“I can feel you want to come. You ready for me?”
He tears open a condom and for a moment I only hear the unraveling of my soul. Seconds tick away and the anticipation steams through my body. He drags his fingers across my leg, driving me further down into the frenzy rushing my body.
The chill of the room startles me as he unties my ankles. Kneeling between my legs, he spreads me wide with his stiff cock pressed firm against me. I hope, no pray for the split second he’ll penetrate the defensive wall I’ve always built every time I’ve ever consensually have sex with a man.
He rotates his hips, teasing me with the head of his cock, leaving me desperate for his return. I rock my hips, wordlessly I’m begging him to fill me, fuck me, sink himself so deep into me, that we’ll both be lost to where his body meets mine.
He collects a sharp breath before he slowly stretches me, opens me up, and splits me apart. He pulls back, faster this time and thrusts again. I lose my breath, vibrating from my core. Back and forth, inside and out, he’s annihilating me, taking me beyond any other moment I can remember. He’s so much more than a date, more than a demon slayer, he’s a savior—someone who I believe can cleanse my soul.
He grabs my legs, and drapes them up over his shoulders. He pushes deep, thrusts into me until my body breaks into a full-fledged orgasm owning every part of me from the deepest place nobody has ever seen to the edge of where my skin meets his. My words stolen, I can’t tell him I’ve come. My body language speaks volumes. The motion of every cell in my body gets to experience what sex is supposed to be like between two consenting adults. He speeds up driving deeper before he buries his fingers in my clit and massages. My body accepts his offer, rolling stronger than before I bust apart for a second time as his body stiffens and his hips jerk spastically against me. I’m vibrating harder than ever. I can’t see, I can’t talk, all I can do is grab him and hold him tight on my body as his cock pulses inside of me pouring into the condom what my womb craves to consume.
He slips the scarf up off my eyes, his body still collapsed against mine. In the glow of the room my eyes adjust to see his body glistening, his dark hair damp, his skin ravaged with goose bumps.
I am safe.
Finally, someone who makes me believe I’m worth more than a casual fuck. I am worthy of sexual pleasure without fear or guilt.
He looks at me and a smile creeps across his tawny tinted face, he reaches up and dries my cheeks. A reprieve sweeps through my body.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispers with a sense of urgency. He delicately caresses my face, his concern apparent as his thumbs swipe away the last tears rolling down my cheeks.
“No,”
“Why are you crying then?”
He shifts his body off mine, pulling me into his chest simultaneously.
“It’s so much deeper than the surface pain,” I whisper barely audible.
He stares at me, we look at each other for a lengthy moment, I know down in my gut it’s fucking crazy to think I’ll let someone into my heart after a lifetime of so much pain, but the last three days have been like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He’s like a breath of fresh air in a polluted city.
“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.”
I want to believe him, crave it as a matter of fact. And for a moment I let my dreams cloud my reality. Maybe he’ll take me wherever he’s going. If he starts to love me beyond the label of who I am, I won’t have to spend the rest of my life being paid for careless fucks with pricks who shoot their wads and move on. Mister makes me better, I feel like a better person when I’m with him. Shit, even when I fight him, he still makes me feel beautiful, wanted, and desired beyond a simple quick fuck.
“You want to take care of me?” I ask, but I know, in my gut he’s talking about the present time and I’m talking about the future. I make sure I answer and question him in broad fucking strokes on a painting of my future. I’ve spent my entire life shutting myself off to the idea that there’s a knight-and-shining-armor coming to save me. Why’s my heart flipping the switch on my mind now?
Betrayal, fucking betrayal.
“Yes, let me take care of you.”
He pulls me into his embrace. My limbs are listless and heavy. My body’s exhausted from giving him everything within me. I moan and he responds by sweeping me into his arms
“What happens now, Mister?” I ask scared to hear his answer.
“I take care of you, and it’s Garrett.”
“What’s Garrett?” I ask, legitimately confused.
“My name, it’s Garrett, Garrett Chadwick.”
