Break Me

by Logan Chance

  Immediately, he drops to his knees, rubbing his hands, then his face, over the throbbing cheeks, kissing and soothing the tender skin.

  “Did I hurt you, baby?”

  I don’t say anything, because, honestly, now I’m not sure. The attention he’s focusing on me is heady, and I don’t want him to stop.

  I shake my head.

  “Speak up,” he says, dragging his tongue over the soft flesh. His hands are all over my ass and thighs, rubbing and massaging.

  “No. You didn’t hurt me.” I decide I want more.

  Letting go of all my inhibitions, I drop, slowly, to my kneeling position, face downward, eyes trained on the floor. “I’m ready for you, Master.”

  10

  POLLUX

  This is motherfucking it. This moment. This hard on I sport. It’s all for her.

  “Show me your bedroom, now,” I command.

  We stand, and she leads me down her darkened hallway. At the end, she opens a set of French doors.

  The king-sized bed is the first thing I focus on, and I can’t wait to fuck her all over it.

  The way she shines catches my attention. The sun, moon, and stars have nothing on her.

  And tonight, she’s all mine. Mine to bend to my will.

  The thought excites me as I lead her to the bed. She sits on the edge, and I cup her cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  Her soft blue eyes meet mine. Strikingly perfect in every way. Never should someone like me ever be privileged enough to touch a woman like her. But here I am, stroking her cheek, rubbing my fingers along her chin, then down the column of her throat.

  “Not any prettier than any other girl,” she answers.

  I tsk her as I caress her skin. “No one compares to you.” And that’s the God’s honest truth.

  My dick throbs for attention, wanting her more and more. I lean in and kiss her. It’s soft and gentle. Pure and sweet. Dangerous. And, if I’m not careful, it’s the type of kiss that leads to more. More feelings. More passion. More lust.

  She kisses me back in the same fashion. Her hands reach out, rubbing along my chest, abs, and pecs.

  I break the kiss and let her hands explore me.

  She traces my bicep, circling over the tattoo covering it, then moves over to my pec, tracing the tattoo over my heart: a cross to remember. Her finger gently skims the words ‘Never Silenced. Never forgotten. I’ll protect you while you sleep’ underneath.

  She brings her lips forward, running her tongue down the center of my chest.

  I groan at the contact, and my cock grows three sizes larger.

  “Are you afraid of me?” I ask again.

  Her eyes shoot to mine, and she shakes her head.

  “Good. I won’t hurt you. But, I sure am going to make you think I am.”

  Her eyes widen, and I grin. I’m so fucking turned on.

  I run the belt along her cheek once more.

  “Get on the bed. On your hands and knees.”

  She does as I say, her perfect, heart shaped ass in the air. The bed dips as I climb on behind her. “Are you on the pill?”

  “Yes. Are you clean?” she asks.

  “Very, I promise you that.”

  “Do it.” She gives me permission to fully feel her, and my heart thunders in my chest.

  I’ve never gone bare back. I’ve never fucked without a condom. Feeling her hot heat wrapped around me is all I fucking want right now.

  She gasps when I smack her ass. She moans when I enter her in one quick thrust of my hips. I fuck her hard. Fast and punishing. Strong and deep. I rock into her with all my might. She gives every bit back.

  One hand grips her hips, holding her in place.

  So, damn sweet.

  So, motherfucking tight.

  “I control this pussy,” I groan out.

  Slamming my cock in further, farther and farther than ever before, I moan and grunt. In and out. Over and over. Fast. Hard. Rough.

  A sheen of sweat breaks out over my skin as I exercise my force on her, and she pushes her ass against me.

  I squeeze it. “That’s right, this ass, it’s mine, too.”

  Pulling out of her, I flip her over to her back.

  Her body is spotlighted under the moonlight streaming through the window. My lips connect with her belly, kissing, sucking, nibbling, biting her flesh as I move upward.

