BENTLEY

by Olivia Chase

  Then I follow the same path with my mouth .

  Her breathing grows harsh as my lips draw closer to her apex. I can feel the shake in her thighs when she lets them drift apart for me .

  “I need to taste you,” I say, and then I tug her panties off. Fuck, I can smell her cunt even without being buried in it. She’s soaked and ready for me .

  I give myself the luxury of licking her, and we both moan at the same time. Jesus. Jesus. She’s so fucking sexy. I run my hands over her legs as I pry her apart and eat her in earnest. I want her come soaking my face. I suck her labia between my lips and nibble, taste the sensitive flesh .

  Soon she’s bucking beneath me, her fists grabbing the bedspread. God yes, I want her wild and wicked .

  “I missed tasting you,” I say against her pussy. I lick her clit and feel it harden beneath my ministrations. Her whole pussy is swelling, and she’s drenched. I can’t wait to make her explode .

  “Bentley,” she breathes, and I hear her voice breaking. She’s close .

  “Not yet,” I warn her. I need to torture her just a little more .

  “I’m…” She cries out a little whimper that goes right to my dick. I’m already raging hard, blood pumping in my veins, and hearing her desperation makes me more so. “Please, please .”

  “Don’t you dare fucking come yet,” I growl, then move back to licking that nub. Slow, steady, sure. It’s so swollen I’m sure she’s right there, and given how stiff her body is, she’s doing everything to hold it back .

  When she’s shaking so hard that I’m sure she’ll fall off the bed, I suck her clit into my mouth and give a long pull. Then I release it and say, “Come now,” flicking it again and again .

  Seconds later, her cries of pleasure fill the room, fill those empty spaces in my heart. God, I needed this. I need her. I need to give her pleasure .

  Before she can come down, I’m stripping naked and rolling on a condom. Then I’m between her thighs, looking down at her .

  “Taste my mouth,” I tell her. “Taste how fucking good you are. See why I crave eating you .”

  Her eyes are wide with shock at my demand, but I lean down and kiss her, our bodies aligned. Then I push into her wetness, and we both groan .

  “Oh God, yes,” she murmurs against my mouth. Her fingers reach up and dig into my shoulder blades. “Please, deeper .”

  “As you wish, doll.” I withdraw and then plunge into her, my body smacking in her wet juices. I’m coated, the way I want to be. The way I need to be .

  Samantha arches her pelvis to take me as much as she can. Her pussy is so tight, so delicious. I’m almost delirious from the pleasure of being inside her again. This is heaven, right here. I wrap my arms around her and breathe against her hair. Let myself smell her, feel her. Experience her .

  I almost lost this .

  I hammer her with abandon, getting us both right to the edge. God, I love how open and responsive she is for me. I need her to come on my cock again before I let myself orgasm. So I stave off my own and focus on her .

  Pull back and lean down to suckle one breast into my mouth. Dig my hand into her hair at the nape of her neck, right where she likes it most .

  Her soft exhale, the way her body loosens for me, tells me all I need to know. My baby loves me taking control. She wants it as much as I do .

  I lick the rigid tip, flicking it, tasting her warm flesh. Digging my hands in her hair and squeezing, releasing. Keeping her focused on her body, on what I’m doing to her. My cock thrusting in and out, in and out .

  She’s shuddering now, fingers spasming on my shoulders. She moans something incoherent—or maybe I’m beyond reason, beyond understanding. I’m just here in my body, giving her everything I have .

  Fuck, I’m so hard. So hard. I want to come so badly in her .

  When I can tell she’s ready for more, I draw her nipple into my mouth and bite down. Slowly increase the pressure to shoot that sensation right to her cunt .

  “Yes, yes!” she cries out, and her hands are buried in my hair, thrusting my mouth closer .

  Oh, fuck yes. I move to the other breast, delivering the same treatment, and she’s bucking so hard under me .

  “I’m…going to come…” Her words are ground out and she’s slick against me .

