Eight

eight

LORI

The next morning, I walk out of the bedroom after my princess beauty routine. My face looks well rested and fresh as a rose, while my ass is sore as hell. I remember every word, every thrust, and every moan with every step I take.

I think I got a bug, it's called Gabriel Reed.

The guest room didn't have a lock on the door, and I must have sleepwalked to his bedroom. I mean, I woke up with Gabe's cock in my hands! Sexsomnia is a new development, which is a documented disorder I read about as I tried to learn more about my somnambulism. The idea of having sex while sleeping seemed hot, even though the person has no memory of it in the morning.

Even better that what he did to me last night is forever carved on my brain. And if that isn't enough, waking up covered in Gabe's cum, having the proof of his desire for me on my skin, gives life to a nice quiver inside my belly.

I'm fucked, but not in the least shameful about what happened since it got me a magnificent dick inside my ass and filthy things whispered in my ears. It was bloody blinding.

My dick was as hard as a fucking length of steel and aching, dying to come. How could it not be when his strong hands kneaded my ass with such enjoyment and his hard cock pressed against my hole, slipping between my cheeks. It seems that my bussy has taken an imprint of his glorious cock since that night at the club and now welcomes it with open doors.

Being fucked while wearing his jacket made me feel vulnerable, I hadn't wanted him to know about it. But I've taken to the habit of sleeping in it; it helps to soothe me somehow. His scent is gone—I had to wash it—but the way the soft fabric envelops me is like a forbidden, sexy business.

I might have rolled over in bed this morning as I'd woken up alone and coated in Gabe's cum, and buried my face in the pillow next to mine, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne.

I'm having the best sex of my life with Gabriel Reed. I can't believe how unpredictable he can be in bed. He went from dirty and aggressive, to silent and rough. The change is fast and unsettling, but so damn hot.

I look at the last door in the corridor, near Gabe's bedroom. What's in there? Probably a home office. I'll check it later, need to take care of my lady now.

I open the bathroom door, but Wednesday isn't inside. Her cardboard nesting box is missing too. She prefers to perch on high places above the floor at night—the shower rod is her favorite—but she lays her eggs inside the box.

I tiptoe down to the kitchen and halt as I see Gabe wearing a light blue shirt, brown vest and suit pants near the stove. The smell of coffee and food permeates the air. I take a few seconds to admire his perfectly round arse wrapped in expensive fabric.

A high-pitched cluck makes me turn. Wednesday is on top of one of the three brand-new roosting bars against the living room wall, performing a balancing act. Gabe must have moved around some furniture because that whole corner is exclusive to my hen, with her nesting box lying on the floor, a new bowl, a litter box, and some chew toys.

It doesn't fit very well with the apartment's white paneling and fancy wood floors, the surfaces polished so well, I can see my own reflection in them. The whole place is devoid of any other clutter though, leaving a very minimalistic feel, chic and modern, sleek and screaming wealth—Wednesday is going to destroy it.

This is how the other half lives. When a door closes, a window opens. Didn't expect it to be in Chicago's most exclusive neighborhood, though.

The room smells like new, even though I know that's not the case. I catch a whiff of Gabe's scent, and I wish I could bottle it.

"Good morning." Gabe's calm voice makes me spin around toward him. He's sending me a very intense gaze that has the power to make the collywobbles take flight inside my stomach.

His sleek blond hair is, as usual, perfectly styled, beard flawlessly trimmed, but from the open collar of his shirt I can see at least three of the hickeys I sucked onto his skin last night. I'm surprised he isn't trying to cover them, even more so by the satisfaction spreading inside my chest.

"Morning," I reply, moving toward the counter on my bare tiptoes. I'm wearing a loose green t-shirt and a pair of tight white shorts. "Do you always wake up this early?" It's six thirty, I forgot to change the alarm on my phone. From Gabe's apartment, it will take half the time to get to work.

"I don't sleep much," he says. Is that why he left my bed?

"Do you always walk barefoot?" he asks.

I sit on a stool and glance down at my feet with red nail polish. "Yes," I reply. After fucking me twice into oblivion, talking conversationally about my bare feet sounds ridiculous. But I'm starting to learn that with Gabe, nothing is obvious.

He places a mug filled with hot water in front of me with a can of earl gray loose tea leaves—my favorite.

"Uhm, thanks," I tell him nervously, wiggling on the stool. I don't know how to act around an attentive Gabe. Not that he's ever been rude, but sharing things with him feels weird.

I start making my tea.

"What do you like to eat for breakfast?" he asks, back at the stove again.

"I'm not fussed."

He turns his head to look at me, waiting for an explanation.

"I don't care. Anything is fine," I huff at his insistence.

Despite my gran's best efforts, barely any of her culinary lessons stuck. I can burn everything, even water—well, the pot after the water has evaporated. But I can manage a salad or a cup of noodles. I'm still alive, aren't I?

He sets his mug down with a determined thud. "Make a list. The housekeeper will buy whatever you want."

Fancy. I nod.

He takes a plate from the kitchen and sets it near me again. There's toast with eggs, ham, and a rich salad—again my favorite. A coincidence?

