naradragonfly (naradragonfly) wrote,

Bruises (Bedsprings pt. 3)

This is "Bruises," the third and final part to the Evan Fucking Please-Die Rosier Trilogy. (Not including the cute, sexy, and exceedingly fluffy bonus fics, to be posted later.) Fans, please be warned that it's angstier, the sex is a bit more hardcore, there's even a scene that comes uncomfortably close to rape, but doesn't. Everything is consensual, even though sometimes it doesn't seem that way. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, skip this, would you? Wait for the bonus fic.

And this one's huge, by the way. But if you love some nice Evan/Matty angst and action... Enjoy.

I stare into my half-empty Styrofoam cup. The coffee’s grown cold. I hate coffee, and this particular coffee smells like old shoes and tastes worse, but it’s the only way I can stay awake at work.

I’ve slept five hours in the past week. I am a fucking zombie. I’m curled up in the archives in the basement. No one goes into the basement. It’s even more ugly, sterile and depressing than the rest of the building. But if no one can find me, they won’t ask me to do anything. I’m hiding. Hiding from my job. Hiding from my life.

I’m dying. Subconsciously killing myself with a combination of insomnia and starvation. I can’t keep food down. I don’t want to eat. I’m dying.

Someone trips over me. It’s a girl.

“Darn it!” she squeaks. Someone needs to teach her how to cuss. She looks at me, annoyed. I don’t recognize her, but that’s no surprise. Employees change every week here, and it’s a depressingly huge company. Film production agency, and I am at the bottom of the corporate ladder. I am the dirt beneath the corporate ladder. “Are you Matthew Dean?”

I stare at her.

She kicks me, annoyed. “Can you talk? Are you Matthew Dean?”


“Good. C’mon. They want you up top.”

‘Up top’ around here means the top floors. Fucking-VIP only. CEOs and Movie Stars.

“Is this some kind of fucking joke? Why?”

“I don’t know why!” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you? They’re gonna be so angry. Let’s go.”

“You’ve got the wrong Matthew Dean,” I tell her.

“Well, I couldn’t find any others!” She looks like she’s going to cry if I don’t come with her. I get up, drain my cup with a grimace. Follow her to the elevator.

I stare at the buttons. “What’s your name?” I ask.

She flutters, glances shyly at me. “Anna.”

Bloody hell. I wasn’t fucking flirting. She’s making eyes at me now.

We take the elevator to the ground floor, where we have to switch to the express elevator. The fancy one. Movie-stars and CEOs only. It even has a man in uniform to press the buttons, and a fucking couch. I keep expecting them to install a fucking mini-bar.

“This is Matthew Dean,” she tells the man in uniform. “I found him.”

The Matthew Dean?” He laughs. “Was he under a rock?”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not fucking here,” I say. They shut up, awkwardly. The trip up is uncomfortably silent.

There’s a girl at the reception desk at the top. Her skin is stretched so tight across her face, it looks like she’s wearing a mask. She looks at me sourly. I don’t look one bit like a movie star or a CEO. “Yes?” she says.

“I’m Matthew,” I tell her. “Dean.”

“Oh.” She very nearly glares, but I don’t think her face is capable of that much movement. I wonder if she can blink. “You.” She presses a button. “Sir, Matthew Dean is here. Okay. Right away.” Glares at me again. “He said he’ll come fetch you.”

“He who? Why am I here?”

She looks at me. “Don’t waste my time.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“He asked for you. You’re his new personal secretary.”

I’m still baffled. “He who?”

“Hey, sweetcheeks,” he says. His voice is like something rich and heady and fucking drizzled with honey. This is why the fangirls fucking worship him, aside from that gorgeous body and his lapis lazuli eyes. I don’t even have to turn around. I know that voice.

The botox girl stands. “Mr. Rosier!”

I can feel him standing right behind me. His breath is warm on my neck.

“Giselle, track down some hot chocolate for Matty, would you?” His hand touches my shoulder, intimate. “Are you hungry?”

I shove his hand off. Glare. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

I hear Giselle shriek in horror. I just swore at Evan Fucking Rosier.

He smirks. “Giselle?”


“Hot chocolate. With whipped cream, and marshmallows. Chocolate sprinkles, if possible.”

“Yes, sir.” She disappears obediently.

“C’mon,” he says to me. “I want to show you my office.”

Evan Fucking Please-Die Roswell-Rosier, my twice ex-boyfriend, wants to show me his office. Evan Fucking Billionaire Movie-Star Rosier has just ordered me a hot chocolate, and he hasn’t forgotten, just the way I like it.

“You’re a movie star,” I tell him. “You don’t need an office.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “But I bought most of the company, so they gave me an office.”

