CHAPTER TEN
Becca
Taking charge this time, I take him by the hand and lead him into his bedroom. I hurt too. For many reasons I don’t want to think about. I don’t know if this means we’re heading toward something or not, but I know that we both need the distraction. I’ll never get to those interview questions with my desire for him in the way.
Placing my hand on the center of his chest, I take pleasure in feeling the muscles twitch under my touch. He feels so good that it’s easy to forget what a bad idea this is. I push him down onto the bed, and he lets me. I have him right where I want him. Flat on his back.
I straddle him, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. His body is so hot, so chiseled. It’s damn near perfection. I scratch my nails lightly down his chest, watching the little red welts bloom in their wake. He shudders, and I grind against him, showing him how much I want him while feeling how much he wants me already. I love that about him, how fast he gets hard for me. It makes me feels beautiful and desirable.
He reaches up and touches me, fingers splaying over my stomach. I take off my sweatshirt, and his hands rise higher, cupping my breasts over my bra. I don’t want it to be rough tonight. I need something more intimate. I know it will only complicate things, but at the moment, I just don’t care. It’s too hard to fight it.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters as his fingers slide up my back. “For being an asshole.”
I arch my back as he unsnaps my bra and helps me out of it. Now, all I have on are my jeans. Leaning over him, I kiss him, and his hands cup my face. It’s a searing kiss even though it’s tender and sweet. He rolls me onto my back and moves on top of me. So much for me having control in the situation. Yet, it isn’t what I really want. I want him to take over, tell me what to do. I want to feel the burn of that fire again.
Rob would have passively laid back and let me please him. He never cared about my pleasure. I mentally shake my head, trying to banish thoughts of my ex. I don’t know why I even think about him anymore. I need out of that situation and maybe working at the school paper isn’t the best place for me.
Before I can think about it any further, Cole makes me forget. He takes my breath away. His lips trail down my neck to my collar bone, then drags his tongue between my breasts and across my belly. He slowly slides the jeans off my legs and moves a leg over his shoulder so that the bend of my knee is near his neck. He spreads me wide.
I feel open and vulnerable as his gaze devours me, then his lips trace over my hip bones. “I’m going to eat your pussy,” he says, lips moving over my skin as he murmurs the erotic words, his other hand spreading the lips of my sex.
Cole breathes in deeply before laving his tongue over me, tasting me. Savoring me. He watches my face as he pleasures me and it’s the most erotic experience of my entire life. He goes slowly at first, teasing me, flicking his tongue lightly over the nub of my clit. His free hand presses down on my stomach, keeping me still. I want to buck against his face. I need more friction, but ever the one in control, Cole won’t let me. He controls my pleasure, and somehow, he’s still dominant over me even as he kneels between my legs and drives me crazy with his tongue.
I whimper and beg, but he still takes his time. He pauses every so often to tell me how good I taste and how hard it makes him, and how much he wants to fuck me.
“If you’re a good girl and come for me, I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you until you scream.”
It’s a promise I know he can keep, and one I can’t help but fulfill on my end. Cole seems to know when I’m close. He slows down, his touch a whisper across my skin. Just as I ride the wave of pleasure to the top, he scales it back down, clearly determined to drive me crazy.
“Please,” I whimper, begging. I can’t keep from it, and I have to admit that I love begging him. “Please let me come.”
His fingers go from spreading me, to sliding into me. First just one, then two. He pumps them in my aching core while he sucks on my clit, stopping only to flick his tongue over the sensitive little bud. He keeps me firmly pressed to the mattress, and my fists are tangled in the sheets, my body slick with perspiration and arousal.
He stops, his face slick with my juices to look up at me and whisper just one word, “Come.”
And I do. I can’t not obey. My orgasm darkens my vision and clamps down around his fingers, which he slowly taps against my g-spot. He withdraws them and laps up my release as though it’s honey. Smiling, he sits back and rolls a condom on, still touching me, teasing me until he appears finally satisfied that he’s tormented me enough.
