It's my day off, and I'm ever thankful to get a break from standing on my feet all day. Evelyn asked me if I wanted to go shopping with her, but I decided to take a pass, settling for catching up on my missed television shows instead. The refrigerator is completely stocked, so there's absolutely no reason why I should leave the house today. Martin is at work, and I have the place all to myself. It's a nice feeling. A rare feeling. Being alone.
I grumble when there's a knock on the door. Since I've been living here, we haven't had any solicitors. There's a first time for everything though.
I briefly consider not answering, but then I decide to not be a complete lump of laziness and drag myself off the sofa for curiosity's sake. When I look out the peephole though, I groan.
“Good evening, stalker.” I open the door to Anders. Now that I'm pretty sure that Ryan and I are going to start dating, I feel like I have a new-found resistance against him.
“Why were you with him last night?” His expression is serious and hard.
“No, I'm not interested in learning about the book of Mormon today. Thank you for your time.” I move to slam the door in his face, but he slips his foot inside before I have a chance.
“Ow!” He recoils when the door crashes into his loafer.
Panic races through me, and I reflexively open the door. “Oh my God, are you alright?”
He takes one limping step back. “You slammed a door on my foot. Of course, I'm not alright.” He sounds genuinely wounded.
“You shouldn't have tried blocking me from closing the door,” I chastise him, my sympathy quickly fading.
“I didn't think you were going to use so much force.” He taps his foot against the floor a few times and then wiggles it back and forth.
“I'm mad at you. Why wouldn't I slam the door? How did you get this address anyway?” I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
“It's called a background check.”
“Stalker!” I take a step back inside and move to close the door again. He puts his hand on the door this time, opting for the safer method of keeping me from slamming it on him.
“I needed to see you. Needed to talk to you. Please.” There's a pained look in his eyes, and it's not from his foot injury. “Please, just listen to me.”
“There's nothing you have to say that I want to hear.” I shift uncomfortably.
“Why were you with him?”
“That's none of your business.”
“I told you I want you to belong to me exclusively.”
“And I told you I don't want to see you anymore.” I relent, holding the door open just enough for him to see inside.
“I can't accept that.”
“You don't have a choice.”
“You don't know how badly I need you. I miss your body.” He lifts his hand to caress my cheek, but I swat it away.
“Your dick misses my pussy. That's the end of it.” I can't believe the raw words coming out of my mouth, but it's the truth.
“It's more than that.” He shakes his head. “I miss you. I miss being with you. When I saw you with him last night, it about killed me.”
“You say that, yet you're fucking other women,” I say between clenched teeth.
“I'm not. Not anymore. Not if you don't want me to.”
I sigh, “It's too late, Anders.”
“Please don't say that. I don't want to be without you. Just let me in.”
“You're not getting inside this house,” I tell him firmly.
“That's not what I meant. Let me in here.” He places his hand over my heart. I feel it skip a beat at his touch, and I feel that strange familiar sense of surrender to him. I can't allow it. Can't allow him to suck me in again. To make a fool of me. I have to dig in my arsenal of pain. To remind myself why I gave him up in the first place.
“You fucked other women in that room you took me to. You told me that.” I shake my head as if trying to wake from a nightmare.
“That was before I even met you,” he insists.
“Then why didn't you tell me? Why did you have the key card to that room?” I refuse to believe him. He's lying to me. He has to be.
“All the billionaires have key cards to all the rooms. I took you up to that one because I knew it wasn't occupied.
“You asked me if I'd ever fucked anyone in that room. The answer was yes. I didn't lie to you. But you didn't ask me when it happened or how long ago it was.”
“How long ago was it? How long since you fucked someone else in that room? In any of the rooms? How long?” I feel my emotions breaking down. Why does just being around him do this to me? I hate it. I hate it that I'm allowing myself to hope for a positive answer when I know that nothing good ever comes from this.
“The last time was a week before I met you. The last time I slept with anyone was a week before I met you. Since I met you, it's only been you. And if you only want it to be you, then I'm willing to do that.”
I'm absolutely shocked and dumbfounded. I bite my bottom lip, trying to figure out if I believe him or not, and he zeroes in on it. He takes a step closer, and I don't back away. My heart is pounding in my chest. Red sirens are going off in my subconscious. My emotions are on overload, my hormones on overdrive.
He bends to kiss my lips, and I wrap my arms around his neck, twisting my fingers into his short brown hair, practically dragging him inside the house. Once our mouths collide, I'm won over. We devour each other with long heated kisses, our hands moving in desperate haste to undress each other. I need his skin. His cock. Have to feel him inside of me.
By the time I get him to the bedroom, his dick is already out of his pants, long and hard for me. I want to suck it, but he has other plans. I toss my panties and nightshirt onto my bed while I watch him finish undressing and put a condom on. Almost the second we're both naked, he's cocooning me in his arms. I feel his hands wrap firmly around my ass, and I nearly squeal as he picks me up. Dear God, he's strong. All of that muscle isn't just for looks.
