The Pursuit of Passion (Taylor & Adam)

by Liv Bennett

  “Excuse me?”

  “Slide a finger inside.”

  Her chest stops moving, and I can see the vein in her neck pulsing wildly against her milky white skin. I make a mental note to let my lips and tongue mark her smooth skin with hickeys. Her eyes gleam with confusion and concern, and I wonder whether she did it in front of Jack. Most likely yes, but not like this: in semi-public, acting as a call-girl. And it doesn’t matter even if she did it the exact same way with Jack. I can fill her mind with a million new pieces of memories until whatever happened between her and Jack becomes nothing but a distant past.

  I want her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and guilt while her fingers stroke her most private parts for my viewing pleasure. I want her crying out uncontrollably, knowing her every move and sound will be burned forever into my memory and that I may and will bring up her naughty performance whenever I damn well please.

  She swallows and bites her lower lip. Still no answer, no move from her side. She’s hesitating and maybe considering how to get out of my less-than-comfortable order.

  “Remember the check in your purse,” I say. After all, she’s the one into role-playing.

  Her hand drops the hem of her skin, drawing my attention back to her bare sex, and reaches up to her mouth. My cock presses hard against my pants with excitement and anticipation. She sticks out her tongue and licks her two fingers, making a production out of it, taking away all my doubts about her stellar blow-job skills, then slowly moves them through the valley of her cleavage, past her belly, and then down to her thighs. My heart hammers against my chest. Her eyes shift forward toward the windshield. Her breathing quickens as she trails her fingers around the folds of her swollen sex and begins rubbing.

  “Look at me,” I order. She snaps her eyes up to mine, and my balls ache at the sight of the lust flaming in her eyes. “You’ll not come until I tell you so.”

  I want to yank her over to my lap and fuck her until she can’t keep her eyes open, but I’ll probably never get another chance to see her pleasuring herself. So I force myself to keep my over-demanding libido under control and just watch her with fascination, while she’s moving her hand between her feathery thighs.

  At one point she snaps her legs together around her hand, just the way she did in the movie theater around my hand, preventing me from seeing her sex. But, the sight of her face blushing a deeper red by the second, her eyes rolled back in a haze, and her body arching backwards and forwards with pleasure is enough to make my hard-on throb painfully beneath my jeans. This must be the ultimate test for self control I’ve been through. I want to ram my cock inside her pussy and into her slightly parted lips at the same time.

  I will not be able to pass the test; her labored breathing accompanied with silent hums, her breasts moving up and down as she leans deeper in the seat are too much to stand. I have to do something, even if it’s just touching her.

  She looks like she is somewhere else, high and concentrated from all the emotions her slim fingers are giving her. “I’m… I can’t hold it for much longer.”

  I stretch my hand out to grab hers that’s between her legs and slide my middle finger inside her, beside her two fingers, pressing hard against the hot and wet walls I’m becoming familiar with. She moans at the additional pressure and shoots me a surprised look. It takes every ounce of willpower not to smash my lips onto hers and suck her tongue out, but I force myself to keep on watching and memorizing each and every breath, moan, and quiver her body is giving off under the building pleasure.

  “Come now,” I order. It isn’t long before her muscles start to clutch and squeeze at our fingers, and she lets out a loud groan while her eyes close tightly. I keep my finger in her a little longer to feel the aftershock spasms radiating through her.

  “God, you’re so sexy,” I finally press my lips onto hers and get a taste of her now dry lips.

  “Thank you,” she whispers when I pull back my lips and my hand. “You’re the best client I’ve ever had.”

  I thought the role-playing was long over, and frankly, I’m not really enjoying her acting like a prostitute. “Lick your fingers,” I say curtly as I turn the ignition. She wrinkles her nose, but does it anyway, only to cringe more. I bet she’s the only one who doesn’t appreciate the taste of her juices. Perhaps, she simply needs to get used to it. And I’ll make sure that she will.

