Passionate

PASSIONATE by Sotia M. SMASHWORDS EDITION ***** PUBLISHED BY: Sotia M. on Smashwords Passionate Copyright © 2010 by Sotia M. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Thank you Kysira, Lauriel, Mari, and Tina, for all you’ve done for me and this story. Thank you Andrei… for everything. I love you!

Chapter 1 – Played “Thought I told you I don’t want you bringing her over when your Ma isn’t home,” James growled, taking a swig from what his gait betrayed was far from the first beer of the evening. “Thought I told you I don’t give a fuck what you say, Jimmy-boy,” his stepson replied, flipping him the finger, before pushing his girlfriend inside the house and closing the door behind them. “You’re not my father.” Taking hold of the girl’s upper arm, he led her toward the stairs. “Let’s go to my room,” he said in a stage whisper. “We won’t be bothered there.” It was all James could do not to smash the bottle on Michael’s head when the bloody brat turned to throw a wink at him before letting go of Beth’s arm to squeeze her ass. “Michael!” She swatted his hand away and skipped up the rest of the stairs, her boyfriend after her. “Come on, baby, you know you love it,” he said, catching up with her on the top of the staircase and throwing her over his shoulder, uncaring of how that gave his stepfather a perfect view of the girl’s virginal cotton white panties. James wanted to go upstairs, barge into the boy’s bedroom, toss him on his ass and then shag Michael’s fucking girlfriend on Michael’s fucking bed. Sadly, that was wrong. What was also wrong was that he hadn’t stopped wanting several variations of that since he’d first seen her, all prim and proper, coming over to tutor Michael in Math at the beginning of the school year. She’d been like a breeze of fresh air. Chatty, bubbly, bouncy, with innocent green eyes and rosy cheeks. And that golden hair… He wanted to touch that hair, feel it caress his face, tickle his sternum as she rode him. He wanted to fist his hands in it as he fucked her mouth, wanted to use it as reins while he took her from behind. He’d never felt so much like a pervert until he’d met her, and hadn’t stopped feeling like one since. He kept fantasizing about ripping her clothes off and taking her against the dining room table in front of his wife and stepson, of sneaking up into the bathroom after her and pounding her against the wall, of following her home and making her suck his cock in a dark alley… Patricia had no clue—of course Patricia would have no clue—that the only reason her husband had started wanting her on a nightly basis was a just-turned-eighteen-year-old high school senior. She didn’t know that the man who had exchanged vows of eternal devotion with her thought of a juicy, barely legal, cunt every time he sunk his fingers or cock inside her. Patricia was just happy in her perfect little family dream, ignorant of how it could all burst if one Beth Knowles bent down to tie her shoelaces in front of James just one. More. Time. And his stupid, cocksure pillock of a stepson kept bringing her home even after James had told him that he didn’t want the two of them shagging while he was around. When James had said it was disrespectful, Michael had replied he owed him no respect, so James had had Patricia talk to the boy. In the end they’d all agreed that Michael wouldn’t… entertain when

his mom wasn’t around. James hadn’t found it wise to mention that the reason he insisted on that was that when Michael made Beth scream, he could pound Patricia into the mattress with a hand over her mouth, and imagine the girl’s screams were for him. As if on cue, Beth’s giggle came from upstairs, followed by a meek, we shouldn’t; your stepdad is here. Michael said something, gaining himself another giggle, and soon her protests were replaced by soft moans and the creaking of bedsprings. Cursing the lack of sound-proofing in the house, James took another beer out of the fridge, popped it open and planted himself on the couch in front of the television. Even the volume set at maximum level didn’t manage to drown out the distinctly Beth mewls. They echoed in his brain, they were burned inside his mind, together with visuals of how her face would look contorted in ecstasy. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed at them with the heels of his hands. He was twenty two years her senior, for fuck’s sake. He was the big, round, four-oh, when she’d just entered adulthood—at least in paper—three months earlier. James remembered her birthday. Patricia had told him to give Michael his allowance early so he could take his little girlfriend somewhere… special. The following morning, things had gotten immensely worse for James’ peace of mind, as his stepson had unsolicitedly informed him he’d scored. Using James’ money to pay for the hotel room. While James had turned in early, and spent half an hour bemoaning not having brushed his teeth. Maybe it was midlife crisis. He flicked through channels until he found Animal Planet. The mating rituals of cabbage worms or some such should take care of his hard on. Still hard half an hour later, he dared turn down the volume to check if the sounds had stopped. Blissful silence met his ears, and he sighed in relief. If things went as usual, in about another twenty minutes the teens should be asleep and he’d be able to go to his room and jerk off until his dick was chaffed. Things didn’t go as usual. The floor behind him creaked, and he turned his head to see Beth, fully dressed and as perfectly coiffed as before—not even a hair loose from her ponytail—tiptoeing towards the living room. Startled, she jumped back a little. “Thought you were asleep.” “Just watching the telly.” He turned toward the screen again. “Thought you were busy.”

“We were. Then Michael finished… being busy before I did, and is now snoring.” She laughed and circled the couch to sit next to him. “Anything good on?” she asked, indicating the television with a tilt of her head. Her perfume was saturating his senses, pulling him to her, drowning out all reason. Her arms were crossed, pushing her breasts upwards, making the fabric of her top taut against their swell and causing James’s mouth to water. He had to get away from that perfume with the undertones of sex, had to get far away from those breasts. Jumping up, he carelessly tossed her the remote. “See for yourself.” Leaving the remote on the coffee table, she got up after him. “Where are you going?” “To get a beer.” Or several. Anything to make him pass out before he decided to screw it all, screw the seven years of marriage, screw Patricia, screw staying out of trouble, and replace Michael’s sweat on her skin with his own. “Can I have one?” She followed him to the kitchen, standing too close for comfort when he opened the fridge. He could brush her thighs with his fingers if he wanted to. He could pretend to look at the lower shelves and take another sneak peek under her skirt. Her panties would be wet now, he bet. She’d be wet from fucking his stepson, and still he wouldn’t mind eating her out. He wouldn’t mind at all lifting her up and laying her on the kitchen table, spread-eagled, and eating her pussy, widening her hole with his fingers before sticking his cock inside her and giving her the hardest fuck of her life. He slammed the refrigerator door shut. “No. Not for another three years.” Ignoring her pout took up every ounce of strength he had, but he managed to walk past her and back towards the living room. She was just two steps behind him. “Now, where are you going?” she demanded when he bypassed the couch going for the staircase. He refused to look at her, knowing she’d still be pouting, hands probably on her hips. “To my room.” “You didn’t get your beer.” He could hear her coming closer. “Changed my bloody mind.” “Mr. Williams?” she called out when he was half-way up. Sighing, he stopped his ascent to glance back at her. “What?”

She ran upwards, stopping just one step below him and craned her neck, pinning him with accusing eyes. “Why don’t you like me?” The question threw him and he turned to face her. “Why don’t you like me?” she asked again. “Everyone else does, but you’re always growly, and rude, and… why?” She was giving him the puppy eyed look and he felt sick to his stomach by the things he wanted to do to someone so innocent. “You’re being silly,” he said dismissively and made to leave, but she grabbed his arm and climbed to the step next to him. “What is it about me that pisses you off?” she asked, suddenly sounding older. “If you just give me a chance, I’m sure you’ll see I’m really a sweethea—” “I don’t want to give you a chance.” His voice was hoarse. Narrowing her eyes, still not letting go of his arm she asked again, “Why?” He couldn’t take it any longer. Couldn’t take her lips so close to his, couldn’t stand how her fingers burned his skin, how he could see down her cleavage. He grabbed her by the shoulders, making her grip on him falter. Pulling her harshly against him, he said in a rough whisper, “Liking you would end up with me balls deep inside you and you screaming my name. Is that what you want?” Her breath caught on her throat, no words coming out of her lips, and James decided to up the stakes. He had to make her run away, because his self restraint was worn dangerously thin. Spinning her the other way without warning, he wrapped an arm around her to pin her arms against her body. “Do you want me to bend you over the railing and fuck you? ‘Cause that’s all I can bloody think of when I see you bouncing. I think of you bouncing on my cock.” She tried to turn and face him, but he tightened his grip, bringing his free hand to her lips. “Every time you smile, I think of these lips wrapped around my cock, Beth. I think of you gagging and me pushing in deeper.” His hand kneaded a breast, his brain hoping she’d protest, that she’d fight him. “I think of cumming on these breasts. Think of spurting on them, of making you rub my cum in.” His fingers ran a trail down her stomach, down to her sex, bunching the material of her skirt so that his knuckles brushed her soaked panties. He’d known she’d be wet. Wet because of Michael; of the fucker who’d had the luxury of being inside her body. His ire rose and he pressed his knuckles harder against the place he longed to be buried in. “And don’t get me started on this. The things I want to do to this… they’d make you run away screaming, or come back begging for more.” His index finger unfolded from his fist of its own volition and ran down the length of her lower lips over the soft cotton. “Now do you see why I shouldn’t like you, Beth?”

No reply came. Feeling her tremble in his arms, he guessed she was crying. That was good. Now she’d hate him and stay away from his fucking house. “Now do you see why I shouldn’t like you?” he asked again. Shaking her head no, she spread her legs a bit to rub her mound against his hand. It wasn’t reason that led his actions from that point on. His conscious mind pulled down the shutters and went on holiday, while instinct and repressed desire took over. Pressing his hips against hers he led her to the railing and fisted his hand in her hair to bend her forward. The time for talking was over. Now he needed to act, to feel. His free hand flipped her skirt up and couldn’t hold back from smacking a cotton-covered buttock. She moaned and he did it again, hissing at her that if she dared make another fucking sound he’d make sure she couldn’t walk for a week. She bobbed her head yes and kept silent while he pushed her panties aside to plunge two fingers inside her in one stroke. She wouldn’t need preparation. Other than being already soaking wet, she’d had another dick inside her recently. The thought of another man having her made him see red. Still holding her by the hair, he popped all the buttons of his jeans with one hard tug to his fly, freed his cock, and buried his entire length inside her. She bucked and tensed, but didn’t try to pull away, pressing harder against him instead. There was no way he’d last if he didn’t slow down, he knew it, but he didn’t care about lasting. He didn’t even care about her release. His entire being had needed this for so long that he couldn’t hold back if his life depended on it. Folding his body over hers, he whispered, “This is my turn. You’ll get yours.” She strained to look at him over her shoulder, and he met her mocking gaze seriously. “That’s a promise.” She nodded and started rocking against him harder, faster. Her pussy was strangling him, the slapping sound every time his pelvis smacked her ass was music to his ears, but what made him adamant that this—them—would happen again, every chance he got, was the way she whispered his name. His balls tightened and he knew there was no way back. “Are you on the pill?” Seeing her shake her head no almost had the effect of a cold shower. Almost. Withdrawing from inside her, he used his grip on her hair to make her turn and kneel in front of him. The stairs weren’t that wide, and she instinctively tried to pull back and find her balance, but he’d have none of that. “Suck me.”

Doing as she was told, she didn’t even flinch when his sperm hit the back of her throat the moment her lips closed around his shaft. She sucked as much of his length as she could inside her mouth, gulping down his spendings, flicking her tongue over the underside until he was entirely drained. Then she looked at him with those big green eyes, and asked with mock-innocence, “Now do you like me?” He wanted to laugh and cry and tell her that not only did he like her, but he’d be her slave forever, and he’d start with making her come so hard that she’d pass out with ecstasy. Instead, he pulled her up and kissed her fiercely, enjoying the taste of himself on her lips and tongue. “I like you,” he said when they broke apart for breath. They heard Michael’s door open, then slam shut, and hurriedly put some distance between them, straightening up their clothes. Guilt hit James full force as he ran down the stairs two at a time to get back to the couch before Michael wondered why the two of them were walking upstairs together. He was a bad man who’d taken advantage of an innocent girl, disregarding society, family and his own selfrespect. That should never happen again. It couldn’t. He heard Michael ask Beth if she’d gotten any sleep. “Nope. I decided to utilize my time better.” Turning towards them, James saw Michael’s hulking form hugging her from behind, the two dragging their feet down the stairs. “I had a nice chat with your stepfather,” she explained. “We hit it off and now I can come by anytime I feel like it.” She winked at James. “And he apologized for acting the way he did, and now he owes me,” she concluded with a serious nod. James had the distinct feeling he’d been played. Maybe he needed to punish her next time, after she’d had her turn. Maybe he should make her call him daddy.

Chapter 2 – Punished Beth knew she was playing with fire whenever she set foot into his house, but she didn’t care.

She saw the way he looked at her ever since the day he’d promised she’d get her turn, and she knew he remembered that promise every single time Michael brought her over for a little after school fun. She knew he waited for her, waited to pick things up where they’d left them, but she never went down to him after Michael drifted off, sated, once their little sex-sessions were done. She wouldn’t go down to him until he actually told her he wanted her to, no matter how he clenched his jaw or sucked on his cheeks—cheekbones jutting out in irritation—when she’d just wave her fingers at him before pretending to turn her full attention to her boyfriend. A month had gone by since he’d fucked her against the railing, with said boyfriend—his stepson—sleeping on the floor above, and that was all she could think of every time Michael grunted above her. It was his cock she sucked when Michael came in her mouth, his hands that touched her body, his tongue that dipped inside her pussy. Michael was constantly bragging about having found all her spots, and being able to make her cum within moments, when in reality she only managed to fall over the edge when she brought Mr. Williams’ face into mind, those blue eyes of his challenging her to admit the truth to herself. He’d ruined her for other men, and he hadn’t even given her an orgasm. Still, she didn’t go to him. She would sometimes sneak out of Michael’s room, once her boyfriend was fast asleep, and listen to Mr. Williams pacing downstairs. There was no doubt in her mind that he kept his steps loud, for her to hear he was there, that he was waiting. She was waiting, too; waiting for him to make the first move. He owed her.

