Chapter 15

15

L IZ

The Wedding Day

The moment Thea says ‘I do' my eyes fill with happy tears, and I'm probably not the only one.

So far, everything is perfect.

The atmosphere is festive, and the place is decorated with flowers, candles tucked in glass jars, and wedding balloons.

The men and women are dressed to the nines, and Thea and Ed look like the perfect couple.

I'm so happy for them and grateful they have so many friends here with them.

I did my job well.

I didn't stumble. Didn't trip over my dress, or anything like that.

Despite guarding a big secret, I felt like a princess and didn't mind people's eyes on me.

One of the most handsome men in the room couldn't take his eyes off me.

I feel his eyes on me even now.

It's easy for him to study me, but I can't say the same thing about myself.

Even so, I catch sight of his blue gaze from time to time.

He's not alone tonight. And we both knew that would happen. But our ploy is apparently working.

No matter how much risk had been involved in having sex in Thea's house in that locked bathroom or the clues left on my dress, no one caught on to the fact that he and I were somehow connected.

The evening was kind of a letdown after I left Thea's house. My mother dropped me off at my place where I took my sweet time to undress and shower.

My dress is still not clean, and I plan to keep it like that for a while.

I opted against rubbing the stains off the hemline and placed the dress in a garment bag before hanging it in the closet.

I thought about him and the fact that we fucked, stifled our emotions and sailed a sea of suppressed feelings.

Honestly, we did it effortlessly, and while I liked it when it happened, it left a bad taste in my mouth afterward.

It didn't feel that good a few hours later.

But… Thinking about being spread open and fucked from behind in that bathroom made me want to pleasure myself.

And I did it. A few times in fact.

The pleasure was painful and delicious, the satisfaction lasting even less than when he plunged into me from behind.

There's a weird disconnection between a part of me that likes having dirty sex with unavailable men––him–– and another part of me that resents the entire thing later.

With that being said, I will say yes to having sex for money.

My mind has been made up.

I flick my eyes away from Thea's train and catch David looking at me.

His eyes glisten with thoughts as if he knows exactly what's going on in my head.

As if he's privy to my inner struggle.

Although his eyes tell me that he'd like more of the same.

More sex in the bathrooms.

More sex stripped of foreplay and aftercare.

He'd given me more attention before we started to have sex for sex only.

Should I fear this new development?

No.

We wanted to have fun. We're having fun.

If anything, this will help us reach the end faster. It's better that way.

I don't want to catch feelings. And then go where exactly?

I don't know what he reads on my face, but his eyes are still on me.

There are so many people around us. So many of them might see we are staring at each other.

We don't care. Or we do, but we're fairly confident everybody's looking at Thea and Ed.

"You may now kiss the bride," the wedding officiant says, and they share a kiss.

With that, Edward and Thea are officially married, and I try hard not to cry.

***

LIZ

Later

I take a cab home.

After all that excitement, the people, the food, the music, and the newlyweds, I feel like I need to be by myself for a while to unwind.

Throughout the evening, David and I haven't exchanged a word.

He sat at a different table and we never crossed paths.

The woman he had with him––Pam––has enjoyed herself. She was dressed nicely and had her hair done.

If anything it was a good opportunity for her to network.

I, on the other hand, had mixed feelings about being there with my mother and being forced to watch them.

That's why I'm happy I'm finally heading home.

I check my phone just as it vibrates with a message.

Chloe: How was it?

I type my reply fast.

Me: Can I call in a few minutes? I'm getting home.

Chloe: Yes, sure.

Moments later, we enter my neighborhood.

The car pulls up in front of my house and deposits me on the sidewalk.

I call Chloe as I walk through the main door.

We chat for a few good moments as I change my clothes and slide my robe on.

It's morning in Spain, and I kind of wish I were there with her.

"Can you wait for a second? I need to shower and get into bed, and then we can talk more."

"Okay."

We end the call, and I shrug off my robe and walk into the shower.

