What My Driver Did to Me Before I Went Up with My Boyfriend

The concert is over, but the fire is still alive beneath my skin. I look at myself in the dressing-room mirror and barely recognize myself: the dark curls plastered to my forehead with sweat, my chest still rising and falling after two hours of show. I yank off my earrings with clumsy fingers, feeling the adrenaline still racing through my veins like electricity.

The door flies open. It’s not my assistant.

It’s him.

He stays leaning in the frame, a nearly six-foot-three slab of a man in his usual leather jacket and that distant stare that makes half the industry take a step back. Bruno is the kind of man nobody approaches: inaccessible, hard as a wall. But when his eyes run over my body from head to toe, something tightens in his jaw and I know it. I know it the way he does.

—You were way too provocative out there —he says in that rough voice that sends a shiver to my lower belly—. Want me arrested for what I’m thinking of doing to you?

I stand and walk toward him with the confidence of someone in charge, even though inside I’m burning up completely. I stop in front of him and grab his lapels. He smells like expensive tobacco, rain, and that male scent that clouds every sensible thought I have.

—And what exactly do you want to do to me? —I challenge him, brushing my hardened nipples against his chest.

He lets out a growl, grabs my waist, and lifts me off the floor as if I weighed nothing. He sets me on the vanity in one movement, sweeping the makeup and perfume bottles aside with a flick of his hand. He spreads my legs and steps between them, his big rough hands sliding up my thighs until he finds me already wet, ready.

—I want to undo you —he whispers, and for a second the hardness in his eyes cracks, letting out a tenderness that belongs only to me.

He undoes his jeans in a hurry. He takes his cock in his hand and slides the tip through my slit, soaking it while I writhe, looking for more contact.

—Tell me to stop, Renata —he begs me, even as his body is screaming for mine—. I don’t want to hurt you, and you know I’m not gentle.

—Don’t you dare stop —I answer, digging my nails into his back.

He drives into me in one single thrust and fills me completely. The blow tears a cry from me that he swallows with a deep, possessive kiss, the kind that doesn’t ask permission. He pushes with every thrust, relentless, and the friction of his body against mine takes me to the edge too soon.

Despite the force, despite the violence with which he enters and leaves me, he holds my head with impossible delicacy, as if I were made of glass. Affection slips out between all that instinct. He tries to keep being the same as always, distant, but he looks for my eyes to make sure I’m enjoying it.

—You’re mine —he growls, and speeds up.

Pleasure explodes. I shake all over, cling to his neck, and he goes taut, throbbing inside me one last time before finishing with a force that leaves me breathless. He stays resting on my shoulder, breathing hard, holding me, and for an instant the hard man disappears and all that’s left is the one who knows how to take care of me when the storm passes.

***

While he helps me button my jacket, the phone vibrates on the vanity. It’s a message from Leandro.

“Amazing show, love. I’m waiting for you in the car with a quiet dinner. Love you.”

I feel a stab of guilt that dissolves the second Bruno’s hand lands on the phone, covering the screen. He read the name. His eyes, warm a second ago, turn back into two ice floes. Everything changes in an instant: he knows I’m cheating, knows I’m breaking the rules for him, and that gives him a power over me that excites and terrifies me in equal measure.

—Your boyfriend is waiting for you —he says with a coldness that cuts—. Wipe that just-devoured-woman look off your face before you go out.

—He doesn’t have to know anything —I answer, trying to regain my composure, even though my legs are shaking.

Bruno comes so close that his breath hits my ear. He’s no longer protecting his boss; he’s protecting his secret.

—He doesn’t know that while he tells you he loves you, my cum is dripping down your thighs. He doesn’t know you’re still throbbing all over because only I know how to touch you.

He grabs the back of my neck firmly and makes me look at him.

—Go with him, Renata. Be the nice, perfect girl everyone thinks you are. But don’t forget who made you scream ten minutes ago.

***

The Bentley glides through the streets of Valencia with predator elegance. Leandro puts down the phone, gives me that smug smile he loves so much, and presses a button on the panel. The dividing glass rises with a hum, isolating us from the front. But just before it turns opaque, my eyes lock on Bruno’s nape. His shoulders are a line of pure tension beneath the leather.

—I couldn’t wait anymore, Renata. You look too hot in this dress —Leandro whispers, and lunges at my neck.

He kisses me hungrily. His sure hands press me against the leather seat while he hikes up my sequined dress. He unfastens his pants in a hurry and starts rubbing himself against me.

But my head isn’t here.

While Leandro searches for my nipples with his mouth, I close my eyes and see Bruno a few inches away, on the other side of the glass. A chill runs down my spine as I remember what just happened in the dressing room. I feel the weight of the wetness inside; I know what Bruno left is still there, warm, mixing with mine while Leandro tries to push his way in. The idea is so filthy, so forbidden, that I throb with a violence my boyfriend mistakes for desire for him.

