Broken Love Read online

  She sucks me harder, taking me to the back of her throat, but she pulls away quickly on account of her gag reflex and total inexperience. She never could quite take me all the way in. Not like my sweet Sullivan. Man, could she suck a dick!

  A smile splits my face as I remember all the times she’d brought me to heel with those lips encompassing my cock. Like the night I’d brought her to the Fulfillment Room to punish her. God, she’d sucked me so hard and brought me to a toe-curling orgasm, swallowing every drop afterwards like it was a magic trick.

  “Ah,” I wince as Molly’s teeth nip my length. Okay, this is going to have to stop.

  Raising Molly up, I bend her over and shove deeply into her wet pussy. There isn’t much for me to hold onto, unlike Sullivan’s body. I’ve never really gone for curves until her and now, in the shower with Molly, I’m missing the grips of her hips and ass. Oh, that ass. As I envision every part of Sullivan, it ignites me even more.

  I ram repeatedly into Molly, making it as painful as she likes it. She cries out and I am like a man intent on punishment. I don’t let up. Over and over I impale this poor woman, slapping her behind repeatedly with harsh whacks. It hurts even more with the water on her backside and she grabs hold off the shower knobs, screaming in ecstasy like a Banshee.

  “Ben, I’m coming!” she screams. “Harder!”

  I batter into her, unrelenting. The shower is filled with the erotic sounds of flesh meeting flesh and it is like music to my ears. Angling my body, I hit her deep and she falls apart with a shrill moan, her legs melting.

  “Hold the fuck on. Wait ‘til I come,” I growl. She grips the shower knobs and I pound into her until I find my much needed release from the image of Sullivan dancing for me.

  “Sullivan…” I whisper mournfully as the realization finally sets in.

  I’ve lost her.

  “What the fuck is this, Jamison?” I blare as I throw the papers he HAS (had) given me on my desk.

  I’m in a meeting with the Head of the Motor Vehicles Division at Fielding House to go over the intended acquisition of Needham Motors. We are on a deadline and still he hasn’t come up with a proper acquisition plan.

  “Mr. Hayes, sir, uh,” he stutters.

  “Come out with it, Jamison,” I demand. “This acquisition plan should have been done last week. We’ve got a meeting with Fields on Thursday and what’ll we have for him? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing, just an investment thesis!”

  My ass is as much on the line as his, even though I highly doubt that Fields would fire me. I had convinced Artie that taking over Needham Motors would propel our Motor Vehicle Division forward and also be quite profitable for both Needham Motors and Fielding House. Needham was successful in years passed, but ever since our acquisition of Kingson’s Motor Sales, their car sales have dwindled.

  Call it greedy, or ruthless, but it was a strategic plan of mine that Artie had bought into: The takeover and complete ownership of most, maybe even all, of the small to medium sized car dealerships across Pennsylvania.

  Now that whole plan is on the line because of this fuck-up’s fuck up. Argh!

  “But, sir,” Jamison says meekly.

  “You better speak to me with some goddamn bass in your voice Jamison,” I growl, pointing angrily at him.

  “Sir,” Jamison says more soundly. “You were supposed to complete the rest of the acquisition plan.”

  “What are––”

  I go silent, embarrassed about my pique. He’s right, fuck me, he’s right. This is my fault. I had been so wrapped up in Sullivan for the last couple of weeks that I’d totally slackened up on my work. I’d prepared the operational analysis to add to the plan but had totally forgotten to add it to the document on account of my leaving early every night last week.

  Sighing, I take the papers from Jamison. “I’m sorry,” I say tersely. My lips press into a hard line after doing so, hoping to not have to say it again.

  “It’s my fault, sir. I should have reminded you,” Jamison mutters nervously.

  “No, Jamison, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that either. I’ve just been…I’ve been having a rough few days,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll look these over then have the operational analysis added to it by the end of the day.”

  “Very good, sir.” Jamison straightens to leave.

  “Have a good day, Jamison,” I bid him.

