Sweat coated my skin. He released my wrists from the restraints, kissing the palms of my hands.
Sex had never felt like this: powerful, consuming, and translucent. Peyton Haas controlled everything in me. I had given myself to him. I was his to have. The love we had—not just the sex—was powerful. Though rape had haunted my past, with him, none of it mattered. Peyton had taken away the fear and replaced it, turning something that was traumatic into love.
Braelynn
Peyton and I didn’t watch any of the other scenes once we were done in the private room. After we’d cleaned up, we left the play party and headed down Fifth Avenue heading towards his house. He drove with ferocity through the late night traffic, swerving in and out of lanes. He was in a rush to get home and I was in a rush to have him again.
Peyton switched gears adding speed to the car. I sat on my knees, my arms wrapped around his neck as my tongue swirled and licked the side of his ear. I bit his earlobe, tugging on it a bit longer to make my point. I needed him. Now.
Peyton gripped the steering wheel, shifting down he made a sharp right turn into the underground garage of his home. When the car came to an abrupt stop, Peyton wrapped his hands on my waist throwing me on his lap. His slithering tongue trailed my neck as his hands cupped breasts, my nipples logged between his fingers. It was heaven the way he fiddle my body. Grinding my hips, I pressed my hungry core to his bulging erection. My dress rose up my thighs, but I pushed down deeper, rubbing my clit over his pants. Peyton moved his hands from my breast, cupping my ass he kicked opened the car, bringing me with him.
My back slammed on the cool hard metal off the elevator door. Peyton’s hand fumbled to locate the elevator button, but his tongue never left my lips. I reveled in his taste, minty and sweet, his scent hugging me with its masculine musk. I bit his lower lip and moaned.
The elevator door opened behind me and Peyton rushed in, my hands wrapped around his neck, my fingertips coiled around his soft hair. We made out for minutes before he moved to hit the penthouse button.
Through the groping, kissing and grinding, we managed to find ourselves on the table of the foyer. His hands lifted my dress over my head, my pebbled nipples erected through my bra. Peyton lowered himself, slowing his pace as he kissed up my thighs. His fingers played with the seam of my thong driving me insane before he yanked it away from my body tearing the fragile material. My bra followed the pile on the floor.
My hands fumbled to unbutton his shirt as he dropped his pants and boxers. Standing before me was my Mr. Sexy, Mr. Come Hitter, My Mr. Toes Curler. My mouth watered looking at his chiseled chest, defined abs, and his perfect V that ended at his thick long cock. Ready to pound into me. His pre-cum pooled at the tip and my tongue slid across my lips. His hand trailed my body, flicking my nipple in passing as his hand lifted chin to meet his hazel eyes.
“Lie back, doll,” he spoke softly.
My back was flushed against the foyer table. Peyton adjusted himself at my entrance; pushing inside of me, he fed my hunger for him. A hunger only he could tame.
His pace was slow at first, allowing me to feel every single inch of him. Pulling out to the tip, he repeated the process over and over again. I could never get enough of him because it was never the same. My back arched as my orgasm began to build. I moaned sweet renditions of his name, my skin igniting, goose bumps rising with each thrust. With his eyes glued on mine he drove deeper, but the pace remained slow as if savoring the seconds that passed between us. My hands ran across my chest cupping my breast I took my nipples between my fingers.
“I’m…”
My words failed me. Peyton looked deep into my eyes and knew what I was trying to say, what I needed from him.
“Me too.”
He grunted, holding my thighs he drove deep inside of me releasing himself. The gushes of his orgasm were all I needed to push me off the brink. Gasping for air we came together, the world around us unknown as we traveled to the abyss.
When I could feel my body again, I felt Peyton on top of me, his rapid breath coming in and out. His head placed on the nook of my neck. My hands wrapped around him, caressing the muscles on his back. Peyton turned his face slightly, kissing my chin.
“Sex with you is never dull.”
“It’s not me, Lynn. It’s us.”
Peyton pushed off the table, pulling himself out he walked over to the hallway half bathroom and cleaned himself up before returning with a wash cloth for me.
