The End of Me
Page 31He stopped just as I was about to orgasm.
“You liked watching me fuck her. Say it.”
I shook my head but I couldn’t speak. The sounds that threatened to leave my lips, were not words.
Sweat started to form on my brow.
“You want me to let you cum, Evie?”
I trembled, near tears but never spoke a word.
“Then, you say it.” His voice was no longer a whisper in the dark. He was commanding me.
My weakened voice quivered when I tried to speak, “N-n-no.”
He slowly dragged his fingers from me, but when he was just at my opening, he thrust back in. He held them there momentarily before repeating. On the third time I shouted, “I LIKED IT! FUCK YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
His hand instantly picked up in speed. He inserted a second finger, stretching me and pumping rhythmically. I gripped the shag carpet, crying into it as my entire body went pins and needles, and then burst into orgasmic flames. Beads of sweat covered every inch of me. He pumped until the twitching stopped. I was about to sigh and possibly cry a little, when he lifted me off the floor, flipping me over. He laid me on the billiards table, spreading my legs and burying his face between them.
He licked my swollen slit in flicks and sucks, starts and stops. I felt his tongue enter me as his fingers rubbed my clit. He sat up, slapping my pussy a few times softly. I was startled by it at first, but then the vibration was nice, I had no idea.
Just as I was getting into the groove of the soft slaps, he would replace his hand with his mouth, and begin the licking again. I could feel the second orgasm building as he flipped me over, dragging me back down so I was bent over the table. My feet barely touched the ground. He slapped my ass hard. My legs being spread as far as they were, made the vibration tingle everywhere.
I gasped as he crawled a hand up my back, nestling it at the base of my head, and pulled my hair. He lifted my head up and spanked again. I cried out. I wanted it to be a cry from pain but it was not.
“You going to let that little fucker touch you again?” he asked menacingly.
I didn’t know what he meant. “The fat man?” Who else had touched me?
He spanked and pulled harder, “That young man.”
Coop.
I shook my head, struggling against the hair pulling, “He never touched me.”
I heard his belt rustle, making my eyes bug out. Was he going to whip me with the belt?
His hand left my head and planted on my hips. He gripped my skin, like he had hers. He pulled my ass back, fucking me.
He reached forward amid thrusts and rubbed between my legs, circling my clit.
The felt of the table scratched against my cheeks and palms. The sound left my lips, like it did hers. I could see him, thrusting into her the way he had done to me. I came again, seeing her feet in the air and his strong ass flexing. His thrusts had slowed to make my orgasm deliciously paced.
Flipping me on my back again, he grabbed my ankles and placed them on the same spot hers were.
I didn’t notice until his cock was buried deep inside of me. I tried to kick away but he held me there. Only when he had filled me with his orgasm, could I tell the difference between what he done to her and what he had done to me. He cried out, making a sound I hadn’t heard in the room with her, but that I recalled from the hotel.
He slapped against me one last time and collapsed on top of me, forcing my legs apart again. I wrapped them around him as he breathed into my breasts.
“You set me up,” I whispered into the heavy, dank air of the giant room, we had somehow managed to pollute with our filth.
He nodded, “I didn’t force you to like it though.”
I shook my head, “I hate you.”
He kissed my belly and stood up, “I need you to hate me, Evie.”
He left the room and I didn’t feel afraid of him anymore.
I showered in a spare room and found a smaller room to sleep in.
When I woke, I looked around the room for something to put on. The other clothes felt wrong, on a bunch of different levels.
I wrapped in a blanket and made my way back to his room. I could see his foot sticking out of the covers. I snuck into the closet and stole a pair of shorts for jogging and a t-shirt. His clothes hung off me, like they would a kid. I left the blanket in the closet and made my run for the door.
I found the kitchen from the smell in the halls. It was waffles. My mouth watered.
A small man in a chef’s outfit grinned at me, “You hungry?” he asked through a thick French accent.
I nodded and sat at the breakfast table.
Everything was oversized, marble, and expensive. His house was like something out of a magazine, including the chef.
I looked at the fruit and then back at the kitchen. “Can I have some of the waffles?” I asked.
He shook his head, “Not yet.”
