by Dylan Heart
I roll over to face him, pushing my body close to his so that his cock rubs against my dress. “I came here with a proposition.”
“You’re going to forego the bet and sleep with me anyway?” He bites into his lip and traces his fingers to the hem of my dress. “I rather like that idea.”
I push my body closer, teasing him with the heat of my body, and run a palm against his defined, smooth abs. From experience, I know light touches against his stomach makes his cock race. “There’s this girl.”
“I already have a girl.” He smiles. “Two of them. One right here with me, and the other somewhere studying her Bible or something.”
“You want a third.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re a pig.” I run my fingers past his navel, drawing a circle around his perky button. “You’ll never be satisfied.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I am.” I shift my hand lower, pressing softly against the shaven mound above his cock. “She’s pretty and innocent, with big breasts and lush lips.” I scoot closer until I’m close enough to whisper in his ear. They’re untouched.”
“Stop it,” he growls. “You’re going to make me come just thinking about it.”
I bite into my lip and steal his attention. Those beautiful, swirling emerald eyes are fixated on me as I tug softly at his erection. He gasps and pushes into my touch. “I want you to turn her into a sex machine. Fuck her so good that she’ll never stop craving cock. You’re the perfect man for the job.” I’m stroking his ego—and his cock—on purpose. The only thing Brick loves more than pussy is himself—and sometimes, I think, maybe me.
“What’s in it for you?” he asks between arid moans of pleasure. At this point, he’s focused on his own release and couldn’t care less that I’m in the room. I’m nothing more than a sex toy with human flesh to him. His fingers rise from the lining of my dress and press against my stomach, just below my breasts.
“I see that Tyra is slow to catch the hook and you’re left bobbing on top of the water. You’re horny and bored. I can see it in your eyes. You know you want to.”
“I won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing you’re right. But I’ll look into her. She might be the perfect woman to fill the blank space in my portfolio.”
“Oh yeah. She’s fucking perfect.”
He smiles his trademarked smile—a perfect shitstorm of a grin running on fumes of equal parts sly and smug. A smile that is capable of tearing panties in half. “Yeah?” he moans, for no particular reason. He closes his eyes and his abs begin to contract, and his hips buck.
God. This is a fucking beautiful sight to behold. This man is trouble even when his eyes are closed. For a moment, I almost forget who he is and I’m drawn into his closed eyes. For a moment, I want to jerk him to completion.
I snap out of it, but continue to stroke his hardness. As his breathing intensifies, I quicken my pace, pumping my hand up and down his swollen shaft. I derive my own pleasure from his muffled cries, and take great pride in the art of being in control.
I’ve been with enough men to know the infallible signs they’re about to blow. I’ve been with Brick enough times to know that in that department, he’s no different than any other man.
I lean my head down and kiss him softly on his cheek. That’s enough to send him to the next level. He can say whatever the fuck he wants, but at his core, he’s no different than anyone else on this Earth—he wants to be loved. It’s just not something we talk about.
He chokes on a moan and I release his cock from my grip before spinning off the side of the bed. His eyes dart open and the visage is alarming—they’re dark and wanton, burning holes of unfinished business into my being.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He reaches forward with his tattooed arm and latches onto my arm. I’m not strong enough to pull away as he pulls himself to his knees and begins to stroke his cock furiously—more furious than I could. Call me fifty shades of fucked up, but there is nothing more sexy than the image of a man pleasuring himself.
I’m wet, but it’s not something I care to admit. I can’t force myself to look away from his demanding eyes as continues to beat away at his cock. If it was swollen before, it’s prepared to blow now. Holy fucking Mount Rushmore.
I shake my wrist at Brick, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens. His eyes struggle to stay closed, but he fights through the waves of ecstasy. He wants to watch me watch him as he comes. Everything we do to each other, and with each other, always comes back to power. It’s how we measure our lives and our relationships with those around us. It’s fucked up and it’s the only thing that makes sense.
He bucks his hips. His mouth drops open, spitting guttural moans. His body is so focused on his release that I’m able to escape his grip and jump back, and out of the way of shooting ropes of cum.
The upper half of his body folds over, but his eyes remain transfixed on mine. It’s a struggle, but it’s not a battle he’s willing to lose. And he wins. He always fucking does. I can’t look away as his body goes limp against the backdrop of city lights.
“Damn, I missed,” he says when he finally reclaims control of his vocal chords. There’s a hint of amusement and a touch of disappointment in his tone that he wasn’t able to hit me with his army of semen.
I’m frozen, unable to move. It has been a while since I’ve seen him like this. Our games with each other had devolved into nothing more than quick teases. We always push each other in a back and forth, but lately we have always stopped before one of us gave in. That’s what this whole bet is about. In a certain kind of way, it feels like he’s claimed his prize before he’s even won.
It makes me want to win that much more, and now that I’ve positioned Cece firmly in his crosshairs, my path to victory has become easier.
Brick reaches his hand out to me, and a vulnerable smile hitches across his lips. “Stay with me.”
I know I shouldn’t, but knowing something isn’t the same as being able to act on it. “Only if you promise to keep your cock to yourself,” I say half-jokingly.
