Chapter 11 Vincent
Vincent
One last night in the penthouse hotel room before I fly back home. And if my watch is correct, a plane just took off from La Guardia headed to California, taking my Hazel away from me.
Gone. Like everyone else. Nothing left but the dying embers, the last evidence left of a relationship set ablaze by my mistakes.
I should just be grateful she’s alive. That she wasn’t harmed more than she was. But this gratitude can only carry me so far. The loss of Hazel - the final loss, without a hypothetical future to bolster my hopes - gnaws at my stomach and sits heavily on my chest at night, keeping me from sleep.
I’m sitting beneath that weight when I hear a knock at my door. Climbing out of bed, I take my gun from the dresser and hold it in my right hand, opening the door with my left.
It’s not the enemy, though. It’s Hazel.
“Hi,” she breathes.
“Hi,” I reply.
“I want to come in,” she says.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I swing the door open and then close it behind her, locking the deadbolt before resting the gun back on the dresser. Hazel eyes it warily, then looks at me.
“Expecting someone else?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “Damien. We’ve got word that he survived the bullet wound. Tell your friend Kristen she needs more moving target practice.”
“I’ll let her know,” she says dryly. “So what does this mean? We’re right back where we started? Your old friend thinks you killed your other old friend, and therefore he wants to kill you and everyone you love?”
“Maybe,” I reply. “It depends on whether he believes me. If I were him, I wouldn’t. I’d want proof.”
I come closer to her, unable to resist the impulse to get as close to her as possible. I need to feel her skin, need to run her silky hair between my fingers. I take a shot, expecting her to recoil and step out of reach.
She doesn’t.
“So this Damien guy is still out there,” she says slowly as I pull her closer. “And he probably still hates your guts. Which means you’re in danger, and I’m in danger by association.”
“Correct,” I reply.
I gather her hair in my hand, a makeshift ponytail, and tilt her head back so that she’s looking up to the ceiling, her throat exposed.
“Are your security people stalking me already?” she asks in a raspy voice, gasping a little when I dip my head to drag my lips up and down the length of her neck, from the soft place beneath her ear to the delicate curve of her collarbone
“Yes,” I say against her skin. “In fact, they’re already stationed outside your apartment in California. Better people. Not the idiots fooled by a decoy.”
“Jesus Christ,” she breathes, and it makes me smile. “Stalked by security before I even get home. That’s insane.”
“It gets worse,” I say. “We’re tracking your cell phone and bank card.”
“That’s a gross invasion of my privacy,” she says.
“Then you’re going to hate what I have to say next.”
“Don’t tell me. You planted a tracking chip in my body while I was asleep.”
“Sadly, no,” I say, bringing my lips up to meet hers. Taking in her juicy mouth, the sweet taste of her tongue against mine.
She sags against me, hands holding onto my arms as she leans in and collapses against me. The sweet surrender that I used to savor so much, the feeling of having a strong woman submit herself to my touch.
“I bought your apartment complex,” I say when I pull out of the kiss, my hands on her hips, directing her to the bed.
“Please say you’re joking.”
“Sorry,” I grin, pushing her back against the pillows before climbing over her.
I don’t know why Hazel is allowing this, why she came here tonight. All I know is that I’m going to take what she’s willing to give, knowing she might not be willing to give it again after this night.
“And the purpose of buying my apartment complex is?”
“Security cameras,” I explain. “I mean, my team hacked into them months ago. But it’s just easier this way.”
Hazel groans as I reach the buttons on her blouse, fingers working quickly to reveal inch after inch of soft skin.
“We’re installing a security gate,” I continue. “Implementing ID badges. Rennovating the top floor.”
“Huh?”
“Merging all the units on the top floor into one,” I reply. “I need more space if I’m going to be moving in.”
Hazel pulls out of my kiss and stares at me.
“Really?”
I can’t tell why she’s asking. Whether she’s angry or happy. It almost seems as though she’s both at the same time.
“Really,” I say. “Hazel I tried protecting you from Damien by staying away. I thought he’d leave you alone if he thought we were broken up.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because he knows me,” I reply. “He’s known me since we were boys and he saw the way I was with you. He’s not stupid. He knew I loved you, even if I didn’t know it yet.”
Her eyes search mine, body hot against me.
“You love me?”
“I love you. And Hazel, I promise you that I’m going to make sure -”
“Shut up and fuck me already,” Hazel says, wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me so that my hard cock is pressed against her core, separated only by my boxers and her jeans, layers that I quickly shed for the both of us, impatient to be inside of her.
Hazel
Being beneath him just feels right. I open my legs and accept him easily, surrendering to his powerful body as it pushes me harder and deeper into the mattress.
The light is dim and familiar. This is the same place we made love before, only now it’s different. Because now he’s said those three little words I longed to hear from him so long ago.
