To Have and Hate

by Alam, Donna

  Lithe legs, the triangle of black lace. The flare of her hips and the dip of her waist before the round fullness of her breasts are revealed, encased in a matching bra. The elegant column of her neck and the triumphant expression on her beautiful face as she holds out her arm and drops the dress to the floor. She plucks the glass from my hand and saunters off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Of course, I follow her. Follow that swaying arse and those violin hips as I adjust my aching cock. I watch as she opens the fridge door without any real intention. A fridge now filled with groceries where before it was bare. I push away the thought that the appliance is somehow a metaphor. Before and after Olivia; a life that was empty, then full. Then empty again, when the time comes.

  ‘What are you hungry for?’ I wrap my arms around her, my words pressed into her satin soft neck.

  ‘That would be telling,’ she answers, rolling her head to give me better access.

  ‘You are maddening.’

  ‘If I am, it’s only what you deserve.’

  But I don’t deserve her. Not her taunt or her kisses. Not her body or her touch. But she deserves my worship. I wonder if she ever notices the strength of need in my kisses. If she knows I feel like my arms can never hold her tight enough. That I can’t seem to be inside her long enough, or fuck her hard enough.

  That I’m not enough.

  The fridge door swings shut, and she turns to me, her intention in the hand she slides down my chest. I lean down, and at this moment, there’s little grace or finesse as our mouths meet. No slow curtain rising as she strips me from my tie, our kiss as unruly as her fingers are uncooperative on the placket of my shirt. Unhooking her bra, I slide it from her arms, unable to resist the lure of her nipples. Savouring her low groan, I use my grip on her hair to open her more fully to my touch.

  ‘I thought we were late.’ Her voice is all bedroom and gravel as she slides my half-unbuttoned shirt over my shoulders.

  ‘We are. And I’m going to punish you for it.’

  ‘Oh, goody.’

  I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes as I slide my hands down her body, grabbing her arse and curving her into my embrace. Her heat almost sears me through the thin lace, our kiss turning wild and possessive as my fingers tangle in her hair. Her fingers land on my belt. My zip. My cock suddenly in her hand.

  ‘You’re so hard,’ she rasps, sending my desire soaring and my will freefalling as she adds, ‘I need you to give it to me.’

  Without cognisance, I spin her and push her down against the countertop, spreading her satiny thighs and opening her wide to my touch. My jaw is like granite as I reach down and fill her with my fingers, her pleasure sticky and sweet as I bring them to my lips.

  ‘You taste like heaven.’ And feel like an addiction.

  Lips kiss-plump and eyes dark, she turns her head over her shoulder, silently begging me.

  I line up and bury myself to the hilt with a curse, the contact like that first line euphoria running through my system, jolting me alive in a singular crystalline moment. Her body bows beneath me, shuddering as I withdraw, her fingernails scrambling for purchase on the marble countertop as though she could hold me there. With the next thrust, I grind against here, twisting her face to meet mine for a savage kiss as her body throbs around me, making my head fucking spin. With each thrust, I pull her hips back, aware in the deep recesses of my brain of the sharp marble edge against her hips, yet completely overtaken with my need to crawl inside her.

  ‘You drive me insane, you and your fucking dress. Look but don’t touch.’

  ‘Touch, please touch,’ she rasps, bringing my hand to her breast, crying out as I squeeze and thrust again. Shivering as I feed my hand between her legs, my fingers finding her clit, slippery and swollen. Her body begins to jerk under me, her hot walls tightening around my cock in pulsing bursts as I fight to keep us both upright. ‘You’re going to come for me, aren’t you.’ An order, not a question, her answer a jumble of words as her body begs me to make it so. ‘You’re going to come so hard you’ll need my arms to hold you up as you pulse around me, coating my fingers and my cock.’

  She chokes back a strangled cry, her entire body trembling, trembling and pulsing and bowing as her orgasm drags her under, and her whole body stiffens as she cries out my name.

  Every inch of my skin is prickling and hot, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this sensation. Not as I twist my head to the windows, the sight of our reflection turning us into one deviant entity. I suck in a breath as I wrap her in my arms because I’m coming, and coming hard, the tight muscles of her pussy echoing my final thrust.

