Dina

“Are you really breaking up with me?”

It was a stupid rhetorical question- my least favorite type of question- but the shock pushed the words out before I could reel them back in. I had never been dumped before in my life. Always the dumper, but never the dumped. Until today, of course. And in my kitchen, no less.

Ryan stood across from me, his swimmer’s build leaned against the granite-topped island, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy slacks. His suit jacket had long since been discarded, flung over the back of my tan leather sofa. A paisley pink Thomas Pink tie hung loosely around his neck, draped over a starched white dress shirt.

He laughed at my question, revealing a dimple in his left cheek that only appeared with a deep laugh. Running his hand through his messy blonde hair, he looked towards the ceiling and suddenly began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Were we about to come to blows? After being laughed at- and dumped- in my own home, I was ready and willing to fight it out.

“Are you serious, Dina?” Ryan asked, his hands now resting behind him on the edge of the counter. “You tell me you had a threesome with your friends and you’re wondering why I’m breaking up with you?”

Yeah, about that.

Perhaps somewhere deep down inside, I thought he might understand. I didn’t just pick up some randos in a bar or a club and bring them home to bang. These are people I’ve known for the better part of 20 years. I trust my life and my private parts with these people. Better them than some strangers, right?

Ryan apparently didn’t see it that way.

It wasn’t even supposed to happen. As with most things that involve too much alcohol, the whole night was a blur. A messy, sexy blur.

“Well?”

Ryan was still standing there, his smirk long since replaced with a squinty-eyed, flared-nostril look of disappointment. It may have been inappropriate to think about ripping his clothes off and begging for his forgiveness from on top of him, but in that moment, that’s exactly what I wanted. Standing there with his sleeves rolled up and his eyes and forehead set in deep concentration, he was the embodiment of the very reason why I picked him. Ryan loved and craved power and he hated to lose- that is, unless he was losing to me.

We met at a bar six months prior, when a friend came to me to complain that some creep had been disrespecting her- something I absolutely do not put up with. I introduced myself to him at the bar and after a few drinks received an invite back to his hotel room. After a painfully long cocktease session, I suddenly started to gather my things, announcing that I had a much better man to visit that night instead. As he sat on the edge of the bed trying to gather his thoughts, I leaned over him and grabbed his tie with one hand while gripping his incredibly hard cock with the other. Kissing him hard on the lips, I pulled back and asked, “how does it feel to be disrespected?” And with that, I released his tie and cock and left his hotel room.

Imagine his shock when he showed up to his business meeting the next day and saw yours truly standing there, waiting to greet him. He was so impressed and enamored that he apologized over drinks later that evening and even more so when I was fucking his brains out later that night.

He absolutely loved when I was the one with the power and control. Not necessarily in a Dom/sub fashion. He found himself more impressed- and aroused- by my ambitions and no-bullshit attitude inside and outside of the office. As the youngest- and only female- vice president at Gallegos and Huntington, I had a lot to prove and didn’t have time to hold anyone’s hand.

Ryan understood that. And fostered it.

Not today, though, apparently.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. It’s just Jade and Ted. Well, mostly Ted. But you know them.”

“Explain to me how that makes it better. You still fucked another man behind my back.”

“You act as though I did it maliciously.”

“Oh, come off that. You know damn well that if I fucked a female friend of mine after having some drinks you’d be making me beg for mercy.”

Shit, I hate when he’s right.

“Not necessarily,” I bluff.

“Such bullshit.”

“Jesus, Ryan. I was upset and…”

He cuts me off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘You were upset. You were drinking. It just happened.’” He gestured with air quotes, which was almost enough to make me kick him out.

Instead I headed to the bottle of Jefferson’s at the end of the kitchen counter and poured myself a bourbon.

Having feelings for the man wasn’t part of the plan. Technically, I was his boss and as a rule I tried to abstain from fucking or getting involved with men who were beneath me. Unfortunately a lot of these men didn’t love the power I possessed as much as Ryan did. He never called me “mouthy” nor “bossy”; he never referred to me as “high maintenance” nor a “bitch.” Because he was all of those things as well. And in some twisted way, we meshed. After meshing for six months, it’s hard to convince anyone by that point that it’s only about the sex. Even though we still hadn’t admitted that to each other.

“So, this is where we end? I don’t even get a chance to redeem myself?”

I immediately regretted the words as soon as I said them.

At that moment he grinned again, seeming to bask in the fact that my tough persona was cracking, that I was capable of having my heart broken.

And, yeah, I’ll admit it, my fucking heart was being broken.

But I’d never regret what I did. I’d lived my entire life up to that point with no regrets. Boys (and men) had come and gone plenty. I idolized my father and I knew he didn’t become a successful businessman by regretting anything. You don’t get your name on the front of a fucking building by regretting your decisions.

Besides, the sex was great. Why on Earth would I regret that?

Ryan pushed off from the counter and approached me until he had me cornered at the far end of the kitchen. All 6’2 towering over my 5’4 frame, he stared down at me with his big hazel eyes- the same eyes just two days ago I was gazing into as I rode him in the lounge chair on my balcony.

He grabbed the glass from my hand, spilling some of the warm brown liquid onto the floor. Throwing it back and drinking it in one gulp, he sat the glass back on the counter before leaning down and kissing me roughly, his lips all at once sweet and intoxicating and unforgiving. Using one hand to grasp my hair, he slipped his other up under my pencil skirt, tearing a hole into my delicate nylons and aggressively rubbing my clit through my soaked panties. He then shoved those aside, slipping one then two fingers into my waiting slit, pumping in rhythm with and as roughly as his kisses. His thumb made circles on my clit and his hand made a mess of my hair, gripping it tightly and keeping me locked into him. I gladly gave in as I felt my orgasm building up inside of me. A few more rubs of the clit and I would find release. I felt it right there, I was on the brink…when suddenly, he pulled his hand from my skirt and broke the kiss, while still fisting my hair. Bewildered, I looked up at those angry hazel eyes again, trying to comprehend what was happening. He finally released my hair and stroked my cheek.

“How does it feel to lose, Dina Gallegos?”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, grabbing his coat from the living room before walking out the door, without even so much as glancing back.

The motherfucker even stole my signature move.

I admired him for his balls and execution. But that still did nothing for my broken heart.