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.

Brat

So I decide to put an end to this absurd conversation. Because I'm already tired of this-I can't stand being around the man who claims to be my father.

"Fine, let's go already..." I say, or rather, I tell the guys.

My father frowns, but I don't care. He should be grateful I didn't cut off his speech earlier.

"But your father..." Miguel looks at him. "Don't be rude to your father, Brat," he tells me.

That's the last thing I care about. They don't really think I'm going to stand here listening to nonsense all night, do they?

"He already knew I was leaving..." I answer them.

And I'm fed up with having to explain myself. That time of my life is over.

"Relax, go on. I was about to leave anyway, I just dropped by for a moment..." my father says.

And I'm glad he understood we had to go.

"Good, then goodbye..." I tell him.

Without another word I grab my jacket and walk out, with the others right behind me. We head straight to the parking lot, my anger boiling over. I'm disgusted by being bothered like this.

His visits will never be pleasant for me. He always comes out with something, and now he wants to marry me off to Carla? Ha! Never. We only slept together, nothing more.

"Brat, why are you like this with your father?" Miguel says to me.

And it pisses me off. I'm not going to change my plans for him.

"You say that because you don't have to put up with him... He's always on my case about everything. Nothing I do is ever enough for him, and he always wants to force me into things. You like him because you don't know him like I do..." I tell him.

I'm exhausted from being questioned and from people not putting themselves in my shoes. Of course, since Miguel has perfect parents, he thinks life is all sunshine and rainbows. But it isn't. Only those who live it know.

"Yes, I know he hasn't been the best father, but he still deserves your respect..." he tells me.

I'm tired of these lectures. If I wanted sermons, I would've called my father myself. I know why I treat him the way I do.

"Yeah, sure... If you want, I'll give him to you," I say. "You know what? Let's not argue about things that have no solution, because no matter how much I explain, you won't understand. So let's not talk about it anymore. Better we just enjoy the night..." I tell him.

We get to the bar, I park my car, and we go inside. We order a bottle of Johnny Walker whiskey. As soon as we sit down, the waitress starts giving the three of us some playful looks.

Well, I get it-you don't often see three handsome men together. I'm dark-skinned, with black hair and blue eyes. Miguel is my height, blond with lighter blue eyes. And Jon is six feet tall, with brown hair and green eyes. She smiles flirtatiously, leans a little closer to my ear, and says-

Would you like to see my panties...?" the woman says to me.

I laugh-wouldn't be bad after all this fooling around, but I think I'd rather wait a bit.

"Maybe later..." I tell her.

I chuckle, wink at her, and she smiles back. I notice she's flirting with Miguel too, but he makes it clear he's not interested. Jon and I, on the other hand, can't stop looking at her, although I can tell Jon hesitates a bit. Now that I think about it, I believe he's seeing someone-if memory serves me right, it's Miguel's girlfriend's friend.

"Brat, what's wrong? You look really distracted. Did something happen with your father?" Miguel asks me.

The truth is, yes, I'm upset with what he said. He always finds a way to ruin my moment. I take a deep breath and answer.

"He wants me to marry Carla, the daughter of one of the investors, and get her pregnant. I don't want that. His excuse is that it's 'for the good of the company'..." I say.

And just remembering it annoys me.

"Carla... isn't she Henry's daughter? The second-largest shareholder at Berkshire?" he asks.

And now suddenly everyone knows her? That feels suspicious. Maybe she sought me out on purpose. I frown and ask him:

"You know her?" I say.

I look at him surprised that he knows her. Could it be he slept with her too?

"No, but my father won't stop talking about her. And he wants the same thing for me..." he says.

What a surprise. They want to trap him too. Well, at least I'm not the only one. Honestly, I wish he'd ditch that little girlfriend of his and marry Carla instead, so they'd stop bothering me.

"Quite a mess we've both got ourselves into, huh?" I tell him.

And it really is, because there's no way I'll ever get married.

"So, do you know her?" Miguel asks me.

