House Of Payne: Payne

by Stacy Gail

  Ass, she wanted to say, but a stab of pleasure plucked the word from her lips. In its place spilled forth a high keening sound she tried to stifle by biting her lip, her fingers fisting on the tablecloth behind her. Her body jolted as he stroked her, her lips parting with the force of her breathing, its jagged cadence the only sound in their world. Shivers rippled her spine and goose bumps covered her, and all the while delicious sensation pulsated in time with his erotic touch. He knew exactly what to do to make her body his, playing her as if she were an instrument that had been created specifically for his hands. With every movement, the symphony of pleasure he orchestrated built to a maddening pitch.

  “You’re at your most beautiful when you allow yourself to feel pleasure, Becks.” Rotating the pad of his thumb against her pleasure center, Payne slid two fingers past her threshold, pushing inside her in deep exploration. He didn’t stop his search until he hit a spot that wrenched a shocked cry from her. “There we go. Don’t hold back, baby.” His head dipped, his mouth taking the place of his relentlessly stroking thumb. “I want you to come so hard that just thinking about me makes you wet.”

  That was the reality she was living already, but she had no way to tell him that. Not when the universe unraveled at the seams when he licked her for the first time. Her head fell back on a strangled gasp, and the fine muscles in her lower abdomen contracted so hard, it brought her hips almost completely off the table.

  “Damn it… Payne.” She was no longer in control of her body. Her pelvis rocked in an urgent rhythm, bringing his fingers into her as far as they would go as she blindly chased after that elusive pinnacle of delight. She could feel how slick she’d become, the swollen tissues of her cleft pulsing with such wanton need, it bordered on painful, and now all she wanted was fulfillment. A frenzied, staggering fulfillment only he could give her. “Please…”

  His teeth abraded the hardened nub, showing no mercy. Then, without warning, he sucked on it, his mouth as hot as a brand. Ecstasy exploded in every cell with a suddenness that shocked her, a cresting of crazed bliss that never seemed to end. She was deaf to her cries as her body writhed under the magnificent onslaught, her orgasm so intense it shook her even as he quickly undid his pants, got out his wallet and retrieved a condom. With her bones melting from within, it was the easiest thing in the world to melt onto his lap, absorbing the thrust of his penis that was so aroused it almost lay against his stomach.

  “Oh, God, Becks.” His eyes squeezed shut as her slick depths molded around him, gloving him with tight heat. “You feel so hot, so good… don’t move, or I swear to God I’m going to lose it.”

  Funny, how he thought that was something to be avoided. It sounded fine and dandy to her.

  “Sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you.” Shimmering rapture still danced along her nerves in an intoxicated, dreamy euphoria she didn’t want to lose. She wanted to be lost in it forever, and the only way to make that happen was to take him with her. Feverishly she began to rock her hips, milking him with her tightness. Something like devastation rippled across his face, a transported expression that bordered on tortured joy, and as he gripped her hips with bruising fingers she gloried in a rush of sweet feminine triumph. “You want me to get wet whenever I think of you? Fine. I already do that; you have no idea. But you… I want you to feel me stroking you like this. Taking a layer of your control with every….” She thrust her hips down hard. “Single.” She did it again, harder. Hard enough to make the banquette scrape back from the table and across the marble floor. “Move.”

  He growled, a primitive sound of madness that made her head swim. All remnants of civility vanished as he hooked his arms under her thighs, his hands cradling her ass as he picked her up and slammed her back flat on the table to thrust into her like a jackhammer. The new position made her legs drape over his shoulders, and the angle of her pelvis took his thrusts all the way up to his hilt. The wild penetrate-and-retreat sensation became her reason for existing, and another, sharper wave of ecstasy slammed her into an airless realm. Her orgasm was so intense, she barely heard Payne’s grunts of fulfillment as he joined her in that all-consuming insanity.

  His weight pushed her into the unforgiving surface of the linen-covered table, and when he at last shifted eons later, their platform wobbled precariously.