  Chapter 35

  OLIVIA

  ‘Remind me again why we’re here?’

  I stare out of the passenger window of the Mercedes at the house that looks pretty fancy but not nearly as much as the one we’ve just left. We’re barely twenty minutes late, but if you’d asked me a half an hour ago how long I’d been lying across the island countertop, I’d have guesstimated three weeks at least. Because when Beckett fucks, he’s all in. Even just for a quickie.

  And when Beckett opens up, even just for a moment, it’s hard to resist him like the lure of a complex puzzle in my lap. I don’t even like puzzles very much—I don’t have the patience—but I so want to get to the bottom of this man. From the bottom to the top, I want to learn all his secrets. I want to take him apart to discover what makes him tick.

  ‘We’re here because we were invited. That’s the official story. Unofficially, we’re here because Mark Jones wouldn’t sell me his stake in the company because he thinks I’m too much of a loose cannon, despite the fact that I’ve made him wealthier than he’s ever been. He equates my background and personal wealth as something that will eventually make me complacent. Which is all bullshit, of course.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ I answer, adjusting the cuff of my blouse while also wondering if he has knowledge of Beckett’s former addiction. I’m sure that would also count as a valid concern. Quick on the heels of this thought is a stab of something uncomfortable. Disloyalty, maybe?

  ‘You okay?’ He tips my chin, bringing my gaze to his.

  ‘Yeah, fine. I was just thinking, it’s like the guy should’ve married us himself.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’ A familiar line pulls between Beckett’s fearsome brows. For the first time, I want to reach out and smooth it away. How strange.

  ‘I just mean he’s as responsible for us being married as the officiant. If it wasn’t for him, we might have had our little bit of fun on this very back seat before going our separate ways.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s what would have happened?’ he asks. Grunts? One of those two.

  ‘Well, you like your exit plans, and I had a company that needed rescuing.’ A company that’s thriving these days, thanks to the decisions I found so hard to make. ‘Maybe we should’ve brought the guy flowers.’

  ‘I sometimes struggle with your strange sense of humour.’

  ‘And I sometimes struggle with your lack of one.’

  We smile at each other; his begrudging, mine wide and proud.

  ‘Back on the same page now?’

  ‘Equilibrium recovered,’ he agrees smoothly. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Yes, let’s go convince some asshole we’re in love.’

  As we step from the car, it’s obvious there’s a party in full swing behind the front doors. The noise levels aren’t that of a sorority shindig or a rave, but something a little more grown-up. A little more gentile. Music plays, laughter drifting out of the open windows, and the scent of cigar smoke passes on a breeze.

  ‘I thought we were here for dinner.’ I glance down at my clothes. My wedding heels, cigarette pants, and a high-necked shirt with blousy sleeves cinched at the wrist. My hair is piled on top of my head still, though with a little more panache than earlier. I’m not wearing a great deal of makeup because sex with Beckett leaves me with a weird kind of glow. ‘I’m so not dressed for a
party.’

  ‘I didn’t realise we’d been invited to one.’

  ‘Beckett,’ I almost hiss, pulling on his hand. ‘I can’t go into a party dressed like this.’ I fan my hand in front of me, even as the certainty of his response occurs to me.

  ‘You’ve spent the day wearing the T-shirt dress equivalent of the Emperor’s New Clothes. I’m pretty sure you can pull off a shirt and pants while making out you’re dressed in sequins.’

  I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that when he smiles that wicked half smile, the effect is the result of the devil that sits on his shoulder using a hook.

  Bastard.

  ‘Listen.’ I pull on Beckett’s hand, forcing him to stop again. ‘I want you to know I’m going to try my very best to sell this marriage tonight, but I have to tell you—’

  ‘You’re not a great actress?’

  ‘So you finally decided to listen?’ I slide my clutch higher under my arm, my hip cocked immediately.

  ‘Tell me, given you’re a terrible actress, did you plan to seduce me in the kitchen earlier as a way to fool our host?’