The warm water removes any trace of the wedding.

It's like I'm stepping back into my life.

The simple life of a struggling student. The one who wears her hair in a ponytail and barely makes ends meet.

The one who gave up on writing her book.

Even having sex with the man who inspired Rain's book doesn't seem to fuel my inspiration or my drive to sit down and write.

I walk out of the shower and run a towel over my body before scooping up my phone from the vanity.

His messages pop up the moment I swipe the screen.

David: A car will pick you up in twenty minutes. Wait for me at the motel.

What?

What is he talking about?

I check the time. He sent them twenty–five minutes ago.

Running my fingers through my wet hair, I hold the towel against my chest and run to the front door.

I peek outside.

A black car is stopped in front of my place.

"Uh…"

I look around.

This is completely unexpected.

"Motel? What kind of motel…" I murmur, heading to the bedroom. "Oh, motel… We're doing it. We're fucking doing it."

I completely forget about Chloe as I scour the closet for something appropriate for the motel.

At first, I want to dress plain and dull. And then I remember that we're role–playing.

Motel, motel… There's a reason we are meeting at the motel. Two actually. He wants to get out of his world and also give me a taste of something else.

Let's he how it goes.

I'm tired, but not that tired not to pull out a club dress from inside one of the moving boxes.

Good thing the fabric has a bit of give.

I pull it straight onto my naked body, slide my heels on, and click–clack my way to the bathroom.

My hair is still wet.

I blow dry my hair and give it a lot of volume. I only have time to apply red lipstick, grab my phone, keys, and a cropped denim jacket, and run out the door.

"This is so fucking eighties," I mumble, locking the door.

Denim, a club dress, and high heels.

The lights come on––patient man, the driver––when I head to the car.

He doesn't walk out to open the door for me, so I have to do it myself.

He doesn't greet me either, and I wonder for a second if David's message is enough to consider myself safe with this man.

The car pulls away and that's it.

This is me living a dangerous life.

Nothing suggests I've been kidnapped. Although leaving my town doesn't make me feel less stressed out.

I try to remember a motel in the area.

If there is one, it must be somewhere along the main road or toward the mountains.

We are heading that way when my phone rings.

Chloe's name flashes across, and I remember I promised to call her.

I can't talk to her right now––obviously––and texting her would mean to lie again.

I mute my phone and let it ring. She calls again before giving up. I tuck my phone into my jacket and try to orient myself, making sure we're still on the road and not some dirty path to a secluded area.

Writers and their angst.

"Are we close?" I ask, a bit antsy.

The man looks at me in the mirror. He's calm and composed.

"We'll arrive shortly."

His eyes go back to the road.

He doesn't wear a uniform, but he does sport a suit.

Wrestling with anxiety, I lean back in my seat. These things aren't easy.

Now I know why he picked that place last time.

Luckily, the road starts to snake through the hills, and soon after, the lights of a motel flicker in the distance.

It's not a bad place, from what I can tell, but it's a motel. A few cars are parked in the front, and an ‘Open' neon sign glows in the window.

What am I supposed to ask for? David Moore's room?

Sometimes my spirit of adventure sucks balls.

The car rolls slowly up to the entrance, and while I feel relieved to slide out in one piece, the uncertainty is killing me.

Maybe this is more than meeting him for sex.

Maybe this is a teaching moment.

Stepping out of my comfort zone and learning things about myself.

Testing my limits.

It's all great, but what am I supposed to do now?

The car moves away. No way it's parking to the side and waiting for me.

That's scary.

It's the middle of the night, and I'm in the middle of nowhere, not knowing what to do.

I slide my hand out of my pocket and check my phone. There's no message there, waiting for me, giving me instructions on what to do next.

But what fun life would be if it came with instructions?

‘Figure it out,' the voice inside my head demands.

"I will. Leave me alone," I mutter under my breath, making sure no one is outside hearing me talking to myself.

There's no one here.

