For Love or Money by Tara Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

rubs
his wrapped cock between my legs and slides a hand around front to rub my clit
as he shoves himself inside of me.
    We
moan simultaneously.
    He
rubs to match his slow rhythmic thrusts, circling his hips and fingers. My
hands grip to the desk as my first orgasm starts to build. I move my pelvis to
get the most of him without giving away the fact I’m about to come. Sometimes
he likes to play mean and withhold.
    The
pleasure of him mixes in my body with the pain of being shoved against the
desk. It’s a blinding sort of joy and loss of control.
    Goddamn,
I love fucking him.
    A
subtle moan escapes my lips as I start to climax. When he feels me orgasming on
his cock, he shoves himself inside as I try to push him out with my clenching.
He rubs slower, pressing harder on my clit, making me cry out in ecstasy.
    His
hand leaves my pussy, finding its way into my hair at the base of my head. His
balls start slapping as he bucks, fucking me hard and pulling my head back.
    Endurance
is his only shortcoming, but with all the build up of the chase I can’t blame
him. He comes hard, like always, gripping to me and yanking my hair. When he’s
done he collapses on top of me, kissing my back gently and whispering.
“Sometimes I think we should just get married and have this for the rest of our
lives.”
    I
laugh against the desk—his father’s. “No. You know how I feel about
marriage.”
    He
nods and kisses. “My mom is fucking some dude she pays for sex, upstairs right
now. I know how you feel about marriage—I feel the same way.”
    And
now I feel sick. He knew his mom was having sex and still wanted it. He’s so
screwed up.
    Wait
. . . “That’s not your dad?”
    “He’s
in London and then Dubai this week.”
    I
look back over my shoulder to where he’s planting soft kisses. “How do you know
she pays him?”
    He
shrugs. “I heard her talking on the phone with her friend, recommending him.”
    “Do
you know him?”
    He
chuckles. “No. It’s some gigolo. She and Dad both keep their affairs
professional. They have too much money to risk anything else.”
    I
sigh. “I am never getting married. I wish my dad kept it professional, instead
of marrying every bimbo he meets. I don’t think he realizes he can just date.”
    He
laughs harder. “I know. They’re so crazy.” He bites softly. “Want to go have a
shower and play some more?”
    I
shake my head. “No. I have to go.”
    I
have to take more antipsychotics so my anxiety doesn’t make me insane.
    He
shakes his head. “Stay. Send someone to get whatever you need.” He pulls out of
me and steps back. The cool air between us makes me remember why it is I need
to go home. Being with him makes me feel dirty, but it’s a dirty I crave, like
drugs and booze and fast cars. It’s recklessness that stops me from ever
feeling anything beyond what I have in that moment. There are things deeply
wrong with me that I like to reflect on when I have just finished committing a
terrible act of indecency. Like a fat girl who justifies her burger and ice
cream until she gets it, and then vows to start a diet the minute it’s over and
she’s swallowed her feelings. I’m only sober from my pent-up sex rage when it’s
over and I realize what a whore I’ve made of myself again.
    In
a desperate act of removing the venomous things floating about in my brain, I
spin and press my lips against his. It’s an act that’s not like me. It makes
him freeze up for a moment before he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into
him. He kisses me tenderly, making me smile into it and question aloud, “You
don’t think it’s weird we get like this after we have sex?”
    He
gives me a mischievous smile. “No. But if you want to play psychiatrist and
naughty schoolgirl, we can? I have a pipe and some tweed upstairs. I can be
clean, changed, and ready to go again in about fifteen.”
    I
am about to say no but I don’t. I don't want to go home and think about what a
bad girl I have been