Author Anonymous: A True Story

  Dark blue eyes bore into mine as I lower myself before him. Kneeling at his feet, I hook my fingers under the waist of his slacks and pull them down along with his boxer briefs. His cock juts out proudly in my face. My body is still reeling from the orgasms he gave me at the hotel earlier today, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

  I tip my head to the side and crane my face up between his legs, taking his balls into my mouth. I steady my hands on his thighs and he widens his legs, allowing me better access. I swirl my tongue over his delicate flesh, sucking gently, pulling one bundle into my mouth completely.

  “Oh, fuck,” he strains, dropping his head back.

  His hands grab my skull, fingers clutching around wads of my hair. He bends his knees, lowering himself down to me even more, and my heart flutters at his neediness. Sliding one hand around his cock, I slip my other between his broad thighs and deeply stroke my finger along his perineum. I continue to suck while my hands tease and pleasure. With every rough moan that grits through his throat, I grow more wet. My clit swells, pulsing and begging to be touched, but my desire to be covered and consumed by Alec surmounts my body’s ache.

  He leans forward, taking one hand from my head and bracing it on the window behind me. My finger presses deeper into the sensitive tissue, and his balls tighten in response, lifting off my tongue, pulling away from me.

  “Christ, baby,” he growls. “Put my cock in your mouth.”

  Drawing my head back from between his legs, I meet Alec’s eyes when I plant a wet kiss onto the head of his dick before wrapping my lips around him and sucking him deep into my mouth. His hips meet my tempo, blurring the lines for a moment as we shift control, and in the slip of a second, Alec holds my head still, fisting my hair as he fucks my mouth.

  I grab on to his thigh and maintain my other hand between his legs—pressing, stroking, teasing.

  “Deeper,” he commands, and I push against his flesh even more, building the pressure for him.

  His cock tears into my mouth with urgency, tipping me off balance and driving my back against the window. Saliva drips from my chin as I breathe heavily through my nose. My eyes burn with pricking tears as he takes my mouth hostage, spurring little gags from his deep thrusts.

  I love when he loses control with his body, unable and unwilling to restrain himself.

  “I’m about to cum all over your tongue,” he grits through a sharply jagged breath, and I give him a look of approval. Sweat beads roll from his temples and down the sides of his face. His cock swells, twitching when he reaches the spiked edge of his orgasm. “Fuck,” he strains, dragging out the curse. “Deeper, baby. Put it in me.”

  His cock leaps when I push my finger past the ring of muscle and into his ass.

  He explodes.

  A feverish groan rips from his chest as the first stream of cum splashes on my tongue. I flick my eyes up to him to see he’s watching his cock as he bucks into my mouth. His face, twisted in blissful ferocity.

  My lips melt around his cock as cum erupts from his tip. He buckles as ribbons of his semen fill my mouth and shoot down my throat. I take everything his body offers me, swallowing his life source. With one last thrust, his muscles lax, and he unknots his hand from my hair to brace it alongside his other on the window. His sated form hovers over me as I take my time and use my mouth to clean off the lingering traces of his orgasm from his body.

  Dragging my lips away, he falls from my mouth. I look above me where his body slacks against the window. His chest heaves in splintering breaths as he comes down from his climax. I allow time to drift before I stand, and when I do, he pushes off the glass and pulls his pants up. Shoving his cock inside the fabric, he zips and buttons before taking my face in his hands and backing me up to the window. He stares at me, no words, only a ghost of a smile tilting his lips.

  In this moment, words aren’t needed. His touch alone is enough to make me feel safe. He drops his lips to my forehead, and I cling my hands around his wrists as he holds me still.

  “I love you, Alec.”

  “Say it again.”

  With his forehead resting upon mine, our noses touching, the air from our lungs blending, my heart betrays my husband’s words, “I love you . . . most and more.”

  Thoughts of Landon invade as I twirl my fork in the bed of pasta Alec prepared. I feel like a criminal as we eat our dinner. This is no place for Landon to be, even if it is only in my head. I take another bite of the bland noodles and feel the tug of my gut as I wonder what delicious dish he prepared for the girls tonight.

  I need to call them. Tell them I love them before they go to bed, but I know Landon will decline the call when he sees my number. He needs a little time before hearing my voice.

  “What did you do while I was away?” I ask before taking another bite of pasta.

  “Mostly worked, but I managed to spend some time with my oldest brother and his family.” He takes a swig of beer. “I got to watch my nephew play in his soccer game too.”

  “Did they win?”

  “No, but he did score a goal,” he says proudly and I smile at his love for the kids I know he wishes he had.

  “And what about last night?”

  “Last night?”

  “I tried calling you,” I tell him, remembering the agonizing anxiety to hear his voice after two weeks of being apart.

  Taking another pull from his bottle of beer, he swallows before casually saying, “I went to North Shore.”

  North Shore.

  My chest seizes in disbelief, sending a blistering chill through my veins. I do what I can not to show the hurt and jealousy that engulfs my lungs, drowning me in emotions that mark me as a hypocrite. That’s exactly what I would be if I accused him of anything, but the thoughts still afflict me, shooting off in rapid-fire.

