by JR King
“Let’s get you home.” Mitchell took my arm and pulled me from the stool, keeping me steady on my feet.
Puzzled, I shook my head. “Why? I want one last one.”
“We’ve had enough. I just wanted you to let your hair down and get back into the swing of things.” He took his iPhone out from his pant pocket.
On the way to the town car, I placed my hand into his. My brain and tongue weren’t working properly. Everything felt soggy, and drunken laughter erupted from me. I tapped Mitchell’s shoulder, loving the feeling. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
It was both frightening and thrilling to give him permission. Mitchell ended up taking me back to his penthouse for coffee. Part of me kept wondering why I agreed to go to his place. Then I glanced at him, feeling a sort of gnawing hunger for letting him mark me; make me his. I didn’t belong with Alexander Turner, I belonged with a kind—and equally handsome—man like Mitchell. Or maybe it was all the cheap tequila that made me feel so liberated. Maybe the alcohol disguised the calm before the storm, a whirlwind being born from funnel clouds.
The traffic was busy. The chauffeur was chatty and assured us that we would be home in minutes, and we were.
Before going to the living room, I stared at the penthouse kitchen. Rich black granite countertops shot through with metallic specks, chrome accessories and silver accents matched the high-grade equipments, and the pale golden marble on the floor was veined with violet. Listening to Anjulie’s Love Songs, I was ready to engage with Mitchell on the next level. For a while we just stared at each other in silence, and I touched his face. I tried to kiss him then, but he jerked his head and wouldn’t let me.
“Stop it, Elena. I don’t want to ruin this. If I kiss you, I won’t let you leave,” he bitched.
“Make me stay.” When I tried again, he pushed my face away with the palm of his hand. Reaching for my espresso cup on the smoked glass Bauhaus style coffee table, I flicked my tongue at him for the second time this evening. “I’m not a babe in the woods, you know.”
“I know.”
“So what am I doing here, then?” I rebutted in a voice shy of simpering.
He was silent for a while, eyeing my mouth and my décolleté, until he brusquely pulled me in and circled my waist with his arm. He pressed against me and he was hard. “I want you, don’t doubt that,” he declared eventually, smearing his cheek against mine. His five o’clock shadow tickled me. “Does that answer your question?”
I was heady with relief. “I think you’re right…,” but I never managed to finish the sentence. Warm, soft pinks lips sealed over mine. At first, the passionate kissing was about erasing Alexander’s memory, but then it transformed into lust for Mitchell. I felt brazen and encumbered and hungry all at once.
Before I could straighten my spine and stand up, Mitchell tugged me upright, spinning me around so that I was standing with my back to him. His hands were on my back, drawing my dress’s zipper downward. When it fell to the floor, I was left wearing nothing but heels, a push-up bra, and a thong. Everything was black.
“Fuck, you came prepared.” He sucked in an audible breath.
Turning around, I gave him a slow smile. “Is it okay?” I took a couple of steps back to give him a better view. “You like?”
Instead of answering, he stepped up to me and reached behind my back to unhook my bra. My breasts came free, and he didn’t waste time covering them with the warm centers of his palms. “These are fucking exquisite,” he muttered roughly, his thumbs rasping across my peaked nipples.
Mitchell was patient, coaxing me with sweet words. His body could have been carved in marble, the kind of body you want doing dirty things to yours, and his bedroom voice, which had the kind of rasp you want hearing whisper dirty things in your ear, complemented it.
Over the heavy sound of my own panting, I heard the rip of foil, and a moment later, he was on top of me. The tip of his erection, slick with the lubricated rubber, pressed against me. I opened for him. It was a blissful relief to feel my body reacting to him, stretching to the point of pain. I couldn’t imperil this moment with a criticism; I pushed gladly up against him as he eased into me.
