Devious Resolutions

by Ashleigh Giannoccaro

  The most beautiful man in the world—aside from me—had just walked in. My heart did that stupid pitter-patter in my chest, and a tsunami of emotions rose inside me like a rogue wave threatening to demolish an entire city with one angry lash. He was the root of all my issues. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Nicey-nice. The man everyone thought was a motherfucking saint because he gave to charities and adopted three-legged dogs, but I knew better. I knew him inside and out, and I know there was something very wicked growing inside him. Only a demon would be able to break my heart the way he had.

  He shrugged out of his coat without the slightest acknowledgment of the staff. Nice people say thank you, Malachi. You arrogant fuckhole.

  The humdrum of business talk faded to background noise, although I continued to give the expected nod and hmph at the appropriate times while I watched him from the corner of my eye. He hadn’t been in the room more than five minutes before Meredith made her way to him.

  He gripped her boney shoulders, then kissed her on both cheeks. Blushing, she pressed a palm to his chest and allowed it to linger far too long. He checked the room before twirling a strand of her hair around his finger and whispering something into her ear. Her expression brimmed with shameful lust—not that I could blame her.

  Malachi was stunning—truly my equal, even if his ego wouldn’t let him believe it. Broad shoulders and narrow waist. It was evident through his tuxedo that he never missed a day at the gym. The ebony waves of hair that laid perfectly over his forehead only highlighted the soft blue of his eyes. And while I knew Malachi was most likely fucking Meredith, I couldn’t help but remember how perfect he and I had looked together. So stunningly perfect. And he had to ruin it all by fucking that blond whore.

  Sweat formed underneath my starched collar when my eyes skimmed his rugged jawline peppered with a sultry five o'clock shadow, his straight nose. My cock twitched at the sight of his lips and the memory of how warm they had once felt wrapped around my shaft.

  “Wouldn’t you agree, Benjamin?” Some stiff-lipped businessman nudged my side.

  I nodded even though I had no idea what he’d asked, but I pretended he’d said no one would look better draped on Malachi’s arm than I did. So I nodded again. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  My jaw tensed when Malachi lazily swept Meredith’s hair behind her shoulder. His fingers danced over the column of her throat, and her supple chest rose on a heavy swell. Oh, if Meredith weren’t careful, the next line of blow she snorted up her nose may be laced with arsenic. My heart skipped beats, pounding in my chest like a symphony of war drums, and I reminded myself how, even though I had a few hours to go before my resolution kicked in, it would still be inappropriate to kill the host in the middle of her soiree. No matter if she was a dimwitted, blow-snorted whore. And besides, like I’d said earlier, I couldn’t blame her. He was irresistible.

  So irresistible.

  And so fucking perfect. I’d never wanted a man before him. Didn’t even realize I had the need that I did until he literally tapped into it, hands gripping my hips while he pumped into me.

  God, Malachi had awakened me. Body and soul, and then he discarded me. He took, and he took, and he took, and when I became so damn weak, I would have done anything for him, he left me because he was ashamed. Ashamed and worried about what people would think if they found out the truth—that Mr. Perfect wasn’t so perfect after all. So I did what any rational, scorned lover in my situation would, I took up a hobby. Albeit, I’ll admit, most people would have taken up cross-stitching or hot yoga instead of something as hands-on and strenuous as murder.

  Meredith leaned in by his ear, and a slow smile, pregnant with dirty promises crept over his face while his fingers lightly tapped his near-empty glass. Pinky, ring, middle, index. Middle, ring, pinky—a tic he had, one that showed itself whenever he was angry or horny. Moments later, they had disappeared upstairs.

  I made my way to the foot of the stairwell, the luxuriously fresh aroma of Malachi’s Clive Christian cologne still hung in the air. It wrapped around me like a vaporous tendril, pulling and tugging and sending a crackling of heat sparking through me. It reminded me too much of dark nights spent with his body pressed against mine, his hot skin slicked with sweat, and heavy breaths on my throat.

  I fought the heartache ripping me open from the inside out, and I checked my watch, wondering if Karen would blame me for having one more little taste before the clock struck twelve.