***** Michael had insisted they went to his place after the party, and she’d gone with him mostly to make sure he got there safely. He’d drunk a lot and—judging by the way he was leaning his weight on her—if she hadn’t walked him home he’d have ended up sleeping it off on the sidewalk. Standing before his front door, her boyfriend insisted he was perfectly capable of using his keys. She let him, amused at his efforts to fit the key about two inches above where the lock was.

Her mirth was cut short when the door was thrown open and Mr. Williams stood there in nothing but his jeans. She was suddenly extremely glad that Michael was drunk. That way, he wouldn’t notice her licking her lips at the sight. The man was illegally hot. At forty, James had the physique of a thirty year old man who spent hours in the gym. The very few—mostly laughter—lines that marred his face only collaborated that, barely noticeable as the eye focused on his razorsharp cheekbones. There was either no gray in his hair, or the highlights he never went without were cleverly camouflaging it. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was mussed, now, but still he was perfection personified, with those incredible muscles in his arms and torso tensing up as he took her in. His jeans were slung low, allowing her a perfect view of his lower abs and those almost vertical lines that led to what she hoped she’d feel inside her again soon. “Do you know what time it is?” he asked, not wasting any time with meaningless things such as greetings. Neither answered, so he just opened the door wider for them to come in. “Keep it quiet,” he ordered. “Patricia is sleeping.” Beth shook her head yes and made to steer Michael upstairs, but James grabbed her arm and hissed into her ear, “If you’re not back here in ten, I’m coming upstairs and fucking you right next to him.” His breath smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, and still turned her on. Nodding curtly, she used strength she hadn’t known she possessed to drag Michael to his bed, tucked him in and got back to the living room—all in less than ten minutes. “Do you know you’ve been quite the little cock tease?” Mr. Williams asked the moment she bounced down the stairs. He was sitting in his armchair, a bottle of beer in hand, gaze seemingly unfocused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She loved baiting him, loved the muscle in his jaw that ticked as his ire rose. “Oh, you don’t?” He arched an eyebrow as he scrutinized her, his expression otherwise unreadable. Beth felt her heartbeat accelerate under his perusal. Despite knowing he wanted her, she still worried that maybe her dress wasn’t flattering enough, maybe she should have pulled her hair up, maybe she should have put more makeup on. “You come by here, dressed and made up like a little slut—” His voice was even, his eyes locked with hers. “And yet I never get to touch what you so freely put on display.” His index finger circled the opening of the beer bottle a couple of times before dipping inside. “You walk into my home, wearing those tiny little dresses, cooing over Michael—when you’re not shagging the poor boy’s brains out—and driving me crazy.” “I don’t come here for you,” she told him flatly. “I come for Michael, and he happens to like the

way I look.” Glared at him challengingly, she added, “And what I do with him, I do ’cause I want to, not to drive you crazy.” That was a blatant lie. She’d stopped being into Michael since the first time she’d noticed James looking at her legs, and that was the first time she’d ever stepped foot inside the Williams’ residence. Leaving the beer on the table by his side, he placed his hands on his toned stomach, lacing the fingers together. “Take your dress off.” She could do nothing but blink for a few moments, indignation and lust fighting for control over her mind and body. “I said,” he hissed, “take your fucking dress off.” “I will do no such thing!” She meant it. It’d take more than a barked order to get her naked. “Oh, you will, kitten. You see, you and I have a score to settle, and I never back down on a promise.” He edged forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Now lose that before I rip it off you.” His words made her soak the tiny thong she was wearing. With trembling fingers, she lowered the straps of her silk dress and let it pool at her feet, enjoying its caress on her skin as it slid down her body. “Better?” she asked. “You’re cheeky, Beth, and cheeky girls need a lesson in manners,” was his stern reply. “Come here and lie across my lap. She laughed, finding the concept silly. What they both wanted was sex—the sooner the better —and she saw no reason for theatrics. Laughing wasn’t the smart thing to do. James was on his feet and grabbing her by the hair within a blink of an eye. One of her heels slipped off as she lost her footing, but she ignored it. “Hey!” She tried to protest as he dragged her back to the armchair reclaimed his seat, forcing her to lie on her stomach across his knees. “You will respect me, Beth,” he said, stressing his point with a hard smack on her ass. “When I say you do something, you do it.” She couldn’t bite back a shocked cry. “You see, you’re a little slut—” Another slap accompanied his words. “Who thinks she can play with me.” Smack. “You’ll soon realize that’s not the case.”

Bringing her arms under her body, she tried to get free from his grip, but he planted his elbow between her shoulder blades, tightening his hold on her hair. Caressing a butt cheek, he leaned closer to her face to whisper, “You’re a dirty little slut, wearing this—” a finger snaked beneath the strip of lace comprising the back of her thong, “—and expecting me not to do anything about it.” Just as she was beginning to relax, more slaps landed on her soft flesh. “Stop that,” she moaned, halfheartedly, a fresh gush of liquid pooling between her legs. “You do not get to tell me what to do.” This time the blow landed lower, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure straight to her womb. “Do you get that?” He rubbed the tender flesh his palm had reddened, soothingly, his touch belying his harsh tone. Stubbornly refusing to show him how much she enjoyed his ministrations, she kept her mouth shut, even though her treacherous body was pushing back towards his hand. She needed to get some friction, needed to be touched… and the bastard knew it. Sliding his finger along her nether lips, he asked again, “Do you?” Pushed the flimsy material aside, he flicked her clit. “Yes,” came her gasped reply. “Yes what?” She guessed he was going for Mr. Williams, but decided to up the stakes. “Yes… Daddy.” He went suddenly rigid and she wondered if she’d done something wrong, but the next moment he was pulling her up and claiming her lips for a fierce kiss. His tongue demanded entrance at once, and she granted it eagerly, melting into him. “I see there’s hope for my little girl yet,” he said with a smile when they broke apart. She let him seat her on one of his thighs, her legs dangling between his, his arm around her waist. Her body was tense with anticipation of what he’d do next, yet she already missed the feel of his fingers on her. “Now, be a good girl, and let daddy make sure you’ve been nice, yes?” His voice sounded raspy, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one embarrassingly turned on by their role playing. Nodding, she said, “Yes, Daddy.” Running the knuckles of one hand down her cheek, he asked, “Have you been with any boys?” His touch was gentle, almost reverent.

“What do you mean, Daddy?” “Has any boy… touched you?” he asked seriously and she bit her lip innocently. Bringing a hand up to her breasts, she said, “There is a boy who touched me here.” Her fingers ghosted around the pale flesh then pinched the nipple, and she felt him squirm beneath her. “Has he, now?” His gaze burned her. “Show me what else he did.” Lowering her eyelids, she shook her head no. “I’m ashamed.” “Then let me guess. Did he do this?” Lowering his head, he closed his lips around one pert nipple, suckling it and grazing it with his teeth. Her back arched as she hissed, “Yes.” His fingers caressed the underside of her knee then moved up her inner thigh. “Did he touch you here?” he asked huskily. She nodded. “How far up did he go?” All he got was a shrug, so he let his fingers drift higher, drawing slow circles all the way to her mound. “Did he touch this?” he asked, brushing her clitoris. He got no reply, so he asked again, pinching it between index and middle finger. “Yes. Yes,” she moaned. A finger slipped inside her pussy, then two, and her hands flew to his hair, grasping at it so she could turn his face to hers. He didn’t kiss her, stopping an inch from her lips instead. His fingers pumped inside her lazily, and she kept rocking her hips, trying to make him go faster. “Did you enjoy it as much as you’re enjoying it now?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “No. No, Daddy.” “Good.” He withdrew, leaving her feeling bereft.

Before she could protest, she heard the sound of buttons popping; the same sound she remembered from their one and only time together. “You were a naughty girl letting boys touch you, so daddy will have to make sure you know that’s only for him to do,” he said, lifting her so she straddled him. One hard tug and her panties were history. His cock felt as big as it looked as he lowered her on it slowly, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Once she was completely impaled on him, he let his hands slide up from her hips to caress her sides before cupping her breasts. “I want you bouncing on me until you learn your lesson,” he whispered. “I want to fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me inside for days. I want to be the only man who touches you. The only man who feels your sweet pussy strangling him. You let anyone, anyone—” he looked upwards, “—touch you again, and I’ll have to kill him. Are we clear on that, Beth?” She gulped. “Yes, Daddy.” This time he didn’t pull back when she sought out his lips, instead returning her kiss with such urgency it scared her. He started pumping his hips, driving in and out of her in an ever increasing tempo, swallowing her every gasp, breathing in her every sigh. His hands latched onto her fiercely, leaving red marks on her fair skin. Bringing her feet to the sides of his thighs she began raising and lowering her body, loving the feel of him sliding in and out of her, so thick, so hard. He bit her neck, sucking at the flesh of the white column and making her let out a breathy moan. His hand covered her mouth, making the whole thing even more erotic. What they were doing was wrong on so many levels; they were betraying people who loved them… and she didn’t give a fuck about anything but the feel of his cock filling her, stretching her, bringing her closer to the edge… He grabbed her butt with both hands and started pounding her even harder, his balls slapping against her ass. She was close; all she needed was… She reached down and rubbed her clit vigorously, just as James pushed a finger coated with her juices inside her ass. She’d never felt this way before. The all consuming pleasure seemed to short circuit her every nerve ending. White fire burst through her veins, making her legs shake and her hands tremble while her body convulsed on top of him. Stars burst behind her closed eyelids as rapture washed over her, nearly making her lose consciousness. James kept moving inside her as she rode out her orgasm, then suddenly lifted her, coating her stomach with his own release.

They sat there, sticky fluid dripping from her on him, for what felt like an eternity, before she said, “I have to go.” He grabbed her wrist, stopping her when she tried to stand. “I meant everything I said. I will kill whoever touches you.” “I know,” she said, nodding. “I’ll break up with him in the morning.” She winced getting off his lap, and he grinned with pride. “You better wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Williams,” she warned, eyes narrowed. “If he doesn’t fuck me, you don’t get to see me.” “Let me worry about that.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, returning seconds later with a dish towel. Not saying another word, he knelt in front of her and started wiping down her stomach. Her fingers flexed into his unruly curls, when he threw the rag aside and wrapped both arms around her legs, nuzzling her belly. With a sigh, he finally stood and handed her dress to her, then buttoned his fly. She knew he’d be sleeping next to Patricia, with Patricia, minutes after she walked out of his house. He led her to the door and kissed her softly. “I will see you soon, kitten,” he whispered against her lips. Letting this thing between them happen again would be begging for trouble. “I’ll be waiting… Daddy.”

Chapter 3 – Perilous It had been three weeks since he had her riding him, but he couldn’t get his mind off her. He could still feel her weight on him, still sense her skin under his fingertips, still taste her on his tongue. Most of all, he could still feel what it had been like to be buried inside her to the hilt. Her green eyes haunted him day and night, superimposing over Patricia’s blue ones whenever he looked at his wife. While after the first time he’d fucked Beth he’d become insatiable for sex, this time he’d lost all interest in his wife. A couple of nights ago she’d come to their bed wearing a white see-through nightgown, her hair up in pigtails. He’d gotten hard, but wouldn’t fuck her unless she got down on all fours and kept her mouth shut. He’d had to bite his lip not to call out Beth’s name as he came into the woman he’d sworn to love and honor. It had been three weeks from hell. Michael had been more irritable than usual, but refused to give him or Patricia a reason for his behavior. James secretly hoped Beth had broken things off with his stepson, like she’d told him she would, but couldn’t get it confirmed as the boy spent as little time as possible in the house, and even then wouldn’t leave his room. Patricia had gotten increasingly worried for her son, and a talk she’d initiated the previous night had led to what had brought back the bounce in James’s step. She’d be sending Michael to her parents for a week. Surely some time with his grandparents would do the boy some good. “You should go with him, too.” James hoped he managed to sound concerned. “Maybe what he needs is his mother.” “Do you want to come with? You could write there, we wouldn’t bother y—” He was ashamed at his lack of shame as he pulled his wife into his arms and said, “He needs you, love. He’s at that age where he constantly needs to prove himself, and having me around won’t let him open up.” Plus he meant to find Beth and shag her brains out while Patricia and Michael were out of town. Patricia buried her face in the crook of his neck. “What did I do to deserve you?” Kissing the top of her head, he rubbed her back soothingly. This time maybe he’d even get to do Beth in his own bed.

***** Finding Beth’s phone number had been easy; Patricia had jotted it on a post-it note stuck on the fridge door when Michael had started dating the girl, and getting her address from that was a piece of cake for anyone who’d searched the web even once. Now he stood on her porch, seriously considering making a run for it before the door opened. It wasn’t too late to go pack a suitcase and drive to LA to be with his family.

He rang again. An attractive woman of about his age answered the door with a cautious half-smile. “May I help you?” His first instinct was to run his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was nervous. Controlling his urge, he held out his hand. “I’m James Williams—” “Oh my God, of course you are!” She shook his proffered hand vigorously. He grinned. This would be easier than he’d expected. “Mrs. Knowles, I presume?” “Call me Christine.” “Only if you call me James.” He graced her with his boyish grin. “So, I guess you’ve heard of me?” Her giggle sounded like her daughter’s. “Heard of you? I’ve read every line you’ve ever published!” She was flirting, and James might have done something about that if he weren’t married. Or if he hadn’t fucked her daughter raw and wasn’t planning on doing it again. Still, nothing stopped him from appreciating the woman’s elegant hairdo and the graceful line of her neck. He was a writer; he noticed things. Hanging his head bashfully, he thanked her, then said, “That is actually one of the two reasons I’m here.” He’d always been good at thinking on his feet. “Oh, where are my manners?” She tutted at herself, invited him in and ushered him to the living room, asking if he’d like something to drink. “Maybe some hot chocolate?” “Actually, not just yet.” Feeling like a horrible person—one who felt no guilt, however—he took his time looking around the room. It was cozy; nothing fancy, but filled with classic, comfortable and tasteful furniture. The woman’s touch was more than evident—it was prevalent—and a glance at the coffee table showed the absence of a man from the family pictures. He caught Christine’s questioning gaze. “I wonder if I could talk to your daughter.” “Beth?” She seemed taken aback, mother bear immediately replacing star-struck fan. “Do you mind if I ask what about?” “Not at all. I’m not sure if Beth has mentioned it, but she and my stepson have been rather friendly for a while now.” He hastened to add, “Michael. His name is Michael.” Christine just nodded.