  He is obviously surprised by my good wish and I see him fluster, not knowing what to say.

  “You’re dismissed, Jamison.”

  Jamison turns and walks out of my office. When he is out the door, I see him exhale and shake his head. Am I that much of an asshole?

  “How was your day?” Molly asks me as we sit down to eat dinner at a French restaurant that I didn’t quite catch the name of.

  We are in a booth facing each other. I am not up for conversation, just a silent meal, but I answer her anyway, “It was shit, but thanks for asking.”

  Molly looks down, embarrassment claiming her.

  “Don’t take it personal,” I say by way of an apology. No way was I going to apologize to her. I never apologize to my…submissives, even if they are former subs or even ex-girlfriends. It shows a sign of weakness, vulnerability…a side that only Sullivan has been privy to; a side she brought out, damn her.

  “I heard you call her name this morning, in the shower,” she says softly, not looking up at me. I know who she’s talking about.

  “You weren’t supposed to,” I respond tightly.

  “Do you love her?” Her voice is small, but determined. I know she’s scared – scared of my reaction. Really, am I that much of an ogre?

  I stay silent, though, considering her question. Sullivan meant a lot to me. She was unique to me, but did I actually love her? The idea is novel…love. Did I love her? Am I in love with her? Certainly, I can’t possibly love her if I’ve broken up with her.

  “No, I don’t,” I answer, but my voice comes out shaky and unsure even to my own ears.

  “You miss her, then,” she surmises and I am angered by my transparency and her audacity in bringing up the obvious.

  “I have no intention of discussing my ex with you, Molly. This conversation is done. Now eat so we can go home and I can fuck you,” I order her with a snap.

  Molly jumps and she looks down once again. My power over her is delicious.

  “Your lowliness arouses me, Molly. Would you like me to punish you when we get home?” I ask, my voice dripping with licentious need.

  Molly flushes pink and her lips quirk up in a smile. She looks up at me with lust-filled eyes as she answers, “Yes, Sir.”

  “Or would you like me to fuck you right here?” We are in a fairly unlit corner of the restaurant and it isn’t very crowded. We could fuck and no one would be any the wiser.

  Molly’s eyes go wide. Her breath has quickened with desire, her nose flaring to accommodate those breaths. She’s turned on by my question and that turns me on even further. I ease my zipper down and free my semi-erect length, stroking it as I watch her eyes glaze with unsuppressed carnality.

  “Do you want to put your hands on me, Molly?”

  She licks her lips and nods slowly.

  “Answer me,” I growl softly.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Come,” I command.

  She wipes her hands and mouth then scoots closer to me. Her eyes widen when she sees that I’m already stroking my length. Reaching down, without looking around her, she takes me firmly in her hand and I hiss from the warmth of her fingers. Up and down, she meanders her way along my length. This feels so good, so risky. I’ve never been this risqué before; not until that time with Sullivan. Fucking her in that elevator with the camera and whoever else in the security room watching us was so fucking hot. I almost fired every last one of them afterwards, before taking the tape and stashing it. I can see it all now as I close my eyes and welcome the sensations of Molly’s strokes.

  Molly increases her pace and
I groan. The images of me slamming hard into Sullivan flash through my mind and I writhe in Molly’s palm, but she’s not the one in control here.

  “Well then, eat up,” I say darkly before swatting her hand away and tucking myself back into my pants. The look of disappointment on her face makes me smile.

  Hopefully a little dominance can take the stink out of my day. Maybe if I do this enough, sink deeper into old patterns, the memory of Sullivan will fade. Well, one can hope.

  “Argh! Ten!” Molly cries out as I lash her with a leather flogger. She is tied, her back facing me, to the black St. Andrew’s cross in the Fulfillment Room. She is also wearing vibrating panties. Quite simply, she’s a trembling, orgasmic mess.

  “More,” she croaks when I take too long to give her another lash.

  Her skin is bright pink and welted in a crisscross pattern and I am enjoying the fuck out of this.

