by M Never
I only have the strength to respond to him with my pained eyes. What does he see? Is it really me? Who is that person? I wish he could tell me.
With two quick tugs, he frees me, catching me as I fall listlessly
into his arms.
“One more.” He removes the gag and tastes the cherry flavor left lingering on my lips. “One more time for me.” Then out comes the vibrator before he climbs onto the mattress, drawing me with him. “I want to feel how wet you are. I want to feel you with nothing between us.” Jett lays on his back and urges me to sit on his straining cock. It’s a mind-numbing torture. My pussy is so tender yet still ferociously ravenous. I moan, oversexed, lustfully, and loudly as I ride him. The two of us engaging in sheer unadulterated pleasure. The hard feel of his protruding cock strokes my center at the perfect angle, the clamps upping the ante with their erotic pinch. The balls of his piercing aggravating my enflamed tissue.
Jett stretches out beneath me, reaping everything I have to give. “Make me come, baby. Make me fucking come.” Jett looks and sounds like he’s on another planet. I ride him harder, faster, until our cries are deafening. We come together, spasms snapping through our bodies like electric shocks. Currents of galvanizing pleasure continually passing between us, connecting us in a way I never thought possible. Never thought was possible for me.
When the earthquakes finally stop shaking the room, I collapse. Dead, done, gone.
I have been fucked a lot of different ways but never, ever like that.
Jett rolls me over onto my back, my whole universe throbbing. He shoves his tongue down my throat and swallows my suffering sounds as he unclamps my most sensitive parts, caressing each area gently as the blood rushes back to the surface.
I know what’s coming next. The first time he did it, it threw me for a loop.
Once I’m relaxed, Jett hauls me into his arms and cocoons himself around me. He likes to cuddle. I’m sure all night if I’d let him. But I can never sleep after sex, no matter how satisfying. So I usually just listen to him drift off and then sneak out of the room.
I lay next to him, secure in his grasp, trying to process everything that happened tonight. Everything he said. “They can have your body. I’m the one who reigns over your entire being.”
I dissect those words. Is he right? Does he reign over me? He definitely has power, but he called himself a slave. To me? How absurd.
I’m the subservient, the submissive—the slave.
I play with his nipple ring as his shallow intakes of air turn into deep, meditative breaths. He’s completely at peace when he sleeps. What I wouldn’t give to experience that. To close my eyes next to a man and simply fall asleep. I lay next to him for hours, absorbing his serenity. Admiring his soft but masculine features. Perfect bone structure, straight nose, plump lips. He’s the beautiful one. Not me. I’m deformed. Maybe not on the outside, but definitely within.
When I finally become restless, I wiggle out of his grasp. Regardless of how tired my body is, my mind is always on.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” His arm shoots out faster than lightning. “No sneaking away tonight.” He relocks me in an iron hold. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” I protest.
“Yes, you can.”
“Jett, please, I can’t.”
“London, try. I can count on all my fingers and toes the number of hours you’ve actually slept since you moved in to this house.”
“I’m not tired,” I argue.
“Well, I’m not going to let you go lurking around tonight.”
“I don’t lurk,” I pout. “I bake.”
“Potatoe, potato,” he pacifies. “And as much as I like your sugary sweets, I like you right here much better.” He nuzzles his nose in my hair. “Now relax,” he hums seductively. “I’ll chase all your monsters away and be here to love you in the morning.”
Love?
He ignores my tense reaction, continuously purring sweet nothings in my ear.
He really is challenging me on every level tonight.
I reluctantly close my eyes, preparing for my perilous past to invade me.
To combat the distress, I concentrate fiercely on the low drone of Jett’s hypnotic voice. Envisioning every and any kind of innocent image. Kittens and puppies, flowers and butterflies, unicorns and rainbows. The most calming image is a storm. A snowstorm. Lying beneath a continuous snowfall of sparkling flakes. I find my cold and my warmth, welcoming the darkness for the first time in years before slipping slowly into a rich, deep slumber.