  I grab her tit with one hand and suck down on the other, grazing her nipple with my teeth. I'm so fucking hard it's painful.

  She grabs at my cock, bringing it to her opening, and I push inside her, hiking her leg further up my back.

  She’s so damn wet.

  For the next few minutes it’s only the sweet melody of sex sounding through the night.

  I watch her. Her lips. Her eyes squeezed shut. The look of pure ecstasy on her face. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow behind her.

  Her tits, bouncing with each thrust of my hips. With each pound of my dick.

  She makes it impossible to hold on any longer. She makes it impossible to not feel.

  She plunges over the edge, her orgasm ascending through her body, as I thrum her clit.

  “That’s my girl. Come. Come.”

  She moans. She screams my name.

  I pump and pump. “I’m going to come deep inside you.”

  And I do. My body shakes. She holds onto me, her grip tightening with each wave of pleasure rolling through me.

  I’ve never had it this good.

  I’ve never had it like this.

  I want it again and again.

  After our bodies have calmed, and I’ve cleaned up in the bathroom, I move back into the bedroom. She lies there, splayed out under the sheet, kissed-worn and hair a wild mess. It’s sexy. And I decide to do something I shouldn't.

  “Hey,” I say, crawling into bed.

  “Hey, you.”

  I kiss her shoulder and nudge her over, so I can snuggle in to spoon behind her. I should go. Normally I’m a hit it and quit it kind of guy, but something has me glued to this bed with her.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “The painting in my living room. Why did you think it was sad?”

  “It looked like tears to me. Maybe the artist was sad when he painted it.” I snuggle in tighter to her.

  “I painted it,” she whispers.

  I roll her over and pin her under me, locking eyes with her. “Really? Wow, it’s breathtaking.”

  Her cheeks blush. “Thanks. I love to paint. To bring feelings to life.”

  Feelings to life. Something I’m trying to ignore every time I’m around her.

  I lie on my back, stunned by her admission. By her talent. “I’d love to see more.”

  She traces a finger up my bare abdomen. “Maybe I’ll show you someday.”

  Someday. Her words sound a lot like a future, and something I shouldn't entertain the idea of. This arrangement is becoming a lot more than business. She throws her arm and leg over me before dozing off, and this time I don't mind she's all arms and legs. This time, it feels really fucking good.

  A few days later, I laugh over cocktails with some of Katy’s top executives. They seem like alright dudes, not my cup of tea, but nonetheless, ok. Waiters in tuxedos serve wine and appetizers as guests conversate at white linen draped tables. These events are ridiculous. How much money do they waste to transform the large lobby for these events?

  “So, I’m on the green about to sink this shot when my phone rings. It’s my damn wife, yelling at me. I was supposed to be home for her cousin’s bar mitzvah,” a stocky bastard says, snorting through his nose as he tells his story.

  The table erupts in laughter, and I follow suit.

  I spot Katy across the makeshift ballroom, in the midst of a group of suits. She’s mesmerizing in the short emerald green gown she's wearing.

  “Just one thing you’ll have to deal with when you marry Katy,” the man says to me with a laugh.

  My eyes never lea
ve Katy from across the room. She’s gorgeous.

  She smiles at me. It blinds me. So, bewitching.

  “Yeah, dealing with her will be worth it,” I say, returning my attention to the man across the table.

  He raises his bushy eyebrows in horror, as if I just told him the stock market crashed.

  “I think you’ll have a lot to deal with,” he smirks. “Just ask her ex-husband.”

  I shrug it off. He obviously didn't appreciate her.

  “The King of New York had his hands full with that one,” another man says over his glass of red wine.

  King of New York? They’ll find out soon enough who rules this kingdom. And it's not fucking Travis Vanderlin.

  “Excuse me gentlemen, I’m going to go get my hands full of my alluring fiancée right now.” I stand, laying my napkin across my plate.

  Fuck these assholes.

  I move in the direction of Katy. She catches my eye and watches me from across the room. I can’t breathe. My chest tightens.

