Sext(20)

I sigh and accept the phone with a nod of thanks.

Celeste leans over to wrap an arm around my shoulders. "Andy's right. As long as you make sure no more photos leak out … "

I snort. "Yeah, no chance of that ever again. I've learned my lesson." I groan.

"Then, this will blow over eventually. People will get bored and forget  about it. And who knows, maybe Zayne will do the right thing and tell  you the truth eventually."

"No chance of that either," I mutter.

"I don't know." Celeste purses her lips. "He sounds like he's a decent guy, before all this shit anyway."

"But if he doesn't tell you what the hell is going on, do not give him  the time of day ever again," Andy butts in. "He owes you an explanation,  and if he can't man up and deliver, then you need to move the hell on  to greener pastures."

"Yeah, but this pasture lives upstairs and works right in my path to work," I mutter.

"So? That sounds like his problem, not yours." Andy shakes his head.  "Just rise above it. He doesn't have to bother you unless you let him."

I nod. It's good advice. Wise. So why doesn't it sit right in my stomach? Why do I still feel so worried about all of this?

The topic shifts to work problems, with Celeste and Andy filling me in  on all the other boring day-to-day dilemmas that I missed since being  sent home this morning like a naughty student headed to the principal's  office. For a while, it's nice. A good distraction. Normal problems that  normal people have, which I'd be dealing with if I didn't have such a  colossal issue weighing me down instead.

But there's only so much distraction I can take before I have to face  reality again. That moment arrives a hell of a lot sooner than I'd like  it to when we all lean around to the bar to pay our tabs, down our last  margaritas, and head our separate ways.

"I'll see you guys … " I pause, then bite my lip. I don't even know when  I'll see them next. I don't know when I'll be allowed back into the  office again, or how long it'll be before I can get back to my career  and the things that truly matter in my life.

Andy pats my shoulder. "Friday," he promises. "Happy Hour still stands, no matter what else is going on."         

     



 

I force myself to nod and smile. Right. "Friday," I agree, even though  it sounds like a death sentence. If I don't see them until Friday, that  means I haven't been allowed to work until Friday, which means that this  whole mess is still dragging on. That's more than I can handle right  now.

But I keep that forced, fixed smile on my face as I bid my friends  farewell and catch my train back uptown. Andy is right. There's nothing  else I can do right now but rise above.



Zayne isn't behind the desk when I get back. He's standing at the doors,  opening them for every person who enters the building. Normally the  doormen only do that when it's pouring down rain or when high winds are  whipping along the street, making it difficult for residents to peel  open the doors themselves while negotiating heavy coats and umbrellas.

The reason he's being so extra nice today becomes clear the minute I  step up to the building, and he rests a hand on the doorknob, not  opening it for me yet, barring my path.

"Clove, you're right," he says, all in a rush.

I cross my arms and lean on one leg, catching his eyes as I wait.

"I should've been more straightforward with you. I should've warned you  right away, and when all this hit the fan, I should've explained what  was going on. Let me do that now. Tonight. Please?"

I raise an eyebrow.

"I'll cook," he adds. "I'll do anything you want. Just let me make this up to you."

"I don't know that you can," I reply.

He frowns, his face falling, though to his credit, he does step aside and open the door for me, despite the upset on his face.

"But I guess you can try to start," I add as I cross the threshold into the building.

"I finish at 10," he calls after me, and it hurts to see the bright hope  in his eyes, the way his expression transforms from despair into joy.  He honestly does seem to care about me, about how I feel. About the mess  he's thrown me into. "I'll come by your apartment then, if that's  okay?"

I nod. I don't trust my voice to work in response. It's too worn, too  frayed. Then I walk past him, into the elevator, and shoot up to my  floor. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to collapse in the  elevator and let the tears that have been burning at the back of my  eyes all day fall.

