Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  I feel the need to mark my territory, stake my claim. My brother is probably joking and only pushing my buttons, but there is a strong chance that he’s not and, in that case, I need to show him who’s the big dog.

  Big dog? That is so lame. Anyway…

  I grab Delilah closer, crushing her against my chest and claiming her lips in a searing, territorial kiss. It’s more than a kiss. It’s a stamp. She’s mine.

  Matt chuckles and through the corner of my eye, I see him rising.

  “Lucky bastard,” I hear him mutter as he walks away.

  Delilah pushes me away and gives me a stern look. “Did you just piss all over me?”

  I look away. She’s caught on to me. “I just kissed you, Delilah,” I lie.

  “Cut the shit, Ben,” she chides. “I know pissing when I see it. Chuck your little caveman bullshit. It’s not always cute,” she bites out, before leaving me alone in the pool.

  This must be the bitchiness she was referring to earlier. I follow, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her to me.

  “You forget who’s in control, Delilah,” I hiss. “I have been soft with you; one, because you’re with your family; and two, because I need enough time to pass where I think you can fully handle my dominance. Do not mistake my lenience for weakness. Do not cross me.”

  Delilah’s eyes widen and I see her anger and bitchiness retreat. I let her go and timidly, she walks away from me.

  I might need to start reestablishing the lines with us.

  I give Delilah her space, allowing her a few minutes to gather herself – and to calm myself down – and then go in search of her. I find her in our bedroom crying. Concerned, I scoop her into my arms and hold her as she cries into my chest.

  “I’m starry,” she mumbles into my chest, heaving.

  “What?” I pull away from her, using my thumb to flick away her tears.

  “I said I’m sorry,” she repeats. That makes more sense.

  “Why, baby? You don’t need to be sorry. I’m the asshole. You’re right. I was pissing all over you. I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “You were being all possessive and manly and I,” she gasps on a sob, but continues. “I was complete a bitch.”

  “In your defense, you did warn me,” I attempt to lighten the mood and put a smile on that beautiful, crying face. I’m rewarded with a small one.

  “I guess I’m just afraid of losing you and it makes me crazy seeing you with another man, even if the asshole is my brother,” I explain.

  Delilah cups my face and caresses it softly before speaking, “No one can take me from you, Ben. I know I said that you don’t own me, but I was just being temperamental. You do, baby. You own me – body, heart and soul.” She kisses me. “I’m yours.”

  My heart swells. “And I’m yours, my sweet girl, for always.”

  Days go by. It’s my first day back at work and, as Artie has commented, I’m on top of my game; it’s like I never left. What can I say? I’m good at what I do. I love my job and I’m a completely happy man.

  Moody Delilah had been in full effect for the rest of the weekend. We all had dinner that Saturday at an Italian restaurant where Delilah proceeded to snap at the poor waitress that was ogling me and blushing whenever I would smile at her. I smiled smugly at that display of her jealousy and pissing, even though the poor waitress fled from Delilah’s wrath in tears. It was good to know that I wasn’t the only one who got insane when it came to others encroaching on their territory. That shit had gotten me so fucking hard.

  When we had gotten home, she was pissed at me – for what, I didn’t know – and I decided to sleep in the Fulfillment Room, thus, my need to jerk off that night.

  By the middle of the night though, she was curled up in my arms, apologizing profusely and kissing me madly, kick starting my libido but not being able to satisfy it. Naturally, I had to relieve myself…again.

  The next day Delilah decided to introduce her family to First Steps, a center for troubled teens that she had been doing her independent study with. The kids there had missed her, and when the center manager, her direct supervisor, Sarah Lyle had shown her to her old office – that holds a very sexy memory for us – Delilah burst into tears. Inside was like a vigil to her, filled with an outpouring of love and well-wishes in the form of flowers, candles, and cards – everything to make a person feel like they mattered.

  Mrs. Lyle then gave Delilah even better news, offering her a job at the center as soon as she was able to take it. The woman said that no one had ever done such great work with the kids and praised Delilah for making a difference in the teens’ lives.

