Marx Girl

by T L Swan

  “Well, if he doesn’t, by the time you get back he should get the picture, and if he can’t give you what you need he will hopefully be man enough to leave you alone.”

  My heart constricts at the thought.

  “If you just go with the flow you are always going to want answers, and it will always be a sticking point for the two of you. Every time you have a fight this will come up. If it bothers you now, it will bother you then.”

  “You’re right.” I smile. “You are such a wise, old owl.”

  He laughs. “For everyone else but myself.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “I’ve just been talking about myself this whole time.”

  “I’ll be glad when Joshua gets here this week.”

  “Oh, that’s right, he’s coming home for a week, isn’t he?”

  “Thank God.”

  I glance at my watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. Thank you. You always make sense of things for me.”

  “Stay strong, Didge. If he came back for you like he said he did, he will meet your terms eventually.”

  I nod with a new determination.

  “Yes, you’re right. Love you. Bye.”

  “Love you, too. Bye, babe.”

  It’s after 8:00 p.m. and I’ve just returned home from the gym. I ran ten kilometres on the treadmill to try and relieve my stress.

  I’m so tired; worrying is exhausting. I click on my phone.

  No missed calls.

  I click out of it in disgust. He’s not going to call me. I already know he won’t.

  Why did he come back here, if he’s not going to call?

  It makes me sick that I just want to end this silence and call him.

  One week back in my life and I feel like a lovesick puppy. I hate this.

  Giving in to his terms and playing happily families really does sound a lot better than sitting here alone, going over something that happened five years ago.

  Am I being stupid?

  Am I being a drama queen. Is he right?

  I walk over to the window and look down at the street below, desperately hoping I will see his car driving down the street.

  I don’t.

  I drag myself to have a steaming hot shower, and then I make myself toast for dinner and go to bed before I cave in and call, begging him to come over.

  I stare into the darkness, searching the ceiling as my tears run down into my ears.

  I glance at the clock.

  3:00 a.m.

  Being strong hurts.

  Last week dragged. This week is just a nightmare.

  I haven’t seen Ben for almost two weeks.

  Twelve days, to be exact. Twelve days of running our last conversation over and over in my head. Twelve days of knowing I’m in the right, but teetering on the edge of forgiveness, just to hold him in my arms again.

  The thing with us is that the highs are perfect. We go so high, I never want to come down. Those three days we spent together were so happy and loving, and everything I need in a relationship. But the lows… the lows are a dark place. I wouldn’t wish the way I feel at the moment on my worst enemy. I saw Eric yesterday. I ran into him at the grocery store and I felt nothing. It was like I didn’t even know him anymore. Maybe I never did. Looking back, I never gave him a chance. I was in love with Ben the whole time and was just playing a charade.

  A fucked-up game of ‘I’m over the ex’. A game I’m really good at losing.

  I’m at a bar with Tash and Joshua and Abs and, once again, I’m acting—acting happy… acting normal—when all I really want to do is go to Ben’s and beg him to come home.

  I stare in the mirror of the toilets and watch the girls all around me apply their lipstick. Then I look at myself in the mirror.

  Something’s got to give,

  Because I’m so fucking over being heartbroken by this guy. I need to get over him. I need to find the strong girl I was before we met.

  I don’t even know that girl anymore. Ben killed her.

  My reflection is hollow and empty.

  Ding dong, the witch is dead.

  My phone dances on my desk and I scramble to pick it up. My heart drops when I see it isn’t him.

  “Hey, Didge,” Brock says down the phone.

  “Hello, my dear brother. To what do I owe this pleasure? What do you need done for you?” I smile sarcastically.

  “Hey, ease up.” He laughs. “I want to take you out for lunch, actually.”

  “You do?” I glance at my watch. “I go in half an hour.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you at the ’café, since I’m in town already.”

  “Okay, great. Bethany isn’t on reception today, though.” I smile.

  “Ah, shit.” He sighs.

  “Is that the only reason you were coming to see me? So you can perve on Bethany?”

  “Totally, but I suppose you’ll do.”

  I hang up and smile. Too bad Bethany has a boyfriend. Oh, well. Lunch.

  A welcome distraction.

  The waitress brings our drinks.

  She places them down on the table in front of us. “Thank you.”

  Brock picks up his drink. “So, what have you done to Ben?”

  My face falls. “W-what?”

  “You heard me. What have you done to Ben?”

  “What’s wrong with Ben?” I frown.

  “Well, for a week he was in the best mood ever, and then—” He shakes his head as he thinks. “Then something happened, and he went all quiet, but now it’s getting unbearable because yesterday I thought he was going to kill someone. Today, I’m sure of it.”

  I stare at him and I know I can’t lie for shit. I blow out a breath. “Why do you think it has anything to do with me?”

  “Because you are the only one who gets to him like this.” He watches me closely. “And I know about you two; he told me a few weeks ago.”

  With my elbows resting on the table, I drop my face to my hands. “It’s just a big mess, Brock.”

  “What happened?” He sighs.

  I exhale. “I’m not telling you because you will just tell him.”

  “I won’t.” He watches me for a moment. “I promise.”

