by Unknown
A hot shower might have been just what I needed. The grime of travel and the last several days had worn me to a frazzle, and crawling under the thick warm comforter made me feel safe. Pulling the towel out from under the sheets, I settled in for a relaxing nap to escape this tangled mess I called my life. Each eyelid felt as if they weighed ten pounds and closing them was sweet relief.
Even though I was near exhaustion, drifting into a deep sleep seemed impossible. Visions of Carlton’s deep brown curls framing his face as he held himself over me flooded my brain. I was angry with him, but the thought of his muscular shoulders under my fingertips made it difficult to stay that way.
I shook him from my thoughts, telling myself he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, provide the stability I needed at this moment. In fact, I didn’t need anyone. My mind was trying to take control, but if I were to be completely honest with myself, I had to recognize my desires.
And now it seems Benton is much more than he appears on the surface. It felt good to be wanted, even by him. But romance and monogamy from Benton Frazier was the last thing I would ever expect. All he ever wanted from me was my submission, and maybe somewhere in my mind I was now ready to give it back to him.
My left hand pulled the sheet up to my chin as my right trailed down across my chest. My nipples were hard, aching for attention. Seems like forever since I made love. Honesty crept back into my head long enough to realize that love was not what I was aching for. No, it wasn’t love. I needed to submit. Have someone take control and provide for me. I needed to be cuffed and stuffed.
Benton seemed like a logical choice, and quite frankly our familiarity was comforting. I could only imagine what the NoMad hotel room looked like with him in it. I imagined myself on my knees, naked and willing to submit to his every desire. I understood my place with Benton, and complying with his wishes provided great comfort and sense of accomplishment. He knew my buttons, and he knew which ones to push, and he knew when and just how hard to push them. His knowledge of my desires was frustrating, yet comforting.
I slipped my left hand between my legs and imagined him standing in front of me. His thick cock in front of my face, tempting me to relish in the flesh he provided. I could almost feel the heat from it as I pulled it to my face. I know everything about this cock. The two thick veins that meet on the left side; the three little freckles on the right; the smell of his musky scent as the thick blond curls tickled my nose. Yes, it was more than familiar.
I pressed hard against my clit, feeling the wetness literally drip from my thighs onto the sheets below. Releasing my nipple, I plunge two fingers as deep inside of me while rubbing little circles around my bud, trying to bring me close to orgasm. I needed it. I wanted it. A small wave of excitement washed over my mound as the prize left just as quickly as it arrived.
I needed more, and I continued rubbing as my excitement grew. I licked my lips, imagining a trace of his salty-sweet juices there. I wanted him in my mouth. I needed him. I remember how his used to use me. I wanted to feel the head of his cock push past my lips and into the back of my throat. The mere thought of it flooded my fingers. I pulled them from my cunt and rubbed the slick juice across my nipple before pinching and pulling it hard. I could sense his need to provide both pain and pleasure, and I felt the sting of its absence.
*-*-*-*-*
By eight o’clock I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Articles of clothes from my closet that were never intended to be worn together somehow merged to create my brothers version of eclectic. On my feet were the Mary Janes in black patent leather I’d bought ten years ago for an art opening downtown; I’d wanted something dressy yet comfortable and the strap had provided the support to be on my feet all evening. But instead of black stockings, Palmer had paired them with a pair of painfully thin white socks he’d found in the back of one of my dresser drawers. They were folded down school girl style. Above that he dug my old school uniform skirt from a box at the top of my closet. The skirt was dangerously short now but it still zipped if I held my breath. For upper wear he went to his own dresser and brought me a toddler sized tee shirt emblazoned with the Molly Hatchet logo. My hair went up in a messy knot and the make-up went on heavily. This was not the look of innocence. Palmer stood back and examined his creation, “If you’re headed for trouble, you may as well look the part! And damn girl, you look dangerous as hell!” He clasped one hand over his heart and tapped his lips with the other, “Yes, perfection… now do we do pearls or borrow Nucy’s collar?”
I reached up and felt the unbroken platinum choker with hesitation, “Neither I guess. I can’t get this off.”