  “Yes, I want you to fucking come all over my cock,” I say. I pull away from her breast and look at her. “Don’t close your eyes. Keep staring at me as you come. I want to see it on your face .”

  The words push her over the edge. Her mouth flies open and she’s screaming and falling over the edge, and I’m there, holding her as she shatters for me, like such a good girl, pleasing me and taking what I give her. Taking her own pleasure, the way she should .

  Her pussy is soaked, tight, squeezing my cock impossibly hard. Almost pushing me out with its strength. The sensation sends me right to the edge, and I fall over right after her, roaring her name, the word that comes out like a prayer from my mouth .

  It takes us both several moments to slide back into reality. I know that tonight will be etched in me for eternity. And I shared it with her .

  With a grumble, I pull out of her. Flick the light switch off. I hurry back to her side and tug the blanket and sheet down, and she gives a weak laugh when I yank her back flush to my chest and cuddle her .

  Our breath evens out as the minutes go by in silence. We’re both relaxed, languid. I’ve never felt so good in my entire life. The heat from her body pours against mine, and I know this is where I want to be .

  I stroke her hair. “So, are you excited to get back into school ?”

  I feel her nod. “It’s been too long. I’m ready to finish my degree. Just one year to go .”

  “If you were that close, why did you leave ?”

  She stiffens against me, and I have a feeling I walked into a landmine zone without realizing it. I instantly remember how I reacted when she asked questions about my adoption, and I backpedal .

  “Never mind. It was a random question. Nothing important .”

  “No, I…I want to share it with you. But I, um.” She clears her throat, and I can still feel the tension in her limbs. “I worry about what you might think .”

  I wrap an arm protectively around her waist. Poor sweet girl. I made her this edgy, this afraid to open up. I may not be able to return the gesture, at least not for the immediate future, but I can listen. “ Tell me .”

  Slowly, Samantha tells her story. About being a junior and taking English class with a professor who paid her an abnormal amount of attention. How it moved into a sort-of affair. I can hear the strain in her words, but to her credit, she keeps talking .

  Meanwhile, I find my own lungs freezing in panic. Samantha is revealing something that is a dark secret for her. She’s opening up in a way I didn’t expect or anticipate .

  She might expect the same from me .

  I can hear the pain, the trauma as she tells me about the other girls he fooled around with, her shame and agony. How she ran away from the situation. It reminds me of how I dealt with my own pain and trauma. By running away, never facing it .

  Stop , I will myself. Stop this right fucking now .

  I’m not going to lose control. I won’t lose control. I will handle my emotions. Because I’m sure as fuck not ready to expose them to the light of day. To face my darkest time .

  I suddenly realize Samantha has grown quiet. She turns in my arms and eyes me, and even in the darkness, I can see the concern on her brow .

  “Are you… I can’t quite read you.” The tension in her is palpable .

  I want to comfort her. To reassure her that my problem isn’t with her having an affair with her professor. But I’m struggling to find words. I’m suddenly alive and awake with pain again, pain I keep trying to shove down .

  “Bentley, you’re shaking,” she says with a gasp. She sits up. I can feel her worried stare .

  But I can’t look at her. I’m flooded with memories now, overwhelmed. I�
�m back in my head, in my pain, suffocating with the agony of the tortured secret I’ve been carrying since I was nine .

  I blindly fumble out of bed and make my way to the mini bar. I need a drink. Something to dull this pain. It’s too soon. I’m not ready to feel it yet .

  My hands are shaking so badly that I struggle to open the small bottle of liquor. I don’t even bother looking at what it is. I just finally rip it open .

  I can hear Samantha behind me, sitting up in bed and saying soothing things, but I’m too mortified to listen. I’m not having a breakdown. Not here, not now .

  She deserves better than this. Better than me. I’m a broken man with no hope of ever being right again .

  “Bentley.” A small hand is resting on my shoulder .

  I shake it off and prepare to down the contents of the bottle .

  A flash of my mom’s lifeless eyes pops right up in my mind, and I shake again, my whole body ripping with trembles .

