Pieces Of One, Part 2 (The Dark Life Collection)

by Ricketts, SVC

  His hand is on my waist when he props himself up with one arm, conflict fills his eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Yes, we should,” I say in a supple tone, propping myself up on my elbows. The small voice is scratching inside my ears, urging me to stop. I can’t and I don’t want to. I’ve been good all my life, never stepping over the line. Marvy has had her fill of experiences and I want them too. I want to know what it feels like to have a man inside me, taking me to the brink of sanity. I’m tired of being the good girl. Kitta says it hurts and it kills time. I think there is much more to it than that with the right guy. I don’t know if Bryson is the one I should really be trialing that theory with, but the way my heart races, he’s the closest thing to “right” I can think of. Besides, I have a part to play. This is a necessary rule to break in order for me to get my life back.

  Reaching up to him, I pull him closer. Without dropping my gaze, I angle my lips to meet his on the decent, and roll him to his back. Straddling him stretches my legs wide, but par for the course as they say. I slant for his neck and nuzzle my nose along his jugular up to his ear. It smells so good, I want to taste him. The tip of my tongue slips up the side, stopping below his ear and soaking up the little beads of sweat along the way. The perspiration on his chest speckles my silk pajama top turning it slightly sheer. My nipples, diamond hard and clearly visible, scrape along his pecs. He is still shaking beneath me.

  “Are you okay?”

  He gulps and stares at the ceiling.

  Is he nervous?

  “I…uh….” He bites his lip. “Um…you’re making it very difficult for me to be honorable.”

  I push back dumfounded. “Are you kidding me?” My brow comes down and sits heavy over my eyes. They lift, but my heart drops. “Oh, I get it.” He looks at me confused. “It’s because of Marvy,” I deflate.

  He snaps his eyes to mine. “Oh, hell no!”

  “So what is it? Are you afraid to take my virginity? Because if you are, I’m not one.”

  “That’s not it,” he smirks.

  I cross my arms under my boobs making them poke out like a 50’s pin-up girl. His eyes flare and he licks his lips. He shakes his head and sits up.

  “Your sister was almost raped because of me. You were attacked because of what I set in motion. Supak was supposed to be gone after you and Rush came into the restaurant. I put him in a cab myself.”

  The figure eight I am tracing around his belly button continues looping. “So it’s guilt.” A statement more than a question. “Then you have some making up to me, I’d say.”

  I smooth my hands along the rise and dents of his abs, admiring their firmness. Good God, it’s like he’s made from brick and mortar. Leaning down, I nip his nipple, kissing it through my teeth. Feeling his enjoyment grow and pulse against my core, I do not release his skin from my mouth, but tongue it more. He gasps, pain crossed with pleasure.

  Bryson’s hands move under the silk to my back putting pressure to his fingers. When they go to my lower back, he touches that spot that makes me jolt up, cascading my hair as I inhale my elation. It is a lightning bolt that blisters through me. My hands explore the crevasse of his muscular chest moving down to the ripples of his abdomen. When my fingers reach the waistband of his slacks, I undo the metal fastener.

  “Trista wait,” he protests, grabbing my wrists.

  I squish my lips and narrow my eyes. “You owe me your submission.” My statement is met with a growl.

  It is quite skilled the way he maneuvers out of his slacks without throwing me off. The motion is so smooth, and his boxers are already cast off next to them. The thick protruding part of him taps at my lower back like a knocking at the door. His hands move to my stomach under the silk top and massage their way up to my breasts. With one hand, I fling my top over my head, throwing it to the side. I place my hands over his, making his touch firmer against my breasts through my bra. The tightness sets my body in motion. I sway my hips against him as I arch back with the new sensation and a heavy breath. Bryson fixes me in place with a hand below my back as he sits up to meet my open mouth. His hands grip my waist as he angles to dive deeper into my mouth. The room charges with the energy between us.

