Reviving Haven Page 9

  I walk over to the sofa and put my purse down on it.

  “You know, I really love your new label for the word ‘blowjob.’ Kind of just rolls off the tongue, so to speak.” He laughs.

  “Very funny, anything sounds dignified if you say it with an accent.” I snort.

  I sit on the sofa, pressing my back into it. My hands feel damp, my mouth is dry, and my heart is pounding. He moves away from his desk, and I suddenly feel the urge to get up and bolt. He’s causing conflict inside me, producing feelings I never knew were deeply buried and now are rising to the surface—ones I’ve never felt in all my thirty-seven years. And after today, I will never feel them again. He will be gone after this. Whatever this is, it will end.

  “So, Ms. Wells, shall we proceed?” His jaw is now determinedly set as he closes the distance between us.

  I stand up and wonder if he can hear my knees knocking. Should I kneel in front of him? Should he lie on the sofa, or sit in a chair? I have no knowledge concerning this. I feel ill-equipped for what I’ve promised to deliver. I lower my head and study the patterns in the carpet.

  “Is there a particular place you want me to do this,” I whisper in a shaky voice, eyes still trained on the floor.

  Suddenly he’s in front of me, pulling me into him. He smells of soap and cologne. I want to wallow in his embrace. He feels so warm, safe, and inviting.

  Tipping my chin up towards him, he speaks softly. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, you don’t have to do this,” he murmurs.

  He is obviously sensing my reluctance. As much as I should walk away, I can’t. I have to follow this through. I have to be able to control this. He needs to know I’m not worthy of the chase. How damaged I am.

  “No, I came here to do this and I want to, really,” I reply in a soft whisper, attempting to convince him and myself.

  Whatever the plan was when I hatched it, right now, at this moment, I want to do this, regardless of the outcome. I want this experience. For some reason, Latch really believes this will not happen. That I won’t do this. What does he think, he will pull out his cock and I’ll go screaming and running? More likely puking and fainting. No matter how demented my plan is regarding the act I need to perform, I have my reasons for doing it. He doesn’t need to know why. At this point, I’m not sure whether I’m doing this to make Latch go away or if I’m trying to prove to myself that I can do this.

  Unlocking the embrace, Latch exhales and walks back over to his desk. He bends slightly and pushes a button. Black blinds slide down, encasing the windows. He walks across the room, double-checking to make sure both doors are locked and secure, then returns to his desk pressing the intercom.

  “Amber, no calls or clients for the rest of the day.” His voice is stern, but I sense reluctance.

  “Yes, Mr. McKay.”

  He clicks off the intercom, coming back to me in three strides.

  “It’s your show, Ms. Wells. How do you want to do this?” There’s a gleam in his eyes as he speaks.

  I am suddenly mute. I’m sure he senses my nervousness because he leads me to the plush green chair in front of his desk, gently pushing me back until I’m sitting.

  “Being comfortable will work in your favor as well as mine. Shall I dim the lights? Play some music, maybe offer you another drink?” I swear this man is taunting me with his tone.

  I nod my head. “Yes, turning the lights down would be nice, and I’d like some water, please,” I manage to croak out.

  He picks up a remote, presses a button, and the lights instantly dim. Then he casually walks over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of water from behind it. As soon as he hands me the bottle, I unscrew the top, gulp a few mouthfuls, and then lick my lips. I look up at Latch and his lusty gaze makes me bite down on my bottom lip.

  “Fuck, Haven, if you’re going to look at me like that, I’ll come before you even get started.” His voice sounds hoarse as he rakes his fingers through his hair.

  I adjust my clothing, trying to retain an air of confidence. I’m here now. There is no turning back. I can do this. I have a plan. I’m in control.

  Latch stands in front of me and his crotch is in my face. I’m happy the lights are dim. Latch’s erection tents his pants and it’s making me blush furiously. I’m getting anxious and I know I’m over thinking it. I close my eyes, feeling my own arousal. He’s making me hot and wet, even without a touch or a kiss. Just his closeness makes me feel the temptation of carnal sin. He grabs my hand and presses it into his erection. I feel him—hard, throbbing and hungry.

