by CY Jones
Pouring a glass, I take a deep sip and let the liquor burn its way down my throat, warming a path to my stomach. I drink until my brain stops thinking and only then do I call an Uber to take me home.
Jade
I’ve been holed up in my hotel room for two weeks now, and I still have yet to hear from McHottie. Nichole calls everyday and sometimes she comes by here to keep me company, but when she does, she usually only stays on topics about herself and never mentions Grayson or his lack of commitment. When she’s here, we make small talk about the cases she tried, and what she does now that she’s retired. Mostly she runs charity events and plays tennis at some snooty country club outside of the city limits. It all sounds utterly boring to me actually, but it’s her world. She was raised with money and earned even more when she married into the Hastings family, but neither used their family name to get where they are today. I can admire that. It makes me think of them as more than a couple of shineys. You know the Ken and Barbie types raised with silver spoons in their mouths who wouldn’t know a hard day of work if it hit them right in the face. In a way, it makes them more real. For personal reasons, I don’t talk about myself or my life in South Carolina. It’s my past and I rather not dredge it up. We’re not besties. There’s parts of my past I don’t think I’ll tell anyone. I don’t see what good would come out of sharing how much of a shitty mom my mama was or how I had to take care of myself most of my life. Those things are mine and I’m not the sharing type like she is.
Once I got my fill of sleep, I decide to use the hotel’s computer lab to update my resume. Sure the Hastings are paying me a stipend, but that’s after the baby is conceived and with the way McHottie is acting, who knows how long that’ll be. I want to be prepared, just in case they tell me this isn’t going to work out.
During one of Nichole’s visits, she found me in there and the next day, a brand new MacBook was delivered to my room. It’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever owned. I told her she doesn’t need to keep buying me stuff but she just waved me off, telling me if she doesn’t spend the money, it’ll just sit in some bank making more money. Rich people talk for ‘it’s nothing’.
I’ve also been having rather interesting dreams I hope will stop. Not nightmares, but wet dreams of all the things I want McHottie to do to my body. Most nights I wake up flustered with my heart racing, my body drenched in sweat from my rising body heat, oh and wet. Very fucking wet. I’m always slippery as fuck between my thighs, my pussy ready and willing for entry. I hate that I dream about the asshole. Why can’t I dream about someone else like, Theo James or Charlie Hunnam? Hell, even Ryan Reynolds. I bet Deadpool can fuck like a champ. Some days when Nichole comes to visit, I can’t even look her in the eyes because I hold this guilt about dreaming about her husband which is crazy since she has literally given me permission to fuck the man.
After another night of dreaming about him, I wake around one AM and take a long shower since it’s clear I won’t be able to go back to sleep. I shouldn’t have taken so many cat naps today, but after coming back from the personal trainer this morning, I felt like I got hit by a Mack Truck right after running a marathon.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed in nothing but one of the hotel’s fluffy towels wrapped around myself, putting in an application when the door opens. I turn startled, watching with wide eyes as McHottie himself comes stumbling in.
“Well, if it isn’t Jade, wide awake and waiting like a good girl for my cock,” he slurs.
“Are you drunk?” I ask ignoring his crass words or the venom in which he delivered them.
“What do you think? I need to be drunk to do what I’m about to do.”
“Well, I’m sorry that fucking me is such a hardship. Next time, tell your wife to choose better,” I snark, forgetting all about being civil. If he keeps it up, he won’t have a dick to fuck anyone with as I will chop it off.
Giving an evil laugh, he comments, “That’s not happening. I’m one and done. If you don’t get pregnant, Nichole better be prepared to adopt because I’m not going through this shit again.” I watch him move forward warily. He looks nothing like when I first saw him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still hot, but right now he looks more rough around the edges. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop, he’s sporting day old scruff that, in my opinion, makes him look even hotter, if that’s even possible. His normally pristine suit is wrinkled and the striped tie he’s wearing is hanging loose around his neck, half done. When he finally makes it to the bed, he sorta flops onto it and with him so close, I can smell the bourbon seeping out of his pores.