  Samantha is gripping my upper arms and she spins me around before I can get the numbing drink down my throat .

  “Bentley.” Her voice is a beacon, pulling me through the fog. “Bentley. Don’t shut me out. Talk to me, please .”

  I can’t look at her. I close my eyes and hang my head, too ashamed .

  Samantha

  I ’m in full panic mode. One minute, I was spilling my guts, confessing my worst secret to Bentley, and the next, he’s at the mini bar like it’s his life goal to get wasted right at this moment. I haven’t seen him this desolate…since that first night I met him .

  Which makes me realize that his reaction, whatever is going on, isn’t about me. This is about the darkness that lingers in his eyes. The one I noticed so long ago. Some of the tension in my chest fades away .

  I reach up and stroke his hair, hold him close. But he seems to not notice; he’s a rock, immobile. “Talk to me. Please,” I say. “I want to know what’s going on. I need to. Let me be here for you.” Whatever is happening in his head is important .

  Bentley finally opens his eyes and looks at me, and the bleakness I see there rips my heart in two. This is a man who has lived with agony for so long, he doesn’t know anything else. And the sight shreds me into pieces. “I’m not able to do this,” he says quietly. There’s a slight hitch in his voice on the last word. “I can’t be the man you need, Samantha. I’m completely broken .”

  My chest hurts at the emotion layered in his words. And in this moment, I really do understand how much he loves me. He loves me so much that he believes I’m better off without him .

  That’s why he pushed me away before, back in his office. Not because I wasn’t good enough. But because he felt he wasn’t. He couldn’t deal with us getting close and me seeing this side of him .

  “Shh,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. He doesn’t move, but that’s okay. He can feel me. I can be his strength. “Bentley, I love you .”

  He sucks in a breath. I can tell from the stiffness in his body, the way his arms reach toward me then drop down again, that he wants to embrace me, but he’s afraid to. His hesitation speaks volumes .

  “I love you,” I repeat. “I love you, even if you are broken. I love exactly who you are right now, and nothing you say is going to change that.” I pray that he can hear the earnestness in my words, because I mean it. Every fucking word of it. I want him to know that I’m here for him .

  He reached out to me last week, despite him feeling broken and scared, despite the possibility of rejection. I want to be here for him too .

  That’s what love is .

  The realization of how strongly I feel humbles me. Floors me .

  He sucks in a shaky breath and pulls back just a fraction, and then he sinks down to the carpet. I follow along with him, cradling him in my arms. This poor, poor man. I’ve never seen someone hurt so deeply. It’s killing me .

  “Tell me,” I whisper through a tight throat as I press kisses to his brow, to the top of his head .

  He grips me like I’m a lifeline. Closes his eyes. “I’ve never told anyone what happened. Not even my adoptive parents .”

  I stay quiet to let him start talking. I can sense that Bentley needs to unfold this in his own way. At his own pacing. I won’t push him. Will just be here for him the way he needs me to. I keep him in my embrace and hold him .

  “My birth mother was a single mom,” he starts. “She had me right out of high school. Some guy in one of her classes knocked her up and then bailed on her. But she never made me feel anything less than loved, despite the circumstances. We did a lot together, and though we were poor, I never really cared too much about it.” He pauses, and I hear the bittersweet pain in his voice. “She had a wonderful smile .”

  “What was her name?” I ask .

  “Donna. Donna Murphy.” He exhales hard. “I haven’t said her name out loud since…” After a pause, he says, “I should have, though. I never forgot her. I just tried to forget what happened. Murphy is my birth name. I’m really Bentley Murphy .”

  Makes sense now—he took on his adoptive parents’ last name. I can tell what he’s revealing is a hard, painful secret. And I won’t insult him by promising to keep it to myself. The fact that he’s telling me means he trust me. So I just hold him and feel his warm body in my arms. Comforting him with my silence .

  “My mother didn’t do a lot without me,” he continues. His voice is even, more like he’s relaying a story than a painful memory. “She was good to make me feel wanted and loved. But occasionally she’d go on dates, trying to find ‘the one.’ I never really liked the guys she brought home—she had terrible taste in men.” He gives a dry laugh that has no humor in it .