  “This is what you do to me.” He presses my hand harder into him. I almost feel the heat penetrating through his jeans. He moves my hand and places it at the top of his zipper.

  I know if I look at him, I will lose all restraint. There is no doubt in my mind; I want him. I want this. I want him inside of me. I want to please him. I almost feel mad with desire and I have no idea why I feel like that. I’m not supposed to want him. I’m supposed to make him not want me.

  I touch the metal tongue of the zipper, rubbing my index finger along it. Latch inhales in anticipation, so I slowly tug the zipper down. His cock springs free from his jeans, engorged, eager, and greedy. Of course, Latch is commando. I stare at it for a moment and then shyly wrap my hand around him. Latch hisses, and I can feel him pulsing as I hold him. Just like the man, his member is exquisite. It feels thick and heavy in my hand, but the smooth, velvety feel of his skin stretched over hot steel is mesmerizing. The vein on the underside of his cock is prominent against the marble-like texture of his stalk. The head is flushed and leaking a drop of pearly fluid from the tip, and a hunger starts to rise within me for the hidden, exotic tastes of this man.

  Latch is definitely larger than Jared and my one other lover. It stirs in my hand, as if it’s broadcasting its impatience. Latch pushes his jeans down further, exposing the total package. Wow, every inch of him is perfect, masculine, and sinful.

  A faint plea escapes from my lips. “Please, don’t hurt me.” Memories of Jared are dampening my rebellious spirit.

  His breathing seems labored. “Jesus, Haven, I would never hurt you. Why would you even think that?” He sounds baffled.

  As I hold his shaft in my hand, I know I really want to please him. But I also know that any desires I have for Latch are destined for disaster. Not only because of the age difference, but also because we’re from different worlds. My life would bore him, and his would be too much for me to handle with all the fame, parties and fast lifestyle. Latch is also very sexual; it oozes from his pores. That’s what makes him so alluring, so forbidden. I know nothing else about him except he wants me.

  Deep down, I could submit to him. He hasn’t even kissed me yet. Kissing is extremely intimate to me, and if this man kisses me, he will own me. I know it. I sense it. I can feel it. His kiss would break me. Even though I yearn for the kiss, I fear it, knowing it will unravel me.

  My hand gently fists around his length. It’s swelling, getting bigger, thicker. I suddenly feel Latch’s hand on the small of my back.

  “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do—”

  I look up into Latch’s face, close my eyes, and inhale a small breath. I dart my tongue around the crown, then swipe lightly across it. His body goes rigid. I proceed to run my tongue down both sides of him from the base to the tip, ever so lightly lingering on his balls with one hand, caressing them, testing their weight. A soft moan comes from Latch. His skin tastes like soap and his own natural essence, and it’s just so heavenly.

  As I lick, I glide my hand up and down his shaft, from root to tip, and I love hearing the moans he makes because of what I’m doing to him. The tip of my tongue trails across the top of the head until a drop of pre-cum appears, and I use my thumb to smear it and lubricate the mushroom head and rim. I cup his balls with my free hand, laving his soft skin with my tongue. I feel entranced and, without any hesitation, I take him fully into my mouth, using one hand to stroke him continually. His body spasms
and I hear a deep, guttural cry. I release his balls and fist his shirt, pulling him closer to me as I take him in deeper. His hips begin to move in short thrusting motions. I now take him in so deeply that I almost can’t get any air, but I’m too aroused to care.

  “Sweetheart, you have to stop. I’m going to come.” His voice sounds panicked and rough.

  Hearing his words drives me faster. I hear him mutter and curse, but I continue to suck and lick. Latch has his hands on my head and I can feel him stroking my hair. Teasing the slit on his cock with my tongue, I tighten my hand around the base and begin jerking him up and down. His dick begins to swell as he cries out. I hear the sound of wood cracking as he comes. Hot, salty release fills my mouth, running down my throat. He continues to thrust as I swallow all he has to give me, licking some off the crown.

  “What the fuck . . .” I hear him groan. Why does he sound displeased?

  My eyes snap open. I actually did this! I suppose I should be embarrassed, but I feel empowered instead. I feel awakened.

