Dirty Headlines

I didn’t have to be asked twice. I threw one leg over each of the statue’s thighs, spreading myself so wide my inner thighs burned. Célian licked me crack to slit before plunging deeper. Every once in a while, he brushed his thumb or forefinger against my leaking center and pressed it between my butt cheeks, wetting the area. I’d never done so with anyone else, but there was something about Célian that made me want to be a little submissive. In the newsroom, we were at war, but in private, our main battle was trying to keep our clothes on.

He teased my backside with his fingers, playing, poking, flirting while eating me out, and I exploded from within like fireworks, moaning his name so loud my ears rang. I let go of The Warrior’s neck, sliding down to the floor, my thighs still shaking from the climax ripping through me. Célian straddled me at the sculpture’s feet, still fully clothed, and unzipped his dress pants.

“I’ll ask again,” he growled. “Are you on the pill?”

“I am,” I whimpered, clawing at his suit as an excuse to touch him and opening my legs as far as I could with him pinning me to the floor.

“Good, because I want to fuck your pussy and then come inside your mouth. And this time, you won’t be swallowing it. You’ll be tasting and enjoying every second of it until I’ve had enough. Understood?”

I nodded. His first bareback thrust into me made my eyes roll in their sockets. He was so hard, his cock so velvety and hot, I thought I was going to die from the intense pleasure. I dripped against his cock and on the granite floor, and the more I moaned, the more intense his movements became. Rougher. Deeper. Faster. Like he was punishing me for wanting to screw me so badly.

I think we were both alarmed by the strength of our attraction to one another. I wanted to keep my job at all costs, and he didn’t need the complication of anyone finding out, not to mention tying himself to an affair while he was engaged.

Was that what we had now? An affair? I knew if I started labeling it, I would fall off the orgasmic cloud I was riding.

He throbbed inside me, hitting my G-spot again and again and again, his hand snaking toward my ass and now fully toying with it. In. Out. In. Out.

“Breaking you in slowly for next time.” He kissed the side of my face, almost romantically, and I nearly laughed.

“How do you know I haven’t done that before?”

He somehow managed to throw me a patronizing look, even mid-sex, thrusting into me so punishingly now that I grazed his butt with my fingernails, tears of pleasure pooling in the corners of my eyes.

A few more plunges, and the orgasm climbed up from my toes to the rest of my body like an earthquake. I screamed, this time enjoying a slow, sensational feeling of warm honey coating my entire body as the climax washed through me.

“Close,” he panted, picking up his speed. A minute later, he pulled out of me and shoved his dick into my mouth, making me taste myself in a way I never had before. I was sweet and musky—not bad…but too familiar. His warm, thick cum came in spurts inside my mouth, and my eyes fluttered shut with pleasure again.

“Taste me this time,” he ordered. I did. I let his cum sit on my tongue, tasting its earthy, salty tang. I smiled, my mouth full of him. He smiled back, and he was so heartbreakingly beautiful, for a short moment, it occurred to me I might never recover from this guy, no matter what my mom had told me.

“Now swallow.”

I did.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

I did that, too, feeling oddly comfortable with being bossed around.

“Atta girl.”

We put our clothes on silently. A part of me was still delirious at what we’d done together, and another part wanted to throttle myself for letting him do this to me when he had a fiancée upstairs. And…the tape. God. Had I actually allowed him to record everything? How stupid was I?

Very stupid when it came to his penis, apparently.

“Célian?” I asked as I retied my Chucks. Swan white this time.

He turned around and pinned me with his gaze.

“No one can know about this.” I pointed at the camera.

He nodded. “We’ll go down to the second floor and destroy it so you can sleep tonight.”

Confusion must have colored my face, because he pressed his knuckles to his lips, stifling one of the dazzling smiles he refused to share with the world.

“You’re not usually agreeable,” I noted as we walked toward the elevator, our steps and voices echoing around the mostly empty room.

“Neither are you. That’s why I wanted to see how far you’d go for this. Turns out…” He grabbed my waist and yanked me under the crook of his arm. “You’d go pretty far to be fucked by me. I will tell my father that if he messes with you again, he is in for hell on Earth. But I would never let anyone see your tits and cunt.”

“This is going to end badly,” I murmured, not even sure if he could hear me.

We slid into the elevator, and he pushed the second floor button, smirking. “But we will have one hell of a ride.”





I’d never believed in miracles.

My experience with life had been that it was pragmatic, uncontrollable, and unpredictable—with a royal introduction to all three when I’d caught my father with our maid’s mouth wrapped around his dick when I was only five years old.

He’d told me they were playing, and I’d believed him. Moreover, it looked like a pretty fun game, too—I loved touching my penis, loved being tickled, and combining the two seemed like the kind of idea to land you a Nobel Prize—so of course I ran it by Maman. Needless to say, Maman was not impressed with the way my father conducted his spontaneous playdates with the help.

The maid was fired, my parents had a huge fight, and from that point forward, I can’t remember a time when we were a happy family.

Or just happy.

Or just a family.

For all the shit both of them had been through together, for all the affairs and infidelities and fighting through lawyers and stooping so low they made me wonder just how bad, exactly, humans could be, they hadn’t gotten a divorce until last year.

My father, however, had never loved me. His disdain was fundamentally present in the way he looked at me, the way he sneered, and the way he deliberately avoided anything I liked or that mattered to me. He thought, in some fucked-up way, that I was responsible for the slow and unstoppable breakdown of his marriage. Which only went to show how little responsibility he took when it came to his problems.

That’s why I had very little faith in this thing called life. If something went right, it was probably because it was taking a turn on its way to go seriously wrong. Give it time, and it would happen. Life was about putting out fires, or, if you worked in a newsroom, about starting them.

Which worked well for me. My personal experience with people was lackluster. So I didn’t mind screwing them over if they did something bad that deserved to be publicly discussed.

Anyway, like I said, I’d never believed in miracles, and that’s why I knew there was a reason Lily had left the gala before Jude and I got back to the terrace. Unfortunately for all parties involved, I didn’t have it in me to care enough to check. Lily was part of my plan, sure, but my plan was already in motion. I would deal with her little tantrum later, remind her about my parents’ chateau in Nice—the one she wanted to renovate and live in during the summers so badly. I’d buy her another ticket to the Maldives to vacation with her friends, soothe her the way she was used to being soothed—with pretty shiny things and negative attention.

“Oh my God! Célian!”

After all, not long ago I’d caught my fiancée on all fours, taking my father’s cock in her mouth in his office while he caressed her bare, fake-tanned ass—much like the maid had all those years ago.

It hadn’t been coincidental, and I knew it. My father was a sick prick, and he’d figured I remembered the day he’d buried his family six feet under—not only by cheating on my mother, but also by deciding it was my fault for ratting him out. He made me feel like I was fundamentally defective. So I became what he treated me as: a world-class jerk.