I love salads. Any kind. I always bring one to the office for lunch. I don't do it because it's a healthy choice—even though that's a plus—or part of a diet. I just enjoy the crispy leaves, different kinds of vegetables you can add, raw, grilled or boiled and the cheeses and meats. And then the dressings. So many combinations. I used to love to create new types of salads, but the kitchen in my apartment is too small to make anything. So I've been buying them already made from a grocery store. Gabe's kitchen is huge, perhaps I can start again?

"Aren't you going to eat?" I ask him, seeing there's no plate for him anywhere.

"Already did." He makes an encouraging gesture toward my plate while taking a sip of his coffee. I get hypnotized by him for a second. His whole presence demands attention, but it's more the fact that he is letting me stay with him in his apartment that holds my curiosity. It's such a surreal situation, never in a million years would I have imagined Gabe coming to my rescue…twice. Or me accepting his help.

I move the ham and scrambled eggs onto the toast with my fork and take a bite. I can't stop the moan slipping out of my mouth. This is the good stuff. When I open my eyes, Gabe's slate gaze is zeroed in on my lips, and I can't resist licking the upper one. My coquettish nature can't be helped.

His eyes move to mine, and I gasp at the heated look he gives me. Then Wednesday makes one of her screeching sounds, and I lower my gaze to her. She's under my stool pecking on the ground looking for breadcrumbs. I absently crush a corner of my toast and drop it on the floor, snapping my eyes to Gabe to see if he minds the mess. He's staring at her with what I can only decipher as a scrutinizing look, since it's kind of hard to read him.

A previous thought suddenly comes back to me.

"The guest room bathroom is filled with beauty products," I start, spearing a few leaves of the salad with my fork aggressively. Fucking amazing products, which I'd die to use. And are not Gabe's. He has his own bathroom. So does he keep them for one of those escorts? Do they stay the night?

"Will you receive…visitors while I'm here?" It's evident that I'm prying. Because I don't like the idea of him with someone else. I feel a bit I'll-disfigure-whoever-touches-him jealous.

"No," he replies in his monotone voice, but then he adds, "They're for you."

"For me?" I mutter, almost choking on the last piece of toast.

"My housekeeper bought what you need yesterday. Let me know if you want more."

I blink rapidly, trying to clear the excessive questions filling my head. "How did you know what I'd need?"

"Ollie."

"You…you asked Ollie." I sound incredulous. Because fuck, a caring Gabe ignites an atomic bomb inside my head.

"Yes. Ollie told me a few things you'd enjoy, and I bought them."

"For Wednesday as well?" I tilt my head toward the roosting bars and all the other new things he bought her.

"After a quick research on hens, I got a few things on the internet; they arrived thirty minutes ago."

Wow. Just wow. He researched hens. Did I misjudge him all this time? Nah. I look at his emotionless face.

I take his answer at face value because who am I to question it? My life is a mess, and he's shown me only kindness lately. Benefit of the doubt it is. So lawyer-y of me.

His insistent dark stare makes me bite down hard on my full bottom lip. He's looking at me like he wants to rescue my mauled mouth. But after a few seconds, he takes a step back as he checks his watch and walks to the sink to leave his mug. He moves around, gathering what he needs for the office: briefcase, phone, etc… I try not to stare at him and make my way over to the leather couch on a rug that is softer than a cloud. As I let myself fall down onto it, Wednesday, with a vigorous flap of her wings, jumps down next to me. Her red eyes take me in for a moment before she gives me her back.

She only has three toes on one foot, and some of her feathers are missing on one side. Don't know what she went through, but she's still affectionate—for a hen—allowing me to stroke her feathers briefly before squawking and scurrying a few feet away with an indignant flap of her wings.

I see Gabe making his way to the entrance, hovering when he gets to the door.

"Is your gran in that urn?" Gabe's sudden question makes my alarm bells ring like an ambulance on a call.

"Yes," I say, gritting my teeth against the ugly sensation that always overwhelms me when I think about her last days on earth.

"Where does the money I pay you go, Lori?" His questions are like getting whiplash, they jerk me from left to right.

"Expenses," I reply defensively, and pout my lips, feeling uneasy. I buy my clothes at thrift shops and rent my designer bags from a fabulous app, don't spend much on food or rent. The largest portion of my salary goes to hospital bills and my gran's house. She left it to me, and although I don't live there, I still have to pay when something breaks.

The neighbor, Miss Pool, goes once a month to check that everything is fine, and this winter, a small part of the roof collapsed just before the deck railing fell down and the asphalt in the driveway cracked. Then there's the property taxes. In short, cheerio salary.

I see questions twirling in Gabe's eyes, but he doesn't ask them. Instead, he utters, "Your hen looks restless."

Wednesday is near the balcony door, pacing left and right. "She needs to do her rat patrol." I move to the door and open it, letting her out. The stone railing is really high, she can't jump off.

"There are no rats on my balcony," he states. So literal.

"She wants to share spicy gossip with a passing pigeon, then." I shrug.

