My Own Worst Enemy

I wanted to scream in frustration. Fucking betrayed by my own body—again!

Mark rubbed the head of his cock against my labia. "This what you wanted, Sophie? Huh? You need dick so bad you'll just whore yourself out on the flip of a coin? What are you, a fucking psychopath?"

With all the conflicting emotions ricocheting through my head, I couldn't tell what I wanted: for him to slag off or to bang the hell out of me, though the latter course was, to my dismay, quickly overtaking the former in my brain. He might have let me up if I had demanded he do so but as angry as he was, I couldn't count on it. With the decision out of my hands, I threw caution to the wind and laced as much venom into my voice as I could muster. "You know why you'll always be a little bitch, Mark?"

Fingers tightened on my jaw. He growled, "Enlighten me."

I braced myself. "Because you talk too fucking much."

Mark snarled and slammed his hips into mine, burying his cock deep in me.

I shrieked from both the impact and the sudden, instant sensation of him separating me. Given his force and the lack of foreplay, I expected it to be uncomfortable but I was sopping and my body eagerly took him in. He thrust again, so hard the force almost lifted my feet from the floor, and then again. Each thrust tore a grunting moan from me. His cock filled my pussy well and the angle, with me bent over the couch but his grip on my chin making me bow my back, meant he was hitting a particularly wonderful spot. He did not get any more gentle with subsequent thrusts and each crash of his hips into mine elicited a moan of discomfort from my tailbone. But waves of pleasure pulsed out from my center, overwhelming the twinges of pain. I writhed in his grasp, alternating between wanting to sob at my body's surrender and to scream at him to go harder.

Mark's voice seeped into my thoughts. His fingers moved my chin to my neck, though still in a vice-grip that was scary and maddening and delicious in its strength all at once. The thumb pressure on my spine was so tight I don't think I could have pulled away if my life depended on it. He kept my head up and back arched even as he kept powering into me. "Feel that, you fucking bitch? Feel that cock plowing your cunt?"

"I feel nothing," I said between gritted teeth even as another ripple of pleasure radiated through my abdomen. I was shocked to feel the first vague signs of an orgasm building.

"Probably so loose from being such a loud-mouthed slut."

I clenched my vaginal muscles around his shaft, which caused Mark to groan. "That feel loose to you? Just ..."

His next thrust against my increased pressure brought a pulse of euphoria so intense I almost blacked out. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a moan as a tremor crashed through me, nearly bringing on the full-fledged orgasm. I eased the muscles in my abdomen. I started panting. "Just ... just because you've got ... a ... a tiny ... cock ..." I tried to convince myself that this was just our arrangement, that I was doing this to pay off my loss—that I felt nothing and it meant nothing.

It didn't work.

All the mishmash of emotion and simmering tension between us finally overwhelmed my thoughts ... and he was screwing me just a little too well. I had no idea how I would feel later but right then, I accepted that I actually did want him.

I gave up pretending. "Yes! Fuck me! Don't stop!"

Pressure on my neck vanished. I inhaled at the relief, only to feel a hand on my back push my face forward, bending me over fully. Burning fingertips dug into the skin of both hips as Mark yanked me back against him while increasing his pace, though he still pistoned each thrust into my pussy with all the strength of his body. The last of my anger vanished in the face of the girth stabbing inside me, leaving nothing but the raw animal desire. It only took a few more thrusts before I hit the tipping point. My entire body went rigid and I screamed his name over and over as wave after wave of bliss crashed through my mind.

It was so strong that I think I went back in time for a moment.

My head swam and my eyes watered. All four of my limbs turned to jelly. If Mark had not been holding me over the couch, I think my buckled knees would have sent me straight to the floor. He continued pounding me right through my orgasm, piling on the pleasure. I closed my eyes and let the sensations take me.

Perceptions drifted, becoming vague and incoherent. I still heard the grunt of Mark's voice and the slap of flesh on flesh. I still smelled our arousal. More than anything, though, I was aware of his hard cock filling me, merging with me, plunging into me over and over again.

Mark's breathing grew more ragged. I gasped along with him and squirmed under every thrust. I could feel his rod swelling. Another minor orgasm burst through me. Just as I moaned at the release, Mark stiffened and groaned. His cock pulsed three, four times, and the ripple of each pulse caused another minor shockwave in me ... and fresh wetness swamped my insides. He collapsed against my back, his heavy breath thunderous.