I blink. He opens a door, and it’s not an office, it’s a fucking suite. There’s a waterfall. He takes a seat in this huge chair, puts his feet up on the desk. He’s wearing this fucking suit like he’s a magazine cover. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned to show his chest. Smirking at me, and he’s so much more vain and cocky than ever, it makes me a little sick.

Almost a year ago I left him. I think he’s forgotten, that I left him. For the past year, I’ve been dying. It’s only become obvious in the past two weeks.

The first time, he left me, and I started stripping, because it was the only thing that came close to the way that Evan Fucking Roswell made me feel. Rosier’s his stage name. So when I got fed up and left him, I went back to stripping, because I could.

Shortly after this I was hit by the car. I was in a wheelchair for three weeks. They told me I’d never dance again. This is how I ended up in the basement here, hating my life.

Two weeks ago, I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked up to this huge-ass mansion he has on the outskirts of town, and pressed the intercom.

“Yes?” A voice said.

“I’m here to see Evan,” I told the intercom.

“I’m sorry, is he expecting you?”

“No, but I’m his boyfriend. My name’s Matthew Dean.”

I heard laughter on the other end.

“Fuck you,” I snapped, and walked away.

That was when I forgot Evan Roswell forever.

That was also when I realized I had nothing to live for. Since then I’ve been dying, and I don’t care anymore.

“What do you want?” I ask


“You’re too late,” I tell him. Two weeks ago I would’ve thrown myself at him. Now I don’t care.

He’s confused, I can tell. He didn’t expect me to change. “At least sit down,” he says. I sit. Giselle brings me the hot chocolate. I sip at it. It’s good.

“Matty,” he says. I don’t reply. He growls. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You cheated on me.”

“I know why you broke up with me.” He sighs. Gets up. “Matty, I’ve been looking for you since you walked out. I need you back.”

I don’t reply. He takes the hot chocolate away from me. “Why aren’t you swearing at me?” I still don’t reply. He growls. Kisses me, because that’s always worked in the past. I kiss back, not because it’s Evan Rosier, but because I haven’t had a wisp of affection in months. I haven’t gotten laid since—since Evan.

He pushes me down on top of his desk, and his hands are down my pants. I feel sick. I break the kiss. “Evan.”

He’s kissing my neck. He’s heavy on top of me and I hate it. “Evan, stop it.”

I feel his grip tighten, and he bites me. Evan’s a control freak. He doesn’t allow people to disagree with him. I struggle. “Evan. I’m serious. Stop.”

No.” He snarls.

I’ve known Evan for five years. This is the first time I’ve ever felt afraid of him. He’s not going to stop. He’s actually going to rape me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I can hear the whimper in my voice. “Please.”

He’s got me pinned, and his grip’s starting to hurt. He’s completely tense with rage. I’ve never refused him like this. I never wanted to. Sometimes we fought. Hell, the first time we broke up was after I put a knife through his hand. But I never said no. I never needed to.

He lets go slowly, carefully. Wipes a tear off my cheek. I didn’t know I was crying.

“Matty,” he says, and his voice is soft. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The lights are dimming, and everything’s suddenly very dark.


I open my eyes. The ceiling is very white. This is not my bed. I sit up. Regret it immediately. I fall back into the pillow. Take a few deep breaths. Look around.

Evan’s sitting by my bed. He’s holding one of my hands, and I can’t feel it because he’s fallen asleep on top of it. There’s a cord in my arm, so I’m probably not dead. His hair’s fallen into his face, and I reach over to move it, watching him. My wrist is tingling, and I’m itching to move it. I try to pull my hand back without waking him.

His eyes open. He stares at me. “Matty,” he says, like I’m fucking Christmas morning.

I try to say something. Can’t. He hands me a glass of water. I drink the whole thing at a gulp. He refills it.

“Don’t call me Matty,” I say. My voice sounds awful. He takes the glass from me, puts it aside, and suddenly he’s hugging me, tight. It hurts, and I whimper. He lets go. “Dammit, Matty, you didn’t have a pulse.”

“What happened?”

“You passed out.” He reaches over, presses the call button for a nurse. “Three days ago. Your pulse was so faint I thought you’d died. The doctor said you’d been starving yourself, not to mention you were showing so many signs of exhaustion you should’ve collapsed a week ago. Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

He’s all flushed, and I can see the indentations my knuckles left in his cheek. I laugh, weakly. “You’re all worried.”

He smiles a little, seeing me laugh. “I was afraid I was losing you.”

“Pff,” I say. “Don’t worry. You’re coming to Hell with me.”

He kisses my forehead, and I don’t think he’s ever been so gentle. “Go back to sleep,” he says, and I do.

