14. Drake
CHAPTER 14
Drake
Mimosa is asleep on the bed when I go back to her, hours later. The dress has ridden up on her body, exposing her ass and the teeny tiny panties I’d made her wear.
The party has wound down, and only a handful of people remain.
Those are the ones I personally selected, the ones I know I can trust.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I got the distinct feeling that some of them were just there to get gossip to spread around.
I probably should’ve limited some of what was available , but I can’t control what my guests do when I’m busy with other people.
Like doing lines of coke I definitely missed out on.
I pop one of the pills Patrick gave me, frowning as I see that I’m almost out. Again. Fuck. I’m going to need more in the next few days, even though this should’ve lasted me the full vacation time.
It’s just so fucking hard to function without them. Every little thing gets to me, setting me on edge or ruining my mood. With them, I can at least cope.
For a little while, anyway.
When I’m done, I go back to Mimosa, sliding my hand over her ass. I’m tempted to grope her pussy, too, and I don’t know why I refrain from doing it. “Time to wake up,” I murmur to her, reaching up to stroke her now-tousled hair .
Mimosa startles awake and pulls her legs up. She looks around the room, her eyes finally settling on me.
“Is the party over?” she asks, slowly sitting up.
“Nope,” I say, watching her closely. “It’s time for the afterparty.” My smile turns vulpine as I regard her. “That’s where the fun really happens, when there are no socialites and bitch associates from work. Ready?” I hold my hand out to her to help her off the bed.
She takes my hand, like she isn’t worried about what’s about to happen.
She has to know, right? I’d made it clear what kind of fun I expect at the afterparty.
Once standing, she lets go of my hand immediately to straighten out her dress. It doesn’t cover that much more, which is why I’d chosen it in the first place. There’s nothing sexier than a dress that just barely conceals things.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Mimosa asks in her usual deadpan.
I shrug. “It was okay.” Usually, I enjoy parties a lot more than I did tonight. There’s something about people scrambling for my attention — my praise, my presence — that just makes me feel good in a way even the drugs can’t touch sometimes. But all I’d been able to think about was Mimosa, and Chase’s behavior, and the reminders that I’m spiraling down. “Did you?”
Like I don’t already know the answer to that particular question.
Either way, she’s going to hate the afterparty more.
“It was interesting,” Mimosa says as I lead us out. “I got to know a little about the kinds of people you associate with.”
I don’t know what to make of that. Those were just people I interact with on a fairly regular basis at these events. The few people who are still remaining are the closest I have to an inner circle now that Chase and Hunter have started to snub me.
I try not to think about that, though. Instead, I take Mimosa’s hand and lead her back into the living room, trying to ignore the possessiveness nagging at me at the idea of what I’m about to do.
Patrick is the first to stand up and greet us, his eyes raking over Mimosa’s body. “Nice,” he says by way of greeting.
For some reason, it raises my hackles .
Mine , I want to say. And she is, but I promised to share. I’m not going to be some chump who falls for a fucking sex slave, even if she is attractive, and intelligent, and…
Nope.
Not going there.
“Patrick, this is Mimosa,” I say, realizing I never introduced them the other night. I only called her Mimi tonight because it sounds more natural, but if he’s going to be here — and inside of her — he might as well know what she really is.
A whore named Mimosa.
“Hi, Mimi,” Patrick says, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Love the dress.”
Mimi.
He doesn’t get to call her Mimi. Not to her face. I scowl at him, but I don’t correct him because what the fuck? Why do I care?
“Hi, Patrick,” she echoes back. She doesn’t even flinch at his touch.
I do. I bristle because I can’t help it.
It’s like the night at the maze, when I’d known other men would be touching her and everything in me had been screaming not to go through with it.
But I am not like that.
I’m not selfish like Hunter and Chase.
“You can touch her,” I offer, even though it’s the last thing I want.
The two other men who have lingered behind have their eyes on this scene, anticipating when they’ll get to have a turn with her.
I’d promised them. I can’t go back on my word now.
So why am I being such a possessive piece of shit?
Mimosa looks around the room, her brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, I see.”
Patrick chuckles. “What do you see, girl?”
She steps away from him and into the center of the room, so she’s now facing all of us. “It’s that kind of afterparty. Okay. Who would you like me to service first, Drake?”
It’s not like she’s never used my name before. She has. Sometimes mockingly — mostly mockingly, really — but she’s wielding it like a weapon right now. It’s gotten personal, and I don’t even know when the shift occurred.
“Me,” Patrick says before I can utter a word. “You already told me I could have her first. I don’t want some guy’s sloppy seconds.”
“It wouldn’t be sloppy anyway,” I retort. “You’d be wearing a condom.”