I felt and enjoyed his thrusts, but at times it felt as though I was out of my body, looking at two mismached people go at it. Slowly, as he kept thrusting into me and twisting his hips as he delved inside me, something in me changed. There was, I concluded, no need for me to turn my face away and look at the wall. No need to make sure he wouldn’t laugh at my miserable expression, because I was enjoying his body as much as he was enjoying mine. For a fleeting moment the absence of a schism in our lovemaking seemed erotic in itself, but then, in a single breathing noise of Mitchell’s loud growl, everything changed.
I heard the rage in his panting first, and then I felt it in his muscles. Felt it dripping off his skin with his sweat as his rhythm escalated, jiggling my head on the pillow. When the bed began to creak, his hands shifted from my hips and fisted my hair. It might have been a normal testosterone rush toward pleasure that happened every time he came, but since I wasn’t sure, I didn’t know what to do—what to feel. I wasn’t overtly experienced, so I failed to maintain that special connection between us. His painful and sad rage halted the pleasant, unlimited sensations. I also knew that many girls never achieved an orgasm through penetrative sex, so I powered through and faked coming as best as I could.
Keeping my eyes closed, the moans and the little twitches pulling at my muscles were well received.
“Fuck…Elena, you’re fucking wonderful. Did I hurt you?” He ran a hand through his hair, unintentionally dislodging a lock. It fell down his high forehead.
“A little…you’re quite large,” I snickered. “Are you all right? Was it good?”
“You’ve managed to erase a very bad memory for me, baby. You’re an angel.”
See, even Diane Knight couldn’t act this well. I felt proud; Alexander was a loser with a loser girlfriend.
Mitchell threaded his fingers through mine and kept the entwined fists between us on the bed. I tugged on it until he gave in and maneuvered my free hand along his abdominal muscles, toward the scarce sprinkles of hair trailing from his navel. I outlined the trail languidly with feathery caresses, petted him. His pain hit close to home. I guessed that the momentary bonding he and I had done tonight beheld a promise of a having a future together.
“Mitchell?”
“Yes, love?” I watched him tie a deft knot in the end of the flooded condom.
“Could we go slower during penetration? I’d like to do it again. You were spectacular, but…,” I paused and squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment. Rested the side of my head on the sheeted mattress to cover it with a pillow.
“But you didn’t come. I know, I’ve had a good share of women, Elena. I must say, you’ve taken faking to the next level. Tonight, we won’t sleep until you come twice for me.”
“Why not thrice?” Looking up, I tried to stitch together an outraged expression.
He gave me a warm smile, his gentle touch on my belly soothing, if a bit ticklish. “Anything you want, baby. The first time was just training wheels, okay? Trust me?”
I trusted him.
Mitchell panted with exertion when I sucked down hard on him, pleasure softening his hard features. He ripped open the second foil wrapper and pulled out the opalescent latex circle, pinching the end and sliding the ring down his cock. The second time, he tried hard not to hurt me with the violence of his release, and I found mine. Then he was releasing me to reach for a third condom on the bedside table. This one, though, was handed to me after he’d ripped off the corner of the sealed square.
“Put it on, Elena.”
A flush crept up over my cheeks. I gave him a small nod, and carefully slid the lubed sheath down onto his cock. Having cut my nails earlier, it totally felt like Mitchell and I were meant to be.
I had to close my eyes against the animalistic, unstoppable lust in his. The tequila made it ea
sy to drift away while I was pitched like a boat in a storm. I was too wet with his friction, climaxing like a…pro.
“Harder?” Mitchell tightened his fist in my hair, and ground his hips against me.
“Harder. Yes.”
Again.
Was Alexander doing the same to Diane?
Again.
A bead of sweat rolled down Mitchell’s cheek and hit mine. “Am I doing a half-assed job? Or have I turned the prospect on its head?” His voice wobbled with distress.
“This might be the best I’ve ever had,” I giggled.
Once again he was coming. His body jerked and he thrust harder, sinking his cock deeper and gasping. Through the latex, I felt the heat of his semen warm my insides, but what warmed my heart was the fact that I was able to give him pleasure. He kissed me desperately as his climax went on and on, then his mouth slid to my throat where it stayed clutched to a sensitive spot. It wasn’t hard to ride out his climax into more ecstasy. As the throbbing abated, he rolled over to the side, keeping me spindled on top of him.