The few rooms that seem occupied have dimly lit windows and drapes pulled closed to block the view inside, and they are quiet.

I walk to my left and check the cars first. Maybe I can get a clue there.

Nope.

None of the cars suggest David might be the owner. I'm not saying he couldn't use an inconspicuous car.

It's just that I don't think any of them belong to him.

Someone must be at the front desk, so I swivel around and make a beeline for the entrance.

My eyes fall to the ‘We accept credit cards' sign, and an idea pops into my head.

The door creaks open before I push through.

A small space with a worn armchair, a low coffee table, and a front desk enters my view.

A small lamp sits on the desk. There's no one behind the counter, only a radio playing in the back.

As I move closer, I notice a cracked door and a well-lit room behind it. I inch closer, trying not to make much noise, and peer inside.

I see no one, although someone's silhouette casts a shadow across the floor.

"Hello. Is anyone in there?"

"I'll be right with you," a woman says, and I go back and wait by the desk.

A few moments pass, and a woman in her sixties wearing black pants and a red sweater looks at me from above the rim of her low sitting reading glasses.

"How may I help you?"

I figure I don't look like a casual traveler, so I don't know where to start, and I don't want to make this moment even weirder than it is.

"Do you have any rooms available?"

"Rooms?"

"I'd like a room for the night," I say.

"Sure."

Blood rushes to my cheeks.

"With a big bed," I say.

Even if I spent the night alone––you never know––I'd like to sleep well.

It's been a long twenty–four hours.

"Big it is."

‘She's going to ask you for an ID,' the voice mumbles in my head, and I stiffen.

Nothing of that sort happens.

The woman looks at me.

"Cash or credit?"

"Um. I can pay with my phone."

"Credit," she murmurs.

I pay for the room and moments later, I have the key and she shows me to my room.

"You have everything inside," the woman says in front of my room before turning around and leaving.

I push the door open and enter a small clean room with a large bed, an armchair that looks uncomfortable, and a dresser.

The space opens into a small bathroom with a shower stall, a toilet and a sink. A new robe, slippers, towels, and a few bottles of water come with the room.

This is hardly fancy.

And now what?

I go to the window and look outside. There is nothing to see. No cars moving down the road. No people.

It's spooky at best and frightening at worst.

I don't feel like undressing or taking a shower, although the bed looks kind of nice.

I check my phone. I wish I had a charger. It's not like my battery doesn't have enough juice left, but it would be nice to get back home in the morning.

Funny thing, though––I ponder, sliding into the pile of pillows and propping the back of my head against the headboard––I had a lot of trust in this man if he got me here in the middle of the night.

Would I have done this in the beginning when I knew nothing about him?

Definitely not.

Can he still disappoint me?

Absolutely yes.

A few more moments pass, and I start to feel tired when the noise of a car engine travels through the air.

My eyes snap open, and I quickly push upright and slide off the bed.

A few strides bring me to the window.

It's foggy outside, which makes the whole thing even more sinister.

The driver just turned off the lights, and I have this feeling that I'm being watched. I pull back and turn one of the lamps off before surveilling the street from the shadow.

The car is black and resembles none of David's rides. It's not expensive and doesn't stand out in any way.

A dark silhouette pushes out of the driver's seat, and I instantly recognize him.

It's how he buttons his suit jacket and runs his fingers through his hair. He may be trying to keep a low profile, but he hasn't ditched his sharp looking clothes.

It may sound crazy, but the sight of him turns me on.

And as much as I'd like to find a resemblance to the scene I read in Rain's book, this is nothing like that.

It's us.

Him and me.

He avoids a puddle as he heads this way.

He knows exactly where to come, which makes me think he and the woman at the reception desk are not entirely strangers.

I'm not saying he has stopped here before.

I'm just saying he walks straight here.

I slide back and sit on the bed, waiting for him to get to the door. Almost counting the seconds, and his steps.

A knock on the door follows, and I clear my throat, push to my feet, take a long breath, and get ready.