He’s let me in, just as I have let him in. His name’s Garrett, the man who’s healing the broken girl residing just under the surface of who I am.
“Well, Garrett Chadwick, looks like we both learned how to trust tonight.”
“It looks that way doesn’t it?” he answers rhetorically.
We kiss until our bodies are steaming and smoldering. His body responding to my touch, my body ready to go, he pulls me to the edge of the bed, rolls on a rubber and takes me from behind. This time it’s raw, fierce, and primitive. We both have a burning need that must be satisfied. Clutching my waist, he pummels me with his entire length, I thrust back taking every inch he is giving me.
“Garrett.” His name rolls across my tongue so freely, beautifully breathlessly I sing it.
“I like the way you say my name while I am fucking you. Say it again.”
“Garrett,” I repeat.
He moans as his pace quickens. He drags his hand up my back and takes a fist full of my hair, pulling my head back as he buries himself deeper. Our eyes meet, and he watches me in the mirror across the room as he takes me. The way my body moves, and how my tits bounce with every thrust he makes.
“I want to watch your expression when I make you come, be the man who breaks you wide open, Rosebud. I want you to scream my name.”
I clench my pussy around his cock, knowing it will throw him over the edge.
“Rosebud, you feel so good.” He fucks me with even more determination.
“Garrett,” I huff his name before throaty, bellowing sounds escape me. “Yes, please,” I continue.
“Rosebud, damn, you’re so good, I want to fuck you every day, every night, right here, forever.”
Our words to one another, promises in the heat of the moment become nothing more than primal moans as we both detonate at the same time. Loud beastly calls hum across my back, sweat beads trickle down my hairline as my eyes roll up in the back of my head and I scream his name.
He pulls me up into the bed, wrapping up in each other, I feel safe, needed, wanted and finally important.
“I want to keep you to myself. Will you let me . . . keep you?” His words are filled with contentment.
I don’t want to say anything, I want to just hum or moan my answer, but, I know from before that he’s someone who likes me to communicate with my words, use language in a beautiful manner.
“That depends.”
“Oh really? On what?” he asks as he tangles his fingers in the random loose strands of my hair clearing them out of my eyes.
“On where you live,” I answer as I prop myself up on my elbows and caress my fingers against his chest. I’m safe, comfortable, I see myself getting used to waking up next to him.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because as much as I hate Southern California, if you move me there, then I’d have to adjust. But on the other hand if you move me to New York—”
“Who said you’d leave San Francisco?” He adjusts himself out from under me.
“You did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, so wait, you’re relocating to the city?”
“No,” he snaps.
“Wait, I’m totally confused. If you’re asking me to go with you . . .”
His expression shifts, and at that moment I realize what he’s saying.
He gets up off the bed
.
“Look, Rose, I really enjoy this, I want to keep, this. I want to help you. Get you off the street, keep you safe.” Nerves are exploding and captivating every move, every reaction as he shifts his hands back and forth between us.
“Oh, fuck me. Holy shit. Ohmigod! I’m soooo fucking stupid,” I howl. I spring up, wrapping the loose sheet around my naked body. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want me to be with him. He really wants to just keep me.
My mom’s voice plays over and over in my head.
‘It’s your fault your father hits me. You were never wanted, I was forced to keep you. Forced to marry him. It’s all your fault, Rosalie. You weren’t supposed to be born!’
Shredded.
Torn.
Apart.
In seconds . . .
“Wait, wait, Rosebud.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Hold on, what did you think I meant? I want to get you off the streets, pay for an apartment for you, and give you money so you don’t have to—”
“Fuck other men for money? Whore myself out? What is it, Garrett? You’ll keep me for yourself, but only as your own personal piece of ass when you’re in town?”
“What did you think this was, Rose?”
“Don’t worry, I get it. Three days, that’s about all I’m worth.”
Mister reaches for me. I pull away.
“Rose, stop it. I’m trying to help you.”
Frantically I’m looking for clothes so I can get the hell out. I stop at his words; my heart is breaking with every word out of his mouth.