My fractured brain tried to regain control but everything was too jumbled. Oh God ... That was ... oh God ...

Between his weight and the dreamy lassitude encompassing my body, I couldn't do anything other than lay there with him on top of me. I felt his cock shrinking until at last, it fell out of me. I whimpered at the loss.

I don't know how long we lay there but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Ever so slowly, Mark raised himself from my body and pushed away. I heard him step back and buckle his pants, his footfalls on the floor, then the opening of the apartment door.

I flinched when it slammed shut. It sounded as final as a tomb being sealed.

Ignoring my quaking limbs, I stood and looked around. Mark was gone.

My eyes fell on the floor-length mirror and locked onto my reflection. My eyes were wild, my cheeks flushed, and my hair had half come loose of its ponytail. My knees shook and a trail of white liquid ran down the inside of my thigh. I raised a quivering hand to my lips as I stared at myself.

Tears blurred my vision. With a wail, I sank to the floor and cried.

#

I thought it was around two when Mark went out the door but I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of much of anything, considering that after I cleaned myself and my trembling fingers pulled my pants back up, I grabbed an unopened bottle of wine out of his fridge, cracked it, and started drinking. When that was gone, I moved on to the brandy he had in the cabinet. Before too long, I was a blithering mess.

I don't recall a whole lot. I know I cried. I cursed his name. I screamed and then I cried some more. I think I might have thrown a glass at the wall but I can't remember. I think I threw up once. Above all, I played it over and over in my head, trying to figure out what had gone so wrong.

I'd been enjoying Mark's company in the hospital and the bar. I thought he overreacted when Kevin moved in but I have no idea why what happened had made either of us so angry. I kept drinking.

The last time I saw the clock, it read three-something. I had a vague recollection of falling asleep with my face on the kitchen table. At some point, I thought I heard a voice and raised my head but I passed out again immediately.

My eyes slowly blinked awake. All I saw was a dim fuzziness and a blot of red somewhere on my right. I lay there for a second. Breath whistled over my dry lips. I licked them and my stomach turned; the inside of my mouth tasted like I'd been rooting in the garbage dump. I tried to raise my head and, as if recognizing that I was now awake and it was free to complain, a bolt of agony fired through my temple. I winced and it reduced to a dull throb.

Lovely.

My vision coalesced on the red blot, which turned out to be a digital clock display. It read 10:56. The light on the bedside table was turned down to a low setting and I was glad of it since my head did not feel receptive to bright light. I groaned and rolled over. City lights twinkled in the night sky beyond the window.

What ...

It all came back in a torrent ... reading to Cammie in her bed ... Mark and I at the bar ... Kevin's intervention ... our argument ... and the fucking. Oh lord, the fucking.

I sat up and saw that I was in a bedroom. Pressed shirts and pants hung in the open closet, along with several suits still in their dry-cleaning sheaths.

Mark's bedroom. But—

My body apparently felt threatened by sitting up, since my stomach twisted and rumbled as if in preparation for another round of praying at the porcelain altar. I sank back to the pillows and the grumbling abated. While it churned and finally calmed, I thought about Mark. He had left but someone had put me in the bed. I assume it had been him, which meant he'd come back. But did I want to see him?

As a lay there, I decided I wasn't upset anymore. If I was honest with myself, I'd been upset with everything that had led up to that point, with all the emotional whiplash, and not the sex. I didn't hate him for fucking me; hell, the whole point of the weekend was so he could. I'd been prepared for it and despite the ferocity, I had agreed to all of it.

I just hadn't expected to enjoy it so much myself—either the sex or being with him—and I knew that, and not Mark, was the root of my problem.

Beyond that, I realized I was tired of being aggravated with him. I wanted to put things at peace between us for good. I might not get that corner office but nothing was keeping me from seeking employment with another brokerage. Chuck knew I wasn't kidding; a half-dozen in Manhattan alone would take me in a heartbeat, and a bunch of my clients would probably go with me.

I mean, if that's what I want ... it is, isn't it? A twinge of doubt penetrated my mind before I dismissed it as hangover-induced confusion.