“Maybe you should go home. You didn’t drive here, did you?”
“Fuck, no. I’m already about to make one bad decision, I’m not about to add more to the list.”
“Okay,” I reply, biting back a smart remark until I think better of it. He’s not holding back, so why should I? “You’re useless drunk, beyond the point of getting it up. Maybe you should have held back on your liquor.”
“Shows what you know. I’m hard now just by looking at you in this towel. Fuck, I get hard every time I think about you and this tight body, and these,” he says, moving his hand to my generous tits but stops himself halfway. Got to love liquid truth serum. If he weren’t drunk, I’m sure he’d never tell me these things. “Besides, if I weren’t hard, I’m sure that smart mouth of yours would get me up in no time,” he sneers, still staring at my tits.
“I’m not a whore. You can’t just come in here talking to me this way,” I snap, done playing nice with the asshole. Drunk or not, he’s being a dick. I get he doesn’t want to do this, but he’s lashing out at the wrong person.
“Well, aren’t you?” He retorts, making me bristle.
“Excuse me,” I growl.
“A whore. We’re paying you to fuck me, so by the very definition, you’re a whore or a prostitute. What are they called nowadays? Working girls?”
“Get out,” I shout, rising to my feet. Fuck angry, I’m in a ‘will fuck you up and hang you by your balls’ rage. Who the hell does this privilege prick think he is?
“No, I don’t think so. Now sit down,” he orders, pulling at my towel in an attempt to lower me to the bed, but all he ends up doing is pulling the damn thing off and it falls soundlessly to the carpet. Now I’m standing before him naked as the day I was born as he stares at my body shell shocked.
It seems like we’re both caught in a trance or some epic stare down where neither of us want to blink first. My mind is fuzzy and I’m completely confused about who the predator and who the prey is here. I thought I was in control, my own anger winning over his douchebagness. But in one move, I learn that is not the case. With a growl, he grabs me by the hips and I fall unceremoniously onto his lap, where he slams his mouth onto mine. The kiss is demanding, forcing me to allow him entrance to the deepest part of me. Feelings I’ve kept locked up tight, surge to the forefront, taking advantage of the breach and go barreling towards freedom. I moan in his mouth and he bites my bottom lip in a total alpha move to get me to submit.
Breaking our lip lock, he gazes deep in my eyes and I get lost in the storm happening in his irises. Setting me aside, he stands, never wavering his gaze from mine and starts to strip. I didn’t take McHottie for a man to get ink, I thought he was too rigid, too proper for that, but imagine my surprise when I spy a celtic design covering his entire right peck of his chest to a full sleeve stopping at his wrist. The designs and swirls loop around his muscled body and holy moly, was this man ripped. All lean muscle leading to an enticing six pack. When he removes his slacks and briefs at the same time, I follow his happy trail of dark hair to a delectable V all men who are in shape seem to have, all the way down to an ‘are you serious this man is huge’ dick. My eyes widen and his dick jumps as if it’s alive and knows what I’m thinking.
“Get on your knees and face the headboard,” he orders and I jump to his command like my common sense just jumped ship. I feel like
I’ve been invaded by the body snatchers as I have no complaint about doing what I’m told.
I feel the bed dip and soon the warmth from his body behind me. When something very hard presses my backside, a shudder ripples through my body. With one hand, he threads my fingers through his and holds my arm out on the headboard while his other sneaks around my body and his finger dips into my center. I’m already so fucking wet from my imagination running wild to the point where I’m sure I was dripping on the sheets. Using my slickness, he rubs my clit, fucking me with expert fingers. He’s flush against my back and the smell of bourbon, as well as his delicious natural scent, assaults my nostrils as he moves closer. Soon, he gets me to the point where my legs start to tremble and shake. Right when I’m about to explode, he pulls his finger away and I whine from the loss like a baby who just got its favorite toy snatched away, but I don’t suffer from the loss long when he lines himself with my cunt from behind and sinks into me, all the way to the hilt. This time, I cry out from the intrusion. He’s fucking huge and I haven’t been with anyone but my finger in months. He doesn’t give me a chance to adjust to his size. Instead, he starts to plow into my body, fucking me with long, angry thrusts. His other hand, the one that was in my pussy, grabs my other arm and holds me to the headboard while his big body keeps me flush against it.