  As I maneuver my way out of the parking lot, all of a sudden, a green sedan turns in front of me at the exit. If I didn’t jam on the brakes frantically, I’d crash into it. And luckily, there was no other car following us that could plow into my mine from behind. The driver of the sedan drives off without apologizing, and I don’t bother checking his plate number.

  CHAPTER 13 - TAYLOR

  This was certainly the strangest night of sex I’ve ever had. Jack wasn’t exactly the sex-outside-the-bedroom type of guy and would never in a million years call me a whore or treat me as such. As surprised as I am at Adam’s bad-boy attitude, I’m more taken by how much I actually liked it. Who would have thought I had a soft spot for dirty talk?

  As for his threat of making me unfuckable, the combination of his huge size and the fierce way he pumped into me made me as sore down there as I’d ever been. A delectable soreness, though.

  I inhale heavily, trying to fill my lungs with oxygen, whose existence I’ve forgotten about under Adam’s seductive spell, and watch the road as we drive toward his condo. Inside the elevator, I slip my arm into his to support my unsteady legs, wondering what else he has in mind for the rest of the night. Though I’m not exactly sure, I’m planning to spend the night with him, having sex or doing whatever else he wants to do with me.

  His condo isn’t very orderly. There are towels on the couch and the chair in the living room, and one hanging on the doorknob of the kitchen door. Either he has a terrible sweaty-hands problem, or the housekeeper skipped his home. I make a mental note to call her the first thing tomorrow to remind her of her duties at Adam’s home.

  He invites me to the living room, sets about collecting the towels, and gestures me to the couch. My scalp is sweaty and itching under the wig. I excuse myself and go to the bathroom to get rid of the wig and fix my hair. The Jacuzzi grabs my attention and makes me think of the possibility of getting naked inside it with Adam.

  I leave the bathroom and manage to sneak a peek through, his bedroom before I show up back at the living room. I can only glance at the unmade bed before I hear his footsteps, and I wonder how many women shared this bed with him. Ten, fifty, one hundred? And, I’ll be just another one on his list. I wish I could ask him about his love life, or better, sex life, but that’s outside of my call-girl role. I’ve already dumped the wig. If I start to chat about his private life, I can forget about the entire role playing.

  “Are you hungry?” Adam asks when he notices my presence back in the living room.

  “Not really.”

  “Why? When did you eat?”

  I frown, trying to remember. Eating has become a chore more than a fun activity, except for sweets. I didn’t cook much, but I used to love eating out at restaurants with local and international cuisines. Going to the farmer’s market to buy fresh produce, smelling and touching every fruit on my way was among my favorite activities. Now coffee and crackers have become my breakfast and lunch, and I’ll get a hamburger if I remind myself to eat dinner.

  “If you’re trying to remember, you haven’t eaten in the past five, six hours. Have you?” He stands up, his hands on his hips, pulling my eyes down to his groin. I blink and look back at his eyes. I should stop looking at him as a sex object only, I think to myself, only to stare at his buttocks as he turns to walk toward the kitchen.

  I don’t understand what it is with him. Or is it actually me? I’ve known him for longer than four years now and never so much as raised an eyebrow at his looks. But, now I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him.

  “You paid me over a thousand dollars. Are you sure you want to spen
d your time feeding me?” I follow him to the kitchen and sit at a stool by the kitchen island.

  “Are you gonna insist on being Jolette?”

  I nod hesitantly.

  “Please, I want to have dinner with you and only you. Am I so repulsive to you that you can’t even sit and eat with me without pretending to be someone else?”

  I shook my head. I never thought he’d take it that way. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t find you repulsive. It’s me.”

  “Whatever the reason is, please be yourself and drink this orange juice.”

  He hands me a tall glass of orange juice and starts cooking something with chicken and vegetables. “I’d have prepared something in advance if I knew you’d come over.”