My heart beats maniacally in my chest.

Smoothly I wrap my hand around the doorknob and slide the door open.

He first looks away, his back turned to the entrance before he shifts his eyes to me and pivots to me, his hands in his pockets, his dress shirt open, no tie this time.

Our eyes meet before he drags his gaze down without a word. Slowly, he takes inventory of my heels and dress.

I'm dressed to have fun, whether or not some money is involved.

I straighten and push the door slightly more open so he can see better.

While he's still on a surveillance mission, I'm doing some surveillance myself.

He looks so damn sexy in his suit with his shirt open at the neckline. Some of his wild virility is concealed when he wears ties and goes for proper looks.

But now there's nothing proper in his looks.

His eyes burn like embers, and he has a hungry look on his face. It dawns on me he might like this too much. It also dawns on me that I might like it as well.

He removes his hand from his pocket, brings his finger to my chest and runs it down to open my jacket and take a better look at my body.

His eyes flicker with pleasure when he touches my chest and drives his hand down past my navel.

He retrieves his other hand from his pocket and slides my jacket off.

He drops it on the floor by the door.

The cold air moves over my body, raising goosebumps across my skin.

The cold sensation is fleeting as he slides his hands to my neck and runs his palms down.

The shoulders of my dress fall under his touch before he scoops out my breasts.

My lips part with a gasp when he touches me, kneads my chest, and rubs my nipples, sending arrows of pleasure between my legs.

We're still in the doorway with the door open, his hands moving over my body, my pleasure soaring.

"David…" I murmur warningly.

What if a late night guest pulls enters the parking lot.

He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me into him, his breath searing my lips.

Half naked, with only my hair concealing my bare breasts and his hands and now lips on me, I fall into his chest.

His kiss is famished, deeply sexual, striped of tenderness, while his fingers mold to my butt, his other hand cuffing my neck.

My body response is swift.

My blood runs hot when I feel him so worked up, and instead of slowing down I open the door all the way, invite him in, and touch his fly.

He's rock hard, his erection pushing against his pants, so I slide his zipper down and take him out.

Rolling my lips with his, I stroke his hard flesh.

We don't stop. Can't stop. And when I touch the tip of his erection, and my thumb comes back wet, I know what I need to do.

My lips pull away from his as I lower myself and take him into my mouth.

He doesn't pull back if anything pushes closer. And here I am, sucking him in a motel room in the middle of the night after Thea's wedding.

How screwed up is that?

I don't have much time to think about it.

All I know is that he tastes fine. He is iron–hard, and I'll probably swallow his seed before he slides himself between my legs.

There is no point in fixing something that is working, and right now, this works just fine.

His hand rests on my head while I swallow as much as I can, swirling my tongue around, sucking on him every time I have him in my mouth.

He doesn't want to stop either, his touch hardening on the back of my head and his thighs turning into blocks of concrete while he rocks his hips against my mouth.

Hitting the back of my throat repeatedly puts him at the summit of his pleasure, and he comes, experiencing lonely satisfaction that makes me think he's wanted this since we did it the last time.

We have become addicted to it. No wonder our plans never work. This little thing called sex always gets in the way.

And we're planning to have fun and this and that and the other. And we do. But there are deeper things we discuss that shuffle through our conscience.

I like him like that.

I like him a lot.

And he enjoys taking stuff from me. Not feeling obligated to give anything in return. This might have to do with his past and my preference for it.

I have no other explanation for that.

Part of it I swallow, and part of it goes on the floor when he strikes his still hard length to his satisfaction and blasts out more.

"Good fucking job…" he says later, his eyes unfocused, a soft smile clinging to his lips. "I didn't plan to start with that…" he goes on, grabbing a fistful of my Jair and pulling me up until my lips are lined with his.

He gets a taste of himself from my lips before he nudges me in and slams the door closed.

"Take your clothes off," he says in a dry tone.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I look at him.

