Blended (Redemption #1)

by Sasha Brümmer

  Blended

  Copyright © 2016 Sasha-Lee Brümmer

  Published by Sasha-Lee Brümmer

  Editor:

  Lisa Aurello

  Cover Designer:

  Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

  Interior Design & Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, scanning, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the copyright owner/author. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, places, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The ideas, characters and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real persons, living or dead, or real situations, is completely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.

  Table of Contents

  Blended

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Playlist

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue No. 1

  Epilogue No. 2

  Thank You

  I dedicate this novel to all of those who suffer from an invisible illness. There is nothing worse than having to prove how sick you are to wondering eyes.

  Remember, you are tough, you are courageous, and you will not go unnoticed. Have faith in yourself and surround yourself with those who love you, and don’t let the illness define you. You are beautiful.

  Writing this story has been an adventure for me, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. It’s one that I thought I would never be brave enough to do alone, but here it is. Thank you to everyone who supported me and helped me make decisions while writing this novel.

  I’d like to thank my parents, Andrew and Vanessa, for constantly providing me with support in all that I do. You both have no idea how much it means to me knowing that you each support my dreams and goals. We’ve been through a lot as a family, but we wouldn’t be where we are now without experiencing all of those negatives. I love you, Mom and Dad.

  A special thank you to my brother, Tynan, who has become my best friend over the last twenty-one years. There are not many people that I can truly let my hair down with, and you are one of the few on that list. Thank you for always fighting for me, whether it be just for fun or more. I love you, bud.

  To my best friend and co-author of The Date Series, Jess Epps, thank you for always being a supporting shoulder for me. Whether it be writing-related or personal, I greatly appreciate it.

  Thank you to Courtney Stephens, your friendship and support in my personal life has been something that I didn’t know that I needed. I love you to the moon and back.

  A very special thank-you goes to Linda Russell, Melissa Saneholtz, and Sharon Renee Goodman for your belief in my words between these pages, and your unwavering support.

  I want to thank each and every one of the following ladies for help in this journey: Jess Epps, Ashley Scales, Dani Naas, Desirae Shie, Jillian Crouson-Toth, Amy Briggs, Holly Main, Erica McKinley, Linda Russell and Sophie Broughton. Thank you all so, so much for helping me when I needed it the most. This novel would not be finished if it weren’t for each and every one of you. I adore our friendships as well as you.

  The biggest thank-you to my editor, Lisa Aurello. I have learned so much from you since working on my debut novel. Thank you for always supporting me and my dreams even when I still have much to learn.

  Lindsay Michelle Minnehan, I fell in love with the name that you gave your son. Thank you for being a doll and sharing Waylon with the world. Tonya Nagle, thank you for raising such a kind-hearted woman. You should be tremendously proud of Lindsay.

  A very special thank-you goes to Pete Ladino for supplying me with the liquid courage that I needed to write The End.

  Alive—Sia

  Bloom—The Paper Kites

  Brooklyn Baby—Lana Del Rey

  Closer—Nick Jonas ft. Tove Lo

  Faded—Alan Walker

  Fantasy—Alina Baraz and Galimatias

  Final Warning—Skylar Grey

  Fucked My Way Up to The Top—Lana Del Rey

  I Found—Amber Run

  I’ll Show You—Justin Bieber

  Island—The xx

  Is There Somewhere—Halsey

  Midnight River—Vaults

  Never Be Like You—Flume ft. Kai

  Never Forget You—Zara Larsson & MNEK

  Pillowtalk—Zayn

  Shells—Laurel

  Two Weeks—FKA twigs

  Wild Things—Alessia Cara

  Love is supposed to be some overpowering sentiment that breaks down walls and intoxicates each part of the body. It’s said to be an invisible and weightless compression on the heart, an organ whose sole obligation is to keep the blood surging through my veins, not to cry out for devotion and the presence of another. From what I’ve heard and read, love is supposed to somehow enlighten those who have been in the dark, providing them with strength when they are weak and mending their previously bruised and bound hearts.

  It’s all bullshit.

  Love has denied me.

  Love has neglected me.

  I detest the notion of love and all of the sticky residual emotions that go along with it. There are more things in life than a heavy heart and an overbearing ache—there’s fucking.

  Fuck ’em and chuck ’em is what my mother drilled into my head for ten years before she passed away from a damaged heart. A selfish, fragmented heart, that is, since she decided that living without my father for those excruciatingly painful ten years was intolerable. She took her own life while I watched her bleed out in a filthy clawfoot bathtub, draining the life out of her body, one vein at a time, so she could finally be free of her longing for him.

  Has my upbringing been unconventional and unreservedly immoral? Yes, but it brought me to life in a way that I don’t think would have been possible through any other channel.

