Kaden (Recherché series) (7 page)

“Uh, hey.” I wave awkwardly. “Where’s Ethan?”

“He disappeared into the bedroom.” Melissa says. I nod and dive into the hallway that leads to the two bedrooms. I knock on Ethan’s door and open it a crack, slipping through like a stealth ninja. It smells of sex and beer in here.

“Dude, why the fuck is Lacey here?” I hiss. He sits up from his position laying on the bed and throws his hands up wordlessly. “That’s not helpful. She’s crying.”

“Mate, I want in Melissa’s pussy. I did not sign up for this shit!” He whisper shouts, pointing to the door behind me.

“Well, go fix it.”

He huffs and flops back on the bed. “I can’t kick her out. You can’t be a wanker to the best friend. It’s a guaranteed pussy lock out.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay. What is she crying about?”

“The ex. Obviously.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Well check you with the super perceptive skills.”

He swings his legs off the bed and stands up. “Look, I vote we just get them drunk. Lacey will be too trashed to cry. Melissa will put out. Win win.”

“Uh, how did this become a we situation? I have shit to do.”

“You know, you’ve been a fucking shit friend recently.” He lifts his eyebrows expectantly. 

“Really?” I sigh, tilting my head to the side.

He smirks. “I’m calling it in.”

“Fine. But you owe me. Again!”

Ethan’s a bell end. The vodka worked alright, and now he’s in his room getting laid while I’m sat here on the sofa with Lacey who is slurring and hiccupping while telling me how awful her ex is.

“Lacey, you need to drink some water.” I slide out from the position I’m in with her pressed against my side. Once in the kitchen I get a glass of water and take it back. She’s now sprawled across the sofa, her eyes shut and her breaths deep and even. Fucking finally. I put the water on the coffee table and grab the the blanket from the back of the couch, throwing it over her. She’ll sleep it off, wake up hung over, and hopefully the next time she needs to cry and get shit faced she can not do it at my place.

I switch off the light and go to bed.

I don’t know what time it is when I’m pulled from a deep sleep by the sound of my door opening. The bed next to me dips and I groan. A small hand presses against my chest before lips hit my neck.

“I’m tired, Lacey.” I huff. “Why are you in my bed?” I’m groggy and bored of this shit.

She pulls away and lays on her back on the other side of the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m just lonely.” She says in a small voice. And shit, I feel like such a dick.

“You can sleep here, but I’m not fucking you.” I know it sounds harsh, but really, me fucking her and chucking her isn’t going to help her situation anyway, even if she’s convinced that my cock is the answer to all her problems.

“Okay.” She whispers. I roll over and go back to sleep.

When I wake up in the morning, Lacey’s cheek is pressed against my bare chest and one of her legs is thrown over mine. I have a hard-on. Not because of her, just because. Although her knee sitting three inches from my cock isn’t exactly helping. I know I have no desire to fuck her, but my cock tends to have a mind of it’s own.

I try to extricate myself out from under her, but she stirs and her eyelids flutter.

“Kaden?” She sounds confused.

“Yeah. I need to go piss.” I shift my shoulder and she rolls away from me, pressing her hand to her forehead. I get up and go to the bathroom, taking way longer than necessary to go through my shower, shit and shave routine. With any luck, by the time I step out of here she’d at least have had the decency to leave. No such luck. When I open the door she’s still on my bed, in only her bra and knickers.

She pulls the arm that’s over her eyes away from her face and turns her face towards me. Her make-up has smudged under her eyes making her look part crazy, part panda. Don’t get me wrong, Lacey is pretty and she has a good body, which is very much on display right now. But she wants me too much. I’ve always said I’m not a person who plays games, and I don’t. But there’s something to be said for the chase. I’ve always loved a challenge. Doing what I do, that element is eliminated. If I’m going to fuck someone outside of Recherché then I sure as shit need the rush that I’m missing with my clients that are handed to me on a platter.

She sits up, and pulls her knees to her chest, covering herself. She looks delicate to say the least. “Did we, uh?”

I smirk. “No, drunk and sobbing isn’t my thing.” She looks embarrassed and once again my damn conscience kicks in, making me feel like a shit. “You got into my bed in the middle of the night. I’m not a total dick.” I grab a shirt and a pair of boxers, turning my back to her as I drop the towel around my waist. I still hear her breath hitch, even from across the room. I yank on the boxers and shirt, before pulling a pair of tracksuit bottoms on. “I have to go and see someone. Melissa is in Ethan’s room.”

She says nothing and I scoop my car key and iPod off the chest of drawers before leaving. I need to go to the house and hit the gym.

I lay on my back on the mattress, naked with my hands bound above my head as usual. Every time Melanie does this, it pisses me off a little more. She moves around the bed, unfastening the buttons of her blouse as she goes. Her hair is pulled up in a tight twist and a few stray strands caress the smooth skin at the back of her neck delicately. She slips the silk shirt down her shoulders and allows it to dangle from her finger before she drops it on the floor. Her fingers play over the zip at the small of her back and she bows her spine, sliding the tight material of her pencil skirt over her thighs in a way that has my cock jumping to attention. The lace of her thong outlines her small waist and full arse cheeks perfectly. Or at least it does until she removes that too, followed closely by her bra. When she turns around to face me I have to bite back a groan. I don’t know what it is about her. It’s not like she’s exponentially hotter than any other woman, it’s just the way she carries herself, the way she takes without apology, the way she seamlessly controls the very air around her. She both fascinates me and lures me in with just a look.  