“What do you mean you can’t get it off? Do you want it off?”
Sometimes the answer spills from your mouth when if given thought it might have been a more difficult decision. “Yes, I do.”
“Be right back then,” Palmer stepped from the room as I stared into the mirror at the ‘collar’ Carlton had put on me to signal his ownership of my body, mind and soul before he’d abandoned me at the hand of his delusional family.
With a pair of heavy duty clippers in hand Palmer rendered Carlton’s symbol a limp strand of diamonds. I felt its coolness as it slid from around my neck and it fell severed forever from me. It hadn’t been that long ago that its weight had made me safe. Now freedom from it felt like release from prison. I stared at it, just a lovely piece of jewelry, that’s all it’d ever been.
“You okay?” Palmer watched me cautiously.
I slammed the severed necklace into his hand, “Yeah, I am.” With a kiss to his precious cheek I walked from my room into the kitchen. “While I’m gone I need you to walk the dogs and empty the dishwasher. Can you handle that?”
“Got it! And Liz?”
Picking up my purse and keys I glanced up at him, “Yep?”
“You look fabulous!”
I laughed and hugged him tightly, “Of course I do! I have the best designer in New York!”
The atmosphere at the NoMad Hotel was exactly as Benton had described. I searched the lobby anxiously looking for his familiar face to no avail. “Miss Martin?”
The sound of my name startled me; I turned suddenly and came nose to nose with the hotel concierge. To my amazement, he was around my age and held an attitude that matched my apparel for the evening. “Yes?” I said caught off guard by his bad boy essence. Aren’t concierges supposed to be stodgy old guys like Chayton? Agh, maybe Palmer is right, I’m too damned stereotypical.
“Oh good! You aren’t exactly as Mr. Frazier described you,” the drop dead gorgeous concierge grinned.
“And how exactly did he describe me?” I quipped, smiling with a sliver of a blush.
“Ma’am, he said that I would recognize you as the Southern belle of everyman’s dreams. I apparently had a previous life in the South of the 1800’s because damn…” he shook his head dramatically to demonstrate cobweb removal.
“Damn?” I retorted slyly.
“Sorry, I’ve lived my entire life here in the city but you make me want to go buy a truck with big tires and some chewing tobacco. Maybe even a big belt buckle.”
I’ve never been talented in recognizing compliments, but I’m wise enough to understand one when I hear it, “Thank you, and I’m sure that look on you would melt many Southern hearts.” I looked down his shapely form to his name badge, “Did Mr. Frazier mention where I can find him?”
“Oh, yes, he’s waiting for you in the smoking lounge. May I bring you a cocktail?”
Something in the way he said ‘cocktail’ made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Gin and tonic, with lemon, not lime, please Mr. Ellison,” I said, glad to turn this flirty conversation businesslike. I’ll never get accustomed to New Yorkers; they are always astoundingly honest. He pointed me in the direction of the smoking lounge and I watched him walk towards the hotel bar to prepare my cocktail.
You have to appreciate a hotel that recognizes and elaborates the personalities of their staff. T
here isn’t a hotel South of the Border that would hire a man that ridiculously attractive as Mr. Ellison; too many unattached female guests needing soap would distract him from actual duties. Yet his flirtatious manners had made me feel attractive and comfortable in this outwardly unusual hotel.
I bolstered as I walked past a full length mirror and caught a quick glance at my dirty schoolgirl outfit. The minute I turned the corner into the smoking lounge I saw Benton perched on the edge of a heavy worn leather chair. He was picking something up from the floor and glanced at me as I stepped into the dark room. His eyes didn’t register recognition, and he returned to picking up a lighter from the floor between his legs.
Suddenly his eyes flew upwards and met mine. His mouth was open lazily, as if it’d been forgotten in mid sentence, but his eyes moved up and down my body. I could almost see fire rising in his eyes and steam coming from his eardrums as I walked towards him with a smile. As I neared he mouthed the word “Fuck.”