  I sip my drink. “Well…” I roll my eyes. “We spent a few days together. And I want some answers, you know? I just want to be able to talk about things without being growled at.”

  “Like what?’

  I shrug. “How we ended last time.”

  “That’s in the past.”

  “That is such a guy thing to say. It’s not in the fucking past. I want some reassurance that it’s not going to happen again.”

  He rolls his eyes. “What do you want, a fucking engagement ring? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No,” I snap. “You’re an idiot. That’s the last thing I want.”

  He watches me.

  “Ben’s…” I shake my head as I try to articulate my thoughts. “He’s different, Brock. He doesn’t tell me anything about himself. I have to pry for information, like it’s a hassle for him to tell me anything at all.”

  His brows furrow. “He’s just guarded.”

  “I get that, and everybody says that that’s just who Ben is, but I don’t want to go out with someone, at the age of twenty-seven, if he can’t even talk to me. This isn’t fucking high school.”

  “He doesn’t confide in anyone.”

  “Well, that’s not good enough for me this time,” I say calmly. “I’m not settling. I gave him time to open up last time we went out, and all that happened was that I fell in love with him and then he left me without a word of explanation.”

  “Have you told him this?”

  “Yes. He shuts me down and tells me I’m being dramatic.”

  “Are you?”

  I shrug. “Maybe?”

  Our lunch arrives, and we eat in silence for a while. “What’s going on with him at work, anyway?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “He’s just quiet. Angry. Furious, actually.”

>   My heart drops. “Did you ask him what was wrong?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  He looks at me and smirks. “What do you think he said?”

  “See what I mean?” I roll my eyes. “He’s so annoying.”

  Brock’s eyes hold mine. “He’s a good man, Didge—one of the best I know.”

  My eyes hold his.

  “He loves you.”

  I drop my fork and it hits my plate with a clang. “Did he tell you that? Because he doesn’t tell me that.”

  “It’s obvious.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not obvious to me.” I think for a moment. “You know who would be a perfect match for Ben?”

  “Who?”

  “A clairvoyant. A batshit crazy clairvoyant who could read his mind.”

  He chuckles.

  “I go away tomorrow night for three weeks,” I add.

  Brock narrows his eyes. “Does he know this?”

  I shrug. “I doubt it. I don’t even think he listens to anything I say.”

  Brock rolls his eyes. “Now you are being fucking dramatic. He listens to everything you say.”

  I fake a smile. “Thanks.”

  “He doesn’t technically start work for another month. He’s just here early helping me out. I go to the Maldives in the morning, remember?”

  “That’s right. That’ll be fun.” I smile.

  “I would be a lot happier if you two sorted your shit before I went.”

  I blow out a breath and take a mouthful of food. “I’m not giving in this time, Brock.” I sip my drink. “I’m standing my ground. He knows where to find me.”

  It’s just gone 9:00 p.m. and I have my suitcase on the dining table as I pack the last of my things for my trip. I’m freshly showered and wearing my robe. I don’t fly out until tomorrow night but, thankfully, I have the day off tomorrow to get everything sorted.

  I have that anxious, sick feeling in my stomach, and I can’t stop thinking about Ben. Is he alone in his apartment?

  I hate it.

  I see him all alone and scared when he was just fifteen, being shipped off to the army, and my heart bleeds. At a time of his life when he was vulnerable, sad, and impressionable, he was put into the hardest of hard environments. It’s no wonder he’s the way he is.

  Just go around there.

  If I go around and give in, then I am effectively surrendering my needs for his. However, the way I feel at the moment, I don’t really care about my needs anymore. But I know Adrian was right, and if we are to ever have a real future—one where I trust him—I need to think with my head and not with my stupid heart. That bitch only ever gets me in trouble where Ben is concerned. I’ve been feeling super fragile for most of the night. I even got teary when I watched the news.

  Three weeks ago, my life was in order and I was in control. This week… not so much.

  I feel like I have been put in a blender and have absolutely no focus on what emotion I’m feeling the most. I want him, I’m scared of him, I fear for him… I just want to look after him. I’m terrified that I might never get over him. I have no idea what the fuck is going on with me.

  And I’m mad.

  I’m mad at him for making me feel this way, but I’m furious at myself for letting him.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Who’s that?

  Must be one of the neighbours because the downstairs security door didn’t buzz. I peer through the peephole and see it’s Ben. I find myself opening the door in a rush.

  His eyes search mine and he swallows the lump in his throat.

  “Ben?” I ask.

  He stares at me for a moment, as if trying to force words beyond his lips. “I can try,” he whispers. His face is tortured, and he looks so sad I grab him into an embrace and hold him tight.

  “That’s all I’m asking for, baby.” I squeeze him tighter. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

  9

  Bridget

  I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and he holds me tight, dropping his face into the curve of my neck.

  We cling to each other as if our lives depend on it, and then he moves to kiss me softly.

  We kiss again and again as he walks me back into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

  “Don’t leave me fighting,” I whisper against his lips. “I don’t like it.”

  He nods, but doesn’t answer. His lips are still locked with mine, and his hands are roaming up and over my behind as he pulls me closer to him.

  Our kiss turns desperate.