I didn’t know what to say, he was like the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld. He was holding out on the waffles, until he was ready to give them to me.
I picked up a chocolate covered strawberry and bit down. I was starving.
The coffee was perfect. I stirred the cream in and sipped. Even with the strawberry taste in my mouth, it was oh-my-God good. My kids would love this house. I wondered what the cost of the chef was? I couldn’t help but wonder, if I had enough money in James’ sneaky-whore account to have a chef or even a house like this?
I picked the newspaper up off the table, where it was no doubt placed for him, and gasped when I saw the front page.
“PRIVATE JET CRASHES ON MOUNT WASHINGTON”
“Are you reading my newspaper?” Servario interrupted my reading.
I didn’t look at him. “A jet crashed on Mount Washington, after taking off from Boston,” I muttered. I paused a moment, as I thought about how possible it was that was Fitz. I felt the burning in my eyes, “Did you do this?”
He looked confused, “What are you talking about?”
“Fitz left Boston after dropping everyone else off. He was in a private jet; did you kill him? Is this his jet?”
He sat and shook his head, “No. I don’t know whose jet that was. What am I psychic?”
I narrowed my eyes, “Fine.” I stood up and walked away. I could tell he was lying to me.
“Are those my clothes?” he asked after me.
I spun around, feeling sickening anger at the possibility that Uncle Fitz might have been in a plane crash. “I’m done with this. This sick, twisted version of playing house with you. Last night was really fun and I have to admit surprising. I have new things to talk to my shrink about now; that’s always good. But I am done. You either level with me, or I am walking out the front door, and I will kill whoever decides to get in my way.”
He grins at me, “You feel that confident in your abilities?”
I shake my head, “No. I feel that confident in my anger at the things that happened last night.”
He watched me and then sighed, “Come and sit and eat breakfast. Pierre makes an incredible Belgian waffle.”
I nearly ran to the room where I had slept and grabbed my clutch. I left the room, but he was right there, “That was incredibly rude and I’ve asked you repeatedly not to swear.”
I looked up into his stormy expression and chewed the stolen waffle, “You’re right. These are the best.”
His mood didn’t improve, “If I tell you what I know, will you stay?”
I shook my head, “No. I’m here because my vagina wants to be. I need to focus on my kids. You need me to hate you—well, you know what? The feeling is mutual.”
A grin toyed with his lips, “You say that word with no apprehension. I find that odd. You are too forward with the things you’ll say.”
“What word?” Had I sworn again?
“Vagina.”
I crossed my arms over my clutch and snickered, “One of my kids got stuck in there for like twelve hours, before the doctors figured it out. I had been in labor for thirty-nine hours, before I got a cesarean section. I pushed for two hours and got two—yes two hemorrhoids, hence the reason I won’t ever have anal sex. I have a deep amount of comfort with the lower half of my body because of it all. I recovered with mineral baths, Epsom salts, and rectal suppositories. I didn’t have sex comfortably for one whole year, and even then, it was annoying. Yet, I still had another baby. The second was much easier. I just booked the surgery and out she came. Then on top of all of that, I breastfed both my kids the full recommended eighteen month minimum, earning me horrid looks from everyone, even other women. I was the pervy hippie who breastfed for too long.”
He looked like he might get sick.
I nodded, “And voila, you no longer see me as a sexual object you get to toy with.” I stood on my tiptoes, dragging his cheek down to my level, “Thank you for making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time, shame and perversion included.” I brushed my lips against his rough cheek and walked past him. I knew he was still stuck in the hemorrhoid story. That truly was a cock blocker.
“Say goodbye to Steve and foxy Roxy for me,” I looked back and walked to the foyer, then strolled out the front door. I had zero idea where I was, but the good thing about iPhones was the map. I decided to steal his iPhone. I didn’t even care if he tracked me down. I was never letting him in my panties again.
“Dirty bastard.” I muttered, and turned the phone on as I walked to the gate. It didn’t open. I sighed and looked back. Servario was walking down the very, long driveway.
“Great.” My clutch vibrated at the same time he shouted something at me. I ignored Servario and took the FaceTime call. It was Coop, not Jack.
“We have a problem.”
I could see the seriousness on his face, “What?”
He closed his eyes and pinched between his eyes. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">