  “You okay?”

  No!

  I nod, scared my voice will crumble if I speak.

  “You’re a shitty liar, Victoria.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin before saying, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I have no right to say anything.”

  He scowls. “Right or no right, I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. I need to know what you’re feeling.”

  How can I tell him that I’m hurt and feel betrayed when I’m the one guilty of betrayal? I have no right to feel this way, but I do.

  “I don’t want to repeat myself,” he says in a mixture of irritation and concern.

  “I just . . . I didn’t think you were still . . .” My words fall short when my ache bubbles to the surface.

  He reaches out across the table and takes my hand in his. “I thought you understood that this is who I am.”

  “I did—I just thought . . . with everything between us that . . .” I drop my head, suddenly doubting his feelings toward me.

  “I need you to look at me because I need you to understand.” I lift my head to see the seriousness in his eyes. He softens his voice, telling me gently, as if I might break if not handled with care, “I am who I am, and I never wanted to mislead you into thinking that my lifestyle was something flippant—something I could turn off and on. That’s not how fetishes work, which is why I’ve always sought like-minded people.

  “But you knew I wasn’t like-minded.”

  “Yes, I know, which is why I never hid myself from you. I came to you and laid it all out there for you to make the choice whether or not you wanted to get involved with me.” He stands and rounds the table to sit next to me. “I can’t force myself to change who I am for anyone. It isn’t fair to ask me to. But at the same time, I have conformed for you. I know parts of my lifestyle make you uncomfortable, which is why I’ve never pushed you to go back to the club after I saw how upset it made you,” he explains. “This isn’t easy for me, you know?”

  “I’ve pushed myself so far with you. More than what I’ve done with anyone. I’ve let my walls down and—”

  “I know you have, but even with you breaking through you
r own boundaries, what we have is still very vanilla for my taste.”

  Feeling as if I’ve completely let him down, I shrug my shoulders in defeat, wallowing in insecurity.

  “I’m okay with what we have, Victoria. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have hung around for so long. But I’d be lying if I told you I’m completely satisfied, because I’m not.” He drops his head.

  “I’ll go back,” I tell him, not wanting to disappoint him.

  “It’s not just going. I need more than that. I need to fuck you bare while people watch. I want to see their eyes on us, see them getting off on what I do to you. I want to watch other people fuck while I jerk off or while you suck my cock.” His voice exposes his unyielding need. “My other fetishes have always come second to my affinity for voyeurism. Fucking random people and swinging . . . I can bend on that. Impact play, breath play, and those things, I like exploring them and don’t doubt we can explore those things together, but I can’t bend on watching and being watched. I need that, and I’m sorry if I misled you in any way.”

  Our eyes remain locked as I struggle with wondering what last night looked like. He just laid his expectations on the table for me, and I want to do everything I can to give him what he needs. But knowledge is what I need, so I take a hard swallow and ask, “Last night . . .” my voice trembles, “Did you just watch, or . . .?”

  “Are you asking if I had sex?”

  I nod, and he doesn’t beat around the bush when he answers truthfully, “Yes.”

  His honesty is a dagger to my heart, slaughtering it into the pit of my stomach. A sob latches on to my lungs, digging its claws into the tender sheath of tissue. But I don’t cry, I don’t allow myself to guilt him with my tears. How could I when I’ve been fucking Landon? I shouldn’t feel what I’m feeling, but that doesn’t stop me from asking one more question I have no right asking.

  “Have you been doing this all along?”

  Again, he answers me in complete honesty. “Not often, but yes.”

  Pressing my lips together, I fight against the splintering pain of knowing he’s been having sex with random people this whole time. I stupidly thought he was being faithful to me.

  Faithful.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  There hasn’t been one day that I’ve been faithful to him, so why am I so hurt to find out the same in turn? Why do I feel betrayed? I’m the worst double-standard hypocrite. I’m selfish and oh-so-fucked-up.

  His hands have been on other women just as mine have been on another man, but one thing I’ve never shared was my heart. Never did I love two at once.

  “Don’t confuse sex with intimacy, Victoria. You can’t hide your hurt from me,” he says when he takes my hand. “I can feel you shaking.”

  I want to cling on to his beliefs to protect my heart, but I can’t change what’s been embedding into my head in a matter of a year.

  “Sex with you is intimate,” I tell him. “When you touch me, I just don’t feel it on my skin, I feel it everywhere. My heart beats all over my body when I’m with you.”

  “That’s because you love me. But there’s no exchange of feelings with the others. It’s just me getting off.”

  “And what about you?”

  His forehead furrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you feel what I feel?” I question as my mind traces back to all the times I’ve told him I loved him.

  He’s never said it in return.

  Bracing myself, I ask, “Do you love me?”

  I watch his smooth edges fracture into barbed temper. His eyes narrow into a scowl. “Do I not show you every fucking time we’re together?”

