“I can tell you what I know.”
“Fine, Ben. Why didn’t they move you farther away? Why do you still reside in this city?”
“You mean WITSEC?” I’ll admit, I’m shocked she started off so light. But that’s the problem with Astor. You never know where she wants to end up.
She nods.
“They moved me to Connecticut. I don’t know why they chose that state. Perhaps because New York is so populated, so dense with people, that the risk was low by keeping me nearby. Hell, maybe it was better than shipping a four-year-old all the way to California.”
“And what do you remember that night?” She studies me closely. “Not what people have told you. What do you, personally, remember?”
“Having a bedtime story read to me,” I say. “Being under the covers with my mom. I don’t know the book. I like to think something by Dr. Seuss, but I’m pretty sure that’s my mind playing tricks on me.”
“Any noises? Triggers?”
I shake my head. “A light going on outside my closed door, maybe. Voices. No words. Then…” I close my eyes abruptly. “Bright lights. Like I was dragged out of my dark bedroom. Dark clothing—forms. Loud yelling. Hitting the floor, hard.” I press fingers to my cheekbone. “I think I broke my face. The weight of Mom, the sounds of Dad. Unfamiliar, grunting sounds…”
I’m aware of Astor stepping closer, but it’s not enough to pull me out of the memory.
“The smell of body odor. Laughter. Then … smoke. A lot of stinging, black smoke. Being unable to breathe…”
“Okay. Okay, Ben.”
Astor’s rubbing my back, and I guess I’m breathing rapidly, maybe gasping, but I can’t stop.
“Ben.”
My name has more urgency, but I still can’t crawl out. Whatever hole I’m in, whatever dimension, it has me by its talons and won’t let me into Astor’s light.
“Breathe. Breathe, baby.”
Hands, warm, thin, grab my face, force me to focus on wondrous, turbulent blue, a color that’s mesmerized me since they first crossed my vision.
“Look at me,” she says. “Really look.”
I’m trying. Really, I am. But all I see are clouded forms, racing toward, then back, grabbing at my tiny body, holding my arms down, telling me, your filthy parents are gonna get the death they deserve, and so are you, little boy. Go to hell with them.
Heat sears my mouth, a tongue explores, and my eyes fly open.
22
Astor
When my lips hit Ben’s, it’s to bring him back. Ben is bordering on hysteria, drowning in memories he didn’t know he had, so I do the one thing guaranteed to bring him back to Earth.
I kiss him.
Hard, desperate, and deep. My nails claw into his biceps, my head tilts, and my tongue coaxes his return.
Ben’s landing is in the form of his arms wrapping around my torso and lifting me off this Earth, so my legs wrap around his waist, his head tilts up, and our lips don’t break apart.
His tongue fills my mouth, curling and flicking like I’m imagining he’d do down below, and I’m instantly wet.
I grind against his abs, wanting the rub, the pleasure, and he whispers into my mouth, “Bed. Now.”
“No,” I say through our heavy breaths. “Floor.”
“Here?”
Ben’s palms cup my ass, and he balances me like I’m nothing but a beach ball as he looks around.
I grab his face and yank him back. I missed his taste the instant he let go. “Yes. Now.”
He moans as he bends down, and with more grace than a ballet dancer, he lays me on the cold wood, spreading himself on top.
“Rough,” I say, and my voice mimics my wish. “I don’t want it gentle, or nice. I want you hard. I want it to hurt—”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t act like you know what I want. I’m telling you.”
“And I’m responding,” he says, and lowers a hand between my legs. He gives a single, firm, erotic swipe outside my underwear, and I arch into it like a cat. “By doing that.”
My back’s torqued off the floor, and I’m begging him to do more. Not in so many words, but in moans.
Ben answers by moving my underwear to the side and dipping his fingers in, one by one. I bite my lower lip to stop the shout. I don’t want to give him the credit.
“Just because I won’t be an asshole to you,” he says above me, “doesn’t mean I can’t get you to come so hard you’ll rip your G-string in half.”
