by Jess Bentley
“Are you kidding me? It’s incredible.” She hesitates for a moment. “I’m not really sure what to say about it. I mean, thank you seems so inadequate.”
The moment stands between us. It’s an invitation, a challenge. Time stops while I stare at her lips, parted slightly, ready. Are we both thinking of how she can thank me, or is it just me?
I finally break the silence. “I wanted you to have the courage to buy something. As long as you’re happy, that’s enough for me.”
Whenever I’ve said words like this, there’s always been something about them that wasn’t true. Either I was trying to get the person into bed, or there really was something else I wanted. But it’s strange; with Jordan, it’s true that I want her in bed, more than ever. But it’s also simply true. I want her happy. And I know that that’s a dangerous feeling.
“Nobody’s ever given me a gift like this before,” she says, softly. “Are you usually this extravagant?”
Ah. The question is weighted with more than it seems on the surface. “You forget that you’re doing me a favor tonight,” I deflect, “accompanying me to this dreadful work function.”
“It’s hard to believe that an event where you have to dress like this could be boring,” she answers. If she’s disappointed in my vague reply, she doesn’t let on.
“What do you think of my outfit?” I ask her jokingly, trying to throw her off her train of thought—the one that goes straight to where we stand with one another. That I can’t answer until I know more about Jordan. I won’t. There’s just too much at stake.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, grinning. “Lies are not acceptable.” This too carries more weight than it seems.
“You look incredible,” she says simply, her voice cracking a little. The tension between us is blinding. I look at her.
“Maybe we should be late,” I say.
7
Jordan
R is pressing me up against the elevator door. He peels down my panties, one hand at my throat, kissing me slowly. I squirm and moan, my voice low in my ears. His fingers enter me, claim me, opening me, stretching and readying me for his cock. He’s almost violent in his insistence to penetrate me, but my body wetly responds to allow him in. It’s not tender. Something about our connection is not allowed to be tender. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He undoes his belt and pulls it so quickly out of the loops that it nearly cracks. I pull at his pants and I reach for him, his heavy cock hot in my hands, but he doesn’t allow me to touch him. Instead, he pushes my hand to his ass as he spreads my legs, lifting me up against the door and lowering me onto his stiffness, filling me up to the point of nearly immediate orgasm. He gracefully sways into me as he spreads my ass cheeks, and I feel his muscles moving under his skin as I grasp his ass and push him into me again and again.
I need him, not just physically, but inside me, to be part of me, to fill me with his essence somehow, to make it part of me. If he fucks me I will be released from Kelsey’s hold on me, my dead best friend’s loving grip on my life, the thing that arrested my development.
I hear someone outside the metal door, and look at him questioningly. He almost imperceptibly he shakes his head as he continues fucking me, impaling me on his cock as he mashes the elevator buttons, now audibly knocking my hips against the door as the someone innocently wonders why the door isn’t opening on the other side. I can barely control myself, my orgasm coming hard and fast like my breath.
He yells something in French—I don’t understand it, and the discussion stops on the other side of the door. He revs up his tempo. He’s fucking me like a graceful machine, hard and fast, strong and smooth and violent, and I come, my mind exploding into a million tiny stars. I feel like the beginning of the universe, the big bang, as he shoots himself into me.
I look at us in the mirrors of the elevator. I wonder if there’s a camera in here, recording our blinding peak.
My ass slowly slides down the back of the door as he lowers me to the ground, his arms around me, his lips pressing tightly against my neck. Our breathing is labored, but slowing, evening out. Finally he lets go of me and does up his pants, filtering the belt through the loops. He doesn’t look at me now.
I adjust my dress and expensive lingerie, and check my makeup in the mirror.
“You ready to go to the party?” R asks, his hand poised on the button to send us back to the lobby, to the car.
“Yes,” I answer. I am ready. I do feel ready.
Fuck you, Kelsey. I can live without you.
8
Raleigh
I try not to think about the fact that I let my lust get the better of me. So I fucked her. I have to deal with this business function and it’s going to take all my concentration. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to invite Jordan and take her as my date.
Someone there might recognize her. Would they think I had just hired a prostitute?
They aren’t going to think very well of me, if so.
Goddammit.
My cock gets me into trouble.
“Is everything okay?” she asks in the car on the way to the event. She’s not looking at me, but I know that need is probably brewing in her eyes. Women always get this way. They see what I have to offer and they want it for themselves.
More importantly, Jordan doesn’t seem to have a clue about what her friend has done. She’s somehow, incredibly, completely innocent, or completely ignorant of what she’s gotten involved in. If only that meant everyone else was, but they’re not. Including my colleagues. They might be watching her even now.
“I’m fine,” I answer. It comes out rather curtly. But there’s a lot to think about now that I’ve gone this far. I try to soften it by grabbing her hand and stroking the soft warm skin. Even that makes me want her fiercely. Despite what her friend may have done to her, she seems so innocent. Innocent in general, sure; but what’s more, she seems innocent of everything. Maybe that’s what accounts for her appeal. She doesn’t act like your regular cam girl, all slutty and such. True voyeurs can get off more on Jordan thinking that she doesn’t know that she’s being watched. Enjoyed.