Grabbing my clothes and Peyton’s from the ground, I followed him into his bedroom. Peyton pulled on his Calvin Klein pajama pants that were neatly folded at the bottom on the bed and I roamed his closet looking for something to wear.
The last night I’d spent in the house, Peyton had surprised me with a section of his master closet and a wardrobe that was still in place. My hands pushed back on wooden hangers. The clothes Melissa had picked out were still there, but she had continued shopping as more summer dresses appeared in sight as I pushed the others away.
“Braelynn?” Peyton called from his bedroom.
“Coming.”
I stepped back into the master bedroom as he walked out of his bathroom. My heart ached as I remembered out last night in there. The night I allowed my walls. The day I choose to be his.
He leaned on the doorframe and watched as I buttoned his large shirt on my body.
“What?” I asked, mimicking his pose on the closet doorway.
“Nothing.” He shook his head as he reached out his hand for me. “Are you hungry? I can make you some dinner.”
My hands locked with his as we walked back towards the kitchen. In the short time I’d spent with Peyton, most of it was in his bedroom, screwing each other’s brain out.
“What are you in the mood for?” He released my hand and pulled open the refrigerator door.
“Pancakes.” I tried to keep a serious face, but I couldn’t help smirking.
“Pancakes makes you giggle?”
“No, it’s that I can’t really see you cooking.”
“Oh, I can cook. I don’t do it often, but I can.” He walked to the pantry and I followed, eager to see what he was up to. “Maggie taught us all how to cook. Well, maybe not Taylor.” I giggled at his remark. “But if you want pancakes, that’s what you’ll get.”
“I figured pancakes are hard to screw up.”
“Still doubting me I see.” He placed the flour sugar, and vanilla extract on the counter top and turned towards me. Lifting me in the air, he placed me on the counter top. “I’m going to wow you with my cooking skills. Soon you won’t be using me just for sex.” He winked.
“Hey! I don’t use you just for sex. Cunnilingus too.”
“I do like cunnilingus.” His hands reached between my legs, spreading my lips apart. “Are you always this wet, Braelynn?”
“Food. You said you were making me dinner.” I moaned. My eyes rolling to the back of my head.
“To be continued.” He pulled his fingers out of my core and wiped my arousal on my lips before he grabbed my chin and kissed it off.
Peyton took the remaining ingredients from the refrigerator and cabinets. In a bowl, he tossed it all together, then placing the whisked pancake batter to the side, he returned to the fridge. Pulling out fresh berries, he strolled over to me with a grin on his face and an eyebrow cocked high. Taking the space between my legs, he flipped open the lid for the strawberries. The bright fruit in his hands, he pressed it on my lips, tracing its outline. It was sweet and fragrant, but when I went to bite down he pulled it away from me. Teasing me, he took a bite and the juices coated his lips. His tongue slid across his lips, and I became instantly jealous of the strawberry. He took another strawberry from the container and slid it down my neck towards the collar of his shirt. My hands came across and unbuttoned the first three buttons so he could continue.
He rubbed the strawberry down my chest around the mounds of my breast and around the peak of my perked nipple. The fruit was cool on my blazing skin. My brea
th caught in my throat when he brought his lips to the strawberry he had placed on my nipple.
“I want my fruit to taste like you, sweet and juicy,” he whispered, his breath tickling my skin. His tongue flicked my nipple before he bit down on the strawberry.
“You’re…cheating.”
“How so?”
“You promised me dinner.”
“I know, and you’re my appetizer.”
Peyton guided me down on the cold marble surface. Unbuttoning my shirt completely, he placed raspberries, blueberries and strawberries at different spots on my bare chest. My nipples were covered with raspberries, blueberries surrounded my navel, and a path of strawberries ran down my abs.
I was his fruit salad.
Peyton kissed my thighs as he crawled up my body. He kissed my happy trail that led him straight to the blueberries. His tongue swirled around my navel, taking each berry in his mouth.
“So sweet.”
