Disavow

by Halle, Karina

  I blink at him, at his words, at the sight of him enjoying my taste, his messy, mussed-up hair falling in his eyes, but that look is still the same, the one that’s both wild and full of wonder.

  He gives me another wanton grin, and then he gets to his knees between my legs. His cock is practically bursting out of his boxer briefs, the darkened tip of it sticking out of the top of the waistband.

  “Careful,” he warns playfully. “If you keep staring at my cock like that, I might just come right now.”

  “I want you to come in me,” I tell him. My boldness should surprise me, but it doesn’t anymore, not when it comes to him.

  “That can be arranged,” he says, reaching down to take his cock out of his briefs. It’s thick and long and impressive in his hands, seeming even bigger, larger than life, than I had felt before.

  I swallow as he starts to prowl over me, but I don’t want to have him like this.

  “No,” I say and try to get up.

  He stops dead, wide-eyed and worried.

  “I mean, I want to be on top,” I tell him. I gesture to the sand. “Your turn to lie back.”

  His brows rise, as if to say, Are you sure?

  I don’t want to explain to him that I want to be in control. He had all the power just now as he ate me out, leaving me raw and vulnerable, spread open wide for him. Now I want to take him, and I want to be the one to do it. I want to see him succumb to me.

  I nod at the sand, and he quickly gets back down, rolling over.

  I stand up, letting the bikini bottoms slink down to the sand, and then I straddle him. His hands are at my ankles as I reach behind my neck and untie my top until my breasts are completely bare. I throw the top to the side and smile at him.

  “Jesus,” he swears again. “I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve this.”

  “Maybe you can make up for it after, then,” I tell him and then drop to my knees, my thighs on either side of him, his cock jutting out in front of me like a joystick. I move up slowly, grabbing on to his shaft, feeling the heat and immense power pulse into my palm. He feels good, too good. I can’t think about anything but us, right here in the moment. No future, no consequences, just this.

  I lift myself up slightly, positioning his cock just right before I slowly, cautiously lower myself down.

  I’m not going to lie. It hurts. There’s a pinch, and I’m so tight that it takes a bit for my body to loosen, no matter how wet I still am.

  “Go as slow as you want,” Pascal says in a thick, throaty voice as he grabs the sides of my hips to help lift me up a bit. His hands look so tanned and large against my pale skin.

  I nod, breathing through the tightness until I start to relax. I lower myself back down, my muscles straining as I do so. In and out, up and down, I ride him torturously slow, letting the thick tip of his cock slide over every bit. From the look on his face, his brows knitted together, his eyes pinched shut, the moans that are grinded out of his mouth, he’s feeling the torture too.

  His hands dig into my soft sides, and I start moving faster, rocking back and forth. He tries to reach up for my breasts, giving them a hard pinch, which makes me throw my head back and moan.

  I don’t know who I am in this moment with the sea and the sand and the sun, but I like this woman. I like the pleasure I’m feeling, I like how he’s giving it to me, like it’s a gift, like he knows how rare and precious it is for me.

  I close my eyes and let every single feeling sink into me. The heat of the sun on my back, the feel of his hands as they slide back down my sides, the slide of his cock as I move up and down, feeling so full and lush.

  “I want you to come,” he says through a grunt, rocking me faster and faster before slowing down. It’s like the both of us are trying to be in charge, but in the end it’s clear we’ll both be winners.

  “If that’s what you want,” I tease, as if that wasn’t in the cards. Though it’s slightly awkward, I reach down to touch my clit, feeling kind of shy about doing this in front of him, but he bats my hand away.

  “I want to make you come,” he says again with emphasis and twists his hand to start rubbing my clit in circles.

  Fuck. Me.

  “Don’t stop,” I cry out softly, rocking him deeper and harder.

  He grunts again in response, and I watch as he concentrates on getting me off with feverish intensity.

  The way he’s looking at me almost makes me come by itself.