Then he’s in me, thrusting deep, taking me in long, hard strokes. One orgasm bleeds into another, and I scream. Scream his name. Scream for more. He silences me when his tongue slips past my lips to tangle and dance with mine. His hand covers a breast, and he toys with my nipple.
Cole pinches the tender, sensitive nipple, applying pressure gently and then giving it a sharp, little tug as he pounds his big, thick cock into me. I drench him in my appreciation and pleasure. He abandons our kiss to suckle my tit. At first, he flicks his tongue over my bud and then closes his lips around it. I feel the scrape of his teeth and gasp. It’s only a little nibble, just a tiny bit of pain with my pleasure.
I want more.
I want things I have no words or experience to describe. I whisper it, begging. “Please… more.” I can’t express my need, but when he looks into my eyes, I know he knows. He just does.
Cole slowly withdraws his cock out of me and stands up, appraising me. “Sit up and get on your knees. Hands behind your back.” His word is law in the bedroom. I don’t argue. “Turn your back to me.”
I do as he says and hear him rummage in his closet, and a few moments later, I feel something cool and smooth envelop my wrists.
He binds them in leather straps. Tight. I can’t escape if I want to. Not that I want to. I’ve never used any sort of restraint or toy before, but he clearly has and knows what he’s doing. My inexperience paired with his expertise brings me to the point where I tremble in anticipation.
His broad, rough hands massage my shoulders as he leans against me. I can feel his dick press against my back, still wet from being inside me. “Open your mouth,” he whispers, his breath hot in my ear.
Once more, I do as I’m told, unsure of what will happen next. I open wide, and a metal ring slides between my teeth. Leather straps go around my face and fasten at the back of my head. The ring keeps my mouth open.
“I’m going to fuck that gorgeous face,” he promises in a dark, rough voice. I tremble again, shaking with want and desire, squeezing my thighs together to create the friction I need.
But that’s not what he does next. He grabs me by the hair and forces my face down on the mattress, my ass high and vulnerable to him. First, he massages the cheeks of my ass before spreading them wide. Something cool and wet drips on my virgin pucker.
I cry out as his finger enters me, my bound hands unable to grasp what I want. I’m so tight, but he’s slow, gentle. He presses his finger inside me until it pops past the firm ring of muscle and is nestled deep in my ass. He pumps it in and out, almost lazily, until a second finger joins the first. He moves his fingers faster, fucking my ass, stretching it. Getting it ready for something. For what?
As soon as Cole withdraws his fingers, something wider and smoother replaces it. I know it’s a plug. It’s a slim plug, and I’m already relaxed and ready for it. It slips in remarkably easy.
“That’s right,” he growls. “Good girl. So hot seeing that plug in your ass.” As he speaks, Cole presses his cock into my dripping pussy again, hands on my hips, yanking me back to hilt me on his dick.
As he fucks me, my ass filled with the toy, my mouth open and drooling, helpless, he rains sharp slaps on my ass. He fucks me hard, riding me. The room is filled with the sloppy noises of his hips smashing against my flesh. I’m going to come again.
“Getting so tight and wet,” he grunts, barely able to speak. I know he’s getting off on it too. “You’re going to be a good girl and come all over this dick, aren’t you? You’ll get a treat if you do.”
One hand drops from my hip, and his fingers flick over my clit. It only takes a few breaths, and I’m coming, hips jerking forward, eyes rolling back. He moans too, and my pussy massages his cock as I clamped down around him. He stops fucking me, holds me still as I come on his dick. When the orgasm subsides, he pulls out and forces me onto my back, my head hanging off the bed slightly, my arms trapped beneath my weight.
“Now you’re going to be a good slut and clean my dick. Look at this mess you made,” he says, his tone reproachful as he pulls the condom off. I like the humiliation. I want to be his slut. I don’t want to be a good girl at all.