  I push him down to lift my legs so I can remove the remaining barrier of clothing. The crotch area of the silk bottoms stick to my leg due to the large wet spot I have created. I’m not even sure when Bryson took my bra off. The cool breeze passing through my thighs alert me to how wet I really am. I’m dying to be bare with him, skin to skin. This lust is foreign, but it courses through me knowing its destination. It leaves my skin sensitive to Bryson’s touch. Overwhelmed, I couldn’t stop it if I tried, yet I’m not afraid.

  His skin steams under me, mixing my sweat with his. I don’t know what I’m doing so I lift my hips and bring myself down, but I miss. It’s like a bad carnival game. Bryson chuckles at my inexperience and my cheeks flame.

  “Shh…don’t be embarrassed. Try it again, but even though you’re soaking for me, go slow.” He positions himself so when I repeat my attempt, his cock disappears in me inch by glorious inch. I’m impressed his eight or so inches fit.

  “Fuuuccckkk,” he groans.

  I can feel him pulsing inside me as the tightness dissipates with the compression of his girth against my inner walls. My body has knowledge that my mind allows in movement. Hips moving in a rolling direction drive the unrelenting pleasure even more. My juices coating his cock make the sensation even more erotic. I squeeze my core muscles as I circle my hips, rubbing my clit against his pubic hair. The scraping sounds cause my nails to dig into his chest.

  Bryson grips my hips to guide me, but it’s instinct that has me lifting and then slamming down onto his cock. I swivel my hips and do it again. He gathers my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers. When he pinches them, the sensation electrifies me again and I throw my head back making my hair vault. A breeze from the motion licks my sweaty skin making it prickle with sensitivity. It amplifies every sensation and touch. “Oh God,” I howl.

  He sits up with one hand on my lower back, the other on my upper drawing himself deeper into me. His fingers thread through my hair and then fists large sections to tilt my head back. Utilizing my consent of his dominance, he worships my neck with kisses.

  Without breaking our coupling, he flips me over to my back. His rhythmic motions make me grip the sheets and wrap my legs around his mid-section. My heels dig into his ass to push him deeper. To meet his thrusts, I raise my hips to equal his exertion. A savage moan builds in the back of my throat. It is a sound I have never made before, yet it grows in volume. I release my legs from around him and anchor myself with my entire lower body, matching him, pump-for-pump. He picks up one of my legs and rests it on his shoulder. The different position opens me up further to a new sensation and stars form behind my eyelids.

  “Is this what you want?” he rumbles.

  “Oh God, Bryson! Yes, yes, yes! Please, yes!” My words are motivation and unbelievably, his pace picks up even more. The bedframe beats against the wall behind me and pillows go flying from the bed.

  Between the two of us, we are fighting for power. I want to be on top again so I push him over and hold him down with my hands on his chest. He smirks and lowers his eyes to my bouncing breasts. Near the peak of my swell, he takes his hands to my hips, quickening my stroke.

  The cessation fills the room with frenzied gasps, desperate panting and gushing sighs. Sweat slapping sounds and scratching to mark one another mar the room as well. I bear down every muscle I can to embrace him, hold him there, and prolong the intoxicating sensation till the bursting rush floods my channel.

  He flips me over belly down and lifts my hips. The mattress muffles my cries of bliss as he power drills into me to find his own release. My insides are winding up again, he can feel it too as my walls imprison his cock. Reaching around, he finds my clit and rubs the already swollen nub. “That’s it baby, come for me again!”

&n
bsp; Within seconds, I am screaming my climax simultaneous with his gravely howl. His release flows with mine in throbbing pulses. We are still and don’t breathe for a moment after, relishing the high. Bryson pulls from me slowly then collapses to the side, panting. I turn my head, also trying to catch my breath and smile, seeing the sweat of his exertion drip down his chest. We don’t move for a few flicks of the second hand. Ours is a fraction of time frozen together as one.

  I stare at his depleted body, his eyes are closed, and his breaths are still coming in short bursts. My fingers tingle as blood rushes back into them. A pool of saliva gathers in my mouth with the thought of touching him again. The beautiful man next to me sparkles with perspiration and I trace a path with my finger.