“The boy hasn’t been himself lately, and I’d like to ask Beth if maybe she has a clue as to why.” Nodding again, she asked, “And the other reason?” “I was thinking that, since I’m no good with technology, Beth might like to make a little money by typing up my manuscript for me. Only when she doesn’t have school work, that is.” Noticing her sizing him up, he went on. “Since you’ve read my other stuff, maybe you’d like a sneak preview once it’s all done?” The smile that blossomed on the woman’s face was blinding. “I think that’s a marvelous idea. Beth could surely use some extra cash, and I’d know she’s working for someone trustworthy.”

Suppressing a snort, he mused, “I just hope she sees it the same way.” “Go upstairs and ask her. Her room is the first on the left. I’ll leave you alone to discuss Michael, but I’ll need your word that you won’t try to pressure her into anything.” His eyes narrowed. “Pressure her?” “Oh, come on, James.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I know she broke up with him. Don’t pressure her to get things started again, or you’ll have to deal with me.” “You have my word.” He grinned. “Now, how about that cup of chocolate when we’re done upstairs?”

***** He knocked on the closed door and heard Beth’s voice saying, I’ll be right down. He knocked again, incessantly this time, until he heard feet stomping towards him. The door was thrown open a moment later, to reveal Beth in nothing but a bath robe. “I said I’ll—” She fell silent the moment she saw who was standing outside her bedroom. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but even if she had made a sound, James wouldn’t have heard. His eyes were glued to the opening of her robe. The sash had probably slackened some when she’d opened the door, and the two sides of the garment now hung loosely, allowing him a perfect view of a tantalizing sliver of skin between them. Her nipples were still hidden—though barely—but the way her naked pussy glistened, obviously freshly shaved, made up for that. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

Not giving her a reply, James grabbed her by the nape of her neck and attacked her lips with his. Walking her backward without breaking the kiss, he entered her room and kicked the door shut behind him. She pulled back and slapped him. “Are you crazy? My Mom—” “Told me where to find you.” He leaned in to kiss her again, his hands already busy undoing the loose sash so he could divest her of the only thing covering what he coveted. She ripped the sash from his hands and tried to get to the door, but he blocked her way, cornering her against the wall. “You said you’d be waiting for me.” Kissing down the column of her neck, he bared her shoulder with one hand. “My mom—” The rest of her protest was caught in her throat when his fingers slid down her front, undoing the sash without pausing on their way to her pussy. “Is making me hot chocolate,” he whispered against her collarbone. He pushed two fingers inside her while trapping a nipple with his lips and teeth. “This is wrong.” He chuckled around the pert peak. “We can’t…” She gasped at the sound of his zipper lowering and tried to push him away. “No, James.” Grabbing her wrists, he lifted them above her head, securing them in one of his palms. He hurriedly lowered his pants keeping a knee between her legs so she couldn’t do much more than wriggle. Finally freeing his cock, he rubbed it against her stomach. “Tell me no again and I’ll stop.” She gave him a fiery look, her body betraying her, her thighs sliding open a little more, her hips bucking. “Tell me what you want, Beth.” He nibbled along her jaw line. “Tell me to stop.” She panted, her shallow breaths tickling his ear. “Tell me what you want.” Pushing against him, she raised a leg to change the angle between their pelvises, but he wouldn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet.

“Tell me.” It was an order. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Daddy.” He cupped her ass with his free hand and lifted her. Bringing both her legs up, she folded them around him, aligning her pussy with his cock. He pushed inside her hard, letting go of her wrists to cover her mouth when she let out a cry. “Did I hurt you?” She shook her head no, and pumped her hips against him, urging him to start moving. He did. He thrust into her again and again, cursing his bad luck for not getting her alone in the house. He wanted to hear her moans, hear her call out his name as he pounded her against the wall. She gave as good as she got, squeezing him inside her, meeting his thrusts, swiveling her hips. Her fingers were raking in his hair, at his back. Her eyes were so very green as they looked at him challengingly over his palm. Over his wedding ring. He pulled his hand away from her mouth as if her lips had burned him. He almost lost his rhythm, his mind reeling at what he was doing and who he was doing it with. This was a child, for fuck’s sake… Then she fisted a hand in his hair and kissed him and he forgot everything but the divine pussy he was fucking. “My throat,” she whispered against his lips, confusing him for a second before he got what she meant. He curled his palm around her slender neck and bit on her lower lip. Lifting one of her legs higher, he began plunging inside her faster, reveling at the choked mewls that escaped her lips to be swallowed by him. Snaking a hand between them, she began rubbing her clit. “Come for me, kitten. Now.” He hadn’t expected it to happen the moment he asked for it, but she started shaking, her body clamping down around him as she fell over the edge. “I want to taste you as you come, Beth. Let me taste you.” Dazedly, she lifted her fingers to his lips, but he shook his head. “Lick them.”

She did as she was told—so very pliant in his hands—and he kissed her, savoring her taste. Next time he’d get it from the source, he promised himself. Feeling his own orgasm approach, he tried to pull away, but her ankles were locked behind him, holding him in place. “Beth…” “Got on the pill.” She smiled sweetly, and it was the smile that made him come harder than ever before. He spilled inside her, his hips not stilling until he was drained. It felt like an eternity before she lowered her feet to the ground and he begrudgingly slipped out of her. “How on earth did you get up here?” she asked, pulling a sleeveless turtleneck over her head. Her bathrobe lay discarded on the floor, having been used to wipe both of them clean. He was too focused on how her nipples pushed at the material without a bra to hear her. “Pardon?” Giggling she repeated his question. “Pardon? What’s next? You’ll ask me out for tea?” She laughed again. “I asked how you got to my room.” “Told your mum I wanted to ask you about Michael. Told her he was being moody.” Her mirth vanished. Turning her back to him she pulled on a pair of jeans. “Oh.” “You should never wear jeans,” he told her seriously. “In fact, when you come to my place tomorrow, wear your school uniform.” She looked at him over her shoulder, bent over to tie her shoes. “So, I’m getting back with Michael again?” Her question sounded matter of fact. He was behind her in a split second, pulling her upright by her hair, his other hand cupping the apex of her thighs. “Don’t even joke about that,” he hissed. “Not Michael, not anyone. This,” he squeezed her labia over the jeans, ignoring how she tried to pull away from him, “belongs to me now.” “Hardly fair.” She snorted. “I can’t do fair—I can’t think fair. Don’t ask me.” He held her fast, more to avoid seeing her eyes again than anything else. “Then you have no claim on me.” He let his forehead drop on her shoulder. “I told you, anyone else touches you, I kill them.”

“And you?” Her voice was trembling. “It’s not the same.” Couldn’t she see it wasn’t? Couldn’t she see he couldn’t risk everything, including his livelihood—scandals wrecked careers—to be with her? She sighed. “So, what am I doing at your place tomorrow?” Relief flooded him at the change of subject. “Typing my manuscripts.” Letting go of her, he went to her full bodied mirror and straightened his clothes. “Making a little money on the side.” “There better be typing involved if I’m to be getting money,” she warned. He nodded. “We should go downstairs. Your mother is waiting.” Shaking her head, she led the way. He watched her ass swish out of the room and down the stairs. Just one more time, he thought mournfully. After that, this would have to stop. It wasn’t fair. “Don’t forget your uniform tomorrow,” he whispered before calling out, “Need any help, Christine?”

Chapter 4 – Possessive She was jittery. Why was she jittery? It could be because she was standing outside someone’s house on a Saturday, in her school uniform, or that she’d lied to her mother to explain why she was sneaking said uniform out of the ironing pile. It could be that she was afraid of what she’d have to do in that uniform. Well, afraid was the wrong word, and it wasn’t the actions per se that scared her. It was the degree to which she, Beth Knowles, cheerleader and self proclaimed woman of the world, was unable to resist a man. An old, married man. She rolled her eyes at the thought that Mr. Williams was three years older than her father, then cringed when she thought of how her father had left her mother for his much younger secretary. She was the other woman. It was no longer a one-time thing; even though all she and Mr. Wil —James did when they met was have sex, this was an affair. She should just go, and if he called her she should threaten him with telling her mother if he ever bothered her again. She should forget all about him. There were other men out there; men that could actually be hers, men her own age… Men who would never make her body sing the way he did. One last time, she promised herself, and rang the doorbell. He must have been behind the door, because he answered almost before the ringing stopped. “Beth.” He smiled and for a minute she was confused. That was not the smile of a man who had fucked her raw against her bedroom wall while her mother was downstairs; it was almost… parental. Understanding dawned. The neighbors. If one of them happened to see Patricia, it wouldn’t do if they told her they’d seen her husband wolf whistle at a teenager. The thought of his wife made the sense of guilt inside her try to resurface, but she squashed it, saying in her cheeriest voice, “Hello, Mr. Williams. Am I late?” He shook his head and motioned for her to enter. “You’re right on time.” The moment he closed the door behind her she knew how Little Red Riding Hood must have felt when she’d realized it was the wolf in her grandmother’s bed. “Well, well. Look at you, all dressed up for me,” he purred.

She felt weak at the knees as she turned to face him and took in the leer on his face. She’d be devoured by him, she knew. What troubled her was that when he looked at her like that, she didn’t really mind. “Yeah, look at me,” she mumbled, looking down at her short skirt. She didn’t like how he made her feel so small, so insecure. She didn’t like how she needed him to approve of her. “And look at you.” She was proud of the indifference in her voice. “Thought you’d be all Mr. Williams, teacher. Or are we doing the daddy thing again?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn’t move other than that, giving her the chance to appraise him. He looked good, incredibly so, in his faded jeans, but he was too… real. The real thing was the last thing she wanted. The real thing had a family that had embraced her, and her mom kind of had the hots for him. “I thought we were playing,” she said with a pout. Not taking his eyes from hers, he turned the key behind him and closed the distance between them with a few deliberate steps. “We are playing, kitten, but I’m not your professor or your daddy today. I am the guy your mum warned you about.” His voice sent chills down her spine. The good kind. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her so their lips could meet. That kiss was nothing like the ones they’d shared before. It was slow and languid, almost tender. He playfully tugged on her lower lip with his teeth, before letting a hand caress its way across her stomach and down one thigh. Just as she thought that the time had come for them to have the raw sex she’d come to expect, he leaned down and curled his arm behind her knees. “Hold on tight, kitten.” He was carrying her. Mr. Williams was carrying her in his arms up the stairs, and she could do nothing but hide her face against his muscled chest and try to convince herself that the longing she felt—the butterflies in her stomach—were just reactions to one more scenario. The door to Michael’s bedroom was open, and she expected him to take her there, to fulfill another sick fantasy to which she wouldn’t object, but he kept walking to the end of the corridor. There was a door there she’d never gone through. That was a room she’d never been in. His and his wife’s bedroom. He turned sideways and used his elbow to turn the knob, pushing the door open with his hip. If she crossed that threshold there was no way back. No way to pretend she wasn’t the little slut he’d said she was. It wasn’t her problem. She wasn’t the cheater, she reasoned. He was the adulterer; he knew

what he was doing, and if he was all right with it… She kept lying to herself as he neared the king-sized bed and placed her gently on it. It occurred to her that he hadn’t said a word since advising her to hold on to him. Maybe he wasn’t all right with what they were doing either. Somehow, the possibility made her feel better. If he had a soul—if that thing between them was hard for him—then maybe it wasn’t something he did casually. Maybe she wasn’t one of many girls he’d seduced in an effort to recapture his youth. She hated how the idea appealed to her. It was casual. It was just sex. Good sex. The fact that she couldn’t even dream of having it with someone else, that she couldn’t sleep the previous night thinking of what it would be like to be really alone with him, was just because it was good. He was older and could teach her things, and that was all. With that thought in mind, she spread her legs, bringing her knees up and letting her skirt bunch at her hips. Her fingers ran circles on her inner thighs as she asked coyly, “Aren’t you gonna join me?” Shaking his head no, he looked down at her with a smirk. “I want to eat you out, little girl. Want to make you writhe against my face. Want to fuck you with my tongue until your only conscious thought is my name.” His words alone had driven most conscious thought away already, but she wouldn’t tell him that. “Ok,” she muttered. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth she looked at him, wondering why he was so different than the previous times they’d been together. His smirk reminded her of the Big Bad Wolf again—if the Big Bad Wolf’s cheekbones were gorgeous and stuck out more when he smirked, that is. Leaning over her, he dragged his fingertips down her sides, finding the elastic band of her cotton whites and pulling it down her legs, after she happily obliged him by raising her hips. “Move to the edge of the bed and spread your legs as much as you can.” Feeling self conscious, she did as he asked, letting her legs dangle. The mattress was tall and her toes barely touched the floor. Taking hold of her ankles, Mr. Williams raised her legs so her feet were flat on the mattress. She felt more exposed than ever, and couldn’t help draping an arm over her eyes. She felt too vulnerable under his scrutiny. “None of that, now.” His voice was flat, emotionless, and it helped her get to that place inside her where things didn’t touch her, and she only cared about sensation. “Look at me, Beth. See what the thought of pleasuring you does to me.” He ran a hand down his torso, the long fingers mesmerizing her as they ended cupping his hard on that was stretching the fly of his jeans. They were in familiar territory now. “I can help with that,” she said sultrily, making to sit up.