Gabe raises his usual eyebrow at me, then he says, "A car will be waiting for you downstairs at seven-thirty to take you to work. I sent you the driver's name, his photo, and the car's plate."

"I have a car. I can drive myself."

"The wiener mobile, as Rami calls it. The driver is for protection."

"Mr. Hot Shot and Bird Turd are still out there. It's for my own protection. I got it." I almost roll my eyes.

"It is for your own protection, and the rest of Chicago's population after I saw, once again, the way you drive last night."

That's why people wear slippers, to throw them at stupid, unmoving, handsome faces. He turns and leaves, closing the door before I can tell him where he can shove his driver together with the car.

Going to my room, I have no intention of following Gabe's order, when my phone on the nightstand beeps.

Gabe: Take the car with the driver. Look at it this way, he'll stop anywhere you want to go on the way to work.

Is he psychic as well? The proposition is tempting though. I have unfinished business I'd like to be done with. I decide that I'll take his suggestion to make a quick stop.

I open the small box I left on the dresser, and pushing the cardboard away, I gently place my gran's urn on top of it.

"You always said that life is unpredictable, like pear and cheese. You were right…as always." I kiss my fingers and place them on the metal lid. Sadness, guilt and melancholy fight inside me and I'm powerless against them for a minute.

Then I turn to the boxes filled with clothes and shoes on the floor. Where am I supposed to put them? The wardrobe is the tiniest I've ever seen and my metal rack is full already.

Which brings me to the next question: how long am I supposed to stay here?

I look at the dresser and open the first drawer. There's a huge box filled with every color and more of nail polish, all unopened. The next one has jockstraps in my size, still with the tags. The next brand-new sports bras. Are they all for me? Each drawer has something…especially for me.

How long did Gabe talk with Ollie for? The sight of all the purchases he made leaves me breathless. He took the time to call my bestie and then instructed his housekeeper—which from him, is huge. A sense of gratefulness floods me, and Gabe infiltrates a little deeper inside my chest.

I go to the bathroom and check all the products again. Some are things I normally use while others are brands I always wanted to buy, but couldn't. Then I go to the kitchen again. The fridge and cupboards have all my favorite foods and every possible ingredient to make delicious salads.

Bloody hell, I think my brain has just imploded.

Yesterday, when Gabe threatened my landlord, it made me want to kneel at his feet and show him my gratitude in a very specific way—didn't appreciate the damsel part, but seeing that side of him was bloody hot. But this? This means so much more to me.

I lie back against the counter, puzzled by Gabe's attentiveness.

Why is the man that spent the last months barely acknowledging me showing such care now?

Let's welcome whatever fresh hell today has to offer.

I got out of the car with a spring in my steps. Cheerfully thanking the driver/bodyguard, Arnold—he has more muscle than the real Schwarzenegger—I look up at the glass and concrete front of Reed Law Firm shining brightly in the morning sun. It's getting hotter really fast. The cute silky blouse and black pleated shorts I'm wearing feel a tad too warm on my skin.

By the time I push through the revolving doors, the guy at the entrance has recognized me and is greeting me. Despite the soreness between my legs I manage to walk to the elevators, waiting patiently to get to my floor. But when I arrive to my cubicle, all my stuff is gone. It's empty!

What the bloody fuck? Where's my Sponge Bob mouse mat? And my purple lava lamp? Someone is going to die if I don't get my Yoda pen back.

All my chirpy mood is gone, replaced by murderous intentions.

I march to the floor supervisor's office, the Sloth. As soon as he sees me, he smiles. He's a weird jolly bloke, always happy, but so damn slow—hence his nickname.

"Oh. You're here," he says.

"Where's my stuff?" I get to the point, or he'll try to keep me here all morning talking about his ant farm.

"You've been transferred." The Sloth relaxes in his chair, lacing his fingers on his flat stomach.

"This is utter tosh! Again? Why?" What did I do now? Maybe the right question is what didn't I do?

"I'm going to miss your unique way of speaking." He sighs.

"My transfer?" I remind him between gritted teeth.

"Oh, they didn't tell me."

This is bollocks. I didn't do anything wrong…much.

He slowly stands up and tells me to follow him.

Fuming, I do. I know he's only the messenger, but when I get to the one responsible, they're going to lose their hearing—among other pieces.

We leave his office and move across the cubicles area, stopping in front of the elevator.

I get in, and remaining outside, he leans in and pushes the button for the top floor, waving his hand cheerfully at me.

The last floor? Gabe must have had a hand in this.

"The HR manager is waiting for you upstairs," he says, as the doors close.

Evelyn is indeed upstairs in the reception area when I get off. I wave at Belinda, the receptionist behind the desk.

"Why am I up in the clouds, Eve?" I ask.

"Come." She gives me a forced smile that has an ominous feeling to it. And bloody hell, that feeling magnifies the more we walk, passing by the conference rooms and the coffee room until I see Medusa's empty desk. It reminds me that she got the boot, ha-ha.