I whine, the ‘o’ ring keeping me from answering with words. He grasps me by the sides of my head and slides his dick into my open mouth. He doesn’t stop until I gag, until the head of his cock slides down my throat. As promised, he fucks my face roughly, until tears stream down my cheeks. It’s so good, being submissive to him, doing this with him. I want it to last forever.
I’ve watched BDSM porn before and always felt so envious of the submissives. They got all the attention lavished on them. I wanted to be in their place, used and fucked, tied up, spanked. It’s like Cole knows my every dark desire and secret.
I can’t suck his cock like I want to because of the ring, but I press my tongue against his shaft as he continues to fuck my mouth. At my tender ministrations, he bucks harder against me and finally stills. My reward is his hot cum. He pulls out of my mouth and paints my face with his pleasure, then my tits.
He looks down at me, breathing heavily. Cole continues to be many firsts for me. I’ve never seen a man look at me with such want and hunger and possessiveness. His hand smoothes over my hair, and I can feel him tremble.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice soft for once.
I half expect him to leave me there. I know he’d untie me, but I expect this to be it. It would be the end. I’d have to go.
Instead, he gently sits me up and removes the gag before untying my wrists. He disappears for only a moment and brings a washcloth to clean my face and breasts. After that, he rubs my reddened wrists and places tender, sweet kisses to the abused skin. Cole gets up, but only to turn off the lights. He joins me back in bed and draws me to his chest, his hand moving through my hair again.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, a little unsure.
“I’m good,” I say, though I feel even more vulnerable now than I did while we were fucking. It’s more than just sex and pleasure and taboo to me now, but I can’t admit that to him yet. It feels so good to be in his arms. Safe and comfortable. I can feel the affection he lavishes on me.
I’m like a very thirsty sponge and absorb all the light kisses and soft touches, the gentle sound of his breath in his chest.
“If we were… more of a thing,” he begins hesitantly, “would you still want it kept a secret?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. “I don’t know, Cole. I’d have to give up the story.”
He grows quiet and stops stroking my hair. I can feel the muscles in his arms tighten. Did what I said hurt him?
“Would you?” he finally asks, his tone guarded.
I didn’t know it would come to this. My old self screams at me. Look, it’s exactly as you thought, my mind lectures. Relationships only get in the way of school and career. Men come and go, but you have to take care of yourself. It’s a hard decision to make on the fly and post coitus to boot… so I don’t. I can’t.
“I can’t answer that right now, Cole. I won’t lie to you. I’m not in the market for a relationship. We don’t really know each other...” I trail off. It sounds like lame excuses to me. It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t want to do that to him.
He doesn’t say a word, and I know that it’s a wedge between us, and if anything is going to happen, I’m not so sure it can happen now. I sigh and sit up, tugging up the thin sheet to cover my breasts.
“I had a bad experience with Rob, my ex,” I tell him. “He held me back and was always competing with me. I felt, I don’t know… damaged after that. I want to focus on school and becoming a journalist.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, sounding as if he’s really hearing me. “It’s important to you, huh?”
I nod. “Probably like football is important to you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Ever since I was little.”
The way the conversation has turned is a comfort. God, we’re so volatile together. I feel like we’re teetering on the edge of disaster every five minutes. That’s not a comfort.
“Yeah. I get it. I knew the only way out of my small town was a scholarship. I just keep fucking things up. I had this girl,” he says, his voice thick. “Ruined the first two years of college for me. I’m still trying to recover.”
“Maybe,” I say, my tone gentle and soft. “We don’t define it right now. We’re not ‘us’ yet. We take it slow. See what happens?”
In the dark, I can’t tell if he’s thinking about it or just not answering. Either way, I feel a little sad and more than a little lost. I know that tonight has complicated things even more. I sigh heavily and wonder if I should go home or stay.
I start to get up, but his hand closes over my forearm. “Stay?”
For once, it isn’t a command. It’s a plea.
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll stay.”
A few beats of endlessly stretching silence and he speaks again, “And we’ll do what you say. We’ll take it slow. Not define it.”
