Captive Films: Season One (9 page)

“I’m driving then.”

“Whatever, as long as we get there,” he says, as a sleek black luxury sedan pulls in front of us.
 

He tips the valet a hundred and tells him I’m driving.
 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson. Good to see you again.”

Riley slides in the passenger seat, presses the home button on the GPS, and says, “She’ll tell you where to go. I’ll be too busy.”

“Too busy doing what?” I ask as I pull out of the parking lot.

“This,” he says, sliding his hand between my legs.
 

I know I should stop him. I know that this is cheating on my husband. And I’m not a cheater. I’ve never cheated on anyone. But I can’t for the life of me bring myself to stop him. Not when I’ve wanted and dreamed about this for so long.
 

He kisses my neck, which makes it difficult for me to concentrate on the road.
 

And it becomes even harder when he slides my thong over and roughly shoves his finger inside of me.
 

“Oh!” I say, startled by the suddenness of it.
 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I moan. His long fingers have always felt like they were made just for me.
 

And they have become even more masterful. I’m groaning with pleasure and am close to orgasm when the navigation tells me we’ve reached our destination.

A valet opens my door.
 

Riley is already next to me, his arm wrapped around me, his lips on my neck, leading me through a pair of massive glass doors.
 

“Looks like it’s going to be a good evening, Mr. Johnson,” the doorman says.
 

Riley ignores him, pulling me down a hall, and then sliding a key into an elevator set off to the side.
 

He pulls me inside, kissing me and shoving me hard against the wall.
 

“I can’t wait to fuck you, kitty,” he says, calling me by the nickname he gave me in high school.
 

I melt into his arms and kiss him with voracity.
 

“I want the same thing,” I say as his tongue forces its way into my mouth.

One hand moves to cup and squeeze my breast, the other slides under my ass, and I know exactly what he wants. I jump up and wrap my legs around his torso.
 

“I want you right here,” he says, pushing my dress up and ripping off my thong while I’m unzipping his pants.
 

The elevator dings.
 

“Don’t move,” he says, putting his arms under me and carrying me through the door while we’re still hooked together and ravenously kissing.
 

He lays me down on the closest surface. A couch, I think.

I’m shoving my hand down his pants, eager to free him and have him inside me, when I hear a loud squeaky voice yell, “Riley!”
 

We stop and turn toward the noise.
 

I see a pretty blonde with huge boobs, barely held in place by a couple skimpy pieces of leather.

“Shelby, what the hell are you doing here?” Riley asks, quickly standing up. “How did you get in?”

I pull my dress down over my exposed crotch as she pouts, “I’m surprising you.”

Riley narrows his eyes and stalks toward her. “I asked
how did you get in
?”

“The doorman let me up. He’s seen me here,
a lot
,” she stresses, looking directly at me.
 

“Um, I’m just gonna go,” I say, defeatedly. “I’ll let you two figure this out.”

“Don’t you go anywhere,” Riley says to me in a tone that sounds a lot like Collin’s.
 

“I don’t mind,” the blond coos. “She can join in our fun too.”

I’m horrified by her words.
 

I could never share Riley.
 

He grabs her by the arm and escorts her to the elevator.
 

“I have to get my stuff!” she protests. “I can’t drive home like this!”

When he takes her into the bedroom, I see my chance. I hit the button on the elevator and get the hell out of here.

I run out of the elevator in tears and slam into the doorman.
 

“Oh, my,” he says. “You no like three people?”

“No, I don’t,” I say, pushing past him and out the front door.

It’s at that moment I realize I don’t have a car.
 

So I take my heels off and run down the sidewalk. Far away from the boy who still holds my heart captive.

Monday, September 29th

Riley’s Penthouse - L.A.

RILEY

I hear the elevator ding, meaning Ariela left.
 

I hold my head in my hands wondering what the fuck just happened.
 

Shelby tries to make it better by kissing me. But as soon as she gets close, I back away, touching my lips. The lips Ariela’s mouth was just on.
 

I don’t say anything, just glance at the floor. I’m so pissed and so full of adrenaline, I’m worried I might accidentally kill this girl.
 

I’m shocked when she immediately drops to her knees and takes my cock into her eager little mouth.
 

And, yeah, I let her.
 

So what?

I’m drunk.

When she’s done, I politely take her down the elevator, tip the valet when he brings her car, and as I’m closing her door, I say sternly, “Don’t you ever fucking come back.”

Then I march into the lobby and grab the doorman by his shirt. “Don’t you EVER fucking let ANYONE in my home without my permission. I could have you fired for this and, quite frankly, I should.”

“Please, no, Mr. Johnson. I see the girl with you before and she said she was going to surprise you. I was trying to help.”

“Don’t EVER LET ANYONE IN MY HOME AGAIN. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.”