His tongue slithered up the mound on my right breast. I held my breath, waiting for the moment he took my nipple in his mouth. The pad of his tongue circled around my areola. With his eyes locked on mine, he took the raspberry in his mouth, and my body trembled with arousal. Repeating the exact same step with my other breast, he stopped at the tip on my nipple, flicking the raspberry with his tongue. Each second was torture. Agony and lust.
Peyton took the fruit between his lips and climbed up high on my body. He bit down on the raspberry seconds before crashing his mouth over mine. The burst of sweet and tart from its juice dripped from Peyton’s mouth into mine. He was right; the berry tasted better with him. His tongue swirled around mine deepening the kiss. It wasn’t until my stomach growled with hunger that he pulled away from me.
Peyton showed me that he was a master in the kitchen. Within a few minutes he had chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and fruit salad. Peyton and I sat on top of the kitchen island devouring our pancakes. I couldn’t contain my moans when the fluffy cake entered my mouth, the blueberry warm and sweet. Peyton tried to keep the conversation flowing between us, but I was so hungry my mouth was never empty to reply to his questions.
When our plates were cleared, I jumped off the island, taking our empty plates to the sink. I walked over to his freezer and pulled it open.
“Are you still hungry?” Peyton locked his arms behind me, kissing my neck.
“I’m in the mood for dessert.” I leaned forward, my ass grazing his pelvis. I moved frozen meat, and vegetables but he had no ice cream. “How do you have a kitchen filled with everything, but you don’t have a single pint of ice cream?”
He shrugged his shoulder. “I’m not really a sweets kind of guy.”
I closed the freezer shut and wrap my arms around his neck. “We need to change that. There is always room for dessert and ice cream cures everything.”
“I thought I was your dessert?” He pressed his semi-hard cock against my stomach.
My eyebrow rose. “If I’m keeping count—and I am—you’ve come three times in the past two hours. Aren’t you supposed to be tired, ready for bed?”
“I haven’t had you in a long time, Lynn. I’m trying to make up for lost time.” His hands cupped my bare thighs lifting me around his waist. “And I have a lot of time to make up for.” He walked us over to the couch, laying me down as he took my lips.
He wasn’t kidding, he could definitely go again.
Peyton’s fingers grasped my chin, jerking it towards him. His thin, hard lips pressed on top of mine before he bit on my bottom lip. The metallic taste floated around my mouth. Yanking at the hair on my tender scalp, he pulled so my eyes looked up at his. The single light bulb dangling from the overhead fixture shone brightly in my eyes.
My body felt heavy, my limbs numb from pain. Fatigued, I let my heavy eyelids close. I welcomed the darkness.
“Wake up, bitch!” A strong hand came down across my face, the screeching pain jolting me awake.
This wasn’t Peyton.
“I want you awake when I fuck you,” he whispered in my ear while the stubble on his cheek scraped my cheek. “Good pussy like yours don’t come around often.”
“Please…” My whimper was barely audible.
“No need to beg.”
His hands scraped my body. Bile rose in my throat and flooded my mouth. He was going to tear through me again. I pulled against my restraints, but my arms wouldn’t move. With the last shred of energy I had in me, my eyes traveled to my legs. They weren’t bound. Calling on a force from deep within, I found the strength to kick, but it was pointless since I was weak. My blows to his side did nothing but cause him to laugh.
The mask that covered his face only allowed me to see his eyes. Dark brown. Nothing about him seemed familiar.
My body shook with fear. The sound of a condom wrapper tearing open made me snap my eyelids apart. The tears that streamed down my face fed my need to break free. Inhaling on my last bit of strength, I began to scream.
“Shut up, you whore.” He shoved a rumpled cloth in my mouth, gagging me. “For once I want to fuck you while you’re awake.” He pulled a syringe from god knows where and flaunted it in my face. “This should keep you quiet.”
I shook my head, tugging on the restraints to break free. But it was pointless; his hands gripped my upper arm, binding it with a medical rubber band. The pinch to my skin devastated me. The darkness would soon follow.
