by Alexis Angel
And I need to do what is most important to me.
Sorry, this isn't much of the romance story that you thought, is it, hun?
I mean, again, I'm pretty sure there's no HEA with him and me, here. Ever.
I look around. I thought all the knick knacks I had on my desk were important. Pictures with my mother. A giant finger from Yankee Stadium that Mason had got for me when we went to go watch the Yankees. A stress ball. Some inspirational pictures. Some gifts from co-workers.
No, none of it matters anymore.
What I need to do more than anything else is to get home.
I leave my computer on and walk to the door that will take me to the elevator banks. Outside the rain continues.
But I no longer care about rain or getting wet.
I mean, what's a few ruined clothes to a person who's dealing with a ruined heart, you know?
Oh well.
Mason
Fucking Christ.
If you're still with me and you don't hate me after what just happened, then you're a fucking saint.
Because right about now, I feel like the lowest piece of shit around.
I deserve to be with this fucking woman next to me. With this harpy from hell.
"Ready, dear?" Lorna says to me, getting up from the table.
She doesn't even look backward; she's walking toward the door. Her ass is swaying and I even catch a few of the men seated around the restaurant stare at it as she walks by them, but I swear to fucking God it does nothing for me.
Once Becca stormed off, I had the chance to be the man that could look at himself in the fucking mirror.
I could have gone after her and taken her in my arms and told her that she never needed to worry about me. That if she wanted to I'd drop everything.
But I didn't.
Because big bad Mason Kane is a fucking coward.
You heard that right.
The King of Wall Street is a lowly piece of fucking pond scum that can't even reassure the woman he loves. And yeah, I fucking love her. I realize that now.
But to save my company, to save everything I built, I'm following the woman I hate outside the Four Seasons.
The rain is coming down by now pretty hard and we wait underneath the awning as Lorna's limo arrives.
"Let's go to my place, dear," Lorna says with a lascivious smile. "Becca's moved out so we can really break the place in."
I don't say anything at all because I'm afraid if I start talking I'm going to say something I fucking regret.
Instead I get into the limo after Lorna and sit down, my mood darkened.
Remarkably, Lorna does not jump me the moment the door to the limo closes. No. I know, it's a fucking surprise to me too, and honestly, a good one. Maybe the only good surprise in an otherwise fucked up situation.
I mean, I know where we're headed. I know what she expects of me. She's been very upfront with her desire. I just haven't thought about it.
Instead of jumping on me, Lorna sits across from me. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, wantonly hiking up her skirt to give me a better view of her inner thighs.
On Becca, I would be hard in an instant. Hell, the car would be rocking back and forth by now.
Instead, all I can think about is the look of abject hurt on Becca's face when I told her that I couldn't leave. That I had to stay for dinner. That I would probably be going home with Lorna.
All I can think about is Becca's body as it trembled as she realized that I was going to place the survival of my company over her feelings.
Listen, I hate it when you look at me like that, alright, Gorgeous?
This is Wall Street. This is business. You don't have time for feelings.
I have a fucking fiduciary duty to my shareholders. To the people who rely on me to keep the company running. There are people with retirement accounts, both investors and fucking employees. Their families.
The car stops outside Lorna's townhouse and the driver opens the door.
She gets out first.
That's her shaking her ass at me as she exits the limo.
Fuck. I need to think about the college tuition that people who work with me are saving for. The 529 Savings plans.
We walk into the main entrance and Lorna wastes no time.
She turns around and pushes me toward the entrance to the living room. I let her push me back until I'm back on the sofa on my back.
Same as the last time I was here.
Fuck.
Think of the fucking people that rely on me for their paycheck. Their livelihoods. Their families. Their kids.
"And now, Mr. Kane, I'm going to enjoy making you mine," Lorna says with an evil smile as she unzips her dress.
I lay back and watch the dress fall to the floor. She's wearing a lace black bra and a tiny thong.
Her breasts are big. Her stomach is flat. Her thighs are slender.
Fuck, she even has a thigh gap.
But she can't hold a fucking candle to her beautiful daughter.
Lorna slowly puts her hands to her back and unclasps her bra. She shakes her shoulders and the straps fall off and she lets the garment fall to the floor.
"Like what you see?" she asks me, hardly paying attention, but rather looking down at her melons as she caresses her body. Her hands go down to her waist and she hooks her fingers under the waistband of her thong and pushes it down.
She kicks her thong in my direction and it lands on my chest.
She's shaved. Completely.
Understand this. If I had never fucking met Becca, I'd probably man the fuck up and I'd tell my cock to get hard and fuck her.
"I guarantee you, I'll be a lot better lay than my daughter," she purrs.
What the fuck? My eyes flash toward her in shock.
"Oh, yes, I know," she gives me a lascivious smile. "Well at least I suspected there was something there, but I didn't know till just now."
Fucking Christ.
"I think it's sort of kinky," she says, stepping towards me and running her fingers over my pants. "First you had the daughter. Now you'll have the mother. And I know you'll choose me."
Lorna puts her knee in between my legs and gently brings it up. I feel her press against my cock and I can tell that it's twitching involuntarily.