"What are we doing?" I ask quietly.

"You'll see," he says, smiling and unfastening his belt.

"You don't like spanking," I reiterate, paying attention to the belt.

"Do you?"

I shake my head, my hand still over my mouth.

"No. I don't think so."

"Pain?"

My hand drops from my lips.

"I've never tried that."

"Asphyxiation?"

My mouth hangs open.

"I'm not sure about that. What else?" I murmur.

He gestures at my dress.

"Take it off, baby."

Absently, I roll it down and step out of it. I toss it on the armchair before flicking my eyes back to him.

He takes off his suit jacket and lays it on top of my dress before rolling his sleeves up.

"What else…?" I murmur, my nipples hard from the cold, my skin covered in goosebumps.

Softly smiling, he closes the gap between us and brushes all my hair back while I study his face.

"Turn around," he says, his hands still splayed over my shoulders.

I turn around, and he pulls my back into his chest, my butt against his groin.

He's hard again as his hands begin to slowly conquer my body.

He fills his palms with my boobs first before sliding his fingers down. Both hands push inside my panties, parting my folds at the same time.

When he touches me between my legs forcefully but giving me enough pleasure to feel the pull between my thighs, my center throbs.

"What about multiple orgasms…? Consensually forced?"

He pauses.

"Restraints?" he goes on before pausing again."Denied orgasms? Having you to beg me?"

Every question registers with me, but my answers fail to come as my focus shifts to the swirl of pleasure in my body.

"Toys? Fucking in public? Watching other people fucking? We could have a lot of fun."

He strokes me harder, and my eyelids turn heavy as my legs begin to shake.

Propping me against his frame, he nudges my thighs open, and I struggle on my heels, still having a hard time standing.

His fingers move down until they curl and push inside.

My butt presses against him while he moves one hand to my neck.

At loss for words and wresting with my precarious balance I claw at the air.

"All you need to do is follow my instructions," he says, somewhat detached, something else claiming his focus.

He pulls his zipper down, and his erection presses into my lower back.

We don't get to do anything other what we've been doing. He clutches my neck and fingers my opening until I jerk against his frame, and he twitches against my back.

"You are a lot of fun, baby…" he rasps.

My pulse spikes, and my chest heaves as he drags me to the point of coming.

The sensation is intense, threatening to break me, yet he pulls his touch away from me, takes his belt, and ties my hands together.

He brings a towel from the bathroom and ties my already restrained wrists to the headboard.

This gives me no other choice but to slide onto my knees and fight to keep my balance while grabbing at the headboard.

It's unnatural to stay like that––not on all fours, and not on my stomach––but I quickly learned he's picked this position precisely to depend on him. To not be able to do much. To relinquish control.

He loses his clothes and is fully naked with his fist wrapped around his hard meat when he looks at me, assessing the desire in my body.

I still have my heels on, which I regret. It would be easier without them.

Slowly stroking himself, he runs his free hand over my body. Up my shanks and thighs. Between my legs.

I'm dripping wet, his touch moving over my sensitive center, only making my deepest depths want him more.

My tits move with me when I shift to him. He likes what he sees, filling his touch with them.

I expect him to slide behind me, fill me up, and pump me since his veiny, flushed hard–on moves through his fist at a higher speed.

He shifts, though, and reaches inside his jacket. My eyes follow him with curiosity.

"We have a deal…" he says blankly and throws a wad of cash on the nightstand.

That's a lot of cash, and my eyes go back to him to meet his gaze.

I'm filled with questions and a strange feeling.

It's like money allows us to do things that we wouldn't do otherwise.

It removes our guilt and second guessing.

The sight of the money on the nightstand makes me feel filthy while giving me freedom.

I like the freedom and the fact that I can go as far as I want to go with him.

The idea turns me on.

The money turns me on.

The thought that we can do a lot of stuff turns me on even more.

"This is for tonight," he says and pivots to my legs.