He stood and hugged me lightly, seemingly in control of his faculties, but an accidental –or not- pass by his thigh told me that my ‘Southern Fried Chick’ look had struck home. “Um, here Liz, um…” his voice shook lightly, “have a seat. Do you want something to drink?”
I lowered myself with a tease of the short skirt into the heavy chair beside him. His eyes glued to my crotch as I leaned back and looked up at him with a bat of eyelashes. Might as well play this look to the hilt! It was nice to see Benton Frazier off his game; he didn’t get caught there often. This is a test. I give it ten minutes before I’m wearing handcuffs and headed to his room. The concierge appeared with my drink and distracted Benton’s crotch watch.
“Your drink, Miss Martin,”
I caught a slight glimpse of full sleeve tattoo as he sat the drink on the glass table next to my chair, “Thanks Mr. Ellison.”
The amorous air the concierge demonstrated as he moved over me to sit the drink down stirred Benton. He shuffled anxiously as he took his seat. The Benton I knew had never had a jealous bone in his body.
The concierge smiled at me, “You’re quite welcome ma’am, and if there’s anything at all I can do for you and Mr. Frazier, please call star 9 on any hotel phone.”
The small interlude had given Benton time to gather his wit’s and he puffed, “I assure you, Mr. Ellison, that you will only be needed to serve drinks this evening!”
Ellison rolled his eyes as he grinned at me, ignoring Benton altogether, “Call star 9, otherwise I will refresh your drinks as needed.” With that stern notification he disappeared. Again I enjoyed his exit despite Benton’s fuming stare.
Finally I turned my attention back towards Benton. “Is there a problem?” I asked firmly.
His eyes went down to his drink hesitantly and he sat silent for several minutes before looking back at me with naked lust, “Liz, it’s all I’ve got not to yank your fine ass from that chair and put you on your knees. Please give me a minute to compose myself.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked again with plain seriousness in my tone.
He chuckled and rubbed his eyebrows taking another full body scan of my outfit, “The problem is that you belong to another man now, dear.”
I moved my fingers to my neck to indicate that the area was vacant of embellishment and licked my dark stained lips playfully. But Benton shook his head, “No. Collar or not, until you are fully mine I will not touch you. I can’t Liz. There are things I have trouble explaining…”
His romantic refusal confused me; I’d dressed like this to seduce him. I think the entire hotel was aware of that. Suddenly I fumed, “If I were you I’d try real hard.” Another refusal right now may send me into the deep abyss.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, “When you left Charleston I felt free, as though the entire weight of the world had been lifted. I could screw anything I wanted, and I did. It didn’t take as many pussies as you’d expect until I realized that something was missing.”
“Handcuff’s?” I answered sarcastically. He was really pissing me off now, and I didn’t need this shit; just what I need to hear when I’ve run home for safety and comfort, to hear that my ex fucked half of Charleston after I left.
But Benton smirked, “No, I had handcuff’s, dominatrix out the whazoo, and you name it I tried to fuck it. None of that, no matter how far I took it, satisfied me. I couldn’t even feel full when I ate. Nothing at all satisfied me. I took the hiring bonus from the firm and bought a new car and a new apartment. I gambled, I took drugs, and drank myself into a near comatose state but again… nothing. The only time I felt anything was when you walked into that office here in New York that morning. That’s when I knew that you’re the only thing I truly need.”
Wait… are these feelings again? I didn’t recognize them coming from Benton Frazier. Nevertheless, I’m fairly sure that is a confession of love of a sort. I studied him again, this time with fresh eyes. He’d stopped shaving his upper lip and chin, and the affect was sexy as hell and not at all what a nice Charleston lawyer would wear. His shirt was so finely made that he reeked of money, yet he wore it so casually as though he had no fear of ruining it and would rip it from his body without care. Dark jeans formed around his thighs and calves, yet weren’t striving to touch each individual part of his skin. A deep leather belt matched his boots which were clearly handmade, and emblazoned with an exquisite Palmetto tree and Crescent. He even sat in his chair so casually now that I barely recognized him. Son of a bitch, he’s seriously changed. I didn’t’ have a clue what to say to him now. It’s as though I was meeting a new man.