  And then the pressure starts to build, thick and hot and sweet, and I know I don’t have long. I lean forward, and he raises his head, capturing my mouth in a wet and sweaty kiss. My tits bounce harder, and he slaps one of them, a beautiful spike of pain that makes me cry out and brings me so close to the edge. Then, when I don’t think I can ride him any harder, sweat pouring down my spine and into my eyes, I lean back, exposing my chest to the sky.

  “I dreamed this,” Pascal says thickly. When I look down at him, he’s staring at me like he can’t decide if I’m real or not. “I dreamed this very thing. You fucking me like this, filled with light. All this light that came onto me.” He trails off and closes his eyes, biting back a groan.

  Then he dips his fingers to where I’m wet, rubbing the edge of his cock, and circles my clit hard.

  That’s all it takes.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” I cry out as the orgasm crashes over me like a tsunami. I’m drowning in it, goose bumps and sweat covering my skin as I’m brought to another place again, up so fucking high.

  It’s enough to make me stop rocking—I can’t feel my legs—but Pascal has a strong hold on my hips, and he keeps me moving up and down, fucking me into his cock, and it’s not long before his thick throat is arching back and he’s coming with a long and helpless groan.

  “Jesus,” he grunts. “Oh fuck is right.”

  I can’t help the lazy smile on my lips, watching as the orgasm rolls through his body. It’s a dream to see Pascal come undone like this, his torso slick with sweat, his hair messed up, his chest rising and falling with the power of his orgasm.

  But I can’t sit like this all day. I slowly ease myself off his cock, his cum running out of me, and then collapse on the sand beside him, catching my breath.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed, but he rolls on his side to look at me. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I turn my head and give him a small smile. “I’m more than okay.”

  He reaches for me, brushing the hair off my face. I love it when he does that. “I didn’t want to hurt you . . .”

  “It was fine, Pascal. It was better than fine.” I pause, licking my lips, my heart still knocking around in my chest. “I don’t know how to process it. But I’m glad it happened.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks. “It was about time, if I’m being honest.”

  “If you’re being honest,” I repeat. “You don’t realize how honest you actually are with me. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

  He raises a brow as if to say, I don’t?

  I laugh. “Okay, maybe you do.”

  Then his smirk flattens out, and a serious look comes across his brow.

  “You’ve made a huge mistake,” Pascal says, and my heart slows to a loud boom-boom, fear creeping back in. I stare down at him, at his sated, heavy-lidded eyes that are sparking with intensity, the firm determination on his jaw. “You’re mine now. Every single inch of you is mine. That just sealed it. There is no escaping this.”

  I swallow the sawdust in my throat. I can tell he means it. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he is, like I’m a possession, something he’s dreamed of and finally has. I wouldn’t mind it, either, if only . . .

  If only he had been part of the plan.

  And this is why I should have listened to those voices instead of letting my hormones guide me. Because there will be consequences for what we’ve done; I just don’t know what they are.

  But I know they won’t be good.

  “I didn’t mea
n to scare you,” he says, running his thumb over my cheek. “But I’m not backing off either.”

  I manage a smile, closing my eyes at his touch. “I know.” I hesitate. “I don’t want you to back off.”

  And that’s the truth. No matter how messy this is going to get, no matter how much this might hurt the both of us, I don’t want him to back off.

  At least not while we’re here.

  I’m good at pretending.

  I can pretend that there’s no other world beyond this.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PASCAL

  The sins of the father don’t determine the sins of the son.

  I heard that somewhere, once upon a time.

  I never took it to heart.

  But now . . .

  Now I have this woman sitting in the car beside me. Her shirt askew, her cheeks still flushed either from the sex or from the sun, her blonde hair back in a wet, tangled braid. She’s smiling to herself, arm out the car, tapping to an imaginary song. I have this woman, and I have to wonder if this is what I’ve been missing out on my whole life.

