Always and Never Ch. 02bynerd4music©
Author's Note: So here it is, nearly six months later. They've been six hellish months, let me tell you. I honestly couldn't write an ending for this story when my own felt so unfinished. And my ending is still nebulous, but at least in the fiction world I can create the resolution I desperately crave in my own life. So I hope you enjoy the end to Rachel's story. It took me a long time to get here, but I thank everyone for sticking it out.
His breath came in heavy pants; the heated snorts of desire tickling her skin, threatening to scorch. Her back arched in pleasure even as her heart told her to resist. His thrusts became deeper as he lifted her leg over his shoulder, his teeth nipping the soft skin.
"Tell me what I want to hear" he rasped as he slowly rocked his cock deeper into her wetness.
Rachel moaned, her fingers clawing the sheets underneath her sweat slicked body. This wasn't supposed to be happening. She was supposed to be stronger than this. She was supposed to stay away from him. But one phone call had sent her running to Room 8 of the Sunshine Motel once more.
Two hours later she'd stop counting the number of times she'd come, lost track of the many ways his tongue and cock brought her to massive heights of pleasure. Her body practically vibrated each time he made contact, each time his fingers ran sensuous trails down her nearly spent limbs.
Fuck, she couldn't give this up. So maybe she would tell him what he wanted to hear, that she wanted only him, that she would always be his. Because the more she said it, the more she was inclined to believe.
His hands clenched tightly on her upper arms as he started to pick up speed. Rachel wrapped her long legs around his waist, her heels digging into his cheeks as he pumped harder. It bordered on perverse pleasure and slight pain. She wondered when he would let up. She loved tender Brendan. Lately he had been anything but. Their recent sessions had been long and rough. He wore her out, twisting her body, making the sweat drip tiny rivulets. He would barely let her come down from an orgasm before he was flipping her over, spreading her legs wider.
She longed for the days when he would take her into his arms, cradling her to him as he slid slowly inside her, his lips caressing hers gently, his hands tangled in her curls. Those were her favorite; the times she thought he was truly hers. When she didn't feel like his designer whore.
"Brendan, slow down baby" she cooed between gasps. "Take it slow. Please."
He continued as if he didn't hear her, his cock ramming harder into her pussy. Rachel hissed, her hands clenching his upper arms as slight shocks of pain rippled through her system. "Brendan please."
Brendan looked down, his eyes that nebulous pond color. She remembered when those eyes smiled warmly at her as he lifted her from the bed, carrying her into the bathroom with the sunken tub, where he would fill it with steaming hot water and wash her before climbing in to ravish her once more. Those were the times he looked and acted like a man in love and for a few hours she could pretend that she was Mrs. Brendan Doyle.
But this, this was different. He wasn't his usual dominant self. No, he was bordering on cruel.
Rachel clenched her pelvic muscles, squeezing his cock tighter inside her. Brendan groaned loudly. "Oh gorgeous. Fuck, I think I'm going to..." He shuddered and she felt the hot liquid shoot inside her. His face went slack, melting with absolute pleasure before he fell onto the bed beside her.
Rachel couldn't bring herself to look at him, unsure of what just happened. It was the first time, in their whole relationship that she hadn't come when he did. She squeezed her legs together and tried not to think about soreness that was sure to come later on.
She felt the bed dip and she felt him get up and start to dress. She couldn't believe it. He wasn't even going to stay and rest for a little. She wanted to talk with him. Things were so different from before. Rachel couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but slowly she could feel him pulling away from her.
As he slid on his jeans, she couldn't help but feel irritated; at him, but mostly at herself. She couldn't keep doing this anymore. This has to stop, she thought.
"This again?" she heard him say with a sigh.
Rachel looked up. He was staring down at her, his v-neck shirt in hand. She realized she must have spoken aloud. "What do you mean this again?"
"This pointless rant you do about leaving. I don't know why we always have to get into this."
"Oh, I don't know" she sniped. "Maybe I just realize when I'm not wanted and figure I'd cut out while I can. Isn't that what all good whores do?"
His full lips pulled into a half-smirk. "You said it, gorgeous. Not me."
Rachel scoffed. "God, Brendan. I can't keep playing these games anymore. I keep telling myself it's the last time; that I won't give in to you. But I can't stop. And you know that."
