The Gentleman Mentor

by Kendall Ryan

  She wants me to slam home and fuck her until she comes. But tonight is about control.

  “Patience,” I growl, pushing inside her warmth until I’m halfway buried.

  Sharp fingernails dig into my ass cheeks, and she throws her head back against the pillow.

  “Eyes, sweetheart,” I remind her. “Keep them on my cock. I want you to watch how I fuck you.” The truth is I want to ruin her for all other men. I want her to understand my cock is the only one that can make her feel this way.

  She opens her eyes and her gaze drifts from mine, down my chest and abs to settle on my throbbing erection. Good girl.

  Thrusting forward, I move slowly, allowing her body to stretch to accommodate me. I give her every last inch of me, and once I’m buried within the snug heat of her, I hiss out a breath.

  We move together, our bodies growing slick with sweat, my hands digging into her hips as I pull her closer. Her inner muscles tighten and tremble, and I lean down near her ear, encouraging her to let go, slowing my movements to let her ride out the wave of pleasure her orgasm provides.

  I can’t hold back any longer. I thrust hard, overcome with pleasure at the way her tight body squeezes mine. My release hits me hard and fast, obliterating all my control. I tug Brielle close, holding her tightly as our heartbeats slam together.

  Eventually, I rise from the bed, my body missing her warmth beside me. I go to the bathroom to get her a warm cloth, and when I return, I find her curled up in the center of the bed, her cheeks damp with tears.

  “Brielle?” My chest tightens and a feeling of dread washes over me. I join her on the bed and lift her onto my lap. “Tell me why you’re crying,” I whisper near her temple. I want to soothe her fears, make everything better, but I know I can’t.

  “This was never supposed to happen,” she sobs. “You warned me, but it’s just so overwhelming.”

  I pull her close, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I know, pet, I know. It will pass. I told you, it’s just the rush of endorphins wreaking havoc on your system.” I hate myself for saying these words. I’m falling in love with her, and I want all of these emotions overwhelming her to be just for me. But she nods, accepting my explanation.

  I hold her while she cries and finally, once she’s quiet, we lay in the huge hotel bed, curled together as we watch an old black-and-white movie.

  “Are you going to see Kirby tomorrow?” I whisper. I’m not sure why, but the curiosity is killing me.

  “No. I’m working tomorrow.”

  I nod, feeling relief and shame mix together. Even if she’s not seeing him tomorrow, I know that soon she’s going to win him over, and it’s a deeply disturbing thought.

  Our last night together feels heavy with meaning. If these are the last of my minutes with her, I’m happy to spend them listening to her sleepy sounds and enjoying the warmth of her body curled against mine.

  • • •

  In the morning, my sense of purpose is renewed. I dress while Brielle is still asleep and slip out of the hotel room. It’s better than having to hear her say good-bye. Last night I took things that weren’t mine to take, we grew closer than we should have, and I don’t want to see the look of regret that’s probably in her eyes this morning. Brielle and I are two different people. I no longer possess that same hopeful optimism that love conquers all.

  When I met Tara, she become my entire world. I fell hard and fast, and never doubted for a second that she’d be at my side when we were both old and gray. And for years, things were great.

  Wanting to make her my wife, I bought her the best ring money could buy. She deserved it after watching me scrape my way through law school, and living in cheap student housing with me. As we lay curled together at night on our lumpy mattress, I used to whisper to her how I’d give her the world if I could. All my love, promises, and sacrifice weren’t enough for her, though, because one day I came home early and found her fucking my best friend, Troy. He was a good friend, and while it hurt to know he betrayed me, it was her unfaithfulness that destroyed me. I’d been ready to devote my life to her.

  After that, Reece proved what a good friend he is by cutting Troy from his life completely. He felt the betrayal almost as deeply as I did. That’s when I began exploring the BDSM lifestyle Reece is so fond of, and felt immediately at home. Control. Discipline. Never getting too close. It was the only type of relationship I saw myself having with a woman. The exchange of power was exactly what I craved.