  Not that it’s too late. I’m only thirty-one. I just feel I’ve done so much damage to so many people’s lives that I was set to follow in that path, my father’s footsteps, until the day I died.

  Gabrielle has changed everything. I just don’t know if it’s too late for me to change.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask her.

  “I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat, sure.”

  After we fucked on the beach, we went back in the water to cool off, clean off. It was fun, I have to admit, just splashing around with her, like a couple of teenagers. Occasionally I would be able to kiss her, other times she’d act shy. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about what she told me; then I thought about the way she dived off the cliff and sank to the bottom of the sea, and both those things had me hitting the brakes when I got those vibes.

  Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m doing with her. This is brand-new territory for me. I’m the type to sleep with his maid, but I’m not the type to give a shit about her, and with Gabrielle, it’s completely different. I give a shit. I care. I want more of what happened back there, not less. I don’t want us to go back to the way it was, but it’s going to get messy going forward. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hide our relationship.

  Because that is what this is, what this could be, anyway. I meant it when I said she was mine. She is mine, and I am hers, and perhaps this is completely out of character, but I don’t want to share her with anyone else, and I don’t want to be with anyone else.

  For the first time in my life, I’m a one-woman kind of man. Maybe this is my new character.

  It’s hard to say, when most days I don’t know who I really am.

  Since the only food at the house is what we scarfed down for breakfast, we stop at a tapas bar in the nearest town. We both order small glasses of white wine and patatas bravas and chorizo and sit on the patio overlooking a small square. Mallorca in the summer is busy everywhere, but it’s a nice change of pace from the remoteness of the villa.

  “So, since you’re the big fancy CEO of the Dumont label,” Gabrielle teases, “how about I test your knowledge about clothes.”

  “A game? That’s fun,” I say, popping a spicy potato in my mouth. “What do I get if I win?” I wag my brows at her like a sleaze.

  She laughs into her wine. “You’ll get something. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Is this for every time I get it right? You’re going to run out of body parts to suck.”

  Her cheeks flush bright red, and she turns her head away from me. After a moment, she looks back, trying not to smile. “Okay, it’ll be out of five.”

  “Fine. But do you know enough about fashion to know if I’m right or not?”

  “We’ll see,” she says and then nods at a woman walking past the restaurant. “Her. What label is her bag?”

  “Easy,” I say, having noticed the distinctive chains and faux leather finish. “That’s Stella McCartney. High-end vegan shit. What a waste of a design.”

  Gabrielle rolls her eyes. “Fine. You won that. How about that man there in the suit. Name something he’s wearing.”

  The man is wearing a light-tan linen suit. I have absolutely no idea who makes it, but the belt is a no-brainer. “Gucci belt.”

  “Okay, I suppose that was easy.” She looks around the restaurant and then lowers her sunglasses when she spots something. I turn to look at a fiftysomething woman and her husband having sangria. They’re both dressed nicely, though the man is more on the touristy side. Dear God, I won’t get this one right.

  “Them,” she says, nodding at them. “Anything.”

  I flip my aviators down over my eyes so I can stare at them without being a major creep. I have zero idea. They’re both in matching khaki. The man’s shorts could also be my shorts, except mine come almost to the knee, are impeccably woven and tailored to fit me, and cost $500.

  “I give up,” I say. “Walmart?”

  She laughs softly. “Well actually, that woman’s top is from H and M. Part of the African safari without having to go to Africa collection.”

  I tilt my head at her and flip up my glasses to give her an imploring look. “Please tell me you have shopped at somewhere other than the H and M sales rack.”

  “You are such a snob,” she chides, reaching over with a toothpick and spearing one of my potatoes.

  “I am a snob,” I admit, trying to pull my plate away. “And I told you, I don’t share, whether that means you or potatoes.”

  “You don’t share. How could I forget,” she muses.

  I also told my father that.