"Oh, I count on it" he said smoothly. His shirt was on now and he shrugged into his black blazer.
"Look Rachel, if you really wanted to leave you would. Plain and simple. But you don't. You like what we do, love the way I make you mine. You're a sucker for pain babycakes. The requisite victim in your own Shakespearean tragedy. And that's why you'll never leave."
Rachel felt the hot tears welling in her eyes, but she refused to cry. "Why do you do this? You could be so good to me. Why do you have to hurt me like this?" The questions sounding pointless even in her head; but she couldn't stop them from spewing forth.
His green eyes blazed with the familiar emerald fire as he stepped towards her. "Because you need me to play the role of the villain. So I'll play my part, baby. And I'll have fun doing it. You know how it was the moment we started this thing. I haven't changed, and neither have the rules. You can either play along and give yourself to me, or just get out. We're not in a relationship. You aren't my wife."
Rachel stared up at him, his harsh words sinking in, shredding what was left of her heart. So this is what it took; he had to break her down fully. Somehow she would recognize that it's all part of the game. She was blinded, her vision clouded with fruitless ambition and dumb hope that she could tame him, that she was up to the challenge of making a man like Brendan Doyle love her. That was clearly wishful thinking. He would never change.
Slowly, she got up from the bed. Methodically, she dressed, barely registering her fingers buttoning her shirt, sliding on her jeans. She could feel his eyes as they followed her but she refused to meet his gaze. As she picked up her purse, she finally turned to him. There was so much she could have said in that moment; how much he hurt her, what an asshole he was, how she deserved better. But it was pointless; her words would fall on deaf ears.
She couldn't bring herself to speak. With one last look, she turned and opened the door. With one light slam, she closed off Room 8 of the Sunshine Motel.
Rachel woke to the sound of thunder clapping loudly. Her eyes flew open, blurring for a bit in the graying light of the dim room. The red numbers on the digital clock next to the bed gave off a menacing glare, reminding her it was still early; 7:30. A loud sigh filled the quietness of the room; she could never sleep late after a night of drinking.
Heavy lids lifted drowsily, revealing reddened hazel eyes. She stared out the window, glimpsing the dun colored Sunday sky as large raindrops started to fall. Close your eyes and try to get back to sleep was the only sentence her alcohol-soaked brain could form without the frivolity of meaningless thought process.
A surge of white anger shot hotly through her veins, making the room feel even more stifling and she turned from the window, the slender curve of her back left bare in the slight heat of the room when her long brown legs twisted the sheets in her irritation. It was too early to be so emotional, she thought as her body fitfully tried to return to its previous state of uncomfortable slumber.
It was no use. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. And when she did dream, the mistakes from the past five months were in continuous loop, playing non-stop in her head. She wished like hell for a chance to do it all over. But it was pointless; wishing did nothing but make her miserable.
She longed for sleep, the only place it seemed where she could make things right. In her dreams, things were perfect. Brendan was loving, attentive, and caring. The perfect boyfriend. And completely hers.
But shit, that's all it was. A damn dream.
Sitting up groggily, she staggered to the window before pulling it up, not caring if her nude body was exposed to the neighborhood. The sound of the rain was louder now and tiny droplets landed on the windowsill. The room became cooler and she breathed a sigh of temporary relief.
The bed groaned as her weight returned to it, her back lying against the cool white sheets. Maybe she could sleep now. She needed to. No, what she needed was courage, and a double fucking dose of it.
Drinking at a time like this. It was stupid, yes. But it seemed like the only way to dull the throbbing ache of regret that pulsed in her veins and beat loudly against her temple. Being this unhappy was uncomfortable and draining. She needed release.
She needed him.
He was the only one who could make things right, make her right. Make her whole. Hah, clearly.
She was pathetic, pining over him. It made her sick, the constant worrying and wondering what he was up to, why he hadn't called for almost three days. He was angry with her, she thought. Angry because she hadn't spoken to him that night after the Sunshine Motel incident. It was a rare moment of bravery. She needed time to herself, to sort things out so she ignored his texts, his phone calls. It made her feel empowered, strong.
Finally, the upper hand was hers. It wasn't until the second day of no contact that she realized she was right back where she started—on the losing end. Foolish, she was to think she could have beaten him at his own game. It was always his way. Always.