“Don’t move.” It sounded as dry as cracking a whip, and had the same effect. She lay still, afraid to even draw a long breath when he knelt in front of her pussy. The fleeting thought that maybe that was why the bed was so tall—that he’d had it made that way so he could go down on his wife—threatened to shake her out of her lust induced haze. She didn’t let it. She didn’t care about him, or Patricia, or their fucking bed. “Grab your ankles and don’t let go.” He was kneeling in front of her, looking at her pussy like he’d never seen one before. “If you do—if you move, I’ll stop.” Following his orders had become second nature. She curled her fingers around her ankles and waited for his next move. He didn’t touch her. Lowering his head near her pelvis, he inhaled deeply. “Your scent is intoxicating, little girl.” It was the second time he’d called her that. “I’m not a little girl. I’m old enough for you to fuck,” she challenged. Raising his eyes to her face, he arched an eyebrow in a you have a point manner—the most playful she’d ever seen him—before returning his focus to her pussy. He trailed his tongue along her slit once, then again, this time applying just slightly more pressure, separating her lower lips. The tip of his tongue—a wicked thing—found her clit and circled it slowly. It was nice, but it was not enough. She needed more, and she knew the bastard knew it. There was no doubt in her mind that nice was not part of his repertoire. Mr. Williams did great, and scorching hot, and extraordinary. Nice was just to make her beg. “Tease,” she said accusatorily. With a chuckle, he placed his palms flat on her inner thighs, opening her up with his thumbs. His lips closed around her clitoris, sucking lightly, while he flicked the tip of his tongue— wicked, extraordinarily wicked—over it again and again. She was biting the inside of her cheek, trying to keep from thrusting her hips against his face. Just when she was sure she couldn’t hold back anymore, he moved his mouth lower and pushed his tongue inside her. She knew she’d leave crescents on the skin of her ankles; her grip was that hard. A groan reached her ears when his thumb started rubbing her clit at the same time he moved his tongue in and out of her. It took her a couple of seconds to realize it was hers. He kept fucking her with his mouth, making her moan and beg for him to go faster, just a little more. When she was sure she was about to come, he withdrew and looked at her face again. His chin was glistening with her juices, but other than that he seemed so composed that she wanted to slap him, even at the expense of her orgasm. She felt about to explode, and he was looking at her calmly while pushing a finger inside her.

Oh God. Her hips jerked upwards and he withdrew his hand. “You moved.” “No. Please.” “Will you move again?” How could he sound so cool? She caught herself just as she was about to shake her head no. “Good.” Eyes still locked with hers, he pushed two fingers inside her, turning his wrist upwards so that he could find that spongy spot in her cunt. The one that would make her scream. “Don’t come,” he instructed. Eyes widening in surprise, she was about to tell him to fuck off, but he added, “Not until I say you can.” Her body was on fire as he kept pumping his fingers inside her, rubbing against the bundle of nerves. She whimpered when he pinched her clit with his free hand. He took his hand away. “I didn’t move.” She sounded whiny even to her own ears, but couldn’t care less. He graced her with a saccharine smile. “I didn’t stop.” A finger, coated in her juices, found her second entrance. She flinched and clenched at the same time. “Now would be a good time to move,” he advised. He was giving her a way out, but she refused to take it. She forced herself to relax as much as possible. “Why would I do that?” His eyes darkened a shade at that and his nostrils flared; the first indication, other than his erection, that he wasn’t as self-possessed as he tried to seem. His fingers started massaging the flesh around her anus, the thumb of his other hand rubbing her clit. He pushed in the moment he felt her body give a little. It wasn’t a bad sensation—definitely a weird one—but when he tried a second finger she instinctively contracted around them. “Shhh, relax, baby. I’m here. Not going to hurt my baby, am I?” he soothed her. It wasn’t his promise not to hurt her that made her relax, it was what he’d called her. She was his baby.

“I’m going to make it so good for you,” he went on, slowly pushing both digits past the second ring of muscle. “Going to stretch you out and fill you up.” She was already full, she wanted to say, but the burning started giving its place to pleasure when he began twisting his fingers, doing just what he’d said he would. Her head was thrashing from side to side, her eyes sliding shut, as her release started building up. She vaguely thought he might consider that moving, but couldn’t stop herself. “You’re going to love having me in here, baby. Going to feel so good.” His voice was hypnotizing her, and his fingers were driving her crazy as they picked up speed. His tongue was in her pussy again. Hearing the sound of a zipper made her raise her head and look at him. Withdrawing his fingers, he stood before her holding his cock. “You can let go.” He motioned at her ankles. She did, moving backwards as he climbed on the bed. He took off her shirt and bra, taking his time to lavish her breasts with the attention of his hands and mouth as soon as they were bare. “You’re so smooth.” His breath tickled her, raising goose bumps. “Like fine silk.” His knuckles dragged lazily around one nipple, then the other. “I love touching you.” She arched into his touch, inhaling sharply and pushing her chest upwards when he nibbled on the puckered tip of her breast. Her fingers trailed down his pecs, mapped his abs. It was the most she’d ever touched him, she realized. Placing his hand on top of hers, he drove it to one of his nipples. “Scratch me.” She scratched him lightly, not wanting to leave a mark. Fury at the thought made her repeat her action more forcefully with the other nipple. Marks were his problem. He moaned instead of protesting, and she did it again, reveling at the sight of his cock straining towards her. She moved her hand lower, but he stopped her. Covering her body with his, he kissed her—another of those slow, tender kisses that threw her off balance—rubbing his length against her labia before sliding smoothly inside her pussy. He thrust inside her long enough to make her moan his name, make her feel like she was about to fall over the edge. When he stopped this time, she couldn’t stifle a frustrated cry. Pulling out, he draped her legs over his arms. Aligning his cock with her second entrance, he pushed inside her ass. His lips claimed hers, swallowing her gasps as he slowly inched deeper. He took his time, letting her body adjust, but it still felt like forever before he was fully

seated inside her. She wasn’t sure she breathed during that time. Feeling the tension in his body, she was thankful at the care he took to make it as painless as possible for her. He peppered her face with kisses, and told her how beautiful she was, how sweet. He said her pussy tasted like honey, like ambrosia and nectar, and whispered to her that he’d never felt closer to heaven than when he was inside her. He said he always wanted to be with her. She felt like crying and calling him a liar, yet did nothing but gasp and hold on to him, like to life itself, when he started moving. His fingers hadn’t managed to prepare her for the exquisite combination of pain and pleasure that began overwhelming her, until she felt she’d short-circuit. She felt like she was on fire. Her muscles clenched reflexively, pulling him back in every time he withdrew, and each thrust forward made her see stars. When he lifted his upper body to change the angle, she inched her hand between them and pushed a finger inside her pussy. If he even considered stopping she’d kill him, she decided. He showed no intention of doing so. “Fuck, Beth, you’re driving me crazy.” He began plunging inside her harder. “You’re all I can…” His voice trailed off. She was all he could… what? How could she ask him to finish that sentence when he was married and he was fucking her on the bed where he made love to his wife? “That’s it, kitten. Play with your pretty snatch. Come for me, Beth.” She wouldn’t ask him to finish it. She’d come, put her clothes back on, fix her hair, and go home. She’d never see him again. “Now, Beth.” He pinched her clit between his index and middle finger, his heavy palm driving her fingers deeper inside her pussy as he thrust hard in her ass. Her release felt like a wave; lifting her, then sending her to shatter in a million pieces. Her free hand grabbed his locks, messing the hair that should have been as tussled as hers, and fusing their mouths together. She was still riding her orgasm when he came, spilling inside her. The silence that followed was deafening to her. She tried to push him aside and sit up, but he held her in place to divest her of her skirt that by that time looked like nothing more than a rag. He carried her to the bathroom like he had to the bedroom, making her wonder why his legs didn’t feel like jelly the way hers did. Stepping inside the shower, he carefully let her down and turned the water on. He washed her, then himself, and took her back to bed. He tucked her in and brought her the cordless phone. “Call a friend. Tell them you’re going to spend the night with Michael to patch things up and need them as cover. Then call your

mum.” She nodded. She’d spend the night, but that was all. After the following day, she and Mr. Williams were history.

Chapter 5 – Painful He dipped the brush carefully in the bottle, then blotted the extra polish off—like she’d shown him—before running the tip over her pinkie toenail. “Hold still!” he ordered when, with a giggle, she tried to pull her foot back. “You’re tickling me!” She giggled again, her toes flexing reflexively as the fingers of his free hand dug into the arch of her foot. “Stop moving or I’ll never finish this,” he warned. He didn’t mind never finishing it, to be honest. He had the best view, sitting on the floor between her legs. She was sprawled on the couch, in nothing but a button-down shirt of his, watching a movie and eating popcorn, while he did her toenails. “You lost the bet; you have to do them all.” She nodded for emphasis, eyes wide and full of innocence. A fistful of popcorn was shoved between her rosy lips. Her eyes were glued to the screen while she meticulously licked her hand clean of butter and salt, but James knew she was watching for his reaction out of the corner of her eye. He wanted to ravage her—wanted to be inside her more than anything in the world—but would refrain until he’d fulfilled his obligation from the bet. He couldn’t remember what the bet had been for, just that she’d been riding him when they’d set it and that he’d been taking her on her hands and knees when she’d said he lost it. That had been two days earlier. On Tuesday. She’d stayed with him for almost a week, without either of them mentioning it. It was just something that happened. When she’d left for school that Monday, he’d casually asked, “What time should I wait for you?” “I’ll have to go by the house first, spend some time with Mom. So-” She’d scrunched her nose in thought. “Seven okay?” “Seven’s fine. Don’t eat dinner beforehand.” He’d cooked for her, then they’d watched It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World—he barely saw the movie, observing Beth, instead, and loving how at times she howled with laughter—and had fallen asleep on the couch. He’d woken up soaked in sweat, and had taken her roughly, not bothering to wake her up first. The following day she’d mentioned her mom was going out of town. He’d fucked her in the hallway, before sending her home to pack some things. If she was to stay there, he would fuck her every chance he had. He had to fuck her. That was the reason she was in his house, after all. She was spending the nights in his bed, sucking him off while he was on the phone with Patricia, and making him breakfast in the mornings, because she was a good lay. That was why he’d even let her push a finger up his ass once. She was nothing more than a tight pussy, a firm pair of tits, a perky, heart-shaped ass, and a scorching mouth. When his wife and stepson came back, that would all end. Beth

would find someone her own age to play with, and he’d be done with whatever crisis had made him stray the way he had. Maybe he’d buy Patricia that diamond watch she’d been pestering him over for months. Done with one foot, he laid it down and took the other on his lap, absentmindedly leaning forward to wrap his lips around a flake of popcorn she held out to him. He was shaking the bottle of varnish, thinking how he could fuck her in the swing that hung from the tree in his back yard—the swing he’d made for Michael when the boy and his mother started coming over, way before he and Patricia were married—when another piece of popcorn hovered in front of his mouth. He made to take it, but Beth pulled back, leaving it on her bare knee. “You can finish my nails later,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “You should put something in your mouth first.” He leered, his eyes zeroing in on the puffy morsel. Careful to avoid her painted toes—her not yet done foot still on his lap—he placed his lips around the salty treat. Having sucked the popcorn in his mouth, he took his time cleaning her skin of any lingering traces of it. She giggled, spreading her legs a bit more, so she could balance some more popcorn on her thigh. “Still hungry?” Yes. He was hungry for her, and it scared the hell out of him. He’d been inside her in every way possible, had made her writhe—and even pass out once—with pleasure, had come in her pussy, her mouth, her ass, had covered every inch of her body with his spendings, and yet he couldn’t stop wanting her. He couldn’t even stop wanting her for a few minutes. As soon as his cock had recovered after shagging her, he needed to be impaled inside her again. Wanted to feel her flesh yield to him as he kneaded it, feel her body give way for him to sink inside, then close around him to keep him locked in place. He had to have her scent on his nostrils, have her heartbeat reverberate inside his own chest, have her nails score his back. Getting to his knees, he sucked the puffed corn bits into his mouth one after the other, dragging his lower lip along her inner thigh. When she cupped some more popcorn from the bowl, he closed his fist over her wrist, making her let go. “I know just what I want to eat, kitten.” He spent the next half hour between her legs, tasting her as slowly as he could, knowing it would drive her crazy with desire. The way she gave in to her desires was part of what kept him entranced with her. The thought bothered him, but the way she pressed her pussy against his face—a wanton little slut, his little slut, who kept asking for more—made him push it to the back of his mind. He’d give her more. He’d give her all, he thought some times. When she had him down her throat, swallowing around his length while looking into his eyes, when she paused on top of him and gently ran

her fingertips down his stomach, when she wrapped her arms around him, sated, and hid her face in the crook of his neck, there were moments he could sacrifice everything he had— everything he was—to be allowed to remain like that that forever. It was early midlife crisis—had to be—he assured himself, pushing two fingers inside her. It’d been a while since he’d felt wanted by anyone but his wife, and that thing with Beth gave him the validation he needed. He loved making her come like she was about to that very moment, when he found her g-spot and rubbed it with the pads of his fingers. She let out a mewling sound and he smirked against her clit. Beth was the proof that he still had it. He was still desirable and a fucking great lover. That was her only use, and once his ego was adequately stroked they’d be able to go their separate ways. Withdrawing his hand, he shoved his soaked fingers in her mouth, his free hand undoing his jeans. He didn’t know why he bothered getting dressed around her; why either of them bothered, when they would end up naked within minutes. He thrust inside her hard, his fingers muffling the grunt that escaped her lips. He always fucked her the hardest when he had to prove to himself how little she meant to him. She seemed to know exactly why he acted that way, because those were the times she was the most wanton, rubbing her tits and pinching her nipples, her hips pumping like crazy against his. She talked the most then too, spurring him on. She’d tell him to fuck her raw, punish her, show her how little whores were to be treated, and he’d do just that. Only, afterwards, he’d gather her in his arms, and kiss her, and tell her she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He wouldn’t do so tonight, he promised himself, sitting back on his haunches, ripping her shirt open, and pulling her on top of him from the lapels. The bowl that had been next to her toppled over, creating a mess around them, but he didn’t even notice. He pulled the garment off her hurriedly, kissing her, moaning when she bit his lip. Planting her feet on the floor, she pushed him hard enough to send him on his back—his cock almost sliding out of her—and began riding him for all she was worth. He bent his arms at the elbows, palms up, and she put her hands in them, balancing her weight. Head fallen forward, her hair tickling his chin, she kept moving back and forth, moaning and gasping. Something about her closed eyes, her body language, made it seem like she was using him for her own pleasure, like he didn’t even matter. His lips twisted in a snarl. He had to matter. If he didn’t—if he was replaceable—she might… leave him. He had to take control back. He flipped them over and raised one of her legs, resting the calf on his shoulder. “Do you like that, Beth?” he ground out. “Like how I’m pounding into you? Do I reach deep enough?” He underlined each question with a hard thrust. “Yes! Fuck, yes!” She was so good with words, his girl. “Nobody will ever—” He swiveled his hips on the down-stroke, for emphasis, “—give it to you

as good as I do.” Her eyes looked misty when she whispered, “I know,” just before her body started convulsing with her release. He pulled out and fisted his cock, pumping it a couple of times before spurting his cum on her stomach. “God, the things you do to me, baby.” It was all clear to him now. He never had control over her to begin with. If anything, she’d been ruling him, with her sinful little body. She ran her hand through his spendings, spreading them on her skin, her body writhing like she was still riding the waves of her climax. He lowered her leg and kissed her softly on the lips, trapping her hand between them. “I think we both need a shower.” She grinned. “Ya think?” Pushing himself up, he held out a hand for her and helped her to her feet. “You go first. I’ll lock up here and come find you.” He felt he couldn’t get to bed fast enough, but he had to call his family first and—somehow—that night it felt even more wrong than usual to do so in front of Beth. She nodded, her grin faltering only slightly. “I’ll be waiting.” He swatted her bum playfully, then waited until she disappeared at the top of the stairs before he looked for his cell phone. Her voice drifted to him, reminding him to bring the nail polish. Grinning, he yelled back that he wouldn’t forget it. Pulling his jeans up, he walked through the kitchen to the back porch and pressed 2, then Call. Patricia’s number was stored there. The operator informed him his call couldn’t go through, so he tried 3, for Michael.