I look at Gabe's office door, but before we reach it, Eve stops in front of a room a few feet away from it. It's quite spacious, with a window facing the front of the building, an empty bookcase, a small sofa, and a desk with a box filled with my stuff on top.

"What does this mean?" I ask her, entering the office.

"Sorry. Mr. Reed will see you in five minutes, please don't make him wait," she lets me know before walking away. Not very helpful, but I doubt Gabe gave her any explanation either.

Looking at the nice office, I try to find a reason to this morning's madness. Am I a charity case for him? After he saw my apartment did he feel pity toward me? Does he think I don't know how to take care of myself? Or is this some kind of bonus in exchange for sex?

Every further explanation I find leaves an increasingly bitter taste inside my mouth. Anger burns blazing hot in my gut, climbing my chest, spreading inside my throat. I feel like I could open my mouth and breathe fire. Not caring how much time has passed, I leave my Miu Miu bag on the desk and stomp toward his office. Without knocking, I open his door and slam it shut behind me with an ample swing of my arm.

"You!" I yell.

"Who was the guy you kicked in the balls?" Gabe's question makes me lose my momentum.

He looks not at all surprised by my barging in.

"How…?" Arnold, I find the answer to my own question. He must have told Gabe about my quick stop. "Let's just say he deserved it."

Before coming to work for Gabe, I was fired because my ex-boss's son badmouthed me to his father after I pointed out more than once how incompetent at being a lawyer he was. His father didn't believe me, and I ended up jobless until I was hired at Reed Law Firm.

"And I didn't kick him, I wouldn't get my platforms near his STD-infested dick. Punching it wasn't enough, but still very satisfying."

Gabe stares at my hands with a questioning look. "Don't worry, I bathed them in Purell." I wave my fingers at him.

His phone starts ringing, but he doesn't pick it up, and suddenly, I remember why I'm here.

"Why am I being transferred again near your office? I won't be your PA. I'm a paralegal. I've even gone back to school to become a lawyer at some point," I aggressively declare, taking two forceful steps toward his desk.

"You have?" He tilts his head to the side studying me with his gray gaze. "Why did you stop studying?" he asks.

"Gran was sick. We needed money," I tell him quickly. "I'm taking online courses now. Stop avoiding my question. Why am I here?"

"Because you enjoy coming inside my office uninvited, it seems."

Lord almighty! I can kick him in the shin, pinch his thighs, twist his nipples, or climb him like a tree and ride him until sunset. All viable options.

The fastidious ringing keeps resounding within the four walls. "Do you mind telling your phone to sod off?" I cross my arms and send him a heated glare.

He grabs the blaring device and answers it with a heated, "Sod off!" before hanging up.

"Did you…? What was…? What?" My brain seems to have short-circuited. He's doing it again, going hot and cold.

"Did I render you incoherent?" he taunts me. His hand rubs over his jaw in what seems like a lazy motion, but it hides a well-rehearsed dominating act I've seen him use with other lawyers from the opposition. He stands up, and rounding the desk, stops in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head all the way up.

"I'm not one of those supercilious, stuck-up blokes you work with. You can't play me." I poke him in the chest and turn the glare up a notch. "And I'm certainly not a pity case or a slag. You can't make all the decisions and move me around like a puppet." Huffing like a dragon, I'm about to turn around and leave when he says, "I know, Lori."

"Then what the bloody hell is your problem?" I yell. If I didn't love my curls as much as I do, I'd tear them all out in exasperation. "You were forced to fuck me in that club, but then you covered me in cum all jealous as shit at the charity event and left me with a shrug. Next, you moved me into your apartment with no explanation, and I woke up this morning alone and with dry jizz all over me. In the kitchen, you acted like nothing happened. Just give me some damn instructions because I'm lost here. Or is that what you want? I'm off my trolley here!"

"No." I see him clenching his teeth. "It did happen," he growls, full of fire. And in front of my eyes, he becomes another person. "Come here, Little Wasp." That nickname again, and that stronger accent too.

"Are you certifiable?" I ask, puzzled by him.

His eyebrow rises up mockingly.

"I'm serious, you just… Who are you?" I take a step back, and he narrows his eyes at me. I know he doesn't like that I'm putting space between us.

"I'm not."

"Then just explain to me why one minute you are your usual self, icy and unfazed, and in the next you look at me like…like—" I swallow hard.

"Like?" he drawls sexily, taking a step toward me.

"Like you want to eat me."

He smirks predatorily.

"Fuck. Stop that!" My voice has risen to a shout. I'm panting, red-faced, my hands twitching to do…something. Shake him. Rip off his clothes. I'm not sure.

The smirk falls, and a muscle in his jaw jumps. No wonder, with how tightly he has it clenched.

"I had DID," he confesses.

DID. Dissociative personality disorder. I had a client with that condition a couple of years ago. I try to remember what I learned about it, searching inside my memories. DID is a mental health condition that can cause gaps in memory and hallucinations. A person with DID has two or more distinct identities. The "core" identity is the most present personality. "Alters" are the alternate personalities. These identities control behavior at different times. Each identity has its own personal history, traits, likes, and dislikes.