And so she drank, because she was depressed and it was the only way to cope with the surge of helplessness consuming her thoughts, making her head swim. Something had to give. She needed to make sense of things. This situation was beginning to take its toll on her. Rachel didn't know how much longer she could go on like this.
Her love for Brendan was like a disease, spreading quickly, poisoning her heart. Slowly but surely, it was killing her.
In her drunken state, she couldn't help but think of his touch; she was only human, after all. She craved that feeling of closeness. She dared her mind to think back to better times, the feel of his thick cock pushing inside her. A small shiver weaved a jagged path down her spine, making her whole body shudder. She could still hear his voice, the low timbre making her melt. His tone was forceful, the rolling sounds of his Boston accent sending deliciously sinful pulses to the most secret part of her body.
Her hand traced the ghost path his tongue would make, tickling the soft nape of her neck, teasing the generous swell of her breasts before reaching the sensitive nipples, dark capped and begging to be sucked.
Her fingers were his, sliding down her generous curves, tracing the tight cinch where hips met waistline before dipping down to stroke the silken folds of her pussy. She was aroused, the wetness coating her fingertips. When she slid two fingers inside, she sighed. It wasn't him, but it felt good enough.
"That's right" she could almost hear him say. "Touch yourself for me, Gorgeous."
Her back arched as she gently bucked her hips. Her fingers were sliding with ease. She tried to focus on her fantasy, trying to picture his eyes, the way his voice rose and fell, the unabashed desire in his words when he said...
"You like touching yourself."
"Yes," she answered aloud.
"Mmm," she could hear him moan. His voice was ringing in her ears. "You look so pretty right now, baby. Don't you wish that was my cock inside you?"
She moaned, her free hand reaching up to pinch her nipple. She twisted the bud tightly, relishing in the pleasure/pain sensation. Her body trembled with her rough actions. This is how she liked it, how he wanted it. The only way it could be.
"Tell me Rachel," the ghost voice whispered.
"Yes," she gasped out. "I want you so bad, Brendan." Her thumb grazed her clit and she bit her lip in pleasure. "I want you to fuck me."
"Slip another finger inside, baby. Open up that tight little hole for me."
Rachel complied, sliding a third finger inside, feeling her pussy clench around them. "Oooh," she moaned. "Oh Brendan."
"You want to come for me, baby?"
"Yes," she said breathlessly.
"What does my little girl want?"
She was fucking herself harder now, twisting her nipples tighter, her fingers plunging deeper. She was close, so fucking close. She could feel his breath in her ear and it made her shiver. "Make me come, Brendan. I need it so bad."
"Come for me, Work that sweet pussy like I know you know how."
"Ahh," she cried. Her muscles tensed as her orgasm hit. She whimpered loudly, her toes arched in pleasure. She felt it all over, the whole body spasm making her a bit disoriented. As she slowly tried to come down, she heard his voice chuckle.
"That's my good girl. My gorgeous girl."
She gulped air, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Her fingers slid out of her warmth, the sticky wetness growing cool in the exposed air. She was still shaking, a shudder running through her body that had nothing to do with post-orgasmic euphoria.
The emotions were overwhelming: shame, pleasure, anger, love. It was sensory overload. The tears began to fall. She was shaking harder now as she covered her face with her hands. She could still smell her essence on her fingers as she rolled onto her side, her legs curled close to her chest in a fetal position.
She was losing her grip.
"Rachel? Rachel? Hey! Get up!"
A low groan rumbled from her lips. She was dreaming. She had to be. She could have sworn she heard Lucia's voice, although why she'd be dreaming about her best friend, she'd never know.
Now it didn't feel like a dream. Someone was actually poking her. Angrily, she swiped at the hand and rolled over. She heard Lucia chuckle.
"Get up, you lazy bitch."
Groggily, Rachel opened a hazel eye. She saw Lucia glaring down at her, hands on her wide hips. She was clad in bright pink sweatpants with a matching zip-up hoodie. Her heavy dark brown hair was slicked back into a high ponytail. She was way too brightly dressed for a Sunday. And what fucking time was it?
"What time is it?" Rachel croaked.
Lucia huffed. "Nearly one-thirty."