In any event, there was no point in dwelling on what Mark's arrival in our office had taken. It wasn't fair—life seldom was—but I had to let it go, whether I switched jobs or not. I needed to accept it and work toward the future.

And in my future, I didn't want Mark and I to hate each other.

A quick glance told me I was still dressed. The only thing that had been removed were my shoes. I tossed back the covers, placed my feet on the floor, and wobbled to a standing position. My head and gut both protested; a mild wave of nausea swept past but I managed to suppress it. Once I had, I went looking for my host.

I found Mark in the darkened living room, lying on the sofa with a blanket over him. Light from the open blinds gave the room a dim, ethereal glow. My eyes fell on the couch and sudden images of being bent across it while he pounded me inside out flashed through my mind. My abdomen fluttered. I paced around the couch.

At first glance, Mark appeared to be asleep but his eyes flicked open when I approached. I hesitated, not knowing if he was still mad at me.

Mark's voice was a whisper in the night. "Hey. How's your stomach?"

"All right." I sat on the edge of the love seat near his feet. "I thought I was going to be ill but it seems to have settled down now."

"Good."

For a moment, neither of us moved. We stared at each other in the semi-darkness. I wondered what he was thinking.

I cleared my throat and winced. Swallowing hurt and everything felt raw. "You should go get in your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"It's all right, Sophie. You sleep there."

"No, I ..." I took a deep breath and glanced away. It was time for honesty. "Are we really going to do this?"

"What?"

"Dance around each other?" I looked back at him. "Can we just talk straight for a few minutes?"

He sat up. I saw that he'd ditched his shirt, though he still wore shorts. His chest was defined and trim. "Okay, I guess I owe you that."

"How did I get in the bedroom?"

"I came back and you were passed out with your face on the table. At first, I was concerned you'd overdone it but you were breathing well and started a conversation with me when I touched your shoulder. I carried you to the bedroom, laid you on your side, and covered you up. I checked every few minutes but you fell into a pretty deep sleep." He smiled. "Do you know you snore?"

"Only when I'm drunk. I don't remember even talking to you."

"I didn't think you would. You were pretty incoherent. I could tell you'd been crying."

The memory of something shattering came to mind. "I think I broke one of your wine glasses."

"Yeah. I already cleaned that up—and the vomit that missed the toilet."

My cheeks flamed. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"Mark, what happened?"

He eyed me. "Is this a trick question?"

"Why did you leave me?"

"I told you—"

I held up my hand. "I don't mean at the bar. I meant after ..." I hesitated. "After we did what we did."

Mark sighed and lowered his head. He ran both his hands through his hair. "I ... believe it or not, Sophie, I like and respect you a lot."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I know I told you I find you attractive and I do, but it's more than that. You're one of the most driven people I've ever met. I've admired your spirit and gusto since my first day in the office. I kept my distance but that's because of me, not anything you did."

They say that flattery will get you nowhere. The caveat is that when the flattery comes from someone you want to hear it from, it's very effective. I lowered my eyes. "I didn't know that."

"I know you didn't. When you made the comment about my wife, you really got to me. It's a sensitive subject, so to hear it in a negative light from you, when I think highly of you, made it all the worse. I was so angry and lost control. I should have stopped. When it was over, I was disgusted with myself. I couldn't face you."

I didn't tell him to stop because even as mad as I was, I still wanted him to fuck me. I wondered if he would have stopped if I had screamed at him to ... and decided that he probably wasn't even sure himself. "I wasn't disgusted, it was fine."

"I was too rough."

"Well, please let that go. I flat out told you to do it and if I'm honest, I did enjoy it." I chuckled and crossed my legs. "Is all pissed-off sex like that?"

"I don't know."

We lapsed into silence, neither of us looking at the other. Each moment grew more uncomfortable, so at last, I stretched and tried to inject some playfulness into my voice to lighten the mood. "Well, I still owe you another thirty-four hours or so and—"

"No." He looked at me with haunted eyes. "I've told you, you owe me nothing."

"Okay, I accept. My debt is paid off. Can I still stay?"

"Wait, what? After all your protests and denials, now you think it's settled—" He snapped his fingers. "—just like that?"