  What took my breath away is when Delilah looked to me for approval. Shit made me feel like a man. I’d nodded, giving her my blessing, acting calm, cool and collected while she squealed out a yes and hugged her supervisor.

  Inside, I was doing the fucking Crip walk.

  Her mother and father ended up giving the kids an impromptu motivational talk and promised to come back to lend a hand in whatever way they wanted. An idea was formed in my head and heart in that moment. I just needed to sell the idea to Mr. Fields and we’d be in business.

  Delilah’s parents went back to New York the next morning. It was a tearful goodbye for the ladies. Once again, I was warned by Mr. Keyes to take care of his daughter and, as was the case before, that threat wasn’t going to be taken lightly.

  Marshall decided to take a later flight, spending most of the day with Rachel. They still hadn’t defined their relationship, though in my opinion, they needed to if they wanted any chance of happiness, the likes of which I have with Delilah. There is so much more to what they have than simply fucking when they’re in the same area code.

  Surprisingly, Rachel had held it together at the airport, but as soon as Marshall was gone, she fell apart. Delilah decided to keep her company that night, much to my opposition. She’s especially hard-headed when it comes to her best friend.

  I spent that night jacking off, like I had done twice the night before. Mother Nature, I hope you choke and die on a vial of your own menstrual cycle.

  The worst part of her period has been the cramps. I hate seeing her doubled over in pain. Two days of it and I was plotting the best way to kill Mother Nature without the added blood and gore. On the bright side, I learned to use a tampon. Not on myself, of course, but on her.

  Thankfully, today is her third day and the cramps have dissipated drastically. No such luck for her period.

  I’m loving this time with Delilah, though – cramps and all. Who am I kidding? Every moment spent with Delilah is worth it, even if we’re in a room glowering at each other like the stubborn, lovesick fools we are. The best times had been curling up and spooning with Delilah after giving her a warm bath and rubbing her tummy when she was feeling cramps. There was no pretense or toughness with her. No bitchiness. No walls I had to tear down; just a woman needing her man to take care of her.

  Bliss.

  As I reflect on the past few days, a beautiful thought springs into my head…immediately knocked on its ass by the crackling of my intercom and the news that comes with that crackling.

  “Mr. Hayes, there’s a Miss Cartwright downstairs to see you,” my secretary informs me, breaking me out of my reminiscent fog.

  Huh? What would she want? “Send her up,” I instruct her.

  As I sit waiting for Molly, I run through reasons as to why she would want to see me. If she wanted to talk, she could have very well called or texted, even emailed me. Why would she need to see me at work without an appointment?

  Molly is a good friend and all – an even better submissive – but I know if Delilah found out that I’m still seeing her – and worse, that I was with her right after we broke up – she’d have my balls…and not in a good way.

  The familiar floral scent hits me before I see her. Molly always smells so good.

  Fuck me, but she’s hot this morning! I study her from ground up as she steps into the office. She’s wearing nud
e fuck-me peep-toe heels, almost invisible nylons underneath a skin tight black pencil skirt that teases the tops of her knees; and I just know she has garters on underneath. My cock starts to twitch at the thought and I swallow hard. It is all in vain when I see her top; my dick springs to life. Her top is a cream-colored see-through blouse with ruffles that cover her breast region and tapers down to cover her jeweled navel. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, which she knows I’d take joy in unraveling.

  Fuck! I know the kind of talk she has come to have, and whilst it involves those lips that are encased in red lipstick, trust me when I say no business will be spoken.

  “Molly, please…”

  She holds a hand up to quiet me. I quirk an eyebrow at her audacity, reminding her who’s boss and I see a flash of worry shadow her face before she schools her features and straightens her shoulders. This is a Molly I haven’t seen in a very long time. Submissive Molly is easy to control and to bend to my will, but this is Mission Molly. Determined Molly. This is I-get-what-I-damn-well-want Molly. This is not-good-for-my-relationship-with-Delilah Molly.