  Being forced into the foster care system the day after my mother’s blood turned the bathwater I was seated in a dark crimson was foolish and unthinkable. It was unforgivable. It wrecked me. It has been eight years since I’ve been in the system.

  I lived in the Colorado foster care system for eight years before I was able to free myself from the abusive assholes who stole every ounce of my virginity, innocence, and virtue before they wore it on their bloody la
tex-covered dicks.

  I can still feel the pain ripping through my core as if it was the first time I was taken advantage of, which was a mere two weeks after being in my first foster home. The only way to numb that memory is to avoid letting those emotions weigh down heavily on my heart and let my libido do the aching instead. I hide in sex, lust, and any man who will make time for me. I keep my past to myself because, in reality, nobody actually gives a fuck.

  Sex is supposed to be this overstimulation of intense swelling passion, an extension of that dirty L word—love. Sex to me has just been, well, sex—waves of corrupt orgasms and glistening cocks. Shove it in, pull it out, and repeat the process in hopes of some relief-filled orgasm that won’t ever satisfy me long enough. I’ve been worn as a trophy on more men’s dicks than I can count at this point in time, and I look forward to the next time someone new pushes into me. But each time a new dick presents itself to my pussy, the burning ache from sixteen years ago scorches my core, forcing me to feel what I wish I could erase. What stole my life entirely.

  My coping mechanism has turned me into someone I watch from the outside, a desolate and repulsive skank who gets all of the sex that she wants. Each and every sexual act is unique, and I compare it to traveling in order to escape my reality. However, instead of island hopping, I’ve gone from man to man, and if I’m being completely honest, there have been a few women thrown in the mix as well, but everyone experiments at some point in their lives.

  The familiarity of sex steadies me and provides me with the best affairs that an orgasm can buy. Pleasure has been the mindful and receptive reprieve that I’ve grown to accept through my years.

  Sure, I’ve looked for what some seem to see in romantic relationships, where there seems to be a magnetic force holding two people together. Frankly, that thought makes me want to gag. Fortunately, though, all of the gagging that I’ve been doing is on a salivary cock.

  There have been plenty of late nights that turn into early mornings, when I stare up at the ceiling from a bed that does not belong to me, watching a fan rotate in an attempt to comprehend what my life has turned into. Regardless of which way I look at life or how I twist certain events in my head, the outcome seems to remain the same: an easy skank who only has the physical connection to sex that makes me want to live.

  As I turn my head to the side on a white overstuffed pillow, a programmed leer meets me, eradicating my thoughts for the moment as it fills Lawson’s face. “You’re still trying to figure out how this happened so fast, aren’t you?”

  I simply nod my head because saying the words makes it seem surreal. It makes it absurd. What the fuck was I thinking?

  “Come here,” he says as he pulls me to his side. His body frames mine effortlessly as he lifts my left hand to his lips, smirking to himself when he sees the engagement ring that he placed on my finger last night. It’s barely a karat, but it is beautiful and it should not make me feel this worthless. It does, though, when I consider how loaded the asshole is. The only reason I said yes to him was because I was looking for consistency in my life, something more stable than the springs that hold up my mattress.

  I swear it seems like it was weeks ago that I made the senseless decision to marry him.

  I angle my head back up to the ceiling and blink in an attempt to quash the images of Lawson and Tegan Corely running through my head. Hours, yes, hours after I said yes to him, I found his head stuck between his housekeeper’s thighs as he ravaged her until she came uncontrollably all over his face. As sickening as it was, it held a fiery passion that has ceased to exist in our relationship—a passion that I don’t have a sliver of in my overused body. I decided not to make my presence known at the time because I was still completely thrown off of the tracks with his proposal. To say that what I witnessed was randy and heady would be a complete understatement, and that’s why I’m still here—regrettably sober—in his bed, replaying the scene continuously in my head. How can I be annoyed at him or anyone else for showing that much hunger toward another woman? The answer is simple: I can’t.

  He’s never even taken the time to go down on me—not once, not even an attempt, which irks the fuck out of me. Maybe the thought of his collagen-enhanced lips touching such an overworked part of a woman’s body disgusts him—particularly my body since he knows just how much sex I partake in. How can he want to link himself to me legally when he just lies on top of me and pounds away until he loses himself in a stupor within my vaginal walls? If he’s looking for that gold trophy to wear on his arm, he’s found the wrong woman.

  I manage to put some distance between us as I roll out of his arms and prop myself up on one elbow to look down at him. He seems to be content, just as I’m sure his dick is right now. I did not stay to watch the rest of the show earlier since it made me hornier than he had ever gotten me before. I decide to take my chances and see what he has to say in regard to his earlier fuck session, but before I’m able to, he reaches up and runs his tongue over my bottom lip before kissing me forcefully.