I can’t answer. I’m too busy moving when he moves, meeting his thrusts, and thinking if he puts his whole fist in me, I won’t even notice, I’m so wet.
And then I think—I want his everything in me. Always.
“Ben, fuck me. Do it now,” I manage to say through my gasps.
“In my own sweet time, Astor,” he says. “I want to savor you. You’re gorgeous. Sexy. Lethal.”
My eyes are closed, and I mutter a laugh. I don’t want to watch him while he says those things—compliments that would’ve speared my heart a few years ago, but now can only hit a wall of ice.
I won’t thaw. Not for him.
When one of his fingers slides down, hits my anus, my eyes fly open and land straight on his.
Ben cocks a brow. “I don’t treat women like shit. I’m not gonna slap you around or demean you. Shove my cock down your throat until you gag. You want rough, but I’ll give you different. And I’ll still work you so good, you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow. Got it?”
“Yes,” I say before thinking. And that’s a first.
“Turn around.”
I comply, and when I’m on all fours, he pulls my G-string down to my knees. There’s rustling, and I turn to notice he’s taking off his jacket, then shirt, then jeans. His boxers go next.
He’s stupid hot. There are no other words for it, no kind of description that could encompass the kind of man that makes Hercules look like an afterthought.
“Straight ahead, Astor,” he commands, and I realize I’m licking my lips at the sight of his dick.
I do as he asks, my sweater the only thing I’m wearing. Ben moves behind me, grazing his rough palms on the sensitive skin of my ass, up my soft stomach, and cups the mounds of my breasts and squeezes. Hard.
“You’re not wrong,” he says. “I don’t know what else to do other than fuck until I’m blind. Forgotten.”
“It’s just you and me,” I say, turning my head slightly. “Ben and Astor. That’s all.”
He dives between my legs again, fingers pushing deep, and curls them to center my pleasure. Anything else I was going to say gets caught in a feline purr.
Ben slips out, toys with my butt, paints it with my scent. My head rises with realization.
“You want this?” he asks.
I swallow. Not because I’m afraid, but because I’ve never done it before. And ever since—then—I’ve wanted to be nothing but an expert in front of Ben. Cool, confident, and composed. Not timid. Not all tremulous and googly-eyed.
“You’ve done it before?” I ask him.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
“So you know what to do, then. To … prepare me?”
Jesus, I sound like a scared virgin. The exact opposite of the dominant, hot sex I—
“I believe, Astor, you put me in control, so I get to choose what I will or won’t do to your ass. Understood?”
The threat makes my thighs shake. In a very, very good way.
I nod, and he moves behind me. Tangles a hand in my hair to pull my head back. Uses his other hand to lubricate me, a mixture of spit and my dampness, of which I’m giving him plenty.
I’ve never anticipated anything like this before. I’m both curious, turned on, and terribly unsure.
I feel him as he uses his dick to explore. Rests in my crevice and moves back and forth, lubricating himself. He moans, and I push my ass back against him, asking for more.
He goes in soft, at first. Delicate, be
cause as he said, he’s not a jerk in bed. At my murmurs of approval, he pushes deeper, and deeper. I clamp tighter, on instinct and in pure pleasure.
Ben pulls out, and I’m pissed at my whimper.
“I have to stretch you out a little more,” he says, then uses his fingers. “I can’t just go all in. Believe me on that.”
“Because you’re so big?” I joke with a smile.
“Well, yeah, that, and it’d fucking hurt if I stuck a pencil in there without massaging you a bit. Now be quiet.”
I’m about to retort, but then his other hand starts doing sinful things to my clit, and I shudder at the sparklers going off at the end of his fingers.
“The only sounds I want from you are those,” he says.
In all this time, I still haven’t looked at him. He’s a disembodied voice with the skilled fingers of a pianist—or pro athlete. And his coaching makes me grind, and dig my teeth into my lower lip, becoming the animalistic side of myself I figured I’d long evolved out of.
When he slips his dick in, I’m in a wondrous whirl of delight, and the surprising fullness only adds to my demise.