“LOOK WHO FINALLY DECIDED TO grace us with his presence,” I hassle Kayne as he walks down the stairs in his tan suit and red dress shirt, both pressed perfectly. “How many times did you change until you finally decided on that outfit?”
“Shut it,” he snaps, concentrating on his phone.
I laugh. It’s just too fucking easy sometimes.
“Are we all ready?” he huffs, irked, by the front door. Oh, someone is testy today. I decided last minute to take all the girls into the city with us. While Kayne attends his quarterly numbers meeting with Marc at Expo, the company who handles all of our imports out of Mexico, the girls could blow off some steam shopping on Lexington Ave. On the flip side of running a high-class brothel, we also have a personal brand of tequila that’s distributed across the country. We needed some kind of base business when we put this whole charade together, so we decided if we had free license to break the law, why not do it in a profitable, flashy, self-serving way. The brothel and the tequila proved to be more lucrative than either of us could have ever imagined.
“Yes, we are all ready. Ladies.” I extend my hand, giving them the green light. Watching them file out the door, I realize someone is missing.
“Kayne, get the girls in the limo,” I yell as I bound up the stairs two at a time.
“Where’s the fire?” Alistair asks as I hurry by him in the hallway.
“Want to avoid midtown traffic”—I spin around as I walk—“and we’re missing someone.”
“Mmm hmm,” I catch his smug reply. If I weren’t in such a rush, I’d bug him about Amber and then see how pompous he is. Those two. Talk about sexual tension. I don’t know what his deal is with her. The girl practically throws herself at him, and he barely gives her the time of day. Well, she used to throw herself at him. She finally took the hint and backed off, and when she did, his attitude toward her completely changed. Make up your mind, dude. Either you want her, or you don’t. There’s no middle ground. Amber doesn’t seem to be having his wishy washy way. She’s cozying up to a client who’s had his sights set on her for a while. I always know when it’s more than just physical attraction. I can sense it instantaneously. And Amber is one girl who is finally due for her happy ending. She’s been here the longest and is one of the most loyal employees I’ve ever had.
Alistair is an idiot in my opinion.
“London?” I knock on her door once I reach it.
“Come in,” her soft voice flits through the wood.
I enter to find her sitting in her usual spot, on the cushioned ledge of the bay window. When she sits there, she really does look like a caged bird, staring wistfully through the glass.
“Everyone is downstairs waiting to leave.” I sit beside her.
She passes me an apologetic look. “Do you mind if I stay behind? I’m not really up for a trip into the city.”
“Are you sure? You’ve barely left the house in three months,” I try to persuade her. “Some fresh air might be good.”
She looks over at me with the saddest eyes to date. Gone is the confident vixen every single one of my clients wants. And the ferocious woman who sets my bed—and my heart—ablaze. The person sitting next to me now is just a girl. A complex, lonely, innocent girl.
I touch her cheek. One day I’m going to uncover all her secrets. Uncover all the heartache that weighs on her and eradicate it.
“Can I bring you anything back?”
&n
bsp; London shakes her head lightly. “I have everything I need right here.”
I’m all you’ll ever need, I want to exclaim, but I play it cool. Emotion floods my chest as I chastely kiss her goodbye.
“Stay out of trouble.”
“I can’t make any promises,” she flirts.
“Don’t give me a reason to punish you,” I threaten playfully.
“I like being punished.” Her cheeks flush.
I love to punish you.
I don’t get the chance to articulate my thought as my name echoes through the house. “JETT!”
Mr. Cranky Pants is ready to leave.
“I’ve gotta go.” I spring up, drop one more kiss on her head, then hurry out the door.
“What’s the issue, man?” Kayne barks as I jog down the stairs.
“Put a cork in it. I was checking on something.”
“You mean someone,” he remarks snidely as we cross the glossy foyer.
“So what if I was? That’s my job.”