"I have a separate personality, an alter, Bezaliel. Bez." It's confirmation that I'm talking to Gabe now, and that he's the core identity.

Wait a minute. He asked me to call him Bez in bed last night. Too high on pleasure, I really hadn't thought much of it. Did I have sex with his alter last night? Is that why the first time he was so wild and dirty, and then in my bed he turned silent and although rough, more tame?

"We are very different from one another. Opposite. He used to come out anytime he perceived danger when I was a kid to defend me," he says matter-of-factly.

DID is usually the result of sexual or physical abuse during childhood. Sometimes it develops in response to traumatic events like…

"Did you develop it because of what those scientists did to you?"

"No. Those years made it progress, but it started way before. Having an abusive father who liked to beat me and my mother to a pulp gave life to Bez."

The disorder is a way to distance or detach from a trauma. "Fuck. Is your father still alive?" I ask, already creating a plan to kill the maggot.

He shakes his head, his lips twitching slightly. "Bez disemboweled him the first time he came out. I have no memory of it."

"How old were you?"

"Six. My mother took the fall and ended up in jail. Social services came to pick me up, but I never made it to a group home."

Because he was kidnapped.

"When Meg found me, Bez was in full control. She used psychotherapy and hypnotherapy to try to help me work through my past traumas, manage sudden behavioral changes, and merge my separate identities into a single one. The latter didn't happen." His hand lifts to delicately push away a wild curl from my forehead. I don't back away. I just keep staring into the deepness of his eyes. It's such a marked contrast to the cold, untouchable vibes he usually radiates. Could it be that his outer aloof appearance is an illusion he hides behind? He wards off people so he doesn't have to interact with them. Doesn't have to explain or act differently, not more than needed.

"And your mom?" I ask.

"She died in prison." His hand drops, and I miss the light brush of his fingers on my face. "It happened a long time ago." I nod, knowing very well that time only smooths the edges of a loss that big. It always remains with you. Together with the guilt.

Is that why he chooses donors who hurt women? Because of his past history?

"You said you had DID."

"I don't feel like having an alter is a mental disorder anymore. It's not distressing for me, but more affirming. I don't like labels, but multiplicity is now a word that fits better my selves. I found a balance within us thanks to Meg's therapy and Linda's support. It's called co-fronting. It's a specific type of co-consciousness. Bez and I switch without amnesia happening or dissociation in memory. We are both in control of the body at the same time to varying degrees. We try to give each other what we need and find compromises."

Wow. "So, he's listening right now." Gabe answers with a nod. "Do you talk to each other?"

"Yes. But Bez is not the talkative type."

He is when he shags me. "Then you have one thing in common," I joke.

"I've discovered we have more than one lately." His gaze turns intense all of a sudden. "You don't seem troubled by what I'm telling you."

I pout, placing my hands on my hips. "Did you expect me to run out of here screaming bloody murder?"

"In the past it made people uncomfortable, waiting for the freak show to start."

"So, you think I'm just like other people?" The thought annoys me greatly.

"Bez thinks you're a Little Wasp."

"So every time you called me that, it was him?"

He nods.

Finally some clarity. I smile at that, which seems to irritate Gabe. But his cold and hot behavior makes more sense now— their behavior.

"So, you're fine with it?" he asks.

"I don't know much about multiplicity. But I like to think I'm starting to know you, Gabe." My hands lift to rest on his pecs. "I'll learn to know Bez as well." I wink at him.

"Take off your shorts," he orders me abruptly. His look is molten heat as he slides his jacket off his wide shoulders and tosses it on the sofa.

"Excuse me?"

He rolls his sleeves and starts to unbutton his suit pants next. His dark gaze doesn't waver. "You heard me."

"I don't understand why you think I'd follow any of your commands like one of your minions." I scoff.

"Don't you want to be fucked?" He pushes down his black boxer briefs and wraps his fingers around his beautiful cock while sliding a pack of lube from his pocket.

Yes, I do, so fucking much!

Gritting my teeth, I swallow, hypnotized by the way he opens the pack with his teeth and then pours the lube all over his length.

Oh, sod it! I hate to yield so bloody easily, but I can't resist him. I yank my shorts down and off, leaving my jockstrap and platforms on. As I start to turn around, he grabs my hip and pushes me until my back is against the wall. His hand slides slowly down, his mouth an inch from mine, breathing on my cheek. His palm reaches my arse, giving it a hard squeeze that makes me gasp, and my lips part. Then he lifts my leg and opens it wide to the side.

My arms wrap around his neck. "You like how flexible I am, don't you?" I whisper temptingly, giving his upper lip a quick lick.

A low growl comes out of him, his voice turns raspier. "I like more the sound of fucking you raw." Two slick fingers brush lightly against my pucker before pushing all the way in, making me moan.

His gruff dirty words… "B-Bez?"

"Yes. It's me."

"Where did Gabe go?" Fuck, why do I like this so much?

"I'm here." The fingers inside start a scissoring move, and I whimper, loving every second of this.

