Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  “Ben,” she whispers, running her hands through my hair the way I like. Sure, I spent almost half an hour on my hair trying to get it perfect, but nothing beats Delilah’s fingers in it. There’s just something soothing about them running through the strands, massaging my scalp. Did I just purr?

  “Baby,” she whispers, trying to cease my wandering lips that are inching closer to her breasts so sexily covered by this amazing fucking dress.

  In an attempt to get my attention, she grabs onto the tendrils of my hair and yanks them, earning her a seductive groan from the back of my throat. I am hard and lust-filled right now, and that little hair action did nothing to assuage my desire for her.

  “Ben, if we keep this up,” she speaks as she brings my face to hers. “Focus, baby. If we keep this up, we won’t make it to the gala.”

  I groan in response, knowing she’s right. Already I can see her with her dress bunched up around her waist, her panties ripped and lying forgotten on the floor, her legs spread wide as she takes every blessed inch of me. Okay, that visual is not helping in the least bit.

  “Let’s go before we ’86 this damn gala. Because, Lord knows, with the thoughts running through my head, we might not make it. I’m having very vivid thoughts of you tied up in beautiful knots,” I say in rush before grabbing her hand and rushing through the doors.

  This is going to be a long night.

  Delilah is in her usual charming, social element at the fundraiser. I worry that she’ll endure a panic attack as Artie takes her around introducing her to various people; but, she seems to be winning them all over.

  Watching her from afar brings me great joy and leaves me in awe of her beauty and grace. I have never been so happy and I resolve to stay this happy for the rest of my life…with her. A frisson of excitement bubbles up inside me and I take a swig of my champagne to hide the face-splitting grin that now delights my lips.

  “She really is beautiful,” a familiar voice says behind me. Her voice is like that of a snake and with it so soft, I can’t help but scowl as Molly steps into my line of sight.

  “That she is,” I respond flatly, not taking my eyes off Delilah.

  “Arthur seems to like her a lot,” she states, the obvious.

  I’m getting annoyed. Talk about bad timing. I know Delilah hates her and I don’t want her to see us talking, least of all for her to find out about Molly and me during the time that we broke up, least of all what happened between us just a few days earlier. That’s just drama I don’t want to deal with, and Delilah has come around wonderfully, I don’t want her to regress.

  “What do you want, Molly?” I ask, exasperated.

  She smiles an indulgent smile, knowing I am annoyed by her seemingly friendly tone. Molly may be submissive, but when she wants something, she can be very ruthless, cunning, and conniving. That was how she and I came to be together.

  “Just assessing my competition,” she answers offhandedly. “Does she know about us?” she shoots, smiling cunningly. “About the other night?”

  I blanch. “God, no, Molly,” I answer, irritation potent in my tone. “And I would appreciate it if you don’t say anything more about it.”

  “Shouldn’t your relationship be founded on honesty?” she circles me like a vulture. “I think it’s only right that she knows about the woman who can fulfill your needs,” she says slyly, hoarsely, stopping inches from my face.

  My anger rises and I have to remind myself that I am in public. “Stay the fuck away from her,” I seethe softly so only she can hear.

  “I mean it, Molly. Stay…away.” I grab her wrist roughly and squeeze.

  She gasps at my angered touch and her cheeks blossom red. My dominant touch did nothing more than fan her flames. Molly stares down at her wrist in my hold and I can feel her pulse quickening, even as she parts her lips and runs her tongue over them.

  The erotic action doesn’t entice me in the slightest. I remember who I was before and I thank God that I found the one person who balances me out. Delilah might not be submissive, but what she gives me in the form of submission – for someone who is not used to submitting – is priceless and I will honor her love for me.

  My fingers loosen around Molly’s wrist and I’m about to let her go when I feel Delilah approaching. The hairs on the back of my neck raise and my heart rate spikes…and shit, I’m still holding onto Molly.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Delilah greets me, snaking her hands around my waist as she reaches me.

