Shatter (Club Grit Trilogy)

by Brooke Jaxsen

  I could have gotten away without a struggle. I could have just left the room. I didn’t have to put my hand by his cheek, feel the stubble that was dense and rich and soft and sharp at the same time, and press further up, pressing some imaginary lock of hair out of his hair, cut short, and pulling his head to mine, digging my hands into his hair and feeling how his hair felt like a luxurious mink coat. I didn’t need for us to press foreheads, then noses, before we bent into a kiss. I could have just left.

  But I didn’t, because I knew that he was the only man that I really wanted. I knew if I walked out the curtains, what we had could be irrevocably lost. I wasn’t stupid: this wasn’t The Great Gatsby, he wasn’t going to wait and watch a green light from across a bay, and I wasn’t going to be oblivious as to his true feelings about me. There was no Tom keeping me from Jay, so this wasn’t some American classic, this was a pulpy romance at best, the likes of which you get at a supermarket as an impulse purchase, the way I was letting myself loose the impulse, and finally, letting myself learn to let someone in.

  Chapter Five:

  AS I REACHED MY HANDS DOWN TO LAWRENCE’S PANTS, he took my wrists again, and held them at my sides. In that moment, it was like the bass dropped and the world paused at the same time. I hadn’t realized how much Lawrence had wanted me before. Inside, I’d still thought there was a possibility that maybe; just maybe, he was playing a game with me, just for the sake of having something to do. I hadn’t understood why a man like him would want a girl like me, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes as something more than mere lust, but as desire.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Kim?” he whispered into my ear, but with a voice so sexy, how was I supposed to say anything other than...

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” I whispered back, wriggling my wrists, trying to get loose to get Lawrence out of his pants, but he kept his grip tight. Chuckling, he gave me a kiss on the cheek before pulling himself up again, so he was on his knees, between my legs.

  “Kim, if we’re going to have sex, there’s something you have to realize,” he said, pressing my wrists now to my sides. His grip was firm but I trusted him, knowing if I told him to stop, to let me go, I would be released as quickly as possible.

  “What is it?” My heart skipped a beat. Did he have a wife I hadn’t found out about? Did he have girls in every city? Did he have an STD, or was he having second thoughts? This was the waking nightmare that had run through my head at the frat house when I couldn’t sleep.

  “I’m a control freak, Kim, and that means that I like to have command of a situation...even in the bedroom,” he said, and I laughed. “What’s so funny?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, which just made the situation even funnier as he released my wrists. I could still hear the music playing down by the dance floor, even from up in Lawrence’s box, the music’s rhythm drowning out the beating of my own heart. If I couldn’t have felt the beat straining against my bra’s cup’s crux over and over, I would have sworn I’d flat lined.

  I took his tie in my hands, not bothering to turn it over to see the brand, already recognizing the pattern as Burberry due to the placement of the plaid’s stripes, and pulled him close to me, close enough to feel his breath against my skin. “This isn’t the bedroom, is it?” I teased, desperately needing him but not exactly about to get down on my knees and beg for him to give me an old fashioned dicking.

  “You tease,” he growled, pulling away, and pressing my shoulders down, but my hands were still free, and I ran them through his hair, unable to resist looking into my eyes and imagining myself jumping into them, loosing myself in the abyss of his pupils as his icy irises closed around me, an icy prison, keeping me inside of him, in a different sort of owner’s box, as black and discreet as the one we were in, but different nonetheless.

  “You’re so cute when you don’t get your way, Lawrence. You have no idea how fun it is to know that there’s a billionaire who wants nothing more than to have me, who could have anyone but who has been playing it cool and safe so as to not scare me off, who finally, is so close to having me, but is being kept on edge,” I said coolly, even though I knew my cheeks were bright pink and giving away my true emotions. I wasn’t used to being so open and honest around people, but Lawrence was different, and I wasn’t about to pretend I didn’t want him. I knew he could read me like an open book but that wasn’t about to stop me from denying what I felt for him, at least with my words, if not with my body language, and with the language spoken by my body.