  Chapter 2

  I had always thought there was truly nothing worse than a shitty orgasm. Turned out there was, and it was a shitty orgasm accompanying a shitty kill. At first, I thought the orgasm would be amazing; after all, I had never managed to cram my cock so far down someone’s throat before, and the gagging did add a little extra vibrato to it, but my timing was off. I choked him a few seconds too soon, and fucking a dead guy’s mouth was more disturbing than I’d imagined—even if he was still warm by the time I managed to come.

  Maybe this would make it easier. I was sure any Karen would find it easier to give up the booze after a rough New Year’s Eve party. Too much tequila and a bad screw—that would have to make it easier to become sober, wouldn’t it?

  I made my way to the back porch, then stopped to gaze out over the glittering Manhattan skyline that rose in the distance like its own galaxy. So many Karens. Only one Malachi.

  The patio door opened, the noise of the party inside spilling out before it was silenced. The muted tap of dress shoes crossed the flagstone patio, stopping behind me.

  “It’s been a while, Benji.” A puff of fog drifted in front of me just as a delightful heat crept over my skin, but I didn’t turn to face him.

  “It has.”

  The heat of his body bled into mine when he stepped closer to my back. A familiar tug of war formed in my chest. One side wanted to fuck him. One side wanted his blood, wanted to shame him the way he had me.

  “I tried to find you.” His hand brushed my arm, and I turned to face him. “But you’ve been hiding,” he said while lifting his hand to brush a single finger along my jaw.

  My throat caught. At his voice. At his touch. . . Malachi was a deceiver, a master manipulator. He knew how to twist and bend his words, how to coat each sentence with a sweet, honey-nectar until even the most bitter of lies would taste of heaven. With a glare, I pulled away from his touch, and like a magnet, my subtle rejection only drew him closer. So close that the aroma of his cologne made me lust drunk. So close that I couldn’t tell where he ended and where I began. I thought of sinking to my knees and sucking him into my mouth, then biting down until my teeth cut through the skin and spongey tissue until the copper taste of blood welled in my mouth.

  “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.” Malachi went to stroke my face again, and I caught his wrist.

  “Come now, Malachi. Regret’s not very characteristic of you.”

  A soft smile touched the corners of his eyes. “No, but no one’s come close to you, which makes it hard not to regret.” Another light touch and I slammed my eyes shut.

  I prayed for strength even while I imagined stripping him of his expensive clothes, then running the tip of my tongue along the grooves of his stomach while I sank to my knees. Right before he’d come, I’d stop and flip him over, then take him. I wouldn’t be gentle but savage and brutal. I would relish in each tensed muscle, gloat every time he fisted the sheets in agony. And then, oh then, Malachi, the things I would do to him. I would take and take and take and—

  He ran his nose along the length of my neck, breathing hard, heavy breaths that made my insides twist and knot in a plethora of ways that would make Pandora’s Box look empty. My cock swelled, throbbing beneath the thin material of my suit when he nipped at my ear with a low growl.

  I had planned out my evening. I had planned to turn over a new leaf, but. . . I checked my watch, and there was still time to go until the New Year rang in. Time to let the old me have one last go before the new me bullshit set in. Be
cause really, to give up something, one should go out with a bang.

  I was so eager, just like I had been the first time he’d kissed me, the first time he’d undressed me and sank to his knees in front of me. I grabbed his cock through his pants, and his length immediately hardened. It was all I could do to stop myself from groaning.

  “Ring in the New Year with me,” I said, cupping him tighter.

  * * *

  By ten to eleven, my driver had picked us up. We sat, nestled in the back seat of my Mercedes with whiskeys in hand. Silence and sweltering tension filled the cabin, only interrupted by the occasional driver laying on his horn.

  Malachi downed his drink, then pressed his lips to the side of my throat. His hand gripped my thigh, sliding toward my crotch. “Benji. . .” His mouth traveled to my jawline, his fingers fumbled with my belt buckle, then his warm, once-familiar lips pressed to mine in a needy kiss. The friction of his stubble against mine had me fisting his shirt and tugging him closer.