  ‘What?’ I feel my expression twist. ‘How does that even make sense? It’s not like we had sex in their kitchen.’

  ‘We could try it. Do you think it’d help?’

  ‘Ha. So funny,’ I reply snarkily.

  ‘Come on.’ He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling my side into his. ‘All I was trying to say is you’re much more agreeable after sex. Very tactile, and not at all like your usual hedgehog self.’

  ‘Watch it.’ As quick as a flash, I pull out my clutch and hit him with it square in the stomach. ‘The spikes are easy to re-employ.’

  ‘Spines, darling.’ He chuckles. ‘Hedgehogs don’t have spikes, they have spines.’

  ‘Whatever. The answer is still that same. One false move and I’ll be a pain in your ass. But in answer to your question, no, I didn’t plan to seduce you,’ I affect a deep tone and add in little air quotes for good measure, ‘as a way to make up for my lack of acting skills.’ I don’t think. Did I? No, I didn’t. ‘I think the sad truth of it is, annoying you gets me off.’

  Beckett’s deep burst of laughter is all white teeth and deep baritone. And kind of astounding. ‘That is probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

  ‘I’m honest all of the time.’

  ‘A different kind of honesty,’ he suggests, placing a kiss to the top of my head. ‘And it makes so much sense. Now, let’s get this show on the road. Who knows who is lurking behind those curtains, waiting to catch us out.’

  ‘I’ll try my best, but I’m still going to struggle,’ I grumble as we make our way along a gravelled path with lush green topiary leading the way to the double front doors of the house. ‘He played me, and that makes me angry. I hate that I hung so much hope on my pitch, yet to him, it was nothing. I was an amusing way to spend an hour, and that’s all. A plaything. Well, fuck him and his rich dick privilege.’ Not to be confused with big dick energy.

  ‘Is that how you think of me?’ We slow to a stop, and Beckett slowly turns to face me. ‘Do you think I’ve used my position? Forced you into yours?’

  ‘Yes.’ My answer is immediate. ‘But you’ve been candid from the beginning.’ With the exception of little drip feed. ‘I knew exactly what you wanted and why, and what you were willing to give in return. And you don’t knowingly get into bed with the devil and expect him to turn into an angel overnight. But that man. I just can’t put it into words how—’

  ‘I understand.’ Beckett’s large hand tightens on my shoulder. ‘But what’s done is done, and it’s brought us here, and this night is very important. Very important.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘But nothing. I have no love for him myself, and I don’t agree with his methods. He’s a weak man, self-indulgent, and full of his own importance. But it blinds him. He underestimated you, just as he’s underestimated me. Rather than indulge in this impotent kind of fury, remember that you now have what you want, and you own it free and clear. You owe him nothing but a little payback, and you can help me serve him that.’

  ‘By being her tonight.’

  ‘By playing your part,’ he agrees. ‘And I’ll be by your side every step of the way.’

  ‘Okay.’ I nod, no less wronged but maybe a little mollified. ‘I can do this.’

  ‘One more thing. His work and private personas are very different. You’ll find it hard not to like him.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ I reply with a snort.

  ‘He’s very engaging. A colourful character. A raconteur, as well as an old roué.’

  ‘Speak English, for goodness’ sake.’ I haven’t got time to google this shit.

  ‘He’s a bit of a libertine, or he was. These days, he’s happily married to Luke’s mother.’

  ‘Oh, God. Is Luke going to be here?’

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine so. But then, I didn’t expect a party. Would that be a problem?’

  ‘What, you mean if he’s here?’ Cheeks puffed, I blow out a harsh breath. I haven’t seen him since the day in Beckett’s office when we were caught kissing. I don’t know why he looked so betrayed. It’s kind of his fault I was there in the first place. And to think the word I used to describe him was honourable. ‘I suppose it depends what he has to say.’

  ‘He’s not likely to cause a scene.’

  ‘He’s not likely to anyway. He has bigger things to concentrate on than me and my anger.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Most men would smart over losing you to someone else.’ In a surprisingly tender gesture, he reaches out, cupping my face with his hand.

