by Shandi Boyes
“Hey. Sorry it took me so long. I got lost.” I don’t know why I lie. It just came out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Cleo?” Dexter peers at me like I am a ghost. I understand the look he is giving me as I just wasted twenty minutes I’ll never get back chasing a ghost. Perhaps that's why I lied to Dexter? As it wasn’t an utter lie? I did get lost—chasing pipedreams. “I thought you’d left. That I pushed you too hard, and you decided to leave.”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. I place my clutch on the bar before facing him. “What you said hurt, but it was true. See?” I brush my hand down my naked neck.
The dark gleam in Dexter’s eyes clears away as he drinks in my bare neck. “It’s gone,” he murmurs, running the backs of his fingers down my neck.
“Yes,” I answer, barely choking back a sob.
Dexter’s glassy gaze bounces between mine. “You’re free of him!”
It's the fight of my life not to lower my hand to the non-existent bump in my stomach. What Dexter said is a lie. My baby guarantees I’ll never be fully free of Marcus. But with time, and assistance from my family and friends, I’ll eventually be okay with that. I hope.
“I’m so proud of you, Cleo.”
When Dexter leans in to place a kiss on my lips, I crank my neck to the side, forcing his lips to land on my cheek. Dexter doesn’t protest my snub of his contact. I don’t know if it's because he’s encircled by women fluttering their excessively long lashes and pursing their lips as they strive for his attention, or because he is too drunk to notice it. Either way, I’m glad to have dodged another bullet directed at me tonight.
“Come on, we better work off some of this whiskey lacing your veins before you end up in bed with Meeka from Classifieds,” I mumble, helping Dexter from his chair.
“What’s wrong with Meeka?” he answers, winking suggestively at Meeka, who is giving him kissy gaga faces.
I curl my arm around his waist and guide him to the dance floor. My initial thoughts about his intoxication ring true when he sways and stumbles with every step we take. “One, she’s married. Two, she’s married. And, three—”
“She’s married?” Dexter chimes in.
“Bingo.”
Dexter laughs, forcing the flock of women circling him to hover closer.
“If you laugh again, you’re on your own, Mister.”
Dexter hiccups. “Mister, hey? I like the sound of that.”
It takes nearly an hour of dancing before the excessive alcohol Dexter consumed burns off. You’d think dancing someone back to sobriety would be a torturous endeavor, but it has actually been a lot of fun. For once, I just let go. I shimmy and shake my caboose without a concern in the world, realizing that no matter what I do, or how well I behave, it won’t change people’s opinions of me.
Even before I precariously tiptoed into the world of BDSM, I was ridiculed and mocked by people I thought were better than me. Only now do I know that nothing will alter people’s desires to ridicule one another. We live in a world full of judgmental people who speak before they consider how their mockery will be absorbed by the person they are taunting. It's unfortunate, but true.
“I need a drink,” I shout, ensuring Dexter can hear me over the music booming out of the speakers hanging above our heads.
Dexter’s eyes bounce between mine. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine. Do you want some water?”
When he cups his ear, signaling he can’t hear me, I move in closer. “Do you want some water?”
“I’d rather have whiskey, but if water is all you’re offering, I guess I’ll take it.” His husky voice sends a flurry of goosebumps racing to the surface of my skin. Although his lips brushed the shell of my ear with every word he spoke, I’m still shocked by my body’s response. My body has only ever reacted like this with one man—that man isn’t Dexter.
Since I’m numb and in a trance of confusion, I don’t notice the rapid advancement of Dexter’s lips until it's too late. His kiss is brief—only swift enough for his tongue to slide halfway across my mouth—but long enough to consume me with horrid grief.
Yanking back, I muster a fake smile on my now whiskey-scented lips. “Water. I’ll be straight back.”