***** Beth came down looking for him, what could easily have been an eternity later. That’s how many years he’d felt pass over him from the moment the man had answered the phone, up to when her small hand touched his hair reluctantly. “James?” She’d taken to calling him with his first name those few days, and he liked it— maybe even more than Mr. Williams. Not now though. Now her voice made him cringe. “Go,” he whispered, not knowing why he sounded so small. He just wanted to be left alone there, on his kitchen floor, next to his bottle of beer. Next to ten of them. She kneeled by his side, grabbing his chin and trying to force him to face her. “What’s wrong, James? Talk to me. What happened?”

He hated her for being there. He loved her. He hated himself for realizing that then, of all possible times. “Go. Now. Get the fuck out of here.” His throat felt raw, still he yelled. “You shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t—” Taking a deep breath, he narrowed his eyes at her. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have let them go alone.” She looked puzzled, and he felt like slapping her. Slapping her for not knowing, for having the luxury to not feel the guilt that was eating him up alive. He could do better than physical violence; he could take that luxury away. “Couldn’t reach Patricia on the phone,” he said slowly. “Tried Michael. A man answered.” Finding and squeezing his hand, Beth tilted her head, looking at him with concern. “Who was it? What happened?” “Paramedics. There was an accident. Patricia died on the spot.” His anger suddenly deflating, he took his hand back from hers. He couldn’t be touching her. Nothing would have happened to his family if he had never touched her. “Michael passed away in the ambulance.” “Oh, my God!” Her lip trembled as she tried to envelop him in her arms. “I’m so sorry, James. So sorry.” Of course she was, but not as sorry as him. It was his fault. They wouldn’t be gone if it weren’t for him, because Michael and Beth would have still been together. It was her fault for making him love her. He hated her. “Don’t touch me,” he all but roared, batting her hands away. “If we weren’t fucking, they’d still be here.” He felt his blood thundering in his temples. Raising the beer bottle to his lips, he spat out, “If you don’t leave, I’ll kick you out.” “Baby, you’re in shock.” She pulled one of his arms over her shoulders, tried to help him up, giving up when he didn’t move. “Come on, you’ll shower and we’ll drive over. Where do they have them?” Where do they have them. Like they were objects, not the people who had shaped and enriched his life for years, the people he’d betrayed. He hid his face in his palms. He couldn’t look at her anymore. She made one last effort to embrace him—to comfort him—but he didn’t want her comfort. Didn’t deserve it. His wife and the boy that had been his own for the past seven years would never again feel any comfort; why should he? He threw the beer across the room, smashing the bottle against the wall. “You want to stay?” he asked menacingly. “Get on your knees.” She recoiled like she’d been slapped.

“What? Suddenly you’re too good for it?” He knew he was being vicious; she was just trying to make him feel better. He didn’t want to feel better. He grabbed her forearms. “On your knees. Now.” Shaking his grip, she slapped him—hard—and stormed out of the kitchen. Minutes later, he heard the front door slam shut. She wouldn’t be back, and that was just what he deserved, he thought. His cheek stung, his soul stung, his heart ached for all that he had lost in just one night. The tears came; hot, cathartic. He furiously wiped them away. No catharsis for him. He should be left alone, forever. He had to pay.

Chapter 6 – Patient She went back to him later that night. Yeah, she was fully aware that was a hell of a way to nullify a dramatic exit, but she wasn't able to bear the thought of him in pain, broken, and alone. She found him sitting on the floor, where they’d last had sex, downing a beer while absentmindedly playing with the spilled popcorn. He didn’t move a muscle or say a word when she folded herself on his side, holding him to her as tight as she could. He woke her up much later, and ordered her to take him in her mouth. She knew that had nothing to do with sex; he wasn’t even hard. Still, she did what he told her. He needed some semblance of control, since his life had just shown him he had no rule over it, and if Beth could provide that miniscule comfort, she would. He ran his fingers through her hair while she tried to arouse him. “I loved them,” he said, conversationally. “Then I loved you more, and they’re gone because of it.” Shocked, she tried to lift her head, but his hand was fisted in her locks, holding her in place with a steely grip. “So now I hate you.” He roughly pulled her up, straining her neck with the force and making her eyes tear up. “Hate me, too.” His voice was flat as he pushed her away. She said nothing, trying to stand on wobbly legs. Her head was swimming with his words. I loved you. I hate you. It wasn’t fair that she’d get what she’d had no clue she wanted, and lose it all within hours. Then she remembered how things hadn’t been fair for Patricia and Michael either, and guilt washed over her. Still, as she wallowed in her shame on the way to the front door, she knew she would be back. She would always keep coming back to him. The following day neither he nor his car was home. She guessed he’d gone to Los Angeles, possibly for the funeral, and for a fleeting moment she considered calling his in-laws. She’d met them when she and Michael were still dating. She shook the thought off. She would be the last person anyone would want to hear from. She’d been the reason Michael had made the trip. Realization that Michael was dead—finally and irrevocably—only hit her then. Until that very moment, it had all been James’s loss, but thinking about the funeral made it real. A person she’d shared her joy and sorrow, her thoughts and her body with, was gone. He’d been her first lover. She’d never been in love with him, not like with… She’d never felt that way for him, but he’d been a part of her life and she’d cared for him nonetheless. The hollowness in the pit of her stomach steeled her determination to not lose anyone else that was important to her. James’s car reappeared five days later, at noon—not that Beth had been checking three or even four times a day—but he wouldn’t come to the door when she rang the bell, and the doorknob wouldn’t budge, despite her efforts. Circling the house, she jumped over the fence

that framed the back yard, and saw him through the kitchen window. Drinking. He ignored her knocking and calling his name. He kept ignoring her for weeks. *****

Beth needed to do something, but there was nothing that could be done when he wouldn’t even open his door. She needed to help him escape the solitude he’d condemned himself to, however, she realized he wouldn’t open up to her. She’d need an ally; someone who didn’t have a sordid past with him, someone who could think of a better way to reach him, than to get in his arms and refuse to leave. She needed someone who could mother him, and could think of nobody better for the job than Christine. She found her mother in the kitchen, taking a pot of lasagna out of the oven. “Mom, I need your help with something.” Christine’s eyes lit up and Beth felt bad. It had been so long since she’d talked to her mom about things, a long time since she’d been her little girl. “I worry about Mr. Williams,” she went on, feeling worse by the minute. Christine nodded. She knew about the tragedy that had found the writer. The whole town knew about it, really, but after the first few well-wishers who’d gone to visit him had returned to their houses, arms still laden with their muffin baskets, nobody had tried to offer condolences again. “Mom, he’s been locked in his house for a month now. I don’t even know if he’s alive.” Seeing Christine’s expression go from concern to horror, she rushed to amend. “I mean, his car is there, but he won’t answer the door when I go by. We were supposed to do the typing for his new novel.” That last phrase sounded like a question, but the real question underneath was, do you believe that was the reason? Beth was afraid Christine could see right through her— realize where her panic for James stemmed from—but the woman just nodded. “Get me some tinfoil and cover this.” She tilted her head towards the pasta. “Careful. It’s hot,” she added when Beth did what she was told. “I’ll get dressed and we’ll go over.” Christine was in full mother-mode, and it was a relief for Beth to see her that way. Worry had been eating at her soul for a month—four excruciatingly long weeks—and now she finally had someone to lean on. When James didn’t answer his front or back door, Christine had instructed her daughter to carefully place the lasagna on the back porch table. She’d then taken one of the kitchen mitts Beth had on, worn it, and driven her fist through the glass pane that was right above the kitchen door lock without even flinching. She’d had to take the glove off to turn the key from the inside, but she didn’t have a scratch when she pushed the door open and told Beth not to forget the food. Beth walked inside behind her mom, wanting to hurry and look for James, but afraid of what state she’d find him in. Judging by the state of the house, she should be grateful if he was

breathing. The kitchen was a mess; not the kind made by cooking for many people. Empty bottles of alcohol and overflowing ashtrays were covering every surface, while it appeared that James had at some point decided ashtrays were too much of a bother, because cigarette butts had been put out on the linoleum floor as well. A half eaten sandwich was molding by the kitchen sink, covered by something that moved—it took Beth a couple of seconds to realize it was ants—and a pizza box was leaning against a wall decorated with cheese and pepperoni, that were obviously still hot when James had slung the food that way. “Maybe leave the pot outside,” Christine suggested, lips tightening, while she made her way to the living room through—among other things—bags of chips and chocolate wrappings. It didn’t take long to spot him, as Beth’s eyes instinctively flitted to where she’d seen him last. She barely registered the condition that room, too, was in—food and drink leftovers replaced by broken picture frames and chairs thrown to the floor—trying to reign in the urge to run to him and touch him, to make sure he was all right. He surely was not all right, of course. He was breathing, sure, but he seemed passed out, his head thrown back at an awkward angle, his eyes closed. His hair was wild, and he obviously hadn’t shaven since she’d last seen him, but she could see his sunken cheeks under the hairs. He was only wearing a pair of pajama bottoms that had seen better days, and his upper body looked wasted away. There were dark circles under his eyes. He grunted, and she couldn’t stifle a cry that made her mother jump. Christine chewed on her inner cheek for a second, hands planted on her hips. Finally nodding to herself, she turned to her daughter. “Try to get him to his bed. I’ll clean up here and then we’ll make sure he eats something.” Beth shook her head mutely, following her mom into the kitchen with her eyes, before running to her lover and kneeling by his side. “James?” She could do no more than whisper; a fortunate thing, since she had no control of what came out of her mouth. “Baby, please open your pretty eyes.” His lids remained stubbornly shut. “Please, let me see those pretty blues.” She squeezed her own eyes shut for a second, biting her lip to keep from crying. “I shouldn’t have left. No matter what, I shouldn’t,” she mumbled. He blinked slowly a couple of times, his eyes barely fixing on her before his eyelids slid shut again. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was raspy. He closed his lips, and moved them like there was something in his mouth. “Why are you here?” The first answer that came to her was too scary to say out loud. Still, she started saying, “Because I lo—” “Beth, do you know where the cleaning supplies are?” Her mom appeared on the doorway, holding a garbage bag about to burst. “Under the stairway,” she replied without needing to think. He’d told her she’d find everything

there when she was trying to get a ketchup stain off her skirt. He’d licked the stain, then her leg, then… The tears she’d managed to stave off so far started running down her cheeks, and she made no effort to stop them this time. “Come on, James,” she said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pushing up. He managed to drag his feet up the stairs and to his bedroom, and she sighed with relief when she finally managed to get him into bed. The upstairs hadn’t sustained any damage, it seemed, and she was glad to see that, although seeing that room exactly how she’d left it sent a pang through her heart. She wanted nothing more than to take her clothes off and crawl into bed next to him, feel his skin against hers as she held him close while he slept. She couldn’t do that with her mother downstairs. Her mother. She might need help. Regretfully leaving James, she walked to the banister and called out, “Mom, anything I can do?” Christine’s voice floated upstairs, calm as ever. “Just stay with him, he’ll need a friendly face if he wakes up.” ***** That first day had been hard. James had refused to eat, until Christine had practically threatened him with physical violence. He’d managed to down a couple of bites, so concentrated on chewing and swallowing that he seemed like he’d never done it before. Then Beth had cried again, that time in front of her mother. Neither adult had paid her any attention. The days that followed only made things worse. Christine insisted on visiting James daily. She took time off work—time she hadn’t taken off to take Beth on vacation—and would spend all day with him, nursing him back to the world of the living through good food and nice talks. Beth hated going by his place after school and seeing him watch movies with her mother. She did her best to be cheery when she bounced into the living room, even though he never seemed to notice her. She’d go to the kitchen, reheat some food and drag a chair near the couch, so she could watch him—them—while she ate. She’d remain silent until it was time to go home and do her schoolwork, taking in his easy banter with Christine, and the way he kept avoiding her own eyes. If he happened to look at her, it would be by accident, and his gaze would instantly turn icy. It hurt, yet she kept going back to him, and doing her best not to

break down and cry. She did her best not to resent her mother for being able to be there for him in ways he wouldn’t allow her. She did her best not to let irrational jealousy drive her crazy every time James smiled at Christine. She did her best to be a good little girl. Her best only worked for six weeks and two days. Then, one evening, she happened to go by his place a bit later than usual, and found Christine sleeping on the couch, her feet on James’s lap. That night, once they’d returned to their own house and Christine was fast asleep, Beth sneaked out of her bedroom window. She made her way back to James’s place, and let herself in with the key he’d given Christine. Trying to keep quiet, she walked to his room and did what she’d wanted to do for a month and a half; took off her clothes and slid under the covers. He was shaved now, and her lips found his easily. She hadn’t meant to do anything more than kiss him and hold him while he slept, but he rolled on top of her, and she realized he was completely naked and hard. Without preamble, he buried his entire length inside her. She wasn’t ready, and it hurt, but she wouldn’t deny him. “That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back.” His thrusts became harder, punishing, still, she’d take it all, all his hatred for the both of them. She’d take it and she’d leave him free of it; free to see what she was ready to offer. Free to see she was his. His hand curled around her throat, bruising the skin there as sure as his hips were bruising the flesh of her inner thighs. It wasn’t a game to him that time; it wasn’t about power over her. She knew he wasn’t even seeing her face. It was his own throat he wanted to squeeze, himself that he hated, himself that he wanted to punish, while he used her body and took away her breath. “I love you,” she whispered, not making any effort to break free. His eyes—that had been closed until then—flew open, his grip tightening for a heartbeat when he began shuddering above her, before going lax. She tried to kiss him, but he turned his face away, driving into her a few last times until he was spent. He immediately rolled off her and lit a cigarette. There was a clean ashtray by his side, she noticed.

