Brat

So I decide to talk to him about the outing I've been wanting for days.

-We're going to a bar tonight... I ask him.

He stays silent for a while, thinking, to the point where I almost believe he'll say no, but finally he answers:

-Fine, but I'll be late, like I told you. I have work to catch up on... he says.

The word catch up makes me frown, but that's on him. I'm no slave like he is.

-Fine then, see you tonight at my apartment. I'll call some girls.

He gets worked up, which makes me laugh.

-Hey, Brat, nooo! We're going as friends, I'm bringing Jon, okay?... he tells me.

I laugh at his response because I already knew he'd say that. I only wanted to tease him - Miguel is so predictable.

-Ahhh, you've become boring... fine, just us then. See you tonight.

-Okay... he answers.

-So it's settled then... I tell him.

And I hang up. I check my watch - it's past six already. I leave the office, tired of so much work. As I head out through reception, the receptionist stares at me flirtatiously. I laugh; the idea crosses my mind, but I dismiss it immediately. I wouldn't be able to get rid of her afterward.

I know it's not easy for anyone to ignore someone like me. Not to sound arrogant, but let's face it - I'm a man who draws women's attention at first glance. Handsome, athletic, 1.90 tall, and wealthy - every woman desires me.

I can say I have the luxury of choosing any woman I want. Women have never been scarce for me. I can take anyone I want to bed - I don't even have to go looking, because they always come to me. Still, I'm selective. I like women without drama, women I can easily brush off, because honestly, I have too many options to complicate my life.

I don't sleep with just anyone, because I hate complaints afterward and all the drama - that's not for me. I'd rather pay girls to enjoy myself, and when it's over, they leave. Though sometimes there are bold ones who want to have fun with me, and I'll admit it happens often.

I live this way by choice, not because I can't hold a relationship - but because I don't want to. In bed, I perform well; I'm insatiable, and I like rough encounters. Nature blessed me generously, and my size is something women would kill for. Of course, they always want to repeat, but for me that's not an option. I prefer it this way - one night only, nothing more.

My life is reduced to work and pleasure, nothing else, because nothing else matters to me. Even though my father nags me day and night about giving him an heir, I couldn't care less.

I'd have to be insane to share my life with someone. I'm happy this way - no explanations, just having fun with whoever I want and letting go when I please. That's how I want to live my life.

My phone rings. I look at the screen, surprised - it's a number I don't know. Who the hell is calling me, and why? Suspiciously, I answer, thinking it could be a new investor no one has told me about.

-Hello... I answer.

I wait for the voice on the other end.

-Hi, darling, how are you?... a woman answers.

Darling? I frown. I don't have a "darling." Who the hell is this? Why is she calling me?

-Sorry, do I know you?... I ask.

I'm stunned. Maybe it's a mistake, because as far as I know, no woman has access to my number, and least of all someone calling me with such words that mean nothing to me.

-Oh, don't tell me you forgot about me... she says, reproachful.

What the hell? She's crazy. I don't know her. Who does she think she is, calling me "love"? And who gave her my number? Hopefully not Iván, because if he did, we'll have a problem. I frown even more.

-No, I don't know you, and in fact, I never give my number to strangers... I tell her.

She laughs on the other end and replies:

-Well, darling, actually I got it from your friend Iván... she says.

What?! I knew it. That idiot is going to hear it from me. I made it crystal clear he was never to give my number to anyone. Now I'm furious - so angry I can barely speak. And she keeps talking.

-Don't you remember? We went out two weeks ago with your friend Iván... she says.

Ah, the threesome. Why would I remember her? She meant nothing to me. It was just fun, nothing more. I don't know why some people can't grasp that.

-Ohhh, right, the threesome... I say.

What could she possibly want? This is exactly why I never give out my number. I don't need anyone bothering me, wasting my time with nonsense. Iván's going to hear it from me.

-Yesss... she answers, thrilled.

Too bad she is, because I'm not interested. I didn't even remember her.

-What was your name again?... I ask.

She answers, excited:

-Carla.

-Look, Carla, we had a good time the other night, but the truth is, I don't do repeats. I think Iván already told you. And before you feel offended or anything, I believe we made it clear that night. So let's skip the unpleasant sermons and leave it at that, okay?... I tell her.

-Darling, I'm not asking you to marry me. I just want to repeat what we did that night, nothing more, no commitments... she says.

Darling again. The word disgusts me. I'm not her darling, nor do I want to be. Who does she think she is?

Still... I think about it. Truth is, I am in the mood, and that night wasn't bad. Besides, I don't have time today to look for someone new.

-No commitments, really?... I ask.

Because I don't want things getting messy later, with scandals and drama I can't stand.

-Of course... she answers.

