The Lustful Truth Ch. 04

By Wednesday night, I knew something was wrong. Jon hadn't stayed over since Thursday, and now, almost a week later, I knew that something wasn't right. Whenever I tried to talk to him though, he would kiss me on the forehead and tell me he'd talk to me later. Later turned into hours later, then days.

"Jon, I need to talk to you." His back is to me as he files through some papers in a filing cabinet.

"Uh, yes Bella, just give me a little while." He doesn't look at me, he continues searching, his deep, raspy, Greek laced voice the only thing familiar about him now. "I'll talk to you later, I'm very busy right now."

I consider turning to walk away, but stop mid turn, and move closer to him. "Turn around and look at me."

"Ha?" he says, not looking up.

"Turn around and fucking look at me."

He catches the edge in my voice, and turns his head to me. He looks tired.

"I need to talk to you." I stare into his eyes, trying to keep myself composed. He stares back at me, having never seen me angry, and he struggles between his own thoughts and the look on my face. He exhales in a way that sounds like he's been holding his breath for days.

"What can I do for you?"

I take a step back, almost flinching at the acidity of the question. I see his jaw clench and feel my heart start racing. I look down at the ground, processing his words. "Nothing," I say, "Nothing apparently." I turn to walk away when he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. My face is expressionless as I continue staring at the floor.

"Fuck, Bella," he whispers.

I stand there, stunned, finding no words. I can't look at him. I can't speak to him. I can't walk away from him. I stand there waiting for words that I don't want to hear to strike me. Instead, he moves his face to mine, puts his lips on the side of my face, close enough to my ear that his breath is tickles me, and says, "Not here." He grabs my face with one hand on either side; as a tear starts rolling down my cheek, he slowly pulls his lips to mine, closes his eyes, and kisses me, very, very softly. I feel a hint of his tongue for just a second and then he moves away. When he opens his eyes, they're glistening.

"Not here."

I say nothing as I turn around and walk away from him, nothing as I pick up my bag and leave the office for the day. I don't turn around, not even for a second.

. . .

When Anna sees me approaching the table, she reaches out for the waiter and I can hear her asking for him to change her order of two glasses of wine to a bottle. She puts out her hand to me as I sit down and I take it and squeeze.

"This is not good." She's got that look on her face, the one that people make when you're telling them a story and they imitate the look on your own face as you're telling it.

Her eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth is in a very strained frown. "Tell me what's going on."

I force a laugh. "If I only knew what was going on. That would be so much easier…"

"Tell me what's going on with you. Not with them, with you. What are you thinking?" She squeezes my hand again and let's go as the waiter comes back to the table with our beautiful bottle of Santa Margherita Pinto Grigio and pours us each a glass. We order our food and as the waiter is walking away, I tell him to get another bottle of wine ready.

I exhale. "I don't know what I'm thinking." I sip some wine, then gulp some wine. "I don't know what I was ever thinking. On the one hand, I never should have gotten involved with Christian, especially not two days before his wedding. And on the other hand, I don't know what fucking planet I was living on thinking that Kostas fucking Niarchos, gazillionaire-Greek-fucking-god would ever be able to give a shit about me anyway. I mean, I know he cares, but it's not like he really fucking cares." I gulp some more wine. Anna puts her hand to her mouth and tentatively nods in agreement. "I say fuck a lot." Anna laughs.

"You do, yes." She sits back in her chair, staring at me, sizing either me or her thoughts up. She leans forward and I know it's me she's going after. "Why is it not possible that he really c – sorry - really fucking cares?"

I stare at her. "He's got more numbers in his bank account than I do in my social security number," I chuckle out, taking another gulp, "and by numbers I mean actual digits, first of all, that's first of all…" I pour myself more wine. "Second of all, I've heard rumors that he's up for People's sexiest man of the year, and who won that last year? George Clooney? Brad Pitt? I don't know, it slipped my mind which A-list celebrity won last year. I have never had plastic surgery and don't intend to, I curse and apparently drink like a sailor, which reminds me," and I take another drink from my glass, "and I'm just not… I'm just not…"

Anna shakes her head, searching my face for my next word. "Just not what?"

"Equal," I finally say. "I'm just not fucking equal."