“Please, stop. You don’t have to help me. I’m capable. I’ve lived perfectly fine without you before these last three days. This was my fault. Stupid, thinking that you’d want this.” I swing my hand up and down my body.
“I don’t want you to go. Not like this. All I wanted to do was keep you safe.”
“For what, Mr. C’s pleasure? Or for Mister’s twisted needs? Oh, no, wait, maybe I was gonna be for Garrett Chadwick? Who the fuck are you? Huh? Who are you? You wanna keep me for a fuck, but not for all the other parts? I’m not good enough to take home and love, be something more than a fucking convenience or entertainment? Fuck you Mister-Garrett-Mr.C-fucking-Chadwick.”
My heart’s crashing into my chest, the only thing I can think of doing is hitting him, and so I pick up the alarm clock next to the bed and chuck it at him. Everything pressing down on me, everything lost, nothing’s safe, my body and mind twisting up to a complete knotted mess.
“It didn’t have to end this way. I care about you, Rose. But this is your choice, not mine.” He walks over to the safe, opens it and pulls out two rolls of hundred dollar bills. “Here. It’s eight grand. What we agreed on. I wish it didn’t have to end this way.”
“Yes it does. See, I’m Rose, the fucking hooker you picked up in the tenderloin of the city. I did my job and it’s time to move on. There ain’t enough room for people like me in the lives of all the Garrett Chadwick’s of the world. I knew better. Never again.”
He pulls on his pants and a white undershirt. His demeanor runs cold, unattached and distant.
“I’m going to give you some space. Take your time to collect your things. The dresses in the foyer closet are yours, please take them. When I get back, I’ll expect you to be gone,” he states as he calmly puts on his socks and shoes.
“That’s it? Just like that, you’re done! Just because I don’t take your deal and you can’t keep me, you’re gonna wash your hands of me? You’re one cold-ass bastard. You know that?”
“Rose, you’re such a beautiful woman, much too beautiful to talk like that. And, you’re much too smart to be selling your body. You’re still young, your whole life ahead of you. Take the money I gave you and make something of yourself, outside of this.”
“Fuck you!”
I go to slap him, but he grabs my wrist. His eyes constrict, his cock hardens and presses firmly against my thigh.
Was he getting turned on watching me suffer . . . lose . . . hurt?
Sick motherfucker.
He pulls me against his chest, his words are just above a whisper.
“I like you, Rosebud. I really do, but I’m not going to stand here and tell you what you want to hear.”
I crumble in his words. He doesn’t want me. I’m not good enough. Torn apart, shredded and lost. This is all I’m ever going to be to him, a convenient fuck . . .
IT HAD BEEN over a year since Garrett Chadwick, AKA-Mister, AKA-Mr. C, AKA-whoever the fuck I thought he was, left me broken in the penthouse suite of the Shelby Hotel. From that point on I promised myself I wouldn’t give my heart to anyone ever again. And up until Shane, I had kept that promise to myself.
It only took Mister three days to make me open up, and fall in love with him and just one night to completely break me. He destroyed every last drop of trust I had mustered to be with him. Sure, we fucked, but it was different with him. Mister peeled back my walls, dug under them and broke through like nobody before. He made me vulnerable and unprotected, and he methodically collected everything I gave to him. Selfishly, he took the small broken pieces of who I was, molded them into something presentable, something that made me believe I was worthy of a man’s loving touch. I never thought he’d have the power to convince me to then turn my own weapon of insecurity in on myself and pull the trigger. Garrett Chadwick was the worst kind of devil who contaminated me with the most venomous type of poison, love.
He broke me, destroyed the delicate, and was the annihilator of who I thought I was going to become. He was responsible for the iron-clad lock around my heart. Looking back now, maybe I was in love with the idea of him loving me.
It wasn’t until three weeks later when Garrett Chadwick sent me the first of many packages that I realized just how deep the idea of him resided under my skin. Every three weeks like clockwork, another gift would show up at my front door. At first it would obliterate me, and I would relive all the pain he created, eventually, his gifts became the codependency in which I craved the strange routine. It woke up those feelings that lingered just under my skin, and for a split second of total confusion in which I believed he still wanted me, needed me, and maybe even loved me.
