He Claims Me

by Cynthia Sax

  I enter the large back room housing the pit. Rows of metal folding tables dominate the area, many of the seats already filled. My coworkers are dialing, their faces blank and their eyes glazed.

  I slide into my chair in the back row and Goth girl, my green Mohawk wearing friend, curls her black-lipstick-covered lips, giving me her version of a smile. She’s wearing her usual black corset, black full skirt, torn mesh stockings, and clunky army boots, and is talking in sweet tones to a past donor.

  I plug my headset into the flesh-colored telephone and dial and dial and dial. No one answers. Voice mail. Voice mail. Doesn’t speak English. Voice mail. No one answers.

  My fingers fall asleep. My thoughts turn to Blaine and the relentless throbbing between my legs. I’m aroused, needy. I press my thighs together. I won’t last. I can’t last. I wiggle.

  “What’s wrong with you, moth?” Goth girl stage whispers. “Do you have crotch critters or some other vagigi funkiness?” Heads turn and my face heats. “There’s a free clinic close by. Ask Boss man for the morning off.”

  “I’m fine.” I add another lie to my collection.

  “Sure you are.” My friend snorts.

  She’s right. I’m not fine. At noon I leap out of my chair, sling my tote over my shoulder, palm my phone, and hurry down the hallway, looking for a private place to make a call to a very wicked CEO.

  “Hey kiddo. Are you looking for me?” Michael Cooke steps into the hallway and beams at me, his movie-star good looks dazzling. He’s wearing a blue shirt that perfectly matches his eyes and clings to his wide shoulders. This designer garment is paired with khaki pants and Birkenstocks, two staples in the blond behemoth’s wardrobe. “You have the meet and greet with Mrs. Williams today, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I reply, obliged to make polite conversation. Before I met a certain naughty billionaire, I dreamed of talking to Michael. Now it’s a chore. Blaine is the sole man I want to speak with, to be with.

  “Don’t be scared about this meet and greet.” Michael moves closer to me and I force myself to remain still, to not take a step backward. “Mrs. Williams is a close friend of the family, one of my honorary aunties, and I told her to treat you well, that you’re special to me.” He rubs my bare arms, his palms soft. “You are special to me, kiddo.” He pushes his hips against mine and my body screams a silent protest. He’s handsome and nice but he’s not the man I want. “I wouldn’t wait for anyone else.”

  Oh Lord. He’s waiting for me to change my mind. I thought we talked about this. “We agreed to just be friends,” I squeak, backing away from him.

  Michael drops his hands. “We’re just friends . . . for now.” His face hardens and I put more distance between us. He’s larger and stronger than I am and I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone except for Blaine.

  Michael forces a smile, his teeth straight and white and perfect. “Will I be seeing my friend at lunch?” His gaze drops to my small breasts, my nipples remaining taut from Blaine’s teasing.

  “I’m not able to have lunch with you today.” I edge toward the door. “But I’ll talk to you later,” I promise, eager to escape, to find the true source of my frustrations. “I have somewhere I need to be right now.” I rush away, leaving Michael gaping after me.

  I exit the building, turn into the employee parking lot and press redial. It rings twice.

  “Anna.” Blaine’s deep voice makes my lower body clench. “What’s wrong?” Voices chatter in the background.

  “You know what’s wrong.” I pace on the uneven pavement, striding back and forth, seeking to expend some of my sexual energy. “What did you do to me?”

  Blaine chuckles. The background voices fade and then disappear. “What did I do to you?”

  “You know what,” I fume, my need for him building with every passing minute. “I can’t last.”

  Darla, Michael’s big breasted blond friend, shimmies out of a cute little silver sports car, a vehicle no Feed Your Hungry employee could afford on our minimum wage salaries, and she walks toward me, a shiny red designer purse hanging from the crook of her right arm. As she spots me, she removes her overly large sunglasses. Her big brown eyes are wide with curiosity.

  I don’t want to talk to her. Darla is Michael’s friend, not mine, and I don’t trust her either. I don’t trust myself right now, lust ruling my brain.

  I turn my back, pretending not to see her, and I walk away, placing my hand over my phone. “I need to fix this. Now,” I inform Blaine, my patience strained by need. “Either give me permission—”

  “You do not have permission,” Blaine barks, and my spine snaps straight, my body responding to his dominance. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” The phone clicks and the dial tone buzzes.