“You know what I want,” he whispers against my lips.
I do know what he wants, because I want it too. I let my fear of falling go to the wind, and I reach behind myself to grab his cock and guide it to my wanton pussy.
“I've got to fuck you. Need it so bad,” he tells me, his voice almost as desperate as his body.
I don't deny him. His grip loosens on ass, and he slides me down on his manhood. I groan shamelessly as he fills me, and my clit fires off in approval. He backs up against my closed bedroom door, leaning against it for better leverage. Effortlessly, he lifts and lowers me on his member, bucking his hips against me on the downswing. I feel impossibly full. Gloriously full.
“Yes! Yes!” I cry against his shoulder, keeping my arms wrapped around his neck for support.
“You feel so tight around me, like you were made for my dick,” he breathes.
He slides me down onto him until it feels like I'm sitting on his balls. He's so deep inside of me. Deeper than he's ever been before. I feel impaled to the point of pain, but I love it, the intense full sensation.
“Fuck me. For the love of God, don't stop,” I tell him.
He carries me to the bed, laying me down on it before he crawls on top of me. Our bodies barely part for an instant, and then he connects us again, hammering into me with such ferocity that I begin to worry we might break my bed. I hope we don't; I can't afford to buy a new one. But I care a lot less about that than I do about getting what I need from him.
He slips a hand between my thighs, his thumb deftly massaging my swollen clit. It only takes a few strokes for my back to arch and pleasure to shoot through me, so good that my toes curl. It's an orgasm that takes my breath away, one I've needed and dreamed about. My body squeezes around him. My fingers claw into his back. I want to hold him to me, but he's not done yet. Soon. I can feel him ramping up for the finale. He pounds into my cunt so hard that it becomes deliciously sore, and then he stills against me, panting so heavily that I worry he might not recover.
“Fuck, it's so good,” he practically gasps before collapsing on top of me.
“So good,” I mutter, affectionately raking my fingernails through his hair, reveling in the feel of his powerful body lying on top of mine completely spent.
The pleasure of conquest is short lived. As soon as he's caught his breath, he rolls off of me and immediately starts getting dressed.
“You're not much for cuddling, are you?” I prop my head up on my elbow as I watch him.
“I have a business meeting in,” he glances down at this watch, “an hour and a half.”
“You've never cuddled me before,” I protest.
“I'll cuddle you some other time,” he tells me.
I lay there and pout while he straightens his suit as if nothing happened between us. A stubborn part of me wants to tell him to call whoever he's meeting and tell them he can't show up, but I know he can't do that.
“You're not going to fuck Ryan. You're not going to fuck any other man. Do you understand?” He gives me a serious look when he says it.
“And you're not going to fuck anyone else either,” I counter.
“If that's what you want.”
“That is what I want,” I say sternly. “I also want you to give up The Billionaires Club.”
He pauses for a moment, pulling at his tie as if it's a bit too tight. “We'll discuss that later.”
“No. We'll discuss it now. You give up The Billionaires Club or there is no us.”
“We can't talk about this now. I have to get to my meeting.” He looks annoyed, but I'm not letting this go.
“It's The Billionaires Club or it's me. Which is it?” I cross my arms over my chest and give him my best I-mean-business look.
“It's you.”
***
When Evelyn gets home from shopping, I tell her my amazing news, that Anders has finally agreed to be exclusive with me. She doesn't look happy about it at all though.
“Do you not remember what happened at The Billionaires Club?” she reminds me. It pisses me off that she's treating me like a child, but I know she just has my best interest in mind.
“How can I ever forget? That whole experience changed everything,” I say.
“It didn't change you in here.” She places her hand over her heart, looking at me seriously. “I just want you to be sure that his motives are the same as yours. Guys say all sorts of stuff to get laid.”
“It's not like that,” I insist stubbornly.
“Alright.” She nods slowly. “Have you guys set up any dates for the future?”
“No.” He didn't even say when we would see each other again. I can only assume he'll call and let me know when he's available.
“Did he tell you what he does for a living?”
“No.” It is strange to think that he acts like he cares about me, yet I still know almost nothing about him.
“Do you even know his last name?” she sighs.
“No.” I cringe. Finally, I see what she's getting at. This isn't the typical behavior of a guy who has genuine feelings of wanting a relationship. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, that we just haven't spent enough time together for me to know those details, but in truth, we've spent tons of time together. It's a wonder how we don't know each other's whole life stories by now. Every time we've been together, it's mostly been about the sex.
“I just don't want to see you get hurt,” she says earnestly.
“At least the sex is amazing.” I shrug, trying to look at the bright side.
“I'm sure it is. He's a stud. But remember who you are. It shouldn't be all about the sex. And if it is, then he's not the right guy for you.”