by Hamel, B. B.
I know it now more than ever.
He turns me around, pushes me forward. I look over my shoulder as he spanks me and slides deep between my legs. I toss my head back and he catches my hair as I let out a loud moan.
He fills me to the brim. I don’t know how he does it, but his cock takes me and makes me feel an incredible painful pleasure that I’ve never imagined before in my life. He strokes in and out, taking me, but slowly at first. He kisses my neck and grabs my hair tight.
“What do you think?” he whispers. “Do you think you could do this more often, my little Klara? Take my big cock between your legs?”
“Oh, god, yes,” I moan. “Oh, please, yes.”
He chuckles and slaps my ass. “You’re greedy for it. You’re desperate to take me.”
“Please,” I groan, wiggling my hips.
“I love that about you. When you finally let down your guard, the pleasure completely overwhelms you. It drives me wild, just like it drives you wild.”
I moan as he kisses me over my shoulder and fucks me.
He’s right, I know he’s right. I lose control of myself, but it’s good, it’s so good. The world dissolved around us into pastel colors of pleasure and intensity, and that’s all I need from him, just deep strokes, guttural growls, moaning grunts, and pleasure, so much pleasure.
It rolls along my skin. I shiver and shimmy my hips, pushing back along his length. He strokes again and again, driving me mad with it, driving me wild. I feel sweat on my skin as we move, as we writhe, as we fuck.
As he takes me.
He turns me, sits down, lets me straddle him. I arch my back and slide down his length, taking him deep between my legs with a low moan. I throw my head back and he fucks me deep, licks my nipples, sucks them, grabs my hair, slaps my ass.
He’s right, I could do this over and over again. I could let him take me and give me this pleasure, let him make the world disappear. I’m lost in the moment, stuck in this body, this pleasure, this embrace. I could ride him again and again and let that world-shattering orgasm rip through my spine. I know I could, and I’d be happy, letting him have me, being nothing more than a body and pleasure.
But god, that’s what scares me the most, how easily I want to give him everything.
He grabs my hair and kisses my neck. “No thinking,” he whispers. “I can see the gears turning. No more thinking, my Klara.” He lifts me up and carries me into the bedroom. I gasp when he throws me down on my bed. It’s messy, I haven’t had time to make it, but he doesn’t seem to care. He throws back the top sheet and spreads my legs wide, licking me top to bottom before sliding himself deep between my legs.
I feel him fill me and it’s like coming home. Like the world waking up around me, except the world is only this room.
I dig my fingers into his back, his amazing, muscular back. He strokes in and out of me, his breathing deep and husky. I’m gasping for air with each stroke, each time he fills me and fucks me, the motion of our bodies making the bed shake just enough to thump a soft rhythm against the wall.
He keeps going, fucking me, growling in my ear. “God, you feel good,” he says. “Tight and wet, every inch of you wrapping around my thick cock. Do you have any clue how badly I want to fill you, fuck you, make you mine? Oh, fucking hell, Klara.”
He pins my hands above my head, licks my nipples, fucks me faster. I writhe and wiggle my hips against him, needing it, needing it so badly. I can feel the glow growing, building inside, building into an intense skull-shaking thump that makes my mind want to scream, it feels almost too good.
“Go ahead, little darling. Go ahead and come for me, if you can handle it. Lose yourself, let me give you that.”
I push back against him. He pushes me down harder, pinning me, making me his. I let him have me as I writhe my hips against his hips, pushing and moaning, the pleasure building into an inescapable pressure.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Oh, yes. Shaun, don’t stop. Oh, yes, oh, god yes, keep going.”
He fucks me like an animal, hard and deep, making me moan, making me gasp. The pressure keeps building, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm.
But I embrace it, dive into it, let it take me past the point of no return. He releases my wrists and I dig my fingers into his shoulders again as he fucks me rough and deep.
The orgasm bursts along my skin, making my back arch, my head toss back. I gasp his name and come hard along his shaft as he fills me, fucking me faster, harder, growling like an animal. I shudder and shake, devolve into nothing more than moans and pleasure as a smile breaks out across my lips.
I feel him stiffen and tense then let out a growl as he fills me. He comes hard between my legs, deep and rough, and I roll my hips, wanting to feel it all. He groans and kisses me. I kiss him back, eager for it, greedy for it. I bite his lip and make him grin at me.
“Well,” he says, pulling me tight against him.
I rest my head against his chest. “Just shut up,” I say.
He laughs but doesn’t speak.
We stay like that for a while. I hold him, curled up against his massive body. I don’t let myself think about all of my fear, all of my worries. I don’t let myself embrace any of that.
It’s just the two of us, and there’s nothing outside of this bed.
Of course, that can’t last forever. But maybe ten blissful minutes slip past and there’s only the sound of him breathing and my floating joy.
“Tell me something,” he says, breaking the silence.
“Hmm?” I look up.
He tilts his head. “Are you going to keep the name Truth Hurts?”
I laugh and snuggle tighter. “I don’t know.”
“We could come up with something better.”
“We aren’t doing anything. I might, though.”
“Got any ideas?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Klara Productions.”