  I smile briefly and say, “Don’t bother with cooking. We can order something.”

  “Are you kidding me? You eating something I cook is one of my fantasies.”

  “Really?” I smirk. “Is there more to that fantasy?” I eye the dinner table and evaluate its ability to hold us both.

  “Well, I don’t want to force you into anything, but yes, it always ends up with you loving the food so much that you want to give me something pleasurable in exchange.”

  “You remember you paid me right? You don’t need to feed me to stick your cock in me.”

  “Would you mind keeping your mouth clean in the kitchen, please?”

  Clean mouth? Look who’s talking. I’ll have to remind him of his words when we’re wrestling on the table.

  He sets the table and serves chicken teriyaki with rice and two cups of green tea. I place the napkin on my bare legs and dig into the food. Although my taste buds have been exposed to mostly artificial food these past years, they seem to remember the taste of fresh and homemade food.

  The crispy sweet peas and tender chicken prompts a surge of fluids in my mouth. Not just a man who can fuck, but one who can cook extraordinarily delicious food, too. I survey the kitchen with more attention and notice the series of cookbooks on the shelves and the pots and pans hanging from the overhead rack. If he cooks so well, why had he never invited Jack and me over to his place for a dinner party?

  “How did you learn to cook so well? Did Adriana teach you?”

  “Hell, no. Once she figured out she was good at cooking, she banned us all from entering the kitchen for cooking, including my mother.”

  “Then, how?”

  “Pat.”

  Just one word, and my appetite is gone. I force myself to eat some more food to hide my jealousy for his past relationship. By the time half of my food is in my stomach, I give up and leave the fork on the plate. Not the reaction Adam must be expecting from me.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He points at my plate with his fork.

  “You put too much food on my plate.”

  “You used to eat double that amount.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Remember the buffet you over-abused in Las Vegas?”

  I remember all too well the buffets and the beds I used to over-abuse with Jack. “I don’t want to talk about the past.”

  “Fair enough. But you’ll have some desert, too.”

  I don’t mind sweets. “Fine.”

  As soon as he finishes his plate and places my food in a box, which I assume will be forced into my hands as take-home, he serves us mango mousse with cream in a large bowl.

  “Eat,” he orders and gives me a spoon. I notice how much he likes ordering me around tonight. I try and lick the spoon long enough for him to notice my performance. He dips his forefinger into the cream and then slides it between my lips. I suck his finger and coat it with my tongue, while watching him close his eyes in a trance.

  Slowly, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “I want to have you in my bedroom.”

  I don’t know whether he’s ordering me to go ahead and get prepared for him in his bedroom or just stating what he’d like to do with me, so I stay still, watching him. But he keeps on eating his mousse. Maybe, I should spread it all over me, then he’ll not be taking it so slowly.

  Even worse, he makes us chamomile tea before leaving the kitchen. He’s way too keen on his stomach. He always has been, actually, if I think about it. But, how does he stay so fit? I haven’t noticed any treadmill or heavy weights around. He must be going regularly to the gym, or maybe having multiple numbers of sex partners is his only work out. Does that mean I’m going to sleep on a bed which was used by several other women?

  Disgusting.

  Perhaps he sees my hesitance and holds my hand for me to follow him into the bedroom. Navy satin bed covers, silver-framed pictures of his family, shelves filled with books and a vase with pink roses. What’s with the roses? Doesn’t really look like a typical bedroom of a single man. Either it’s Adriana’s doing, or he has a secret girlfriend.

  I sit on the bed beside him. He cups my face with his big hands and gives me a soft kiss, nothing like the aggressive, urgent kisses he gave me earlier in the evening. Is he tired already, with just one round? Then, he frees my face and lets me take in his room. A picture of Jack on the nightstand catches my attention. I reach over and grab it. An elderly couple, whom I assume are Adam’s parents, are standing beside Jack, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

  “I didn’t know Jack was close to your parents, too,” I say.

