Tainted Love (Book 1) (22 page)

“Cut the shit, Sullivan. I know you’re out with Brandon Mayhew in that short, fucking dress. And I saw that fucking kiss. So I’ll ask you again. What…the fuck…are you doing?” He is icy, clipped and fuming. How does he know I am out with Brandon? How did he see the kiss?

“H-h-how?” I stutter in a shaky voice, my body trembling, kept from falling by the wall.

“My company owns that restaurant. And I had Simon follow you. He wants to fuck you, Sullivan. Do you want to fuck him?” he demands.

My mouth goes dry. I swallow painfully as a nervous heat flushes my body. I don’t want to fuck Brandon, but I want to
be
fucked desperately.

“You want him inside you, don’t you?” Ben’s voice is hoarse with anger and a lustful undertone. This is turning him on.

“Yes,” I answer in a breathy, sensuous voice.

“Why?” he rasps through clenched jaws.

“I don’t know.”

“
You better fucking tell me,” he insists in a harsh tone.

“Because I want to fuck you and I can’t,” I
whimper, fidgeting from the heat of the moment. I had been wound so tight, I needed the release. I need Ben inside me, but he is just too far away. Pressing my legs together, I try to relieve my agonizing core, to no avail.

“How bad do you want to fuck me, Sullivan?”

“So bad, it hurts, Ben. My pussy aches for you,” I groan.

“I want to hear you when you fuck him. And I want you to hear me.”
Say what, now?
“Do you have your Bluetooth headset?”

I really was not expecting that. I expected hell on wheels; so, of course, this new possibility turns me on even more.

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice dripping with carnal desire.

“You’re going to fuck him with me inside your head, baby. And you’re going to come…only when I say.”

I am a quivering mess. My panties are utterly soaked. And by every stretch of the imagination, I wish Ben was right in front of me so I could fuck him senseless.

“Did you hear me, my sweet girl?” Ben purrs. My heart flutters with the endearment, but I am not in the least bit sweet.

“Only when you say,” I repeat.

“Good. Now…” Ben pauses. Clearing his throat, he continues, “Put the headset on, loosen your hair to cover it and go to the limo. Fuck him there. Sullivan, I’m hard. And it’s taking every ounce
of will-power not to jump on a plane, fly to you and fuck you like I hate you.”

“Ben…” I moan, almost convulsing at his insatiable hunger. His voice oozes carnality, and I have no doubt that if he could, he would punish me with that big, throbbing rod of his.

“Shh, baby. Go now.”

I loosen my hair and search in my purse for my headset. I clip it onto my ear and fluff my hair over it, effectively concealing the device.

“Can you hear me?” I ask him, slipping my cell into my purse.

“Loud and clear, baby. Go,” Ben growls.

I saunter over to Brandon who tugs me outside and into the waiting limo. Inside, he powers up the privacy window and quickly pulls me into a kiss. Brandon licks into my mouth, jolting my libido with every touch of his tongue on mine. There is no doubt he’s a great kisser, but I can’t help but wish that it is Ben who was ravishing me.

I hear Ben groan in my ear and I can imagine him in sexual agony, wanting to be inside me, wanting to be the one kissing me, but hearing another man do all he wants to do. It must be painful for him and I wonder why he chose to put himself through this.

“Fuck. What are you doing to me?” Brandon moans. He reaches down and cups my ass, squeezing it and letting out a rumbled groan.

Reaching under my
dress, Brandon tugs my underwear down. He cups my sex and groans when he feels how wet and ready I am.

“You are so wet for me,” Brandon mutters.

“No…you’re wet for
me
aren’t you, baby?” Ben growls.

“Uh-huh,” I whimper at the sound of Ben’s voice.
This is so hot
!

“God, I don’t think I can wait a minute longer.” Brandon undoes his belt and zipper and pulls down his pants. Pulling out a foil wrapper from inside his jacket pocket, he frees his steely erection. After opening it, he rolls the condom deftly onto his impressive length and spreads me wide so I can receive him.