"It's Gabe's turn now, Little Wasp," Bez lets me know as another digit slides inside me, and the rough finger-fuck forces pre-cum out of my tip.

"Turn?" I ask. Does it mean he'll have his later?

"You're mine now." Gabe is back, whispering in my ear as he pulls out those magic fingers and pushes his cock all the way in. The air leaves my lungs, and my body arches, welcoming his shaft even deeper.

There's no more talking as he fucks into me furiously. Gabe wraps one big hand around the back of my head, tugging it back hard, tangling his long fingers in my hair, and forcing me to look into his eyes. He's staring at me with so much fervor, it takes my breath away. His arm under my knee pushes my leg wider as he keeps pistoning inside of me.

His long cock reaches even deeper in this position, hitting my prostate repeatedly. I keep moaning like the eager cock taker I am, and I don't care if they can hear me outside the office. I like the idea of people knowing what we are doing. What the boss is doing to me. How little control he has around me.

I'm consumed, utterly consumed by him. I've turned into such a slut. I've always liked sex. Just never at this bloody level.

Grunts escape his lips as his gaze flickers from my mouth to my eyes, dropping to my mouth again as his chest rises and falls visibly.

He grips my jaw. "These lips…"

I nod in invitation, and his mouth meets mine with the same unwavering confidence he has in everything he does. His lips are firm and demanding. Warm. In total control. Until I open mine and fight back. My tongue pushes in to taste him, and I get lost as he groans with satisfaction.

His hand lowers to my jockstrap and pulls, hard. I hear a tearing sound, and then as he shifts, his abs start rubbing my bare cock with every fast drive of his hips.

My eyes cross as Gabe becomes the center of my universe.

I find myself eager to please him and obey him as I surrender to the kiss and he swallows all my screams.

A fire ignites deep down where I'm wanting and longing. Every bit of emptiness I feel is eradicated by the long, warm cock inside my channel. By the bruising grip on my hair and my leg. By the commanding tongue in my mouth.

When he breaks the kiss, my head falls back against the wall, but his hand cushions the hit. I feel dizzy and short of breath.

I'm so close. "You feel so good inside me," I whisper in his ear, sucking his lobe and then nipping his neck.

"Yes," he groans, pushing my mouth more firmly against his already marked skin as he tilts his head to the side to give me more access.

The bucking sound of his hips slapping between my thighs, his balls smacking against my arse, my back hitting the wall as he rams into me on overdrive, it's so damn obscene and filthy. It's the most arousing sound.

His hand slides down once again, wrapping around my desperate cock, and a full-body tremor takes hold of me just before my climax hits. It feels like a volcano erupting, hot lava works from my balls out of my dick, and I bite hard on his shoulder, moaning all my bliss. He fucks me through it, chasing his own release. It comes pretty soon. He lets out a toe-curling grunt and spills hot cum from his jerking cock inside of me as I'm still trembling in his arms.

"Christ!" he moans. Exactly.

My breathing is chopped. My climax has made me weak in the knees. Gabe grabs both my thighs and lifts me in the air, keeping his dick tucked inside me. The movement pushes him deeper, and I whimper, felling more cum dripping down.

He places me on his desk, his fingers in my hair, scratching my scalp. How can having my curls fondled feel so good?

My lips are brushing against his neck, nose nuzzling, inhaling my favorite scents: Gabe and sex. Don't know how long we stay like this, maybe only a few minutes. He slowly pulls back, cock still hard and slick. Eyes on my leaking hole. I feel his cum dripping out, but I don't move to clean myself. I can't.

Gabe is sucking his fingers. He's tasting me, and judging by his blown pupils, he bloody likes it.

"My time." The deep growl is followed by a devilish smirk, and I know it's Bez now in front of me.

"What a fucking vision!" His gaze is on my dripping hole. "It makes me…hungry."

He slowly kneels in front of me, and now I'm the one with the best vision. Gabe—Bez at my feet, ready to devour me. Fingers crossed.

"Thanks for this." I pull on the torn red jockstrap hanging from my hip. It was one of those new ones I found in the dresser drawer.

"I had nothing to do with that. Need to thank Gabe." Really? So, Bez is not the caring type. Got it.

He raises my left foot. "So fucking sexy. Will fuck you in these shoes next time."

"You'll fuck me three times, then. I have them in red and green, as well."

He groans, and I smile at him as he places a kiss on my ankle. Then gasp and moan loudly as he licks from my calf to my thigh, his hot tongue slowly sliding upward cleaning up all the jizz he encounters with his gaze firmly on mine. He gives the same treatment to my right leg, and when he reaches my hole, he unceremoniously widens my legs as open as they can go to give me the best rimming of my life.

His tongue spears my pucker, sucking, twisting, licking me clean. I can feel how much he's enjoying it, eating me with such greed, tasting his cum rolling out of me. My cock starts hardening again under his assault.

A tendril of desire shoots up my channel, making me shake. It feels too fucking good. When he moves and sucks on my balls, I fall back on the desk and arch toward the ceiling. My green nails find their way into his hair, and I'm making the sluttiest noises I've ever uttered.