But just hearing her words I realize what I'm doing. What I'm allowing to happen to me.
You know what, Gorgeous?
Fuck it.
I don't care if I lose fucking Kane Price.
I don't care if I never work on Wall Street again.
I'm not going to give up the one good thing in my life for a company. I'm not going to sacrifice my happiness to make more money.
Lorna brings her mouth toward me. "I know you're going to enjoy me," she purrs. "And if you even want I can do a press conference and tell the world I know for a fact you're not impotent and gay. Describe how good you fucked me. I bet Becca will cry for days."
Fuck off, bitch.
"Did you say something?" she asks me. She must have heard me mumbling.
Apparently I didn't speak loudly.
"I said to fuck off," I say, looking at her. "And then I called you a bitch."
Lorna looks at me for a moment.
I don't know where that hand of hers comes from but it's at an awkward angle and trying to slap me.
I grab it by the wrist and hold it up. She yelps as I lift my body up.
Lorna tries to latch on, but I throw her.
Not hard, mind you, Gorgeous.
I'm a hard fucking man and I've left my enemies in the dust, but I would never touch a fucking woman.
No, I throw her against the sofa where she crouches as she looks at me.
I take one last look at her.
"I think our deal is fucking off," I tell her simply.
I'm not mad.
I'm just removing her from my goddamn life.
"If our deal is off, then your company is mine," Lorna shrieks. I pause and turn to look at her. She has no fucking clue. "I
won't stop until Becca ends up just like her father!"
Becca told me all about her Dad and Lorna.
You know how I told you I never hit women?
Well, Gorgeous...just this once I am so fucking tempted.
But it won't do anything.
I'm strong enough to leave.
My mind is a jumble as I hail a cab that takes me downtown.
“Where do you want me to take you exactly, man?” the cabbie asks me and I jump.
I’d been in my own little world. Not even realizing that we’re already in Midtown.
Fuck, I need to get my mind off of this shit.
“Just drop me near 6th Avenue far corner,” I tell the cabbie and he pulls up to the curb. I swipe and get out.
I need to get my mind off of Lorna.
I also need to get it off of Becca. I mean, my brain needs a complete reboot.
So what do I do?
I head into Lace.
It’s a strip club off 35th street, in the shadow of the Empire State Building.
Don’t shake your head, Gorgeous. New York City is filled with strip clubs, massage parlors, peep shows, and brothels.
They’re just sitting right in front of you in plain sight.
Times Square? You got peep shows where you pay a buck per minute to jerk off to the girl in the room fingering herself.
Near Grand Central? $200 an hour gets you a massage with a happy ending from a fucking Eastern European or Asian masseuse.
On the East Side? $300 and up and you can go into apartment buildings and pick the girl and take her for an hour to a room where you can fuck her brains out.
Sure, I’ve done some of it.
But I work on Wall Street. This is the fucking culture.
“Hey Mason, long time,” a stripper says as I enter the dimly lit main stage.
I look at her.
“Destiny?” I ask. She smiles at me.
Right. I forgot to tell you that there have been a host of Kane Price department parties at this place. Destiny and I have had our share of fun in the past.
She’s a good fuck. Just likes her pussy liked and her ass spanked and for me to cum all over her face.
“What you looking for today?” she asks, her hands traveling to her tits. “Fuck me in the Champagne room or you want me to blow you in the VIP?”
I look at her for a second.
That’s when it hits me.
Did I just leave Lorna to come here?
“Just give me a second, alright?” I tell her and go outside again.
Thankfully, the rain has stopped.
I look downtown.
In my old life, I would have been looking either inside to Destiny or uptown to Lorna.
In my old life, I would have no problem fucking Lorna. Hell, I might have even traded in my morals and enjoyed it.
But I’ve changed.
I realize that I’m no longer the same person.
It took me a long time to figure this out, but I realize that I’ve been a complete idiot.
My company is something I built. The whole ‘King of Wall Street’ is something I built for myself.
But it doesn’t mean a damn without the woman I love being by my side.
I need Becca. I love Becca.
But it’s already late. And I don’t want to text her booty call fashion on top of everything she’s been through.
I need to go home and calm down. Then I need to wake up in the morning and work out.
And then, around noon, after she’s had enough time, I need to go make things right with her.
And never look back.
Becca
They say yoga is like refreshment to the soul. It’s with that in mind that I put on a tight tank top and squeeze myself inside a pair of yoga pants. I place the rubber mat in the living room, at my feet, and close my eyes. Exercise has always helped me deal with the stress at work, and I just hope it will help me the same when it comes to matters of the heart. Because there’s no other way to put it: right now, my heart is shattered.
After tasting what real love and lust feels like, I truly don’t know how to move on with my life now. Mason is on my mind constantly: I’ve been thinking about him nonstop since I ran out of the Four Seasons last night, and I dreamt of him when last night even as I was asleep. It’s torture, plain and simple, and I have no idea on how to escape from the pain.
I go down on the mat, placing my hands in front of me, and arch my back, taking one deep breath. I start slow, assuming an easy position, but then progress to more complicated ones, pushing both my mind and body to the limit. As time passes and beads of sweat start to form on my skin, I feel my body relaxing - still, the gears inside my head keep on turning and turning, Mason’s smile dancing behind my closed eyelids.