I go back to my apartment, strip off my clothes, stagger to the shower, and try to wash off the slimy way I feel.
 

I lie down in my bed and consider calling Ariela.
 

I remember all those nights we would talk from curfew until we knew it was safe to sneak out and be in each other’s arms again.
 

What the fuck do I have to lose?

I pull up her contact, which I may have stolen from Keatyn’s phone earlier.
 

So sue me.
 

I’m surprised when she answers with a pissed off sounding, “Hello?”

“Did you get home okay?” I ask her, worried about her taking off in the middle of the night.
 

“Yeah, I got a cab, Riley.”

“You left. Why did you leave?” I know I’m sounding drunk and whiny, but I don’t care. I have to know. Not about tonight, but me back then.
 

“Because there was a girl in your bed.”

“She wasn’t in my bed. And I don’t want her.”

“Never mind, Riley,” she says in her pissy tone. It’s sad that I still remember every pitch of her voice. “You're single and you clearly love it.”

This pisses me off.
 

“I’m single, Ariela, because you didn't marry me. And, once again, you just left with no fucking explanation. So why don't you go the fuck back to wherever you came from and go fuck your husband. I don't want you in my life. Do you understand me? Stay the fuck away from me and my friends.”

I hang up the phone and cry in a way I haven’t done since my senior graduation.

Tuesday, September 30th

Keatyn & Aiden’s beach house - Malibu

KEATYN

I wake up feeling refreshed, but notice it’s still dark. A glance at the clock tells me I haven’t slept for all that long. It’s only three o’clock.
 

I snuggle my chest into Aiden’s back, wrap my arms around him, and try to go back to sleep.

Except, I can’t.
 

Because in trying to put myself back to sleep, I decide to gently rub his chest.
 

But rubbing his chest leads to me rubbing his abs, which draws my hand across his v-line and, well, we all know where that leads.
 

I tell myself that I’m just being nice. Giving him a massage. But, really, I’m only massaging one part of him.
 

His dick springs to life before he does.
 

 
I can’t believe I’m molesting him in the middle of the night. We had sex before we went to sleep.

Although that doesn’t stop me. Especially when he makes a sexy little moan.
 

 
I kiss his neck and rub my boobs against his back in further effort to wake him up.
 

His hand slides down over mine, which is still enjoying the instant gratification of being able to make him go from limp to “beast” mode, as he calls it, in a matter of seconds.
 

“Are you attacking me in my sleep?” he asks groggily, teasing me, but at the same time, pressing his hand down on mine, so I’ll keep rubbing.

“I am.”

He rolls over and kisses me. “Good. I need you. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been four hours.”

“It feels like forever,” he says, moving his mouth down my chest.
 

“Ouch, that hurts. Kinda.” This causes him to immediately stop sucking on my nipple and look at me. “But don’t stop!”
 

“It hurts, but don’t stop?”

“Um, yeah, I think so. My boobs are sore, but it sorta feels really good.”

He puts his hand over one of my boobs and gives it a little squeeze. “They’re bigger. I like.”

He continues kissing me.
 

He’s being super sweet, loving, and taking his time.
 

Aiden is good at foreplay.
 

He’s kissing me, caressing me, teasing me.
 

Usually, I love it, but it’s not what I want.

“Aiden, baby, fuck me. Now. Please.”

“I love it when you say that,” he says, quickly moving on top of me and doing what I asked.

And it feels so good.
 

Like something I just had to have at that moment.
 

It’s perfect.

Sex with Aiden, I can honestly say, in the many years we’ve been doing it, is amazing, exciting, fun, spontaneous, sensual. His appetite for sex is voracious and I’m very happy about it.
 

Except right now, it’s over.
 

And I’m okay with that. Because all I can think about now are waffles.
 

“Boots, you can wake me up like that anytime you want.”

“I’m not sure I like being pregnant,” I say, honestly.

He snuggles me into his arms and caresses my still flat belly. “Why’s that? I’m loving it. You’re super horny. Your boobs look amazing. Hell, you look amazing. I finally understand why they say pregnant women glow. You glow.”

“I think it’s you who’s been glowing. You’re quite proud of yourself for knocking me up.”

I can see his smile in the dark.
 

He is very proud. And dying to tell the world.
 

“I’m thrilled to be having a baby with you.”

“Does that mean you’d also be thrilled to eat waffles with me? Right now.”

“You want waffles, right now?”

“Yes, and we may have to fly to St. Croix to get them. Because I don’t want just any waffles. I want Inga’s cinnamon waffles drizzled in her homemade pecan caramel sauce with a side of her spicy fried potatoes.”

“That’s going to be kind of hard to do since you have a busy day today. How about we make them ourselves?”