He swallows my dick in his hot mouth next, and only the need to look at him with my cock between his lips stops my orgasm. It's torture but so bloody worth it as I push my heavy head up and gaze at him.

His blazing gray eyes are on my face while he sucks me with all he's got, dragging the head of my cock back and forth over his tongue. My fingers take hold of his locks, and I start guiding him up and down, loving the dirty bobbing of his head, the filthy slurping sounds he makes. He takes me perfectly inside his hot-as-hell cavern.

He suddenly shoves three fingers inside my gaping hole as his other hand fondles my balls, and I see stars. My hips buck a couple of times, going deeper inside his throat before I come. Currents of pleasure rush up and down my body as I shake all over, lost in my ecstasy.

Bez doesn't pull back until the last drop. Then he stands up, pulls me into a sitting position and opens his mouth, showing me my cum still on his tongue. He lets some drip on his hand and wraps it around his cock, then he grabs my cheeks and forces my lips apart as he spits the rest inside my mouth. "Taste yourself, you're fucking delicious, Little Wasp."

I swallow and smile. He's so filthy. So unrestrained.while Gabe fucks me all demanding and full of vigor. Can't decide who I like more.

Bez's hand starts moving on his length. I swallow, and he growls before his tongue pries my mouth open. I've never had my mouth so thoroughly explored before. He licks and sucks and nips every part, inside and out. Like a possessive beast. Everything goes hazy until he pulls back to beat himself off. His eyes move over me like searing flames, the desire present inside them is breathtaking.

"This ass is so fucking needy. Needy for cock." The fingers inside me become four, stretching me until it stings. But every time they pull out, I follow them, wanting them back in. "Keep riding them, open up that tight hole. Want to slide in there without prep one day. You'll be always ready and gaping for me."

Fuck, that's hot. "Keep talking," I tell him, batting his hand away from his dick as I spit on both of mine and start jerking him off, imitating the tempo he was following. He feels so hard and smooth under my fingers. So…mine.

The thought puzzles me for a second, but then Bez's dirty talk starts again. "You like it? When I tell you filthy things as I own your ass?"

I moan. My dick is spent, enjoying its orgasmic coma, but I feel tingles all over my body every time he opens those sexy lips.

"Pump those soft hands faster. Just like that. Mmmm. Those fucking lips, been wanting to fuck them since the first time you pouted at me. Gonna stretch them good and make them puffy every day, right here on this desk so everybody will know whose cocksucker you are. You'll learn to give head like a damn porn star, you'll follow my directions and suck me dry."

Oh, Lord, help me. Why am I not telling him to sod off? Because I want to do all that.

"This will be one of your daily duties. Sucking your boss's cock and filling your belly with cum. Keeping it there while you're walking around the office."

I whimper, biting my lower lip. I twist my hand on the tip as the other keeps pumping the length. "Your cockhead is bigger, love it when it breaches my hole. Ahhh," I scream as Bez pulls back, making my hands drop, and removes his fingers from inside me to fill me up with his cock once again.

"Tight and wet, just how I like it." He grabs the edge of the desk and starts rutting into me.

"Listen to how heavy you made my balls. They are slapping your ass just as they will slap your chin every time I fuck inside your mouth. Want you to drain them. Do you want that?"

I nod and squeeze my walls. With a snarl, Bez shoots deep inside me, and I smirk smugly, very proud of my contracting skills.

"Fuck, yes. Take all my load. Such a good cum taker. Milk it." He groans as he keeps filling me.

"Squeeze those ass cheeks and keep it inside," he tells me when he pulls out.

"I'm not a magician. What goes in, has to come out," I retort, finding some of my spunk back.

His hand is suddenly around my throat, and his gruff voice sounds threatening. "Let someone else touch you, and he's dead."

"What if I don't let you touch me either?" I glower at him because I can be submissive while fucking with him, but I'm no submissive in life.

I expect a smug reply since I let him do whatever he wanted to me before. Instead, his grip loosens until his hand shifts to my cheek, and he moves back a little.

"It would be hell not feeling this smooth skin under my fingers, your lips sucking mine, your hole opening around my cock."

Ha…Fuck.

His hands on my face and on my thigh burn. I can't move my eyes from his. He has me in a thrall. I get lost in those silver orbs. My lips find his palm where the small cuts from the broken glass are almost healed, and then over his wrist to the number five that those sadistic scientists burned into his skin.

"Say my name," he whispers darkly.

"G—Bez."

He smirks, and then he kisses me—omph—so deep and passionate, I don't know whose air I'm breathing. Am I breathing? What the fuck is this?

Our mouths part, but my endorphin-saturated brain needs several seconds before turning back on. I become aware of a noise, a rustling sound. He's fixing his clothes, pulling down his sleeves, and zipping up his pants.

I slide down the desk, get rid of my ruined jockstrap, tossing it into the wastebasket, and go pick up my shorts from the floor. My fingers itch to reach out to him, the gut-deep craving I have for him is worrisome. It got worse after he confessed to me about his multiplicity. But I'm not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole, or him at the moment.