  “You have no idea how much I want you, Kim,” he started, and then he changed his tone. “You have no way of knowing, that is. Maybe I don’t want you. Maybe I just like this game.” He was acting, the way that I was, but for what audience? It was just the two of us, in private, and there was no reason to put on airs. Somebody had to stop this charade, had to stop the game we were playing, which was just keeping us apart when all we wanted to be was together, more now than ever before.

  I knew that somebody had to be me, after what had happened last night, or rather, what hadn’t happened; given the fact I’d skipped out on our date before it even started. Being a no-show wasn’t exactly the greatest start to whatever it was we had, no matter how scared I’d been about learning the truth about Lawrence, no matter how nervous, no matter how worried. I reached my hand to his pants, but I didn’t slip under them, instead, tracing a trail along the waistband, to the pockets, and then, the stitching that lead to his groin. “I guess your dick just might love Monopoly, then?” I said, running a single finger along the contours of the prominent bulge, and I saw him bite his lower lip and close his eyes for a split second.

  “Right now, the only Monopoly I care about is the one you have...on the space between your legs,” he half-said, half-growled. “That is, if you’ll have me.” He raised a single brow and I knew in that moment that yes, I needed him, and it wasn’t just about the sex, about desiring his body, but about requiring his will, about desperately needing him to want me as much as I needed him.

  “Are you sure it’s going to be...private in here?” I asked meekly. The last thing I wanted was to see one of the perfect employees enter here in their designer clothes and perfect hair, for them to see me vulnerable, to see me being fucked. I was always the watcher, never the watched, and I didn’t want that to change.

  “Yes, my employees know not to bother me unless there is an emergency,” he said with a smile. “Right now, the only thing that’s emerging is this dick, though,” he said, grabbing his crotch and raising a single sexy eyebrow.

  “Then, if you’ll have me–,” I said, borrowing his line, but I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence. Lawrence pressed his lips onto mine and pulled me off the sheets of the soft black bed, pulling over one of the luxurious pillows, black and shiny with black matte stripes running over it top to bottom, and pressed it under the small of my back, as I unbuttoned his pants. Underneath his designer suit was a pair of black boxers, and I resisted the urge to remove them too, instead, helping him unbutton his white shirt. One of the buttons on the shirt popped off.

  “Your button –,” I started. I didn’t know where it had rolled off to but I knew that he couldn’t just go to JoAnn’s, pick out another black button, and have it go unnoticed. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wore jeans that read “YKK”.

  He kissed me quiet. “I’d rip this shirt off if I had to.” And as quickly as he got it off, he might as well have. There was no tank top or shirt underneath, just his perfectly smooth chest, glistening with a light glaze of moisture, a few beads of sweat on his collar bone, ready to fall like the tears of an innocent down his pectorals like a waterfall in July: the only possible thing that could quench the heat of my body, as I kissed at his saltiness, and was then abruptly pushed down as I moved my hands to his waist.

  “Not yet,” he said, pulling my tube dress up above my head. My pin-straight hair was left sprawled on the bed like the tentacles of an octopus, melting into th
e black silk sheets of the bed, the bed we’d spent so much time on, but never actually used for its traditional purpose. The black sheers around the bed were like another layer of protecting from the outside world.

  Finally, there he was: my billionaire, his cool-toned salt and pepper hair lit from behind by the lights of the club, his firm, muscular and tall body like the silhouette of a Greek statue, a statue that reached not to some absent figure or to the heavens, but to me, to the ground of the bed, to something real, to something he could actually hold and hold he did, pulling me into his embrace, before pulling up to look over me again, tracing a line from my bra strap and around the top of the cup to the bow that marked the middle of the black lace and nude satin set that I’d picked out just for tonight.