“Braelynn?” My body moved, a soft hand pressed against my face. “Braelynn, wake up. You’re okay. I’ve got you. “
My eyes snapped open, adjusting to the darkened room. It was a dream. No. It was a nightmare. One that haunted me from time to time. Cold sweat coated my body. My arms locked around Peyton’s torso, my breathing unsteady as he pushed back the wet tendrils that stuck to my face.
“It was just a dream, Lynn. I’m here now.”
But it wasn’t just a dream, or a nightmare. I had lived it. For a week, someone had done that to me. Drugged and raped me.
I let the train wreck of emotions flow out of me. I began to weep in Peyton’s arms, but he didn’t say a word; he held me close, rubbing my back as I cried.
When my body was exhausted and could no longer produce any tears, I pulled away from his chest. A sad smiled appeared on his face. He was trying to be strong for me; show me that he was my protector. His forefinger reached forward and swiped the tears from my face. I blinked the last one and he caught it in his hand. Bringing his lips to mine, he placed a feather-soft kiss there, holding it longer than a simple kiss.
“I’m okay...” I pulled away, filling my lungs with the oxygen it lacked.
“Does it happen often?” His hands held my cheeks.
“No. Not usually this bad.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. It’s more of me remembering what happened. Can you hold me?” I couldn’t talk about it. I didn’t want to ruin our night. We spent our time savoring each other, laughing and being what we were before all of this, and I didn’t want this nightmare of a reminder to ruin it.
“Come here.” He patted his bare chest and leaned back on the bed. His arm went wide for me and I crawled into the nook he’d made between it and his chest, my breathing and fear both calmed with the humming of his heart.
Saturday morning I woke to the bright sunlight over the Manhattan skyline. My neck ached from the position it had been held in for so long; I hadn’t moved from Peyton’s hold. His breathing was steady; he was deep asleep. Pulling away from his grip, I crawled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom.
Once I used the bathroom and washed my face, I made my way over to the kitchen. The clock on the microwave said it was ten in the morning. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so late. Since Peyton had cooked me breakfast for dinner, I decided to make us brunch.
His pantry and refrigerator were stocked as though he were a professional chef, and his pots and pans were neatly organized in the cabinets. Someone was a nea
t freak.
I whipped up a frittata, popped some crescent rolls in the oven and combined some berries for a fruit salad. I couldn’t help the grin that appeared on my face when I began to cut the strawberries.
Once I had everything ready, I strolled back to the bedroom, kicking the door open. “Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead!” I placed the tray of food on the nightstand and leaned forward to kiss Peyton’s forehead. His arms reached up and locked around me, and I squealed as the laughter escaped my throat. Peyton pinned me to the bed, his arms trapped me under him like a cage.
“Hmm,” I moaned, his lips caressing the side of my neck.
“I’ve never had breakfast in bed.” He lowered himself down my body.
My skin ignited, and my hands cupped his cheek when his lips pressed on my apex. “I’m your dessert, remember?”
Peyton’s teeth grazed my soft skin then, with a look of regret, he sat up on the bed, balancing the tray over his lap. I handed him the fork. “I didn’t know what you liked for breakfast so...”
“No, this is perfect.” He stuck the fork into the frittata, and I sat back on Peyton’s oversized bed, watching as he scarfed his meal.
“Are you not eating?” he asked as I tucked my pillow behind my back, admiring his bare chest.
“Nope. I had some rolls when they first came out of the oven.”
He took another big bite and smiled at me. His phone began to buzz from its seat on the charger. He ignored it the first two times it rang, but by the third I looked up at him, puzzled. “You going to get that?”
“It’s my mother.” It rang again.
“It might be important.”
“It’s not. I know what she wants.” He dropped the fork on the plate and reached behind him, taking the phone from his nightstand and exhaling as he began to speak. “Good morning, Mother … Yes, of course ...Very well … Great, I’ll see you there … I love you too.” Peyton tossed his phone on the bed and took a sip from his orange juice. “See, not important.”
“It’s cute that you tell your mom that you love her.”
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