Not at all. If I'd known who she was, I'd never have hooked up with her. That alone is reason enough for me to cross her off, no matter how good she looks.

"Well, I did sleep with her today, without knowing who she was..." I tell him.

We look at each other, and he stares at me strangely. I don't understand why- I neither want her nor desire her.

"You're not dating her, are you, Brat?" he asks.

Dating? Never. We just fooled around, but for me that's not enough-not even to repeat. I only did it again because desire got the best of me, but that won't happen again.

"No, of course not. You know that's not me. We were together twice, and that's it..." I tell him.

Besides, I'd never take someone like her seriously.

"Twice, Brat...?" He pauses, thoughtful. "You, who never go twice with the same girl..." he says.

Yeah, sure, it's easy to get confused. But I don't do that-ever. Now he thinks I'm in love, but that's not the case.

And if it ever does happen, it certainly won't be with her. She's more worn out than a flute.

"No, no, don't twist things, Miguel. Three weeks ago Iván called me and asked if I wanted to join a threesome. Said there was this girl who wanted the two of us. I agreed. A week later the idiot gave her my number, and she called me. I was clear with her: I never repeat. She said it would just be fun, nothing more. And honestly, I was in the mood, but I also wanted to hang out with you guys, so I told her to come by my place. She agreed, and I had the bad luck of my father seeing her leaving my apartment. That's when he started bothering me with what I just told you..." I explain.

I know it's easy to misinterpret things, but that's never going to happen.

"For real, you don't like her even a little?" he asks.

Never. Sure, she was hot, and the sex was satisfying-but not to the point of anything else.

"Nooo, it was just for fun... you know I don't repeat. It was just an exception..." I tell him.

And he keeps staring at me, as if trying to figure out what's going on. I honestly don't see the problem.

"It's strange for you. You never-ever-make exceptions. Are you sure you don't like her...?" Miguel says.

While he talks, my attention drifts back to the waitress. Sure of it-absolutely sure. That girl is not for me. I didn't even remember her name until now.

"Completely sure," I answer.

Of course. Why would I waste my time on a slut?

"So, what do you plan to do about your father?" he asks.

For now, nothing. Because I'll never do what he wants.

"I don't know... but for the moment, I just want to have fun tonight. Be right back..." I tell him.

I get up and walk straight to the waitress who had been flirting with me earlier. I grab her by the hips, slide my hand slowly along her thigh, lean close to her ear, and whisper:

"I'd like to see your panties..." I tell her.

She laughs, and I flash her my most charming smile. Then I head straight for the unisex bathroom, and she follows me. We slip into one of the stalls. I go in first, then she comes in after me. I lock the door, press her back against the tiles, lift her skirt, push her panties aside, pull a condom from my pocket, tear it open, unbuckle my pants, and put it on as fast as I can.

And I enter her without the slightest trace of delicacy. She arches at the sudden invasion-probably because of the size of my manhood-but as always, I don't care, since I'm only after my own pleasure. I grab her hair and thrust once, twice, and then over and over again, pounding into her, slamming my hips against her ass time after time until, at last, I reach my climax.

I let her go, give her a kiss on the back, and leave the bathroom. When I step out, Miguel looks at me, laughs, and shakes his head. I laugh too, then head back to the table, and he says:

"Oh Brat, you never change. I thought you told me you'd just been with Carla..." he says.

And he laughs, and I do too. So what? Just because I had some fun with Carla doesn't mean anything. I never get tired, and I answer him:

"Yes, and so what? You know how I am, and I'm not going to change for my father or for any woman. That I can swear to you..." I say.

And it's the truth, because I don't plan on changing my way of life-not today, not ever.

"I used to say the same thing... maybe you just haven't met the right one yet," he says.

But I'm not like him, and I never will be. That much I'm sure of.

"Or maybe she doesn't exist, don't you think?" I tell him, and he laughs.

Dear readers, don't forget to vote and leave your comments-it motivates me to keep writing for you. With much love,

Francia.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Brat.

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