  ‘He never had me to begin with.’ At this, Beckett’s gaze darkens, the corner of his mouth kicking up a touch. ‘If he’s in there and tries to speak to me, I’ll cut him with the precision of a grande dame at Almack’s.’

  ‘That sounds brutal.’

  ‘Stop smiling. It works in Regency romance books. So, Jones; you’re saying we’re saying he’s a bit of a man whore?’

  ‘I’m not sure he’d approve of the title. Maybe he used to be, but he’s more like the inappropriate great uncle everyone has. It seems to endear him to those around him.’

  ‘Right. So he’s a dirty old man with a colourful past and more money than Croesus, and that little fact makes everything okay! Rich people are so weird.’ Beckett shrugs carelessly as my gaze slides to the house again; a glass and steel monument to personal wealth. ‘And if he’s as rich as Croesus, I suppose that makes you as rich as God?’

  But none of that matters, not when I’ve an axe to grind.

  The door is opened by a young girl in a dark skirt and white shirt. She wears her name on a badge demoting the catering company. As we step inside, I suffer a bout of cognitive dissonance while viewing firsthand how the other half truly live. People mill around the vast open plan space, the overhead lighting glinting off expensively coloured hair. Champagne glasses in hand, women mill around dressed in this season’s Gucci and Valentino, their red soled shoes with heels like stilts. Gold shines and bling blings, as skinny hipped men in Italian suits ignore the waitstaff but not the free drinks. I look down at my clothing, more Topshop than top of the range designer. Oh well.

  Before we’re a more than a couple of metres into the house, our arrival is announced by our host, his shirt almost unbuttoned to the navel. I exaggerate, but it’s hard to tell exactly where the buttons end because of the pelt of white hair sprouting where it opens.

  ‘Surprise, Beckett, old boy!’

  The effect is a sort of scratching needle on vinyl, the whole place seeming to come to a standstill to examine the happy couple. Naturally, Beckett doesn’t seem to notice. Or he’s playing the part of insouciance very well.

  ‘And, of course, the lovely new Mrs Beckett.’ Mark Jones appears before me, the back of my hand lifted and pressed to his lips, and I wonder if he ever met the first Mrs Beckett. ‘How lovely to see you again.’

&nb
sp; ‘Mr Jones.’ I smile, hoping it looks better than it feels as his silvery head rises, his blue eyes shrew.

  ‘Nonsense. Do call me Mark, my dear.’ How about I call you something much worse than that, huh?

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Beckett’s tone is all business, as usual. ‘This is slightly more than a dinner party.’ But check out the warmer curl to the end as he feigns a sincere sort of surprise.

  ‘Yes, well, Rosemary and I decided to throw a little party to extend JBW’s felicitations to the happy couple.’

  ‘That’s so nice of you.’ Unfortunately, my response is not quite as believable as Beckett’s acting. Over Mark Jones’ head, Beckett’s brow quirks a fraction.

  ‘Come along now. Let everyone see the happy couple.’

  ‘Everyone?’ I ask.

  ‘Staff, associates, the odd investor,’ Jones responds, not missing the proprietary hand Beckett places on the small of my back or the way he smiles down at me with such naked adoration, pressing a small kiss to my hairline. As though he just couldn’t resist.

  Warmth floods my treacherous system, blurring the lines just a little bit more.

  ‘Ah, young love. How delightful.’ I don’t think I imagined the way his eyes just ran over my tits. ‘Young definitely, but I believe there’s quite a gap in your ages, isn’t there? You went to university with my stepson, Olivia, I think.’

  I think you know this without my confirmation, Mark, old buddy, old pal.

  ‘That’s right. How is Luke?’ The total shit.

  ‘Very well. I’m to be a grandfather soon, though I feel far too young for that title.’ If that was our cue to soothe his ego, the moment comes and goes unremarked upon.

  ‘Is Luke here tonight?’ Beckett enquires.

  ‘No. He had other plans. Young people. Always gadding about, I find.’ Mark Jones, the home version, is very different from Mark Jones, the city version. But I can roll with it for the evening as junior partner in this plan.