She stays silent for a moment, considering this word. "I understand that this is an intimidating scenario. I don't know how I would feel were I in your position…"

"Unworthy…" I mutter.

"…but have you ever considered that maybe that's why he likes you? Because you're not the same breed of bullshit he's been surrounded by since he was born? Did you ever consider how very, very easy it would be for him to walk out onto the street and find himself a manicured, well spoken, trust-fund hoecake to decorate his arm every day?"

I smile at her. "It would be wonderful to consider that it's a possibility that he really cares. Truly it would, but I don't think that's the case, Anna, I really don't."

"Then why's he so upset about Christian? Why hasn't he spent the night or even spoken to you since that fuckbag popped his stupid face back into your life? If Jon was just fucking you and didn't care, then he wouldn't give a shit about any of this Christian nonsense."

I drink more wine. I remember I haven't eaten. I drink again anyway. "And then there's this Christian nonsense…"

"You're changing the subject, but okay. What about this Christian nonsense? You haven't seen or spoken to him in a year, since you fucked him – I'm sorry to be so blunt – but since you fucked him and he walked down the aisle with Teeth McGee. You were best friends for ten years and he waits until two days before his wedding to tell you he loves you?" Her voice starts to escalate, and I push her wine glass towards her. She takes it and drinks. "I'm sorry, Bella, really I am, but that's bullshit. What a selfish fuck."

The waiter brings over our food, and we eat for a few minutes, pondering what part of this situation needs the most attention, which man deserves our fading, drunken energy. Anna wants to talk about Jon. I want to talk about Jon, but I need to talk about Christian.

"I would've died to talk to him a year ago. Nine months ago, maybe even six months ago. I still have nightmares, Anna, I still wake up sometimes expecting him to be the one in bed with me. I know what happened is fucked up, but I still think somewhere that he really wanted to be with me and just didn't know how to get out of getting married." She shakes her head no as I drink the last of the bottle and I shake my head back. "I know you don't agree, I don't even know if I agree. But I should talk to him. I should find out what the fuck happened."

"You're going to hurt yourself. Whatever you have to do, Bells, but you're going to hurt yourself one way or the other." The waiter brings the other bottle of wine and while he's pouring and diverting Anna's attention, I text Christian under the table and ask him to meet me at the seaport in an hour. He immediately responds with an okay. I feel uneasy. But more than that, I feel drunk.

Anna and I sit and eat and finish the other bottle of wine, and I kiss her goodbye and tell her I'll call her later, that I'm just going to walk for a little and think. She knows I'm full of shit, but she lets me go anyway. "You be careful," she says, before squeezing my hand and walking off. I head for the subway.

. . .

It's almost eight by the time I get there, and it's a warm night, a little muggy, a little breezy, but perfect for being on the river. I'm standing at the railing staring at Jersey City when I feel someone's hand move along my lower back. I see Christian move up next to me. He's looking at the city too at first, then he turns his head to face me.

"I'm drunk," I say. He laughs.

"Me too." He puts his hand on my cheek and runs his finger up and down for a moment before pulling back. "I was at Limerick with the guys. Wing night," he mumbles.

"Fucking meat eaters," I laugh.

We stand there for a few minutes, staring across the water, silent, before he speaks.

"So why'd you wanna meet, Bells? What changed your mind?" I feel his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers running up into my hair. I have chills all over my body.

"I had questions," I hoarsely say, "but I don't know what they were anymore, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know the answers right now anyway." He puts his head down, then moves his hand out of my hair and down to my hand. He squeezes.

"Okay. How bout we don't ask any questions tonight? How bout we just walk for a while?" He takes my hand and pulls me away from the railing. And we walk; a right here, a left there, a few blocks uptown, a few blocks across, not speaking, just walking, hand in hand, for what seems like hours.

As I'm about to step off a corner into the street, Christian pulls me back because of oncoming traffic and as he does, I look up and see it - that glowing Manhattan hotel, the one that Christian and I went to that first night. I look over at him, and he sees it too. He turns to me and our eyes lock and I know that he's about to spend another four hundred dollars just to feel me on his dick and hear me say his name. He smirks at me as he pulls me across the street, and I press my tits against his back again as we go through the door.

