by Penny Wylder
“Yes,” I whispered.
“How do you want me to fuck you?”
I swallowed. “Hard,” I managed to murmur.
He smirked. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.” Without warning, he spun me around, pulled me off balance until I had my back to the dining room table where we’d been playing. He bent me backwards over it, and I felt the cards sticking to my back, my body slick with sweat and desire, every inch of me trembling. “Do you want me to fuck you right here, like a dirty little slut?” He lifted my knees, then wrapped his hands around my ankles, forced my legs back until my knees bent on either side of my ears, and all I could see looking down was my body curled up in front of him like an offering, free for the taking. The shivers were impossible to resist now, because the cool air was breezing right across my soaked pussy, and his cock was right there, still tight in his boxers, inches away from me, but I could see every inch of him outlined through the thin fabric, pulsing with need the same way I was.
“Yes,” I groaned, my voice hard to control now.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you want me to come inside you, little slut?”
My heart skipped. We’d talked about that earlier in the day, the last time we fucked. About how we’d both been recently tested, we were clean, and I was on the pill. I brought it up, unusual for me, because for once, I felt comfortable with a guy. For once, I trusted him, wanted to feel him without a condom between us.
Stupid Clove, I think now, but it doesn’t stop the memory from continuing, pulsing through my mind, unable to stop now. I slide a hand down the front of my jeans, even though I hate myself for it, even though I hate that this memory still turns me on, after everything that’s happened since.
“Come inside me,” I’d whispered, and Zayne dropped his boxers at that. He thrust inside me in one swift motion, so fast that I didn’t have time to brace myself, prepare. I screamed with pleasure, with the force of it, as his cock stretched my pussy wide and speared deep into me.
He planted my feet against his shoulders, kept his hands wrapped around my thighs to pin me in place, and fucked me against the table, his balls slapping my ass with every deep thrust. At this angle, he couldn’t help fucking right along my G-spot, the head of his thick cock scraping right over it every time. I was already on fire, hot from the foreplay, and it didn’t take long before I was shouting his name, writhing against the table.
The orgasm hit me so fast I couldn’t stop it. He kept right on fucking me though, teeth gritted, eyes locked on me. “I didn’t… say… you… could come…” he groaned between thrusts, and my belly tightened, his cock still deep in me, moving hard, fast. “I’m going… to have… to make… you come again,” he added, and I let my head fall back against the table, gasping.
I lost track of time as he pounded inside me. I lost track of everything but the ache in my pussy, the slap of his balls against my ass, the sight whenever I looked down at his glorious cock sliding in and out of my tight pussy, slick with my juices. I came again, moaning this time, my body shaking, my hands gripping Zayne’s forearms tightly. He didn’t even slow down, just kept fucking me at the same pace, eyes locked on mine, full of fierce desire, possessive lust.
I thought he’d finish then, but instead, he released my thigh with one hand and dropped it between my legs.
“Wait—” I gasped, afraid of how sensitive my clit would be.
He smirked and pressed his thumb against my clit, the pressure alone was enough to make my hips buck and sway against the table. “You should have thought of this before you came without my permission,” he murmured, smirking. He circled his thumb and I cried out, pleasure and pain shocking through my system in equal measure.
“Fuck, Zayne,” I managed to gasp.
He laughed between thrusts, his own breath still coming hard. “Come again, Clove.”
“I… can’t…” I whispered, though my hips had begun to move of their own accord, thrusting up against him, grinding his thumb against my clit.
“Yes you can. Come for me.”
My mouth fell open, my eyes unfocused, the pressure intolerable, unstoppable. It was too much, too much pleasure, my body was on fire, I’d never reach the peak.
“Come for me, slut.”
My pussy clenched at that, turned on by his reckless tone, his possessive attitude. He circled his thumb again and I writhed against the table. Fuck, he was right, I was going to come again. I could barely keep my eyes open, barely focus on anything in the room.