Back at home, I head straight for the shower. I need to wash today off  of me, need to wash all the sweat and fear and anger off before I talk  to Zayne tonight. I'm going to give him this chance to explain. One  chance, to be straight with me, honest about what he clearly doesn't  want to share. Then, we'll see.

Then, I'll probably be alone again, my darker side points out.

I ignore it and climb into my shower. Bury my face in the stream of hot water and let it wash over me.

But I'm not safe even here. Not protected from my memories. Especially  not when that hot stream of water trickles down my chest, my stomach,  past my navel, straight over my hips where it sears against my pussy,  wet and reassuring and warm.

My hand strays toward my mound again, remembering the frustration  earlier, the way I'd been fingering myself thinking about Zayne, but  forced myself to stop.

Specifically, I remember the memory that made me unable to resist  touching myself. The bet I made. The control I lost to him for an hour.  One hour only, and yet it felt like so much longer. Like a whole  lifetime.

He'd finished fucking me across the dining room table, and then he stood  back, crossed his arms, sized me up as I lay there, too tired and  pulsing with the afterglow of my orgasms to move. His gaze felt hot and  heavy over my body, judging and lustful all at once.

"Stand up," he said.

I forced myself to my feet, and even though my knees shook and my thighs  quivered, and I felt a hot rush drip down my thigh, his cum mingled  with mine, I managed to stand in front of him and obey.

"Tell me something, Clove." He stepped closer.

My pussy clenched, and another trickle trailed down my leg. I loved that  sensation, strangely. The after-rush. The knowledge that he'd come in  me, claimed me.

"Anything," I told him.

He smirked. Gripped my ass in one hand and squeezed tightly. "Has anybody ever fucked that perfect little ass of yours?"

I shivered then, a full-body motion, goosebumps rising on my skin. "No," I murmured.

His smirk widened. "Have you wanted anybody to?"

I swallowed hard. Met his gaze, which was the only thing that gave me enough courage to admit this. "I want you to," I said.

He laughed. Slapped my ass once, not hard, just enough to make my skin  sting a little, and my body tense. "Why do you want me to fuck your ass,  Clove?"         

     



 

"I want you to take me in every way possible," I heard myself saying. I  didn't even know it myself until I said it out loud, until I admitted  it. "I want you to claim me, take your pleasure from me."

He leaned in to feather a kiss along the side of my neck, so light that  it made me shiver all over again, this time from desire, from wanting  more, more, more. He always did that to me. Left me wanting. "You are a  natural at this. It's unbelievable, how perfect you are … " His hands  traced the air in front of me, like he was forcing himself to hold back,  not to touch me yet.

I smiled at him, and for a moment, he broke character. Wrapped one hand  around the back of my neck and pulled me against him for a slow, deep  kiss.

Then we broke apart again, and he was back in the character of the poker winner, the man who owned me now, for this next hour.

"Go into the living room and kneel on the carpet," he told me. He didn't  need to explain which one. I could guess he mean the fuzzy one, almost a  shag carpet. Comfortable enough that it wouldn't hurt to kneel on.

I went in and dropped to my knees, turning to look over my shoulder at  him. I expected him to come and stand before me, have me lick our  combined cum off his cock, clean him while he got hard again. But he was  on the other side of the room, digging through the kitchen.

"All fours," he added to me, and I bent forward onto all fours, a pulse of desire running through me.

Then he was back, kneeling behind me, and I felt his cock trace between  my thighs, trailing through our juices, soaking up what ran down my  legs. He was already starting to grow hard again, thick with desire.

"I'm going to fuck your tight little virgin ass, Clove."

I swallowed hard and felt myself nodding. His hands traced my ass  cheeks. Spread them slowly, and when one finger dipped between my  cheeks, I gasped, because his finger was wet, slick with lube.

"But first, I'm going to finger you. I'm going to stretch you slowly until you're ready for my fat cock."

My mouth parted as his finger circled the entrance to my ass, pressing against the opening.