  “Do I have to gag you, too?” I ask sharply, my voiced laced with pungent need. It is always a battle of will to not give into what I so need when I have a woman trussed up like this.

  “N-no, Ben, but…” she pauses as she takes a shuddering breath, “I need it, so bad.”

  She sounds like a junkie, hooked on pain, hooked on the pleasure I give her. She has always been like this, so very needy and oh so responsive. She needs the pleasure pain brings her and has confessed on many an occasion that no other man has been able to fulfill her desires the way I have.

  Maybe Molly is my match, has always been my match. She is less complicated anyway, with no layers. What you see is what you get with her and she is so very obedient.

  A flash of Sullivan’s smile pops into my head and I smile involuntarily. A whimper from Molly brings me back to the here and now and I lash her again, watching as her head bows in pleasure. My cock is straining against my jeans and I long to bury myself into her wet folds.

  “What do you want, Molly?” I ask as I walk around the cross to face her.

  Molly is breathing huskily and squirming like a fish on a hook.

  “Answer me,” I growl, slapping her cheek lightly then cupping her chin so she can look at me. I’ve never done that before; I don’t even know what came over me. She seems to like it, though.

  “You. I want you,” Molly whines and it pleases me to hear her beg. “Please, Ben.”

  I release her right then left hand, trailing a path with a long finger from her left arm to her spine, down to her left leg. I free both legs, carrying her over to the bed before I lay her down, spreading her out. She rubs her wrists as she tries to get feeling back into her hands then she runs them up and down over her body.

  Her breaths are hefty, wanting. Ripping my jeans open, I free my erection and motor down the vibration from the panties with the remote, shimmying the underwear down and off of her legs. The panties are soaked and I inhale them, taking in the aroma of her arousal. It’s not as sweet and alluring as Sullivan’s, but I enjoy the smell nonetheless. Sullivan had the sweetest smell, the sweetest taste.

  Damn it! Why can’t I get her out of my head?

  I kneel in between Molly’s legs and lift her up in line with my throbbing cock. Her juices are glistening at her opening, her pussy contracting, begging me to come inside.

  “Please,” Molly mewls. “Please, Ben.”

  I grant her pleas and bury myself into her to the hilt, her wet entrance making it easy for me to slide in. She screams and latches onto me as she writhes in pleasure, placing rough kisses on my neck. Deeper and deeper I go with every returned thrust of her wet core. She comes apart underneath me, calling my name like a talisman.

  A wash of guilt overtakes me. I shouldn’t be doing this. How easily I fall back into old patterns of coping. If ever I hoped to get Sullivan back, I couldn’t possibly keep this up with Molly. Besides, it wasn’t good for me to keep using her like this. It will only serve to mess her up.

  I want Sullivan back, need her back, and if we are going to be together again, this is not the way to do it. Forgetting her is so far out of the question that I can’t believe I was stupid enough to come up with a solution like that; and trying to replace her with surrogates is an even worse answer. I know Sullivan has some secrets, but I am willing to stick it out with her until I’ve gained her trust enough for her to reveal it all. How bad can they even be?

  I’m turning over a new leaf. No more will I wait for Sullivan to come to me. I’m going to go for her. I’m going to get my girl back…as soon as I’m done here.

  Pumping harder into Molly, I will myself to come. Pulling out of her, I drag her to the floor where I fist my cock and jerk my release onto her face. She moans greedily, wiping it all into her mouth.

  How I’d break it to her that this would be our last time together, I don’t know, but I knew it had to be done and soon.

  Molly didn’t go quietly, as expected. She insisted that she was the right woman for me, that Sullivan couldn’t give me what she could. I stood on the threshold of my house and waited with bored attention as she cried and begged. I wanted to feel something for her display of sadness, but I couldn’t. All I could think of was Sullivan, remembering how, much like Molly, she’d cried and begged me not to leave her. I’d felt something then, but not now. I know Molly. Her hysterics were only a ruse and I waited for her to strike like the snake she is. When Molly doesn’t get her way, stay out of it, because she will attack.