  “Shit, I think we broke it.” Amusement colored his voice, softened around the edges by languid satisfaction. She knew how he felt. Any minute now she was sure she’d start purring. “If we want to stay for dessert, we’re going to have to be very careful not to tip the table over.”

  “That wasn’t dessert?” Somehow she found the strength to drag her eyes open. When had she closed them? The last few minutes of her life were lost in a blissed-out haze. “That definitely felt like dessert.”

  “No way, lady.” With great care, and with only a small wobble of the once-sturdy table, he leaned forward and kissed her. “Dessert is traditionally left for the end. You and I are just beginning.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I don’t even know if I want to speak to you,” Claire announced to Becks by way of greeting. With two techs installing the loft’s new intercom and Mr. Janek dolefully supervising the work, Becks half-expected a brass band to come parading through her wide open door next. When her friend tossed her a diaper bag and scooped a fragrant Mia out of her baby sling, she almost wished for the brass band. “You can make it up to me by changing Mia. I don’t think baby formula agrees with her little tummy.”

  “Whoa, why do I have to make up anything to you?” Becks carefully laid the baby down on the changing blanket Claire spread over the red velvet camelback sofa that separated her work area from what she considered the living room. “What did I do?”

  “I hear your name blaring all over TV, and you don’t even tell me you’ve sold your entire inventory to House of Payne. What am I, chopped liver?” Claire paused, and her suddenly scrunched-up face no doubt matched Becks’s as the messy diaper was at last undone. “Wow. Seriously, no more store-bought formula. I’ll breastfeed her until she’s six.”

  “I think Mia’s broken some kind of record.” Trying not to breathe, Becks made quick work of cleaning plump little baby butt. “It’s entirely possible she just dumped half her weight into her diaper.”

  “You should have heard her on the way over here, but now she seems happy enough.”

  “I’d be happy too, getting rid of all that.” Sorry now that she didn’t have any spare Hazmat gear to climb into, Becks wasn’t shy with the baby wipes and powder. “If you’re upset about the sale of my art, I’m guessing you saw the same promo spot my parents did. They called to let me know how they disapprove of my continued existence.”

  “What?” Claire’s eyes went almost comically wide. “What? Your parents? They called you? Holy. Freaking. Crapsicle.”

  “Crapsicle?” That was a new one.

  “Yeah, you know those massive ice things that drop off of commercial airplanes with leaky toilets and crash down on people without warning? Your parents dropping in on your life after all these years is the biggest crapsicle I’ve ever heard of.”

  “I guess.” And it had been, at least at first. But her perspective was different now that she’d talked it out with Payne. Or, maybe having wild, break-the-table-sex had the power to nullify the sense that her world was coming to an end. Either way, she was grateful for the mental breathing room his influence had given her. “Payne’s determined to make a huge deal out of buying all my 3D stuff and branding it as exclusive to House of Payne. I suppose we’re all going to have to get used to hearing about it. Oh, and speaking of the devil,” she added, snapping her fingers with a puff excess of baby powder, “you and Payne have something in common. Apparently smelling people is a thing with him, too. He loves the scent of my shampoo and body wash.”

  “Oh.” Claire’s eyes seemed to have gotten stuck in perpetual goggle-mode. “There are so many things I want to ask you about, especially that loaded state
ment, but first things first. Are you okay? I mean, I know how your parents have always had a way of… you know. Getting to you.”

  Despite being preoccupied with fastening a new diaper, Becks didn’t miss Claire’s glance at her scars just peeking out from the cuff of her shirt. “I’m not going to lie. There were a couple of bad moments there. I may have even flirted with having a complete and total meltdown. But I’m not the same person I was three years ago. I hit rock bottom then and I survived it, thanks to you. I won’t go back to that dark place again just because Martin and Janine Delgado have come to the conclusion that I’m not miserable and guilt-ridden enough to suit them.”