Our bodies remember one another well. My nipples harden at his rough touch, pads of his thumbs brushing over the pink buds as he slides his cock against my slit, using my own wetness as lubricant to stroke his length over my clitoris with agonizing slowness.
I buck my hips against him and pull him closer to me with my legs wrapped around him, needy and impatient.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers against my lips. “My little slut. Always so ready for me.”
“Only you,” I moan.
“It better be,” he says. “I’ll kill any other man who touches you.”
“It’s only you,” I whisper, glad he can’t tell how my cheeks are burning in the darkness. “Ive missed you. I couldn’t be with anyone else while we were apart. I couldn’t bear it. You were never nothing to me, Vincent. You were everything. Always everything.”
“Fuck!” Vincent groans, pulling off of me and sliding lower on the mattress so that his face is inches above my mound. “Open your legs for me. I want to taste your sweet pussy.”
I part them, but not wide enough for his liking.
He pushes my inner thighs apart with force, opening me up so that everything is bared beneath him.
And then he dips his head and I close my eyes as I feel his tongue against the place where his cock had been just seconds before.
He strokes my thighs as he licks me up and down and then in circular motions around my clit as his hands reach beneath me, cupping my ass and squeezing.
He groans as if it’s him receiving the pleasure and not me, as though he can’t get enough of my taste. I writhe beneath him but am still held in place by his hands, his body.
My hips begin to buck as the tension climbs higher, heat pooling between my legs, my arousal dripping down my ass and into his hands.
And then suddenly he sucks lightly on the small bundle of nerves, his tongue fluttering over it at the same time, and I topple over the peak, wave after wave of ecstasy going through my body, exhausting me, draining me.
He sucks until it’s all gone, until it’s over, or until I’m falling limp against the mattress, uttering nonsense words as my body shudders around him.
He crouches above me now, aligning the head of his thick cock with my opening.
“Fuck me like you own me,” I say to him, recalling how I told him the night that I came to his door that I’m not his property.
I was right and wrong at the same time.
Right because I don’t belong to anyone. Not him or anyone else.
Wrong because even though he can’t claim control over me, I can give it away willingly and temporarily to this man who makes me feel owned, claimed, as though I were made for him.
Vincent’s eyes go smoky at my words. He pulls back, sitting up and pulling me to sit up as well.
“Sit on my cock, facing me,” he orders, guiding my hips as I position myself over him. “I want to watch your gorgeous tits bounce while you ride me.”
I do as he says, and he takes greedy handfuls of my breasts, squeezing and playing with them as I ride his cock.
It feels so good that I have to close my eyes, can feel another orgasm climbing high in my body.
I can feel every inch of his length entering me, so thick and long that nearly hurts, reaching that place inside of me that makes everything tingle and ache at the same time.
I’m about to come again for a second time when he shifts me, directing me off of him. His hands grip my hips and he turns me over roughly, his hand on my back pushing me down so that I’m flat on my stomach against the mattress.
He gathers my hair in his hand and holds me in place while he guides his cock between my thighs.
It slips inside of me easily despite the angle, the entry eased by how wet I am, how needy I am for him.
He feels different in this position, deeper, the tip of his cock colliding with my g-spot with every brutal thrust of his hips.
I moan against the sheets. He releases my hair only to slide his hand beneath my hips and find my clitoris, stroking it with his fingers and reigniting the building orgasm from before.
Now it feels raw, more intense and exposed.
I circle my hips against him, meeting his thrusts and his fingers at the same time.
His breathing is ragged and I recognize it as the familiar sound of Vincent approaching orgasm. His fingers quicken.
“I want to feel you come on my cock, Hazel,” he says in my ear, his voice rough. “Come on my cock like a good little slut and I’ll reward you by coming inside of you. Do you want that? Do you want my come deep inside of you?”
“Yes,” I cry, my fingers digging into the sheets.
His fingers stroke me faster, harder, matching the pace of his pistoning hips, fucking me hard enough to make the ornate headboard thud against the wall, punctuating his every merciless thrust inside of me.
“Is this fucking you like I own you?” he grunts in my ear as he slams into me harder. “Like your sweet little pussy belongs to me?”
“Oh god, yes,” I cry.
“You’re mine,” he says. “Come for me, Hazel. Come on my cock.”
At this last command, I release, bucking beneath him as my body closes around him, hugging him and milking him as he releases as well, warm liquid pumping upwards, deep inside of me.
We both collapse on the bed now in the afterglow of the best sex we’ve ever had, legs tangled together, his cock still partially inside of me because even while soft, it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.
“Say it again,” I say to him in a breathless whisper.
“Say what?”
“Tell me you love me.”
He smiles.
“I love you,” he says. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I close my eyes and smile too, happy beneath his weight, his scent, a part of him inside of me now.
“Now you say it again,” he says.
“I love you,” i reply.
“No. Not that,” he says. “Tell me you belong to me.”
“I belong to you, Vincent. I’m yours.”