I lean over and kiss him. It isn’t a kiss of passion or want, but a kiss of comfort. We’re both carrying our own hurts. And we aren’t ready to share them with each other yet. I just hope he knows how to give it time. I hope we won’t implode before we even have a chance to be us.
I get up to go to the bathroom and wash up. I reach for his toothbrush, then hesitate. I don’t enjoy sharing a toothbrush but haven’t packed my own considering I never counted on this happening. I turn on the flickering, fluorescent lights in the bathroom and look in the mirror. My hair is a mess, and I look tired.
Opening a drawer to see if there is an unopened one, something strange catches my eye. A bunch of syringes and a number of vials. Alcohol pads. My stomach turns over. My fingers fly to my mouth and I shake my head in disbelief as I feel it all come crashing down. Imploding just as I feared.
Gingerly, I pick up one of the bottles, turning it to read the label. Masteron-Propionate. I don’t recognize the name, so I grab another one. Arimidex. The next one is Testosterone-Enanthate, then Equipoise, then Trenbolone-Acetate. There’s also HGH and Winstrol. Nothing familiar, except testosterone. Why seven drugs? I don’t understand. Is he sick? Or an addict of some kind? Why would he need so much?
I look at the vials, hoping and not hoping to find a doctor’s prescription. Surely it would mean Cole is very sick if he was prescribed so much. There’s no pharmacy label, so it must be drugs. I have some hard and fast rules in my life. I don’t mess with addicts. Not because I’m heartless but because of my dad.
When I was sixteen, the police came to the door at my mother’s house really late at night. I stood at the end of the hall. I couldn’t see them clearly, but I could hear the tone of their voices. They had bad news. They were sorry. They said that they were sorry more than once.
The bottom line of it all was that my dad was dead. He’d overdosed on heroin.
Just seeing the syringes in Cole’s bathroom drawer brings it all back. The funeral. My mother crying. All those times my dad never showed up for visitation. All those times he chose drugs over me. I feel panic bubble in my chest, and all I want to do is run away. I’m so scared I’m not rational anymore. What if I lose Cole the very same way? I couldn’t handle that. I’ve already lost so much.
I set the bottle back down and stare at the drawer, then take in the state of the bathroom itself.
It’s filthy. Which isn’t a surprise.
Steroids.
The word comes to me like a whisper in my ear, and I remember my professor talking about how those types of drugs affect a person’s personality. I desperately try to remember the names of the steroids he’d mentioned, but they won’t come to me.
What I do remember is the anger problems users experienced, and suddenly, Cole’s bouts of rage make sense. His erratic, elusive behavior. The state of his house. The violent temper. His need for control. It all spins in my head, and I feel sick. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know one thing, I can’t stay.
When I creep into the bedroom, I find Cole asleep, snoring softly on his back, his forearm flung over his eyes. I’m glad I won’t have to come up with a lame excuse. I feel so stupid, so foolish. How can I allow myself to have feelings for an addict?
I dress in the hallway and just leave, and at the last minute decide to take a picture of the vials. I’ll research them, see if I’m right and how much trouble Cole would be in if caught. Being as quiet as possible, I tiptoe back to the bathroom and line the vials up, snap a picture with my phone and put everything back. Well, I try to put everything back. I’m shaking so hard that I drop half of the vials, then curse when I have to scramble for them on the floor.
I don’t think I breathe again until I step outside in the cold. With trembling fingers, I get into my car and pull out of his driveway, a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. It isn’t until I’m a mile away that the tears start. I’ve failed in every way with this story. I made it personal. I’ve been very inappropriate, and now I’m involved with a man who is likely addicted to some kind of drugs. If it were found out, he’d surely be kicked off the team. Bring shame to the school. Ruin his career. His life.
And still, under all the shame coursing through me is this tender little flame for Cole. It burns just as bright under the onslaught of all this. I try to squelch it, smother it. I want it gone. I know it will just cause me pain.
But it remains, no matter what I tell myself.