“Come. Now.”
I screamed something. Gibberish. Maybe his name mixed in there somewhere, I didn’t know. I was lost in the cloud of pleasure, fire sparking through my veins. I felt my pussy spasm and tighten around his cock, felt him drop his hand to grab my hips with both hands. My body shook, and my vision was clouded with bright spots of color as the orgasm continued to wash over me, through me, take control.
A moment later, Zayne’s hips collided with mine and he let out a guttural growl. I felt warm, hot cum shooting inside me as he groaned and kept thrusting into me, until finally, he leaned against me, exhausted, and I let my legs drop to either side of him and pulled him down against my chest, our sweaty bodies pressed together, cool and hot all at once, his cock still deep inside me, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Fuck,” I’d murmured, but he only laughed and turned to kiss my lips once, softly.
“I want to keep doing this to you forever, Clove,” he’d whispered against my mouth. “I haven’t felt like this for someone so fast in…” He shook his head, met my gaze, his eyes suddenly full of emotion, searing through me. “Ever,” he breathed, and my heart skipped in my chest.
“Neither have I,” I confessed, my voice soft, low. We leaned in, let our foreheads rest together and gazed directly into one another’s eyes for a long, quiet moment. Just drinking this in. Realizing that both of us were feeling the same height of emotion.
Then he’d smiled, a mischievous grin. “My hour isn’t up yet,” he reminded me, and…
I shake my head. This isn’t helping. None of this is. I pull my hands out of my jeans, my clit still swollen and sore, aching for release. But I ignore it, push the fantasy out of my head. I remember what happened next, and I don’t want to think about it. Not right now. Not now that I know who Zayne really is.
A liar, for one thing. A lie by omission is still a lie, and who knows if that’s the only lie he told me?
That night at poker, he said I needed to get better at lying. Maybe he was speaking from experience.
I finish writing the email to the company and hit send. Then I dare a glance at my phone. 27 missed calls, 13 new voicemails, and 122 texts. Ugh.
I scroll straight past all the unfamiliar numbers, ignoring the occasional slurs that I catch glimpses of in them. Slut, whore, cunt.
I scroll past until I reach my text thread with Andy and Celeste. By now it’s almost 5pm, and our workday will be ending. I might not be able to contribute in the office right now, but I can still meet them after work.
Emergency post-work margaritas? I ask, and it doesn’t take long before the two yes’s pour in. Love that about my work besties. I can always count on them for a drink when I really, really need to vent.
I head downstairs again.
Zayne is in the lobby. I spot him even before he turns around, his stance and the familiar slope of his shoulders immediately recognizable. What was I thinking? I ask myself for the millionth time. Getting involved with someone here, someone I’ll never be able to escape.
I try to breeze past, but his voice stops me dead halfway to the door.
“Clove.”
I stop in the middle of the hallway, shoulders hunched. There’s a couple of other people around, so we both, without discussing it, wait for them to clear out. Wait until it’s just me and Zayne alone in the hallway. When I steal a glance at the doors ahead of me, I catch his reflection in them, his gaze fixed on me. He looks so different in uniform. Hotter, som
ehow, if that’s possible.
“Listen, I’m sorry…”
I laugh, my voice low and bitter. “That’s it?”
“I’m trying to find out what’s going on.”
“But you still don’t want to tell me.” I lock eyes with him in the window. He meets my gaze, the street reflected behind him, making his eyes seem less blue and more stormy-gray right now.
“I… I just need to work out some things…”
I laugh again, just once this time. “Good luck with that.” I storm out without waiting for another word from him. It’ll just be another lie, I’m sure.
That’s all he’s really good at.
9
“Oh honey.” Celeste greets me with a hug. Andy, always the more practical of our group, skips the hug in favor of ordering me a double margarita, “heavy on the ta-kill-ya,” he adds, our little in-joke with the bartender at our favorite corner dive.