  “You look gorgeous, Kim. I almost don’t want to take it off,” he said, and it wasn’t teasing, it was genuine.

  “You don’t have to,” I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I like you a lot, Lawrence, and you don’t have to have sex with me to prove it.”

  He looked at me, surprised, and smiled. “Of course I want to, Kim. And you?”

  “Of course,” I answered, but he pulled himself down on the bed, reached up with two hands and shimmied my matching panties down. I wiggled to help him get them off, and he tossed them aside gently, before pulling up, wrapping one arm around my waist, the other, around my hips, each hand touching the opposite arm’s forearm around the small of my back, and he gave me the kind of kiss I wouldn’t expect a man like him would give, the most intimate of kinds.

  “Damn, Kim, you’re so wet,” he said for a split second before he pressed his lips against the cleft between my legs again, sucking and licking as if he was French kissing my mouth, a mouth that was left open in sheer ecstasy, unable to produce coherent words. He pulled himself up, pressing into me further, and then pushed himself back down, using his arms so that his neck wouldn’t tire. I’d be lying if there wasn’t something ridiculously hot about knowing that I was a billionaire’s favorite treat of the night, that instead of having to suck some guy’s dick, I got to have Lawrence’s mouth blending with my pussy, two soft surfaces becoming one, two openings meeting for split seconds and then moving away, over and over like the waves of the ocean against a beach, like water breaking earth down, into beaches, into canyons, the way he was breaking me. I wasn’t used to being out of control, having somebody who controlled my pleasure so adeptly, and who cared about me feeling good more than they cared about busting a nut, but Lawrence wasn’t what I was used to, he was something else entirely.

  “Oh, Lawrence,” I said, my voice raising an octave as he played me like a fiddle. “This is so amazing.” He didn’t quit but kept sucking at my clit and pressing into me with three of his slim but firm fingers, over and over, before switching, so he could press hard on my clit while applying suction to my entrance, an entrance that would taking anything that Lawrence wanted to give it, like a secret treasury thought to be long lost beneath waves of sorrow and regret. He had uncovered the Atlantis of my pleasure, the hidden temples still able to take a worshipper, just one more, just Lawrence.

  “I told you I could rock your world, didn’t I?” he asked and I just answered with a low purr, but then he asked again, “Didn’t I?”

  “Y-yes,” I stuttered as he kept thrusting his fingers in and out of me but I needed something more: I needed him, inside of me, and not the way he currently was, but the way that he was supposed to be, that he should be...the way that he and I knew would come next, once he stopped teasing me.

  The waves of pleasure warped my body the way that the sea foam leaves its curved prints on the beach, even on the palest grains of sand in the most languid of moonlit nights. I had never thought I could feel what he’d made me feel, but the oceans of my body turned from some frigid, arctic ocean, a no man’s land, into the warm tropical seas, ready to be played in by anyone who could access it. I felt my body burn and warm as I involuntarily found myself tightening around his fingers, not wanting them to slide out, but knowing what was next.

  “Are you ready for me, Kim?” he whispered, pulling his fingers out of me and waiting for my head to nod.

  I pulled him close instead, and whispered in his ear, “Yes”. He pulled away from me desperately and I watched as Lawrence pulled out a condom from his pants pocket, opening it, and unrolling it as he put it on, removing his boxers with the other hand.

  I hadn’t expected Lawrence to be so...well endowed. The joke with billionaires and rappers and powerful men is that they’re compensating for something, but Lawrence had nothing to compensate for. His dick was like a warped Greek column, the veins running on the side in wavy lines, and the head as steady a cap as any architect could wish to envision. His testes were like steps to this shrine of pleasure, a priapic monument to his sublime masculinity, to his ability to pleasure me in ways he’d only given me a taste of...by taking a taste of me.

