CHAPTER 31 BEN
I only get her a little drunk. She does, after all, have to show up at a job tomorrow where she has to be a professional in front of a classroom with thirty-some-odd students in it.
We each have a couple drinks at dinner, and we’re seated in the center of the restaurant (one with good lighting, naturally) to allow anyone who wants to snap our photo to do it.
I see the funny angles of phones from across the room as people take their shots.
They think they’re being covert. They’re not.
But that’s sort of the point of why we’re here.
And to be honest, I’ve never shied away from it anyway. Being the center of attention is part of my brand at this point. You don’t get labeled The Big O and you can’t be known for your Big O Thunder if you expect to sit shyly in a corner.
It’s an early dinner, but the point is to be out in public when the video premieres. The point is to show that we’re united and whatever tricks other people have up their sleeves isn’t going to affect the two of us.
The ironic part of all of this is that we actually are a couple, and instead of tearing us apart like they’re trying to do, they just keep pushing us together.
Would it be easier to just admit the truth to everyone?
Of course it would.
But it’s not what either of us wants right now. We just want to have fun with the time we have together because once the contract ends, we don’t know what will happen.
Maybe we’ll stay together.
Maybe one of us will run scared at the end, and maybe one of us will run scared long before the expiration date.
I can’t think that far ahead. Instead, I intend to live in the here and now.
It’s funny how I can be affectionate with her in public but not in private when I’m with her family, but I take full advantage of leaning over to kiss her before our plates are set in front of us or resting my paw on her thigh or tossing an arm over the back of her chair.
All of it feels good. Natural. Like I want to keep doing it.
We head to the club after dinner. It’s still early, but a few people are around.
We sit at the bar and have a couple drinks—publicly, of course, so someone somewhere catches a photo of us.
And after we’re both at a point where we’re starting to get tipsy, I nod toward the hostess.
This is one of my buddy Mike’s clubs, which means not only are drinks on the house, but so is the private VIP suite the hostess leads us to.
Once we both have fresh, full drinks in hand, the hostess leads us to a dark hallway along the back wall, and we climb the stairs to the suite level. There are six suites here, and she leads us to one in the middle. “This one has the best view,” she says, and she unlocks the door and lets us in.
There’s a huge windowed wall overlooking the dance floor on the opposite side of the room from where we stand.
“It’s a two-way mirror,” the hostess says, and she leads us over to the wall.
We walk through the room which has a counter along the wall we came in on one side of the door and a private bathroom on the other side.
Couches are in the center of the room, and the couches point to the window wall to overlook the dance floor below.
She opens a door in the wall I hadn’t even noticed, and it leads out to a small balcony we can stand on to overlook the crowd below.
The balcony is a tight fit, and it strikes me as strange that granite top pub table and four chairs tucked tightly into it sits right outside the door.
There’s barely enough clearance for the door to swing open all the way, but if the table was a few feet over to one side, the chairs would get in the way of actually being able to walk out onto the balcony.
The dance floor started filling up with people since we arrived about an hour ago, and this is a great vantage point to dance by ourselves or people watch (or get drunk and fuck on the couch, which is my current preference).
The hostess leaves a bottle of vodka on the table—Kaylee’s current drink preference—along with a bucket of beer for me, and we each take a seat at the table on the small balcony with our drinks.
Someone down on the floor recognizes me up here even in the dark.
I blame all the sponsorships. My face is fucking everywhere these days, and a smattering of people start waving.
Some whip out phones to take photos exactly as we wanted so the world knows we were out together tonight and we don’t care about her ex’s interview.
I grin at the fans I wave back down to, but the truth is that I just want a few minutes alone with Kaylee.
When I look over at her and catch her eye, I find that she’s giving me the look. You know—the one where she’s saying fuck me now. And who am I to deny what she wants?
We abandon our drinks on the table as I take her hand then guide her inside. She closes the door behind us.
