by Arie Lane
“You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid, Bentley. Don’t even fucking sit there and tell me you believe for one second that I moved eight hundred miles just to fuck you. Oh no, I’m sorry not to fuck you, to pop your cherry. Un-fucking-believable, if you’re so sure I fuck anything with two legs then tell me, Bentley, tell me why the fuck I’m here? That’s right. You don’t have a fucking answer because you know its bullshit. Yeah, I thought you were a virgin, but it doesn’t mean I give two shits about the fact that you aren’t. When the fuck is it going to register with you that just maybe I give a shit. You had me from the moment you called me an Asshat, but you were mine from the moment that cunt showed up at the door of my condo spewing her hatred and trying to threaten me into telling her where you were. But you didn’t fucking know any of that because you were too self-absorbed in your own warped fucking reality. Tell me something, Bentley, were you just pretending to be in pain? Was that for my benefit? I bet I sounded like a real fucking fool telling you how it would hurt. I knew you were a decent writer, but you’re better as a fucking actress.”
Tristan
My fucking heart sinks as I watch her sitting there in her bed, clutching her covers to her. Her head is down shaking back and forth as the tears roll down and disappear into the sheet. I feel like a real piece of shit knowing I’m hurting her, but damn if that shit doesn’t piss me off. Yeah the son of a bitch in me wanted to be her first, but not to claim some bullshit bragging rights.
Instead, I’m standing here like a fucking moron as she confesses to something I can’t even fucking imagine. I’m fucking infuriated with myself. I feel like I should have expected this. For all the hell that cunt has put her through, how could I have believed she’d really come through sexually unscathed. But fucking thirteen? And to some fucking crack head. No fucking wonder she doesn’t date.
I’m a fucking asshole, standing in her room listening to her recall one of the most demeaning fucking acts possible, after just accusing her of fucking random men. I fucking hate myself. After everything she’s been through, she chose me to be her first by choice, and I just threw it in her face like a fucking cock sucker. She tries speaking through the sobs, and as she says the words, they play on repeat in my head.
“It did hurt. More than just losing my virginity did. He caused massive internal damage and scarring. The doctor’s aren’t sure how it occurred since I passed out at some point. Someone passing by found me in the alley and called 911. When they found the guy who did it he was too stoned to remember exactly what happened. All he could recall was a woman who looked like my mother paid him twenty dollars to do that to me. Since he couldn’t I.D. her, no charges were filed against her. So yes, Tristan, it hurt more than you could possibly imagine.”
I feel like a piece of shit douchebag, fucking up any chance I have of being with her again. It’s likely she’ll tell me to fuck off, yet here I am climbing back into her bed and pulling her into my arms. I keep circling around the words I need to say. She’s fucking right. Who am I to assume she was a virgin? Knowing everything else she’s gone through, that shit is the icing on the cake. How can one person hate another so fucking much? I sit there for a few minutes rubbing her arms, trying to calm her shaking. Not sure if it’s from the crying or if she’s cold, I decide to go run her a bath. At the least the warm water will help with the pains.
I search her bathroom as the water fills the tub, looking for something to add in the water like bath salts or bubble bath, but there isn’t a single thing anywhere to be found. I find a few candles to light before heading back to her. When I get back to her room I find her laying curled up on her side still breathing heavy, but half asleep. I carefully lift her off the bed, coaxing her to wrap her arms around my neck and carry her back to the bathroom. When I start to lower her into the water I am met with an ear piercing scream that echoes off the walls as she clings and claws at my shoulders.
Fuck, I guess that explains why I couldn’t find anything to put in a bath. She feels so small in my arms as she buries her face in my neck to hide from the water. I lay her gently on the shower floor adjusting the water before letting it rain across her huddled legs.