  I know he loves me.

  I can feel it. Does he really think I can’t feel it?

  I pull back to look at him. “If you can’t talk to me, Ben, then show me.”

  His eyes search mine and he knows that this is his olive branch. I’m reaching out.

  I want to meet him halfway; I want him to be able to talk to me. Damn, I want to believe that this is going to be even more than what we both ever imagined.

  He kisses me again before he flicks the lock on the front door, and leads me into the bedroom.

  We stand at the end of the bed and he holds me in his arms. “I missed you,” he whispers as his eyes search mine.

  My eyes fill with tears. “I missed you, too, baby.”

  Our lips touch and, oh, God… it’s the most perfect kiss. We kiss again and again. I can’t get close enough.

  He slowly undoes the tie on my gown and opens it. His hungry eyes drop down my body and he licks his lips.

  “Bridget,” he whispers as his hand cups my breast. His accent is stronger when he’s aroused, as if he goes back to his true self and forgets everything else he’s learned over time.

  My breath quivers as I try to hide the effects he has on me. He’s hardly touched me, and I feel like I could combust.

  “My beautiful Bridget,” he breathes as he slides my gown down over my shoulders until it pools on the floor. I stand before him, naked and vulnerable.

  He steps back and circles me as his eyes memorise every inch of my skin.

  “Where will I start?” he murmurs.

  My eyes close as I hold my breath. I want to start, I can’t help myself.

  Without a word, I drop to my knees in front of him and his eyes flicker with arousal. “Good girl,” he breathes as he strokes my hair. I kiss his groin through his jeans, and he flexes his penis. I smile against him. He slowly undoes his jeans and slides the zipper down.

  I lean forward to kiss him and he pulls away from me. “Wait,” he commands.

  I close my eyes and try to control my erratic heartbeat.

  Ben’s in control in the bedroom. Since the very first time, he’s always been in control.

  I never knew I needed to be dominated, but he saw that in me. He brings out another side to my personality that no other man ever has.

  Sex has always just been sex, and it was always good. I didn’t know that there was more to it, though. Sex with Ben is life-changing.

  He completely owns me.

  He slowly slides his jeans off and kicks them to the side, then lifts his shirt slowly over his head. My body starts to thrum with arousal.

  His body is so strong and beautiful.

  Made for me and my pleasure.

  He slowly gives himself three long strokes and I watch on, waiting for my turn. He’s done this before and brought himself to orgasm without letting me lay a finger on him. It’s as if he likes to torture me a little before I get to touch him. He slowly feeds himself into my mouth, and I close my eyes as I taste him.

  I inhale deeply. Ben has his own scent. It’s masculine, fucking hot, and drives me wild.

  I swear, if I could make this into a cologne, I would make a fortune. I lick his tip and he smiles sexily as he watches me. He tenderly takes my hair and holds it back as I take him deep. He hisses in approval. “Oh, yeah, angel.” I take him deeper. “That’s it, baby.” He smiles darkly.

  He grabs my hair with both hands, and a
s his arousal builds, so does his grip on me. With two handfuls of my hair he begins to ride my mouth with deep, hard strokes.

  It took me a while to learn how to take him like this. I had to learn how to control my gag reflex.

  With other men, you just mess around with the tip of their penis and they are mollified, happy with any attention. But Ben wants his whole cock down your throat, and he won’t have it any other way. With every thrust his stomach muscles clench, and I see his eight-pack glisten with a faint sheen of perspiration.

  Holy fucking hot.

  My hands roam up and down his athletic thigh muscles, around to his behind.

  His breathing picks up and I feel him swell as he tips his head back to the ceiling. “Fucking hell,” he whispers before he pulls out of my mouth and throws me onto the bed. He drops to his knees beside the bed and drags my body over to him. He puts my legs over his shoulders and drops his head.

  My heart stops, and I hold my breath. He kisses me so softly that I can hardly feel it.

  My mouth hangs open as I wait. He kisses me again and again, so soft that it’s just a promise. Oh, God, I can’t breathe.

  Then he kisses me with an open mouth, and my whole body shudders.

  I feel him smile into me. “You like that, baby?” he whispers against me.

  I nod and put my hands on the back of his head, unable to answer. He licks deeper and deeper, and then he bites my clitoris and stretches it out. I nearly jump of the bed.

  He chuckles, and I feel the vibrations deep inside me.

  Oh, God. He brings up his hand, pulls me apart, and slides two of his fingers inside me. My legs start to close, and he pushes them back open.

  He adds another finger, and another, and then he starts to ride me so hard that the bed is hitting the wall.

  “Ah…” I cry out.

  The sound of my slick arousal echoes through the room.

  He bends to lick me again and his eyes close in pleasure. “You’re going to have to ride me, angel. I’m too wound up. It’s been too long. I’ll hurt you.”

  I push him back. “Now,” I cry. “Now, Ben.”

  He laughs and falls to the bed, and I rise and swing my leg over him as he holds my hand. He holds himself up, and with his hand he slowly guides my hip to ease me down onto him. I rock to the side as I try to loosen myself up. We struggle for a moment. He circles my clitoris with his thumb and I open for him to slide home.