“Why are you here?” She barked a laugh. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making love to me?” His chuckle was dark. “Make love?” His eyes narrowed. “I fucked you, Beth. Like I’ve done so many times.” Shaking her head, she replied, “You need me.” She looked at him challengingly. “You still love me. You just don’t know it.” He didn’t say another word until his cigarette was done. He put it out and lay down, not trying to push her away when she burrowed into his arms. He kicked her out of bed before sunrise, but she didn’t mind, because—just as she was drifting off—she’d heard him whisper, “I do, God help me.” *****

His words the previous night had made her hope that that was the end of them being apart. That after coming to terms with how he felt about her, he’d stop trying to destroy what was between them. She’d hoped he’d start finding himself again, and maybe even tell Christine she didn’t need to be around him all the time. She should have known better. Getting to his place that afternoon, her step was bouncier than it had been in a long while. That was why she’d tripped and almost fell when she saw Christine’s head on James’s shoulder, looking into each other’s eyes. Something in the way he tilted his head made her realize he knew she was there, while Christine was still oblivious. He leaned to her mother’s ear and whispered something that made her giggle like a teenager and slap his shoulder. Then she leaned her forehead against his. Beth felt the air leave her lungs, the room grow smaller… Christine kissed James’s cheek. James turned and looked straight at Beth. Beth opened the door quietly and left, not wanting them to hear the sound of her heart shattering.

Chapter 7 – Penitent Christine's face was a couple of inches from his, her breath caressing his skin as she leaned slightly forward, yet all James could see was the look in Beth's eyes just before she'd walked out his door. That was the look he'd been going for; it was one of absolute despair, akin to what had been choking him since the irrevocable finality of his family's death had hit home. Her eyes hadn't betrayed any guilt, though; there was no self-loathing eating her up inside like it ate him, digging deeper with every breath he took. She didn't blame herself or him for what happened to Patricia and Michael. Then again, she hadn't been hit by their loss the way he had. She hadn't been the adult, the one who should have known better. She hadn't been the one who'd promised to never let them down. Why should there be guilt in her eyes? No, despair and loss—the same vacant, glazed-over look that he’d seen reflected in the mirror every day—should be enough. It should. It should make him feel better that she was as miserable as he was. He should be rejoicing for managing to take everything away from her, the way so much had been taken from him. Christine's lips parted, offering him an opening. Or a closure. If he kissed her, there was no turning back, no feeling Beth's warm body sliding under his sheets again, no seeing her pert butt move to some secret rhythm as she whisked an omelet for the two of them to share. If he kissed Christine, he'd destroy his young lover's dreams that they could somehow be together. He jumped back, as if stung. “I'm—I'm sorry.” Christine’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, James, no. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.” He mumbled that it was fine, but she went on. “No, it's not fine. You're dealing with so much, and I let a silly fan-girl crush risk our friendship. I'm so sorry.” She seemed to genuinely feel bad, and he felt a pang of guilt for having slept with her daughter, for having led her on, for being the bastard he was. “Really, Christine, it is fine,” he insisted, patting her hand. “Our friendship is still rock solid.” He hoped God wouldn't strike him down. “It's not like you took advantage of me or something. We're both adults, both lonely, things could easily go another way.” Seeing her eyes light up, he rushed to amend. “But I can't. I shouldn't—” For the first time, she seemed upset at him. “Oh, no, you don't.” Her reaction catching him unawares, he slipped into his Oxford-educated self. “Pardon?” Retrieving her hand, she poked him in the sternum. “You don't get to pull the I shouldn't crap.”

She was frowning in a way so similar to her daughter’s, that for just a split second he felt like crying and burrowing in her arms, asking for forgiveness. He didn't. “What are you on about, Christine?” “You, not wanting to—not feeling like doing something is perfectly fine by me. I won't be broken hearted, or even disappointed about it.” At his puzzled look, she explained, “Told you, this... almost kiss was fangirly. You're not my type—not for a relationship—and I don't do flings.” He shook his head, a hint of a smile on his face. “But?” “But,” she emphasized her word by holding her right index finger up, “I will not accept the I shouldn't excuse. You shouldn't what?” She didn't really wait for him to answer. “Shouldn't use me, since you're still in love with your wife's memory, or shouldn't do something that might take you out of your misery for even a moment?” He opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. Opened it again. No sound made it out. “My money is on the latter, James. And it's a pity. What happened to your family was a horrible thing.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if imagining the horror of something like that happening to her. “But you're alive, and you have to keep on living. It'll be a betrayal to them if you don't.” What was she talking about? The betrayal would be to be happy, to enjoy his life when theirs was over. “Christine—” he started. “Don't you Christine me, mister.” Her voice was in full Mom-mode now. “I saw what you were trying to do to yourself—what you almost managed. I was here when you had no clue where you were and who was talking to you. You're not going down that road again.” Sitting back, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not on my watch.” He started crying. Tears were running down his hollow cheeks, yet it seemed like a huge weight was being lifted. “I was cheating on Patricia,” he said finally. He didn't know why he'd said such a thing to his lover's mother, of all people, but he needed to hear that even so he could be forgiven. That he could be allowed to live. She was silent for a moment, then asked, “Did you love her?” He nodded. “Patricia, I mean.” He nodded again. “Then why?” “I loved her more. I wasn't thinking.” Realizing he'd slid her way, he straightened his body, eyes to the floor. “I'm a bad, bad man. And I should be punished.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You must hate me.” Cupping his shoulder with her palm, she made no move to otherwise close the space between them. “I pity you.”

“Don't. Pity them. I deserve to be miserable.” Her hand left his shoulder and made impact with the back of his head in no time. “Haven't you been listening?” She hit him once more, and he believed it was because she had demons, too; demons that had to do with cheating bastards. “Christine—” It was as if she didn't even hear him. “You're alive, you have to live.” It sounded so simple. “I hurt her.” He wasn't talking about Patricia. Luckily, Christine didn't seem to realize that. “That can't change. All you can do is be true to yourself and others from now on.” Could she be right? Could that be all it took? Wasn't he cursed to be alone? Wasn't that the only way to atone for his sins? He ducked his head. He really doubted he had been going the right way to atonement so far, anyway. Beth's face flashed in front of his eyes again. He'd broken her. Jumping up, he grabbed Christine by the shoulders and planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “Thank you. Can you wait here ‘til I'm back?” “Where are you going?” she asked, her expression slightly bewildered. “Something I have to do.” Someone he had to find, and he knew just where she'd be.

*****

It was funny how he hadn’t felt bad the last time he’d gone to her house. He’d appeared uninvited, lied his ass off to her mother, then made his way up to her room and had proceeded to fuck her thoroughly, despite her protests. All without a hint of remorse. Now, however, as he tried the kitchen doorknob—sighing with relief when it turned easily—he felt like a trespasser. Worse, an ogre. The feeling became even worse, as he climbed the stairs to the upper floor, and neared her bedroom. That was her inner sanctum he was about to violate. He snorted at himself. He’d violated her. Repeatedly. Not her body—she’d given him that willingly—but her soul. He’d taken a carefree young woman and turned her into the holloweyed creature who had fled his house as if to save her life.

He swallowed his self-hatred and burst in her room when he heard a choked sound on the other side of the door. The first thing he noticed was the suitcase. It lay open on her bed, gaping at him like the crater he felt where his heart should be at the thought of her leaving. Scanning the room frantically with his eyes, he finally spotted her squatting on the floor, halfhidden by the open closet door. Her eyelids were red and puffy, and she kept sniffling as she fought with a pile of clothes. “Beth?” His voice sounded high pitched to his ears. Panicky. “Baby, what are you doing?” Her voice was flat. Emotionless. “I don’t know what to pack,” she said, as if that was the reason she was wiping furiously at her eyes. Rushing to her, he knelt beside her and tried to gather her into his arms, but she pulled away. “What do you want, James? Isn’t my mom enough for you?” Her words dripped poison and felt like a slap in the face, but he deserved them. Not making another effort to touch her, he said solemnly, “Your mom is a great woman, but there’s nothing between us.” This time the slap in the face was real. “You fucking liar!” Feeling grateful for the daggers her eyes threw at him was crazy—he knew that—but he almost smiled to see something else replace the emptiness. “I’m not lying. We didn’t—” Her palm flew toward his face again, but he grasped her wrist before it made contact. Stopping her seemed to deflate her anger, because tears welled up in her eyes. “I saw you,” she reminded him, rubbing her wrist once he let go, as if his touch had burned her. “What you saw was a mistake that almost happened.” “Whatever, James,” she said in a resigned voice. Shaking her head, she made to stand up, but he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. “I’m fucked up. Wanted to hurt you—” “And you managed just fine.” Eyes narrowed in a look that closely resembled hatred, she tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Wanted to hurt you ‘cause I was hurting,” he went on like she’d never interrupted him. “You always hurt the one you love.” Tangling his fingers in her hair, he nuzzled her cheek, ignoring her tiny fists limply thumping his shoulders. She averted her face. “So you’ll keep hurting me?” “I’ll try my best not to.” Letting go of one shoulder—but tightening his grip on the other—he cupped her chin and forced her to turn to him. “Christine and I didn’t kiss. I couldn’t do it.” “Yeah, but she’s got the hots for you.” She wouldn’t raise her gaze to him; looked at the floor instead, lower lip trembling. Resisting the urge to stabilize that lip with a kiss, he shook his head. “I’m one of her favorite writers and happen to be this hot.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Was nothing more than that to her.” Seeing she still wouldn’t look at him, he added, “Besides, I told her I’m in love with someone. Told her I was cheating on Patricia…” She looked at him then, eyes wide like saucers. “You didn’t—” She seemed unable to finish her sentence. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. We talked, and she made me see how wrong I was.” “Ah huh.” She blinked rapidly, and he knew she was fighting off a fresh bout of tears. Brushing her cheek with his hand, he did the only thing he could. He kissed her. His heart soared when she didn’t pull back, clinging to him instead. Her lips were dry, and he was gentle touching them with his, until he felt the first salty drop hit the corner of his mouth. It was like the first crack to a dam. He didn’t know if that first tear had been his or hers, but the ones that followed as their kiss became full of urgency, belonged to them both. His weren’t tears of sadness, or of goodbye; they were of relief that he hadn’t been too late. He only hoped she felt the same, as he carefully stood—holding her against him—and walked them both to her bed. He threw aside the hateful suitcase, uncaring of the noise it made upon hitting the floor. His whole world was in his arms, and nothing could penetrate the sense of happiness that engulfed him when she broke the kiss only to whisper she needed him. Laying her carefully on the bed, he covered her body with his. There was no time for foreplay; he needed to be inside her, and she must have sensed it, because she bunched up her dress and lifted her hips, so he could push aside her panties. He popped the buttons of his fly with one hard tug, releasing his erection. The voice of reason—that surprisingly still existed somewhere deep inside him—found that the right moment to point out that he was a pillock for thinking of shagging her after all she’d been through.

That voice was silenced the moment his fingers found her pussy. Her soaking wet pussy. This was so much more than sex to him, and apparently to her, too. It was the connection they craved, and—for better or worse—any connection between them had been constructed around what they were about to do that very moment. Sex was more than release to them; it was a form of communication, a confirmation that they were still there. The both of them. Together. He replaced his fingers with his cock and pushed forward, his whole body tightening at the feel of her heat around his shaft. It felt like it had been forever since he’d last been inside her, and the only way to make that right was to stay inside her forever. Sinking in to the hilt, he lay still, enjoying the way their breath synchronized. She wrapped her legs around him, but he just struggled with the neckline of her dress and her bra until a pert breast was revealed. With his length buried where he needed to be, he could take things slow. His lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking over it until the peak hardened. She ground her pelvis against his and he had to grip one of her hips to keep her still while he tried to reach her other breast. Her garments were giving him too much trouble, so—without a second though—he let go of her hip, grabbed the fabric and tore it so his eyes could feast on the perfect curve. Perfect fit for the cup of his palm, he thought, measuring that fit once more before replacing his hand with his lips. “If you don’t move, I’ll kill you,” came her voice from under him, and he almost went crosseyed trying to look at her face while suckling her nipple. She contracted around his cock, her inner muscles tightening their grip on his shaft, making him unable to resist any longer. Withdrawing slightly, he began thrusting; shallowly at first, then going deeper with every down stroke, making her moan. He was rambling. He had no clue in what sequence the words actually came out of his mouth, but the point he was trying to make was clear in his head, while she squeezed his eloquence out of him with that heaven-like cunt of hers. He never wanted to be anywhere else. He never wanted to lose her. He was sorry. Fuck. “Fuck.” He came so hard, his vision blurred covering everything in sight with a white glow. He loved that glow. “I love you,” he whispered, still moving inside her. “Come for me, baby.” Her breathing was getting quicker, as she panted that she was close. Not losing a beat, he slid his hand down the length of her body, all the way to where they were joined. “Come for me,” he said again, pressing down on her clit with his thumb. “Now, Beth.” She did as he ordered, locking him in place with arms and legs as she rode out her orgasm. His now half erect cock kept thrusting inside her until her heartbeat went back to normal and her limbs flopped lazily on the mattress.