“Ah!” I scream as he fills me.

“Picture me filling you, Sullivan. Picture me deep inside that wet
pussy of yours, grinding against your sweet spot,” Ben commands.

I close my eyes tightly and that is exactly the picture that flits across my mind: Ben on top of me, hungry green eyes piercing through me, huge dick impaling me. The picture ignites a primal force in me.

I clamp down on Brandon’s erection as he thrusts deep and hard inside of me and he whimpers loudly like an injured dog.

“You’re tearing him a
part with that tight little pussy of yours, aren’t you? Oh…you dirty minx,” Ben purrs. “I’m tightening my hand around my dick. Fuck, I can feel you, Sullivan.”

Brandon grinds expertly into me and I almost go over the top. I scream and I feel my whole body tighten.

“Not…yet!” Ben growls in my ear. And that command is enough to send my building orgasm back to the depths of me.

“You feel so snug. Your pussy is so needy. I can feel it quiver
ing for me,” Brandon breathes, stroking me roughly.

I hear Ben’s throaty, mocking laugh and he says, “Oh no…that’s all for me.”

“Yes,” I moan, taking everything both men are giving me. This is a new experience for me and I am enjoying every stroke from Brandon and every uttered word from Ben. How I don’t get confused is beyond me.

“Let me hear you, Sullivan,” Ben orders,
his voice a rasp. I melt and start squealing and moaning, swirling incoherence in the back of the limousine.

“Listen to you,” Brandon muses.

“All for me, asshole,” Ben chips in.

“I can’t wait to hear you come,” Brandon coos.

“Only when I say,” Ben reiterates.

“Your pussy is driving me crazy. God,” Brandon laments.

“Don’t I know it?” Ben mutters. “
You
drive me fucking crazy, Sullivan Beal. Do you know that?”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble in response to Ben.

“Yes. And you like to drive me crazy, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yeah, baby,” I answer in a moan.

“You sound so hot,” Brandon says as he pounds me mercilessly while massaging my over-stimulated clit.

“Come for me, Sullivan. I’m almost fucking there. Come for me!” Ben commands in a guttural voice. His voice is my undoing.

I’m gone. I shatter. A million little pieces break inside me as I come viciously, grabbing the back of the leather seat with white-knuckled force.

Brandon follows with three intense poundings. One. Two. Three. Then he stills into an explosive shudder of a climax that makes my own orgasm roll on and on.

Soon I hear husky, deep groans as Ben climaxes and I find myself grabbing onto Brandon and sinking him deeper into me, trying to continue my own orgasm.
God, I feel so wanton!

This is the
sexiest thing I’ve ever done, but I know it came at a price. I know when Ben comes home on Saturday I will either regret my actions or enjoy the repercussions.

“Good girl,” Ben says hoarsely. And then he’s gone. He hangs up and I feel like crying. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling, but I know now that all I’m feeling is guilt.

Not only did I sleep with someone other than Ben – who really likes me and whom I really like – but I slept with my deceased boyfriend’s brother. For the first time since my childhood abuse, I feel dirty.

The limo pulls up to my apartment building and Brandon bounds from it, helping me out. Ever since our tryst, I’ve been in misery, wondering if Ben hated me. With all I was feeling, it felt wrong for me to accept his money now.

I reach into my purse and hand the check to him
. “Brandon, I can’t accept this,” I tell him, my face impassive.

I am drained; not from the sex, but from an over-thinking mind. The sex was great. Brandon really knew how to fuck and with Ben in my ear, it made the whole thing that much hotter, but…what if Ben is upset and says he doesn’t want to see me again? I’ll be devastated.

“That’s yours, Delilah. I won’t take it back.” Brandon shoves my hand back to me.

I sigh. “Brandon, what we just did…it was wrong.”

“I know. I can’t imagine how you must feel.” Brandon clearly understands where I am coming from. “Fucking your dead boyfriend’s brother is fucked up alright.” He runs a hand through his beautiful hair. We had an unspoken understanding. This could
not
happen again.

