,” I answer.

  Paul’s face pulls into a look of disgust and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to bash his face in.

  “You’ve got a problem with that, Paul?” I ask, a perfect scowl marking my features.

  “Is that the one who went by Sullivan Beal?” he queries, the disgust shining bright in his face.

  “Yes,” I grit out, trying to sound polite and failing.

  Paul scoffs and turns to Artie. “She hardly qualifies as a role model, don’t you think? What with all the scandal surrounding her–”

  “She was kidnapped and raped!” I shout, banging my fist to the table.

  “I’m just saying, publicity like that could be bad for business,” he clarifies, my emotions reaching the boiling point.

  “You have to be fucking kidding me, prick,” I seethe.

  The nerve of this guy to call the ordeal Delilah went through, bad publicity. I’m not using what Delilah went through for any kind of publicity. She worked first hand with the kids at the center, she has a passion for what she does and, although she hasn’t been there in recent times, First Steps is still in her heart – as evidenced by her last visit and our many nightly conversations where she wishes she could do more for the center.

  “Now, wait a minute, Marchand,” Artie intervenes luckily; because Paul was a few deep breaths away from talking through his ass.

  “You are out of line right there. Where is your compassion?” Artie continues. “She has been through a rough time, much like many of the teenagers at the center. Who better to speak at a charity function in aid of troubled teens than someone has who has experienced a bit of trauma in her life and came out stronger?”

  Everyone is silent. Even Paul himself looks reticent. I’m glad that Artie is here to speak up for Delilah. She doesn’t need to be demonized by the media or anyone else.

  “My apologies, Ben,” Paul says, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

  I grunt my assent, not willing to speak for fear that I may insult the bastard.

  I need to get home.

  It is déjà vu all over again. I am in the leisure room waiting to see Delilah, eager to see her in her new dress. I’m twirling a glass tumbler containing vodka on the rocks, waiting at the windows for my sweet girl to make her stunning appearance.

  She is near.

  My body becomes hyper alert and the tingles start at the back of my neck. Her heavenly scent hits me first and I turn my attention to the open doors that she will come through.

>   Like a goddess, she strides through on long legs – with the support of the sexiest black Louboutin heels – and with sensual grace. My tongue becomes impossibly tied as I take in her appearance. Damn.

  Delilah is wearing the long shimmery black Vera Wang dress with one shoulder and an empire waist. The skirting is pleated and flows around her ankles to meet her stilettos. Her makeup, as usual, is light but, she amps up the look with bright red lips. She has put her hair in a high bun, exposing her bare neck that I desperately want to nibble on. She accessorizes with a silver hair clip that is neatly tucked in the side of her hair and has chosen silver Harry Winston drop earrings that touch her collar bone in a delicate caress that has my fingers twitching to make contact. She is a beautiful, sexy, and awe-inspiring sight to behold. I want to run my fingers along every exposed surface of her body in reverence to the very essence of her beauty.

  It’s been a few minutes and I still haven’t found the words to explain how beautiful she looks. She is smiling, though, so I guess my facial expression and my general dumbfoundedness speaks volumes.

  She breaks the silence first. “Ben, you look so damn handsome.”

  I snort, failing to find a comeback. You look delicious. You look amazing. You look like the epitome of beauty described in Shakespeare’s poems.

  “Delilah,” because I need to hear her name, to feel it on my tongue.

  “Yes,” she breathes. She knows.

  I take three long strides to her and crush her to me as I take her lips in an almost savage kiss. My cock springs to life and begins its wanton throbbing in response to being so enthralled in the exquisite decadence that is Delilah.

  “Jesus,” I hiss.

  “Really?” she asks shyly.

  “Oh, baby, you look so damn hot, and beautiful, and hot, and, God,” I mumble in her neck as I trail kisses along the bared flesh.

  Her skin heats and pebbles at my touch, her body melting into me. I love how she responds to me.