The Mistress (16 page)

"You like being naughty for me, don't you, baby? You like to pretend you're a good girl, but what you really want is for me to do dirty things to your body and make you scream. That’s all you ever want, isn’t it?”

This was torturous. Her face and body burned with an intensity of a volcanic eruption, and he was looking at her as if he was ready to devour her. Every word sent magmatic fire through her veins. He kept going. "I could fuck your ass until you forgot that you'd ever liked it any other way, and then I'd make you cum and beg me to never stop.” She believed him. She didn’t believe a lot that he said anymore, truthfully, but she did believe that. She believed he could get her to do anything sexually and have her beg for more.

"Preston, please," she managed. He had two fingers inside her pussy now and was plunging them in and out at a pace that made her head spin. God, she wanted him; always and forever, especially now, as his fingers delved into the core of her body.

"Please what, baby?" he asked her, placing kisses on her neck as his fingers continued to work energetically between her legs. “Tell me what you want."

When she didn’t answer, he pushed her back harder into the desk, and without another word, topped her. Her legs instinctually opened to him, accepting him, and everything he was.

Preston held himself closely above her, his blue orbs searching her own, as if he were looking for answers. For what, she had no idea, but she wanted to find them for him. Her ragged breath was strong between them, and she quaked as he entered her pussy slowly, never breaking her gaze.

"Preston!" she gasped.

He pulled back and pushed into her powerfully, quite viciously actually, but in all honesty, it was what she needed to feed the raging beast, the desire he had built up within her. She moaned loudly as he pounded into her, and when he lifted her legs up and threw them over his shoulders like he so expertly did from time to time, she cried out, his girth hammering deeper into her than she had ever imagined.

"Oh my God!” she chanted repeatedly, grabbing onto the edge of the desk, clawing at the wood.

"Fuck, Haley," he managed to voice through gritted teeth.

"Preston stop, stop," she protested underneath him, trying suddenly to wiggle away from him.

He growled, but stopped moving immediately. He let her legs go and leaned forward to rest his sweaty forehead against hers. "What is it?" he questioned, completely breathless, but his annoyance was audibly noticeable.

"Sorry," she panted. "I don’t want it to be over quite yet.”

She was sure she looked thoroughly ravished lying underneath him, her back against the desk top. He sighed and kissed her. She felt her emotions pouring out through her kiss in return. She began exploring his mouth languidly with her tongue and pulled him closer. She realized that what she wanted was not what she thought she wanted. She loved their hot intensities and their lustful engagements, but that wasn’t all she wanted.

She wanted him to reassure her – of what, she wasn’t sure. She knew he couldn’t reassure her about what he wanted, because she was sure that he absolutely didn’t
know
what he wanted. She needed him to make love to her, not just fuck her. Still inside of her, unmoving, and as if he had sensed it all, he stretched his body out gently, their legs intertwining. He leaned into her mouth and gave her one more slow and passionate kiss. Her heart fluttered a bit, but finally slowed its pace, and he ran his hands over her gorgeous curves, stroking her.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. She shuddered, partially from his words and partially because he began caressing her breasts. "You are perfect," he continued, his face burying into the crook of her neck. He pressed light kisses against her flesh. "There are so many things I want you to feel; not just sexually, but it’s the best way that I can express it."

"Preston," she gasped, her fluid-soaked walls clenched around him.

"More?" he asked, and she nodded in response. He pulled out of her slowly, and she looked up at him in confusion. He quickly answered her looks when he moved to the side and gently rolled her to face away from him, molding his body against hers.

He grasped at her top leg so that he could hold her open for him as he pushed into her again, this time from behind. She moaned; she loved taking it from behind. It was the best position to her; it allowed him to fill her completely and create more physical closeness than many thought possible. He moved slowly at first, but when she grinded against him shamelessly in an effort to persuade him to quicken his pace, his speed began to pick up.

Her whimpers became desperate. He was hitting the perfect spots with every thrust.

"Cum for me," he told her. "I want you to pretend like I'm fucking your ass right now, and I want you to cum for me."