  She doesn’t say a thing when she reaches in her hair and unravels her long blonde hair. Shit, that is sexy. She fluffs her hair and saunters slowly over to my desk, hitting the button that automatically closes the door. I never should have showed her that button.

  I finally find my voice, “Molly, this is very inappropriate. What the fuck are you doing?” I’m scowling at her now.

  She hikes up her skirt and sits sexily on my desk facing me. I was right, she’s wearing fucking garters.

  I want to adjust myself, but she would see that as a good sign of her seduction and try to make a move. No matter her determination, I must remind her who’s in control. I must remind her of who the dominant is in this relationship…that ended so long ago.

  “You are out of line,” I say through clenched teeth. “If you have come to talk, say your piece and leave.”

  “I miss you, Sir,” she expresses, leaning back and spreading her legs a little wider. Those words falling from her lips stoke a familiar dominance inside me.

  Shit! Be strong, Ben.

  “We are over, Molly.” I grab her legs roughly and close them.

  She gasps and her confidence wanes.

  “Get the fuck off my desk and get out.”

  “But–”

  “No buts!” I snap at her. She gasps and lowers her eyes like I taught her.

  I rise, feeling my anger touch its peak. “Molly, you took this shit to my work,” I breathe then grab her arm so she stands.

  I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I should take you over my fucking knee.” Wrong move.

  Her breath hitches and I watch the pulse at her neck start racing. Her breathing picks up and with every breath she takes, her breasts rub up against me. Not good.

  Grabbing both her wrists in one of my hands, I bring them down to watch the movement of her breasts. One bad decision after the next, I run my free thumb over her nipple and delight when she shudders at my simple touch. Not good.

  Rational thought is slowly escaping me. I’m trying so hard to stop myself, but the little brain in my pants is overriding everything else.

  I spin her around and order through gritted teeth, “Hands on the desk.”

  I know she’s smiling when she slowly places one palm after the other flat on the surface and I slap her for good measure. She yelps in surprise, but sticks her bottom up for more.

  As I inch her skirt up, I realize that under her black lace garters, she’s naked.

  Not…fucking…good!

  “Get out, Molly,” I growl, straightening her clothes and shoving her away. She titters on her heels, crashing down on her ass.

  “Get the fuck away from me and get out, Molly. If you do this again, I will ruin you,” I threaten menacingly.

  Molly’s eyes go wide. She knows I will.

  “Ben,” she whispers, bringing a shaky hand to her lips. “I can’t lose you.”

  “You have,” I answer flatly, still with an angry gleam in my eyes. “Now get out.”

  A sob escapes her lips as she stands and runs to the door trying to open it, but it’s locked.

  She turns an angry glare to me with tears streaming down her face. “Unlock it.”

  I reach over to my desk and unlock the door. Normally, she would have been punished for not saying please, but I’m over it.

  She opens it to leave, but turns to face me once more. “If you think I’m giving up, you’re wrong. I’m in love with you, Ben.” And with that she leaves.

  Slumping in my chair, I realize how much of a mess I’ve just made. I close my eyes and rub at my temples where a headache is forming. I’m an awful person for succumbing to Molly’s wiles. Touching her in the dominant way I did was the wrong way to go about things. This is one big clusterfuck and I don’t know how on Earth I’m going to fix it. In any D/s relationship, meting out punishment to anyone other than the one you’re with is a betrayal. I’ve fucked up.

  To tell or not to tell Delilah, that is the question.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  I avoid everyone for the rest of the day. Too angry at myself to eat, I dive head first into work. By the time my day finishes at 6:30 in the evening, I’m exhausted.

  I had spoken to Delilah briefly in the afternoon, her chipper voice washing guilt all over me. She had said she missed me and that I should have a productive rest of the day. She was so sweet and oblivious causing the guilt to rise to my neck, choking me.