  I don’t think. I grab her in my arms when I reach her and plant a full kiss on her lips.

  She kisses me back and my chest releases all the tension it felt. Maybe this isn’t as crazy as it seems. Maybe this could be real.

  “You miss me that much?” she asks with a seductive spark to her tone.

  “Yeah.” I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I did miss her.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” She smiles.

  “I want to take you on a real date.” I don’t know where that came from, but it felt good to say.

  Somewhere I’m not pretending to be her fiancé. Somewhere I can just be with her. Somewhere real. God, why can’t it be fucking real?

  “I like that idea,” she says, running her hand down my white button-down shirt.

  “I do too.” I’m all smiles. I can’t stop with the cheesy grin. But, she brings it out in me.

  I lower my hand to the small of her back, then a few inches lower.

  She glances around. “Did you want to go?”

  “You sure?” Being here is not one of the top ten places I would like to be. Her bed is probably top of the list. Scratch that, her bed is definitely top of my list.

  “Yes. I think we’ve filled our obligations.”

  “Well then,” I lean close to her ear, “let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  11

  KATY

  The next evening, Pollux plans a date, and I'm giddy with excitement. It's been years since I've been on an actual date.

  He said casual, so I throw on a pair of True Religion skinny jeans and a thin, blue sweater since it's a warmer winter than we're used to.

  Within minutes of finishing the final touches of my makeup, he arrives.

  When I open the door, I’m taken aback at Pollux in jeans, black sweater, and a black leather jacket. It's as good as the suit porn.

  “You ready to have some fun?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  We step out of my building and when we get to the curb, a black sedan awaits.

  When the driver pulls away, Pollux leans over to me, his hand on my thigh. “You never finished telling me the story about Anne and that guy. Your email was a cliffhanger.”

  “Sorry.” I laugh. “So, she stalked him all the way to his gym.”

  “That’s not good. Did she finally talk to him?”

  Poor Anne, she has a horrible time with the opposite sex. She likes a guy who she’s afraid to talk to.

  “She did. Get this, when he came out of the gym she told him his shoes were untied. I guess he forgot to tie both his shoes. Anne says he glanced down and then thanked her.”

  “What kind of man forgets to tie his shoes when leaving the gym?”

  “A busy guy?” I laugh again.

  Pollux rubs tiny circles on my thigh. “Well, that’s a whole new level of busy right there.”

  “Yeah, I told her you don’t want a guy who doesn’t pay attention to tiny details.”

  Pollux laughs, moving closer to me. “Definitely not. You need a very attentive man.”

  My skin heats up. “Yeah, I do.”

  “You’re in luck. I’m very attentive.”

  Our eyes meet. “Yes, you are.”

  His hand on my thigh squeezes and moves higher. Then, his lips suck my neck. “Very,” he drawls.

  We both sit up straighter when the car jerks to a stop at a light.

  “Where are you taking me anyways?”

  He smiles. “I figured I’d take you on a real picnic. One without all the pretentious stuffy asses.”

  I narrow my eyes. The sun has set, and it’s chilly outside. “How?”

  “Have a little faith in me.”

  The driver navigates through the heavy traffic, and I focus on the buzz of the city out the window. He heads to Midtown and stops in front of The Museum of Modern Art.

  “What are we doing here? I thought we were going on a picnic?” I ask, stepping out of the car.

  “Is that what you call having faith?”

  The doors to the museum open, and an older man with longer gray hair smiles. “Sir, happy to see you. Come in.” He leads us inside, and I peek over my shoulder at Pollux.

  “Thanks, George.” Pollux shakes his hand when we enter the main floor exhibit. My heart squeezes.

  In the center of all the art, lies a red and white gingham blanket with two silver platters atop. A tapered candle burns in the center, and a bottle of red wine completes it.

  “I love it,” I say.

  “I figured you deserved a man who pays attention to all the tiny details.”