  He pulls away. I sit back in the chair, keeping my eyes to the ground. There are no sweet endearments or compliments, just what seems to be an eternity of silence. All I can hear is our breathing.

  I hear Latch pull his zipper up as he clears his throat. He is finished. I am done. Now my previous sense of empowerment is crushed—leaving me feeling vulnerable. I can’t even look at him. I have to be the one who walks away. I have to go.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him move behind his desk, placing the Bluetooth back on his ear and switching it on. The blue light flashes as it becomes activated. He clicks a button that allows the blinds to open. Light fills the room and I can see wood splinters littering the floor by his desk. His back is to me once again as he seems to be looking out at the view.

  “George, what did you find out? Really, that prick said that, what the hell! Never mind, draw up new contracts. If they won’t sign, then fuck them. Go talk to Sentry about their contacts. We’ll deal with them. Regardless, the next Blood Vestige has to be launched in the coming year. Make sure those assholes know that, and that I am not fucking around here. Are we clear?” He sounds pissed, almost hostile.

  He doesn’t turn around; he just keeps staring out the window. His fists are clenched at his side, and I can see blood dripping from one hand. Why is there blood? Did I do that?

  I stand up and adjust my clothing. I walk over to the sofa and grab my purse. I take a few tissues from a box sitting on an end table and wipe my mouth. I feel stupid, sleazy and cheap, but I got my wish. He is disgusted. I have succeeded in turning him off, clearly no longer an object of his affection. I’m not wanted. My plan has worked. This is why I came here. I have just humiliated myself, I feel like a whore, and Latch made sure to treat me like one. I’m surprised he hasn’t handed me any money. I guess payment comes with satisfaction.

  I move quickly out the door, not bothering to look in his direction. As soon as I step out in the hall, I walk quickly, almost running to the elevator. I can’t get to it fast enough. I feel tears start to edge their way out of my eyes. I shove my fist in my mouth so he can’t hear my cries. Jesus Christ, I’m so pathetic. I hear steps behind me, which makes me move even faster. I reach the open doors and step inside quickly.

  As I turn to watch the doors slowly close, I hear Latch say my name and croak, “I’m sorry.”

  Well, that makes both of us. What had I been thinking, coming here with such a ridiculous scheme? Did I seriously believe that this would end any other way? It’s what I had wanted, why I came. I don’t understand why I feel so empty inside now.

  The doors finally open at the lobby. I half expect to see Latch, but I don’t, and I’m not sure whether I’m elated that I’ve escaped neatly or if I’m saddened that he didn’t try to stop me. I quickly move through the lobby to the front doors. I can’t get out of here fast enough.

  Once outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air. I need to go back to work, but I’m a mess. As soon as I get to my car, I check my make-up in the mirror. My mascara is running under my eyes, I look white as a sheet, and my lip gloss no longer exists. My lips are red, tender, and swollen. My eyes are puffy and I’m on the verge of another crying jag.

  I throw my purse in the backseat, banging my fists down on the steering wheel, scolding myself for being so stupid and immature. I’m crying over a twenty-five year-old. Have I lost my mind? Yes, after seven years, I finally feel something incredible for another man. Latch has ripped the Band-Aid right off. But underneath, I am still raw and not really healed. I hate feeling this way.

  I decide to call Denise and tell her I ate something bad at lunch and that I’m going home. I don’t think I can muster enough willpower to make it through the rest of the workday.

  My cell phone rings. I don’t answer because I just know it's Latch. Another three calls follow until I turn off my phone. My hands are shaking as I drive home. Why is he calling? What, he feels remorse for being such a prick? There is nothing more to say. I whored myself and got what I wanted.

  Chapter Nine

  Latch

  What did I just do? I want this woman. I’ve spent the last two weeks basically stalking Haven. So why did I just treat her like shit? What is wrong with me? She did catch me by surprise, showing up at my office to give me a freaking blowjob. Where did that come from? She caught me completely off guard. Let’s just say, I was intrigued by the thought of having those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, but there wasn’t a moment when I thought she’d actually go through with it.