I huddle into the booth between them. We sit in this corner booth every time we come here, which is probably a lot more often than any of us would care to admit.
I take a long gulp of the margarita before I feel ready to even meet their eyes.
“Tell us everything,” Andy prompts, so I do. I let it all out. Everything from the moment Zayne fought off that creepy stalker I’d been on a date with last week, down to the moment just half an hour ago when I passed him in the lobby and kept right on walking.
“Good for you,” Andy tells me on that last bit, patting my arm as I take another swig of my drink. Spilling my guts is thirsty-making work.
“It doesn’t feel good,” I sigh. “It feels like I got duped again. Zayne is just another playboy, just like that stalker he fought off, only with a slightly better game.”
“At least you got a few good lays out of him?” Celeste, ever the optimist, offers that nugget of wisdom before she finishes off what I’m guessing is not her first margarita.
I groan. “Yeah, but at what cost? That photo is ruining me.”
“It’ll blow over.” Andy shakes his head. “No way Stacy is going to lose such a great employee over something stupid like this. She just had to ask you to stay out of the office for a while to appease the higher-ups, you’ll see. In no time at all she’ll be begging you to come back and this all will be a stupid mistake we can laugh about a few months down the line.”
I glare at him.
“Okay, a few years maybe,” he amends. “But honestly, Clove, it’ll be fine. The internet has a short attention span. Those creepy guys will quit calling soon.”
In response, I shove my phone at him. 32 more missed texts while we’ve been sitting here alone. I watch Andy scroll through some of them and cringe. Then his eyes light up, and before I know it, he’s tapping away on my screen.
“What are you doing?” I ask, nervous, and lean toward him. He pulls the phone away, just long enough to tap a few more times.
“Taking care of at least some of your problems,” he replies. Then he turns the phone around to show me, and I have to bite back a laugh.
He just sent dick pics back to all of the creepy dudes sexting me. Not just any dick pics either, but what appear to be the largest dick he could find online, complete with rainbow-dyed pubes.
I sigh and accept the phone with a nod of thanks.
Celeste leans over to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Andy’s right. As long as you make sure no more photos leak out…”
I snort. “Yeah, no chance of that ever again. I’ve learned my lesson.” I groan.
“Then, this will blow over eventually. People will get bored and forget about it. And who knows, maybe Zayne will do the right thing and tell you the truth eventually.”
“No chance of that either,” I mutter.
“I don’t know.” Celeste purses her lips. “He sounds like he’s a decent guy, before all this shit anyway.”
“But if he doesn’t tell you what the hell is going on, do not give him the time of day ever again,” Andy butts in. “He owes you an explanation, and if he can’t man up and deliver, then you need to move the hell on to greener pastures.”
“Yeah, but this pasture lives upstairs and works right in my path to work,” I mutter.
“So? That sounds like his problem, not yours.” Andy shakes his head. “Just rise above it. He doesn’t have to bother you unless you let him.”
I nod. It’s good advice. Wise. So why doesn’t it sit right in my stomach? Why do I still feel so worried about all of this?
The topic shifts to work problems, with Celeste and Andy filling me in on all the other boring day-to-day dilemmas that I missed since being sent home this morning like a naughty student headed to the principal’s office. For a while, it’s nice. A good distraction. Normal problems that normal people have, which I’d be dealing with if I didn’t have such a colossal issue weighing me down instead.
But there’s only so much distraction I can take before I have to face reality again. That moment arrives a hell of a lot sooner than I’d like it to when we all lean around to the bar to pay our tabs, down our last margaritas, and head our separate ways.
“I’ll see you guys…” I pause, then bite my lip. I don’t even know when I’ll see them next. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed back into the office again, or how long it’ll be before I can get back to my career and the things that truly matter in my life.
Andy pats my shoulder. “Friday,” he promises. “Happy Hour still stands, no matter what else is going on.”