  I hated him as much as I wanted him because he had opened my eyes only to smite me. Because being with him should feel like humiliation.

  Seconds later, my pants were bunched around my knees and my cock fisted in his hand. Two strokes in, and Malachi had me on the edge, had me restraining the urge I felt to come on demand for him.

  “God, I’ve missed this.” His words rushed over my lips before his mouth devoured mine in another greedy kiss.

  Good, you son-of-a-bitch. I’m glad you’ve missed this. I balled his shirt in my hand, shoving his face to my lap. “Suck me off.”

  He slid between my legs and gripped my cock, and Malachi didn’t hesitate. His hungry little lips danced over the swollen tip of my dick. I tensed when his tongue flicked over me like a snake. The bastard had me hard and throbbing, with every nerve ending in my body going up in a blaze.

  He gave my shaft one, long lick. Then swallowed me back, his hand twisting up and down at such a perfect speed, I couldn’t help but drop my head against the seat on a groan.

  “Tell me you’ve missed this,” he whispered, his mouth posed right above me, teasing me with each hard breath. “Tell me you’ve missed me, Benji.” Malachi’s thumb caressed the ridge of the head.

  I wouldn’t tell him. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction because he had left me. He had taken all the good in me and left. It was his fault I had killed people. His fault I was in need of reform, and I had found myself in such a destitute situation that I was making New Year’s resolutions like a goddamn, minivan-driving, pill-popping, tracksuit-wearing Karen!

  But his touching me felt so good. . .I really should kill him for the way he caused me to war with myself, but he was too perfect. Too perfect to blot out of this earth. Biting my lip, I threaded my fingers through his short hair, wondering what it would do to me if I took his life. The thought of it pained me.

  “Tell me.”

  I attempted to thrust myself back inside his mouth, but he pulled away. Malachi wanted so much more from me than a simple fuck. He wanted to degrade me again, and that’s exactly why I tightened my hold on his hair.

  “Make me come first,” I said through gritted teeth.

  His nostrils flared when I grabbed my cock and thrust up again, rubbing the bead of pre-cum he’d coaxed out over his lips. Much to my surprise, he succumbed, wrapping those perfect, son-of-a-bitch, lying lips around me before swallowing me back.

  I was right there, that hot tension building and begging for release, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting me off quickly. So instead of giving in to the way his warm, wet mouth felt, I focused on how miserable and worthless I had felt after he’d left me. I zoned in on how he had used me. On how he treated me like I wasn’t good enough. And that’s what I fixated on. Past Fifty-second street. Past Forty-third. I focused on that hate until the car slowed to a stop, and the interior light buzzed to life when the driver opened his door.

  Malachi pushed away, sliding back into his seat while I fastened my pants. His fingers tapped over his thigh. Pinky, ring, middle, index. Middle, ring, pinky—angry and horny, the perfect combination.

  We made our way through the entrance of 1 Brooklyn, straight into the elevator where I pushed the button for the penthouse, pleasure rippling through me. Malachi had always dreamed of owning a penthouse.

  “Are you still in Midtown?”

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck when he nodded. Ah, there it was. Shame. Because I was more successful than he was. And while I never cared if I were “more successful” than other people, I would never want someone else to feel jealous. I absolutely loved that Malachi was jealous.

  “I’ve meant to put it up for sale,” he said. “Just busy. . .”

  Lies. I adjusted my cufflinks. “No reason to move. It’s a nice apartment.” And the timing couldn’t have been more perfect because, at that very moment, the doors slid open to the dark void of my penthouse. The impeccably perfect view of the glittering Manhattan skyline was impossible to miss from the floor to ceiling windows in front of us. The view alone was worth a few million. Uninterrupted. Unspoiled. Like I was the king of New York, and poor Malachi, he only had a view of another drab, concrete block of highrises and Meredith’s worn-out pussy.

  His hands were at my fly again—greedy little fucker—and my gaze strayed to the clock. There was still time. . . So I nodded toward the hallway and took his hand in mine.