  I can’t help but think that, regardless of Haven being older, she appears naive. Don’t get me wrong; I would love nothing better than to spend my days and nights teaching her every sexual technique known in the civilized world . . . I’m that crazy about her. And from what I’ve seen, she may have some crazy going on of her own. I’m not sure why, but there’s something about her that makes me want to protect her, care for her. Of course, I want to fuck her too. I can hardly think of anything else lately, being inside her, having her scream my name, but she seems fragile and breakable, like beautiful, fine china. She’s not like the other women I’ve slept with. I can’t just do her and call it a night. I think I really do want to date her.

  I’ve never actually dated anyone, unless fucking the same girl three nights consecutively is considered dating. But I can’t believe that I just treated Haven like a whore. It wasn’t my intention, but every time I’m around her, I break my rules regarding sex. They just fly out the window. Fuck, she has pushed me to the edge. I don’t understand why I have no self-control when I’m with her. I’ve never had to chase a woman in my life. Not to sound arrogant, but I’ve had women cry, beg and plead for me to fuck them. So why is Haven always trying to run from me? I’ve tried everything: flowers, panties, phone sex and oral. I’ve most likely ruined any chance of ever having her. I’m sure she’ll never speak to me again and I can’t say I blame her—I got off in her mouth and tossed her aside like a used rag.

  Okay, so the entire thing of me coming in Haven’s mouth freaked me out, big time. I’ve never told anyone this, not even Keenan. And if it ever shows up anywhere on Google, I’ll just laugh and deny it. No one would believe it anyway. I’m a man. I love head. The whole concept of having a woman’s lips on my cock is hot as hell. And having my entire dick consumed—filling her mouth, is akin to dying pleasurably. My problem is that I only get blowjobs while using a condom. I’ve never allowed myself to come in someone’s mouth without the use of one. Maybe I’m a germaphobe. Or maybe I’m just strange. It’s never been something I’ve ever given much thought too. I’ve just always used protection for every kind of sex, regardless of the person or situation.

  Even when I’m high, I still manage a condom. But with Haven, I crossed every fucking line I had ever drawn for myself. She makes me forget about everything but being with her, inside her, engulfed by her. I don’t even know her and I already feel whipped. I should have used a condom, but I didn’t wan
t to. I wanted to feel everything with her. I knew the second she took me in her mouth that I was going to come. I tried not to, God help me, but her mouth was so hot and sweet, I couldn’t control it. When she made those tiny mewing noises and I saw her with her mouth so filled with me, I was lost, gone. I’ve never wanted to feel anything so much as I did in the moment I filled her mouth with my come. I’ve never experienced pleasure like that, and cracking the wood on my fifteen-thousand dollar desk and cutting my hand tells me how amazing it truly was. And now, because I was such an asshole, I’ll probably never have another chance to be with her. She hates me, and she should, because right now, I hate me. Maybe I’m just as warped as she is. We both have different problems. Mine are self-inflicted, and I think hers are because of someone else.

  I could just walk away. I’ve done it before with tons of other women. It’s what I do—I want, I take and I discard. Yeah, I’m nice about it. I haven’t had too many of my ex-lovers speak badly of me, so there’s that I suppose. Haven isn’t someone I just want to fuck. I want her mind, body and soul. I need her to be mine.

  Chapter Ten

  Haven

  I arrive home a while later and, as my luck would have it, Weezie’s home. I pretend to smile as I casually stroll into the house. Weezie is either in her office or in her bedroom. I kick off my shoes and quietly pad to my room. I close the door softly, taking off my clothes and tossing them into a pile on the floor. I’m so ashamed. I feel disgusting, dirty. If I turn on the shower, Weezie will know I’m home and come in, so I choose to bathe myself with hand soap and a washcloth. I put my hair into a low ponytail and grab some sweats and a tank top.

  Once I’m changed, I crawl into my bed. I reach over into my nightstand drawer and grab my medication. I haven’t been taking them daily like I should because of the drunken mishap at the party and the fact that I mixed prescription medication with alcohol. Weezie always keeps the prescription current “just in case.” I dry swallow one, and then follow it with another.