Arsen: a broken love story - Asher Mia. Страница 65

My gentle Ben is watching me like he wants to fuck the shit out of me. As if he wants to own me with his dick and the strong muscles of his body; mark me with his seed, crush me with the might of his powerful arms, and strangle me with his bare hands while he thrusts so hard into me that the headboard of the bed makes the wall behind it shake.

This is not him.

And it’s my fault.

An angry stranger has replaced my sweet husband, and somehow I can’t make myself look away from his dark gaze. I continue to stare at him as he lowers one of his hands towards my knee that’s exposed by the slit of my gown. His fingers pull the fabric further away from my knee, and when his hand makes contact with my bare skin, arousal spreads through me. His hand begins to trace an upward path on my leg, closer and closer to my pulsating core, not caring that the silk of my dress may rip. He stops when he reaches the outside of my silk panties.

Ben’s eyes don’t leave me as he cups me, his palm feeling the moisture gathering in between my legs through the soaked silk. Ben hooks his finger and pulls the thong to the side, baring me to him. And only then does he enter me with one finger, sliding it slowly, yet assuredly. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t. After slowly pumping it in and out of me, he withdraws his finger and brings it inside his mouth, washing my taste with his own. Bringing his hand back to my core, he enters me with two fingers this time, stretching me as his saliva lubricates me some more. Throwing my head back, I can’t help groaning as his movements become more forceful.

Everything becomes a blur of heady sensations as I get lost in the feel of his hand, the sound of wetness my body makes, the smell. Yes, my husband is hand fucking me and it is heaven. There’s a feverish brightness sparkling in his eyes, the stick shift in between us, my legs spread open for him, and that’s all that matters. As his breathing accelerates, I can hear myself panting louder and louder.

I feel close, so close.

I’m about to come when he withdraws his fingers from me, leaving me bereft. With his touch gone, I feel empty, aching, and wanting his hand inside me again. He lifts his wet fingers, tracing a path along my lips, inviting me to take him in. Shocked with Ben’s reckless behavior, I don’t move.

“Open your mouth, Cathy. I want you to taste yourself…taste what I can do to you,” he growls.

Feeling color stain my cheeks, I open my mouth as he dips his fingers inside.

“Now close your mouth and suck them, Cathy.”

So I suck, hard. Even as the motion reminds me of Arsen and what happened in Barneys.

By the time he removes his fingers from my mouth, I think he’s going to allow us to pull ourselves together, but he surprises me once more when he leans down and kisses me on the lips. We get lost in the sweet oblivion of his kiss sealed with my taste. It’s demanding. Needy. It’s a kiss that wants to engrave itself on our lips—our souls.

When he pulls away, Ben is breathing heavily and appears to be as discomposed as I feel. “I want you to remember that once we get to the party…I now have you branded on my lips.” He leans towards me and whispers roughly in my ear, “You are mine.”

I watch him righting his mask and attire, before getting out of the Maybach and making his way towards the passenger door. Still feeling breathless and aching everywhere, I’m about to touch up the red on my lips when he opens the door for me.

“You look breathtaking in that dress, by the way. I’ll wait for you out here while you touch up your make up.” His voice is cool and detached once more, so unlike my Ben.

Inside the car, I’m alone, uncomfortable, needing to orgasm, and looking at myself in the passenger’s visor mirror. I look at my reflection, and all I see are lies…but at this moment, when I’m sore between my legs because of Ben’s rough yet divine handling, one truth becomes apparent.

I feel like I’ve just cheated on Arsen with my own husband.

After I exit the car, we make our way to the brightly lit majestic entrance as orchestra music floats through the air, surrounding us. Climbing the stairs with one hand lifting the front part of my gown to avoid tripping over it, and the other on Ben’s forearm as it lends me support, I take in the scenery.

At first I’m blinded by the potent lights emanating in all directions from the house but as I grow accustomed to the splendor of the environment, my first thought is how dazzling everything looks wrapped in a golden blanket of light.

After handing our capes to an attendant, I glance around the splendid home and let myself be enraptured by the beauty. There are majestic crystal chandeliers sparkling like little diamonds in the air, candles glowing its amber light, white orchids by the hundreds, thousands maybe, surrounded by green moss. It’s enchanting.

Against the muted color of the walls, hundreds of colors in the form of evening gowns move like a kaleidoscope, floating around the room, as men become the perfect background in their black tuxedos, allowing the women to shine.

Careless and free, there’s a sort of reckless atmosphere enveloping us as every person wearing a mask pretends to be someone else for tonight.

There’s electricity in the air. A kind of magic.

And it’s freaking me out because, call it intuition, but I can sense that he’s here.

All eyes on us, we make our way to a large group of people standing by a grand piano, where a very famous virtuoso is currently playing an achingly beautiful melody. With Ben’s arm encircling my waist, I feel the exact moment when he tenses up, his grip growing stronger, almost hurting me.

“Ah. I see Alan and his wife, Loretta, with their daughter. Let’s go greet them. I need to have a word with him before we can make our way to the bar.”

“How do you know who Alan and his wife are when everyone’s wearing masks? I can’t recognize anyone. Will Megan and Micky be here?” I stare into his eyes as I ask.

“I could recognize Alan and his wife anywhere and at any time. They’re both very tall people with a very distinctive blonde hair color.”

I glance at the group parting to welcome us amongst them, and notice three people with hair so blonde that it’s almost white. “Oh. I guess, you are right. I do see how unique their—”

Oh, God. No.

I want to stop walking. Completely.

I can’t.

I can’t take another step.

Oh, no, no, no.

However, Ben seems to have other ideas. Not letting go of my waist, he pulls me forward as he continues to walk.

I manage to whisper accusingly, “No-o, Ben...p-please. You...you knew.”

I see Ben’s eyes through the mask, and the anger reflected in them. “No, I didn’t know that he was going to be here. I wasn’t sure anyway. And it doesn’t matter. It’s about time that he saw you with me, your husband. Now, keep moving Cathy, or do you want me to drag you toward him?”

“No, no, no, no. Please, Ben, not like this. Not like this.”

Vile rising in my throat, I want to vomit. My stomach hurts, and I can feel tears in my eyes. No, I don’t want Arsen to see me like this. Not after the way we parted last night…not with Ben.

“Yes, Cathy. Maybe by doing this you will finally understand how much you—”

“Well, well…look who decided to finally grace us with his presence. The mighty Benjamin Stanwood and his beautiful wife Catherine, correct?” I flinch when Alan says my name. Ben never calls me Catherine.

No. Only Arsen calls me by that name.

I avoid looking at the man wearing a full mask of what looks to be a cross between the sun and fire with flames or rays pointing in every direction. I can’t. Instead, my eyes land on the beautiful female standing next to him. She’s wearing an exquisite white princess gown. The bustier is filled with white Swarovsky crystals, and her mask depicts a swan with silver and white feathers adorning one corner. Her lips are as full as mine, and her neck is long, thin, and elegant. Her blonde hair, swept back in a simple ballerina bun, allows me to see her perfect bone structure. She is breathtaking, and she’s holding Arsen’s hand in hers.