“For what it’s worth, it was very fucking satisfying.” I shove his arm jokingly and he catches it, placing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

“I wish I had met you first,” he wishes and I see his eyes glisten and his face redden with unexpressed emotion. “All the best in your studies, Delilah. Jared would have been so proud of you.” He touches my cheek briefly then lets his fingers slowly fall away. With that, Brandon disappears in the sleek black limo, leaving me standing alone on the curb in front of my building.

“Are you okay, Miss Beal?” Mr. Gabriel, our night doorman asks.

I clear my throat, to prevent myself from crying and clench my jaws to regain my composure.

“I will be, Mr. Gabriel.”

He ushers me inside. I lift my hand lamely to acknowledge Pete who is talking with a resident. His bright eyes turn sad when he sees how exhausted and dejected I look. I know I can expect a call from him very soon.

In our apartment, I’m glad that Rachel is alone. No Ryan to distract my best friend from listening to my woes and making me a hot cup of French vanilla coffee, with a tip of vanilla vodka. After changing into my fluffy robe, I tell Rachel everything.

“Shit, Lilah,” Rachel exhales. “First of all, that limo sex thing with Ben in your ear was hot. Second, it was gross fucking your dead boyfriend’s brother. Third, you feel terrible right now because you like Ben,” she surmises.

I bury my face in her lap and I scream. I like Ben
freaking
Hayes! But we aren’t even in a relationship yet and already I am hurting him.

“You like him, sweetie,” Rachel says, caressing my hair. “Call him.”

Quickly, I straighten, gaping at her. I can’t possibly do that. I am much too scared. What if he doesn’t answer? Or worse, what if he says that he never wants to see me again? I don’t want to experience that rejection. Ben is the one guy I’ve ever truly liked, aside from Jared. Do I tell him that I like him after I fucked some other guy? Even I know that that is some evil shit.

“Yes, call him. Tell him you got home safe. Gauge his response and see if he’s angry. If he answers, it means he’s still thinking about you. If he doesn’t get angry over the phone, he still likes you,” she points out. Rachel was always great with advice, but this time, I found it hard to take her advice.

“And what if he doesn’t answer?” I bite my lip and knit my brows together, worried that his not answering my call was a strong possibility.

“If he doesn’t answer then you move on. Just add him to the list of handsome, successful moguls that you’ve slept with,” Rachel advises, and I smile because only she knows how to make me smile in the midst of a rough patch.

I pad into my room, closing the door. Rachel had gone to bed while I stayed up watching some business news. The business analysts had been talking about the business conference in New York and mentioned Ben as one of the highest paid C.O.Os in attendance with the smartest business sense. They praised him for his work with Fielding House and revealed that he was primed for the position of CEO of the company as the current CEO, Artie Fields, was retiring soon.
CEO? Whoa.

I slip into bed and scroll through my BlackBerry, looking for Ben’s number. I dial it twice, hanging up each time, before settling my nerves the third time waiting for an answer.

“Sullivan,” Ben answers, his voice tight.

“Hi,” I manage to say.

“You’re home safe,” he deduces, exhaling with what I think is relief. Or am I fooling myself into hearing that?

“Yes, I am.”

“Good.”

“Sir,” a female voice echoes in the distance through his cell phone. I don’t hear what she says, but I hear Ben sigh on the other end of the phone. Maybe I called him at a bad time, but I need to know if he is upset with me.

“Is that all, Sullivan?” he asks, seemingly annoyed.

I quail at his tone. He
is
mad at me. “Yes,” I answer, dejectedly.

“Ok. Goodnight, then.” Before I can even say goodnight, the phone is disconnected.

It’s over. He didn’t say it, but I know it is. Dread floods me as I weep into my pillow.

I hate myself. I hate the type of person I
am: cold and unfeeling. Right now, though, I
am
feeling. I’m feeling every bit of sadness I can feel because, possibly the only other man I’ve ever cared about, with no hidden agenda, I hurt and he is now pulling away from me.