  I can wait five minutes for sexual fulfillment . . . I think. I slip my phone into my tote. No, I know I can wait. I’m strong. I can do this. I gaze up at the blue cloudless sky and I wiggle, dancing in place, my blood singing with desire and need.

  “She ran out the door like the hounds of hell were after her. It was the strangest thing.” Michael’s voice reaches me.

  If Michael sees me, he’ll want to talk to me again, and I’ll then say something I’ll regret, my mind focused on my arousal. I duck behind the building, wedging my body between a navy blue Dumpster and a red brick wall. A ghostly white moth flutters into the air, startled from her resting place.

  “She is the strangest thing,” Darla quips. “I saw her talking on her phone near the employee parking lot. I didn’t hear her, but from her expression it appeared as though she was having boyfriend troubles.”

  “She doesn’t have a boyfriend. Kiddo and I have an understanding,” Michael says and I cringe, his words implying our understanding is we’re more than friends.

  “Do you? How cute.” Darla laughs, the brittle sound holding more malice than joy. “She’s a woman, Michael. She lies. I’ll bet my favorite handbag she’s seeing someone else and is playing you for a fool.”

  “She’s not like that.” Michael’s voice fades. “She wouldn’t lie to me.”

  I’m exactly like that. Guilt mixes with my desire. I am seeing someone else and I do lie. I smooth my long purple skirt. Even my clothes are a lie, Fran’s designer suit not representing my true income. I knock a loose piece of brick off the wall, the gray mortar crumbling. Michael can’t truly care for me because he doesn’t know the true me. I only show myself to Blaine.

  A black car approaches and I rush toward the busy street. The car is a sedan, not a limousine, and it passes without slowing down. It isn’t Blaine. My shoulders slump.

  The sun’s rays beat down on my bare skin, its touch like a thousand fingertips. I shouldn’t have called Blaine. I’m stronger than this, stronger than my body. My breasts ache and my pussy hums, my need dampened by guilt and disappointment but not extinguished.

  A limousine slows and the back door opens. “Get in, nymph,” Blaine orders. His suit is as black as his vehicle, his shirt a stark white. His purple tie matches my dress’s shade exactly, and my spirits lift. We look like a couple.

  I climb into the vehicle, the door closes, and Blaine grabs my wrist, pulls me to him, captures my lips with his, the force of his embrace driving my head back. I drop the tote and gasp. He surges into my mouth, his tongue filling me. Opening to him, I slide into his lap, straddling his thighs, clasping his shoulders.

  Our tongues tumble and twist, his desire feeding mine. He wraps his arms around my waist, his palms flattening on my back, the warmth of his skin felt through the fabric.

  This is what I need. “Yes.” I arch my back and Blaine mouths along my neck, the pressure exquisitely firm. I unbutton my vest, wanting his touch on my bare breasts.

  Blaine covers my fumbling fingers with his hands, his grip firm. “Not now.” He raises his head, his eyes darkened to the deepest black. “I have no control.”

  I inhale, count to five and exhale. “I don’t want you to have control.” I slip the buttons through the hol
es. “I want all of you, Blaine.”

  He stills, his muscles tensing under me. “Are you certain?”

  I nod and remove my vest, unhook my bra, undressing quickly, trying to outrun my fear. Will this change everything? Will he still want me after this?

  Blaine tugs on his tie and pulls the strip of purple silk over his head. He shrugs out of his jacket, unbuttons his crisp white shirt, revealing golden skin and silver scars, the marks a physical reminder that he’s faced adversity in the past and survived.

  I retreat to the seat across from him, strip off my skirt and my white cotton panties. Will I soon be part of his colorful past? He must be accustomed to sophisticated, experienced women, women who don’t associate sex with love, with trust.

  “Anna.” Blaine is naked, his cock hard, his legs long and firm and strong. “How does this make you feel?”

  His question, a question he has asked me in the past, brings me comfort. “Scared.” I give him a shy smile and the shameful truth. “I’m trusting you with everything.” I’m trusting him with my body, my heart and my soul, risking a heartache I know I’ll never recover from.

  “Come here,” he commands, his voice firm.