—You’re soaked, babe… look at what you do to me —Leandro pants, driving into me.

A moan escapes me, but it’s not for him. It’s for the secret. It’s because while my boyfriend is pounding me, I’m full of the other man, the one driving the car. Feeling Leandro push deeper into what Bruno left behind is the most exciting, most sinful sensation I’ve ever had in my life.

Suddenly a sound breaks the air inside the cabin. Bruno turned up the music up front. The heavy bass of a rock track rumbles through the car, vibrating in the seats, in my bones, in my swollen lips. I know why he’s doing it. He doesn’t want to hear Leandro fucking me. He doesn’t want to hear my fake moans. Or maybe he wants to set the rhythm of what’s happening.

—That’s it! —Leandro exclaims, pumped up by the music, thrusting harder—. Even Bruno knows what we need right now.

I bite my lip so I won’t burst out laughing hysterically. Leandro is so blind, so arrogant. He thinks he’s king of the world while I cling to his shoulders imagining it’s Bruno’s hands holding me up. Every time the car takes a curve, I feel the sway of both men inside me, possessing me in such different ways.

When Leandro reaches the end, he empties himself inside me. All I can think about is the rearview mirror. Leandro presses the button and the glass lowers again. The music keeps blasting, filling the space with unbearable tension.

I look at Bruno. His eyes in the mirror are two pits of hatred and desire at once. He knows what I did. He knows I let Leandro use me to take the guilt off my shoulders, but he also knows the one truly inside me, in body and in trace, is him.

Bruno cuts the volume sharply and leaves a sepulchral silence.

—We’ve arrived at the hotel, sir —he says in a voice so cold it sounds like he never touched me at all.

Leandro smooths out his clothes, immaculate as always, not suspecting he just took part in the most perverse scene of my life.

***

The suite is a display of marble, warm lights, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer the whole city at our feet. Leandro walks in, tossing his jacket over a designer chair, euphoric, overflowing with that macho energy of his after marking his territory.

—Shower with me, Renata —he says, kissing me quickly while he unbuttons his shirt.

—Go ahead, love. I need a minute to come down from the concert… and get out of these sequins.

Leandro winks at me and locks himself in the bathroom. A few seconds later, water hits the shower tray and fills the room with that steady sound. I stand frozen in the middle of the lounge, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then I hear the click of the main door.

He didn’t lock it. He doesn’t need to.

Bruno slips in with the stealth of a ghost. He took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing powerful, marked forearms. His gaze is pure black fire. He says nothing. He comes up to me, grabs my waist, and shoves me against the wall, right beside the bathroom door, where steam is starting to seep out underneath.

—Did you like it? —he whispers in my ear, and his voice is a growl that weakens my legs—. Did you like getting fucked while I listened to every single one of your fake moans?

—Bruno, Leandro’s in there… —I manage to say, but he covers my mouth with his hand.

—Shut up. I know exactly what you have in there. I know you’ve got his mixed with mine. And that’s exactly what’s driving me insane.

He turns me around and forces me to sit on the edge of the sofa. He kneels between my legs, parts my thighs with a brusqueness that steals my breath, and pushes aside the silk of the lingerie, still soaked from what happened earlier.

He buries his face in me without mercy, with a possessive ferocity, working me over with his tongue, searching for the trace of what happened in the car. He wants to taste it. He wants to claim what’s his.

—Bruno… no… —I pant, gripping his shoulders while I hear Leandro humming softly in the shower a few feet away.

He doesn’t stop. His tongue becomes a whip, punishing the exact spot while his fingers sink in to drag out what the other man left behind. The contrast is electric: the cool air of the suite, the scorching heat of his mouth, and the risk of the bathroom door opening at any second.

I go crazy. It’s the wildest oral sex of my life, with my boyfriend rinsing off the soap three steps away. Bruno ramps up the intensity, sucking with a force that arches my back against the sofa.

—She’s mine —he growls against my skin, his face smeared with both of us—. All of this is mine, even if he thinks he won.

The orgasm hits me like a wave with no warning. It’s an explosion of guilt and pure pleasure that makes me bite down on Bruno’s hand so I won’t scream. Right as I come apart against his mouth, the sound of the water cuts off.

—Renata? Can you bring me a towel? —Leandro shouts from the bathroom.

Bruno stands up with exasperating slowness. He looks at me one last time, wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb, and gives me a dark smile, loaded with a victory Leandro will never understand.

—Go with him, star —he whispers before disappearing through the suite door as silently as he entered.

I stay there, trembling, legs open and heart in my throat, knowing that while Leandro dries himself with his white towel, I’m still marked by the man who truly owns me.