  After Tara left me for another man, I became the other man so I never had to feel that kind of hurt again, so that I could never be left again. I don’t involve my heart, and I won’t ever give myself away completely in these interactions. That’s why I never tell them my name. Because I won’t exist when we’re done.

  It’s this mindset that I try to summon as I head off to meet with Chrissy. I push the thoughts of Brielle that plague me as far away as possible. Today is about Chrissy and the future she’s always dreamed of.

  On my way out to the suburbs, I sent a text to Brielle.

  Hale: Peach, something has come up. I’m sorry for the change in plans, but last night’s session will be our last.

  Her response is simple.

  Brielle: Okay.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting. An argument? Her demanding an explanation? Suddenly I wish I had told her in person so I could see her face, watch her expression change. Would it be relief, indifference, or disappointment I saw reflected in her pretty features? Not knowing is driving me insane.

  When I arrive at the address Chrissy sent me, I step out of the car to greet her. She’s standing in the driveway, surveying her surroundings. When she spins to face me, I hiss out a breath. Holy shit.

  “Chrissy?” I reach for her. “What the fuck happened?” Lifting her chin with two fingers, I force her eyes to meet mine.

  She squeezes her eyes closed and whimpers.

  There are fingertip bruises around her throat and a dark mark under one eye that her makeup doesn’t cover. Her lower lip is swollen and red with bite marks.

  “Chrissy? Answer me.”

  “Don’t,” she pleads with me. She knows I won’t let this drop until the motherfucker who got rough with her pays for his harsh treatment.

  I press closer, my thumbs stroking her cheeks as I hold her face near mine. “Goddamn it. Who did this?”

  She shakes her head. “It was nothing I didn’t ask for. Come on, the real estate agent’s here. Let’s go inside.”

  Her words send me into a frenzy. She asked for this shit?

  “Please, Hale,” she begs.

  Fuck.

  Today is supposed to be a happy day, so I take Chrissy’s hand and turn toward the little bungalow I’m helping her buy, but a loud gasp startles us both.

  Brielle.

  She’s standing several feet away, watching me interact with Chrissy. Wearing her red coat, she looks so beautiful and fragile, I want to weep. Her eyes have welled with tears, which she works to blink away.

  I want to go to her, want to tell her it’s not what it looks like, but the cliché of a lie dies on my lips.

  Brielle’s watchful eyes don’t miss a thing. Not the bruises decorating Chrissy’s neck, or the way she has a death grip on my hand. Deep hurt and betrayal is written all over Brielle’s face.

  Sensing the tense standoff happening between me and Brielle, Chrissy shifts beside me. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine,” I lie.

  Brielle sucks in a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. I know she’s hurt, but pretending she’s okay. She’s pretending we didn’t just fuck each other’s brains out last night, that we don’t have a connection neither of us can explain.

  “Are you guys ready to see the house? I think you’re going to love it,” she manages, her voice lifting with a slight tremor.

  Goddamn it.

  I’m itching to take her into my arms and hold her, quiet all her fears, tell her everything, expose myself, and beg for her for
giveness. Instead I merely stand here. I’m not about to expose Brielle as one of my clients. We both signed that nondisclosure agreement, and I took that seriously. It could affect her professional reputation if word got out; not that Chrissy would say anything, but still, I wouldn’t put her at risk.

  It takes Brielle several tries to get the lockbox open, her hands are shaking that badly.

  When I reach for her, she tugs her hand away as if I’m poison. Maybe I am.

  “I’ve got it,” she barks, then realizes her mistake and puts on a smile for Chrissy. “See? We’re in.” She pushes open the front door and motions us inside out of the cold.

  The house is a two-bedroom, two-bath fifties-style bungalow, as is common in this area. The hardwood floors creak when we walk from room to room, exploring. The bathrooms need updating, but the kitchen was recently renovated, and the walls and carpets are all fresh and neutral.