  And if that wasn’t enough, Molly kept calling. She sent me a picture of her wet pussy, which got my heart and dick pounding, which had resulted in me sailing my cell into the wall, shattering it.

  So, officially, I have no cell phone…which is why I’m now driving around the city like someone who’s lost his shadow.

  Instead of going straight home, I am trying to clear my head. I can’t tell Delilah what I’ve done, not after she’s finally told me she loves me, but I do need to tell someone.

  Somehow, I find myself in front of Marcus’s club. Yes, a gentleman’s club, among other things. Double fuck-up.

  Allure is a five story, renovated warehouse. The first and second floors are dance clubs with fully stocked bars. The third floor is where the madness begins. This floor houses a membership-only female strip club, also with a fully furnished bar and the fourth floor houses the membership-only male strip club with a fully furnished bar. Only the elite boast membership here, and membership is astounding.

  In the event that you’re a great customer, you get your membership upgraded to sex club status with access to the escort service. The sex club is located in the large expanse of room on the basement level. This floor is also popularly used and has a myriad of rooms for private and voyeuristic play; as well as a dungeon for those extreme BDSM enthusiasts. We cater to as many kinks or sexual appetites as we can that are legal. Patrons pay for discretion and that is what they get with us; thus the…allure.

  As one of five shareholders (the others being Matt, Marcus’s father, Marcus’s wife and Marcus himself), my membership is free; but, tonight, I don’t wish to participate in the festivities.

  “Oh, Mr. Hayes, I was hoping you’d come back for more,” the petite blonde with the alias, Darla Dallas chirps when she spots me on the third floor.

  A few months ago I’d fucked her in a hotel. She was a lousy lay, but she thought I was a God. Never went back for seconds and I don’t plan to.

  “Not tonight, Darla,” I dismiss her, sliding onto a stool at the bar.

  Darla is up against me in a flash, rubbing her pasty-covered nipples on my biceps.

  “Come on, Mr. Hayes. You know I can make it worth your while,” she tries to convince me, running a hand across my chest.

  I almost laugh. I highly doubt that, honey.

  “Not tonight,” I persist, plucking her roaming hands away with my index finger and thumb.

  She huffs and gives up, sashaying away from me. I coul
dn’t care less if she is upset. No way am I going to mess up more than I already have.

  I order a Jack straight up and down it in a swift gulp, welcoming the burn.

  “I haven’t seen your white ass in here in two months, bro,” I hear Marcus comment behind me.

  I turn to face him and he’s smiling. I can honestly say that Marcus is one of my oldest and closest friends. More than even my brother, he knows me.

  “I need someone to talk to,” I tell him in a grave tone.

  His smile disappears, replaced with genuine concern. Marcus is usually the comedian, quick to diffuse a situation with comedy, but when it comes to business and personal matters, he is always serious. Two things you don’t mess with: his family – and if you’re lucky, you are one of those he considers family – and his business. If you don’t wish to see an angry black man, don’t mess with him that way.

  “We can go up to the fifth,” he suggests and I nod, following him to the elevator.

  The fifth floor is where all business is done and meetings are held. When we step out of the lift, we enter the warm space of his business headquarters. The decor is simple, but very business-like, with a mixture of browns, blacks, whites and creams. Paintings are hung in various places and plants are stashed in various corners, giving the space an inviting boost.

  I follow Marcus into an office and there’s a woman behind a desk with her face scrunched up looking at a computer screen. Marcus reaches into his jacket and pulls out a large envelope and hands it to the woman. I recognize her now as she tears her focus away from the computer screen. She looks up at Marcus, taking the envelope, but immediately notices me. It’s Marlie, his operations manager – or assistant pimp – and a great fuck.

  She looks at me with her pretty blue eyes and blushes in – what I hope is – remembered bliss. I had kept the honey blonde around for a month, just about a year and a half ago. She wasn’t the best submissive, but she was a treat in bed. In the end, she didn’t satisfy what I thought were my tastes at the time and we parted ways amicably. She still wants me, though, this much I know.