When I wake up again, it’s my sister Val sitting by my bed, reading a magazine. “Matt,” she says. “You’re okay.”

“Where’s Evan?” I can’t believe those are the first words out of my mouth.

“I sent him home, to get some actual sleep. He hadn’t left your side the whole time. He only agreed to take shifts with me after you woke up the first time. He told the hospital staff you were his boyfriend.”

“Oh,” I say.

“I thought you should be warned,” she says. “The nurses adore him, so they might tease you. A couple of them are horrible gossips.” She frowns. “So you might get some press harassment, if it gets out.”

“He never told people I was his boyfriend, before. I was just a member of his entourage. Only a few people knew he was fucking me.”

“It was hard on you, when you got back together and he’d just started getting famous, wasn’t it?”

I shake my head. “No more than it ever was. We’re a messed-up couple, Val. Did either of us ever tell you why we broke up the first time?”

She shakes her head.

I lean back, looking up at the ceiling. “I put a knife through his hand.”

She’s not sure what to say.

“The second time was because I caught him cheating on me.”

“I’ve been worried about you,” she says. “Since the accident.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No. But I did tell him how to find you.”

I look at her. “What?”

“He’s been trying to get me to tell him, since the day you left him. Two weeks ago, he calls me up and tells me you showed up on his doorstep.”

I blush. “I did.”

“I was worried, you’d been so broken since you left him, so I told him where you worked. You don’t have a phone.”

I lean back, look up at the stark white hospital ceiling. “Sorry.”

The nurse comes in. She’s a bustling woman with an ample smile, not to mention her ample everything else. “You’re awake!”

She bustles over, fluffs my pillow, straightens my sheets, and checks my vitals. “Feisty young thing you are,” she beams. “Bounce right back. Just a case of exhaustion and stress, that’s all it is. Were you trying to starve yourself?”

She laughs. I don’t know how to reply to her exuberant friendliness. “I’m hungry now,” I tell her.

“Alright, darling, I’ll bring you some lunch, right away.” She leans in, gossipy. “Is Evan Rosier really your boyfriend? No one had any idea. He didn’t leave your side, three whole days.”

I hesitate. “Yes. He is.”

“I never knew he was such a romantic. How long have you been together?”

“Five years,” I say. “On and off.”

“Five years? He wouldn’t tell us, really.” She stage-whispers the next part. “Is he good in bed?”

I’m startled, but then I laugh. I like her, I decide, which is strange, I hate people, especially pushy people. “Fucking fantastic.”

“Oh.” She looks a little dazed. She seems like the romance novel type, obviously past her prime, so I don’t mind giving her something to thrill over.

“And he’s hung like it’s a fucking crime.”

She gasps, and I’ve probably just made her month. “Is it true, how you met?”

I scoff. “What’d he tell you?”

“That he seduced you at your family’s home by a lake.”

“Did he tell you how he had us all thinking he was married to my sister at the time?”

“Was it love at first sight?”

I fluster. “I… it was hate at first sight, actually, for me. I don’t know about him.”

“Alright,” she says. “Let me go get you some lunch, sweetie.”

“When can I leave?” I ask.

“Today, if you like. But you have to take it easy. Plenty of liquids. No starving yourself. I told Evan, if he didn’t take better care of you, he’d have to answer to me.”

Evan. She’s on first-name terms with Evan Fucking Rosier. She leaves. Val’s watching me.

“Can we call him?” I ask.

“If you want. He’s probably still asleep. I got the impression he’d be back here the instant he woke up. What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s going to try to take you home with him, and if you don’t, you’re coming home with me, since you’re clearly incapable of taking care of yourself. They say you were killing yourself.”

“I don’t know,” I say. I lean back on the pillows, dozing.

I feel lips on the side of my neck and squirm. “Stop that.”

“Morning, sweetcheeks,” he says. “Feeling better?”

“I hate that nickname,” I reply, but this only makes him kiss me again, this time on the lips.

“I’m taking you home with me,” he states. “So someone can make sure you actually eat.”

“Do you still have the old house?”

He laughs. “Do you seriously think I’d ever sell it?”

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you,” I mumble.

The nurse brings my food, and I find myself laughing with them as he flirts with her. It feels good to laugh again, and he’s flirting with me more.

“You’re free to go,” the nurse says. “But I want you in a wheelchair. You’re not to be on your feet for another day, at least.”

“I can carry him,” Evan offers, and scoops me into his arms. I yelp and hit him. She laughs.

“Put me down!” I’m only wearing this fucking skimpy hospital gown.

He obeys. “Shit, Matty, you really have been starving yourself.”

I glare.

“Don’t worry,” he smirks. “I’ll take you home and fatten you right up.”