If I let them, and… I’m not so sure I want to.
Fuck.
I am so, so screwed.
Mimosa looks me in the eyes, and it feels like she’s seeing deep inside me. How the fuck does she do that? She isn’t that special. She can’t read my mind.
“All right,” Mimosa says, taking a step closer to Patrick. “How would you like me? On my knees? Bent over the sofa?” She glances at the other two. “I could probably suck somebody at the same time.”
I snarl at the thought before I can catch myself. Patrick is bad enough. Introducing someone else to the equation…
“Forget it,” I snap at the other two. “You two can leave.”
Vincent, who’d begun to move closer in anticipation, pauses and stares at me. “What?” He sounds baffled. “We haven’t even gotten to the main event yet.”
“That’s why we came here, Drake,” Marshall says bluntly. “Do you think we really came to sit around and watch everyone else go off to get laid?”
My vision whites out, and my hands clench into fists. Those words hurt . “Yeah, I thought you came because you enjoyed my parties,” I say, staring him down. “And if you don’t like them when I don’t share my bitch, you can just fuck off.”
Vincent makes a frustrated sound. “Fuck off, Brutal. We can party anywhere. We like your after parties.”
Mimosa gets between me and Vincent, and she peers up at me. “I don’t mind, Drake. It’s just a blowjob, after all.”
I know she’s fucking lying now, but I can’t help the way I flush hot with anger.
“Well, if he wants to get laid so bad, he can go pay for some bimbo. I hear Club Ruby’s and The Web have great deals late at night,” I say, grabbing Mimosa’s wrist and yanking her back so she’s partially behind me.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Marshall asks. “You always share.”
What the fuck is my problem?
He’s right. I’m never greedy with whoever I have on hand.
Why am I sacrificing everything to keep Mimosa to myself?
“I’m not in the mood,” I say. “Maybe next time.”
Patrick glares at me. “Seriously, dude? You’re the one who suggested this afterparty.”
He’s the one I’m most worried about. He knows how I feel about Chase and Hunter falling for their cunts like pathetic sons of bitches.
But I’m not falling for Mimosa. I don’t give a shit about her.
It’s just that she’s mine, like a boat or a plane.
Except I’d share a boat or a plane.
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” I tell him. “Do you have a problem with that?”
There’s a long silence, one where it looks like Patrick might actually lash out at me. He looks past me at Mimosa, his eyes narrowing.
“Whatever,” Patrick mumbles. “She’s not even that hot. I fucked a hotter girl in the pool earlier.”
“So why are you being a little bitch about this?” I hiss.
Marshall and Vincent must’ve gotten the hint — finally — because they head to the foyer to wait for the elevator.
“I’m not the one being a little bitch,” Patrick counters. He starts for the foyer, but he stops to look over his shoulder at me. “Have fun finding a new supplier though. I’m cutting back on your party favors.”
“You’re doing what ?” I demand, stalking toward him as rage starts to creep inside of me. “I pay for that shit! You’re gonna cut me off because I won’t let you fuck a bitch once , when I always let you have them for fucking free?”
Patrick shrugs and keeps walking. “I was planning to either way. I can’t do that shit forever.”
“Patrick—” I start, but he joins Vincent and Marshall in the elevator without another word to me. The door closes quietly behind them, and I stare, dumbfounded, before my attention snaps back to Mimosa. “ You,” I say furiously, crossing the room back to her. “This is all your fucking fault, you goddamn whore.”
Mimosa’s eyebrows go up. “My fault? I said I would do whatever they wanted.”
“You don’t get to lead my friends on,” I say, grabbing her by her upper arms and squeezing tight. “Make them think you’re into them.”
“Oh, you wanted to make it look like they were raping me?” she says casually. She glances at my hand on her arm. “You’ll have to be more specific next time.”
“There won’t be a next time!” I bellow at her, squeezing her arms more tightly. “Fuck!” I shove her back, releasing her, then go to the sofa with harsh, angry steps. “Come here.” I point at the floor in front of me. “Take me out. Get me hard.”
Mimosa kneels easily, placing her hands on my thighs and looking up at me like she actually wants to be there. She unzips me and slowly pulls my cock out, which normally would have been hard by now.
Mimosa strokes me gently and blows softly over the sensitive skin. “What will you do for fun now? Since parties are out.”
I stare down at her, and for a moment, I’m at a loss — and it’s not because of her mouth near my cock. “I keep thinking about buying jet skis,” I say. “Maybe flying to Paris. I hear it’s great this time of year.”
I really have no clue if Paris is great this time of year, but getting away suddenly sounds really appealing.
“Can you afford to take that much time off work?” Mimosa asks. She follows that up by licking along the length of my shaft, and I buck forward involuntarily.