  Chrissy has done a good job. She’s been saving for three years to buy a place of her own, move out of that rundown shoebox she calls an apartment. When I told her I’d help her with the down payment, it sped up her timeline significantly.

  Chrissy stops to face me in the living room, where a quaint stone fireplace sits under a rustic wood mantel. Brielle is never out of sight, and I can feel her presence as if she’s cast a shadow over me.

  “What do you think?” Chrissy asks.

  “I think it’s great. More important, what do you think?” She’ll be the one with her name on the thirty-year mortgage, not me.

  “I love it. I feel like it’s already home. Fires burning right there,” she points to the fireplace, “and a little garden in the backyard…” Her voice trails off and her eyes glisten.

  “Merry Christmas,” I whisper to her, and she wraps her arms around me, squeezing my waist.

  She looks into my eyes and wipes at her own. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  I force a smile, painfully aware that Brielle is watching this entire exchange.

  Before I can process what’s happened, I’m standing outside on the sidewalk, watching Brielle get into her car and speed away.

  Goddamn it. I’ve never felt so out of control.

  It’s time to start taking on clients again. Stop this bullshit fantasy from playing out any further.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brielle

  My vision blurs as I sob big, ugly tears the entire drive home. I make it there in record time and tear through my apartment. The first thing I do is strip off my new red coat and stuff it in the trash can.

  Something’s come up, his text said. Hell yeah, something came up! He’s apparently buying a house with a woman—a woman who looks like she’s been used as a punching bag, which I can only assume was during a session of rough sex.

  I’m not even angry; I’m broken. Destroyed. A man I had fallen head over heels for is not who I thought he was. It was all some game. I paid him handsomely for his services, and that was all it was to him. A down payment on his future with another woman. The painful realization that I meant nothing to him slams into me, and I feel weak.

  Grabbing my laptop, I delete my profile from the dating site, delete every stupid message I saved. I delete his texts, and then his number from my phone. It’s as though he never even existed. If only my aching heart could mirror that feeling.

  I sink onto the couch and let the tears flow. I consider calling Julie, but the idea of admitting how foolish I’ve been doesn’t appeal to me. Of course I knew better than to fall for him, yet I did it anyway. I gave myself to him completely, in every sense of the word, but it was all for nothing. Now he’s done with me, and I feel lost. I don’t know what comes next.

  As painful as it is, I can’t stop the memory of seeing him with that bruised and battered woman from replaying in my brain. I recall the careful way he was with her, the way his hand danced at her lower back, and she gazed up adoringly into his eyes as they spoke in hushed voices.

  Not only did he lie about having a girlfriend, but he’s not at all who I thought he was. He’s violent. Brutal. Not at all the man I dreamed him to be.

  Several hours later, I’ve had two glasses of wine and am soaking in a hot bath when my phone rings.

  It’s Kirby.

  I consider letting it go to voice mail; I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. But then I remember what this entire experiment was about. Taking charge of my future.

  Mustering some enthusiasm, I answer. “Hi there,” I say, forcing a neutral tone.

  “Hey, ladybug. I need a favor.”

  “I’m listening…”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hale

  I’m arriving home from the gym when Kirby corners me in the kitchen. I’ve been hitting the gym hard lately in an effort to move on, but all it’s done is frustrate me.

  “You’re going to the company Christmas party tonight, right?” he asks, shoving a bottle of water at me.

  Christ, I forgot all about that with everything that’s happened in the last few days. “Of course. You bringing anyone?”

  Kirby shrugs. “Yeah, I called my fuck buddy, asked her to meet me there.”

  I nod. “Cool. I’ll probably just go solo.”

  The fact that Kirby’s been sleeping with someone is news to me. He must go to her place, because for at least the past several months, he hasn’t brought anyone home.