Trying some of the hardest positions, I let my muscles work until they’re exhausted and, only when I can no longer move, do I lay down on the mat. Sprawled on the floor, I look at the ceiling, the pounding of my heart against my eardrums. Locks of hair are plastered to my forehead, glued to my skin by sweat, and I already feel my shirt sticking to my body. Sighing heavily, I sit up and purse my lips, giving up on trying to forget about Mason. Forget about yoga, I need something more drastic.
I go up to my feet and, grabbing my cellphone, I go through the contact list. My heart starts to race, and there’s a little voice in my head, whispering for me to get a hold of myself. I know that I’m about to do something terribly stupid, but I just can’t help myself. Heartbreak is the leading cause for bad decisions, it seems.
Remember Robert? Well, he has been sending me text messages almost every day, even though I never bother to respond. I figured that after our failed date and Mason’s intervention, that he would see the painting on the wall and simply forget about me. Of course, I couldn’t be any more mistaken about that. If anything, it seemed that when Mason entered the scene that Robert’s competitive streak flared up. Now, alone and depressed after a failed yoga session, I’m glad that he hasn’t given up.
When his name pops up on the screen, I double tap it and take a deep breath as my thumb moves across the screen. “Want to have lunch?” I write, my thumb then hovering over the SEND button. Don’t do it, Becca, my rational mind seems to say, but I can’t stop myself - I press the icon on the screen, and the message flies away from my cellphone and into his.
I throw my phone back on top of the table, expecting for him to take a while to respond, but his answer is almost an immediate one: the moment I let go of the phone, it vibrates at once. I pick it up, unlock it, and feel my heart tightening up as I see Robert’s response. “Yes! We can have lunch at your place. I’ll bring wine,” his text says. Fully knowing that I shouldn’t be doing this, I text him back a simple “sure”.
I went from trying to set up a lunch with Robert to now having him come into my house with wine. To say that I’m not thinking straight would be putting it mildly, I know. Sighing, I look down at the clock on my phone and, realizing that Robert will probably be here in a hour or so, I head straight for the bathroom. I get undressed and, hopping into the shower, I step under the hot water and let it wash over me, pushing all my anxiety to the back of my mind. It doesn’t work, of course, but I have no idea on what else I should do. I never really had to deal with heartbreak before and, now that I find myself going through it, I’m at a complete loss. Nobody ever told me that it was this hard.
When I finally get out of the shower, I put on a matching black lace bra and thong, and then squeeze myself into a close fitting dress. The dress is a bit revealing, showing more of my cleavage than what I’m used to, but by now I’m far from thinking straight. Am I actually expecting for something to happen between Robert and I? No, that whisper of rationality seems to say, and I know it’s the truth. I’m not expecting it to happen, and I don’t want it to happen… But the pain in my heart is guiding all of my decisions right now and, as I step out of my room wearing a provocative dress, I’m no longer sure of what I’m doing. I
’m working on auto-pilot, and I’ve set it to drive me all the way against the wall. Right now, all I want is to crash and burn - self-loathing at its best, I guess.
I sit down on my couch, waiting for Robert, but I don’t have to wait long. When the clock strikes 12, there’s a knock at my door, and my heart almost explodes at the sound of it. I go up to my feet, straighten the hem of my dress, and put on a fake smile on my lips. God, what the hell am I doing?
Stopping in front of the door, I take one deep breath as I reach for the handle. I wait one long second before turning it and, when I do, I feel my knees shaking. I can’t back down from this now.
When I open the door, I try and put on my best smile as I see Robert. He’s holding a bottle of red wine in his hands, and there’s a truly happy smile on his lips. On his eyes, I can already see hunger and lust holding hands, and I’m not sure that I like it. But, just like I said, it’s too late to back down from this.
“Hey,” I greet him meekly, accepting the bottle as he hands it to me.
“Hey,” he repeats and, without giving me the time to react, leans into me and kisses me on the cheek. Oh, God, this is already going sideways. I bet he expects to fuck me once we empty his bottle of wine.
I know I should try and put a stop to this while there’s still time, but the autopilot is in full throttle. “Come in,” I tell him, stepping to the side and allowing him to get in. I close the door behind me, and anxiety kicks in with all its forces. Crap, what the hell got through my mind for me to invite Robert over? Or, rather, to allow him to invite himself over.
I go up to the kitchen counter and, setting the bottle down, I rummage through the drawers, trying to find the bottle opener. While I do it, Robert leans on the counter, looking at me with that barely contained hunger in his eyes. I don’t mind when men look at me like that but, somehow, he’s giving me the creeps. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown accustomed to having Mason look at me like that… Maybe it’s because I’ll never be with a man again without thinking of Mason. He ruined me for other men, that’s for sure, and I’m not talking about his massive cock - although, I’ll admit, I’m going to miss it for the rest of my life. Hey, don’t judge - you don’t come across a man with a cock that big often in your life. And he also knew how to use it, don’t forget about that.