After draining the water from the tub, I return to one of the most heartbreaking scenes I’ve ever witnessed. My beautiful Spitfire looks absolutely broken, and I’m the motherfucker at fault. I adjust the spray a bit more and mess with the water temperature before kneeling beside her, lifting her into my lap and taking her place against the tile floor.
“I’m sorry, Bentley. I don’t even know where to begin. I’m fucking up here every which way. It’s been a while since I’ve had to consider someone other than myself. I know I’m a fucking bastard and you probably hate me right now,” I say, while lightly brushing the hair from her face.
She shakes her head just a bit, and I barely register the no as I continue. “What I said to you, it was fucked up. I shouldn’t have assumed you were a virgin, and I know you don’t fuck around. It was a real cocksucker thing to say. I’m sorry Bentley. I know I fucked this up big time. Yeah, the truth is I did want to be your first, but not because of some belt notch bullshit. After everything you’ve been through, I wanted to give you a first time that would be special, something to look back on and remember fondly. Instead, I was a dumb dickwad who probably gave you your biggest regret.”
She doesn’t budge in my arms and doesn’t say a word. I don’t know if my apology registered or if she even gives a shit at this point. She just stays there, unmoving and staring off into space, and it’s fucking killing me. Seeing her like this is tearing me to pieces.
“Bentley, talk to me, baby. You’re tearing me the fuck up. Please, I’ll take you kicking the ever loving shit out of me any day of the week over seeing you like this. Please say something. I need to know how to make this right. Bitch at me, hit me, or tell me you hate my fucking guts. Anything would be better than seeing you hurting,” I plead.
I figure since I wasn’t getting through to her any other way, I might as well push the subject of the tub. “Is it safe to assume the tub has something to do with your mother?” I ask before kissing the top of her head.
She answers me back with a small, “Yes.” It isn’t much of a response but at least I know she is hearing me.
“Tell me about it? That is, if you don’t mind me knowing.”
I know I am grasping at straws. The need to hear her voice, to have some sense of her back is overwhelming. I shift my weight and lift her back into the spray. She shifts her legs, searching for solid ground. I set her back on her feet then reach for the bath sponge, squeezing out a bit of body wash with a scent that is every bit Bentley. Lathering it up a bit, I try to hold her upright while washing her at the same time, not trusting her legs to hold her.
I can barely hear her as her small voice recalls what her mother had done to her. She recalls in vivid detail what happened, and I find myself sick to my stomach listening to the fucked up picture she is painting. I wonder if Cora ever knew the shit her mother did, and if she was just as fucked up in aiding her actions. At this point I know better than to touch on that subject though.
She seems to be in a world all her own as she speaks, like she is reciting it rather than remembering. I’m not even sure she is aware of the suds running down her, slipping through the drain. I turn her to face me so I can wash away the remains of this ruined night. Her eyes are nothing more than glassed over orbs. It is eerie the way she seems to look right through me. By the time she finishes recalling the details, I am pretty sure I need a good scrubbing.
I take my time washing the rest of her, trying to be gentle. When I brush the bath sponge between her legs, she flinches at the contact. After I am content I have touched on every spot, I guide her under the spray. I can’t shake the twist in my gut, feeling like something in her snapped tonight, that I may never have my little hell spawn back.
Shutting the water off, I notice she has stopped shaking, but is still avoiding all eye contact. After
towel drying her off for the second time tonight, I carry her back to her bed and tuck the covers in around her. I have a fierce need to stay with her tonight, to chase away any ghosts that might haunt her dreams. I’m just not sure how the morning would play out. I don’t know if I can handle seeing her broken like this, beaten down by her past and then kicked while she was down by my dumb fucking pride. I hope her cum guzzling whore of a mother chokes on a chubby. As I stifle a yawn I allow the need for sleep to override my judgment, and climb into Bentley’s bed, pulling her back to my front and cocooning her in my arms as I drift off to sleep.