Benton sipped his bourbon and looked at me, “I’m sorry, Liz. I know this probably isn’t what you were expecting from me. And certainly the last thing you need to hear right now, but I need you to know that I want you. I need you. But…” he leaned forward in his chair again and lowered his voice, passion emanated from his every pore, “when you come to me I need to be absolutely sure that you’ll never leave again. For the rest of my life I want to be damned fucking sure that you are constantly aware that you own my heart, body and soul.” He held up his hand to stop me from commenting, “And before you say anything, I don’t want you like that new car in my garage I’m too afraid to drive. I want you as a partner, someone to fight with and someone to make love to at the end of the day. This is real, Liz. I love you.”
Tears were forming in the corners of my eyes at his frank expression. The truth was that I’d dressed this way tonight because I wanted Benton. I wanted him to tie me to the bed, spank me and fuck me until it hurt. He’d recognized it for what it was: a rebound fuck. Most men, certainly the concierge, would’ve taken advantage of my emotional collapse and been happy to oblige, but the new Benton refused me. He was protecting me from having to regret sleeping with him. And he is doing it because he loves me and doesn’t want me to ever regret a moment I spend with him. Wow, that’s awfully powerful for Benton. Again I’m alarmed at the change in him. I’m even more alarmed at the sensations the new Benton is sending through me.
Before I could respond he stood in front of me and held out his hand, “Now, before I fail miserably, let’s get you home and into something a little less powerful. Damn Liz, you could tempt the Pope in that.” He pulled me to my feet and held my hand tenderly as he walked me out of the hotel lobby onto the busy New York street.
*-*-*-*-*
Jet lag had taken control by the time the taxi pulled up in front of Liz’s apartment building. Benton guided her into her apartment, “Mind if I sleep on your couch tonight? I don’t want to leave you like this?”
I glanced up at him vaguely, “Like this?”
“Yeah. You just flew in from England where your boyfriend’s ex-dominatrix slash step mother had you drugged and tied up while his sister assisted. Then you come home and plan to release some of that frustration with a good ass whipping and fuck from your old standby only to discover that he now wants so much more than your pussy. This is not a good day for you, Liz.”
He’d made his point though and once again I had to admit he was right. Having him on the couch and Palmer there too would feel like home and I needed that. “Sure, I’ll ask Palmer if it’s good with him.” I pushed the door to my apartment open and stepped through to find my brother standing in the kitchen with wax on his upper lip wearing my red silk teddy.
“And of course there’s this shit.” Benton said with a laugh as he stared at Palmer. “What’s up dude?”
Palmer yanked the wax strip from his upper lip and screamed, “FUCK! OW! Damn that stings!” He danced around the kitchen as if he was walking on a bed of nails.
Benton and I burst into laughter as I raced to the freezer and grabbed a napkin full of ice. “Here, hold this on it!”
“Well that was brutal!” Palmer exclaimed as the pain subsided. “Speaking of brutal, I guess you realize that someone is missing?”
I glanced around the living room; Nuscience was cuddled on her fluffy bed near the couch alone. A chill ran into my body as if a ghost had passed through me. “Where’s Jargon?”
“Killer Carlton’s back, baby,” Palmer regaled. “I told him you were at the NoMad having drinks. I didn’t say with whom. He took Jargon upstairs and that’s the last I’ve heard of him.”
Benton shuffled, “I should go then.”
I grimaced and bit my lower lip considering, “You know what? No. Here’s what I want. I want to wash my face and put on some sweats, then watch a movie with my two favorite men. I want to eat all the ice cream and chips in the apartment and cuddle on the couch.”
“Alright!” Palmer cheered. “Sounds like a Magic Mike night to me!”
But Benton shook his head, “Look you two, I can somewhat deal with the fact that my girlfriend is putting on sweats while her brother is wearing sexy lingerie, but you’re pushing me too far.” He walked over to the DVD cabinet and thumbed through the choices. “Here we go! National Treasure. We all love it, so its neutral territory.”