  He pressed the head against my entrance and I gasped. He started to pull out and asked, “Are you okay?” but I pulled him close and into me, muffling my whimpers by translating the sounds of my desire into feelings of pure pleasure that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than the most true show of adoration. My hands felt along his head, the hair soft even as it became sticky with our sweat and body heat, the sheers not as great at ventilating the room as they’d seem, Club Grit’s atmosphere slinking in like raver rain in a warehouse, but I didn’t care. With Lawrence, I could be dirty, I could be elegant, I could be anything he desired, and it didn’t matter, because as long as I had him, I’d be anyone.

  I felt him hit my G spot and couldn’t help but throw my head back, and Lawrence didn’t miss the opportunity to pull me up, one hand behind my back, the other keeping my hips down and in their proper place, below him, before pressing his mouth against my tender neck. He started to suck and to bite, as if I was a sweet Popsicle on a hot summer’s day that he needed to both taste and to quench his thirst. Part of me wanted to tell him to be gentle, so that I wouldn’t get a hickey. I’d never gone back to the sorority house with one, but Lawrence...was different. Any mark from him would be a badge of honor, so as I enjoyed him pressing into my pleasure zone while pulling part of my neck further into him, like we were a paired set of ouroboros, the serpent eating itself, taking itself in and being taken in all at the same time, I just gripped hard, at his back, feeling the firm muscles rippling beneath the surface of his velvet-soft skin.

  I was so wet, I could barely feel that Lawrence had the condom on. I’d seen it, I knew he had one, it was easy enough to check surreptitiously, but I didn’t need to. I trusted Lawrence. I could also feel his body heat even through the thin latex of the condom, transferring from his body to mine and back again like the way that we’d swapped spit before, but something that was more automatic and beyond our control. I could feel every ridge of his cock, from the line around the helmet shaped head, to the ripples of the veins along the shaft, and I could feel his balls slap against me as he pressed into me over and over, faster and faster, their sound like the clapping of a bird’s wings in the wind.

  But as I got even wetter, Lawrence’s thrusts became more hurried, as did the way that he was using the rest of my body, moving more quickly from spot to spot, and moving his hands from my back to my breasts, pinching and squeezing at my nipples to the point that I squirmed without meaning to, but not without needing to. He knew how to work my body better than I had, and once he placed his mouth on one of my hardened nipples and sucked as hard as he had at my neck, making my back arch into the air as if I was possessed, I knew that I had never had a lover like Lawrence before, and I may never again.

  Where had he learned the secrets of how to please a woman? Was he an ex-stripper? Did he have an ex-wife who had been a nympho, or had the love of his life perished, but not before they learned all about the bodies of the opposite sex through exploring one another? This was a question I had no time, nor to consider, as I just enjoyed Lawrence, pressing into
me, his body shorn from the neck down, including his armpits, to the point that looking at him wasn’t like looking at some overly-hairy thing that crawled out of a frat. Lawrence was sophisticated and knew just how rough he could be with me to make my body respond to his in kind, as my nails dug into not only his scalp, but his back, not hard enough to lacerate his skin, but hard enough for him to moan aloud.

  “Lawrence, you feel so good,” I moaned as I wrapped my arms around him tighter, feeling his muscled, toned back ripple as he pushed himself up and into me again.

  He lifted himself up and out of my grasp, taking my chin under his fingers and lifting my face up. “Look into my eyes,” he ordered, in a whisper, a whisper with authority, and as soon as I did, he continued. “I need you to understand how gorgeous you are, Kim. It's not just your appearance, it's your inner beauty too, but damn, your body is so nice. You have no idea how amazing you look right now. I know you try to put up walls, but you're letting me in, trusting me with the secrets your vulnerable side reveals. Seeing you this way, exposed, naked, not only in terms of body, but in terms of soul? It's such a turn on,” he said, pulling me up close to him so that he could give me a small kiss on my neck, like the a sampling of perfume at a department store from a salesman, who insists that it's the perfect scent for the helpless, lost shopper.