I force myself to nod and smile. Right. “Friday,” I agree, even though it sounds like a death sentence. If I don’t see them until Friday, that means I haven’t been allowed to work until Friday, which means that this whole mess is still dragging on. That’s more than I can handle right now.
But I keep that forced, fixed smile on my face as I bid my friends farewell and catch my train back uptown. Andy is right. There’s nothing else I can do right now but rise above.
Zayne isn’t behind the desk when I get back. He’s standing at the doors, opening them for every person who enters the building. Normally the doormen only do that when it’s pouring down rain or when high winds are whipping along the street, making it difficult for residents to peel open the doors themselves while negotiating heavy coats and umbrellas.
The reason he’s being so extra nice today becomes clear the minute I step up to the building, and he rests a hand on the doorknob, not opening it for me yet, barring my path.
“Clove, you’re right,” he says, all in a rush.
I cross my arms and lean on one leg, catching his eyes as I wait.
“I should’ve been more straightforward with you. I should’ve warned you right away, and when all this hit the fan, I should’ve explained what was going on. Let me do that now. Tonight. Please?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I’ll cook,” he adds. “I’ll do anything you want. Just let me make this up to you.”
“I don’t know that you can,” I reply.
He frowns, his face falling, though to his credit, he does step aside and open the door for me, despite the upset on his face.
“But I guess you can try to start,” I add as I cross the threshold into the building.
“I finish at 10,” he calls after me, and it hurts to see the bright hope in his eyes, the way his expression transforms from despair into joy. He honestly does seem to care about me, about how I feel. About the mess he’s thrown me into. “I’ll come by your apartment then, if that’s okay?”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice to work in response. It’s too worn, too frayed. Then I walk past him, into the elevator, and shoot up to my floor. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to collapse in the elevator and let the tears that have been burning at the back of my eyes all day fall.
Back at home, I head straight for the shower. I need to wash today off of me, need to wash all the sweat and fear and anger off before I talk to Zayne tonight. I’m going to give him this chance to explain. One chance, to be s
traight with me, honest about what he clearly doesn’t want to share. Then, we’ll see.
Then, I’ll probably be alone again, my darker side points out.
I ignore it and climb into my shower. Bury my face in the stream of hot water and let it wash over me.
But I’m not safe even here. Not protected from my memories. Especially not when that hot stream of water trickles down my chest, my stomach, past my navel, straight over my hips where it sears against my pussy, wet and reassuring and warm.
My hand strays toward my mound again, remembering the frustration earlier, the way I’d been fingering myself thinking about Zayne, but forced myself to stop.
Specifically, I remember the memory that made me unable to resist touching myself. The bet I made. The control I lost to him for an hour. One hour only, and yet it felt like so much longer. Like a whole lifetime.
He’d finished fucking me across the dining room table, and then he stood back, crossed his arms, sized me up as I lay there, too tired and pulsing with the afterglow of my orgasms to move. His gaze felt hot and heavy over my body, judging and lustful all at once.
“Stand up,” he said.
I forced myself to my feet, and even though my knees shook and my thighs quivered, and I felt a hot rush drip down my thigh, his cum mingled with mine, I managed to stand in front of him and obey.
“Tell me something, Clove.” He stepped closer.
My pussy clenched, and another trickle trailed down my leg. I loved that sensation, strangely. The after-rush. The knowledge that he’d come in me, claimed me.
“Anything,” I told him.
He smirked. Gripped my ass in one hand and squeezed tightly. “Has anybody ever fucked that perfect little ass of yours?”
I shivered then, a full-body motion, goosebumps rising on my skin. “No,” I murmured.
His smirk widened. “Have you wanted anybody to?”
I swallowed hard. Met his gaze, which was the only thing that gave me enough courage to admit this. “I want you to,” I said.
He laughed. Slapped my ass once, not hard, just enough to make my skin sting a little, and my body tense. “Why do you want me to fuck your ass, Clove?”