While I stand there waiting for him to get us a room, I am aware of how different this feels from the last time, but I can't exactly say how or why. He puts his arms around my waist as he guides me towards the elevator and once we're inside, he turns me towards him and presses me against the wall with a hand. He stares at me, first in my eyes, then my mouth, then my shoulders and chest, my stomach, my hips, then back up to my eyes. I blink slowly. He puts his hand in my hair and pulls me towards him and kisses me once while looking me in the eye. I breathe him in, reveling in the heat of his hand on my head, the soft pressure of his lips on mine, the strong pressure of his muscle up against my softer body.

The elevator opens but he stands there for just a second more looking me in the eye. Then he backs up, taking both of my hands in his, pulling me away from the wall and down the hallway to the room. He opens the door, guides me in, and leans himself against it as he closes it. I walk, not turning to face him, to the leather chair in the corner of the room where I sit down, lean back and run my fingers through my hair. He watches me, then speaks.

"Come here." His voice is husky with ideas of sex. I tilt my head and look at him.

"No," I say. "You come here." He considers this for a moment, then slowly pushes himself away from the door and across the room. By the time he's standing in front of me, I can see his dick pushing at his jeans. I stand up very close to him and turn him around by guiding him with my body until he's in front of the chair. I raise my right hand and push him down into it and he leans himself back and rests his arms on the sides. I glance out the window and smile; how amusing to think someone might be watching this. I leave the curtains open, my body lit up from behind by the light near the door and from the front by the glow of the city outside.

I take my hands and push my long hair behind my shoulders and out of my face. As I begin to unbutton my pants, Christian shifts slightly in the chair, settling deeper into it, breathing a little heavier. I unzip them and shift my hips until they fall to the floor, my black lace underwear showing off my hips and, from behind, my ass. I pinch at the edge of the bottom of my shirt and slowly I begin to lift. I see Christian shift in the chair again and I stop. His hands are gripping the arm rests but he's trying to look relaxed.

"You can touch me," I whisper.

"Not yet," he whispers back and I hear him exhale. I half smile in the half dark and continue lifting up my shirt until it comes up and over my head, my long hair messy around my face. I throw my shirt behind me and go to take my heels off.

"Leave them," he says, and I stop. I can see, even in the shadows, him looking at every square inch of my body. I must look very different to him now, still curvy in all the right places, but thinner, hints of a ribcage, my hipbones. Not thin, but more fit, more toned. He sits there, looking me up and down for what feels like forever. A year ago, I would have shifted uncomfortably at this, but now, after all I'd been through, I stand there, arms hanging at my sides, hands caressing the top of my thighs, my inner thighs, around my pussy, my ass and hips and stomach. I bring them up to my tits, still round and curvy, their fullness accentuated by the black lace bra holding them.

Again I push my hair back and I see Christian glance up at me, his lips slightly parted, his tongue sliding across his lips. He reaches one hand towards me and with one finger, he traces the right side of my body, from breast to ribs to waist to hip to thigh. I shiver at the sensation and I know he feels it. He pauses for a second before taking his finger and hooking it into my underwear at my cunt and pulling me gently forward. He brings his face forward and while his mouth and tongue start loving my stomach, his hands run themselves up my sides and behind my back to unhook my bra. He slowly pulls the straps down and away from me and once it's off, his tongue and lips and teeth are at my nipples, playing, pulling, teasing. My breath shallows; I put my fingers on his head, his short hair tickling my palms. He pulls me into him and for a moment, I think he's just breathing me in.

After a moment, he pulls away, sitting himself back in the chair. I get on my knees, staring into his eyes as I feel his cock through his pants, then unbutton and unzip them. He inhales deeply through his nose as I take his hard dick in my small, soft hand, slowly and softly moving it out of his pants. He watches me as I lick my lips and start to bend forward, glancing down to look at his throbbing dick and smiling for a second before looking back up at him, seeing the strain of the coming pleasure on his face. His eyes are on my eyes then on my tongue as I slide it out of my mouth and let the tip of it barely touch his head. From where one of my hands is placed, I can feel his stomach contract with the feeling, and I go forward again, running the width of my tongue along the whole length of his cock. He leans his head back and breaths audibly; I take his whole head in my mouth and suck for a moment, hearing the leather of the chair as his hands tighten on the arm rests again. I wrap my hand around the base and start moving him in and out of my mouth, my tongue running up and down the bottom with each movement. I pull him out and again run my tongue along the shaft, around the head, and back down. He grabs my hair and pulls himself back into me; I feel his dick hit the back of my throat and I dig my nails into the skin on his stomach with uncomfortable pleasure. He does it again and I dig in deeper. Once, twice, three times more and he sits back, releasing my hair, staring at the ceiling, trying to compose himself.

