Chapter 7
-Dylan Drake-
Jeezusholyfuckingchrist! What the shitting hell did I just do?
Why did I?
If there’s a rational explanation for this, then my mind can’t conjure it. Not yet. Not while she’s still a mere arm’s length from me.
My thoughts ought to be focused on the people we left behind, injured, bewildered, dazed by the attack. I should be of sombre mood right now, appalled by the actions of the bastards so determined to create misery.
And I am, only at a deeper level than would seem typical given the recency of the attack. Maybe I haven’t taken it fully on-board yet, or maybe it’s simply that my personal issues carry more weight.
Surreptitiously, I snatch a glance at Kira, not wanting her to be aware of my scrutiny. Immediately the shivery tingles start zapping around my body again.
That’s why.
That there instant reaction is why my world has severely tilted on its axis.
Something about this particular woman makes me horny, when no other woman in creation has ever elicited such a response from me.
Men—sure, there’ve been dozens upon dozens.
I don’t get what it is that makes her different.
Part of me insists I need to figure it out, the remainder advocates putting as much distance between us as possible and never thinking about her ever again.
Of course, trying not to think about her when she already has my head tied in knots, and she’s right across the seat from me is damned bleeding impossible.
“This is us.” Johns pulls up at the front of the hotel, rather than in the carpark where we started this journey. He gets out and opens up the door for me. “Good evening, sir,” he says as I pass him and head inside. Kira follows me as I trek straight past reception towards the bank of elevators.
“Wait up, Dylan. I need to check the security of your suite before you go marching up there. The attack at the gala dinner might not have been targeted directly at you, but that doesn’t change the fact there’s still some nutter out there who’d like to make you into a shish kabab.”
I don’t have the energy to argue with her, leastways, not over this particular point. The quickest way to get her out of my hair is to let her do her security check, then when she’s finished her box ticking exercise I can finally grab some peace.
The door to the suite has a brand new shiny lock and handle. Kira makes a quick circuit of the sitting area and bathroom before heading into my bedroom.
“I told you to wait in the hall,” she snaps when I follow her into the room. She gets on her knees to check under the bed. Her feet are bare. She kicked off her monstrously high-heeled shoes back in the stairwell of the variety hall.
“Nothing’s been disturbed. It’s all exactly as I left it.”
“That’s good to know, but it pays to be cautious.”
I should have learned by now, there’s no cajoling her.
She’ll do her job to her set standard, regardless of any actions I take.
As she goes about doing exactly that, it becomes increasingly evident from the way she pulls at things that she’s pissed at me.
We’d achieved something approximating a rapport for a little while over dinner, now she’s closed down and fallen back on the icy demeanour she presented at the start of the evening.
Fuck her. If one of us has a right to be pissed off, it should be me. I never asked for her to do what she did.
You didn’t stop her either.
You fucking loved every goddamned moment of it.
When did anyone ever jack you off in a way that felt even half that good?
She’s a bodyguard; she’s supposed to protect me, not provoke me. I grind my teeth when she sits on my bed and searches beneath the pillows. It’s too invasive. It’s hard enough dealing with the fact that I can feel her all over my body.
I strip off my jacket and tie, and chuck them over a chair. My watch follows; then cufflinks and shirt.
Kira returns to her feet and watches. “What are you doing?”
That’s been the question of the night.
Undressing so that I can shower her off my skin, that’s what. “Johns is waiting for you. You don’t want to keep him too long.”
She spears me with her frosty gaze. “That’s what Johns does. He waits.”
She opens up the closet and rifles through the contents. It’s perfectly apparent there’s no one hiding in there.
“Kira, you can go. I’m safe here. I’m not going to open the door to anyone.”
She continues to poke through my stuff.
“I’d really like you to leave now.”
“Is that so? Well, maybe I’m not ready to leave, Dylan. Maybe I think I ought to stick around until you’re prepared to acknowledge what happened between us in an adult fashion.”
“What is it you think happened?”
“We had a moment.”
“Yes, a moment. Singular. It’s not ever happening again, and therefore there’s nothing to discuss.