In the exact precision of his character, whether it was clockwork or perfect presentation nothing would flank the packages but a label, handwritten in black Sharpie pen. FROM: MISTER / TO: ROSEBUD. When you spend your nights working instead of sleeping, it wasn’t too hard to forget the demons that hide under your bed, in the dark. But Garrett Chadwick made sure I’d never go too long without thinking about him, just long enough to begin to forget, but always fleeting enough to draw him right back to the surface of my skin. It’s been a year now, and I hadn’t opened one, never gave any of the packages a second glance, until today . . . until I was broken enough to accept his invitation to a world of hurt.
Now, I was fighting to keep a handle on my life. My heart’s being ripped to shreds by the death of my best friend and the gaping void that was growing every minute. Sybil was the only woman I ever trusted. The walls were closing in on me, my life was crumbling to nothing more than memories of painful betrayal, and the people I’d lost because of it. Even Shane, who claimed he loved me has become collateral damage.
Shane . . . just thinking about him confused me, drove shivers down my spine straight into the guilt of wishing he was here. There was no way I could’ve dealt with it if I had seen him. What he once meant to me had now become the fuel for letting him go, especially now that he had found out what I was. The friendship we created and the unfulfilled desire I had couldn’t become anything more than memories of a life I once desired. I had to let him go. Let everyone go and move on. Besides, Shane was with Martie, he had a woman who loved him, and no matter how screwed up she was, I’d never be able to compete with her. I just didn’t have it in me, not anymore. I was a girl who had nothing to offer him. Nothing that would last longer than a three-minute roll in the sack.
&nb
sp; ‘Good thing you cut him off before you made that mistake.’ A wave of relief thundered through my body as the voice in my head interrupted my self-induced fuck-off party.
The truth of my relationships stung deep. It was Garrett Theodore Chadwick who announced he was engaged to Ashley Hancock. It was Sybil St. James who died at San Francisco General, leaving me to navigate the streets alone, and it was Shane West who made me fall in love with him even though he had a girlfriend. They were the only three people who were able to thieve my heart, and become the dealers of my missed chances. I stood on our black shaggy carpet between our beds and looked around the apartment. Sybil’s bed was covered in stacks of clothes, mine covered in boxes from Mr. C and I realized time was being a damn snitch and curiosity was being a motherfucking killer. I picked up a package from my bed and wondered if I should open it.
For the next couple of days I grieved everything I had lost. I spent hours staring at the mountain of packages on my bed and packing up all of Sybil’s things. When it all would become too much, I’d pass out from pure exhaustion and wake up to the same pain I tried to escape. I never once answered my phone or unlocked my door, and only managed to drink every last drop of alcohol in the apartment. Without hesitancy through the last two days, I’ve picked up that fucking mental dagger every second since I’ve been alone and thrust it over and over again into my heart. I tortured myself with wasted moments, unopened packages of empty apologies and unfulfilled promises and I loaded what equated to Sybil’s entire life into eight large black plastic trash bags.
I figured at this point would the content of Mister’s packaged bribes really matter? They represented nothing more than intentions lost on expensive gadgets. Packages that were better left untouched under my bed. I hated him for the curiosity the boxes and padded envelopes sparked in my gut, and hated myself even more for deciding to open one of them, let alone the one I was clutching in my hands.
I held the small white padded envelope, flipped it over and dragged my fingers down the bubbled texture. It was light, yet bulky, dusty from the time it laid in wait for my attention. I gripped the corner and noticed a gap inviting my finger. Do I really want to open the promise Mr. C made to me in this envelope? Promises made to me with material things, things I could easily replace if lost or stolen. It was my heart which ached to be opened and cherished, not this shit. I didn’t want what was waiting in the clusterfuck of cardboard and plastic envelopes piled on my bed. All I wanted was my heart back from Mister, Sybil and Shane.
Broken Girl Page 18