“Can I have my clothes now?”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” she says, bringing them to me.

“Need help changing?” Evan smirks.

I twitch. “Please die.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. I regret it immediately. Fighting dizziness, I grab my clothes and stumble into the bathroom.

Evan laughs at me when I emerge. “Sweetcheeks, you look like a dork.”

I glare. He walks over and kidnaps my tie.

“Hey!” I object, and get a kiss in response. He untucks my shirt, unbuttons the top three buttons, and musses my hair.

“There,” he says. “Much better.” He’s smirking. I hate that smirk.

“I look freshly fucked,” I point out.

“Exactly. It suits you.”

I have to fight a grin. “You’re such a bastard.”

“Ready to go?”

I nod, and he sweeps me off my feet.

“Hey!” I punch him. “Put me down. I’m not being carried like a girl.”

“Compromise. Piggyback.”

I consider. “Deal.”

He sets me down on the bed and sits so I can get my legs around his waist. He smells good. Not that I care. And I’m definitely not nuzzling his neck.

I blink as he sets me down in the parking lot and opens the car door. “You got a new car,” I say, surprised.

“My baby finally died. But she’ll always have a special place in my heart.”

“You’re a freak,” I say. I’m not grinning.

He gets in and drives. “You want to go to the mansion or the old house?”

“The old house,” I say. “I can’t believe you have a fucking mansion.”

“It’s disgusting,” he says. “But it keeps people from finding the old house.”

The old house is this decrepit ancient manor out in a ruined neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It’s surrounded by neglected factories and overgrown fields. It doesn’t have electricity.

“I installed a Japanese-style bath,” he tells me.

“What’s a Japanese-style bath?”

“Doesn’t require electricity. It’s like a hot tub, with a fire underneath that heats the water.”

“So you got a hot tub,” I say. I’m grinning a little.

“No water jets, though. Sorry.”

The house does, at least, have running water, which has to be heated on a wood stove so that it’s not cripplingly cold. Living there certainly makes one miss a good fucking hot shower.

He pulls up. Opens my door and smirks at me. “I think you ought to be carried over the threshold. Like a bride.”

“Go to hell,” I reply. “Piggyback. We agreed.”

“That was just at the hospital,” he says, and lifts me out of the car. I sulk, but don’t fight.

I open the door because his hands are full. It’s not locked. It’s never locked. There’s no one around for miles.

“Bath or bed?” His lips are right at my ear.


It doesn’t show often, but he really does have a romantic streak. The bath is down in the stone cellar, and he sets me down on the stairs at he lights candles around it. I watch, as he fills it with water and builds a fire beneath it. I know I’m the only one who’s ever seen this side of him. A fucking Japanese-style bath, lit with candles.

“It takes awhile to heat up,” he says. I nod. He picks me up again, puts me down on the side of the tub. Kisses me softly as he undoes my shirt. He wants sex, but I’m not sure if it’s because he feels he’s earned it for taking care of me, or because he’s missed me so much. I don’t know where our relationship stands, but I don’t want to discuss it now. I want sex, too.

He lifts me and holds me by the waist so he can divest me of my pants. I laugh, because he’s nuzzling my neck so that it tickles. He sits me back down now that he’s got me naked, running his hands over my hips.

He stops. “Matty.” He frowns, studying my hips, where one of the bones juts forward slightly. This is what causes my limp, but it’s hard to notice if you’re not looking.

I look away. “I was hit by a car. It’s why I stopped dancing.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. I’ve got a limp, now. It hurts if I do a lot of walking.”

“Is it a problem?”

He asks this gently, but I know what he’s really asking. He wants to know if I can still take being fucked as hard as he likes it.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

He traces my disfigured hip with a finger. “You’ve really suffered since you left me, haven’t you?”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

He tests the water with a hand. Sprinkles the droplets at me. It’s still too cool.

“I don’t come here often,” he says. “Not since you left. I reminds me too much of you.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“The bath?”

“You know what I mean.”

He rests his forehead against mine, one arm around my waist. “I’ve always had affairs. Not often. Once, sometimes twice a year. Less when I’m with you.”

“More than once while you were with me?” I didn’t know. I pull away. He pulls me back.

“Matty. Listen.”

“Don’t fucking call me Matty.” I’m annoyed.

Listen.” He gives me a gruff shake. “Yes, I’ve had affairs. This is what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve never had a relationship last more than a month. Even the best of them bore me, after a week or two.” I blink at him. He holds my gaze, with those damn lapis lazuli eyes. “Except you. Even after you tried to take off my hand, I never stopped wanting you.” He kisses me. I let him. “So yes, I will sleep around, occasionally. But I will always, always come back to you.”