“Original.”
“What do you have in mind, then?”
“Oh, now you want my opinion.”
“Come on.”
He shifts and looks at me, kissing the top of my head. “I don’t know. Soft Words Productions, maybe.”
I frown up at him. “Huh.”
“Because you wanted something that seemed real,” he says quickly.
“No, I like that,” I say.
“Or just keep it Truth Hurts. That’s nice, too.”
“Truth doesn’t have to hurt though.” I sigh and kiss his chest.
He chuckles. “No, it doesn’t. Sometimes it feels good.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “So I take it you’re not going to quit?”
I’m quiet for a little while. I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to start hating him again. I don’t want to picture my baby and wonder what my life is going to be like one day, eight months from now, when I become a mother.
But I need to, sooner or later.
“I guess not,” I say. “Even though you’re an asshole and so is my dad.”
He laughs. “Yeah, true. Can’t fight you on that one.”
“I’ll stick it out. And I’ll win.” I sit up and look at him. My hair falls down around my shoulders and he smiles, looking at my body, at my breasts. I don’t feel self-conscious around him, although maybe I should. “And I don’t need your charity.”
A big smile breaks out across his face. “Damn right you don’t.”
I lean back down against his chest and sigh. I close my eyes as he wraps his arms around me and I let myself embrace this moment. There’s uncertainty in my future and I know it, but right now, things are good. Right now, I have him.
Soon though, the moment has to end. We get up, get dressed. He lingers at the door. “I’ll talk to your father,” he says. “I’ll let him know what’s up.”
“Good.”
As he turns to leave, both our phones buzz at once. Mine’s over on the counter, so I have to walk to grab it while he takes his from his pocket. He’s frowning at the screen by the time I
grab mine.
“What?” I ask.
“Text from your dad.” He looks up with a sigh. “You’d better read it.”
I pull up my phone and open the text, my heart racing.
Aldo: DEAREST DAUGHTER AND SHAUN, YOU ARE INVITED TO A SLEEPOVER! WELL, NOT A FUN SLEEPOVER, ANYWAY, HA HA HA. YOU ARE INVITED TO THE TRUTH HURTS PRODUCTIONS OFFICES STARTING THIS EVENING AT FIVE. DINNER WILL BE AVAILABLE. COME PREPARED WITH FIVE QUESTIONS ABOUT YOURSELF, QUESTIONS THAT ARE NOT TOO DIFFICULT OR ABSTRACT. THESE MUST BE SIMPLE, STRAIGHTFORWARD THINGS, SUCH AS WHERE DID I GO TO ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, WHAT WAS THE NAME OF MY BEAR AS A GIRL GROWING UP. COME PREPARED! ALDO OUT.
I blink at my phone as he walks over and shakes his head. “Why did your dad send a paragraph like he’s shouting?”
“He sucks at texting,” I say. “His eyes are awful so he uses caps lock.” I stare at the message. “Is this the next game?”
“Looks like it. I guess he didn’t take your meeting this morning seriously.”
I clench my jaw. “What a prick.”
“Are we doing this?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“What should I be ready for?”
I grin at him and shake my head. “Sorry, Shaun. You’re the competition tonight.”
He grins back and slips his phone into his pocket.
“Good. I can’t wait.” He walks to the door and slips outside. “See you soon.”
He leaves and I’m left alone in my apartment.
But I’m smiling. I can’t help it.
I’m going to win this stupid contest, even if it breaks me.
12
Shaun
I show up at the Truth Hurts offices at the designated hour and find the doors locked and the lights off. I frown and check my phone, making sure I got the right time and place, before looking around again. I expected to find that little twerp Ryan lingering somewhere, but instead it’s silent.
After waiting around for a few minutes, I spot Klara park and get out. She runs over, out of breath, a little flustered from being so late. “Where is it?” she asks.
“It’s locked,” I say.
She frowns and tries the door. “Locked.”
“Like I said.”
She glares at me. “What’s going on? I thought I was late.”
I shake my head. “Maybe your dad got drunk and forgot about this? Or maybe—”
Before I can finish that thought, the door unlocks and slowly pushes open. I stand back with Klara and watch as Ryan materializes in the gloom.
“Welcome,” he says, pitching his voice low, “to the Reality Hurts House of Horrors!” We stare at him and he laughs. He flips the lights on. “Just kidding.”
Klara rolls her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asks him.
“It’s a weird one,” he admits. “Did you guys come prepared?”
I shrug and glance at Klara. She’s nodding and looks determined.
“Cool.” Ryan steps aside. “Come on in then.”
We walk inside. The lobby looks the same, but as soon as we’re back in the offices, the differences are clear.
Half of the cubes are gone and a large curtain is pulled across the space. Ryan leads us through and we’re standing in front of two cots and a large countdown timer.
“First thing’s first.” He picks up a notebook and a pen. “Each of you write down three questions about yourself. They have to be questions with clear answers. Nothing abstract. Stick to personal things, like your favorite color, or your mom’s maiden name, stuff like that.” He hands the notebook to Klara. “You go first.”
She frowns at him but takes it and writes. When she’s done, he tears out her page, folds it, and puts it away. He hands me the notebook and I write down my questions.
