Page 21 of Unwritten Vows

Derrick

I blink my eyes open, sensing my phone buzzing on my bedside table. There’s a lamp on across the room, but only darkness pours in from the windows. Liza is wrapped in my arms, and we’re both naked, sticky, and sweaty. I feel fucking amazing. Where the fuck am I? Is this heaven?

Then my phone buzzes again and I move carefully off of Liza. Her mouth is open, breathing heavily, and her arms drop off me like lead. She’s not waking up anytime soon, and I have to pat myself on the back for fucking her into a coma.

Studying her while I pick my phone up, I consider how strange it is that I’ve landed here.

I’m so used to overindulgent beauty: engorged lips and breasts, gobs of makeup, fake nails and hair.

I’m not sure how or why I ended up in a five star hotel room bed in New York City with a beautiful, innocent little virgin nearly ten years my junior.

What’s worse though, is that I’m in deep shit.

Because I've suddenly caught a bad case of feelings for her after last night.

All I want to do is curl up next to her and ignore all my earthly duties.

Cut this shit out, I tell myself as my phone buzzes again. I might not know where these feelings came from, but I certainly know I need to dial them the fuck back.

I check my phone, expecting to see her Daddy’s number, but instead see my own father’s name. My bedside clock reads 4:23 a.m. Why the fuck is he calling me at this hour? Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

I sigh heavily, but I know I have to get it. “Derrick Stepinov.”

There is no preamble, just a cold, hard voice. “I heard about what happened. Is she okay? Still with you?”

I look over to the sweet sleeping virgin I just desecrated about four hours ago and my stomach turns. I don’t want to talk about her with my father now. Suddenly, it seems completely inappropriate—almost crude. When the fuck have you ever cared about being crude?

I shake my head to clear it. “She is.”

He grunts his approval. “Perfect. That puts us in a great position...”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “You don’t need to keep checking up on me, father, especially at four in the morning. Trust me, I’ve got her.” Although it feels like it might be the other way around , I think, and squeeze my eyes shut at the notion.

“I will admit, you’ve done well, Derrick.” The word “creepy” floats through my mind. It’s the perfect word for this conversation, really. Creepy and wrong.

Why does this feel so fucking wrong, and why do I care? All I can do is try to hide the frustration in my words and get off this phone as quickly as possible. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what happens later with her father.”

“I need you to make sure—”

“I know what to say,” I snap. So much for keeping my frustration to myself.

My father is quiet for nearly a minute. I want to hang up this phone so badly, but I know I can’t hang up on Anton Stepinov. He might be my father, but he could—and would, without a thought—make my life a living hell.

“We’re feeling a bit micromanaged, are we, Derrick?” He asks in a snide tone.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” I reply, although I’m relatively certain that’s not why I’ve snapped at him.

“Do I have to explain to you how much is on the line here? The very real possibility of a war coming our way, just over the horizon? Do you want to be thrown to the wolves, dead in the sewer because two warring families couldn’t keep their guns in their holsters?”

I pinch the top of my sinuses. It’s the same lecture every time. “No, of course not. But as I’ve said before, we’re just as rich as Divny and Whitney, we’ll be fine—”

“No, Derrick. I’m as rich as Divny and Whitney. You are nothing but a rich man’s son. And you know what will happen if you don’t pull your weight.”

I shiver, remembering the lessons he taught me all too well. They’re the only things that get me to bite my tongue and keep from divulging anything more that I do not want him to know.

I know I have feelings for Liza, despite every sarcastic, biting remark we’ve said to each other.

Despite the age difference and her constantly challenging me.

She’s the first woman who has ever pulled truth out of me.

She’s the first woman who wanted to know anything about me besides how many houses I own or the number of hours I spend in the gym each day.

I went into this trying to make her fall for me, but she could ask me for anything now and I’d give it to her.

I’d say she’s done to me what I wanted to do to her.

My father can never know any of that. In fact, no one can. So I close my eyes and nod, as much to myself as to him. “Yes I do. I’ll seal the deal, father. Consider it done.”

*****

After my conversation with my father, I’m wide awake and restless. I prowl around the room for a bit, and eventually realize that I’m just keeping myself from what I really want. You think you don’t deserve her now.

I shake my head against that thought. It’s not my fault that my father is a prick. And Liza’s father wants this type of life for her. If she can be happy with me and I can be happy with her… isn’t this the perfect option? Isn’t this what everyone hopes for?

I know I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve only known this girl for a week. Maybe once we start being nice to each other, the passion will burn out. Maybe we’ll feel the age difference, or we’ll realize we don’t really have much of anything in common.

But none of that rings true for me. You already know you have more in common with her than any of the other women you’ve dated . I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her as she sleeps. Why are you even fighting this? You can have her and everything else. You have what you want.

I steel myself, pushing against that strange, novel notion that something is ill-begotten or wrong, and I lie down next to her again.

She pulls me into her and drapes her arm and leg over me, like she’s claiming me, sighing into my chest. Her hair smells like lavender, and I bury my face in it.

Everything about her drives me crazy, and I’m hard in no time.

Having her rub against me is more than I can bear, and it breaks any small bit of resolve I had. Resolve for what? Were you never going to touch this masterpiece of a woman again? I almost scoff at the idea.

Finally, my testosterone takes over and I pull her against me, digging my erection into her stomach. “Mmm,” she says in her sleep, trying to pull me closer, pushing her little finger tips into my skin.

“Are you dreaming of me, little Liza?” She nudges me, and I feel her hot breath on my neck. I’m even harder just a moment later.

“Do you want me to fuck you awake, Sleeping Beauty?”

She mumbles something against my neck, and I can’t bear it any longer. I know she’s got to be sore, but I poke my erection into her tight opening anyway. I glide it in slowly, knowing she’ll be ready for me, whether she’s asleep or not.

And I’m right. She’s hot, wet, and waiting. As soon as she feels me, she thrusts her hips into mine. She’s a little clumsy, half dreaming, but it gets the job done. She sheathes me completely, and finally wakes up, biting on my shoulder as if it’s a lifeline as she comes to her senses fully.

She doesn’t even seem surprised. She just clutches my arm, groaning as I spear into her.

I smash my mouth to hers, clinking teeth, forgetting everything else.

“Oh, God. It hurts. How does it hurt but feel so good at the same time?”

I slow my movements to a crawl. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Of course.” She squeezes my lower back and pushes against me. “More,” she says breathlessly. She clings to me like a koala bear hanging on a tree. “Please, Derrick. Fuck me harder.”

“You’re going to be so sore, baby,” I say, quickening my movements anyway.

“But it feels so good,” she whispers into my ear. That’s what does it. I need to urge her along, because I’m about to shower her insides with my cum.

I tweak her nipple and she lets out a high-pitched squeak, then I rub it gently as her squeak turns to a needy moan.

Just a few more thrusts and she cries my name.

I feel her pussy tighten even further and spasm as she milks my cock, and she spurs on my own violent orgasm.

I pull out just in time, shooting thick ribbons of cum onto her stomach and chest.

I crash down beside her, panting into her shoulder and holding her tight. Then I dip my finger into the sticky mess on her chest. I write the initials “D.S.,” giving her my brand, christening her in my cum.

“You’re mine now, my sweet girl,” I whisper, as her eyes flutter closed and she falls asleep against me again. “Whether you like it or not, you’re mine. But I know, Liza.” I put my mouth to her ear as her breathing deepens. “I know you like it.”