I pivot on my heels. Not trusting my stomach, which is flipping with unwarranted guilt, I race for the washroom instead of the bar. When my black pumps step off the makeshift floor, the reasoning behind my body’s peculiar response to Dexter’s closeness comes to fruition. Marcus is standing at the edge of the dance floor with his heavy-hooded gaze firmly rapt on me. He is wearing an impeccably tailored suit that showcases every perfect ridge of his mouthwatering body. The dark circles around his alluring eyes display his sleep the past two weeks has been as lacking as mine, but he is still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
My brain signals for me to look away before I get stuck in a trance by his tempting eyes, but it’s too late. I’m frozen, dazed by the thick sentiment firing the air with heat. The tension bristling between us is so hot, it hisses and crackles over the loud roar of guests mingling between us. It switches my flipping-with-unease stomach to somersaulting-with-excitement.
I can’t believe even after weeks of absence, the attraction between us is still so intense. It feels like we stepped back in time, back to the night we officially met. God—what I’d give to go back to that day. To forget the furious storm raging between us—to fix the mistakes I made.
The pleas to forget the world around us fall on deaf ears when a polished blonde intimately drapes her arm over Marcus’s broad shoulders—a blonde who looks remarkably identical to Keira in every way.
When Keira snootily glances into my eyes while whispering in Marcus’s ear, I grit my teeth, then spin to face the opposite direction. She looks so cozy with him, like they are perfect for one another.
After breathing out my despair, I head back to Dexter. The anger boiling my blood has made quick work of the nausea twisting my stomach, meaning I no longer need to use the washroom.
“We need to leave,” I tell Dexter, stopping at his side.
Dexter stops dancing with a curvy brunette. The angry glare she is directing at me extinguishes when I say, “I need to leave. Thank you for tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Before I get two steps away, Dexter grips my elbow and pulls me backward. The more his worried gaze roams my face, the closer his brows stitch together. Seemingly reading the blatant fury pumping out of me for what it is, he lifts his eyes in the direction I came from. His jaw gains a quiver when he spots the cause of my sudden fury.
He returns his eyes to me. “If you leave now, you’re letting them win.”
“No,” I deny, shaking my head. “If I leave now, I’m letting them live,” I snarl through clenched teeth.
The unnamed brunette waiting for the return of Dexter’s attention snickers over my bitchy remark. I’m glad she can see the humor in my situation. I am anything but amused.
A girly squeal topples from my lips when Dexter bands his arms around my back and unexpectedly dips me. Dizziness clusters in my brain just as quickly as confusion clouds me.
He flips me back up while saying, “You want him to feel what you’re feeling? Give him a taste of his own medicine.”
He plasters his body to mine, allowing me to feel every inch of him—every inch. He draws me in so vigorously, we share the same breath. He grinds his pelvis against mine, his moves as surprisingly fluid as his fighting skills.
While feeling the heat of Marcus’s gaze scorching my skin, I close my eyes and meet Dexter’s dance moves step for step. We move together glibly, like two people who know each other intimately well.
I don’t know how much time passes before I lose the heat of Marcus’s gaze. It's long enough for my thirst to become dire, but not long enough for my anger to be fully subdued.
When my eyes slowly flutter open, I inconspicuously scan them around my surroundings. Marcus is nowhere in sight.<
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My eyes stray back to Dexter. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you’ve played these games before.”
He doesn’t agree or dismiss my claims; he merely smirks before guiding me off the dance floor so I can satiate my parched throat. While unscrewing a bottle of water, Dexter peers past my shoulder. The color of his overheated cheeks drains to the soles of his shoes as his throat works hard to swallow. I glance over my shoulder, seeking the person who has caused his gaunt appearance. My first thought is it must be Marcus, but I soon realize that his peacock feathers fan out whenever Marcus is in his presence—they don’t cower away.
Unable to spot the cause of Dexter’s worry, I drift my heavy-lidded gaze back to him. I forgot how tiring dancing can be. I’m truly exhausted. His eyes frolic between mine for several moments before he asks, “Will you be okay if I leave you here for a minute? I’ve just seen someone from a past life I’d like to buy a drink for.”
“Sure,” I reply, placing my half-guzzled bottle of water on the counter.
Relieved by my agreeing gesture, Dexter presses a quick kiss to my cheek before ambling in the direction he was looking.