By the time I awake, light is flooding through her curtains and her side of the bed is as cold as a gold-digger in a hospice looking for her next sugar daddy. I pull on the sweats I wore the night before and head downstairs to search her out. Calling her name as I walk from room to room, I surmise wherever she is, it isn’t in the house. Feeling a bit disappointed and more than a little pissed off at myself I go to the kitchen for my keys, mentally cursing myself for being a bumblefuck last night.
I can’t help but smirk at the muffin and iced coffee sitting next to my house keys. It is the only indication that maybe she doesn’t loathe my very existence. Juggling the coffee and muffin in one hand, I use the other to fumble with her lock. After a quick shower and a change of clothes I decide to head over to the gym. I don’t officially start work there for another three days, but I could definitely burn off some steam.
Chapter 11
Bentley
I am surprised to wake up this morning buried in Tristan’s arms. I must have been exhausted because the idea of sleeping in anyone’s arms is something I could never see myself doing. His body heat is radiating through me and my skin is burning. It takes a lot of effort and several attempts before I successfully un-cage myself from his grasp. Grabbing a t-shirt and yoga pants along with some panties and a sports bra, I slip through my bedroom door and get dressed in the guestroom across the hall. Tip toeing my way around, I head downstairs and lace my shoes before heading out the door.
It is a morning ritual to stop for a smoothie on the way to the gym. I have never been much of a breakfast eater, so it’s my morning pick me up. As I stand at the counter ordering my drink, I considered my temporary house guest and decide to grab a muffin and iced coffee, not really sure what he’d like. I am not even sure if he will still be there, but I’m definitely not up for a conversation this morning so carbs will have to do. Stopping back at the house on my way to the gym, I find his keys still on the counter and leave the morning munchies next to them before heading back out.
I pull into the gym, my mind on a constant loop replaying the night before. I cringe at how everything played out. Sure it had its good moments. Hell, there were more than a few when I wish that I flipped him on his back and licked every fine line of the tattoos inked across his skin. But like everything else in my life, the night went to complete shit.
I hate showing weakness, and last night I was reduced to a pathetic pile of soggy worthlessness as I relived the fucked up emotional scarring that marred my past. I fucking hate it. I hate feeling small, and I hate that I let his words get to me. They fucking ate at me until I was so emotionally crippled I couldn’t even gather enough energy to fight back.
Heading into the gym, I hoist my bag higher on my shoulder and head for the sparring room. Normally I just hit the bags, but on really bad days I need a live target to take my frustrations out on. Tossing my bag on the ground, I stand there for a moment debating if beating on Dante is a good idea. A pair of arms wraps me in a bear hug, and in that moment I feel like a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying was lifted off my shoulders. I know I was cruel to him yesterday. Sure we have our fights and we both say things we later regret, but yesterday was the nastiest I had ever been to him in the thirteen years of our friendship.
“You okay, baby doll? You came in here looking like someone ran over your dog then tossed it back in your yard. I could understand if you looked like someone pissed in your cheerios, but you look like you’re hurting. Is this about yesterday? Did something happen?” he asked, with genuine concern in his voice.
I simply nodded yes. He’s a smart cookie, and he’ll figure it out in a moment or two. It’s like he can read my mind, because as soon as I think it he gasps and grabs my arm turning me to face him. “Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, Bentley, swear to fucking God, I’ll bury him.”
I shake my head no before I give him a straight answer, “No. I mean yeah, it hurt, but no it wasn’t entirely his fault. It’s not that, it’s just…,” I stumble through trying to say what I need to but only cause a bit more confusion. “I just need to beat the shit out of something right now. Think maybe you could be up for it?” He smiles back at me and I feel like my world is turning upright again.
About twenty minutes into sparring he’s bent over and breathing heavy. I take the time to catch my breath but am nowhere near done letting off my frustration. Bending over to grab a sip of my smoothie, I catch a pair of legs enter the room out of the corner of my eye. When I’m back upright I turn to see Tristan and Dante having a quick chat before Dante shoots me a grin and vacates the room. Sparring against Tristan at the moment might not be the best idea but he doesn’t seem deterred.