“Job, right.” He closes the front door behind us. “You work overtime with that one.”
“So what?” I yank on the driver’s side handle of the black stretch limo.
“So nothing. Just saying.”
“Just saying what? You obviously have an opinion.” I start the car and check on the girls in the rearview mirror. They’ve already popped the champagne and have the music blasting. I close the privacy window and then pull down the half-mile driveway to the main road.
The city isn’t far by any means from the elite suburban New Jersey town we reside in. Twenty-five minutes at the most with no traffic. But it’s eight o’clock on a Friday morning. We’re pretty much screwed.
“My opinion is you have a girlfriend,” Kayne shares passively as he types on his phone.
“London is not my girlfriend.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Kayne, I don’t get the luxury of having a girlfriend.”
“A girlfriend? No. Up until three months ago, you had seven girlfriends. Now, you have one.”
“What are you saying? I’m neglecting my girls?” I ask defensively.
“Not neglecting them per se. Just not fucking them the same way you used to.”
“So because I prefer to fuck one woman over seven that makes her my girlfriend?”
“For you, yes.”
“I find it funny you’re labeling my relationships when you’ve never been in one of your own. How can you make the connection on a subject you know nothing about?”
“Because I’m not an idiot and you’re defensive.”
“I’m not defensive,” I bite.
Kayne snickers. “I may not know a thing about relationships, but I sure as hell know you. And with her, you’re different.”
“I like her. So what?”
“I don’t give two shits if you marry her. Just don’t let your dick get in the way of the mission. Tomorrow, everything changes. The whole dynamic of our household. I don’t want anyone or anything to jeopardize what we’ve been planning. There are lives at stake, Jett.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. I know. I’m fully aware of what’s on the line.”
“I just want to be on the same page.”
“We’re always on the same page.”
“Then don’t let your emotions ruin another assignment.” He just had to slip my past mistakes in there.
“Hey.” I slam my hand on his chest. “That was a low fucking blow. I chose to jeopardize my career because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because a life was at stake. I protected a person I cared about.”
“And you ended up losing her anyway,” he painfully reminds me. “I don’t want to see the past repeat itself.”
“It won’t,” I assure him, annoyed.
Kayne and I drive the rest of the way in silence, with muted pop music and muffled laughter echoing in the background.
We pull up to Expo just past nine.
“Hey,” I call as Kayne slides out of the front seat.
“What?” He slips on a pair of brown aviators.
“Say hi to your sweetheart for me.”
“Fuck you.” He flicks me the finger and then slams the door.
He’s one to bring up girlfriends. He’s been silently stalking Marc’s assistant for a year. Scared shitless to even ask her out. He’s lucky if he can hold a five-minute conversation with her without pissing himself. The man needs to get over his women issues, stat.
I let the girls loose in Bloomingdales with a boatload of cash. That will keep them busy for a while and give me some down time. Not that I really need it. They aren’t half the headache they could be. Kayne alone drives me more crazy than eight vivacious women.
I pull the limo into a nearby lot, pay a small fortune to park, then climb into the backseat. I lay across the leather, close my eyes, and pick apart the past.
How a series of rash decisions brought me to where I am now.
I was a rookie field agent. I didn’t know she was a diplomat’s wife. What kind of high society woman hangs out in a dive bar at two a.m.? This one. She was beautiful, exotic, smart, sexy—everything a hot-blooded young male could ever want. We fell hard and fast, and there was no turning back after that. Even after I found out who she really was, I forgave her transgressions. We continued to sneak around, knowing the price we could both pay. I didn’t care about the costs. I was young and stupid and in love. She was older, worldly, and captivating.
The last few months we were together, her husband started receiving threatening letters, targeting their family. My office was investigating while we were secretly burning up the sheets. Everything surfaced the same fatal night. I was on a protective detail when she called me frantic. She thought someone was following her and was scared to go home. I left my post to find her. I believed I was doing something heroic. Protecting someone I loved. Something I was trained to do. Turns out, I was nailing the coffin in my own career. She was being followed, but not by an adversary. By her husband. He caught wind of our affair and wanted to expose us. And expose us he did. He had set the whole thing up. Conniving bastard.