  “I just happened to have excellent timing, but after that you were strong enough to save yourself.” Claire waved away the not-so-little detail that had it not been for her, it was doubtful Becks would have survived. “And damn it, you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  “I was the one behind the wheel when Justin died, and the hospital did tell my dad it was an ‘alcohol-related incident.’ Though, of course, Justin was the one who was drunk, not me.”

  “Some numb-nuts ran out in front of you like suicide was the latest craze, and they wanted to fit in with the cool kids.” Then she heard her own words and grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” Becks lifted the now-happily cooing and sweet-smelling Mia and held her against her shoulder. “I did try to kill myself, so there’s no point in sugar-coating it. I did it because I no longer saw the point of getting out of bed every day and making myself breathe. But my art has given me a new purpose, along with the people who are in my life. People like you and Thomas and Mia, and even Mr. Janek.” And Payne, though she refused to give voice to that thought. Payne was a beautiful interlude, an exhilarating break from the humdrum normalcy of her uneventful life. But he wasn’t a permanent fixture and she didn’t delude herself into believing otherwise. She didn’t believe in permanence anymore. All she could do was be happy he was there now, the same way she’d be happy to see the temporary beauty of a rainbow.

  “Mr. Janek, huh? You’re in a bad way if you’re relying on your Debbie-downer landlord to get you through.” But Claire seemed pleased to have been added into the VIP mix. “So you’re going to be okay if your parents call you again?”

  “Actually, I don’t expect that to happen.” With one last kiss and cuddle, she handed Mia over. “I changed my cell phone number. I texted you about the change, by the way. Did you get it?”

  “Yeah, I got it, but I didn’t realize why you’d done it. Wow, Becks.” Claire stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “This is a big deal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Claire shook her head. “All these years you’ve done nothing but talk about how you wanted to keep the lines of communication open with your parents and have an open-door policy should they ever want to come back into your life. The way you held on to that hope was so crushing to watch… it just made me want to bitch-slap your mom and dad to their knees.”

  “Some would say that I put them through just as much.”

  “Not true. Never has been, never will be,” came the flat reply. “You know what I think? I think that deep down, your parents know how badly they’ve treated you. No human being with even a drop of decency would do what they did. You wouldn’t treat a rabid dog that way.”

  Becks sighed. Engaging in a vicious bash-fest of her parents wasn’t her idea of fun, and it didn’t solve anything. “You’re supposed to shoot a rabid dog, Claire. They didn’t shoot me.”

  “They may as well have, and they know it. That’s why they cling so hard to the belief that you were responsible for the crash when everyone, from the cops to the doctors at the hospital, told them you were stone-cold sober. If they ever accept those facts, that means your mom and dad would have to admit they were wrong. They’d have to admit they abandoned their own child with a broken back and a concussion in the middle of Chicago, because they were pissed off you lived, while their golden boy Justin died. And that’s something they’ll never do. They’ll never admit it, because that would make them monsters.”

  “I’m the one who’s a monster, as far as they’re concerned.” Then she shook her head and waved it away. “None of that matters anymore. It’s in the past where it belongs, and changing my phone number was my way of closing that chapter of my life once and for all. The only thing I care about now is concentrating on the present.”

  “Good for you.” Clearly pleased, Claire shifted Mia into the crook of her arm. “That present is looking pretty damn awesome with all the dough you must be rolling in now that Mr. Tattooed Hotty bought your entire inventory. Oh, that reminds me. We’re going out to dinner tonight, and it’s on you. I can’t afford it, but I really want to celebrate your art goddessness, and so does Thomas.”

  She snorted. Typical Claire. “I can’t spring for the Metro Club, but I think I can cover some tacos and beer over at Chuy’s. Will that do?”

  “Woo, tacos! And the Metro Club sounds both lame and old-geezerish boring, so no thank you. This girl wants to par-tay.”

  Becks almost corrected her, before she laughed instead. Boring was the one word that didn’t come to mind when she thought of the Metro Club. Erotic, sensual and break-the-table orgasmic, but not boring.