  My hand falls away from Molly’s and I wrap my hand around Delilah’s waist as well, clutching her close to me. She kisses me on the cheek, but I feel her focus shift to Molly who gives her a wry smile as she sips her champagne. The claws are out for both women and all I can do is stand and watch dumbly.

  “And you are?” Delilah asks Molly. She knows very well who this is. Blondie.

  “Molly Cartwright,” she says, extending her tanned, manicured hand. “Ben’s very close friend.”

  I scowl at Molly, ready to dismiss her once and for all, when I feel Delilah squeeze me. Glancing over at Delilah, I see her regarding the other woman coolly. A small but chilling smile tugs at the corners of her lips and I can imagine Delilah thinking up ways she can slice Blondie up and dispose of her body permanently.

  “Hmm,” Delilah mumbles thoughtfully. “And here was I thinking that your name was Blondie. My apologies, Holly.”

  I smirk at that. Delilah staking her claim on me is so fucking sexy.

  “Molly,” the woman corrects, smiling. “What name are you using today?”

  “Any name that’s easier for Ben to scream when we’re in bed tonight,” Delilah answers politely, no hint of sarcasm anywhere. Oh, my sweet girl is good. She can handle her own against vipers and bitches.

  Molly is silent. She opens her mouth to say something, but shuts it – wisely, I think – and scowls at Delilah.

  “Molly, friendship is relative. Do remember that,” I say to Molly, finally finding my voice.

  Hugging Delilah closer to my side, I am knocked off balance by the look Delilah gives me. It’s one of adoration and triumph. I kiss her reverently and she caresses my cheek in a similar fashion. Through the corner of my eye, I see Molly standing stunned, watching us both.

  We pull apart and Delilah wipes the moisture from my lips and I nip at the pad of her thumb. We’re just about to say our goodbyes to Molly, when a man comes to join us.

  “Delilah?” The man says, obviously recognizing my sweet girl. I clutch her tighter, on high alert.

  He steps around to face her. “Those eyes,” he muses. “It is you.”

  I look over at Delilah whose face is now ashen. Her pupils almost lose their color as she stares at this man whom she supposedly knows. What’s more, she’s trembling in my grasp, but doesn’t say anything.

  The man is tall, broad shouldered, with salt and pepper hair. He has a mole on his cheek and a Johnny Depp moustache and goatee with silver streaks in his beard. The man smells of money and power. He looks familiar, but something about his eyes and the way he eyes Delilah sends off a shady vibe.

  “Uh, Ben Hayes,” I introduce myself to break the awkward tension.

  The man’s eyes finally leave Delilah and I see that they’re twinkling almost. Maybe they have some kind of history. She did say that she was a gold digger. Maybe this man is one of those men she’d swindled. Suddenly, I don’t care to know who he is to her; I feel the urge to protect her.

  “The name’s Maximillian Trace,” he announces, taking my extended hand and giving me a clammy handshake.

  “But you can call me Max. I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Hayes,” the man goes on to say. “You’re a bright young man in the world of business and economics. I, too, am in the business world, but maybe you’ve never heard of me.”

  “Trace Business Solutions.” Realization of who he is dawns on me.

  His family is big in the consultation business in New York. He took over his father’s company after he died and i
t skyrocketed. I should be in awe, but I’m not. Something about the man just rubs me the wrong way.

  “Ah, so I am a little famous,” he muses, chuckling. “Maybe we can trade business advice, with you being the face and brains of Fielding House and all, I could learn much from you.”

  I give him a cautious smile, but my eyes have narrowed on the power broker in front of me. Trade business advice? Right.

  Max turns his attention to Delilah and his smile widens, his eyes glossing over with…desire?

  “So, baby, how do you two know each other?” I ask, and I don’t know if it’s possible but I hold her tighter.

  She turns nervously to face me, breaking her unfocused and stunned gaze away from Max.

  “I knew her when she was just a girl. She was beautiful even then. Grown up, though…” He makes a satisfied sound in his throat, not meant to be heard, but I do hear it.