  And she did.

  She’d wiped her tears and launched herself at me in an attempt to kiss me, to sexually coax me into not discarding her. I had to grab her and physically put her out, throwing her things on the stone walk way after her.

  She’d turned around and leveled me with a challenging stare and declared, “This isn’t over between us. You always come back.”

  I always do, but not this time. I promised myself that whatever happened, Molly and I were through.

  Chapter Three

  Groaning, I roll out of bed the next day, surprisingly feeling well-rested, even after going out and drinking with Matt and my friends Bryce and Marcus most of the night. I’d had an argument with Vivian, my maid who I’ve known since I was a kid, and she’d called me a stubborn asshole. After threatening her job, she’d stormed out and went to her quarters.

  The house had seemed so hollow after that. For the first time I felt truly alone. Not being able to stand the lonely house any longer, I called the guys and we all went out. It was great hanging out with them and catching up. Matt didn’t bring Sullivan up and I was grateful for it; which made for a relaxing, alcohol-induced night.

  The only thing I’m battling this morning, aside from a headache the size of Texas, is the obvious fact that Sullivan is not next to me in bed. It digs a hole deeper and deeper inside of me every time the thought crosses my mind. I miss her desperately, and day by day I realize how much of a mistake I’ve made. Not so much the mistake of leaving her that night – even though that could be debated – but the fact that I’d stayed away for so long. That, more than anything, is eating away at me.

  What’s worse, I worry that I’ve stayed away too long. She hasn’t even made an attempt to contact me since that last time. No text, no phone call. No email, not even a message to Simone. It’s like she’s closed herself off from me. Then, I remember why she might have done that.

  I don’t give a fuck.

  That stupid text to her on Sunday night comes unbidden to mind. Maybe she’s taking me literally. If I didn’t respond to her, there might have been hope. My lack of response would have meant that I was still too raw and just needed a few hours to let off steam. If I had responded in a milder manner, it would have communicated – even louder – that there was hope; but no, I had to blatantly tell her that I didn’t care. I can’t imagine what seeing those words did to her.

  I groan exasperatingly, infuriated with myself, and toss back into bed. I am so very stupid. In a moment of anger, I reacted in a way that, truthfully, I didn’t feel. Of course I cared! The moment I’d driven away from the hous
e I’d wanted to turn back, grab her, kiss her senseless then put her over my knee and spank her ass. That’s what I should’ve done. Goddamn it! That’s what I should have done.

  I bury my face into my pillow and let out a muffled scream. Vivian was right, I really am an asshole.

  “Wake up, Mr. Hayes,” she says as she barges in without knocking, as if she sensed I was thinking about her.

  I don’t move the pillow from my face when I roll over.

  “Oh, you’re up,” she observes. “Here’s aspirin for your headache. Lunch is also ready. Oh, and Mr. Fields has asked that you call him as soon as you can. Also, Mr. Jamison says he’s emailed you the final acquisition document,” she informs me. “So you have your work cut out for you for the day.”

  “I’m an asshole,” I blurt out, but the sound is stifled by the pillow.

  “What?” Vivian says, and I can hear the amusement in her voice.

  You heard me, old woman.

  I shift the pillow anyway and I repeat, “I’m an asshole.”

  “And how many dreams did you have to bring out that very fact?” she comments, standing over me with such a damn self-satisfied look on her face. I can’t even bring myself to scowl at her.

  Easing to a sitting position, I solicit her advice, “What do I do, Vivian?”

  More than an employee, Vivian has been a dear friend, a second mother, really. She has always given me good advice, verbally kicking my ass when I’m being stupid or a tyrant. She’s the only one who could ever speak to me the way she does and still have their jobs afterwards.

  “Find her and make it right,” Vivian responds on her way out.

  She makes it sound so easy and simple. I know I hurt Sullivan. Walking away from her was worse than me finding out that she knew about my father’s infidelity, and I suspect it hurt her worse, especially knowing that we had had such an amazing few weeks.