Well, if that's the case, fine. I just hope I don't regret it.

-Alright then, if so, I'll see you today at six-thirty at my apartment... I tell her.

-Okay... she replies.

-I'll send you the address. And let me be clear - I can't stay long, I have plans with some friends... I tell her.

I like to make things clear from the start, so no one can pretend to be offended when I send them off. I may be a son of a bitch, but I don't deceive anyone. Whoever comes to me knows exactly what to expect.

-With Iván?... she asks.

This is already a bad idea. I hate being questioned. I don't give explanations even to my father, much less to a stranger.

-Nooo. And it's none of your business, understood?... I snap.

That irritates me. She quickly tries to calm me down.

-Okay, don't get mad, darling. Send me the address... she says.

-Fine, I'll send it... I reply curtly.

Don't get mad? Who does she think she is? I hang up, frowning.

Dear readers, don't forget to vote and leave your comments - it motivates me to keep writing for you, with much affection, Francia. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter of Brat.

Don't miss the upcoming chapters - they're going to be on fire!

Brat

The only reason I accepted her invitation was simply because I truly felt the urge to be with someone, and I didn't have the time to look for anyone else. Carla, well... to be honest, she wasn't bad that night. So, without overthinking it, I sent her my location, and within seconds she replied.

-"Alright, I'm on my way," she said.

I took a deep breath, because something inside me told me this wouldn't end well.

-"Ok, I'll be waiting for you," I replied.

Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it, and there she was, wearing a red lace dress, almost transparent. She looked incredibly sexy, walking toward me with her hips swaying. Without hesitation, she pulled off my tie, then my shirt, and that drove me crazy. She smiled mischievously, touched me daringly between my legs, and whispered in my ear with a voice dripping with sensuality:

-"Hello, darling... did you miss me?"



What a ridiculous thing... what does she even think? Why would I miss her if it was only one time? It wasn't bad, but definitely not enough to miss her. I honestly believe this woman has serious mental issues, and I haven't even been kind to her. I don't know why she says such nonsense.

-"Don't play with me, Carla. I don't miss anyone," I told her.

She laughed, moving closer in a playful attempt to ease my anger.

-"Wow, you're such a bitter man," she said.

And yes, I am, at least in that sense. Because I like being direct-I don't deceive anyone, and I don't beat around the bush. I'd rather people say that about me than think I'm a liar. Seconds later, she unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor, standing completely naked except for a tiny thong. Her small breasts were now exposed.

Immediately, I went for them and sucked them. They weren't as big as I usually like, but not bad either. I squeezed them roughly, pulled her by the hair, turned her around and bent her over the chair. In a rush, I unbuttoned my pants, pulled them down along with my boxers, grabbed a condom from the side table in the living room, put it on quickly, and entered her without the slightest bit of delicacy or warning. She squirmed slightly, uncomfortable with the size of my manhood, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to satisfy my urges-I wasn't interested in what she felt.

I went in once, twice, three times, and many more, in a rough, aggressive rhythm. Her walls tightened around me, giving me immense pleasure as I thrust into her hard. She moaned desperately, but I was only chasing my own satisfaction, pounding into her over and over again, sweating profusely as I fucked her with all the force my nature demanded. Finally, after countless thrusts, I climaxed-and I think she did too. After a moment to catch my breath, I grabbed her hand again, led her back to the chair, stripped off the rest of my clothes until I was completely naked, sat down, grabbed another condom, slid it on, and pulled her onto my lap.

She started riding me fast, bouncing up and down on my cock, which drove me insane. She rolled her hips forward and backward in quick motions, and it felt incredible. My pulse raced at her movements-she rode me like a true professional, and I grabbed her hips, moving them the way I wanted, in search of my own pleasure.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I stopped her, turned her around, and laid her on her back. I asked if she wanted lube, but she shook her head, refusing. Fine- not my problem, I asked. I knew exactly what I wanted: to take her ass. She knew what she came here for.

I positioned myself at her back entrance and shoved myself inside without the slightest trace of delicacy. She complained a little, but I didn't care. I admit it-I'm a selfish bastard. I only care about my own pleasure, but that's who I am. I went in and out roughly, grabbed her neck, squeezed, and pounded her harder and harder, savagely.

I fucked her over and over, her moans getting louder with each thrust. After several brutal strokes, I finally climaxed again. Not bad at all. This is the life I love-I take what I want, when I want, no questions asked.

We finished, our breathing a complete mess. After a few seconds, she caught her breath and leaned in, trying to kiss me. I didn't let her. A moment later, I said:

-"Carla, I'm sorry, but you need to go. I have an appointment with someone... want me to call you a cab?"

She stood up, started gathering her clothes from around the apartment.