We were in a tense, edgy situation. People often do crazy things under those circumstances, act out of character and such like.
” I shush my id telling me that the situation had fuck all to do with anything, and if it were true, I wouldn’t be desperate to stick it to her now.
“You are full of bullshit, Dylan Drake. I’m not looking for a date with you, or a promise that we’ll see one another again. I just want you to acknowledge that what happened did actually happen, and there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.”
“Did I say there was?”
“Your actions are spelling it out loud and clear. You’re going to try and bury me like some sordid little secret. Oh my God! Dylan Drake got off with a woman, watch out the world’s going to come to a grinding halt and the planet will fall apart.”
That’s not my intention or what I think at all.
Well, it is and it isn’t.
Truth is; I’d like a do-over for tonight. Let’s wipe the slate and do everything differently. Maybe I’ll change my mind about attending the dinner altogether, and stay here all night having fun with Oscar.
“What’s the matter with you? Why’s it so difficult to admit something happened between us?” She pushes me, and my back hits the mirror.
“Kira, I’m gay. Nothing good will come of this.”
Her blonde hair falls around her face. “Do you have any idea how many times you’ve mentioned that fact tonight. Who is it you’re so desperate to convince? Why does the label even matter? I thought freedom to be who you are, whoever you are, is what you were all for.”
She’d understand if she knew anything at all about me, but people don’t, not even my so-called super fans.
Some shit, you just don’t put out there.
Some of it is impossible to translate onto the page.
Mostly though, I prefer not to dwell in those dark moments.
“Go home, Kira. You did your job admirably. You kept me out of trouble. I’ll make sure Howard knows that. ”
She sucks on her top lip, considering.
“Please.”
“Fine,” she snaps, reaching an abrupt decision. “I’ll go, but you…you’re a piece of work, Dylan Drake.”
“I am,” I agree, as that seems easiest.
I lock the door behind her and put the chain in place too. The shower’s beckoning, as is the bed, but I don’t move from the door. I count to fifteen, but fail to summon any sense of calm.
You need to wash her from your skin.
Get her out of your head.
I unfasten my fly, let my trousers fall. I peel down my underwear too, and still I don’t take a single step towards the bathroom. My cock is perky. Not hard as such, but definitely desperate to feel a clasp around it.
If I come it’ll make it all better is what I tell myself. What I repeat over and over, even while I acknowledge that it’s an outright lie.
An orgasm won’t make it better. Not if that means pumping my stuff into the open air. I want to come buried deep inside her body.
And why the fuck would you want to do that?
There’s a simple answer and a horribly complicated one.
I don’t specifically think about either.
Instead I focus on walking to the bedroom.
Stowed inside my otherwise empty suitcase is what appears to be an oversized toiletries bag.
It’s completely plain, nondescript. Inside there are four items; condoms, lube, a leather strap that serves as a cock ring, and a huge fucking dildo with a sucker on the bottom.
I take no delight in what I’m about to do. This is about necessity. Clarity. It’s a cleansing ritual.
I go into the bathroom, leaving the lights off, then secure the dick at the right height upon the tiles.
My dark shadow moves across the mirror. I don’t look at it.
Once the condom and lube are dealt with, I kick off what remains of my clothing, then get my cock nice and hard. The strap ensures it stays that way.
He’s in my head as I push back against the enormous dick. It’s difficult to take, my hole resists my best efforts even after all these years, but there’s no let up. No changing my mind or backing away. It’s a dark place I’m going to, but at the end of it there’s light and a peace of sorts.
This is what you like, eh boy? Your mamma told me all about you. That what you really like is a big dick spearing you in the arse. Well look what I’ve got for you right here.
I keep on pushing back. Pushing and pushing.
Waiting for that moment when he’s inside me and it’s impossible to do anything but exist in a single space.
It’s always over quickly. I always come, because he’s right, I do crave what he offers at least in some sense.
Afterwards, when I’m soiled with two sets of spunk, that’s when the blows come raining down, and I’ll lie there and I’ll take them and won’t feel a thing.