Because in reality, she’s a smart girl. Even a smart woman. She’s someone who you would respect, especially if you didn’t know anything about what she’d been involved in. But if she’s been unaware of it the entire time I don’t know what to tell her.
Do I really want to be the one who shatters the image she has of her dead friend?
She returns my caresses on her skin with a small squeeze, and I look up at her. Her eyes are so warm, with a hint of fragility in them. It draws me in, the little girl side of her that she sees.
“Little Girl,” I say softly.
She makes a sound in between a gasp and a moan, and her lips part as her head falls to the side. I devour her with kisses, biting her soft lips, playing with her tongue. “Little Girl,” I say again as she squirms in my arms. I thrust a hand underneath the beaded dress, and feel her warm wetness as she quivers.
“King,” she answers, breathlessly. I kiss her roughly this time, feeling her wet cunt under my fingertips, thrusting under her thong, and she stiffens, convulses a little and cries out again. “King!”
I hold her while she comes, then slowly withdraw, and lick the sweet wetness from my fingers, sucking them softly.
Then I turn away and look out the window as she crumples against me, panting.
Fuck.
I’m in for it now.
“Tell me more about your friend Kelsey,” I say finally.
She looks up at me. “There’s not much to tell,” she answers finally. “She was my best friend since we were little kids. We did everything together. I relied on her too much, I guess.” She sniffles a little, and I wonder if she’s crying, but when she goes on her voice is steady. “And then she died.”
“How far did your relationship go?” I ask, and I feel her stiffen.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
; “Did you do any business together? Or was it just a friendship?”
Her eyebrows knit together. “That’s kind of a weird question.”
“Maybe. But your dad and I do business together, and we’re old friends.”
She relaxes and her body presses once more against mine.
“Oh, right,” she answers. “No, we were never in business together. Unless you count a lemonade stand when we were kids.”
“I sure don’t,” I smile, and squeeze her against me. The thought is attractive. More than that, though, she’s either an Oscar-quality actress or she’s telling the truth. I don’t hear anything in her voice but complete sincerity.
“Yeah, no, we were just buddies, best friends forever, that sort of thing. Until she started growing apart from me.”
“Why was that?” I ask cautiously. “Did something happen?”
“No, not really, not that I know of anyhow,” she answers. She looks into the distance.
“When was that?” I have to be careful not to let her know I’m prying. I just want to confirm she had no idea about this before I move forward with her. I’ve already gone too far, but I need to save myself or throw myself headfirst into it.
I know which way I’m leaning.
“Oh, when we were about eighteen.”
Makes sense. Kelsey doesn’t want to be brought up on federal charges, so she waits until Jordan is an adult. I decide to sit on the information for a while. I don’t want to make any false moves. I look down at Jordan, who is looking up at me again in her wide-eyed way, this time the eyes framed with kohl and mascara.
She smiles.
“Why all the questions?” she asks, and I see a flash of teeth as she smiles.
“Just finding out more about you.” And your friend Kelsey. It sounds like she was nothing like you think she was, if my PI is to be believed. He’s confirmed that Jordan wasn’t on any kind of payroll. He was careful to add that that didn’t mean she wasn’t being paid under the table.
Still. I don’t think her innocence is a ruse. I think she’s sincere.
The car slows and the streetlights’ pattern against the tinted windows eventually comes to a stop.
“Do you think your colleagues will like me?” she asks suddenly. “Or are they just going to think I’m some little ninny?”
I’m more worried that they’ll think I hired you, I think. “They’ll love you,” I say. I give her a kiss on the forehead and she reaches out and grabs my thigh tentatively.
“I’m nervous,” she says.
“Don’t be,” I answer. “I invited you for a reason. Just don’t drink too much, keep your wits about you, and you will be fine.”
She nods. “Got it.”
I wonder if she knows she’s being tested. How naïve is she?
I think I can keep control of this situation.
...How naïve am I?
9
Jordan
Dinner is a special kind of torture, and after knowing what it was like to have R inside me it’s almost impossible not to drag him into a dark corner and let him pull up my dress, and claim me once again.
I don’t want to talk to anyone else, don’t want to do anything but envelop him inside me, as deep as he can go, as he holds me close and grips me when he comes.
Having sex with King more than makes me feel safe; it takes all my pain away. It makes me feel like I don’t need Kelsey anymore, that I can become my own person and live without her. Like I don’t need her shit anymore.
It strikes me that that’s the real reason I came here: to prove to myself that I am my own person and Kelsey is just a memory.
I talk to these sophisticated business people and try to be pleasant, but we have very little in common; mostly, I just stay clutched to R’s arm, feeling the warmth of him under the expensive light wool fabric of his business suit. It also helps to hang onto him since I’m still feeling a little faint after the treatment he gave me in the elevator.