Swallowing a gulp of air, he looked at her, taking pride in the disheveled state he’d brought her in. A ringing reached his ears, and it took both of them a couple of seconds before they simultaneously looked at her bedside table, where her small, ridiculously pink cell phone lay. “My mom.” Beth sounded exhausted, but was smiling at him naughtily. “I should get that.” She wiggled under him, trying to reach her phone. Christine. Christine, who was waiting back at his place, while he soiled her daughter’s virtue… for the nth time. He was a bastard, but an entirely happy one. Nuzzling the crook of his lover’s neck, he decided he could live with that.

Chapter 8 – Passive She’d said she’d forgiven him and he was sure she believed that to be the case. He, however, knew better. He saw resentment in her eyes every time he caught her gaze. They always held a shadow of doubt in them, a hint of uncertainty. He heard it in her laughter, which was somehow… less. It was no longer the vivid, crystal sound he’d gotten used to. He felt it in her body as it opened up to him but remained guarded somehow; like she held a piece of her hidden away, lest he break her. He was in love—devastatingly so—with a woman, who returned his feelings, and they were finally together, but he couldn’t be happy as long as he felt he’d taken something away from her. His doorbell rang, finally giving him an excuse to stop looking at the blank screen. It was the third week he hadn’t even written a page, and he only wished he could attribute that to sexual shenanigans. In the past, misery had always been his best inspiration. Whenever he felt like his life was going to waste, when he’d made a remarkably stupid decision or been hurt in any way, stories would flow out of him. Now, he felt both miserable and useless. And all while he had exactly what he’d wanted. Well, not exactly. He’d wanted Beth happy for being with him, but the girl who greeted him when he opened the door just wasn’t happy. Her grin didn’t reach her eyes, and when—with the door safely closed behind her—she leaned in to kiss him hello, her body didn’t melt into his like it use to before. “Hey, kitten.” He felt so stupid, clinging to her after her arms had fallen from around his neck. “How was your day?” She shrugged and popped the top button of her shirt. “You know, school-y. Nothing special.” Kicking off her shoes, she walked towards his dining room, her fingers making quick work of the next couple of buttons. “How was yours? Write anything?” He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. “Actually, can you tell me later? I really need a good fuck now.” Reaching the table, she turned and hopped on it. Unzipping her jeans without looking at him, she went on. “I have to meet the girls for practice in an hour, so —” She motioned for him to go to her. Her cheerleading had begun to come up more and more the past month or so, to the point that—if she didn’t always seem horny—he’d worry that she was seeing someone on the side. Finally between her legs, he helped her get rid of her pants and undid his own. Maybe she was seeing someone on the side, but wasn’t putting out for him. Maybe that other guy was too special and she wanted to wait. The thought made his blood run cold. He was the only one who was special for her. She loved him; she’d told him so. “Tell me you love me,” he barked, cock poised at her entrance.

“I love you.” She didn’t hesitate for even a second, yet he could hear the silent but… His mind wasn’t on sex, as he slammed into her; he barely even registered how she wiggled and moaned, how she scratched his arms, and bit his lip until it bled. He hardly even realized he was coming, and wasn’t at all sure about whether she had, too. All he could think about as he pounded into her hard enough to make a crystal vase slide off the table and shatter into a million shards, was how to make things right. The following day, he went shopping. On-line, of course; it wouldn’t do for the nice town folk to see him in the one and only sex-shop the little town had to offer. He didn’t need much; he wanted her to feel free to use her imagination.

*****

He’d made sure to invite her to dinner three days in advance, so she wouldn’t have an excuse to blow him off, and had called her again that afternoon to confirm she was coming. She’d sounded off on the phone, like she was reluctant to see him. It had broken his heart. Letting the pork medallions simmer in the mustard and honey sauce, he all but ran to the shower. By the time he was out, dressed and with his hair properly gelled, it was time to start the rice boiling. The crepes had been cooling for a while. He shook his head. He hadn’t cooked for a woman since he and Patricia had been dating, but it felt so right to be doing that for Beth. Hearing the bell ring panicked him. Slapping the dishtowel on the counter, he took a deep breath. He wasn’t a schoolboy, damn it, and this wasn’t his first date with Beth. It was just what he thought of as his last chance to make things the way they should be. His last chance; there was a comforting thought. Running his fingers through his locks—forgetting all about the twenty minutes it had taken him to make sure they stayed in place—he let his feet lead him to the front door. His breath caught in his throat when he laid eyes on her. The woman standing in front of him was not a high school senior; she was a sophisticated lady who had the world under the heel of her expensive red pumps. Her little black dress showed enough cleavage to make him want to say, screw dinner. “Mom’s in LA,” she said, following the movement of his eyes. “Like her dress and shoes?” The mischief in her eyes made him want to cheer. There was the Beth he knew and loved, she wasn’t completely gone. “I love them,” he replied. I love you, he wanted to say, but somehow it seemed inappropriate. Stepping back from the doorway, he motioned for her to come in. He’d set the table before he started cooking, and he loved the appreciative look she gave the vase of flowers—a new one—as he held her chair out.

“Want a drink while I go get the starter?” he asked, trying hard not to start wringing his hands.

She smiled. “I’ll have some wine with dinner, but only if you will.” Oh, yes. Wine was a good idea. Lots of it, preferably, if he were to go through with his plan. *****

“So, what was all this about?” she asked, indicating the table, once they were done with ice cream, too. Conversation had been nice until then—the wine had to have had something to do with it— staying clear from them as a subject. Her question threw him off balance. “Do I need a reason to want to see my—you?” “No,” she replied, sounding sad. “Usually an excuse is enough.” Taking a slow sip, she said, “Need any help with the kitchen?” He shrugged, piling her dessert plate over his. “I’ll clean up in the morning. Have other plans for now.” Her smile seemed scornful, somehow. “Should we pick up the table first, or do we use the couch this time?” It pained him to hear her like that. “I was thinking bedroom,” he answered in the same style. Standing up, he made his way to the staircase. “Come when you’re ready.” ***** He was beginning to regret his words when ten minutes later she still hadn’t shown up. “Beth?” he called out. The door creaked, and he heard her heels timidly approach the bed. “What—what are you doing?” She sounded unsure, which was a good thing, considering he’d never felt more vulnerable in his entire life. Lying in bed naked, a blindfold tightly in place around his eyes, and his wrists bound to the headboard, he was completely at her mercy. “I’m letting go.” His voice was steady. “To you.” The silence that followed his words was unnerving, and he knew he had to fill it or she’d flee. “Beth, I love you,” he said. “I really do. But I’ve hurt you, and that will be between us until I make up for it.”

“You—I forgave you.” She sounded impatient, accusatory. Shaking his head no, he said, “You didn’t. Not really. Or rather, you haven’t let it go, and I can’t blame you.” More silence, the unnerving kind. “I want you to see I’m yours, Beth. All yours.” He paused, took a deep breath. “If you see that’s true, then maybe we can move forward.” He hadn’t expected her touch on his abdomen, and flinched away from it for a second, sucking his stomach in reflexively. She didn’t withdraw, trailing her nails up to his chest instead. He was itching to ask her if that meant she agreed with his idea, if indeed giving her full power over his body would make things better, but he knew that asking for assurances would defeat the purpose. He trusted her and he was hers to do with as she pleased. Reaching his nipple, her fingers pinched and twisted, making him hiss. “All mine?” she asked, stroking his sternum before fastening onto the second nipple. Her nails dug inside the sensitive flesh, challenging him to change his mind. He just nodded. He felt a finger running along his jaw line, and the mattress sink a little on his right. Although he trusted her not to injure him, he couldn’t help but feel a little trepidation at the thought of what extents she might want to go to. What if she inadvertently went too far? He doubted she’d done something like that before. Realizing doubt would lead nowhere, he began regulating his breathing. He would stay calm. Whatever happened, he deserved it. Her mouth found his, startling him again. He tried to deepen the kiss, but she bit him. “Do that again, and there’ll be a world of pain for you,” she warned against his skin as she kissed her way to his neck. “You’re so pale…” She must have decided to add some color to his complexion, because her teeth closed on his shoulder. He made no sound; remained quiet and still as she alternated between sucking, licking and nibbling her way down his front until her breath was caressing his cock. His eyes squeezing shut behind the black silk, he focused all his willpower to refrain from raising his hips off the mattress. His willpower wilted when she ran the tip of her tongue down the underside of his shaft before sucking one of his balls inside her mouth. The moment his ass lost contact with the sheets, her mouth withdrew. “On your stomach.” She was evil. Trying to roll over while bound to the headboard took longer than he’d thought. Squirming, trying to gather momentum to twist—without dislocating a shoulder—was awkward and he felt like he was losing all his dignity. Well, he’d stomped all over her dignity and heart.

Finally face down, he moaned when he felt her body cover his. She was naked—all his blood flowing southwards, he hadn’t noticed any telltale sounds that indicated she’d taken off her dress—and her breasts pressed against his back as she bit his earlobe. “Don’t you wish you were on your back?” she whispered. Hell, he’d trade an arm for it that very moment. When she sat up and ghosted her fingers down his sides, her bare pussy wet on his lower back, he would even throw a leg into the deal. His cock hurt, pressed almost inside the mattress. He didn’t realize when he began rocking his hips in need of friction, but Beth did. Without moving, she smacked a hand hard on his ass cheek. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Jimmy,” she said, and he knew she was fully aware of how he hated the nickname. “I think you think this is a game.” Smack. “It’s not. You broke my heart, and you’re supposed to pay for it.” Even though she’d spoken emotionlessly, her words stung him more than her palm and he wanted to apologize. “I’m so sor—” Shushing him, she climbed off his back and moved between his legs. Before he could wonder what she had in mind, her tongue was on his sack again. He was at her mercy as the rosy tip tickled and prodded, so close to where he wanted to feel it the most. His toes curled, all his muscles tense with the effort to keep still. When he thought he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, she stopped and wedged her palm between him and the mattress, cupping his balls and squeezing just this side of pain. “I can’t decide whether to fuck you or have you eat me out,” she pondered aloud, trailing a finger between his butt cheeks. His skin broke out in goose bumps and he clenched instinctively, making her release her grip to slap him hard. “You just may have made my choice for me.” Forcing himself to relax, he remained silent. She could do as she pleased. She’d fingered him before, while blowing him, and he hadn’t found the sensation unpleasant at all. Still, he let out a sigh of relief when she said, “Nah. The other way will be more fun.” Landing her palm on his ass again, she ordered him on his back once more. This time he was afraid he’d fall off the bed. Getting on his knees took a couple of tries, but once he’d managed that, it was easy to turn his body. Unfortunately, he rolled the same way he’d had the first time, making the ties tauter. When he tried to scooch up and relieve some of the pressure on his shoulders, she simply said, “Don’t.” Her knees by his armpits felt threatening; it would be a great blow to his ego if he began giggling because the hair under his arms tickled him. The thought didn’t worry him for long, because her pussy, wet, and hot, and inviting was lowered onto his waiting mouth. He ate her like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. He sucked on her clit with his lips, nibbled the soft petals of her sex, pouring his need for release into satisfying her. She rocked her hips, grinding against his chin harder and harder as he fucked her with his tongue, and

when something touched his nose, he wanted to rip the blindfold off so he could watch her rub her clit with her fingers. Her rhythm increased until her thighs clamped around his head and her body shook with tremors that made him dizzy with their intensity. She didn’t stop moving for a long time, and he didn’t stop licking and sucking until she pulled away. Leaving a wet trail down his front, she dragged her body down his until her slit touched the tip of his shaft. A hand wrapped around his length and a moment later she was impaled on him, strangling him. “Don’t come,” she whispered against his cheek, raising and lowering herself. “Don’t come until I tell you to.” He groaned and she shoved something in his mouth. It took a moment for him to understand it was her thong, soaked with her taste. “Don’t come.” She pinched his nipple. “Don’t you fucking come.” Her hand closed around his throat, as her hips undulated faster. “You’re my bitch, aren’t you?” He nodded. “And you’ll never make me cry again, will you?” She said, good boy, when he shook his head no. He screamed inside his throat when she bit his earlobe and squeezed him inside her at the same time. Something splashed on the blindfold. She was close; her legs were trembling again and she was short of breath. “You’ll love me and never hurt me?” He tried to say yes, choked, tried again. “Good.” Her voice shuddered, something splashed on his jaw. “Come, now.” It wasn’t her order that did it, it was the fact that she pulled the silk off, allowing him to see her eyes, overflowing with tears yet full of love. She fished her panties out from between his lips just in time for him to say, I love you, again and again, his hips pistoning as he emptied himself inside her until he felt drained— physically. Emotionally, he’d never felt that full. He wished his hands were free so he could grab her and hold her to him for eternity. Once his body had settled, she undid his bonds and burrowed into his arms. “So you love me, huh?” she asked. She sounded as cheeky as ever, and he was grateful to hear that.

“Madly. Desperately!” he replied in the same tone. “Good,” she replied against his shoulder sounding sleepy. “Keep showing me, ‘cause I’d hate to have to kill you.” He chuckled and kissed her just over the ear. “I plan to live a long life.” With you, he added in his head.

Chapter 9 – Paramount Beth took the tall man’s proffered arm, and graced him with her most flirty smile. “I thought you’d never show up,” she said. “You know I could never say no to your invitation,” he said, covering her hand with his. “Good.” She nodded, leading him to the garden, and away from the crowd. “I need you here tonight.”