  He opens his eyes and captures my post-colitis lazy eyes. We exchange blissful grins as my fingers gather to feel the heat and moisture from his stomach. They bob up and down when he chuckles and asks, “Again?”

  A fierce blush stains my cheeks acknowledging my lust. Bryson laughs again and pulls me over to lie on top of him. Our bodies’ dampness mix together and I easily slide over him. I’ve already been sated, but my body rouses back to life seeking the ecstasy he offers.

  “You know you’re already going to have trouble walking later,” he says running his fingers through my hair. His glossy eyes, a sea of blue, washes over me. Pivoting up, his lips engulf my swollen ones.

  His kisses are lies; ones that I cling to with desperation. They traipse between the beads of my sweat and singe my skin.

  “I don’t care,” I rasp.

  This is the sin I would die for.

  A CRACK OF thunder jolts me from the floating kind of sleep I’ve been experiencing ever since I got here. It’s irritating because I can’t seem to fall into a deeper sleep, just grazing a layer below consciousness, but not enough to get a good solid night’s rest.

  As usual, I lay in bed staring at my engagement ring on the nightstand. I don’t like wearing it to bed anymore. After yesterday’s afternoon-delight, I woke up with my hand attached to my hair. Bryson had to help me free my tresses from the bauble since I couldn’t get it off without yanking out a big chunk of my hair.

  It is the bolt of lightning illuminating my room that gets me out of bed. I’ve been leaving the shades up because I like using the moon as a nightlight. My room seems less like a gilded cage. I wish Bryson would disarm the security system enough for me to step out onto the balcony so I can feel the warm Florida ocean air. Though he hasn’t indicated it, I can feel his precaution, hear it in his voice. Like my elusive sleep, the awareness lays just below my skin.

  The thunder and lightning have moved farther out to sea, but the jagged beams of light crack open the night sky in the distance. Though I can feel it in my gut, I no longer hear its disturbing grumble. The silence of the room fills my ears as I flip through some of the books I’ve brought in from the Study. They hold no interest for me right now and I sigh out of boredom. Flopping down on the strangely shaped half-couch thing, I kick my feet up and stare out the window. The night is mostly clear so I get an eye-full of the Moon Dance between the large breaking gaps in the clouds. A giggle quietly takes over boredom and I sigh again sinking farther into the cushy couch-thing.

  Back in Kentucky, we used to do a two-week camping trip to Cravens Bay at the end of the summer. Many tourists went to the Land Between the Lakes, or as we called it, the LBL, because it’s said to be the state’s “go-to” camping site. Whatever. Cravens Bay was more of a local’s secret spot and we preferred to keep it that way. On the shores of the bay, we could stare at the night sky without loud, drunk tourists and barking obnoxious dogs that the owners had for show more than disciplined companionship. Mom told us if we stared at the moon long enough, it would get bigger as if it were coming closer and then retract back seeming smaller, thus the Moon Dance. We would fall asleep under the trillions of stars that nestled around the moon and watch the lunar dance amongst the night’s glittering splendor.

  My heart cinches and a tear rolls down my cheek. After Ty died, we never went back to Craven’s Bay. We never had the chance to say good-bye to the friends we’d spent so many summers with. None of them were invited to the funeral. The small memorial service was comprised of me, Jones, Mom and Dad. After that, we up and left Dover, Kentucky all together. After Ty died, everything changed.

  I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly while shaking my thoughts free from the grief. The last time at Cravens Bay, Ty and I were on a grassy knoll counting stars. At six years old we didn’t know numbers above two hundred, so we just kept starting over. We must have counted a thousand stars before we fell asleep. I always pretended to sleep while I waited for Tyson to drift off too. I could feel him watching me and he’d put his arm around me before his breaths joined mine in rhythm and sync.