  That, however, was something Claire didn’t have to know.

  The pale winter sun was almost gone by the time Becks was able to close up her apartment. Together with Claire and a bundled-up Mia, they walked to the end of the block and their favorite restaurant on the corner, Chuy’s. It was a true hole-in-the-wall diner with a Mexican flare, and since they were regulars, they got to choose their own table. Grabbing a booth by the garishly painted window beneath the buzzing neon OPEN sign, Claire excused herself to change Mia again, and to no doubt put another call in to her husband Thomas, who was running late. Becks held down the fort while their drink orders arrived—water and cold bottles of Corona with a side dish of lime—when her phone’s text chimed. One glace at the identity had her pulse zooming into orbit.

  S. Payne.

  Hey, where r u?

  In the relative privacy of the booth, she put a hand to her thudding chest before she opened the keyboard to type. It was ridiculous to react like a ditzy high school girl—she knew that logically. But logic had nothing to do with her when it came to all things Payne. “At dinner w/ friends. We just got here, now waiting for 1 more to show. What’s up?”

  She saw he was texting from the moment she posted. So you haven’t eaten yet, right? Where r u, exactly?

  “Exactly? My, my, aren’t we nosy.” She looked around with a faint grin before she thumb-typed. “At Chuy’s, abt 100 yds from my loft, toward Eugenie St. Sitting in a booth all alone, waiting for Claire’s hubs to arrive. How’s that for accurate?”

  PERFECT. Have u eaten yet?

  Sheesh. Now he was taking nosiness to a new level. “No, just got here and ordered cold Coronas for everyone.” Then, to be a smartass, she added something more before hitting Send. “Why? Want one?”

  Yeah, sounds great. Be there in a minute. Or less.

  “What?” She stared at the screen and realized belatedly that she hadn’t activated the voice recognition feature. By the time she snapped out of it and began to type, another text appeared.

  Look out ur window :)

  Automatically she did so, only to have her jaw unhinge so completely it probably should have banged on the table. Climbing out of a limousine and dressed to kill was Payne, grinning wickedly at her obvious surprise. With a quick word to the driver, Payne headed for the door while unbuttoning his coat.

  Holy crap, he was really there.

  “I hope you won’t be mad at me for barging in on your evening out with friends,” he said by way of greeting, then leaned over to give her a quick, thorough kiss that wasn’t just a greeting. It was a vow to push her up against a secluded, out-of-the-way wall at the next possible opportunity and do dirty, dirty thing
s to her. God love a man who knew how to kiss a woman the right way. “But if you are, you can always tell me to leave. No hard feelings, I swear.”

  Oh, wasn’t he a funny man. Kissing her into a stupor, then inviting her to act like she wouldn’t sell a kidney to get him to stay. “I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Becks.” Shedding his coat, he draped it over the back of the booth and slid in next to her. It was a miracle she didn’t spontaneously combust from the friction of this thigh against hers. “Everything about you is sweet. And I’ve got a raging sweet tooth.”

  Streamers of exhilaration shot through her like fireworks. “If you’re asking for some sugar, there’s not much I can do to accommodate you at the moment.”

  “Oh, no?” A wicked light filled his eyes, and he squeezed her knee under the table. “You mean Chuy’s wouldn’t appreciate the way we like to do private dining?”

  “I doubt it.” Since the mere memory of being filled again and again by his powerful thrusts made the intimate flesh between her legs tingle with a rush of unadulterated lust, she tried to focus on banal small talk. “Your timing’s perfect, popping up out of nowhere like that. I take it you were in the neighborhood?”

  “If by that you mean on your doorstep, yeah.” He draped an arm along the back of the booth and let his fingers idly play with the ends of her hair. “Scout made sure I paid for playing hooky yesterday by packing my schedule today. I’ve been on the run since eight this morning and wasn’t able to stop long enough to call you.”

  “Uh-oh, is something wrong?”

  He looked at her though she had slipped into ancient Sanskrit. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”