His colleagues are looking at him, their unanswered questions about just who I might be plain on their faces. Some even look at me with some sort of recognition. It’s odd, but I try to just smile and welcome them, to do what he told me and behave myself. He’s acting perfectly normal, but every now and then he touches me in some intimate way that just stokes the fire inside me to a blaze. He strokes the inside of my palm when nobody’s looking, or he teases the back of my neck with his finger, sending shivers down my spine. I wonder if anyone can see what’s happening to me, to my body, when he touches me. Inside, it feels like everything is on fire.
I pick at my food. After stuffing myself in front of him, the last thing I want to do is look like a ravenous beast, even though he seemed to enjoy my natural self. I also don’t want to be stuck with a mouthful of food when one of his colleagues speaks to me. He’s suave, sophisticated, mature. People look up to him, and I’m sure they’re curious about me but only in relation to him.
He fills my wine glass, touches me under the table, and smiles at me secretively. Every time he does so I feel like we are the only people in the world, and for me we might as well be. But for him, I have to keep pulling myself back into reality. Business event. Business event.
When the dinner is finally finished, the people charmed and the deals made, we wait in the street for a moment for his car to arrive. R puts his arm around me and that woody scent fills my nostrils again. He holds me close until I lean against him. His body is warm, his muscles under his suit beautifully chiseled, the picture of perfection. I breathe him in, his scent mixing with the chilled air. With one of his hands on my waist and the other in my hair, I draw the smell of him into my nostrils again, and he tilts my chin up with his hand. His mouth takes mine, gently kissing me, his tongue snaking between my lips, pressing them open. His tongue is insistent. There is nothing in me to resist.
When we get into the car, his hands start to slither over my body, pushing off a shoulder strap, sliding under my skirt. He has my panties off, falling down into a tangle on the limousine floor. The light of Paris through the mottled windows shines on my bare skin.
I can’t help but respond to him, and my feelings of fear, of grief, all fall away as the wetness drips through my panties in response to his sheer insistence on touching me. Before long I’m on my knees in the small space, fully naked, in view of the city, with his—with my father’s friend’s—hard cock in my mouth. I’m completely ready to succumb to whatever he wants. I have no choice, since he’s the one who can take my pain away... at least for a while.
He tangles his hands in my hair as he presses my face into him. I open my throat wide as his cock enters. I grip him, trying to swallow his massive cock in one go, each thrust a challenge as the limo bumps along ancient cobblestone Parisian streets. His taut buttocks clench against my hands as he thrusts into my face, his fingers grasping. I choke a little but push myself harder, wanting to consume him—to submit to him.
To own him.
To be owned.
“Take it all,” he mutters, gasping. He throws his head back. “Take it all in, Jordan!”
I moan, vibrations hitting his cock as I pull him deeper, my fingernails buried in the supple flesh of his ass. He’s quivering now, close to coming. I need to have his cum inside me, and I swirl my tongue around his cockhead until the hot streams hit the back of my throat, almost filling my nostrils. I want it, and I gulp it steadily as he roars out my name, his back arched, legs shuddering with the quake of his orgasm. Briefly a sense of embarrassment that the chauffeur can probably hear us flickers through my mind before I decide I don’t care.
Finally I feel the near-relentless hardness of him slowly subside, his cock easing in my mouth, and I lick up the last droplets of pearlescence.
Our breathing is loud in the small space, and the air feels steamy, naughty, clean. Pure and primal.
He stares at me a moment before sliding his pants back up and buckling his belt.
Wiping my mouth, I slide up next to him on the seat
. R grabs me and presses a kiss against my lips.
“Come to my room,” he says. Surely we can’t fuck any more today. Does he want to fall asleep with me? To sleep beside me? I stare at him. That’s a level of intimacy I didn’t expect to get to. Especially so soon.
I hope my desire isn’t too obvious on my face. I look up at him, and he smiles.
“Come on,” he says and grabs my hand as the door opens. The chauffeur lets us out and we stumble-walk-run into his hotel.
As soon as we make it through the door, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me deeply.
“Little Girl,” he says, grabbing my ass.
“King,” I answer softly.
“I thought you were going to call me R,” he says, gathering my ass cheek in his large hand and squeezing it hard.
“I like King better,” I answer.
“So do I,” he growls, and looking around, pulls me by the hand into the elevator.
“Are you always this insatiable?” I ask.
“No,” he says into my hair. His hand pulls my dress up again, playing with my thong, which is getting wetter and wetter. “Why, don’t you like it?”
“I love it,” I answer honestly.
“You’re a bad girl,” he observes. I blush. “If only your daddy knew.”
“You won’t tell him, will you?” I ask. A feeling of panic rises in my chest, and I shudder involuntarily.
“Not as long as you do what I say,” he answers. The panic doesn’t quite go away, but it morphs into something else. And the something else moves down to my between my legs, like a electrical bolt to my core.
I’ve never felt this way about a man before. The guys from high school weren’t really very interesting to me at the time, and once I got to college, things didn’t change much. Sure I had a crush here and there, but never anything like this. I barely even had sex when I was in college. I used to be that person in the student lounge, hanging out studying until I went back to my room and just let out my frustrations on my own hand. That’s all I had to myself.