This is no tender fuck, but a hate fuck. Everything Grayson has been holding inside has exploded out of him as he jackhammers into my body. With me pinned flat against the headboard, I feel like a vessel being used for his pleasure, but something must be twisted and fucked up inside me because instead of being ashamed or even angry, I moan, lost in my own pleasure, enjoying the pain he’s trying to inflict. He’s relentless as he moves in and out of me, his thrusts wild and uncontained. The growls and grunts releasing from his mouth sound like a wolf, answering my earlier question that I’m the one that’s the prey.
When I’m close, my walls quiver and he speeds up, ramming himself deeper inside me, hitting that special spot over and over again until I cum hard, creaming all over his dick. The cocky bastard’s lips smile against my neck and he slows down just so he can thrust himself inside deeper, until I swear I can feel him in my stomach, checking out the baby’s new digs once it’s conceived. With a roar, he cums deep inside me and falls on my body, breathing hard. We stay like that until both our hearts calm down and stop playing Mario Kart.
Once he gets himself together, he stands and goes into the bathroom. I hear water run followed by him hurling his guts. After a while, he stops and flushes the toilet. When he exits the bathroom, he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at me. Picking his clothes up off the floor, he quickly dresses and leaves. As soon as the door closes behind him, everything comes crashing down on me like a tsunami. The impersonal way he fucked me, clearly pointing out with his dick that I’m being used, his overwhelming hate oozing out of him like the alcohol he consumed. He’s absolutely right, I am a whore, bought and paid for with his wife’s black card. I haven’t cried in years, but thick tears come to my eyes and stream down my face as I reflect on what I have become. I’m actually ashamed. Sinking into the bed, I cover myself as I cover my head and cry into the pillow. I can feel his cum dripping out of me and smell his scent in the sheets and that makes me cry even harder. I thought I could do this, control my feelings, but I was wrong. Grayson Hastings might just ruin me.
Grayson
I wake the next morning with a pounding headache. Groaning, I sit up with half open lids. I feel dizzy and my stomach is swirling. “Fuck,” I groan, trying to crack my eyes open fully. I don’t know how much bourbon I downed last night, but judging by how I’m feeling now, it had to be a lot. Blinking my eyes, my vision finally clears and flashbacks from last night assault me all at once. Jade and her tight body, her perfectly tan skin that was soft as clouds to the touch, her full breasts with those dark nipples and her scent that enthralled me like her body. I fucked her and I wasn’t nice about it. I took out all the anger I’ve been feeling on her body and she just let me. I try to think back to make sure I didn’t hurt her but everything is fuzzy. I remember her squeezing my dick like a vice, cumming all over me, so she must have enjoyed herself, but I also remember the broken look on her face as I pulled out of her snug body. I’m a prick. I shouldn’t have left her like that.
I went there with the intention of owning up to my side of the bargin with a quick fuck, but as soon as her towel dropped and I got a closeup of what she’s been hiding under her clothes, I crossed the line and kissed the hell out of her with the passion one would have for their lover. She got to me and I lashed out at her. I can’t change what happened. Maybe now she’ll see what she signed herself up for and leave, except she might be pregnant with my child. When I came, I shot over a year’s worth of cum inside her. I’m surprised I didn’t shoot my load like a teenager when I first sunk myself inside her. When Nichole first got sick, her sex drive went down to the point where sex was just an idea. I could have jerked off, but I didn’t feel right doing it if she couldn’t get off as well and with how sick the chemo made her, she wasn’t in the mood to take care of herself.