He looks away, pondering my request. “I reluctantly promise.” He holds his arms out, as if he’s waiting for me to crawl into them. I climb into bed and lay on my stomach. I place my head on a pillow and stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows that form three of the four bedroom walls.
Brick follows suit and plops his head down onto the pillow beside me. “There’s something on your mind.”
Believe it or not, but Brick has a caring side. I think it begins and ends with me. I’m his proudest accomplishment and his biggest prize, but underneath all the bullshit, he understands me. I understand him. We’re two of a fucked-up kind.
“Tell me,” he continues, and rests his eyes on the city in front of us.
“Do you ever get tired of playing these games?”
“No,” is his reply. Short, simple and to the point.
“Do you think we’re terrible people?”
“I think…” He sighs. “I think it doesn’t matter. We are who we are. Ain’t no use in comparing us to anybody else.”
“What about karma?” I look to him, but he’s too lost in the cityscape to look back.
“What about it?”
“Do you believe in that?”
“Sweetie, we are karma. We’re just a step ahead of the curve. We don’t wait to be fucked over, and that makes us smarter than the rest of the sheep that walk this world.” He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, like it’s easier to talk to a wall than it is to talk to a window where the rest of the world can see in. “Our hearts are protected for a reason, and look at us. We’re doing great while the rest of the world drowns under the weight of their emotions. We’re not about that life.” He takes a short, contemplative pause. “We never will be.”
Chapter 10
Cherry-red lipstick? Check.
Black heels? Check.
Grey skirt, cut just below the knee? Check.
White blouse with the cutest black buttons undone in all the wrong places? Check.
When work attire is lingerie, stepping into the wardrobe of a young professional is a daunting task. It’s an odd feeling, hearing my heels click across the shiny floors of Davidson Hall. With each click, I’m overwhelmed with a new and different sense of power—one that exists outside the confines of a bedroom.
A pair of glasses hang around my neck, taking refuge in the folds of my cleavage. I lift the glasses and place them in position so that they rest on the edge of my nose. This is about to be the easiest seduction I have ever pulled.
I straighten myself out and prepare myself mentally for the challenge ahead. When I’m feeling my most confident, I reach for the handle and rip the door to lecture hall 204 open.
Shit.
Imagine the horror of walking into a lecture hall full of students while dressed up in your sluttiest Halloween attire. That’s how I feel right now as my cheeks flush every shade of red to the tune of matching my lipstick. All eyes are on me, and the silence is deafening.
I hear Jensen clear his throat from the desk that sits idle to the front of the gargantuan room.
He’s visually unhappy, shaking his head in disdain as I slowly approach him, taking quick snapshots of the students around me. I take notice of a few men in particular. Previous victims of mine who were unfortunate enough to climb into my web of deceit.
After what feels like forever, I finally reach Jensen and turn my back to the crowd. “I thought this was going to be a one-on-one thing.”
“Really?” he shoots back in a muffled whisper. “That’s interesting. I didn’t realize I was hiring a prostitute.”
“That’s a little sexist—“
“You look like you’ve shown up for a live, demonstrative reading of Fifty Shades of Grey.” He purses his lips tightly. “It is not sexist to point that out.”
“What was I supposed to wear?” I ask, shifting gears. My fast track plan to seducing him has come to a screeching halt, and it looks like I’m back on the long, drawn out, look at me, I’m innocent and clueless, track.
He grabs my arm and nudges me toward the door. My heels clatter against the floor as he follows me into the hallway. He shuts the door behind us and cranes his neck down both sides of the hallway, ensuring nobody is watching.
“You look good,” he says, “but I’m going to need you to lose the glasses and button up about five of those buttons.”
I look down at my cleavage and think, yeah, five buttons was overdoing it. “I have a reputation to maintain,” I scoff. “Three buttons at most.”
“Five unless you want to walk those heels on home.”
“Fine,” I grumble and begin the arduous process of buttoning up.
He runs his thumb across his pink, bitable lips and nods in approval—there’s a reason he’s a prime piece of meat within the co-ed circles, and those lips are a major selling point. “Now, lets go back inside the classroom.” He opens the door, and this time it’s me following him. “Attention,” he projects his voice so the entire lecture hall can hear him, “as you all know, my former assistant is no longer with us.” He gestures toward me with his hand. “I would like to introduce you all to my new assistant, Apple Malloy.”
I smile, playing the role of the dutiful wife of a presidential candidate. I even throw my hand up and wave, a callback to the long-gone days of Apple Malloy, runner up to the pageant crown.
If I thought attending class—even class with a steaming stallion of a professor—as a student was tedious and boring, then I don’t know what the fuck I would call the last two hours. If boredom could kill…
I didn’t partake in any teacher-y activities. I didn’t grade papers or take attendance. I didn’t offer my skills as an instructor to a class of hungover undergrads. I also didn’t finger myself while I was hidden behind Jensen’s desk, although the thought certainly crossed my numb mind.