“I hate you,” I say, against his lips. He kisses me again, deeper, but still trying hard to hold himself back and be gentle. One of his hands is on the small of my back, holding me up, and the other is caressing my skin, tickling me and making me shiver. He touches my prick and I gasp, nearly choking on his tongue. (His tongue, like his cock, ought to be a fucking crime.)

He’s still dressed, and I voice my objection by unbuttoning his shirt, but this is increasingly difficult with him jerking me off, so finally he breaks the kiss himself and quickly sheds his shirt and pants. I show my approval by wrapping both legs around his waist.

He cups his hand through the water again, trickles it over my shoulder. “Get in.”

This is an understandably difficult order to fulfill with his arms around my waist, even more so when he starts kissing me again. I push him back with a hand on his chest. He lets me go, kneeling to adjust the level of the fire. I lower myself in. It’s still cooler than I like it, but it feels incredible. The crappy little flat I’ve been renting has only this tiny shower with shitty water pressure. It’s been months since I enjoyed luxury of any kind, and now I’m making out with Evan Fucking Please-Die Roswell-Rosier in a candle-lit stone cellar, in some fancy-ass Japanese hot tub.

He smirks at me. “Did you just moan?”

I have no fucking idea if I just fucking moaned. I probably did. I redden. “No.”

He leans over and puts an arm around my chest, nibbling my ear so that I twitch. Hasn’t stopped smirking. “Am I going to have to be jealous of the water?” He reaches down. Gropes me. I moan into his mouth, because now he’s moved his head around to kiss me.

I grab him by his hair. “Get in here.”

He laughs, steps in, pulls me over to his lap to continue the kiss, open-mouthed and indulgent. I shift on his lap, rubbing our cocks together. He growls in approval and pulls me closer with a hand on my ass, adjusting me slightly to increase the friction. I’m enjoying this, so I break away a little from the kiss so that I can nibble on his lip. I reach down, wrap a hand around both erections (mostly his). He’s getting more possessive now, lustfully mauling my neck as I keep rubbing myself against him. I can feel his hand on my ass move lower, parting the buttocks. His middle finger is stroking against my anus. He pushes it inside to the second knuckle and I gasp, tensing. “Evan—“

He gives the much-abused skin at my neck a final nip. “Do you want me to get a condom?”

“No, Evan—“

He immediately starts lifting my hips, and I know how bad he wants it. I push at him. “Wait--“

He stops, confused. I can feel his irritation.

“Not like that,” I say. “Not tonight.”

His hand on my ass tenses. He’s annoyed. “Fine. How, then?” He pulls me tight against him, fisting our cocks with a rough, irritable manner.

“What’s wrong with this?”

He forces a second finger inside me. I shudder. He’s using just this hand to guide my hips, and the way he brushes against my prostate as he does so makes me melt.

I rest my forehead on his shoulder, nuzzling. I’m close to the edge already, so I reach down to help him jerking us off. This causes him to speed up, and I shout, cumming. It’s a short orgasm, but a good one. I needed that. I pant, recovering slowly. He waits. I can feel his impatience. I don’t care. After everything he’s put me through, I can let him suffer a little.

Matty,” he growls.

“Mn?” I’m sleepy, dozing comfortably on his shoulder. He takes my hand, guides it down to his cock. Since he doesn’t take his hand away, I let him, and we jack him off together.

I’ve gotta admit, I love watching him cum. It’s the only time he really lets go. Head thrown back, and he’s gorgeous, cock spewing semen into the water. He has really long fucking orgasms. I’m bloody jealous.

He sits there with me for awhile, cuddling. Finally gets up, puts out the fire, and carries me upstairs to bed. I fall asleep with his arms around me, and it’s so very fucking good.


He wakes me up the next morning by tickling me. I gasp, swearing, and hit him.

“Morning, sweetcheeks,” he grins. “Feeling better?”

“We’re not having morning sex, if that’s what you were hoping.”

“Actually,” he says, “I thought we might go in to work, if you’re up for it.”

I blink. “Work?”

“There’s a board meeting I’m supposed to attend. And I obviously need my personal secretary.”

I’m not sure what the game is. “Why did you buy half the company?”

“To get you back.” He gets up, dressing. I sit up to watch. It’s a nice view.

“Why not just show up and kidnap me?”

“I didn’t want to risk you slamming a door in my face. I didn’t know you were in such bad shape, so I wanted to set it up on my terms.” He tosses clothes at me. I get dressed. It’s a smart little gray suit, something expensive, but of course in just my size. He undoes the top three buttons after I’ve just done them up, and ruffles my hair, so that I look both acceptably fuckable and fucked. “Took me two weeks to work out the deal, and surprisingly, it was a lot of fun.”