When I return my baffled gaze to the bar, I notice he has left his wallet on the counter. “Dexter, you forgot your wallet.”
I twist my torso to face him. I can’t pinpoint him in the sea of black. “It’s a little hard to buy someone a drink without any money,” I mumble to myself.
After using my crumpled-up twenty-dollar note to pay for my and Dexter’s water, I push off my feet and head in the direction he went. There are only two bars in the room, so he couldn’t have gone far.
My unsteady pace grows more wobbly when my elbow is suddenly clasped and I’m dragged into a room concealed by a thick curtain. My screams are cut off when a hand clamps over my gaped mouth, stealing my pleas for help.
As quickly as my panic rises, so does my anger. Not only do I recognize the scent of the man accosting me, my body is also activating with primitive awareness of its mate. Marcus.
I attempt to spin around to face him. His clutch on my hips firms, foiling my endeavor. My spine straightens when he burrows his nose into my hair and inhales deeply.
“God, I’ve missed your smell.”
The scent of hard liquor filters through my nose, displaying he is heavily intoxicated.
“Let me go,” I sneer, my words choppy, clogged by the inane lust curled around my throat.
I’m appalled by my body’s reaction to his meekest touch. He is only conversing with me as he is drunk, yet I’m clammy and hot, and don’t even get me started on the improper thoughts running through my mind.
Marcus complies with my request by loosening his grip on my right hip, but instead of dropping his hand to his side, he slides it up the planes of my quivering stomach before cupping it around my breast. My disloyal nipples bud, adoring his touch after weeks of absence.
“Don’t.” My one word is barely audible since it was forced out of my mouth against my body’s wishes.
“You know what to say if you truly want me to stop,” Marcus murmurs into my ear before he places a peppering of kisses down my neck.
“I don’t need a safe word, remember? I’m not your sub.”
My knees shake when he rolls my nipple between his thumb and index finger. His pinch isn’t overly painful, but my body responds as if it is. When he twists them for a second time, this time more firmly than the first, my clutch and Dexter’s wallet falls to the floor with a clatter.
“Always so responsive,” Marcus mutters, revealing he is aware of my body’s silent pleasure in his meekest touch.
As his fingers uncoil the tight weaves of my braid, his lips glide down my exposed neck. My core spasms when he sinks his teeth ever so slowly into my shoulder. My nostrils flare as I fight with all my might not to give any indication to the fire raging in my stomach. I can’t believe how treasonous my body is. I am boiling with unbridled anger and lust at the same time. How is that even possible?
I yank away from Marcus, sickened that I’ve become so lust-crazed I’ve lost all my morals. He splays his hand across my stomach and yanks me back. I shamefully moan when our rough collision allows me to feel how aroused he is. His cock is thick and long, straining against the zipper of his trousers, dying to break free.
“You seem to have a dilemma. Do you want me to fetch Keira for you?” I viciously snarl, my words doused with so much jealousy they’re drowning in it.
“Why would I want Keira when everything I need is right in front of me?” My breathing turns manic when his hand splayed on my left hip drops to my aching sex. “You’re saturated, and no matter what you say, I know every drop of this goodness is for me. Your pussy doesn’t ache with need when he grinds up against it; your neck doesn’t flush when his lips brush past it, and your heart doesn’t race at triple the speed when he walks into the room. Those prompts of your body belong to me. They’ve always belonged to me. They’ll always belong to me.” He growls out his last sentence in a thick and raspy groan.
I remain quiet, incapable of denying his egotistical remark since every word he spoke was true. Even when Dexter kissed me, my body didn’t react with a tenth of the intensity it did when Marcus clutched my elbow. Marcus owns my body—and he knows it.
“Stop,” I plead through a quiver when he slips my panties to the side so he can run his finger through the folds of my soaked sex.
“No,” he mutters into my ear, his one word sharp and precise. “That’s not the right word.”
A wave of excitement rolls over my stomach when he slips his finger inside me. I mew, overwhelmed and heightened beyond belief. My pussy ripples around his stationary digit, encouraging the continued defiance of my adulterous body.