  “When I was nine, Mom went on a blind date with a person our neighbor hooked her up with. A guy who supposedly had his shit together and didn’t mind dating a single mom. Given all the flack she got from her family and most of her friends about getting pregnant so young, she was excited that a person would be okay with it.” He pauses, gives a wistful sigh. “I remember her in the bathroom that afternoon, curling her hair. She told me I was old enough to stay at home alone for a few hours, that the neighbor would be there if I needed anything…but I didn’t want her to go .”

  I can hear the dread filling his voice about where this story is going, and my own body is tightening in response to his tension. I want to ask a hundred questions, but I stay silent. This is his story to tell .

  “I watched TV for a while and then fell asleep on the couch.” Now his voice sounds almost dead, like he’s reciting his grocery list. There’s no emotion at all. “I woke up to the sound of them coming home. Mom stood in the door and told her date good night. I could hear how uncomfortable she was, like the night didn’t go well. She seemed eager to have him leave .

  “But he didn’t want to leave. He kept pressing her to let him inside, and when she finally told him she was tired and goodnight for real, he just shoved her away and entered our trailer anyway. I was still groggy on the couch, but I remember being scared and trying to stay quiet.” His breathing gets ragged. “Then I realized he was tying my mom up to a kitchen chair and stuffing a gag in her mouth .”

  “Oh God,” slips out of my mouth. My heart is racing as he’s unfolding what happened so long ago .

  Bentley keeps going, as if nothing could stop the story once it’s begun. “The man eventually saw that I was on the couch. He turned to me and told me I had to sit still and be quiet, or he’d slit my throat right then and there .”

  I gasp. What the hell? My brain is reeling. How could a nine-year-old handle that situation? And yet, I know he’s not done. I know more is to come .

  Bentley’s body begins to shake, and his voice is unsteady. “He…he strangled my mom right in front of me. I watched the life leave her eyes. I watched my mother die as that man stole her from me. Her face turned red, then purple, her eyes…bulging. And then, she was gone.” He’s gasping for breath now, and I know he’s reliving the moment, with the intense pain
of a child, trauma he’s clearly never dealt with. Not if I’m the first person he’s ever told this to .

  I’m sick. I’m furious. I’m in such pain for him .

  “And I just sat there, alive. Paralyzed by my fear and dread. I didn’t try to jump on him or stop him. I didn’t do anything. I let that man kill my mother, and then he just left the trailer without another word.” Bentley’s voice cracks hard, and I realize he’s crying, tears plopping on my arms. “He left me to deal with my dead mother, and I’ll never know why .”

  I’m so shattered for him that for a moment, I can’t speak. No wonder he’s so closed off. No wonder he’s in such agony. He dealt with something I could never in my life imagine. This poor man. I hurt for him, and I can’t do anything but cradle him now as he sobs and sobs in my arms .

  I have a feeling this is the first time he’s let himself feel it since it happened. The first time he’s confessed the truth about what he saw .

  And I vow to never let him go. To always be here for him, to love him through his brokenness and do everything I possibly can so he’ll feel whole and healed again. I’ll stay by his side, and he’ll know that he is loved .

  This man needs that more than anyone else I’ve ever met. This proud, stubborn, strong man, who’s shattering apart in my arms. He needs to feel loved exactly as he is, dark trauma and all .

  I rock him and soothe him in a low voice. “It’s okay,” I say again and again. “It’s okay to feel that pain, and it’s okay to hurt. You never let yourself grieve. But you need to, baby. You need to.” I kiss his brow and wipe his tears. “I’m glad you finally told your story .”

  He continues to clutch me to him, and his tears eventually start to subside. I can tell when he’s starting to pull himself together; he leans away from me and looks toward the other wall, wiping his eyes. I give him the moment to compose himself .

  I know the gift of vulnerability he gave me was probably harder for him than I can imagine .