  Whenever I look up at the stars now, I feel like Tyson is winking at me with those ridiculously long lashes. That’s what I choose to think and no one can tell me different. His smile is what lights up the moon. Tycho, the most prominent moon crater, resembles his mischievous deep left cheek dimple. I wonder what he would think of this situation I’m in. If Ty were here, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Above my head a floorboard creaks. Byson has taken to working late into the evening due to some of his international dealings. He reminds me of a panther when he is in ‘business’ mode. I wonder why he even bothers having a desk. The only purpose it serves is to hold his computer up and keep his papers organized or maybe to easily find a pen.

  Based on the baritone vibration, he’s upset over something, but I can’t make it out. Curiosity killed the cat, but what if it’s something I can use?

  My nerves knot up as I creep out of my room, against my better judgement. Barefoot and on my toes, I tentatively take the steps to the upper floor office. Stealth and sneaky are not my forte, that skill set belongs to Marvy, but I do my best to silently approach the light under Bryson’s office door.

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” he rumbles with exasperation. “The other shit will have to wait, but the plan is already in motion.” He pauses listening to the other party on the line. “Don’t worry, Andri, as soon as we make the trade, we are done."

  A barely audible floorboard creak sounds like a blender full of ice cubes in the quiet of the house and I freeze. I’m afraid to breathe when the office falls silent.

  Fuck!

  Not moving my feet, I lean my ear against the door, but again, I am not stealthy. My shoulder brushes a picture frame and it softly scrapes against the wall. My face scrunches knowing there is no way he didn’t hear that.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  To my relief, he picks up the conversation again and my shoulders relax with the exhalation of breath can I let go of now.

  Maybe he didn’t hear the klutzy announcement of my presence after all. He could have been listening to Andrijica.

  I assume Andri and Andrijica, are one and the same.

  "God damn it Andri, rekao sam da ću se pobrinuti za to! Stop riding my ass about the girl!” he snarls.

  A tiny, “Eep!” I can’t catch, escapes my lips before I can cover my mouth. He could be referring to Milinka, but I doubt it. The undertone of possessiveness in his voice scares a little pee out of me—and yet a thrill shoots through me at the same time.

  Short spurted breaths move in and out of my mouth, drying out my lips. I pull them in to lick them and slowly back away from the door. The roar in my ears sounds like thrashing underwater, thoughts scramble through my mind and I cannot maintain and organize any logical threads. I don’t know what’s happening to me, I feel like I’m falling, but I’m not. Black ink blots begin to block my vision. Closing my eyes, I fight the urge to let go. I have to stay in control. The wall under my hand that I’m using to steady myself feels rough and gritty.

  Is it moving or is that me?

  “Stop, Mercy! I don’t want to! Please don’t make me!”

  The weeping plea echoes off the walls,
but I’m alone and haven’t said a word. The pit of my stomach cramps and my eyes fill with begging tears. I shudder a shredded breath and sink to my knees.

  A shadow under the door moves.

  Oh God! He’s coming!

  “Mercy, please! Please don’t make me! Please, please, please,” a familiar voice cries.

  I have no choice but to crawl on my hands and knees. This is the only strength I can manage to get me back to my room before Bryson opens the door. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and a sonic high-pitch whistle impacts my ears, filling any available space like caulk.

  Running down the stairs is impossible at this juncture. Even if I could, it would make too much noise and attract attention. Looking left and right, there is no place to hide. The hallway is uncooperatively barren of large homely touches. I glance up and see the Lili Tomlin chairs in the purposeless sitting area.

  My eyes flick up and I see the lever door handle slowly tilt down. Adrenaline fires through me, helping me get to the end of the hall and I hide myself behind one of the chairs.

  Pulling my knees up, I tuck my chin to my chest trying to make myself as small as possible. An overwhelming sensation floods my veins. My body is conversant with the position. The hairs that raise on my arm also alerts me to the existence of my debilitating fear. As if one triggered the other, every muscle, joint, cell, and breath lock up. A tingling chill travels from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, numbing everything on the way down.