  “But you’ve never given me the words,” I argue with trepidation, not wanting to piss him off more.

  “Words? They mean more to you than actions, than sacrifice, than stability? Words are petty and frivolous, Victoria. Just look at the words you use with your husband.” He drops my hand and pushes out of his chair. Standing over me, he adds angrily, “Words are nothing but shit. They mean nothing.”

  “You’re right,” I respond on a pitched voice, growing passionate about pursuing this argument. “My words this past year to my husband were meaningless. I lied to him over and over only to lie to him more. I even lied to you in the beginning.” I stand, meeting him chest to chest. “But when I tell you that I love you, it’s the fucking truth, Alec. I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. There was no stopping my heart from falling in love with you.” My words come with so much honesty, I can taste them.

  “Is it not enough that I’m here? That I’ve been here for the past year, licking your tears while you cry in my arms? That I’ve never made you feel guilty or ashamed knowing that when you slip off my cock you go home and slip onto your husband’s?” His voice booms against the walls.

  “Yes, you’ve shown me love!” I yell in a storm of rage and passion, slamming my hands against his chest to gain distance between us. “But I need the words, Alec.”

  “Why?”

  Balling my hands in a fit of turmoil, I lash out and scream, “Because I left my fucking family for you!”

  Getting in my face, he lowers his voice, seething, “I never asked you to leave anyone for me, so don’t you fucking guilt me into saying what I’ve already shown and proved to you.”

  I stand frozen as he turns his back to me and walks across the room. Time slips between us, and with every tick, tick, tick, my soul wavers on uncertainty. Is this real? Does he love me, or have I only convinced myself that he does? Are we together or have I only created the illusion of a fantasy that now lives in my head?

  A million questions fall in fractals all around me, a glittering, shimmering kaleidoscope of colors that gives no answers. Are the brilliant flecks sparks of the love and desire that burn so blissfully under my skin every time I think about Alec? Or are they sparkling illusions reflecting the lies off their mirrored facets to blind me from seeing the truth?

  My heart pounds wildly against the ribcage that’s supposed to protect it. My body fighting against itself.

  “Alec,” I call out, and when he turns to face me from the other side of the loft, the wild beast that is my heart snaps every single one of my ribs. I stand here, fully exposed and ask, “What are we doing? Tell me what I am to you.”

  He strides across the room, so sure, so in control—arrogant even. Taking my face in his strong hands, he says, “You’re everything I never thought existed for me.”

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “No.”

  “Say it,” I beg on a voice that shatters around our feet. “Please, Alec. Give me something to settle my unease. Tell me you love me.”

  He takes my hand and slips it under the hem of his shirt, pressing my palm over that which pumps life into him with every beat. “You feel that?”

  His heart hammers just as erratically as mine does.

  It’s passion and lust and utter chaos—it’s love.

  I drop my head to his chest, my hand remaining under his shirt.

  “No words will ever be more powerful or more truthful than these beats that bruise me every single day I have you.”

  For the first time in five days, I slept in my hotel room. And for the first time, I’ve been able to think without being blinded by Alec. When I’m with him, I can’t see clearly because I’m too consumed by the overpowering high he gives me. I’m quick to accept whatever it is he tells me just so I can feel good again. When doubt begins to infect me, I push it away as fast as I can for fear I’ll ruin what we have together.

  Now, I sit in bed, sip my coffee, and question.

  Why won’t he tell me he loves me? Why is he so damn stubborn? How many women has he been with this past year? Will he ever stop? Can I take us outside of this fantasy—into reality—and be okay with what this is?

  My stomach burns with the bile of insecurity thinking about his words: “I’d be lying if I told you I’m completely satisfied, because I’m not.” Ever since he said
that, it’s lingered in the back of my head, but now that I’m here in this hotel room, alone with my thoughts and free from my drug, it tortures me. But at the same time, it’s hard for me to judge him when I feel the same way about Landon. Sure, he satisfies me, but not entirely, which is why I was so drawn to Alec when we first met. It was the realization that I was missing something that I needed. But if Alec already feels that with me, then have we been doomed from the start? Was it over before it began?

  I’m saved from my tormenting thoughts when there’s a knock on the door.

  She’s finally here.

  I jump out of bed and pad across the room, Alec’s oversized pajama pants dragging beneath my feet.

  “Happy release day!” Brooke singsongs when I open the door.

  I fold my arms around her, her massive belly preventing the closeness I wish I had on this anti-climactic day. She walks in with her laptop, ready to work as blue devils dance on what should be a happy occasion.

  The book that almost cost me my publishing deal just went live. The book that I wrote in less than a month. The book that will forever be marked in my selfish contamination—the book I couldn’t write because I was too busy cheating on my husband. Yeah, that book.

  “Have you checked the rankings yet?”

  Slipping back into bed, I grab my coffee mug from the nightstand and shake my head. I normally live and breathe the rankings on release day, but truth be told, I’m afraid to with this book. It’s the shittiest story I’ve written, and I’m scared to come face to face with failure.