Obsessed with my Billionaire Step-Father to be

The man beneath me moaned as I rode him. There are a few days in your life when you realise, mid-scream, with tears and mascara streaming down your chin, that maybe your peak was at seventeen. For me, that day was today… a whooping-ass Tuesday. I straddled him on the worn-out sofa in my studio, my skin hot and slick with sweat. The muscles in my thighs were starting to burn with each rise and fall, but I didn't slow. His hands reached for my waist and gripped tightly, the sweet pain making me gasp and look down, my eyes barely registering the pretty-boy features of Mitch, my boyfriend. My hands were splayed on his muscular chest, helping me balance. “You're such a mess,” Mitch said breathlessly, hinting at the trail of wet mascara lining down my face. “Go harder. Tighten up,” I leaned forward, flexing my v****a walls the way he'd taught me. I badly needed an outlet for my pent-up emotions, and his nice thick c**k deserved an enormous amount of credits. Removing his hands from my waist, he pushed himself up on his elbows, his mouth latching onto a pale pink n****e. My eyelids fluttered as he sucked on it, his tongue and teeth teasing, while his other hand rolled and pinched my second n****e. I arched my back and ground harder, the angle allowing just the right amount of friction on my c**t. “f**k,” I swore to myself, almost tripping. I was so close. I was at the point where I had to choose between an orgasm and an explosion. Mitch sucked harder on my n*****s, and simultaneously moved his free hand to the place where our bodies were joined together. His long fingers found my c**t and he rubbed it in rapid circles, the combined friction and increased pressure in my throbbing p***y making it hurt so beautifully– sending me over the edge. I badly needed that edge. “Oh baby…” I threw my head back, my eyes rolling in the back of my head, unable to think, and moaning out loud in pleasure. Mitch released a loud grunt and jerked his hips up against mine, matching my rhythm, his thrusts hard and fast. “I love you baby,” I said out loud as I reached my high, my walls clenching and contracting around the thick pulsing c**k inside. Mitch swore again, his face a mask of pain and pleasure as he emptied inside me. Descending from my high, I rolled off him and limped towards my broken cabinet, where I popped a birth control pill in my mouth. I staggered into the mini bathroom to freshen up, leaving the door open for Mitch to join me. I leaned against the cold tiled walls, trying to catch my breath while enjoying the little bursts of electricity racing along my nerves…which were pretty much the aftershocks of a good orgasm. It was always ten on a scale with Mitch. My head had been reset, and I was willing to spend the rest of the evening with Mitch. Rant about the events of today. He could place the order for a pizza takeout while we watched a horror movie. Giggling and smiling to myself, I turned on the shower. I was almost done when it dawned on me that Mitch was not going to join me, and so I hastened up and walked out butt-naked into the living room. Mitch was sitting on the sofa, bare-chested, and only in his trousers. He had a mild scowl on his face as he was scrolling through his phone and he barely acknowledged my presence…which lowkey irked me. Shrugging off the feeling, I snuggled myself next to him on the sofa, and I could feel him immediately stiffen. Something's wrong. “Easy babe,” I smiled at him, trying to catch a glance at his phone screen. He moved it away. “What happened?” Mitch kept mute as he peeled himself away from me and stood up from the sofa, going into the bathroom. Puzzled by the way he was acting, I just stared at the door after him. I felt the sizzle of happiness in me dissipate slowly, gradually replaced by a weird, indescribable feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. A half-finished painting glared at me amongst others from across the room— I had mixed very abstract tones of crimson-red and bone white colours and smeared them in streaks across a black canvas. The end goal was a lady who set her wounds on fire….wishing they could never close. It looked very gothic if I had to use my boss's terms….and wholly unmarketable. I didn't care anyway, and I was running out of decent paint supplies. I was jolted out of my thoughts as Mitch exited the bathroom, looking freshened up and oozing manly appeal. He's my boyfriend, guys. I'm supposed to find him attractive. I gazed at him expectantly