I stare at him. He’s completely fucking batshit insane. I tell him so.

“One of these days I’m going to get a yacht and name it that. C. F. B. Insane.”

“You can’t name a yacht CFB Insane,” I say. He shrugs and grabs my ass.

“I’m officially taking time off from acting, for awhile. Thought I’d try my hand at being a playboy businessman.”

“Mostly a playboy,” I comment.

He opens the car door for me. “That’s the appeal. You see, in the higher ranks, one gets the most delectable interns.”

I twitch and give him a glare. He drapes himself over my shoulders from behind before I can get in the car.

“One in particular.” He nibbles on my ear, voice deep and husky at a whisper. “This delicious little intern, fantastic ass, and I’m aching to bend him over my desk and ravage him, so I had him transferred to being my personal secretary. Name’s Matty. I hope you’re not jealous.” His hand is down the front of my pants, stroking me, and I can’t stand on my own anymore. I moan.

He kisses the side of my neck. “Understand?”

I nod, turning my head in hopes of a kiss.

“Good.” He lets me go. I very nearly collapse. “Get in.”

I now deeply regret refusing him a morning quickie. I’m painfully fucking hard from his teasing. I get in.

We arrive, and he gets valet parking. I feel watched, like I never have before. I feel envied. All eyes are on me as we go by, and they know I’m his personal secretary, but they also know that’s the same thing as being his fucktoy. Maybe other personal secretaries aren’t, but there’s no question in anybody’s mind that I am.

When I was with him before, I was just a face in the crowd of his entourage. But now I am the fucktoy. Every face reflects one of two emotions—jealousy of me and lust for Evan, or, and this is new for me, jealousy of him for having me. Evan is making people lust after me, just by claiming me the way he does. I’m not sure if I like it.

We go up in the elevator. He’s fondling my ass. I swear at him in front of the elevator attendant. He stops, indulgently, and smirks, leaning against the wall, watching me. We’re playing a game now, and the entire building is our stage. Any scene in front of an audience will become known to the whole audience. By bitching at him, I raise my own status, because they all know that anyone else who crosses him will be destroyed. The mouse is allowed to mouth off at the cat, because everyone knows the cat will get his dinner in the end.

The elevator stops.

“Matty.” He flashes a bill at me. I take it. “Get us breakfast. I’ll be in my office.”

I glare. “Don’t call me Matty.”

He slaps my ass as he walks away. “Hurry it up, sweetcheeks.”

I allow myself the luxury of watching his ass as he walks away.

“Giselle.” I hold up the bill. “Mr. Rosier would like breakfast.”

I can see the clock. It’s almost two.

“Of course, sir,” she says. I think she’d say the same thing if I told her Mr. Rosier wanted her to suck his cock. ‘Of course, sir.” I toss the bill down and wander away.


“Matty.” His weight settles over me, one arm around my waist.

I didn’t notice him approach, bent as I was over his desk, focusing on some paperwork. “Sir?” I ask, fighting a laugh. “You don’t think this is a little inappropriate?”

He’s nipping at my neck. “What, ravishing my personal secretary?”

“I’m busy. This is actually important, you know.” I extract his hand from my pants.

“Not so important you couldn’t use a little distraction?” He’s hard, and I’m enjoying the way he grinds against my ass.

“I’m not in the mood,” I reply, acting unconcerned.

He gropes me. “You think I didn’t notice you flirting with Costa?”

I grin. So my little performance earlier didn’t go unnoticed. “He’s a better kisser than you are.”

His grip tenses. “Really? How nice for him.”

I wiggle against him, struggling. “Probably better in bed, too.”

He nips my neck and then lets me up, digging through his desk drawer. I go back to the papers.

“He wouldn’t be able to satisfy you,” Evan says.

I smirk. “Are you so confident?”

“That you won’t be satisfied on any cock but mine? Yes.” He leans on the desk, smirking at me. He’s hiding one hand behind his back.

I try not to smile. “You’re fucking plotting something.”

“Plotting fucking something,” he corrects. “Want a quickie?”

I grin, marking a correction on the papers. “No.”

“No? Just a blowjob.”

“I’m not giving you a blowjob.”

He reaches over, unbuttoning the top of my shirt. “I wasn’t asking.” His fingers brush across my neck, and he pulls me up against him. “I was offering.” He takes a kiss and I return it. He’s enjoying his role as a powerful businessman way too much, but I don’t mind. Evan Rosier is particularly talented at sucking cock. I feel him slide something into my back pocket.

“What was that?” He lets me toy with his hair when he drops to his knees. His hands are unzipping my fly.

“Something for later.” He licks his lips, and it’s hard to think. I want those lips on my cock. He’s still smirking. Bastard never stops smirking. My pants are around my ankles.