He chuckled with no little impudence. “I feel a second wind coming.”
“I’m tired!” I pounded my fists on his chest, uncaring that he was out of breath and unrecovered.
“Little bitch,” he cursed, grabbing my fists with one hand.
I feigned terror, my voice barely audible. “Someone help me.”
“Too late, girlie.” I tried to get up, but he trapped me to the length of his body with his other hand and his legs. Releasing my wrists, he flung his arm over his eyes. “You’re spending the night with me, Elena. I have a hankering for morning sex.” He smiled weakly. “I warned you not to kiss me. You’ve made your own hell.”
“I should have never kissed the devil,” I mumbled.
I felt him soften gradually and slip out. And he fell asleep like that. I made sure to remove and tie off the end of the condom. There was no nausea; I was fast asleep.
First thing in the morning, Mitchell kissed me, his hand running down my arm. The magic was still there, still sizzling. I kissed him back, and not in a reserved way. Now that I was sober, I realized I had to give less tongue and more lip.
“Fuck,” Mitchell moaned into my mouth. He seemed to be enjoying the kiss, and me, all the same. I let him take over and as he moved his slippery tongue against mine, I couldn’t remember kissing Alexander. All good, but now I recalled there was a despicable human being called Diane Knight. I resolved to boycott her movies from now on.
Morning sex accomplished, Michael carried me into the shower, and closed the butterfly bi-fold doors. “Ablutions first, breakfast, and then I’m bringing you home. I’d like to greet your grandparents, Elena.”
I stood shakily and hugged him, kissed his neck. “Another round before ablutions?”
He held up his hands as if to ward off an evil spirit. “You’re going to kill me.”
My hand moved downward.
“Breakfast. Vitamin E. I need vitamin E, Elena.” The wicked curve of his mouth belied his words.
I stroked his half-erect cock.
“I’m going to scream rape.”
I hugged him delicately, as if he were a dream that might slip away if I touched him too hard. “Scream, Mitchell.”
Alexander Turner
The Other Man
I was comfortably seated in the red stitch and obsidian black Nappa leather driver seat, bracing a time continuum of my own while the tungsten silver DB9 slunk soundlessly through the afternoon traffic. I turned my head to the right as I braked the car, staring out onto Commonwealth Avenue. Mindlessly, my ever-curious gaze settled on a petite redhead making her way toward the boutique hotel that occupied the corner plot. Wondering if her pussy was adorned with hair the same shade of fiery red, or if she were shaved, lifted the worst of my annoyance. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sampled a redhead. In my experience, true ones had quite a rough temperament.
I switched my foot back to the gas clutch, but not before watching the woman disappear beneath Clio’s dark green awning, solemnly ignoring the impatient honking of the drivers I was holding up. The car behind mine was close enough for me to distinguish in my rearview mirror that the man driving it flipped the bird at me. I could almost hear him say something along those lines: hey asshole, you can’t hold up traffic because you drive a million dollar sports car.
I could afford to be an absolute jackass. Being a short-fused type character wasn’t a laughing matter, and neither was driving a car with the latest contrivances. As a young guy, I’d never handled traffic well. Nowadays I didn’t worry about gridlock anymore, nor did I care if someone smashed my car. I had a bigger picture in mind and, because I wasn’t the Aqua Velva type but rather the Art of Shaving Aftershave Balm type, petty things no longer took up space in my mind. One cabbie drove way too close to my car and almost sideswiped it, another turbaned one tailgating me. I pondered the inchoate ethnic makeup of Boston’s cab fleet. Would the state ever try to control the influx of illegal immigrants? Stop the ones that abuse our welfare system?
Probably not.
Now I wondered what went on with my tax money; who exactly profited from money I’d made using my brain.
Tony was already present, and on the phone when I entered Aidan’s office. I recognized the broad grin that tugged at his face; his stock had risen.
“…he’s another jack of all trades, master of none, get rid of him. No holds barred, throw in a few of DP’s for correct measure. Breeds idolatry.”