“I still…” I grunt. “I still have a week of vacation left.” And I need to do something with it. I can’t just sit around at home and do nothing. As much fun as it is to play with Mimosa, I can already feel the impatience of having nothing new to do settling in.
Mimosa nods, going back to expertly stroking my cock. Because she is an expert, I guess. She used to do this to hundreds of men.
That thought should have been hot.
It isn’t.
I start to get hard anyway, and as soon as I’m remotely erect, I tell her, “Take off your panties. Climb on and ride me.” I wish I was more excited about fucking her.
Maybe it’s her.
Maybe I’ve just gotten bored of her.
I don’t think that’s it, though. It feels like she’s gotten in my head.
She stands, the dress riding up as she does, and removes the panties. She drops them on the couch next to me before straddling my hips.
“Do you want me to say something nice?” she asks as she lines herself up.
“It would be a lie,” I say darkly. “So why the fuck would you bother?”
I stare at her face, and for a moment, I wish there was something nice she could say, something to make me feel better that wasn’t a sycophantic lie.
I wish she liked me.
Isn’t that a fucking joke?
“I thought it was funny that you didn’t pretend to know Felicia Fenway,” she says with a slight smile. “That’s true.”
“Yeah?” My heart is racing, and it’s in this moment that I realize I am well and truly fucked — because I like the smile on her lips. I want to see it as much as I want to see her cry. “It was fucking hilarious seeing her reaction.”
“I don’t think we should make a habit of being cruel,” Mimosa says, sinking down onto my cock. “But she was a bit of a bitch to me first.”
I groan at the feeling of the tight grip of her cunt around my cock, closing my eyes for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I’m usually friendlier to them. Especially the women. I—” I cut myself off, grabbing her hair and urging her closer so I can kiss her instead of saying that I’m really, truly fucking confused.
She rides me easily, clenching around my cock as we kiss. When she gasps, I drive my tongue into her mouth and pull her closer.
Why isn’t she upset? Why is she acting so fucking nice, even though I was about to whore her out to a bunch of men?
I play with her nipples, making her moan and squeeze tighter.
It’s enough to distract me just a little, and I fuck into her harder, faster, as I keep her held there in front of me .
But as I get closer to coming, that insidious little whisper starts up in the back of my mind, reminding me that I’m not acting like myself… and it’s all Mimosa’s fault.
I reach between us and press my fingers against her clit. She gasps again, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.
I stare, drinking in that expression. I shouldn’t care if she’s enjoying it. I shouldn’t want her to enjoy it. This was what brought Chase and Hunter down.
This is what’s going to bring me down, too.
It doesn’t matter, though. I’m too close to climax now, and even the thought can’t stop the pleasure from ratcheting up until I’m spilling inside of her. I keep playing with her clit, wanting to feel her get off on me.
She’s fairly quiet still, but I listen for all her soft gasps and hitches of her breath. Her eyelids flutter, and she tightens even more around me. She has to be close.
“Come on,” I whisper, kissing along her jaw. “I want to feel you come.”
Mimosa laughs softly. “Better work harder, then.”
The laugh goes straight to my cock, and it starts to stir despite just having come. I don’t know why. I don’t fucking understand it. But I keep kissing and nipping along her jawline, to her ear, while my fingers circle her clit. “Tell me where,” I tell her raggedly. It’s fine if I’m telling her what to do, right? It’s not really like she’s ordering me around.
“More pressure,” she says. She squeezes my shoulder and lowers her hips again.
My cock is oversensitive, and I’d have pulled any other woman off me already—but stopping here isn’t an option.
I give her what she wants, pressing down harder, circling more insistently. I just want to feel her clench around me, to give me something in exchange for all of this fucking confusion and downright misery that’s putting such a buzzkill on my pleasure these days.
She makes a new sound, more desperate, and her mouth parts. I feel her inner walls ripple around me. A sense of triumph floods into me, especially when she slumps forward against me.
I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close, and fight the pleasure-pain of her release around me. I’m so oversensitive now, but I like this. I like her on top of me, wrung out because of what I did, even though it wasn’t from pain.
For a long moment, I sit there in silence. I don’t know what to say now any more than I have before, and I wait to see if she’ll say anything.
Mimosa slowly sits up. Her bright orange hair is clinging to her sweat-stained face. Her makeup has smeared. I left red marks all over her neck.
She’s fucking beautiful.
“We’re going on a trip tomorrow,” I blurt out. “To the shore.”
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Okay,” she says.
No smile, no hint of what she thinks of that.
It threatens my mood, and I almost snap to take it back. Instead, I swallow down my anger and nod. “Okay,” I echo. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and get to bed.”
Because I can’t stay awake and deal with this much longer.