“Is there a reason you just chased off my sparring partner? I wasn’t done with him yet,” I say it in a voice much cockier than I’m really feeling.
“You got a sparring partner, Sugar Lips, he’s standing right in front of you,” he gives me a wink as he finishes the statement.
Letting out a sigh, I put myself back into position and throw myself into every move, kicking and punching furiously. I get in a few lucky shots but for the most part he deflects my attempts. After another twenty minutes I’m out of breath and only slightly less frustrated.
“Is that all you got, Baby Cakes? And here I thought you were a bit of a badass. Come on, you got to give me better than that,” he says, while swatting me on the ass.
I turn back to face him and swing hard, connecting with his jaw. Even through the padding, my hand is throbbing. I’m pretty sure in that moment my hand suffered more damage than his face. I look up at him scowling, as he rubs his jaw. The amusement on his face is something I wanted to bitch slap right off. How dare he stand there laughing at my distress? I pull away as he reaches for my hand, not wanting him to touch it.
“For a second there I thought my little hell cat found her claws again. Come on, baby, don’t disappoint me now,” he purrs, while taking my hand between his.
After removing the padding he rubs at the swelling now evident across my knuckles. “That’s one hell of a left hook you have there, Sweet Cheeks. Remind me not to be on the receiving end of that sucker again.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t given me such a beautiful target, I might have missed. Of course, with that inflated head of yours I doubt that would ever be likely,” I say, with a bit of sass.
I pull my hand away from his hold and walk away to grab a sip from my smoothie. As I reach the wall and bend to pick it up he wraps his arms around my stomach. Quickly righting myself I turn to face him as he forces me into the wall and seals his lips to mine. While a part of me wants to push him away for the shit he said the night before, another part of me wants to wrap myself around him and grind into the hardness pushing against my belly. Not willing to let him get the best of me, last night was one cluster fuck I have no intentions of repeating. I push back at him and break away from the kiss.
“Look here, jerk jockey, just because we slept together doesn’t give you the authority to conduct a search and seizure of my mouth. I don’t give a flying fuck what you worked out with my beloved bitch tits out there, but I’m not about to be pushed around by a douche nozzle with a hard on. You and dear Dante can go take a trip to twatville and pick up some unclefucker to fulfill whatever fucked up fantasy you have going on in there,” I say, as I walk away from him.
“You know with a mouth as filthy as yours I can
think of at least a dozen things better you can be doing with it. In fact, I’m betting you’d thoroughly enjoy at least a few of them. I’d even be willing to bet right now your panties are soaked.” Walking up behind me, his lips just centimeters from my neck, he continues, “Tell me, Bentley, was it not you last night begging me to fuck you harder? I woke up this morning with the taste of you still on my lips. Would you object if I buried my cock in you right here up against the wall? Mm, no I think you’d ride my dick harder than a jockey in the Kentucky Derby. So tell me the truth, Bentley, do you really want me fucking some skank, because the only woman I want to be burying my dick in is you. I want to fuck the memory of last night right out of that pretty head of yours. I want to hear you screaming my name as you come on my tongue, and I want to fuck you bare, feeling that perfect little pussy of yours milking every ounce from my cock as I come deep inside you. So tell me, Bentley, you up for that? Because, I can smell how fucking turned on you are right now,” he chides.
I can’t move a muscle as he speaks against my skin. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest and the jerk-off is right, my panties feel like I could have just gone swimming in them. I want so badly to hate him, and yet I can’t deny how much I want him inside me again. I try to speak but my voice catches in my throat. Turning around I try to hide my face away, the furious blushing showing just how much his words are affecting me. I don’t try to pull away as he lifts my chin, forcing me to face him. I can’t give him an answer, because at this moment I am so tongue tied I doubt I can say my own name.