"Yes." I wondered if it was the hangover talking but I really wanted nothing more than to have some water and get back in bed. Trouble was, I felt like having a warm body pressed against me while I slept and the thought of Mark being that body felt like a good idea.

As soon as I accepted that thought, I knew I was in legitimate trouble. I was actually starting to like him.

I pointed at the front door. "I'll leave if you want. I mean, you've pretty much done the worst you're going to do, right?"

He said nothing.

"You can smirk every time you see me. You can walk into the office and tell everyone you pounded the Iron Broker like a cheap hooker, came on her face, got her to scream your name. You can embarrass me, humiliate me now, lord it over me ... but I don't think you'll do any of those things. You did everything you could to push me away from this and you haven't really taken advantage of me—not in the ways you could have. So if I leave, I will feel like I've paid the most you will let me pay, and I'll accept that."

"Okay?"

"But if you let me stay, I'd like to."

He rubbed his chin. "Why would you even want to?"

"Because before everything went wrong today, I was actually really enjoying my time with you. Breakfast and banter were good and listening to the music at the bar was amazing. It calmed me in a way I can't describe. I can't say what happened at the hospital was fun but it was a worthwhile experience. It showed me an admirable side of you too and I can't ignore that. You said you like me? Well, I think I'm starting to like you too. So I'd like to stay the full forty-eight hours and see what happens."

Mark's look was one of incredulity

I clasped my hands together in my lap. "If it helps, we can have more angry sex. I'd be okay with it."

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Do you always make everything so complicated?"

"Pretty much."

"I think I need some water." Mark tossed the blanket aside and stood. He offered me his hand. I took it and let him pull me to my feet. Hand in hand, we went into the kitchen, where he fixed me a glass of ice and offered it and a bottle of water to me before getting his own. My gut complained as the cold water trickled down my parched throat but I knew I needed it.

Mark watched me and I watched him watching me. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. When he spoke, his voice was pensive.

"If you stay, there's no more expectation of sex. You don't owe me and I won't command you. And there are ... certain subjects that are going to shut me down, okay? I won't be taunted about Elise again. Do that again and you can leave."

I winced when he mentioned his ex-wife. It wasn't my proudest moment, though I wondered how bad their break-up had been to elicit such a visceral reaction. "Agreed."

"And no flirting with other men as long as you're with me. I don't care if you think of me as your boyfriend or your date or just as a temporary roommate, but as long as you're with me, you're with me."

"That's fair."

He stared at me for a moment, then said, "I apologize for leaving you at the bar. I should have talked to you first."

"Apology accepted."

"Okay," He glanced around. "You haven't eaten since breakfast, right? Do you want anything?"

"No, my stomach is in no mood for that. Did you eat?"

"I did, while you were asleep."

I smiled and drained my water. "I think I'm ready to lay back down."

"You go ahead. I'll take the couch."

I stood. "Mark, I was hoping ... you'd come to bed with me."

His eyebrows rose.

"Not for sex," I added hastily. "I'm still a little sore and wrung out."

He reddened and looked away. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Don't be. It was ..." I searched for the word. "It was intense. But seriously, right now, I wouldn't mind it if you spooned up with me, even if we keep our clothes on."

He smiled again, gently this time. "The Iron Broker, looking for a cuddle. Who would have guessed?"

"Yeah, there goes what's left of my rep."

"Okay." He placed his glass on the counter, took my hand, and led me to the bedroom. I smiled at that. He'd dragged me along behind him twice in the span of fifteen minutes—and I had let him. He was every bit as confident and sure of himself as Kevin had been but with Mark, I felt like he was doing it for my good, not out of self-interest.

Mark held the covers for me and I scrambled beneath them. He pulled the blankets to my chin and dimmed the light. I heard him moving around the bed and felt him climb in. I rolled away just as he scooted against me. His hand rested on the curve of my hip and the heat from his body beat at mine, even through our clothes.

To that point in my life, I am not sure I had ever felt more comfortable than I did in that moment.

We stayed still for some time. His cock got hard and pressed directly into the crease of my ass. Part of me wanted to ignore it but a larger part wanted to reach behind me, pull his pants—and mine—down and let him fill me again. I didn't even care if we actively had sex. We could just fall asleep linked together and I would have been content with that.