"No, don't worry, I brought my car," she said.

She kept dressing while I told her:

"Alright then, I'll let you be. I'm going to take a shower," I said, and headed to the bathroom.

When I was done, I put on black jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. I sprayed some cologne, looked at myself in the full-length mirror, making sure I was presentable. The doorbell rang.

I looked around-Carla was gone. Perfect. I was glad she understood how things worked with me. I opened the door, expecting Miguel. But it wasn't him. The man standing at my door was none other than my father. What a drag. My mood instantly soured.

"What are you doing here?" I said, annoyed that he showed up unannounced.

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? I'm your father-I can come whenever I want," he said.

As if being my father gave him the right to do that.

"Well, too bad, because I'm going out. I don't have the time or the patience to listen to your lectures," I snapped.

It pissed me off-why does he still think I'm a little boy he can scold?

"Brat, I don't lecture you for fun. I just want you to reason, to realize you need to leave behind this life of alcohol and women. I want you to take control of your life, grow up, and settle down," he said.

There he goes again with the same old speech. I'm sick of it. Why can't they just accept that this is who I am, that I'm happy this way, and I don't care about anything else? Why waste cheap words I'll never take into account? I answered harshly:

"I'm already established in the company you forced me to take over. What else do you want from me?" I shouted.

Anger boiling inside me because I hate being manipulated.

"Don't speak to me like that," he said. "You forget who you're talking to."

He was mad at my tone. And I wondered-how could I ever forget who he is? The man who made my entire life, and my mother's, a bitter existence. How could I ever forget that?

"Just tell me why you came and leave," I demanded, already fed up, wanting him out of my sight.

"What do you mean why? I came to see you. Or did you forget you have a father?" he said.

Now he remembers he has a son? When I was a child, he never even cared.

"Oh please... what's the point of this now? I see you every day at the company," I said.

His accusations made no sense.

"But lately I haven't gone, because I've been sick. And you haven't come to see me," he said.

As if I should care.

"When you're on your deathbed, I'll come," I said.

I knew it sounded cruel, but he couldn't expect things he hadn't earned.

"Son, don't I matter to you? I'm your father," he said.

I already know he's my father. Unfortunately, I can't forget it.

Dear readers, don't forget to vote and leave your comments to motivate me to keep writing for you. With much love, Francia...."Just like I didn't matter to you when I was a child, waiting for you all alone... and just like my mother doesn't matter to you now that she's sick," I barked. "If you don't remember, let me remind you."

It infuriated me that he pretended to be a good father when he never was.

Brat

I lower my head, and sometimes, like on this occasion, I feel a bit of pity for him, but it fades the moment I think of my mother.

'Son, how long are you going to keep throwing that in my face?' my father says.

Oh, so he wants me not to tell him the truth to his face? Well, screw him. He didn't care about me or my mother.

'Always. Better get used to it,' I reply.

He takes a deep breath, as if tired. He wants me not to remind him, but it's impossible. I will never forget, because he hurt my mother while she was sick, and now he thinks I should feel sorry for him? No way.

Love is earned, and he never earned it. What does he expect from me now? Everything I have, I have thanks to my grandparents, not to him. I owe him nothing.

'Son...' he says.



He grabs my arm, and I push it away. He keeps talking, changing the subject to avoid continuing the argument.

'I just saw Carla, Henry's daughter, coming out of your apartment. Are you seeing her?' he says hopefully, with a wide smile. 'If so, let me tell you, I'm very proud of you,' he adds happily.

I didn't even know she was Henry's daughter. Had I known, I wouldn't have touched her even the first time. I just hope this doesn't cause me problems in the future. I answer him reluctantly.

'First of all, I had no idea she was Henry's daughter. Second, don't get your hopes up. I don't have a relationship with her, nor do I want one. It was just for pleasure, and that was the last time. Nothing more,' I say with annoyance.

His joyful face vanishes, replaced by one of displeasure.

'Brat, don't make me angry. She's the daughter of one of the company's biggest investors. It's in our best interest to strengthen ties with them. Besides, she's an only child. You're not the only one who has sacrificed things, you know that. It benefits us all. If the shares merge, we'd control nearly eighty percent of the company, and that's too advantageous to ignore,' he says.

Well, let him get angry all he wants. I'm not going to get involved with her-not for the company's shares, not for all the gold in the world. I won't repeat his mistake: marrying my mother without loving her and turning her life into hell because he never made her happy as she deserved.

'No. Don't count on me. I'm not getting involved with anyone,' I tell him.

He gets angry, and I can see the disappointment in his face. But I couldn't care less if he's disappointed in me. He should already know I don't live to please anyone.