  I kneel in front of him, naked, my gaze downcast and my fingers shaking as I toy with the gold key between my breasts.

  “Sit down.”

  I rise and straddle him, my bare skin sliding along his, my soft curves meeting his firm muscle. No barriers remain between us. I’m vulnerable, defenseless.

  Blaine holds my face between his big rough hands and tilts my chin upward, the contact reassuring me. “I won’t ever hurt you, Anna.” Our gazes meet and hold, a connection stronger than words, stronger than our individual souls, binding us together.

  “You won’t leave me?” I ask, knowing the answer, needing to hear it again.

  “Never.” Blaine brushes his lips over mine. “You’re my present and my future, my forever.” He leans his forehead against mine. “I can wait forever if you need that time, Anna. This is too important to rush.”

  “I can’t wait forever,” I whisper. “I want you inside me. I’m just scared. I’ve never done this before and you . . . you have.” He’s a billionaire, a successful attractive man. He’s probably slept with many glamorous women, women who know things, things I haven’t even read about.

  “Ahhh . . .” Blaine nods as though he understands. “I’ve been tested. I’m clean.” He slides his right hand along the leather seat and holds up a blue package. “But this is your decision.” He places the condom package in my palm, folding my fingers over it. “If it makes you feel less scared, use it.”

  “Oh.” I stare at my hand, my mind spinning. “We have to use a condom. I’m not on birth control.”

  Blaine raises his eyebrows. “Do we have to use a condom?”

  “Of course.” I frown. “If there are any . . . ummm . . . consequences, you’ll think I trapped you.” That would be worse than stealing. I’d mess up his entire life.

  His eyes soften. “I dream of those consequences.” He splays his fingers over my stomach, his touch thrillingly possessive as though I already carried his child, our child. In Blaine’s eyes, I see a future so precious I don’t dare to believe in it.

  “And I’ve been trapped for months,” he adds, his tone filled with a quiet satisfaction. No one traps Blaine unless he wants to be trapped. Warmth spreads over my chest. He wants to be trapped by me.

  “But this is your choice, Anna.” He releases me and reclines on the lowered seat, his emotions hidden behind the mask he wears with others.

  I turn the condom package in my hand, feeling the thin edges. I want a family, a child, Blaine, and a love without barriers, without fear. Am I brave enough to reach for what I want? “Is sex better without a condom?”

  Blaine’s eyes gleam. “I’ve heard it is.”

  “You’ve heard?” I meet his gaze, surprised. “You’ve never had sex without a condom?”

  “Never.”

  This will be a first for him too. I’ll be his first. I nibble on my bottom lip, intrigued by this possibility.

  “Use me as you’d use your dildo.” Blaine wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, offering himself to me, giving me all of the power. “My body is yours to control.”

  The condom package falls to the carpet, my decision made. I’ll be his first. Wiggling forward, I push my wet pussy lips against his hard shaft, savoring the feel of soft skin over rigid steel. This is natural. This is right.

  I lean over Blaine, placing hands on his chest, and I rock, building my confidence. We’ve done this before and I know how to move to please him, what he likes, what we both like.

  “Cup my ass,” I instruct, the authority in my voice surprising me. Blaine’s lips curl upward and he lifts me, gliding my pussy up and down his cock, wetting his skin with my moisture, branding his flesh with my scent.

  I ride his shaft, fucking him without entry, spiraling my want and need upward, no room in my mind for anything other than Blaine, his hands on my curves, his shaft pressing against my pussy, his musk, his heat, his suppressed desires.

  Blaine’s legs bounce under my ass and his jaw juts. These are the only indications his renowned restraint is compromised, and they aren’t enough, not nearly enough. I graze my fingernails over his stomach and his muscles ripple. I want him as wild as I am.

  As I rock, my hair falls forward, the tendrils teasing his chest. Blaine sucks in his breath, his eyes widening. I smile, having discovered another way to drive him crazy. I sweep the strands over his skin, caressing him with my hair, and a growl rolls up his chest. His cock bobs and his grip on my ass tightens.

  He wants me badly and he can’t do anything about it. He’s trapped by his promise, Blaine too honorable to ever break a vow. I graze my fingers across his cock head, spreading the pre-cum over his shaft, and he shakes.