  Within seconds, we were in my room. Hands undressing, mouths devouring each perfect indention of the other’s bodies. I imagined what I must have felt like under his fingers, how he must have been near his wit's end when I touched him. I was certain people would have loved to watch us fuck each other; we were, after all, beautiful.

  Perfect. Not one blemish or imperfection. As much as I wanted to stop myself, as much as I wanted to pretend I didn’t want him, I couldn’t help myself. With each touch, each breath, every last tender caress, I lost myself a little more. I caved. After all, I was only human. One man with needs and I knew no one could satisfy me the way Malachi could. Even if he did smell of Meredith’s amber and vanilla perfume.

  I rubbed my hands along his sides, then over his perfect asscheeks, kissing his shoulder, before I sank my teeth into his flesh. "Do you want me to fuck your tight little hole?"

  His breath hitched when I trailed my finger along the side of his throat, under his chin, and then lifted his head, turning it so he’d look at me. “Yes.”

  "How much are you willing to beg for me then?"

  I moved behind him and circled my finger over his asshole, gently stroking and caressing. "I want you to beg me to bury myself in your ass.

  "Please," he said.

  "Please, what?" I dipped my thumb in and out of his ass.

  "Please, fuck me."

  "Fuck you here?" I sank two fingers deep inside his warmth, twisting them until he groaned.

  “Tell me how you don’t deserve my cock, Malachi.”

  He panted with desperation by the time I placed the tip of my cock at his entrance, and when I didn’t make another move to enter him, he pushed back until my head disappeared inside. Then I stopped, gripping his hips. “Tell me you don’t deserve this.”

  “I don’t deserve it, Benji.”

  “You sure as fuck don’t,” I said, slamming into him as hard as I could.

  His ass clenched around me, and I pushed even farther. I shoved myself into him until my balls slapped against his. He didn’t deserve my attention, he certainly didn’t deserve the orgasm I’d give him. I released my anger in each thrust, fisting his hair and yanking his head back.

  "This ass is mine. Tell me it's mine."

  He didn’t obey, so I pulled his head back harder and slammed into him until he groaned.

  "It's yours, Benji."

  In and out. Back and forth.

  "What's mine?”

  "My ass," he choked out, barely able to catch a breath while he pushed back against me. "My ass is yours."

  Everything
tightened inside me. A vortex of heat-laced ecstasy coursed through me. “I’m going to come all in your ass.” And I did. I pumped into him until there was nothing left, and then I collapsed onto the mattress on my stomach.

  Within seconds, Malachi was behind me. His hands gripped my hips before his finger slid between my crack. I tensed with anticipation. With need and pathetic want.

  “God.” His finger skimmed my hole. “I want to taste you so bad.”

  I lifted onto my knees. Seconds later, the warmth of his breath hit, then his tongue pressed against the puckered opening. He drew a wet circle around it, bringing his finger up and slipping it inside. On a muffled groan, I gritted my teeth at the welcomed intrusion.

  "Oh, fuck, Benji," Malachi moaned. "Just fuck." His tongue thrashed against me all the while his finger plunged deep and hard, and I somehow managed to check the clock on the nightstand.

  There was time yet. I could get what I wanted and still start the year with my resolution intact. I reached behind me, grabbing his dick and pressing it to my ass. Without question, he took the invitation, pushing his cock into me, inch by agonizing inch.

  Soon enough, his fingers gripped my hips, holding me in place while he took me. Moans trickled from his lips. “Oh, shits” and “Oh, fucks” interspersed themselves between his pants, while pleasure coursed through me like a beautiful poison, burning and searing. Because I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t longed for this. The feeling of him inside me. Of his fingers digging into my flesh and his muscles tensing while he lost control.

  “Nothing feels as good as you,” he whispered before picking up his pace.

  I could tell by the uneven rhythm of his thrusts that he was close, so I fisted my cock, trying to match his rhythm. “Don’t go yet,” I begged.

  I trusted him to keep going, to not be the selfish asshole I knew he was. But two thrusts more and he stiffened behind me, grunting and burying himself so deep that pain knotted my stomach. I ignored the anger welling inside me when he pulled out and fell to his back without a hint of apology.