Rachel groaned. "Shit, Luce. I'm sorry." It was their usual routine; every Sunday they'd go for brunch at Mae's, a local diner that was famous for its strawberry pancakes. Just thinking about the fluffy golden hotcakes was enough to rouse her from the bed. Wrapping the sheet around her nakedness, she yawned. Sleeping late had never been her forte. She was an early riser, never going past nine o'clock. And on a Sunday, too.
Her Mama would be ashamed, especially since she drank heavy the night before and didn't even go to church the next day. "Imma take back that damn key I gave you." Her head was throbbing, and it felt like there was a metal band playing a kickass solo behind her eyes.
Lucia raised a surprised eyebrow. "Mama, what happened last night? I come in and there's a bottle of Stoli on the table. You haven't drank vodka since sophomore year."
Rachel groaned again. The Vodka debacle of sophomore year. How could she forget? It was days before her 20th birthday when she, Lucia, and a group of her girlfriends decided to have a night out on the town. Before leaving the girls surprised Rachel with a bottle of Absolut as a birthday gift. They pre-gamed in the dorm room Rachel shared with Lucia, giggling over "breaking the alcohol rules" as their hall was a dry dorm. They drank shot after shot, toasting Rachel until she could barely stand up.
After the bottle was empty they walked to the club, tottering on spiked black heels. At the bar, male admirers kept plying them with alcohol and Rachel, not to seem like a baby, accepted. It was then she realized that she really was the only one who was wasted. But she was having too much fun to care, until she was dancing with a random guy who decided it would be cool to twirl her around. It was all downhill from there. Literally. She fell, puked all over her new Betsey Johnson dress and had to be carried out of the club by the bouncers.
The next morning, she woke up still reeking of stale vodka and vomit. She questioned a suspiciously guilty-faced Lucia who confessed that she, along with the other girls had been pouring water into their glasses, after the first round of shots. Rachel had essentially downed an entire bottle of vodka singlehandedly.
It was then she swore never to touch the stuff. Last night, she broke that promise. Vodka was the only thing guaranteed to fuck her up beyond belief. And that was exactly what she wanted, to be numb to everything.
"Rachel? Are you even listening to me?"
Her eyes once again focused on Lucia. Truthfully, she'd forgotten she was even there. "Check" she said while nodding. "Stoli on the table. Liquor bad."
"Why were you drinking?"
"Wanted to see if I could stomach the vodka after all these years."
Lucia sniffed. "Damn. You smell like a hobo. Why don't you take a quick shower and then we'll head to Mae's? After some food in your belly, you can explain why you're acting like a goddamn fool."
Twenty minutes later, they were at Mae's, sitting in their usual corner booth. Rachel took a minute sip from the cup of black coffee nestled in her hands. She didn't even realize they were shaking slightly until Lucia chimed in.
"Okay, seriously what is wrong? You're off."She paused. "It's him, isn't it?"
Rachel looked up in surprise. Lucia never mentioned Brendan. Ever. She knew they were together, knew the particulars, but never really wanted to talk about it. And now here she was, bringing to light everything Rachel wanted to keep private. But there was a small part of her that yearned not to carry the burden of hopelessness and regret all alone. "Luce, I..."
"You know, you can act like a tough-as-nails broad all you want but don't forget I know you."
Rachel stared, hoping the look on her face was more withering than pathetic. "What are you talking about?"
Lucia waved her hand, shooing away her words.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't play dumb. It doesn't become you. The vodka, the distant stares...this shit is all because of him. Now I've held my tongue because despite me being your best friend and going through more shit in the past nine-almost-ten years I didn't say anything as you monumentally fucked up your life for the past five months. It's not enough that you are knowingly messing around with a married man, but even worse, you're involved with someone who doesn't give a shit about you. I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just trying to be real. This shit...give it the fuck up, Rach. Leave now with at least some of your dignity."
This was too heavy, especially on an empty stomach. There was a pregnant pause as the waitress brought their food. Rachel sat in silence, staring at the stack of golden strawberry pancakes with the butter melting just the way she liked. Her stomach suddenly felt bloated and sour. The food was making her sick. She took a deep breath as she felt the hot tears slide down her cheeks. Crying. It was all she seemed to be doing these past days.