as his baby blue eyes flickered over to mine. I wanted him to tell me what bothered him so much. I wanted to tell him about today, my insecurities…and everything. His facial expression hardened as he walked towards me and I looked away, a sudden chill tugging at my heart. Mitch picked up his clothes from the sofa arms and began getting dressed. He did the one thing I always hated— half-buttoning his shirt like he was in a boy band or running late for a client meeting he didn’t care about. I always teased him about it, but I was silent today. “You’re quiet,” I spoke calmly, determined to close up the distance he was putting between us. I was still naked, my right leg dangling off the edge of the sofa like I had melted into the worn-out leather. “That's quite unusual for you,” He didn’t look at me when he replied. “Just tired.” Right. Tired. His famous catch-all excuse for his detachment and disinterest in whatever I was saying, and that was the ‘Mitch’ I did not like. To me, Mitch always got ‘tired’ right before he got cruel. I sat up and wrapped myself in an oversized linen shirt he had gotten as a souvenir and given to me last week. It still smelled like his cologne. I took in three deep breaths, trying to calm myself. “You’re not staying?” I asked him slowly, trying to stress each word. I needed him tonight. My eyes scurried to the almost broken clock on the wall and back to him. “It's already five o'clock,” “I’ve got meetings,” he replied, running a hand through his blonde hair. The same hand that had gripped my waist fifteen minutes ago like I belonged to him. I didn’t ask what kind of meetings. I never asked. I saw it as a boundary Mitch didn’t want me to cross. We've been together for three years…since I landed my first job in New York. Mitch's job mostly included recruiting clients for the prestigious Syan-crest bank…most of which included yours truly, my gender, of course. Not that I'd thought too deeply about it. And then my phone buzzed on the tiny heart-shaped stool next to the sofa. Curious, I picked it up. I glanced down. A text from Mitch. I stared at it, then looked at him. “You just texted me,” I said, the confusion clear in my voice and on my face. Mitch didn’t answer and he began walking towards the door of my studio apartment. Feeling sick of his sour attitude, I read the message. Bree, this isn’t working anymore. I need space. It is over between us. Please don’t make this ugly. Ugly. Ugly? You just came inside me, and now I’m ugly? I stood up instantly, almost wrapping my hands around myself mentally to protect the widening crack in my heart. “Mitch,” I croaked, my voice catching onto his name like it physically hurt. “Are you serious?” He paused, finally looking at me with his beautiful set of baby blue eyes...just long enough for me to know he meant every word. “I didn’t know how else to say it.” “You could’ve waited until I put on my underwear,” He sighed loudly and ran his hand through his hair again, as if I were the exhausting one. “I came here to tell you that. You jumped on me, and I gave you what you wanted,” and then his tone turned harsh. “Don’t make a scene.” Mitch shut the door behind him with full force, making me shudder. I was stunned into silence. The kind of silence that roared in your ears when you tried to process unforeseen events you never saw coming. I stood there for a full minute in his shirt, holding my phone, reeling in shock. I didn't even know I was crying until I felt the wetness on my cheeks. Then my stomach growled loudly. I was still human. I was hungry. I blinked at the absurdity of it. Everyone treats me as if I were less of a person these days. I walked over to the easel and stared at my half-finished painting of the fiery woman. It stared back, as if trying to laugh in my face. I chuckled to myself and picked up the palette knife and dragged a smear of black and white colours across the canvas until it looked like a scream. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I’d always been. But dammit, I deserved a better breakup than a stupid text message while still in his cologne-suffocating shirt and being a leaking bottle of low self-esteem. I was supposed to crack a life-changing deal today, but I was sabotaged by Elsie, my coworker and her crew. To top it all, I was now four months behind on rent, and was down to my last tube of decent paint. I threw my palette knife across the room in frustration. Feeling weak in my knees, I curled myself up into a ball on the aged floor carpet. And began to cry.