  “Anna,” Blaine rumbles.

  He won’t last and I want him inside me. “Lift me above you.” As Blaine complies, I curl my fingers around his shaft, positioning him at my entrance. “Lower me slowly.”

  His cock head prods my pussy, pushes inside, stretching me. I muffle a moan, gripping his arms. He’s broad, broader than anything I’ve ever taken. His tip slides up me inch by delicious inch, the fit agonizingly snug.

  “Too tight,” Blaine huffs, perspiration streaming down his angular face, his lips pressed into a grim white line.

  “I can take you.” Pain edges my voice. I grit my teeth as I continue the slow descent, his cock filling me. Have I told my first lie to Blaine? Can I take him? He’s large, too large. Oh Lord. I dig my fingernails into his forearms. “I can’t—”

  My pussy lips touch his base and the slide stops, the fullness sublime. I’m impaled fully on his shaft, seated on my billionaire lover.

  My lover . . . I’m no longer a virgin. I meet Blaine’s gaze, needing his reassurance.

  “You’re perfect.” His green eyes glow, the veins lifted on his forehead, his black hair damp. “You’re made for me, Anna.” Blaine holds me in place, his hands clamped on my hips.

  We remain locked together. My body slowly adjusts to his girth, my grip on his cock loosening, the pain dissipating, leaving only desire. I shift and he sinks deeper. We both groan, our sexual satisfaction now coupled.

  Blaine trembles, the strain of not moving, of giving me total control, reflecting in his face. I’ve allowed him inside me and my world didn’t fall apart. I remain Anna Sampson, daughter of a dead thief and a runaway housewife, lover of the most trustworthy man I know. Blaine believes I’m strong, and I am strong enough to let go, to give myself over to him completely.

  “I want you on top me, Blaine.” I’ve dug red crescent moons into his forearms and I smooth the marred skin with my fingertips. “I want you to fuck me hard and fast, not holding anything back. I want you to fill me with your cum.”

  Blaine meets my gaze as though seeking confirmation. I nod, unable to repeat my instructions.

&nb
sp; “Yes.” He flips me onto my back and braces his body above mine, his weight heavy, comforting. I bend my knees, cradling him between my thighs, and I run my hands over his back, relishing his muscles, his strength.

  Blaine pulls his hips back, brazing his cock head along my inner walls, and he pushes inside me once more, rocking my body. He repeats the action, moving slowly, allowing me to grow accustomed to him, and I undulate under him, caressing him with my breasts, my hips.

  “Anna,” Blaine rumbles. His shoulders flex under my fingertips, his form pulled tight, the shallow fucking testing his restraint.

  He’s been tested enough. “More, Blaine. Give me more.” I wrap my legs around his waist and hook my ankles over his clenched ass, digging my heels into him, urging him to thrust faster, deeper.

  Blaine increases his tempo, each drive forward bringing more pleasure, more connection, and once I learn his rhythm, I lift my hips, meeting him halfway, our bodies smacking together, heating my skin. He grunts, pumping into me, his face buried in my shoulder, his hot breath blowing along my collarbone, pushing my passions higher and higher.

  I drag my fingertips over Blaine’s back, leaving red trails over his muscles, marking him as mine. I’ll be the first woman he comes in and the last. I’ll be his only. A wet sheen covers his finely honed form and his male musk fills the air. He’s inside me, this powerful man. He belongs to me. A savage lust, need, want rises in me.

  “Claim me, Blaine.” I squeeze him with my inner muscles and a strangled sound escapes his lips, muffled against my skin. “Claim me as I claim you. Make my body yours.” I propel my hips upward and he drives me back, slamming my ass against the leather seat. We struggle, fight for fulfillment.

  “Be still.” Blaine nips my bottom lip. I nip him back, biting his lip and pulling. “Anna.” He subdues me, thrusting into my mouth with his tongue and into my pussy with his cock, owning me, propelling me ruthlessly, relentlessly, toward the sharp edge of desire.

  His body hardens even more, the firmness exciting me. I need—

  He varies his angle, rubs over my clit, and I break, screaming into his mouth, arching, bucking, writhing, needing him closer, pushing him away. Waves of hot and cold sweep over me, the lights flashing. I clench my pussy down on his cock.