Standing on shaky legs, I head to the bathroom in search of painkillers. Maybe if my head wasn’t throbbing so much, I could think. The light is on and I see Nichole standing there in her light pink silk robe, holding a similar looking pill bottle.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask and she jumps, startled and almost drops the bottle in the sink.
“Grayson, you scared me,” she says, holding her hand to her chest.
“What are you doing with those pills? Aren’t they the ones you had to take when you were sick?”
“Nothing,” she replies a little too quickly and I narrow my eyes. “Seriously, Grayson, I was just cleaning out the medicine cabinet.
“Let me see,” I reply and she hands them over. “This is a full bottle.”
“I must have refilled it before I stopped using them. Why are you making such a big deal about this?” I hand the bottle back, thinking she’s right. I’m blowing up over something that’s probably nothing.
“You’re right,” I reply, backing off.
“Here,” she offers me the pain pills with a small smile. “Long night?” she says as I pop the pills and duck to drink straight from the sink. I can see the question in her eyes, even if she won’t voice it.
“If you want to know if I went to see Jade, then yes, I did.”
“And?” She prods.
“And, I fucked her, end of story,” I growl.
“How did she seem afterwards? Was she okay?”
“I don’t know, Nichole. I didn’t exactly stick around.”
“Grayson. You didn’t just fuck the poor girl and leave her?” She asks, horrified.
“What did you expect? Was I supposed to stay there and cuddle with her?” I ask, incredulously.
“I’m not saying that, but you could have done more than just fuck her and leave. That was a dick move and you know it. What if you hurt her? She could be gone right now, you know, and I wouldn’t blame her one bit.”
“Good,” I roar. “I want her gone. You’re my wife, not her. I should have been with you last night,” my voice breaks as I choke on my words. This request is too much. I’ve reached the point where I don’t know if I can carry on like this any longer. The drinking in my office until late into the night so that I can avoid talking to her about Jade, which ends up with us arguing over me not wanting to fuck her. How I feel like shit because I broke my vows and enjoyed it. How I love Nichole with every fiber of my being, but she’s breaking us, breaking me.
“Grayson,” she says softly, cupping my cheek. “I know you’re pissed, but all this will be worth it in the end. Once the full picture is revealed, you’ll see why I pushed for this so much.”
“The baby,” I mutter.
She doesn’t answer, she just nods with a lost look on her face and I pull her to my chest, holding her tight. “I love you, Nichole,” I mur
mur into her hair.
“I love you so much more than you can understand,” she replies. She lets me hold her for a bit before stepping back, saying she needs to get dressed.
“What are you doing today?” I ask, curious.
“It’s Friday. We’ll be having Jade over for dinner tonight,” she answers and I groan. “I let you two get away with it the last two weeks, but now, since you two had sex, we should start.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t want to see me. I’d be surprised if she’s still at the hotel.”
“Grayson,” she warns.
“What? I may not have been the nicest when I fucked her,” I admit and she sighs.
“Be that as it may, we’re still having dinner. I’ll call and let her know, and when she gets here, you can apologize.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath on that,” I mutter before stalking away. I’m not apologizing. By some miracle, if Jade is still here, she’ll wish she weren’t. I’ll make sure of that.
Jade
Family dinner with the married couple whose husband I fucked last night. What sick Twilight Zone have I found myself in or am I on a reality show? I woke up this morning sore as fuck from the way McHottie rammed into my body last night hate fucking me. I had to soak in the tub for an hour just to be able to walk again without looking like a stick was shoved up my ass. My eyes were puffy from crying all night and I had purple blemishes under my eyelids from lack of sleep. After McHottie left, I couldn’t go back to bed. I kept thinking about the trapped feelings I let escape and were running rampant on my body. Now I can see the world from my mama’s crazy perspective and actually sympathize with her over letting Daddy ruin her. I can see it’s not an easy thing to stop. It’s like the plague. Once affected, there's no turning back until you die a slow, agonizing death. One cruel fuck has turned my life upside down, and I don’t have wings to fly.