“Yes…” I say, then hiss as he moves deeper, “Yes.”
“This is how you want it, huh?” The growl swirls from his throat. “Really, truly, fucked from behind.”
“Faster,” I whisper in response.
“You sure?” Ben sounds like he’s speaking through his teeth.
“Hell yes.”
He’s all the way in. I groan, but not in total pain. It hurts in a way that feels good. Ben starts moving, in and out, in and out, and after getting used to the new stretch, the elicit goodness that’s building into my core, I’m able to meet him, pound for pound.
“Fuck,” he hisses above me, and moves faster.
I’m fueled by the unexpected power of having him this way. When he pulls my head back harder, the yank has me searching for my pleasure center, to add sweetness to the pain. I rub. I twist and flick. I arch in a way yoga instructors would be proud of.
Ben twists an arm under me, reaches under my baggy sweater and grabs one of my breasts and tweaks the nipple. I open my mouth to tell him—harder, always harder—but he shocks me when he pulls my torso up with his own, so our knees are on the hardwood, and he keeps thrusting, pounding, shouting—
Ben digs his face into my neck. Uses a hand to tilt my face up at the jaw, and bites down. I cry out at the same time he releases, feeling so exposed, so fulfilled, so thoroughly sexed—
He lets go, and I fall boneless onto the cold floor.
As my cheek hits the wood and Ben thunks down on his back beside me, I swear I see steam wafting off our bodies.
I muster the energy to utter, “That was…”
Ben turns his face toward me. His chest heaves. “You sure you haven’t done that before?”
“Pretty damn sure.”
“‘cause you’re fucking awesome at it.”
I laugh into the floor, thinking maybe today didn’t have to be so bad, if it can end like this. Even if I do always end up letting Ben do things to my body no other man has.
Another piece of me he can keep for his own.
Neither of us hear the ding of the elevators, and by the time I register a key slipping into the lock and the resulting click of the door, I’ve only made it to a seated position.
The lights flick on, and Ben and I both hiss like vampires.
“Well,” Mike’s ominous voice says through the glare. “I guess this is one way to fuck a fiancé out of a relationship.”
23
Ben
“Mike—”
Astor’s voice immediately changes. Transforms into a pleading, light, melodic tone that I’ve never had the pleasure, or the pain, of hearing before.
I shove my boxers on quick. In my world, a man barrels into the guy who just fucked their girl, and I don’t want my Johnson out when he tries.
My dick’s still wet from being inside her. Actually—from dipping into a place Mike never got to visit.
I can see how he may be pissed off.
“—what are you doing here?” Astor finishes. She stands, the sweater she’s wearing long enough to maintain decency in front of a fully suited ex.
“This place is half mine,” Mike responds, mostly through his nose. He won’t take his eyes off me. My muscles bunch in response.
I’m known for my tackles in football. What Mike doesn’t suspect is that I do them even better without padding.
“I gave you a long weekend with this place to yourself,” Mike continues, “and I came here thinking it was high time to take what’s mine.”
Again, his attention is on me. I resist rolling my eyes, then clocking him in the chin. “Last I checked, women aren’t property anymore, brother.”
“You know what she went through today?” Mike asks me, voice high with coated concern.
“Mike, don’t even start,” Astor says. “Just grab your shit and get out—”
“I also came ‘round to check on you, since you bailed in the middle of a hearing. Shoulda known all it’d take to throw you off your game is a booty call—”
Something about a pretty boy saying booty call grates against my nerves. And, in true pretty boy fashion, he adds, “never read you for a fuckin’ slut, Astor. At least fuck your boss, then you’d get something out of it.”
Okay, buddy.
I punch him hard and fast in the side of his head.
“Ben!”
There’s the Astor I’ve been missing. Growling, pissed off, and ready to jump in and join the fight.
Or pull me out of it.
“Back off,” she says to me. Her cheeks are still flushed from the orgasm I gave her, but I’m fairly sure there’s a few splotches of anger in there now.