  I place my hand on his chest and slightly push against his pecs to stop his advances. “I can still taste Tegan’s orgasm on your lips, Lawson.”

  He pauses and stops breathing entirely before he drops his hand from the side of my face. “You know?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Why do you look so . . . shocked?” I ask, honestly wondering why since I know that he sleeps around on me on a daily basis.

  He moves to lie back on the bed while he runs his hand through his unruly chestnut hair. “You don’t seem to be pissed about it in the slightest.”

  “I’m not, considering how intense it got between the two of you.”

  The corner of his lips perk up. “Which means, what? You wouldn’t mind if she joined us? I can share my cock if you can share that pretty pink pussy of yours. I’m sure Tegan will enjoy a taste or two if you’ll allow it. She’s actually asked me a few times if you would let her go down on you.”

  I purse my lips while I think of what to say to him. This is nothing new. I mean, I’ve known him for the two years that I’ve been here, but I’ve only been sexually active with him for the last two weeks. In those two weeks alone I have seen him go down on and fuck more of his staff than he cares to know.

  “I think I’ll pass,” I say vehemently. I’m not infuriated or even the slightest bit distraught, but I’d rather find a superior dick elsewhere. As I sit up, the white sheet falls from my bare breasts, and I slip the cheap-ass ring off of my left ring finger before sliding down his body to his hardened cock. He hisses through his teeth as I take him into my mouth and pop him back out. He tosses the sheet off of the bed to get a better view of me while I lock my eyes with his. Intentionally slowly, I place the ring on the top of his head, crowning him with my goodbye.

  “I’ll see you around, Mr. Stafford.”

  He jerks upright as if I’ve just bitten his cock. “Get the fuck out of here. I want you out of my casino within a week, you foul whore.”

  I shrug, outwardly unaffected by his harsh words as I pull on my white shift dress sans underwear and slip on my sandals. I grab my purse and make my way out of the residential penthouse suite of the Stafford’s Casino and Resort.

  The elevator door in the private lobby opens before I have a chance to hit the call button, revealing a sultry Tegan in its wake.

  “Hey T. You might want to suck him off a little harder this time because he was still hard when I left.”

  She stares at me for a few seconds before she visibly wilts and our friendship fragments. “Hadley, don’t be like that.”

  “Tegan, I genuinely do not care. He’s all yours and I will be out of this glowing shithole in a week. I’ll see you around.”

  I hit the button for the first floor once I’ve stepped past Tegan and into the elevator. As the doors begin to close, I hold up my fuck-you finger to the asshole that just rounded the corner to ravage Tegan instead of me. I won’t be missing a thing, not even a whimper.

  As I’m whisked down
the thirty-two floors to the all-white marble lobby of Stafford’s, I search through my purse for my phone, cursing myself if I left it in his bedroom. I hike my knee up and readjust my purse on my thigh to get a better look inside of it. The elevator comes to a sudden stop too soon and I lose my balance, which causes me to drop my bag on the immaculate white flooring while the doors slide open. All of the contents spew across the floor of the elevator, bringing it to life with more color than it will ever see again. I let out an annoyed exhalation as I bend down to pick up my baby pink thong which is ironically lying next to a twelve-pack of unopened condoms that I picked up earlier today after my shift.

  A dark chuckle meets my ears and the sound vibrates straight through me. I snap my head up to find its owner, and I’m stunned when my eyes are drawn to the most expressive blue eyes that I’ve seen. I take in a deeper breath as I search his eyes, seeing a crystal clear sea, which is momentarily interrupted by a powerful blizzard when he pulls his slacks up on his knees as he bends down to pick up my thong with expert fingers.

  “I’m going to assume that these belong to you.”

  I take in the sight of him again as his lips curl up in the corners, apparently knowing that he’s affected me, but I suspect I’m doing just the same thing to him. He’s wearing an Armani tuxedo, which is tailored to fit his body flawlessly. His dark hair is styled and seems to be recently cut to perfection in contrast to his jaw, which is shaded with stubble, a bit too long for it to be a day’s worth of growth. I can imagine him at the end of a bed with his angular jaw skimming across my bare skin, nipping his way up to the apex of my thighs as my body burns from his stubble chafing against my skin.

  He stands, bringing me back to the present moment and away from my wayward thoughts, still holding onto my thong before offering his other hand out to me. My eyes stray from his eyes to his hand and then back to the chilling blizzard that has taken up residence behind his eyes. I quirk a brow at him and begin to pick up the rest of my belongings from the floor, including my phone.