  He’s stroking the rim of his champagne flute and eyeing Delilah appreciatively, hungrily, and I want to deck the fucker for making my sweet girl uncomfortable and for not respecting the fact that I’m standing right here – right here! – with my arm around her waist. I’ve decided I really don’t like this Max guy.

  Just as I am about to make an excuse to leave, I hear her finally speak, her voice soft and timid. “What are you doing here?” I have never heard her less than sure of herself and I suspect that Max is the reason.

  “I’m here to support a worthy cause, Red Riding Hood,” he answers silkily.

  “Don’t call me that!” Delilah spits and she’s vibrating with suppressed anger. Her hands ball into fists and I’m happy she has gotten her spunk back. That need to protect her overrides and I grasp her hand in mine.

  “I think you’ve made my girlfriend uncomfortable, Mr. Trace,” I say coolly, trying to restrain my rising anger.

  “Girlfriend?” He stares between us, like he is only just realizing that we are holding onto each other, then cocks his head to the side, appraising Delilah with a smirk.

  I’ve had just about enough of this old prick. “Listen, Mr. Trace…”

  “Max, please.” This fucker is smooth and relentless.

  “Mr. Trace,” I insist, restraint slipping by the second. “It’s best if you…”

  “Mr. Trace, Molly Cartwright,” Molly interrupts and I am now reminded of her presence and aware of the fact that she has witnessed this rather strange exchange.

  Max reluctantly tears his gaze away from Delilah and extends his hand to Molly.

  “Very nice to meet you, Miss Cartwright. Aren’t you a lovely specimen?” Max compliments, looking her up and down. I relax a little at the fact that this man seems to be a horn dog and partially forgive him for making Delilah uncomfortable.

  “Would you like to dance, Mr. Trace?” Molly asks, batting her long lashes.

  She’s in her element. Molly knows how to distract business men, to talk them up, and to persuade them. Maybe that’s why her father made her Public Relations Manager at the family’s PR firm.

  “Dance with a beautiful woman?” Max purrs, glancing at Delilah before returning his attention to Molly. “How can I resist?”

  He takes her hand and kisses it, then whisks her onto the dance floor. He turns gleaming eyes to Delilah one last time and smirks at her. She shudders in my grasp and turns her face away. He laughs and turns his attention to Molly, pleased with himself for making Delilah uncomfortable. Scumbag.

  Molly turns back to look at me and I mouth a thank you to her. She flashes a you owe me smirk and turns back to Max. Yet another thing to deal with. I’m going to have to deal with the Molly situation and come clean before she uses her “thoughtfulness” to break up me and Delilah.

  But it won’t be tonight. There are things to be known and Delilah will tell me. I won’t stay in the dark anymore. This man threatened her and if I am to protect her, I need to know everything.

  Delilah visibly relaxes, but her hands are still shaking even as she squeezes my hand as though she is hanging on for dear life. I loosen her tight grip and turn to her.

  “Are you okay, baby?” I cup her face in my hands and stare at her intently.

  The deep brown of her eyes is slowly returning. She was obviously freaked out by that encounter.

  She nods quickly, but I don’t believe her, especially with her eyes now brimming with tears.

  I drop my hands from her face, ticking with anger and start walking off toward Max and Molly. What I’m going to do to him, I’m not sure; but all I know is it involves violence and lots of it.

  “No, Ben.” She stops me. I’m watching Max and he’s whispering in Molly’s ear and I can only imagine what he’s telling her.

  Molly looks up and sees me and smirks a little. She says something to Max, nods and he peers over his shoulder at me. Then they both saunter off the dance floor. I am even more suspicious when I see them ushering a former acquaintance of my father, Fletcher Colfax, out onto the terrace. Molly turns to look at me again with a devilish gleam in her eyes; the same gleam she has when she wants to get spanked. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what they’ll be doing.

  Poor girl. She’s trying to make me jealous, but that ship has sailed long ago.

  “Let’s just go, Ben,” she pleads, cupping my face and diverting my attention. Her hands are cold and still shaking.