The two-way mirrored doors allow us to look out over the clubgoers perched high above them without being seen ourselves, and even better…I can slam Kaylee’s sweet little ass against the glass and nobody will be the wiser. I’m definitely thinking this is where we should fuck rather than the couch.
I back her up against the wall and I shove my tongue down her throat.
It’s hot.
We start kissing like we did that first night I finger fucked her under her brother’s dining room table—when I got her up to her bedroom and I grabbed her throat and we kissed like our lives depended on it.
That’s this kiss, too. It’s urgent and needy and it’s taking me to a place beyond horniness. But it’s still a little different.
It’s her and me now. We’ve teamed up against the world as we take on the media frenzy, but we’re also holding this secret of ours, and there’s something special about that.
I’m a little drunk, too, I guess, but I’m out with my girlfriend so it’s not a big deal.
It’s not like we’re going to hit the media.
I reach under the bottom of her dress and push it up enough to give myself access.
She moans into me, and I thrust my rock hard cock against her as I try to take it slow.
I don’t want to take it slow.
I want to shove my fat cock into her pretty little cunt.
I’ve always enjoyed sex, obviously. But with her, it’s different. I don’t just enjoy it. I crave it. Constantly.
When I’m not inside her, I’m thinking about being inside her.
And when I am inside her, I feel like I’m home. It’s this intrinsic feeling I’ve never felt before that crushes my chest in the kind of way I never want to stop feeling.
I’m terrified of it.
I’m addicted to it.
I’m addicted to her.
The booze and the clubs and the strippers and the random sex with strangers is all fun and has a time and place. But the more time I spend with her, the more that time and place feels cemented into my past. It’s not my future.
She is.
I inch my way up her leg to get closer to her pussy, and she shifts to allow me a little easier access. I slip her panties to the side and immediately find out how fucking drenched she is as she waits for this with as much anticipation as me.
She tilts her head back against the wall as I shove two fingers up into her, and that’s when it happens. The door in the mirrored wall—the one we somehow shifted and didn’t realize we were leaning on—flies open.
It all happens so quickly that I don’t even realize what’s going on at first. I somehow manage to pull my hand from under her skirt and clutch her a tightly to me as she starts to fall backward and I start to fall on top of her.
It seems like it’s all happening in slow motion.
I do what I can to protect her, but when she goes down, she slams her head on the hard granite surface of the table. She yells out in pain as her eyes squeeze shut tightly.
“Fuck!” I yell. I shift to the side so I don’t fall on top of her, and that’s when the side of my body crashes into the table, too.
My eyes are on Kaylee, whose body seems to have gone limp, as our drinks go flying and the bottle of vodka the hostess left behind tips over the railing of the balcony.
A story below us, people are dancing and having a great time as a vodka bottle falls from the sky.
I yell out a warning, but the music is too loud.
Nobody hears me.
A sharp pain slices through my body, but I’m more concerned about Kaylee than myself. I get crashed into every Sunday with worse than this.
Okay, maybe not worse than a granite countertop.
It takes me a half second to get my bearings, and when I do, I spot Kaylee. She’s still on the ground, and she isn’t moving.
I leap up despite the pain pulsing from my chest through to my back, and I grab her into my arms with a fresh, sharp burn slicing through me as I move her to the couch in the suite, my leg pushing off the table while I get us the fuck off the balcony.
“Kaylee!” I yell. “Wake up! Kaylee!” Come on, Peaches. Open your eyes. “Kaylee! Somebody help!” I yell, but nobody hears me. I can’t just leave her, but I need to get her help. I need her to open her eyes. “Help!”
I need her to be okay.
Fear plows into me.
Fear for her safety and wellness.
Fear for the people below us.
Fear for my own body and the pain that continues to pulse along with the consequences of what just happened and whether either will be bad enough to affect the future of my career.
But above all that, one fear pulses the loudest, and it’s somehow the most terrifying of all.
It’s the fear that this one event will change the course of the relationship I’ve started building with the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
The woman who is currently lying unresponsive on a couch in a nightclub after hitting her head.
TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 3, TIGHT FIT