She whimpered in surprise and even embarrassment. That slight mortification that she felt, though, she was nothing compared to the way his words went straight to her engorged clit, spreading heat throughout her entire body.

"Is that why you like being fucked from behind so much, Haley?" he asked, driving his hardness into her wet, trembling core over and over again. That wasn’t why, but hearing him ask in such a crude manner made her body tremble, turned on to the point of no return.

His groin slapped against her ass with every thrust, and it wasn't hard to pretend it really was her ass he was fucking. The thought was admittedly hot, something that she would never had thought possible before him. Her arousal was so intense that she could hardly stand it. She rubbed her clit desperately – just wanting to reach her peak.

His gentle thrusts had become so much more forceful, and the desk began to creak under their movements. Haley felt herself spiraling out of control as Preston worked her body expertly, whispering dirty things in her ear. "Would you like me to stick it in your hot little ass?"

"Preston!" she screamed as her orgasm ripped through her. It was the most intense, mind-blowing climax she had ever experienced. And that was saying quite a bit, because every orgasm with Preston seemed to blow her mind. But now it was even more intense, so intense that she felt her juices flow out of her and coat her inner thighs.

She continued to shake in Preston's arms, her vision blurred. When it finally cleared and she became aware of her senses again, she found that he was still thrusting into her, her leg still in his hands and stretched up to allow him access. Her center began to spasm uncontrollably around him with every thrust.

She knew he was getting close when he had buried his face in her neck and was rutting against her in unusually uneven strokes, his breath unsteady. "That’s it, Preston,” she moaned in his ear, urging him on. "You made me cum so hard. Oh, God, you feel amazing."

He choked on whatever words he'd tried to say in response, and she smirked devilishly. It was comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by lust in this relationship.

"Can you feel how wet I am for you?" she cooed. “I love being wet for you. Cum for me, baby.”

His breathing became even more ragged, and she could tell that he was close. Deciding to drive him over the edge, she moaned in the sexiest voice that she could muster, “I want you to fuck me, Preston. I want you to fuck me with that big cock of yours, bend me over and fuck my tight little ass until I scream your name,” and with that, he shuddered his release. She smirked again – she loved having some power over
him
for a change.

S
he was late again. Marissa growled at her sister’s disrespect. This was the fifth time in six weeks that she had been late! Luckily they weren’t busy today, but what if they had been? Rachel was far from a clairvoyant. She couldn’t predict rain if she felt a drop hit her in the face, let alone their bakery crowd.

Joseph went to her, grabbed her shoulder tenderly, and tried to soothe her, but that wouldn’t work. Not this time. She was livid. “There are only three of us, for fuck’s sake!” she yelled, surprising not only Joseph, but herself for her crudity. She pulled her hair in frustration.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just Rachel’s antics, but also everything going on at home. She hated not trusting Preston, and she hated feeling like things were out of place. It wasn’t like her to be suspicious, but perhaps that was what scared her the most. The fact that she
was
suspicious might mean
something
.

She grabbed a rolling pin forcefully from the utensil vase and began rolling out dough; she wanted to rid her mind of the utter infuriation with her sister and home life. She had been rolling out the dough so roughly that the wooden rolling pin clanged loudly on the metal tabletop. It was so loud, in fact, that she barely heard the bang from behind them – coming from the exit.