He draws his tongue up my cock, long and languid. I shudder. He smirks, and I hate how self-satisfied he looks, like the damn cat who got the cream. I’m not moaning. I’m not. He wraps his tongue around the head of my cock. Bastard’s way too well endowed. His tongue is like an alien entity of its own.

No one sucks cock like Evan Rosier. He’s got a mouth like a fucking Hoover. He could have a career as a sword-swallower, or more likely a porn star, because he deepthroats like it’s nobody’s business. I can’t deepthroat. I just choke.

He hums, like a deep purr, low in his throat, and I gasp, fingers clutching at his hair. I swear, begging for more. His hands move up my thighs, and he’s holding something. I feel something press against my arsehole, wet with lube.

Evan,” I say, startled. He pushes it inside and moves back with a last lick to my cock. I stare at him, cognitive thinking stopped short. Neatly, he pulls my pants back up and fastens them. Fucking hell. He’s not even going to let me finish. He stands and gives me a kiss. I’m speechless. I’m still not sure what he put in my ass.

I hit him. “What the hell?”

He smirks. “I thought I should make sure you weren’t thinking of any cock but mine. Have a seat.”

I flop into his chair, pissed and fucking hard. He laughs, because I immediately jump out of the chair, having forgotten to be careful how I sit with a thing up my ass, and settle into the chair more carefully. I squirm. It’s got to be some kind of dildo or buttplug, because it’s staying put despite my best efforts at squirming. I glare. “What is it?”

He digs in the drawer again, pulls out a little remote. “Vibrator.”

He hits the button.

I yell, arching about a foot out of the chair, swearing fluently. He raises an eyebrow and lowers the intensity. I pant. “Fuck. Evan.” One of my hands is rubbing at my crotch, so he reaches over and catches both of my hands. I struggle, trying to breathe evenly. “Evan—“ I need release so bad it hurts. He stops the vibration.

“No touching yourself,” he says, with a smirk. “You have to behave.”

“That’s a lot easier for you to say without a vibrator up your ass, you bastard.”

He smirks, pocketing the control.

“I’m going to cream my pants if you do that again,” I tell him.

“No, you’re not. You’re not getting release unless it’s around my cock. I’m going to make you regret refusing me.”

I hate how that turns me on even more. I’m actually enjoying this. And he knows it.

“Take this to Eileen, would you?” He hands me a sheaf of papers. “Tell her it’s top priority.”

I stare at him. “Evan, I don’t think I can fucking stand.”

He pulls me to my feet and kisses me. “You’ll manage.” With a pat on my ass, he pushes me out the door. The vibrator’s on low; not strong enough to get me off, but enough that I’m not about to forget it’s there. Bastard.

I hurry back, and he sends me on another errand. It’s almost an hour before I’ve finally gotten used to it to the point that I’m no longer painfully hard, and I’ve got to pee.

He must be keeping an eye on me, because I’ve barely started pissing when Evan steps through the door, smirking. I swear and try to piss faster.

He leans against a wall, watching me. “I hope you weren’t thinking of getting any release.”

“I just have to fucking pee.”

He shrugs, presses the button. I am cut off mid-stream. I grab the wall for support, swearing, because he put it on high. I’m hard again already.

“I hate you,” I gasp, as he lowers it to a rate which allows me to breathe.

“Ready to beg for it yet?” His hand brushes my erection, breathing in my ear.

I turn for a kiss. “Yes.”

He smirks, pulling away without giving me my kiss. “Meet me in my office.” He increases the vibration lightly, making my breath hitch. “I have to piss.”

“You bastard,” I pant.

“Go,” he says.

I go.

I take a seat in his chair, squirming impatiently. I don’t dare try to get release. It’d just make him think up something worse.

He enters, unbuttoning his shirt. “Get up. Strip.”

My clothes are gone in seconds. I’m so fucking desperate at this point. He takes off his shirt first, then his shoes, then his belt, smacking me on the ass with it. I cuss at him.

He leans on his desk, watching me. “On your knees, slut.”

I go down, licking my lips.

He laughs. “No. Not that.” He hits a button and I buck, swearing, because now it’s on high. It stops.

I shudder. “Evan.” My voice is a whimper. “Fuck, Evan, please. This is cruel.”

He drops to his knees by me. “All right.” He kisses me, sweetly, and I kiss back, clinging. I can feel him slowly increasing the speed. My brain is short-circuiting. After what seems like an hour, he breaks the kiss and stands, watching me with a fond smirk. “Jack off. I want to watch.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. He’s already increased the speed to high, and I’m moaning, writhing as I jack myself off. This orgasm’s been building all fucking day, so when I hit the edge, I yell, spraying cum. I know I’ve never had an orgasm this long, and it’s fucking good. When it passes, finally, I collapse, shuddering with a few light aftershocks.