“Tell me what you want, Cleo,” Marcus commands. His hot breath hitting my neck causes a smattering of goosebumps to form in its wake.
I remain quiet, too conflicted to form a response. After the two weeks I’ve endured, I should be demanding for him to release me from his clutch this instant. I should be marching out of this room and announcing I’m perfectly fine living my life without him in it. I should be doing anything but whispering, “I want you.”
Marcus growls, pleased by my response. His husky groan sends my libido into overdrive. I’m panting and hot, crazed by an emotion like no other: the desire to be loved.
A cluster of dizziness rushes to my head, making me giddy, when he suddenly spins me around. Any concerns of me crashing to the ground are a forgotten memory when he cups his hands around my thighs to band my legs around his waist. My back braces against one of the many shelves lining the small room we are cavorting in. Leaning me back, he lowers the zipper of his trousers.
While he frees his hard cock from his trousers, I pry open the buttons of his dress shirt to expose the rippled abs and firm pecs I’ve missed ogling the past two weeks. Our movements are frantic—almost possessive. I feel like I’m drunk, even though I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in weeks.
With his eyes locked on mine, he snaps my panties off my body and pockets them in his trousers, which are hanging dangerously off his hips. I throw my head back and moan in delight when he impales me with one ardent thrust. The pain of taking a man his size without preparation is excruciating, but I welcome the pain—I relish it.
I claw at his back with my nails as he pumps in and out of me at a furious speed. My pussy adores every crazed thrust, meeting him grind for grind. I use the sturdy shelving as a tether to keep me upright so I can slam down on his barely exposed cock over and over again. We are fucking so manically, industrial products topple off the shelves I’m braced against, landing around Marcus’s feet.
He rolls his hips with every precise thrust of his magnificent cock, ensuring his pelvic bone stimulates my throbbing-with-desire clit. The sensation is overwhelming—unlike anything I’ve experienced. I moan on repeat, incapable of caring if anyone can hear me. I’ve wanted this for weeks, so I’m not going to let anything stop me
from cherishing every perfect sound.
A brutal tidal wave crests at my stomach before plunging into my tightened coil. I can feel my orgasm growing, and growing, and growing until it reaches a point I can no longer hold it back.
“Give it to me, Cleo,” Marcus demands, showing he is as intuitive with my body as ever.
My eyes snap shut as I quiver and shake. I grunt a string of indecipherable words, loving that we’ve reached this stage of our exchange without any additional stimulation needed. When the exhausting shudders wreaking havoc with my body fade, I tighten the walls of my vagina around Marcus’s densely veined cock, begging for the heat of his spawn, wanting him as unraveled as me.
He thrusts into me another four times before answering the silent pleas of my body. He stills as the hotness of his cum roars out of him in raring spurts. With his eyes tightly shut, he growls my name in a feral grunt, pushing me into my second climax—this one more powerful than the first. I clench the walls of my pussy around him, graciously milking every drop of his cum as I shout his name on repeat.
After coating the walls of my throbbing sex with his cum, Marcus opens and locks his eyes with me. He rests his sweat-drenched forehead on mine as his beautifully tormented gaze bounces between my lust-crammed eyes.
After reviving my heart with nothing more than an amorous glance, he carefully places me back on my feet. I brace against the shelves since my legs are wobbling like Jell-O on a plate. We remain quiet for several moments, struggling to regain our breath.
After curling a piece of my wild hair around his finger, Marcus bends down to gather his trousers, which are furled around his shoe-covered feet. My bottom lip slumps into a pout when he tucks his cock, still firm and glistening with my arousal, back into his boxer shorts. Air snags in my throat when he returns his eyes to me; they appear more haunted than mere minutes ago. I pant, panicked he is already regretting his decision.
My knees curve inwards as his index finger gathers the moisture my full-to-the-brim pussy couldn’t contain. With his wide gaze dancing between the hum of activity outside and me, he drags his cum-covered finger across my neck. I remain still, motionless and in shock when he follows the same routine another two times.