***** James had managed to keep his promise not to hurt her for three whole years. Three years during which they’d had to hide from her mother and her friends. Three years during which they could never be seen in public together. They’d had an excuse for the hours they spent together, of course. Beth was typing James’s manuscripts. She was also there for him to bounce ideas off. And to have Chinese on the floor with, and sex on the empty cartons. And on the kitchen counter. And all over his house. Naturally, nobody knew about most of their activities. Then enough had suddenly been enough.

***** Weaving her way through the rose bushes, trying hard not to let either of her heels sink into the ground, she stubbornly avoided any thoughts about what she was about to do, and joked with the man by her side. “I wonder how those reporters covering the party would feel about murder on the premises.” “Beth?” He brought them both to a halt, taking both her hands in his. “You don’t have to do this.” His tone was serious, and she loved him all the more for it. “Yes. I do. We’ve waited long enough.” If only she felt as certain as she sounded. If only she wasn’t worried that if she went ahead with what she had in mind, she’d lose someone forever.

It was the man’s turn to nod. “And James?” Shrugging, she started walking again. “James is fine with it.”

***** A year or so earlier, James had told her he wanted to leave. He had been offered a movie deal, and wanted to move back to Los Angeles.

He lived there, now. In a two story house that was like it had been taken out of a Hollywood movie. With a pool. And a pool house. And his twenty-two year old assistant.

***** “So, how do you want to proceed with this?” the man asked her, carefully pushing a rose out of the way so she could pass by the bush. She’d rather not proceed with it at all. “Like a band aid,” she said. “I want it to be over and done with, so we can go back to the party.” He smiled. “I am sure the party is all you care about.” Smiling back at him, she pulled him onto the paved path that led to the pool.

***** There had been no rumors about James sleeping with his assistant, even though she was young and—according to many—beautiful. The two of them were never anything less that professional in their conduct, as far as their circle knew. She was the perfect hostess to his parties, but not even the occasional paparazzi, who believed the author-turned-screenplay writer merited attention, ever witnessed something reproachful between them. Still, Beth knew better. She knew they were sleeping together, and doing all kinds of depraved stuff that would make a nice girl blush. She actually knew James had had sex with his assistant just a couple of hours earlier, in a house full of catering people. And she knew he and she were madly in love. She’d be jealous, if she wasn’t his assistant. Cooper knew, too, because he was James’s publicist, and had caught them in the act, a couple of months earlier. Beth was no longer under aged, so that wasn’t a problem. What was a problem was that Cooper and Christine had been dating for a while now, and Beth felt bad for forcing him to hide such a thing from the woman he said he loved. Letting go of Cooper’ arm, she walked to her mother and her boss, who seemed to be having a delightful conversation by the poolside. Cooper was close behind her.

“Mom, you look stunning!” It wasn’t just buttering her up. Her mother seemed right at home in the LA scene. Being with Cooper had done Christine good, and Beth was grateful for the smile he had put on her mother’s face. “Thank you, honey.” In true motherly fashion, Christine gathered her daughter in her arms and kissed both her cheeks, not worrying about lipstick stains. “And look at you!” Beth took a step back, blushing, to do just that. Maybe it was the way James automatically reached out when Beth stumbled, maybe how she leaned into him, or how she raised her face to his, and he graced her with his brilliant smile, but Christine’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. “Beth?” Shit, shit, shit, shit! She knew they’d been letting their guard down a bit too much since they’d left her home town; it wasn’t only public affairs they should be careful at. “Mom?” she asked back, her voice chocking with hope and fear at the same time. It was like the emotions were trying to escape her simultaneously, clogging her throat and making her head feel light. That was not how her mother was supposed to find out, damn it; they were all supposed to have a drink, and then they’d break it to her. Cooper, bless him, was by his lady’s side in a split second. She withdrew harshly, almost pushing him aside, to ask, “Did you know?” There were red blotches on her face. Beth took pity on how the man ducked his head like a schoolboy. “He just found out today, mom,” she lied. “He said you should know.” Christine narrowed her eyes, her fingers clutching the neckline of her dark blue dress, as if it had suddenly become too tight. “Is that why you’ve told me?” Shushing her daughter’s effort at an answer, she asked, “How long?” Nobody replied. “How long has this been going on?” Her voice was shrill and reminded Beth of how Christine had sounded when Beth’s father had announced he wanted a divorce. “Since back home?” ***Earlier “Oh, James, they’re so beautiful!” Beth ran her fingers over the pearls that wrapped around her neck and dropped between her breasts. “Thank you!” Pushing her shoulders back, she admired how the off-white color of the little spheres made her nipples look darker. Standing behind her, her boss-slash-lover took in their reflection in the mirror before nipping lightly at her neck. “You make them beautiful,” he said, watching as she carefully tied the pearl string into a knot right beneath her collarbone. “Thank you.” She smiled and made to turn and face him, but his grip on her hips stilled her.

“You can thank me another way.” Smirking over her shoulder, he rubbed his erection against her ass. Pressing back to him, she mock protested. “James, the party. People will be here soon.” They really would, they were hosting a party for a few select friends—which meant a couple of hundred people. “Not for another hour.” He trailed a hand down her stomach, stopping right above her pussy. “We have time,” he whispered in her ear, before taking the earlobe between his teeth. She moaned. “My mom, James. We can’t.” Her words reminded her of that time, so long ago, when he’d taken her against the wall. When his hand reached lower, she was already wet. A finger sliding between her folds, he cupped one of her breasts with his free palm. “It’ll help you relax until she’s here.” He made a valid point, so she leaned forward, looking at him through the glass. She felt so sexy, in just her pearls and stockings, and she guessed that was the reason he’d decided to give her present to her before she put on her dress. Wriggling her bum, she said, “Maybe we should get started then… Daddy.” Some things never changed, and James’s reaction to that word was one of them. Growling, he sought her clit, circling it with two fingers. “No time,” she chastised, spreading her legs. His wicked grin should have indicated he had something in mind, but she wasn’t paying attention to his face once his cock began sinking inside her. He stopped, not even half way in. “Tell me what you want, Beth.” Brow furrowed, she turned to look at him, earning herself a hard smack on the left buttock. “You dare look at me, insolent girl?” A second smack clued her in to what he was playing at. “I’m sorry, daddy.” She hung her head. “You should be. You still haven’t answered my question.” Question? Huh? “What question?” His fingers were rubbing and pinching her clit, turning her brain into mush. He sighed in exaggerated disappointment. “Sometimes I think you want to be punished,” he said gravely, his palm landing on her other butt-cheek. “I asked what you want.”

“I want you to do bad things to me,” she panted out. Twisting his fist in the string of pearls dangling at her front, he tugged, pulling her up to him, to whisper, “And what are you willing to do about that?” “Anything.” Barely giving her any slack—or room—he ordered her to get on her knees, facing him. Beth made to remind him about time again, but his cock was staring her in the eye, and she decided to utilize her mouth in a more satisfying way. Her hand came up, to cup his balls, but he stopped her with a harsh tug that she was afraid would snap the string. “Mouth only. Use your hands on yourself, but don’t cum.” His voice was so steady, she wanted to smack him. Still, her hands slipped up her thighs as she trailed her tongue along his length. Another tug reminded her she had to hurry, so she took the head of his cock between her lips. He was too long to fit in her mouth, but she did her best to get him as far down as possible. In another position they both knew she could take him down her throat and squeeze until he went cross-eyed, but there was no way she could manage that now. Pushing a finger inside herself, she began pumping it in and out at the same time she sucked and released on his cock. When she let her teeth graze him, she slipped the tip of a finger inside her ass, and began fucking herself on her hand in earnest. “Look at me, kitten. Know whose dick you’ve got in your mouth.” She looked up, and he brushed her hair out of the way so he could meet her eyes. He had that determined look on his face, the one he had when he was trying hard to hold back, and she saw it as a challenge. Withdrawing almost completely, she tightened her lips around the head and began sucking for all she was worth, flicking her tongue over the sensitive skin. “Fuck. Up!” Still holding onto her necklace, he pushed her onto the vanity table the moment she stood, and pulled one of her ankles on his shoulder. She mewled when he plunged inside her, his hand knotting into her pearls and fisting under her chin. His hips were smacking against her inner thighs with enough force to bruise her, but she did nothing but moan and ask for more. The surface under her was creaking and soon the rattling of miniature bottles and all sorts of cosmetics accompanied it. Her hands were on the mirror behind her, giving her leverage to meet his thrusts. A crack indicated something had slipped over the edge of the table, but she couldn’t care less. She was close. “Don’t you fucking cum.” He was so majestic there, over her. His naked body glistened with perspiration, the veins on his neck and arms popping out. His abs bunched and uncoiled with the rocking of his pelvis, and the light over the mirror made his eyes flash.

He began pistoning inside her even faster, and when she just knew she would die if the pressure inside her wasn’t relieved soon, he rapidly slapped her clit lightly a few times with his fingers, and tightened the jewelry around her throat. “Now, Beth!” Gasping, she didn’t try to contain the ball of white fire that burst through her at his command. Her body began shuddering, her hands coming up to claw at his arms, but not in an effort to make him let go. She just wanted him to cum with her. And he did. Pulling out, he closed his fist around his cock and let his spendings cover her stomach and breasts. Somewhere in the back on her brain, she heard the trickling of the pearls raining on the floor. She couldn’t do a thing about it, because she was busy swishing her hips from side to side and running her fingers down her front. Oh, and she was trying to form a conscious thought, too. James’s chuckle forced her to open her eyes—she hadn’t noticed closing them—and look at him. “No laughing at the Beth,” she grumbled as he helped her up. “Your fault I’m like this.” Pulling her to him for a kiss, he murmured against her lips, “At your service any time, milady.” A limp hand tried to smack his sternum… and failed. “Help me get dressed.” “No shower first?” Right. Shower. A glimpse at her bedside table said it was too late for one. “No time.” Grabbing a handful of tissues, from the box that miraculously still stood on her vanity, she wiped at her skin. “Meh.” “Sorry.” He looked anything but, and when she said so he held his hands out in a peace offering. “I’ll help you get dressed and then go to my room. Have to be all pretty for the cameras.” They had separate rooms for appearances’ sake, but never spent the night apart. Once Beth’s dress was zipped up, and her legs encased in new stockings—the other pair had snags—James planted a kiss on her temple and made to leave. “Oh.” He stopped at the door. “Are we going full disclosure tonight, or is it the LA-brought-us-closer scenario?” “Do you want my mom to never speak to us again?”

***** “No, Mom. Honest!” Beth’s eyes were wide with mock-innocence that she prayed to God her mother fell for. “It’s not even been that long, really. Just a few months.” “It’s true, Christine. I-” “You’ll do well to shut your mouth.” The glare Christine gave James was enough to make him take half a step back. “Well, I will not.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he held her gaze. “This is not a fling. It’s not something dirty.” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “I love her, and she loves me.” Closing the distance between them, the woman slapped him before anyone could stop her. “She’s my daughter. She’s a child!” “Mom-” Beth stepped in front of James, staying her mother’s hand before a second blow landed. “I’m not a child anymore.” It wasn’t Christine who nudged Beth out of the way, but James. “Christine, listen to me, then do what you think best.” He sighed. “Please. For Beth.” Looking deflated, Christine nodded curtly, ignoring Cooper’ arm wrapping around her waist from behind. “Beth and I came closer together lately. I saw she’s no longer a child—something you should acknowledge at some point—and she saw me as more than an employer.” Pausing briefly, he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before saying, “We don’t owe it to you to ask for your approval. We choose to.” “You chose nothing! I figured it-” “We’d decided to tell you today, anyway, mom. Neither-” She looked at Cooper. “None of us liked hiding from you.” Putting her hand on her mom’s forearm, she rejoiced when the woman didn’t pull away. “This isn’t something dirty,” she repeated her lover’s words. “You know how it is to be in love.” Her eyes flew to Cooper again. The man was blushing. “I know it’s not my place to butt in,” he said. “But love isn’t something that happens every day.” Going for his glasses, his hand stopped mid-air. He’d replaced those with contacts a couple of weeks earlier, but had still to get used to them, apparently. “We should protect and cherish it when it blossoms.” “Please, Christine.”

Beth suddenly realized that she’d never heard James say her mom’s name so many times in a row before. An inappropriate chuckle escaped her, and she only half-managed to cover it under a fake cough. “I love you, but I love James, too,” she said seriously. Looking from one to the other, the woman finally sighed. “Let’s get me a drink,” she said, gravely. “Maybe the whole thing will seem less real with some alcohol.” Beth smiled and held out her hand for James, but her mother took it first. “I know there’s nothing I can do about this without losing you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever like this.” “You will, when you see what this is.” James sounded so confident that Beth just had to beam at him. Christine just arched an eyebrow. Taking hold of her elbow, Cooper interjected. “A drink, you said.” All four made their way back towards the house, Beth and James with their professional smiles in place. They’d mingle, and they’d pretend to have fun. The party seemed like such a bad idea, after all. Christine turned to look at James. “If you don’t treat her right, I’m coming after you with something extremely sharp.” He nodded. “Until then, I’ll have to learn to live with it, I guess.” She motioned for one of the waiters holding trays with champagne flutes, took a glass and downed it in one sip. “People have lived with worse things.” James smiled widely, folding an arm around Beth’s shoulders. The upper right corner of Christine’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for her daughter to notice. It wasn’t a blessing, it wasn’t acceptance, but it was something. They’d just have to build on it, but the important thing was that they were finally free. She turned inside James’s arms and he lowered his lips to hers. Something flashed. She tried to withdraw, but he wouldn’t let her. “We don’t need to hide now on, love,” he whispered, his breath tickling her lips. He was right, she decided, kissing him passionately.

They both ignored Cooper making a fuss about cameras and front pages.

The End. ### Thank you for purchasing and reading this ebook. It is the first book I have published and I hope you liked it enough to keep an eye out for other stories I have to tell, and to tell your friends about it. Follow me on twitter!