The poised way he holds himself now, with such grace and solemnity, indicates that Gabe is back. Bez looks more at ease in his skin, confident and predatory. I can recall more differences now, if I think about it.

Wanting to fuck with him a bit, I bend down to retrieve the files and pens we dropped from the desk to the floor, being sure to put on display my cum-covered, amazingly shaped tushy. The air turns still, and when I look back to check on him, keeping my obscene position, his eyes are laser-focused on my arse.

"Be ready at five," Gabe says hoarsely. He takes a step toward me, but then stops and clinches his beautifully-shaped hands. So stubborn. So controlled. So damn sexy.

I straighten up.

"For?" I ask, sashaying my way to his private, giant bathroom to clean myself. I'm never going to use the floor restroom again.

"We need to do some shopping."

I turn off the water and dry my hands. The shorts are back on when his words register. "Shopping?" I stop checking my makeup in the huge mirror, baffled by his response. He already bought me loads of stuff.

"Don't like to repeat myself," he says haughtily. When I leave the bathroom, he's finishing fixing his desk.

"Why? It's fun. You are an arse, Gabe. You're an arse, Gabe. You're an arse, Gabe. See?"

His head snaps my way, and with two strides, he's on me. His hand grabs my nape, pulling me on my tiptoes, and his mouth forces a dominating kiss on mine. It's rough, and so fast, I have no time to enjoy it fully or to give him hell—with my lips and teeth.

"Be ready." His voice is warm on my lips and filled with command, it starts a shiver down my spine. My sleeping cock is dead to the world, though.

"Like bloody Pretty Woman," I comment sassily. He raises a brow at me and then sits behind his desk.

"You still didn't tell me the reason of my transfer." I anchor my platformed feet on the floor, parting my legs slightly and crossing my arms on my chest, telling him with my eyes that I won't leave unless I get an answer.

He laces his hands under his chin, elbows on the desk. "I followed your cases while you were away. You did an excellent job helping the associates. All the clients were very satisfied by the consideration and time you granted them. The pro bono cases you took on were tricky, especially the break-in in that nursing home. But you found a way. I'm impressed."

His praise leaves me once again speechless, which annoys me to no end. Is he a vampire feeding on my cognitive communication? With every kiss, he sucks some of my sassiness away.

"That's why I decided to let you work directly with me." And keep me in line. His choice of wording surprises me once again though. He said working with him not for him.

"You'll choose the pro bono cases and have carte blanche unless you need me, and also help me with the rest of the cases. You'll leave two hours earlier to go back home and study for your law degree. I could put a good word in with the dean at the Chicago-Kent College of Law."

I don't particularly like assisting my arse off for most of the associates, the pompous, arrogant pricks. Would it be different with Gabe?

"I…" I clear my throat, trying to understand once again what his motivation is. Nothing in life is free. "Are you doing this because we're having sex?"

"Do you really think that little of me?"

I shake my head, and with a smirk, I say, "Nothing is little about you, Mr. Reed."

That little twitch is back on his lips, but no smile appears.

Working with the notoriously renowned Gabriel Reed would be a coveted experience to add to my resume. He's sort of a legend in the legal circles, rarely loses a case. I can learn a lot from him—not that I'd ever admit it to his face—while enjoying a hard dicking from Bez or Gabe. Or both.

"That's a very generous offer, and I accept the work part, although I foresee blazing battles and flying objects." The prospect of angry sex, though, is a mega bonus. "But I won't accept favoritism. My online classes are fine for now." I started them at a leisurely pace after Ollie went back to university a few months back. Seeing how excited he was reminded me how much I enjoyed my courses before Gran got sick.

Gabe nods way too easily. Fake compliance is my thing! I abhor it unless I'm the one executing it. But I'm intrigued by the battle of wits we'll engage in. I want to see what strategy he's going to use to try to make me do what he wants.

Challenge accepted.

"Okay. I accept your…offer," I state, hoping my wording will remind him that this is my choice.

He nods and turns to his computer. I'm not irritated by it. I'm still floating on my post-orgasmic cloud.

Guess it's time to go. The little devil on my shoulder pushes me to go and sit on his lap, to disturb him a little more. But I have a new office to convert into my own fabulous pied-à-terre.

Warmth blossoms over my chest at the thought of spending more time with Gabe and Bez in the office. Ollie has turned me into such a mushy idiot.

A bubble of excited laughter threatens to burst out as I make it to my office, and my heart is still beating a funny rhythm by the time I close the door behind me. I look around and release a satisfied sigh. I got thoroughly fucked, and now I have a large office on the top floor of one of the most prestigious law firms in Chicago. This is the farthest thing from fresh hell that I've ever seen.

A new shiny laptop stands out on the white modern desk. My pink ergonomic chair feels great against my abused butt. I pull it closer to the desk and fire the laptop up. Then I type DID and multiplicity in the search browser.

There's a lot of information, mostly from psychiatrists and therapy centers. I click on a blog created by people with both conditions. There's also the point of view of their loved ones.

I get lost in it, and only later, I realize how invested I already am in this pseudo relationship.