“Perfect!” he says, taking my questions and putting them with Klara’s. “Okay, so. You two want to guess what we’re doing?”
“No, Ryan,” Klara says. “Now’s your time to shine.”
“Perfect.” He grins at us. “Okay, Shaun, you’re on the right bed. Go ahead and sit down.”
I walk over and sit.
“And Klara, you’re on the left.”
She sits and looks at me, head tilted, a smile on her lips.
“Here’s the game,” Ryan says. “You two are here overnight. No sleeping. If you sleep, you’re disqualified completely, and the other person wins.”
Klara groans. “I hate these.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Staying up all night challenges. Such a pain in the ass.”
“Ah, it’s not so bad.”
“You say that now.” She sighs and stretches her legs.
“The timer will start soon,” Ryan says. “The game is simple. You talk to each other all night, try to learn as much as you can about the other person, and then ask the questions you just wrote down. Whoever gets the most right, wins.”
I frown at him. “Seriously?”
“Yep. That simple.”
“What if I just… lie all night?”
He stares at me. “You’d do that?”
“If it wasn’t against the rules and I wanted to win, of course.”
“I, uh…” He trails off. “No lying. It’s against the rules.”
I laugh. “You just made that up.”
“So what?” He shrugs. “I just made that rule up, but I’m sure Aldo would agree. So no lying to each other for the rest of the night. If either of you suspects a lie, bring it to my attention and we’ll check the tape.”
We both stare at him. “The tape?” Klara asks.
“Oh, yeah, we’re filming this,” he says. “Just to make sure it’s fair.” He grins and winks.
Klara groans and I laugh. “Your old man’s kinky,” I say to her.
“Stop,” she says. “Don’t be gross.”
“Time starts now,” Ryan says. The countdown timer lights up. Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, fifty-nine seconds. “Good luck.”
He turns and leaves without a word.
I lounge back on the cot and stretch. “Well, I might as well just fall asleep now,” I say.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Why not? Then you’d win and this would all be over.”
“I’ll be so pissed. I’m not taking your charity, Shaun.”
“I know. You made that abundantly clear already.”
She laughs. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
“Damn. Going in with the big guns.”
“Come on. Don’t lie.” She looks at me with a sly smile.
“Fifteen,” I say.
“Wow.” Her eyebrows raise. “Really?”
I shrug. “She was older, too.”
“How much older?”
“Thirty-three, I think.”
She cackles and stares. “That’s insane!”
“She was one of the staff at the manor. Really pretty good. I don’t know what the hell she saw in me.”
“I’m sure you’ve always been good-looking.”
“I’m better now.” I grin at her. “How about you?”
“I’m not answering that on camera.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Nope. And I promise not to use that as one of my questions later.”
I laugh and sigh. “Yeah, fine.”
She lays back on her cot and looks over at me. I meet her gaze and smile despite myself.
“This is weird, right?” I ask.
“Yep,” she says.
“I don’t like that we’re being filmed.”
“I don’t either, but what can we do?”
“Let’s fuck,” I say. “Right here, right now. We can use my cot if you don’t want to get yours all sweaty.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be gross. My dad’s going to watch this.”
“I doubt it,” I say. “I bet Ryan’s watching right now and jerking off. Right, Ryan?”
“Stop,” she says, laughing. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Oh, easy. Real World.”
“Huh, the original one?”
“Yep. I was in it from the start. What about you?”
“Jersey Shore.”
She stared and laughs. “You watched that?”
“Hell, yeah. I loved that show. Those people were hilarious. The new season that came out recently was kind of awful, but that’s what happens when people become adults. They’re a lot less fun. Good for them for staying relevant though.”
“I don’t know if I’d call them relevant, but I get your meaning.”
“First crush?” I ask her.
“Bobby Timmons. You?”
“Sandra O’Claire. God, you should’ve seen her. Huge boobs at thirteen. I was deeply in love.”
She giggles. “Did you kiss her?”
“Felt her up too.”
“At thirteen?”
“I was twelve.”
“Oh my god. You’ve always been a man-whore.”
I laugh and shrug. “What can I say?”
“Okay, okay.” She sits up and looks at me. “We’ve got all night. But I’m getting hungry already, so let’s go rapid-fire, okay?”
“Sure, whatever.”
For the next hour, we ask questions, one after the other. It’s impossible to remember it all, and for a little while we start just chatting about favorite movies and music. It’s weird, talking like this. I don’t remember the last time I just sat alone in a room with a woman and discussed the things we like without any ulterior motives at all.
The more we talk, the more I realize we have similar interests and favorites. We both love old westerns. We both love old classic cars, although she thinks motorcycles are cool, and I think they’re lame. We talk about clothes, vacations, family rituals, all the stuff that made up the fabric of our lives.
Hours slipped past. We end up on a single bed together, leaning back against the headboard. I don’t care if her dad’s watching or if Ryan is, it just doesn’t matter to me. Let them see how intimate we’ve become. It just doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks right now.
“I have a hard one,” she says around four in the morning. We’re both dragging, barely staying awake.