He runs his hand over the back of my calves and peels my heels off one by one before lowering his mouth and sinking his teeth into my skin.

I clutch the headboard harder, and he continues to trail the back of my legs, kissing and biting my skin while stroking himself.

I know where he's going and where I want him to go. I still have a ball of tension inside.

So I arch my back and push my backside out until his fingers reach inside my body. They move in with ease, and I rock my hips against them.

"You like that, don't you?"

I like that he moves them slowly and deep, that I'm wet and needy. And that this feels almost as good as the orgasm that I now want to postpone.

He puts his mouth where his fingers were a few moments ago and licks every drop of wetness dripping out of me. His bites are softer, and his tongue soothes any pain, but the pain is hardly a deterrent.

My hips keep rolling, my flesh seeking his touch, the inside tension growing quickly.

The closer I get to the moment of relief, the more ample my moves are and the harder it is to rock my body with restraints.

He knows that.

That's exactly what he wants. To have me restricted in that sense.

His fingers go back in, and then he alternates finger fucking me with tongue fucking me and I lose it.

The bed slams into the wall, and I'm afraid someone else in this motel might hear us.

The noise, the struggle, the characteristic rhythm.

The persistent knocking on the wall when you want to run with it fast. And want all that pleasure, fullness, and wildness to ram through you.

You want it all to move through your veins, occupy your brain, and quench your hunger. The hunger that eventually only expands.

When he spreads my butt open and runs his lips and tongue up, stroking my back entrance, I rebel.

"Please…" I say as much as I can under my breath.

I wish I had something inside me to scratch that itch, to soothe that frustration.

He presses his thumb into my puckered ring without entering me. Either way, my back hole starts clenching, while my core is heavy with tension, and my nipples could cut glass.

Holding his thumb pressed into my back opening, he sucks on my entrance, thrusts his tongue inside me, and I almost come. Almost… My body doesn't know it, and it starts shaking like crazy, the noise of the bed hitting the wall becoming unbearable.

Anyone in this motel with decent hearing must know what's going on. The walls are paper thin, and I move like a savage, chasing that orgasm that only he can give me when he wants to.

I do my best, clenching my thighs together as much as I can, rolling my pelvis, panting, and sweating.

"Please…" I say again.

He moves his hand from my rear and cups my clit, pressing the heel of his hand into it, giving me more of the same.

More torment. More need. His erection is between my thighs as he positions himself.

It's heavy and warm, and he points it down to sweep over my inner things.

All he needs to do is point it to my center and slide it in. I'm absolutely convinced I'll come after the first thrusts. Or if he fills me up and stays there for a second.

He rubs his hips against my rear, driving me nuts, and I whip my eyes to him and give him a death glare.

He laughs, splays his fingers over my face and pushes it away.

"Don't look," he says, guttural, possessive, intransigent, and hard to move.

"I don't like you right now."

"Oh… You already like me more than you know. This is for Vale, by the way…" he says and laughs softly while I try to look at him again. This time he grabs my face and holds it while he comes to me.

He comes so fast he knocks the breath out of me when he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and just as swiftly slides his hard length into me.

Fireworks happen in every corner of my body.

My center explodes, my mouth becomes a fire pit, and my core throbs like crazy.

The pleasure is intense and mind-blowing, and all the boundaries are gone.

All I want is for him to break me, and he does, sparing no mercy.

He fucks me so hard we almost ruin the wall and the bed, and I'm sure he'll need to buy the motel in the morning or bribe the woman to avoid a lawsuit.

The ravenous hunger that I feel zips through my blood, charring my insides, while his hands dip into me and hold me against his powerful thrusts.

Disconnecting from the immediate reality for a few long moments, I float with him in a new world that leaves me breathless.

Is this who he is?

None of this was in that damn book.

None of it was in there.

And that thought elevates me to new heights.

I already know I'll do things for this man I never did for anyone else.

End of David's Second Book

I hope you've enjoyed David's story so far.