I yawn as the last of the students exit the lecture hall, and take silent glee in the fact I’ll soon be able to drive home and get some real work done. I don’t see myself gaining too much traction with Mr. Jensen Moon in a workplace setting.
“Come on,” Jensen says to me and taps me on the shoulder. “We need to relocate to my office.”
“What?” I spin around in my chair. “I thought this was all the work we were doing today.”
“A two hour lecture?” He shakes his head and smiles. “And to be fair, you didn’t actually do anything.”
I force a fake, exhausted exhale and rise to my feet. “Unfortunately, I have class at four.”
He gives me a serious case of the side-eye. “Principles of Social Marketing? The same class you haven’t showed up to for the past month?”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“I sneaked a peek at your transcripts.” His voice remains steady, but his sly smile is screaming, I win.
“I’ve been really sick lately…”
“Just admit it’s an elective.” He grabs a stack of papers in one hand and waves them in the air. “It’s not required for graduation and you don’t give two shits about it.”
“Fine,” I huff. “It’s a stupid elective. It’s not required for graduation and I don’t give two shits about it.” I turn away from him, opting to stare at the floor in defeat because I’m not getting out of here anytime soon. Then, it hits me. “You cursed.” My eyes widen and I wag a finger in his face.
“As adults tend to do,” he says as he scoops the pile of papers into a messenger bag.
“Not the kind that lead purity-spouting, Christian groups on campus.”
He halts the process of packing the contents of his desk into his bag. “Oh, I forgot that you read a signed copy of my autobiography.”
“I’m not much of a reader.”
“Yeah,” he says with a wink, “we’ve been down this road before.” He snaps his bag shut and slings it over his muscular shoulder. “Follow me. We’re now going to shift the action to my office.”
Action shifted.
Location: Jensen’s office.
“This is way too cramped for me,” I say as I shift my eyes uncomfortably around the tiny office. It’s a cluttered mess, with hardly enough room for a desk and a few overstuffed bookshelves. “How do you work in here? And how did you draw the short straw to have your office located in a storage closet?”
Jensen looks up from his desk with a red pen in hand. “Have you ever been to your advisors office?”
“Every Tuesday.” I smile my way through the bullshit.
“Do you complain about her equally small office?”
This charade went nowhere fast. “I’ve done all my advising over email.”
He shakes his head and laughs. He’s always shaking his head, like he can’t believe half the shit that’s coming out of my mouth. “It’s amazing you’re graduating at all.”
“Thanks to you,” I say playfully and lean my chin across the desk.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He shifts his attention back to the papers in front of him, scribbling red notes of presumed failure on student’s papers. “If you manage to screw up this gig, I’ll find a way to take back that ‘A’.”
I chuckle and push myself back against the seat of my chair. “You can’t do that.”
He looks up to me with the wickedest of smiles. You could measure the length of his smile in units of challenge. “Try me.” His smile widens further—a talented display of pushing something past the point where it should break, but miraculously doesn’t.
I change angles and decide to try him in a different way. My fingers fall to the opening in my blouse and with a deft hand, I pull it open further, popping three buttons in the process.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s hot in here.” I reach for the fourth button, and take pride in the way I seem to be able to make him sweat. His eyes shift to the door behind me. “Besides, we’re out of the public eye now.”
/> “Right.” His attention is back on me, his eyes drilling into my soul when they should be ogling my breasts. “If the dean should happen to walk in, I’ll simply tell him my sister, Mary Magdalene, is in town for the week.”
“I resent that,” I sneer at him.
“So would my boss.” He leans back into his chair and taps the stack of papers with his pen. “But you’re right. It’s much too hot in here.”
I raise my brow and hope for the best. “Does this mean I can go home?” It’s come to my attention that I’m going to need a new game plan with Jensen. I need to go home and plot a new course of action, because offering my breasts on display isn’t doing the trick.
“No. You’re not going home.” He stands up and straightens his tie. “We’re going to switch venues.”
Chapter 11
A fucking bar? This is the change of venue Jensen had in mind? He who is holier than thou and terrified that my exposed, but bra-covered breasts could ruin him?
Men aren’t the most difficult of creatures to understand. When you remove their clothes, strip away the hair wax and lock them in a laboratory for study, all that’s left will be three things: the need to eat, the need to have their egos stroked and the ultimate need—the need to fuck. Straight men. Gay men. Chaste men. They’re all the same.
But Jensen… I can’t figure this motherfucker out. On the surface, he’s just like the rest of the lady-killers. He’s charming, but distant. He’s handsome, but off limits. He’s sexy-as-fuck, he knows it, and like all the other boys, he’ll never let you inside his head.
That’s unfortunate for me, because I need inside his head more than anything. I need to find the key and unlock his soul to figure out what drives him, and then turn that against him.
Scratch has the name of a superclub, but has more in common with the kind of dive bars you would find in any small-to-medium sized town. It’s not even close to being my scene. Located on the outskirts of the city where skyscrapers are replaced with towering trees in search of Heaven. Scratch is a long way from Gatsby’s, downtown or campus. It’s a part of the city I wouldn’t have believed to exist, if for no other reason than my own ignorance in everything I haven’t experienced.