  I shower and dress in a tuxedo, as the invitation said black tie required. Just what I want to do on my Saturday, after wearing a suit to work all week. When I’m ready, I find Kirby dressed similarly and standing in the kitchen, opening a bottle of Scotch. There are two glasses on the counter before him.

  “Toast before we go?” he asks.

  “Why not.” I accept the glass of amber liquor and clink the edge to his.

  “To a better fucking year next year,” he says, smiling as if he’s got me all figured out.

  I make an affirmative noise in my throat and down the liquid, appreciating the smoky flavor that greets my tongue. “Did you like any of the places Brielle showed you?”

  His surprised gaze lands on mine. “I didn’t know you knew my real estate agent was Brielle.”

  Fuck. I shrug. “Yeah, you mentioned it in passing.”

  He shakes his head like he doesn’t recall it, but isn’t going to argue. “Yeah. There’s a townhome I want to put an offer on. I’m going to ask Brielle if she’ll forgo her commission on the sale, you know, as a favor, so I can afford a little more.”

  My eyebrows knit together. Hasn’t he fucked her over enough? She’s wasted five years of her life pining after him, and now he’s going to fuck her out of the several thousand dollars she’d make for doing her job. Fucking asshole. He’s not good enough for her. A fact I’ve always known, but is clearer now than ever.

  Kirby glances at the clock on the stove. “We should get going.”

  “Sure.”

  We head outside and stand at the corner, waiting for a taxi to stop.

  “Oh, my date canceled at the last minute, but I called Brielle. I knew she wouldn’t have anything going on tonight. It looks like you’ll finally get to meet her.”

  My mouth goes dry and the shot of alcohol churns in my stomach. I consider making up an excuse and heading back alone to the apartment, but decide, fuck it. Let her see me for what I really am.

  It’s go time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brielle

  I have no idea why I agreed to this.

  I gaze longingly out of the window of the cab, watching as couples outfitted in long evening gowns and tuxedoes make their way inside the historic hotel.

  “Lady? You getting out?”

  I glance at the cab driver and sigh. “Yes. Sorry. Here, keep the change.” I hand him a twenty and open the door to the frigid air.

  A cold wind lifts my hair as I shuffle inside the revolving doors as quickly as I can in my black gown and heels, and grab my phone from my wristlet. I expected to see a text from Kirby, but there�
�s nothing.

  With a sigh, I decide to head into the ballroom to see if I can locate him. Or a bar. A drink sounds fabulous right now.

  I agreed to be his date tonight, not because I was delusional enough to think this was an actual date—it was his work party—but because my goal all along has been to see if there’s the possibility of a spark between us. I couldn’t say no, despite how badly I wanted to hide in my apartment and sulk for at least another week.

  An attendant by the double doors asks for my name and I give it, adding that I’m meeting Kirby Norton here.

  He nods. “He’s right over there.” He points to the bar, and my nerves calm when I spot Kirby. He’s leaning against the bar with a bottle of beer in his hand, laughing at something the man next to him is saying.

  I cross the room, heading right toward him. I’m not in the mood to make small talk, or laugh politely at jokes right now. In fact, maybe I can talk Kirby into leaving early and taking me to that Thai place I like.

  Kirby watches me approach. “Ladybug,” he says and grabs me in a hug. “You look…beautiful tonight,” he says.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  I made an effort. After spending the last several days in yoga pants with tear marks streaking my face, tonight I pampered myself with a long soak, thorough makeup application, and am wearing a strapless floor-length black gown with jewels at my throat.

  He introduces me to the man next to him. “Brielle, this is my boss, Mr. Goldstein. Brielle is an old friend.”

  I shake the man’s hand, my mind turning over the way he said old friend.

  “Let me get you something to drink,” Kirby offers. “What’s that plum thingy you like?”

  “It’s peach, not plum.” My face heats with the secret knowledge that my affinity for peach liqueur inspired my safe word.

  “Right,” he says, signaling the bartender.

  Mr. Goldstein leans down to whisper, “It’s an open bar. I hope you’re not falling for his act.”