  I look at Delilah and my urge to protect her surges to the forefront of my mind.

  “I’ll go tell Artie that we’re leaving. Stay right here, Delilah. Don’t move,” I order her, both for my peace of mind and for her safety.

  I don’t like this at all. I need to get some answers from her. I can’t protect her if I don’t know what I’m up against and, as far as I see her reactions to this man, I’m up against a lot. How much, I don’t know. But something tells me I’ll find out soon enough.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Delilah

  He’s here. Oh, my God! How did he find me? Seeing Max tonight has confirmed my worst fears that I had indeed seen him that day when the paparazzi descended like vultures.

  I have tried so hard to leave that part of my life in the past where it belongs. Why can’t it just stay buried? Why couldn’t he?

  And he used that god-awful name, the name I hated with every fiber of my being, a name that he used to debase me as a child.

  Horrible memories of his hands all over an eight year old me pop unbidden into my mind and I shiver from the revulsion of them. Even before there was a Rick, there was an Uncle Max, the man that lusted after a child and never stopped until he got his way. Rick might have broken me once, but Max was the only one who ruined all that was innocent about me.

  There is a reason I didn’t want to talk about my birth mother a few nights ago when Ben had asked me; because any memory I have of her almost always includes Max. She had used me, pimped me out in order to feed her drug habit. Max was her boyfriend and her number one customer.

  I lived a real life nightmare for two years of my life, in a prison that bound me physically and mentally, before I escaped, and I’m never going back to that; but Max’s resurgence NOW* has my emotions in a tailspin. The only way to free myself of this lockdown is to come clean to Ben, but that is already hard.

  Dr. Munroe insists that I let him in, and I want to, but my life has been such a mess that I’m sure the fullness of it will scare him off. Now, though, I have no choice. I’m gonna have to tell him about Max.

  The thought terrifies me.

  As I hold on to Ben in the back of the limo, my mind races. I am lost in memories that assault me from every angle and closing my eyes only make them more vivid. The only thing centering me is the heat I feel from Ben’s body and the protection I feel just from his touch. He wants to know about Max, but I haven’t even wrapped my mind around all I want to say to him.

  So I shake my head, delaying the inevitable.

  Ben

  Delilah refuses to say anything further, other than she knew Max when she was younger.

/>   The entire limo ride home is tense, though she snuggled and clutched me tight the entire journey. Something was up with her and no matter how I begged and pleaded, she would say nothing.

  As soon as we enter the house, though, Delilah is all over me, tearing at my tie in an attempt to loosen it. She smashes her lips against mine, her tongue not even begging for entry, but pushing my lips apart and delving inside. She tastes of champagne and I can feel her lust. It is a diversion and I know it; I know her.

  I rip her away from me and she kicks off her heels, already frantically slipping off the strap of her dress.

  “What are you doing, Delilah?” I ask her softly.

  “I need it, Ben,” she answers, a tremor in her voice. She is fighting with the zipper at her back, not looking at me. “I need the Fulfillment Room.”

  I stare at her and my heart breaks for her. She is really shaken up. I hate to see her like this: not strong, not in control.

  “Look at me,” I implore her.

  “Please, Ben, I need the cane,” she begs, letting her hands fall to her sides in defeat. When she looks up at me, I see such brokenness.

  I reach out and cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb lightly over her smooth skin. “You don’t need pain, Delilah. You’re deflecting.”

  Her eyes flash with irritation and I smile at her fire. “Yes, I do,” she insists.

  “I know what you need, my sweet girl,” I challenge. “You need to talk to me.”

  She shakes herself away from me and walks toward the leisure room.

  “Delilah!” I call after her and she stops walking. She’s trying my patience, my control, but I won’t give in.

  “Do you not trust me to know what you need?”

  “You just wanna know who Max is, you don’t care!” she argues, throwing her hands up in annoyance.

  I fix her with a steely glare, tired of her bullshit. “Delilah, it has been two fucking months, you owe me something! You can’t expect me to protect you if you keep your secrets locked away.”