Fuck that, I think.

I pull at his pants, tugging til he lifts his ass off the chair. I follow up with his underwear, and after I'm done pulling them off his body, I run my tongue along his dick one more time before I tuck one of my knee's between his leg and the chair on the right side and then do the same on the left. He looks up at me, as if to tell me to wait a second, but I have not the patience. He's kept me waiting for a fucking year.

I kneel on top of him and watch him watch me as I shift my underwear to one side and slowly run my fingers along my wetness. Then I take his cock in my other hand and position his head just barely inside my cunt.

"Tell me what you want," I say hoarsely.

He stares at me, his breathing heavy and uneven. He looks almost confused.

"Tell me what you want," I say again, my sex-laced voice heavy and dark, yet barely audible.

"I want to feel you. I want to feel my dick in you."

I tilt my head and look at him quizzically. I say and do nothing.

"I want to feel your cunt on my dick. I want to feel you feeling me," he says, his hands grabbing my ass, squeezing my soft curves, then feeling them.

I bend forward and put my mouth not even a centimeter from his. I stare at his lips and make to move for them, then pull back as he moves forward. I look him in the eye. He stares at my mouth. I stare back down at his. He moves forward again, and again I pull away. He looks poised to come for me one more time when I move his cock inside me. The sensation of the wet and heat and tightness almost overtakes him and he pulls me down onto him until he's all the way inside me; I can tell that if I move just an inch he'll cum, so I sit very still, smiling my half smile in the dark. His eyes are closed, his big strong hands are firmly holding my hips down and his breathing is slowly becoming normal again. I lean forward very slowly and graze my lips against his neck. I do this a few times before using my lips, and then finally, my teeth. As I bite him, his fingers dig into my ass and he opens his eyes; with one hand still on my ass, he takes the other and grabs the back of my neck, pulling me forward. I put my hands on his chest and try to push him back, try to resist, but his strength is no match for me. He finally pushes his mouth to mine and what ensues is a violently pleasurable meeting of our mouths; biting, playing, soft then hard, long then short. He keeps his eyes on mine, moves his hands to my lower back, and slowly I start to move on top of him. His breathing changes, his kissing changes, all his thoughts moving to my cunt wrapped around his cock and trying not to cum.

I get all the way up on my knees, my tits in his face, his mouth on me, his hands on me; I move my own fingers to my clit and start to rub myself. He pulls back to watch and he starts moving faster and faster, his dick filling me up every time, my breathing becoming more shallow, my soft moans growing louder and louder with each slide of his dick.

"Cum. Cum baby, I want you to make yourself cum," he whispers. He wills me to look down at him, down at those soft brown eyes and watch him as I orgasm, and I do, my pussy pulsing with each wave, his dick feeling bigger and bigger inside me as my cunt contracts over and over again. He watches me until I'm done, then puts his hands under my ass and lifts me off the chair, slowly laying me down on the bed, his dick never leaving me. He grins at me as he starts fucking me, slowly at first, then harder and harder, his body slapping my body as his thrusts his whole cock into me. I feel my orgasm building again and I dig my nails into his ass.

"I love fucking you," he says. My mind pauses as he continues to fuck me, but I let myself go into the orgasm I'm about to have. His thrusting becomes more desperate and finally I feel him pour himself into me at the same time I cum. He kisses me, uneven, unfocused kisses, torn between the sensation in his dick and the pleasure of his mouth on my mouth. He slows his body little by little, eventually stopping as our lips and tongues continue to intertwine, all soft now, all gentle and slow. He pulls himself out of me and rolls himself over, lying next to me. Our breathing slows and I push myself on my side, kiss him, and head to the bathroom. By the time I get out, Christian is dressed and waiting on the bed. I pull my underwear on and start to get dressed as he starts to speak.