“Why? He’s a dickfest who deserves a good whomp—”
“Not now, Ben.”
Astor’s pleading with me, and I don’t know why. She runs to Mike, who’s bent over and moaning, the pussy, and says to him, “You said you’d call when you wanted to come back.”
“This is my place, too,” Mike says while still cowed. “I shouldn’t have to announce myself just in case there’s a guy in here you’re in the middle of fucking.”
“Oh, like you had the decency of doing with me? How many girls have been in here under my nose, huh?”
As soon as Mike straightens, Astor shoves him back.
Aha, so that’s why she told me to retreat. Astor wants the carcass for herself. I stalk into the kitchen, turning the faucet on so hard I nearly break it as I wash my hands.
“At least I don’t fuck friends of the family,” Mike spits. “Jesus, Astor, your brother know about this? How you’re boning his best friend behind his back—”
“Shut up, Mike,” Astor says.
Mike does, but his lips curl into a sneer. “Guess he doesn’t.”
“You don’t get to know about my life anymore, or be involved in it,” Astor snaps. “Grab what you need and get out. Send me a list of the rest of the stuff you want. I’ll make sure it gets to you.”
“What if I want this whole damn apartment?”
“Then you should’ve put your name with mine on the lease,” Astor responds, with barely a breath in between. “But you didn’t. I’m being fair enough, so just—just go. And leave the keys.”
Mike rubs his temple and glares at me. I respond by silently expressing my wish to bop him again. He visibly shrinks back.
But, I’m forced to admit this is Astor’s game. Mike is the spineless type that is better dealt with through brains, not brawn.
“This is what I get for my concern, huh?” Mike says. “For thinking you left the courthouse because you were sick.”
“You’re not here because you’re worried about me,” Astor says, and she sounds very tired.
“It kills you to think I was, doesn’t it?” Mike says. “That maybe you mean more to me than you want to believe.”
I can’t help it. I interrupt by chok
ing on laughter.
Mike whips over to me, ready to slay me with words, I’m sure, but he quickly becomes distracted.
“Hey—what’s that?” Mike zeroes in behind my shoulder and walks toward whatever’s got him.
“Huh?” I say.
Astor and I both twist around at the same time, and yep, we both suck in a breath.
Her laptop.
Open.
With my dead, smiling parents, frozen in time and staring out into the wide, modern world.
“You’ve got your laptop on?” Mike asks. He picks it up as Astor races over to grab it from him. “While he’s here?”
Mike’s tall, like me, like Astor, and he easily holds out of her reach as she jumps to snatch it. “You been showing him privileged information, Astor?”
“What do you take me for?” Astor says. She puts her hand on her hips, pretending to be unaffected, but I know her heart must be pounding as hard and fast as mine.
He can’t know. Mike can never find out who I am.
“It’s a picture of two people who’ve been plastered over the news all weekend,” Astor says. “And, until now, Ben had no idea what was on that laptop, since he came over and surprised me while I was in the middle of it.”
“Well these two people are in a picture the media can’t have, since it’s been cropped,” Mike says. “The kid was on the mom’s lap. He’s been cut out, so unless you had the rest of your brain cells fucked out of you, you would’ve known that and shut this thing down as soon as Bennie-boy knocked on your door.”
Mike’s so busy attempting to one-up Astor that he doesn’t register my reaction, or the fact that he’s now the one giving up privileged info, but who am I to tell him, since my gut is fast losing altitude.
I can feel my mom’s plush, purple cotton shirt on my cheek. Gardenia perfume. A soft hand, smoothing down my hair. “Smile, Ry. One good smile will get you one scoop of ice cream after.”
A lilting, child’s voice responding, “And two good smiles?”
She laughs. Kisses my forehead. “Two of your favorite scoops, then.”
“Three?”
Dad’s deep, rumbling, laugh. “Don’t push your luck, kiddo. The cameraman better’ve caught a good picture by then. I haven’t been this uncomfortable since my penguin suit at our wedding.”
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 48