“Howdy, strangers,” my voice echoed through the large office, bouncing off antique furniture and exclusive framed honors. “Isn’t it too early for double pounding a girl?”
Tony’s eyes met mine, his mouth spreading into a slow, self-satisfied smile. “Dom P to enliven the next MMM with my consultants, sleazeball.”
I doffed my Hugo Boss jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “That’s a double-edged sword. I thought you hated Monday Morning Meetings.”
Widening his jaw, he portrayed the oddest square-faced grin. “I’m having a field day. Our answer to Brilinta came through, I’ll dispense with the factoids. This is unprecedented, Alex.” He pinched the thighs of his Canali trousers to hitch them a tad to save a crease at the knee before he took a seat in one of the button tufted leather chairs in front of Aidan’s desk. “You can’t have been surprised.”
Aidan tilted his head in mock hesitance. “You making money hand over fist? No, it doesn’t surprise us lazy, porn-watching losers.”
Meanwhile, I was deafly silent on the summons issue.
Tony said, “Time’s a wastin’, why are we here, Aidan?”
“I need your help, bozos.”
I was mildly curious now. “Wingmen? You, Mr. Carrington? You’re POTUS material. Usually it’s the other way around,” I countered, lifting one eyebrow.
Aidan choked out a short laugh that didn’t sound like he was amused at all. “Precisely. Give me some sugar. C’mon, don’t make me resort to chicanery.”
Tony chewed at his lower lip. “I’m in.”
“I’m all in,” leapt out of my mouth. Aidan never forgave a slight, but he also never forgot a favor.
“I’m being vetted. As my best friends, only you know that to some degree I’m a jingoist. I don’t support gerrymandering, but you know how goes it in politics. Government officials will contact you both to anchor aweigh a meeting to herd together a detailed background check. They’ll leave no stone unturned. I’m not going to jump on the bandwagon, yet.”
We’re getting old. We’re getting fucking old…
“Alex, we good, you puddinghead? You’re not listening.”
Wavering, I returned to reality. “Don’t ask me bullshit, doofus. I know the rules of engagement. It goes without saying that I won’t tout your private beliefs,” I answered.
“Much obliged. No word salad, okay? You’re shit at both asking and answering questions during an interview.”
“Right. No sweat.”
&nb
sp; “Proud of you, Aidan,” Tony concluded. “Where are we going to eat lunch? I’m treating.”
“Oak Room? Mistral?” I suggested to him.
“I don’t really care. Wherever you’d like.”
Aidan’s green eyes glowed. “Lunch at L’Espalier, dinner at Clio. I’m treating. Less rubbernecking in these restaurants, good enough to shop for a wife.”
Tony and I laughed in unison: “A wife?”
“The search began when I got fed up of all the nonsense lovers tell each other when they’re coming and regret once they’re bathing. Last week my casual girlfriend told me she loved me while I was buried balls-deep inside her, about to come. The yes I’d uttered wasn’t a reciprocal answer, but she failed to recognize the full implications, and so I explained myself and ended it.
She was dumber than a box of rocks, plain and simple. It’s irrational and obsessively idiotic to be in love with someone who isn’t in love with you, and to coerce me into reciprocating by way of blame would be the futility of my wisdom. I understand very well that love is irrational, but life shouldn’t be.
She begged me to re-evaluate, taking the road of you have commitment issues, which is the least of my issues in fact. The kind of commitment I need from a woman is hard to find, and she, who had the attention span of a goldfish, sure as hell wasn’t satisfying me in that department. I think women don’t realize that guys are differently wired.”
I arched an eyebrow sarcastically. “All grown up, eh, misogamist?”
Then and there the three of us agreed we wanted to get married within a year or two. I didn’t have to shop for a wife, but I sure as hell had to find a way to get Elena to say yes.
A lovely lunch later, my heartbeat quickened when I saw Robert’s email waiting for me. The familiar paperclip beside the subject line signified the presence of an attachment. I knew exactly what to expect; Elena’s security detail had flagged something important.