  When he was in my bedroom and somewhat threatening me over Gabrielle.

  A trickle of uneasiness comes over me, though I can’t quite place why.

  If my father finds out about Gabrielle and me, this isn’t going to be good. I don’t know what his deal is with her and why he’s so damn possessive, but the fact is, I know he’d have no qualms in punishing either of us for this. He may fire her; he may do worse.

  What I do know is that I’m not going to go through any of that without a fight.

  “Potato for your thoughts?” Gabrielle says, leaning across the table with a piece of potato for me. In the time I’ve been locked in my head, she managed to steal all my food and eat most of it.

  I open my mouth and snatch the potato from the toothpick, giving her a reassuring grin. “I’m just thinking about what I’m going to do with my prizes. I won, didn’t I?”

  “We only did three.”

  “Fine.”

  We order another round of tapas and wine and play some more. I’m able to pick out a Chanel bag, a Tom Ford suit, and a Dolce & Gabbana sundress before I’m declared the winner.

  “I guess I really had no chance,” she says, leaning back in her chair, hands clasped at her stomach and smiling at me.

  “No,” I tell her. “Unless you thought everyone was wearing H and M. This tells me two things, of course.” I tick off my fingers. “One is that you wanted to lose, and I get that. Why wouldn’t you want to suck my cock later?” She snorts at that. “And two, you need a new wardrobe.”

  “Oh, is this the Cinderella part of the story? Because no thanks. I’m not touching anything Dumont with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Well, you were more than willing to touch this Dumont’s ten-foot pole.”

  She coughs out a laugh. “Oh, come on. You wish.”

  “I don’t wish, I know. I watched you ride me this afternoon with your fantastic tits bouncing up and down, writhing on top of my cock as it brought you to new planes of existence you didn’t even know were there.”

  “Pascal,” she says in a hush, her body stiffening. I know she’s worried about someone overhearing, but hell, everyone should overhear what a lucky fuck I am.

  I shouldn’t delight in making her uncomfortable like this, but I do.

  After we’re full, we head bac
k to the villa. I should have been proactive and gotten something to make for dinner, but let’s face it—Gabrielle would have done the cooking, and I didn’t want to impose on her. Seems like the moment she stripped, her duties went with it. I can’t complain; it’s a fair trade, and I tell her I’m taking her out for dinner tonight.

  “On a proper date,” I add as we get out of the car.

  “A date?” she asks. “Isn’t it uncouth to date the maid?”

  “No more uncouth than fucking her.”

  “You are so crude.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her as I open the front door to the villa. “But I think you like it.”

  She shakes her head and steps inside. I’m exhausted, so I figure lying by the lap pool at the side of the house might be in order, but she heads for the stairs and says, “I’m going to take a nap.”

  I have to admit, I’m disappointed. I hate being disappointed.

  I watch as she disappears, and I hear the door to her room close.

  Hmm. I have no doubt she’s tired, but I was hoping for a little more time together. Not exactly sex but . . . yeah. Sex. Sex would be nice.

  But she’s got issues, as she says, and she might need some time to figure it all out.

  Slow your roll, Pascal.

  It’s just that I’m not used to that at all.

  So while Gabrielle naps, I jerk off outside in the stark daylight, replaying what happened earlier in my head. Why not?

  I think I actually pass out right after because when I come to, the sun is lower in the sky and Gabrielle is standing over me, shaking her head with a tiny smile on her lips.

  “Huh?” I say, my voice thick with sleep. I look down and notice my cock is out, just as asleep as I was, my hand beside it.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, no,” I say, sitting up and putting my cock back in my pants. “The something is already over.”

  “It’s getting late.” She gestures to the house, and it’s only now that I notice that she’s changed. She’s wearing a pale-peach strapless sundress with ruffles along the bust. A little bit Spanish-looking, it makes her look extremely beautiful, especially when paired with glossy peach lips. I’m not going to ask her where it’s from.