Once our scandalous relationship surfaced, I faced disciplinary action. And because of the sensitive nature of the diplomat’s relationship with the state (i.e. he had deep pockets and a far reach), I was ultimately fired for misconduct. It was a crushing blow. I never in my wildest dreams believed I would get fired if we were discovered. Reprimanded, yes, but fired, no. In the blink of an eye, I went from having everything—the career I worked tirelessly for, a future laid out, and a beautiful, intelligent woman by my side—to having nothing.
Even if she wasn’t totally mine, we were still making plans. She was going to leave her husband. We were going to get married. Or so she had me believe. When I turned to her in my darkest hour, she turned away. The truth was, she never really loved me. She only loved the things I could do to her. The things I could make her feel.
Young, stupid, and blindly in lust. That’s what I was. Because she could make me feel things, too. She was a match for my sexual prowess, but the emotion was never real, and I figured that out too late. After I lost everything, including her.
My pride took a beating, and I retreated back to the one place I felt safe. Back to the two people who were my home. Alistair and my mother.
They helped me nurse my wounds but never coddled me. I stood back up on my own. And it was fucking hard. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
About a year later, a man in a suit knocked on my door. He handed me a white business card with one word inscribed on it—Endeavor. He said if I wanted a second chance, I should call the number on the back. It was a one-shot deal. Take it or leave it.
Blindly I took it. Jumpstarting my career and sending me in a completely different direction. I was placed on a special task force with this new secretive agency, ordered to recruit soldiers who possessed certain qualities—like apathy for their own and other human lives—train them for black ops mis
sions, and then set them free in the world to see what kind of enemy lines they could infiltrate. One of these recruitments is where I met Kayne, and our fates intertwined.
Speaking of the devil, I mull over what Kayne said. Is London just another Illaya? Am I again wrapped up in a second smothering blanket of blind lust?
I didn’t think so until he questioned me. Now, I’m questioning myself.
But I can’t ignore what’s right in front of me. What my body is telling me. And what my heart is screaming.
Yes, like Illaya, London matches my sexual prowess, but she also matches so much more. Something on a metaphysical level.
It’s almost indescribable.
It doesn’t matter what’s about to begin—or end—one thing will remain the same. Whatever the storm brings, London and I will learn to dance in the rain. There’s no other option because she’s my choice—my today and all my tomorrows.
After I load two tons’ worth of shopping bags into the trunk, I scoop up Kayne from Expo. There is a different air about him when he gets into the car.
“See your girlfriend?”
He clears his throat and tugs on the lapels of his suit jacket, hiding behind his aviators. “Shut the fuck up and drive.”
“You’ve got some red shit in your teeth,” I point out.
Kayne flips down the vanity mirror and inspects his mouth. “Motherfucker.” He scrapes away the food.
I don’t hide my amusement. “Bet she found that real sexy.”
Kayne groans. “It couldn’t have turned her off too much because she asked me to Mark’s party tonight.” There’s a haughty edge to his tone. Very unlike Kayne.
“And are you going?”
“Of course not.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because the last thing I need is a distraction.”
“Chicken.”
“I’m not fucking chicken.”
“Yes, you are. You’re twenty-six and never been on a date in your life.” I can’t see his eyes through the mirrored lenses, but I know he’s glaring at me. Truth hurts, buddy. “I say go. Javier is flying in tomorrow night. It’s game on after that. Don’t miss an opportunity to go after what you want. Even if you only get it for one night. You’ve been pining over that girl for a year. What’s the worst that can happen? You go, have a few drinks, hang out, and maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll let you bang the shit out of her in the bathroom before you leave. Sounds like a good time to me.”