'You're stupid. Don't you realize this isn't about you? It's about the future of the company,' he says.

As if I care. He thinks he can bribe me with that. He can shove his precious shares where the sun doesn't shine.

'Yes, I realize it. But I don't want to. I like being free and doing whatever I please,' I answer.

Does he really think I'm going to get involved with someone I don't want, just for a bunch of damn shares? Never.

'It's not about what you want. It's about what's convenient. You marry her, get her pregnant, and later love-or whatever you want to call it-will come. If not, you can go on doing whatever you want, as long as you keep it discreet, of course,' he says.

And that's why I hate him. He doesn't give a damn about me. All he cares about is the damn money and what it represents.

'Just like you did with Mother, right?' I shoot back.

And he goes silent, lowering his head, because he knows I'm not lying. More than anyone, he should know the damage that caused.

He hurt my mother, he hurt me, and himself. And now he wants me to do the same to someone else. He's a man without scruples. That's why I am the way I am with him, though nobody understands me. They think I'm rude, but they don't know him like I do.

'I don't want to argue with you,' he says tensely. Of course, he doesn't want me throwing the truth in his face. 'Just think about it-it's for the good of the company, which is also your legacy and that of your children,' he adds.

Since he can't convince me, he goes that route, knowing damn well I don't care.

'Yeah, right. You're always blackmailing me with the same thing, and I'm sick of it,' I say.

The doorbell rings. I open it-it's Miguel and Jon. I let them in, ask if they want something to drink. They say no and greet my father.

'Good evening. Sorry we're late, but I had a lot of work,' Miguel says.

Jon smiles when he notices my father and greets him warmly, just like him. Jon has always been the most charismatic of the three of us. In all the time we've been friends, I've never had an argument with him.

'Good evening, Mr. Guren,' Jon says.

Jon broadens his smile-he's always been the most easygoing of us three.

'Good evening, boys. Going out to have some fun?' my father asks.

He's excited to see my friends, since it's been a while.

'Yes, sir,' they both reply at the same time.

They shake hands and hug, while I'm thinking we should be leaving already.

'Good. I'm glad,' my father replies, then turns to Miguel. 'Brat tells me you have a girlfriend and that you're very much in love.'

Here we go again with the same topic. I'm sick of it. Why don't the two of them marry each other and leave me alone?

'Yes, sir. I have a girlfriend. She's beautiful, and I'm very much in love,' Miguel answers.

This conversation isn't to my liking. I know soon they'll drag me into it.

'That's wonderful. I'm glad. Maybe you could give Brat some advice-help him follow in your footsteps,' my father says.

I knew it. Every time this topic comes up, it always comes back to me, like it's a sin not to want to marry.

It doesn't surprise me. I take a deep breath, enduring the conversation. Miguel laughs and looks at me-he knows this isn't for me. Then he replies:

'Yes, sir. I'll try,' Miguel says.

He laughs because he knows me. He knows it's not going to happen.

'How are your parents?' my father asks.

Relieved, I'm glad the topic shifts away from marriage.

'Very well, sir,' Miguel replies.

'I'm glad. And stop calling me sir, you make me feel old,' my father says.

That makes me laugh because he hates it-though it's true, he is old.

'Older,' I say, and my father shoots me a dirty look.

He gets mad, and I laugh. I enjoy annoying him, just like he enjoys bothering me with the other topic. I savor making him bitter whenever I can.

'Not at all. You're still very young,' Miguel answers.

Liar. He's fifty. He's already old, whether he likes it or not. Even if he doesn't look it-he seems just a little older than me. Physically, we look alike, and in character we're the same too.

'Don't lie. He's an old man,' I say.

My father glares at me again, which only amuses me more.

'Thank you,' my father replies to Miguel. 'And you, Jon-how are you?'

This conversation is starting to bore me.

'Fine, sir,' Jon answers.

They shake hands and hug.

'Another one with the "sir,"' my father says.

Honestly, I'm sick of this too. I just want to go have a drink already.

'Sorry,' Jon says.

'And do you also have a girlfriend, like Miguel?' my father asks.

The three of them smile, and I don't see why, since that topic disgusts me.

'Yes, sir,' Jon replies.

'That's great,' my father says, smiling. Then he asks, 'So, boys, going out to have some fun?'

They both smile and nod.

'Yes, sir,' they reply in unison.

Jon and Miguel laugh, while I'm fed up with this boring monologue. If I don't cut it short, we'll never get out of here, and I don't want that. I want to go out and distract myself from all the work. I deserve it. So I cut the conversation before the hints return.

Dear readers, don't forget to vote and leave your comments. That motivates me to keep writing for you, with much love, Francia....

I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Brat.

Don't miss the next chapters-they're going to be on fire.