  “They probably loved him better than they loved me.” Adam chuckles. “Story of my life, I guess.”

  “Were you jealous of him?” I eye him as his eyebrows frown.

  “It doesn’t matter if I was jealous of him or not. I loved him like my own brother.”

  “You’re just saying it because it’s me you’re talking to.”

  He shakes his head. “You knew him for two years. I knew him for most of my life. He was one of a kind.”

  He was. He was my one of a kind. I force back the tears that are threatening to make an appearance and place the picture back in its place. “Where are your parents now?”

  “My mother died of lung cancer a few years ago. My father lives in San Francisco with my youngest sisters.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve learned to live with the fact that she’s gone. Life goes on, doesn’t it?” He stares right into my eyes as if trying to make me internalize his words.

  “Have many siblings do you have?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “Four, all sisters.”

  “Wow.” I laugh. “You’re the only brother of four sisters? That must have been hard.” I find it strange that I know almost nothing about him, although he was my husband’s best friend. He managed to keep a certain amount of distance from us, or maybe just from me.

  “It still is.” He smiles, perhaps remembering a private joke.

  His hand reaches for my neck; his smile turns into a lustful expression. His eyes, filled with fire, flick down to my lips, rendering me breathless in a matter of seconds. He kisses the corner of my mouth slowly and gently, as if tasting the food he’d cooked on me, then licks my lips and parts them. His breath is tickling my skin; his hand is forcefully tugging at my hair. I gasp into his mouth as he starts suctioning my lips.

  Yet, there is no hurry in his moves, and he doesn’t neglect to look into my eyes between his kisses, conveying unspoken admiration with those piercing hazel eyes. I’d rather be spoken to straightly. Better yet, called a whore and fucked hard to forget my misery, than to endure this emotional torture. But, I’m not even sure whether his kisses will lead to sex. I didn’t sign up for pitiful, romantic kisses.

  Suddenly, I remember Jack’s picture standing only a few inches away from me, and I free myself from Adam’s grip. He’s frowning, his expression now void of lust and desire. Apparently, the absurdity of Jack staring at us isn’t obvious to him.

  When I start to turn around to put the picture down, he holds my hand and pulls me back to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Jack,” I manage to say, mo
tioning to the picture with my chin.

  He gazes at me, still confused about the source of my discomfort.

  “What’s with Jack?” His eyes shift toward the nightstand and back at me. “Is the picture bothering you?”

  Doesn’t it bother him? I give my head a slight nod.

  He gets up, grabs the picture, and leaves the room with it in his hand. When he comes back, I notice a sly smile playing on his lips. “I’m not fond of my parents watching me in action, either.”

  He positions himself next to me and holds my face between his hands again and continues the torture of slow kissing. I force myself to shut away the thoughts of the sweet sensation Jack’s soft and tender kisses used to give me. They were the assurance and reminder of his true love for me, when I was in doubt of myself and of my life.

  Oh, Lord. Will I ever be able get over Jack?

  Adam’s hand moves down to my neck along with his lips. He caresses and strokes every inch on his way. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, hoping the tears won’t make it out.

  “I want you, Taylor. Only you,” Adam whispers to my ear and starts to run his hands all over my dress.

  Taylor? Taylor belongs with Jack.

  I feel my stomach tighten, as he runs his hand across my chest and his lips move along, violating everything that belongs to Jack. Suddenly, his touches, his lips, his breaths feel too much to deal with. I swallow a heavy sob.

  “I can’t do this.” I shove him away from me and pace toward the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I sit on the floor, cover my face, and pour out my pain through tears. If only the pain will depart my body with the tears, but it only grows more.

  I should have made it clear to him that I couldn’t do it without role playing. I feel dirty all over, and his cologne is still in my nose, making me want to puke. Stashing my dress on the floor, I jump into the Jacuzzi and run the water, with a weak hope that a thorough cleaning will help rid me of this dirty feeling.