I can’t tear my eyes off her as she kneels on the bed and swings a leg over my hips. Her naked body towers above me, her legs spread, showing her pussy, which is hovering only inches from my rock hard cock. She leans forward, brushing her lips against mine so lightly that I grit my teeth with the effort it takes not to push up and kiss her. She’s made it clear where she stands on that, but her lips are right there, so fucking tempting. I yank against the restraints and the material of the tie chafes against my skin. 

“Thor tells me all his guys are clean.” She says, wrapping her fingers around my cock and lifting an eyebrow at me. We are, but barebacking is a no fucking go.

I swallow hard and jerk against the restraints again. A smile works across her lips and she works her hand up and down my cock. She lifts up over me and slowly lowers, pressing the head of my cock inside her warm, wet entrance. I should stop her, but I can’t. She feels too fucking good. A choked groan lodges in my throat and I clench my jaw as I throw my head back against the pillow. 

I lift my head again, watching as she slides down slowly, watching my expression the whole time. With every groan, every pull on the restraints, every desperate movement, her smile gets a little wider. She likes this, she gets off on this. When she’s taken me all the way, her eyelids flutter shut and a blissful look takes over her face. She squeezes around me, and it’s nothing but tight, wet, warmth. She picks up a rhythm, rolling and grinding her hips over me. She looks like a fucking goddess, riding me, owning me, controlling me so effortlessly. Frustration crawls beneath my skin. My abs tense, and release. My arms ache from pulling on my bindings so hard. But when she throws her head back and thrusts her tits forward, I snap. I want to touch her, I fucking need to touch her. I growl and yank on the restraints so hard that the headboard creaks under the force. 

She tips her head forward again and her chin falls to her chest. A tendril of hair comes loose, falling across her forehead. “So impatient.” She purrs, rolling her hips in a teasing motion.

“Fuck!” I spit. 

She smiles wider, bending forward and trailing fingers along my arm. “I suppose I could let you go.” Her breath blows over my lips, her fingers caressing the material binding my wrists. “On one condition.” I pitch up, brushing my lips against hers.

“What?” I grate. 

Her eyes lock with mine. “Choke me.” She demands, tugging at the slip knot and setting my hands free. The second she does, I grip her throat, skimming my other hand over her waist. 

Her eyes lock with mine. “Harder.” Her hips move, and I tighten my grip around her throat, which makes her moan and pick up speed. I grip her hip with my other hand and force her harder over me. “Harder!” She shouts. My fingers flinch into the soft skin of her throat. A long moan falls from her lips and her pussy squeezes my cock. Watching her fall apart, my hand around her neck, her naked body riding mine, it pushes me over the edge. I squeeze her throat even harder, using it to to thrust up and leverage into her. Electricity flies over my skin and my muscles tense before everything releases, exploding outward with so much force that spots blur my vision. 

The second she’s done, she gets off me, turning her back. It doesn’t matter what happens between us, how hard she comes or makes me come, the second it’s over, she slips straight back into that cold hard mask, as though reminding me that any vulnerability I may have witnessed was nothing more than a temporary illusion. 

I don’t know why the fuck it bothers me. It shouldn’t. In fact, I should be pleased. It makes my job easier. She’s a client, nothing more. And if anything, her behavior does nothing but remind me of that, which is good, right? But my other clients aren’t like her. My other clients see me as the expensive accessory they paid for, they look at me with awe….like I’m the diamonds their husband’s money bought, the top of the range Lamborghini parked on their drive. I don’t mind. They love the Lambo, they covet it, they value it. Melanie Myers treats me like some rent boy who serves a purpose, and it drives me wild. You know what they say, treat them mean, keep them keen. Well, she’s fucking mean, and I’m enthralled by her. 

The next week seems to fly by in a rush. Clients, hospital, clients, hospital. I see Melanie twice, and she does as predicted. Both sessions are a repeat of that early week session, she rides me, pushes me, unties me, and then comes as I choke her. She fucking confuses me, and I’m obsessed by her. All I can think about is seeing her next. I constantly wonder what she’s going to do to me next, how hard she’s going to push me. I don’t know why or what it is that she does to me, but I feel like she pushes my buttons, and every time I see her I’m a hairs breath away from snapping. My other clients are simple, they just want a young guy to show them a good time, but not Melanie. And it’s working out what she wants that intrigues me.

“What about this one?” Penelope breaks into my thoughts.

“Huh?” I look up and see her grinning at me, wearing a massive floppy sun hat on her head.

“Very lady of the manor.” I tell her.

“Well then, I’ll definitely get it.”

I glance across the shop and do a double take when I see Melanie, browsing through racks of dresses. She lifts her gaze and her eyes crash into mine. There’s a moment, an awkward beat where neither of us move. I’m not sure what the etiquette is for this. Do I talk to her? Ignore her? Pretend like I have no idea who she is?  And then, because it’s Melanie and she seemingly doesn’t back down from anything, she walks over, swaying her hips in that way that says she owns everything and everyone around her.