“Shit, Matty.”

I open an eye. He’s staring at me, jaw dropped. I can’t manage words, so I whimper instead.

“Matty.” He walks over, kissing my forehead. “You were cumming for a good two minutes. Are you okay?”

I nod, sitting up and claiming a good long kiss. “You’d been building it up all day, tormenting me like that. You’re horrible. Cruel.”

“All year, I think,” he replies. “Our first time, you had an orgasm as long as most of mine.”

“Don’t brag, you bastard.” I cuddle into his arms.

He tickles me. “Now I need release, watching you like that…” He whistled. “Wish I’d thought to tape it.”

My cheeks redden. “Fuck you.” I hit at the tickling hand. “Stop that. Find some other ass.”

He stops tickling and instead starts coaxing my cock up again. I swear at him.

“Matty.” He pumps my cock once, roughly. “You’re actually up to go again.” He sounds amused. He’s nuzzling at my neck.

I shudder, smacking him. “I told you to find some other ass.”

“You’d be jealous.”

“More like I’d feel sorry for the poor sap. Fuck, Evan!” I writhe, and he gets up.

“Up, bitch.”

I smirk, struggling to stand up. “You’re just so fucking sweet sometimes, Evan. You could just jack off, like you made me do.”

He pulls me to my feet. “And leave you unsatisfied again? No. That ass?” He swats it, and I yelp. “Is mine.” He kisses me, smirking. “Objections?”

“No.” I kiss him again, reaching down to grope his balls. “You bastard.”

“Ready?” He kisses the front of my throat.


He smirks. “Bend over the desk, slut.”

“You’re the slut.”

He spanks my ass, hard. “Don’t mouth off at me.”

I poke his chest, laughing. “Who do you think you’re fucking?”

“A smartass, vindictive little bitch I can’t bear to live without?” He bends me over the desk, stopping to admire the view. “Also the best ass in the history of the world. Helen would be jealous.”


He kisses an arse-cheek. “Ass that launched a thousand ships? She’s got nothing on you.” He removes the vibrator, making me shudder. “Okay?”

I reach up. “Give me your hand.” He does, surprised. Smiling, I kiss the back of it, weaving our fingers together. “Would you fuck me already?”

He laughs, squeezes my hand. “Yes, sweetcheeks.”

He settles his weight over me, heavy and warm, thrusting in slowly. He’s being gentle, more than he ever has before, taking his time. Maybe he’s trying to make it up to me for teasing me so bad. Whatever the reason, I can’t stand it.

“Evan, dammit, if you don’t stop being so fucking gentle, I’m going to top.”

He laughs, pulling out, and rams back in, hard. It hurts so bad, I’m seeing stars, and I want more. He does it again, harder. I writhe. “More.”

He purrs into my ear. The hand intertwined with mine reaches down, guiding my hand so that we’re jerking me off together. “Matty.” His lips are right at my ear as he rams into me, again and again. He’s close to the edge, I can feel it. “I love you.”

I gasp, and he comes into me, long and hard and good. His hand never stops pumping my cock, and after a few moments I come with him, spurting semen across the fancy, polished wood of his desk. I’m blushing deeply when he pulls out. Evan’s never once said those words before. Once he told me I was the love of his life. But he’s never said it, not like that. I feel dizzy.


I nod, and his arms go around me, kissing my shoulder and holding me close. I look up. “I love you too, you know.”

He smiles. “I’m going to have a homing device installed in your ass. I’m not letting you get away again.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

I start. “What?”

“For hurting you.”

“You’re not forgiven. You’ll do it again.”

“I’ll try to be good.” He’s cuddling me again. I put up with it. “For you.”

“Next you’re going to get me a house, with a white picket fence.”

He tickles my side, lightly. “We already have one of those.”

“Fuck. That’s different! The fence isn’t white. It’s gray. And in pieces.”

“We can paint it.” He turns me around and kisses me.

“Fucking quaint. Next thing I know, you’re going to propose.”

“Sorry, I’m not marrying you. Not even if you wear a little white dress. Low-cut.”

“You can wear the dress,” I mutter, falling asleep on his shoulder. “And don’t even think about kids.”

“Of course not. We’ll adopt. Your girlish figure…” He gropes my ass. I punch him. He tickles back, and we collapse, laughing.

We’re together again. Absolutely everything is going to be okay.
Tags: bedsprings, porn

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    Oh, right. By the way, the new issue of SSBB is up, with my story Robin, or, My Adventures in the Adult Entertainment Industry. Enjoy!

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