There Rachel appeared again, from the back door, but not like she had every other time. Instead of a stupid grin plastered on her face and red blushing cheeks, she was pale and her lips quivered in sadness. Mascara stains trailed her cheeks and she stood, frozen, the door still agape. “Dad...” she began before emotion seemed to overwhelm her and she dropped to her knees. “He’s dead.”

~~~

M
arissa couldn’t remember the conversations that ensued after the devastating news; all she remembered was the latter. She remembered the devastation. She remembered the utter disbelief, the agony, the disbelief again, the loss, the incredibly numbing pain in the pit of her stomach; she remembered it was the worst she had ever felt in her entire life – and there was absolutely nothing that could make it go away.

She knew that she had spoken to Preston and the kids about it all, and they had all determined that she was better off to go first to be with the family and that he and the kids would soon follow. And she knew she took a plane, but she couldn’t tell you anything else. She couldn’t really remember it, but she was also not entirely sure that she was completely there during any of the conversations.

The smell of the summer air and the sound of the crickets chirping were just as she remembered. Ironically she had hoped more than anything recently that she would experience home’s simple blessings once again, but now that she was experiencing them – they seemed almost like a curse.

She was there because her dad wasn’t, and even if she was at the place she loved the most, it couldn’t be a pleasant visit. At that moment, she almost wondered if anything could be pleasant ever again.

There she was, sitting on her grandmother’s porch, just like she had when she was a little girl. This place had always held such fond memories before, and now all she could see was sadness. What used to be her safe haven was now a constant reminder of her father.

As she looked out to the field, which rolled gracefully with hills, before her, she couldn’t help but remember him taking her sledding here. She remembered the gleeful giggles that she sounded out with enthusiasm as she zipped across all of the snow-covered mounds. She smiled at the memory, but her heart panged with intense hurt and loss. If this porch – along with its beautiful memories – couldn’t ease the pain, would anything?

She felt a presence beside her before a warmth rubbed on the outside of her thigh. Looking down she noticed a brown and limping fuzz ball pressing against her lovingly: little Grubby Bones. The decrepit old dog had always been a favorite of hers. Its emotional senses seemed to be honed to perfection; anytime anyone needed a warmth, a loving embrace of some kind, he appeared.

Her grandmother had gotten this dog almost twenty years ago, when Marissa was in high school. Seemed like a lifetime ago, but here this dog was – still alive. Marissa cursed. Unlike her father, who seemed to be young and vibrant only yesterday. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Grubby Bones whined slightly as he leaned his head against her resting hands. She looked down to him to give him a pat on the head, when she noticed some sort of carving in the railing of the porch. She had never noticed it before. JLP. It was her dad’s name, his initials to be exact.

She felt the tears well in her eyes again as she fingered at the indention in the wood. Her throat clenched in a constricting sting, and a sound leaked from it; it was a sound that she had never heard before, let alone one that had ever escaped her body. It had to be the sound of pure anguish. She was suffering.

“He carved that when he was twelve years old,” she heard a soft and gentle feminine voice call from behind her. Her grandmother, that soothing sound – gentle but harsh with age – felt so burdening at that moment to Marissa. She didn’t know what it could feel like to bury your own child, and knowing that her grandmother was about to do so terrified her to the core. It was possible. And that possibility had always haunted her.

“Where’s Preston and the kids? Your mom said they weren’t here yet.” She spoke with intent, but it was an intention Marissa couldn’t quite pick up on. She walked over to the steps – slowly and carefully. Her footsteps were small. The frailty of her body seemed like it might allow her to break apart with every one step that she took, but she made it. Grabbing the railing of the porch that she had finally managed to reach, she was able to steady herself to sit down.

Grubby Bones lay between them and accepted pets from both women with delight. “We agreed I’d come first and he and the kids would come on the day of the funeral,” she replied, her eyes soaked with tears.

“He’s your husband; he should be here,” she said matter-of-factly. Her grandmother wasn’t a traditionalist necessarily, but in some instances, her mind was closed tightly and securely. After all, she supposed you couldn’t possess a vault of secrets and wisdom if they were never locked up on occasion. Marissa sighed; this was one of the decisions that the woman’s mind’s eye had narrowed onto, ready to tear apart and judge without filter. “I never understood that man. Always chasing something, never happy.”

Marissa wiped her tears, and her brows furrowed in confusion. What was she talking about?

“He never seemed to be satisfied with anything. He sought promotion after promotion. Couldn’t see what was in front of him. He has beautiful kids – and he only seems to know one of them halfway. That boy is so smart and just like him. He doesn’t see it, and I’m not sure he ever will.” She was ranting, though it didn’t sound like a rant. Every word her grandma uttered seemed to sound like a vibrant story, and every time she spoke Marissa always listened intently, but now, she seemed to listen even more blatantly. With everything going on at home, her grandmother may have been right.