  No one has ever done anything like this for me. The fact he chose a setting that involves something I'm passionate about has all sorts of emotions stronger than like emerging.

  We sit together on the blanket, and I take in all the art around the room. “Did you know their collection has over two hundred thousand pieces?” I ask him.

  He grabs his fork, ready to spear a tomato from his caprese. “Guess I don’t know that many tiny details.”

  I laugh. “I love it here. My father used to bring my brother and I into the city when we were young, and I always wanted to come here.”

  He smiles. “That’s sweet. So, what’s your favorite piece?”

  “That one.” I point my finger. “It’s titled Let’s Walk to the Middle of the Ocean. By Mark Bradford.”

  He tilts his head. “It’s pretty, I guess.”

  “What you don’t like it?” I ask. “I love the colors. The vibrant blues. The dark yellows.”

  “Can I be honest?” I nod. “It doesn’t really look like the middle of the ocean.” He cringes.

  “Well, maybe they aren’t even near the ocean. The person might be making a statement: Let’s walk to the middle of the ocean. Doesn’t mean they did.”

  He stands, stalking closer to the painting. “Oh, wait.” He leans his head in closer. "This little black smidge looks like a person, in the middle of the ocean.”

  I follow him. “No, it doesn’t.” It really doesn’t. “I’m not even sure if the blue is the ocean.”

  Pollux steps closer. “Of course, it is. And this blob right here,” he points to the yellow splatters of paint, “I think those are the rocks, or shore.”

  I laugh. “You’re too literal. I think the artist is asking someone to do the impossible. Think about it, no one can walk to the middle of the ocean. So, he’s asking for the impossible. Let’s do something that can’t be done.”

  “Do the impossible. I like that.”

  “It’s stunning.” I step back, admiring the piece again.

  “Honestly, I’ve never really thought about it. Like this one here,” he moves to another framed painting, “it looks like random numbers and letters on a blank sheet of paper. Any kid past kindergarten could do this.”

  “Ah, yes. Christopher Wood. Yeah, I’m not a fan.”

  “I mean the guy couldn’t even be bothered to title his artwork. That’s too bus
y to tie your shoes busy,” he says, crossing his arms as he studies the piece.

  “Maybe that’s his uniqueness shining through,” I say, returning to the blanket.

  “You’re good at interpreting art. I guess I’ve never really been a fan.” He joins me on the blanket, stretching out his long legs.

  “Of course, you are. You have all that vibrant artwork all over your body.”

  He removes his shirt, and I nearly choke on my wine. “How would you interpret what you see?”

  “Hmm,” I take in each tattoo all connected in some way: the cross, the words scrawled along his chest, tribal designs down his arm, and a lion on his bicep. “I think it all works well together.”

  “What does it say to you?”

  “Well, I think it shows anger or fear. The cross is someone dear to you that you lost. The words mean you will carry out what he or she couldn’t. Then, the lion. The most relentless fighter. It represents courage and overcoming difficulties. I don’t really know, though.”

  He stares at me, quiet for a moment too long. “Wow, you should charge money for that.”

  I laugh. “Oh, stop.”

  He pulls his shirt back on. “I just thought the lion was cool. That’s why I got him.”

  I want to ask him about the cross, the person he lost, but he surprises me by opening up.

  “Her name was Harper. She was my little sister.”

  “You don’t need to talk about it, if you don't want.” I feel bad for souring the mood.

  He takes my out. “Fucking art, right?”

  “It’s very deep, I know.” I smile wide, and Pollux laughs.

  We continue eating, laughing over art interpretations and life. I want him to open up to me about his sister, but only when he’s ready.

  The past few weeks with Pollux have been an exciting whirlwind of fun and sex. So much sex. I almost introduced him as my fuck-ce. After the latest charity event, he leads me to the waiting town car. We head back to my place in a frenzy of kisses and moans that continues all night long. The silent push and pull of everything I want in this life that I can’t have weighs on me as we hold each other in the twilight hours.