Obsessive Surrender

by Bobbi Cole Meyer

  “Dammit, Andrea, I can’t get near that snatch of yours without wanting to claim it.”

  Andrea rubbed against him eagerly, her body eager and yielding. Ivan parted her legs, reveling in the hot, sucking pull as he entered her.

  Moaning with delight, Andrea began to claw his arm and Ivan knew what she was craving. He obliged by playfully swatting her thighs and butt, bringing both of them to the edge.

  “Think about it, Andrea,” he whispered down to her. “Think about my hot cum erupting inside you. See it in your mind. Feel it gushing in.”

  He cupped her buttocks while he moved slowly, tantalizing her bud of pleasure, until she was crying out, “Yes, Ivan, yes.”

  Ivan fucked her furiously then.

  She demanded at the moment of climax, “Spank me, Ivan. Now!”

  He honored her request as he allowed himself release, slating both their lustful cravings simultaneously, then clasped her against him while their fervent wave of heat began to ebb.

  As they disconnected and lay breathing hard, Ivan inspected his reddened, nail-streaked arm, exclaiming, “Damn, Andrea, you’re determined to mark me, aren't you?”

  “You like it as much as I like your spanking me and you know it,” she said smiling, showing him the sassy side of her as she stretched like a lazy, sated cat.

  Ivan laughed, liking her newfound bravado. “You’re right, you little minx, I do.” He inspected her slightly red bottom. “Was I too rough?”

  “No. It felt good.”

  “Still stings I’ll bet,” he said, kissing her butt. “Umm, tasty little red ass. As I recall you said you’d get your period soon. So are you regular enough to know whether or not you’ve missed it immediately?”

  “I think so.”

  “Let’s hope when I get back from New York, you’ll have good news for me then.”

  Andrea managed to keep the smile, even though her heart was plummeting. She was torn with conflict, unable to shake the fear that despite what Ivan said, when she grew fat with a child, he would turn to someone thin and sexy to please him.

  * * *

  Before departing Wednesday morning, Ivan gave instructions to the day-shift bodyguards that in the absence of Ned, Sean and Marty, since they would be accompanying him to the airstrip, they were to patrol diligently and allow no one on the grounds.

  And as Ned was loading his luggage into the limo’s trunk, Ivan instructed him, “Keep a close eye on Andrea, Ned. I told her she could go shopping and suggested The Town Square, so if she does decide to do that, be sure you don’t let her out of your sight. And the other guys should follow along, too, just in case there is any kind of paparazzi problems. You know what I mean by keeping a close eye on her, right?”

  Ned nodded, taking the instruction in the two ways he was certain Ivan meant it. One, don’t trust other people not to harm Andrea. Two, don’t trust Andrea not to put herself in harm’s way.

  “I’ll be her shadow, Mr. Littlefield, and Sean and Marty will follow along, too,” he declared as he opened the passenger door, settled Ivan inside then went around and slid behind the wheel. As the two vehicles maneuvered the drive and beyond the gate, inching by the relentless paparazzi, Ned snorted with disgust as he watched them race to follow.

  When they arrived at the private airstrip where Ivan’s private Boeing 777 was kept, as Ned slid into the unloading zone, Sean and Marty found a spot and quickly joined the melee as the paparazzi parked in every available spot they could find and spilled out on the street adjacent to the fenced runway, in hopes of being lucky enough to get a comment from Ivan and that candid shot.

  Ivan ignored them as he retrieved his luggage from the trunk while Ned, Sean and Marty held them back long enough for him to get inside the secured area where his traveling bodyguards waited.

  Impressed with the way his boss kept his cool in the face of the paparazzi haranguing him with slanderous comments and provocative innuendoes, Ned shook his head, thinking, even though Mr. Littlefield is one of the richest men in America; owns his own private jet and probably doesn’t even know exactly what he’s worth, I wouldn’t trade places with him if it meant never having a moment’s peace. Damn, they hound the man to death!

  Ned climbed back into the limo and jockeyed his way back into traffic, with Sean and Marty trailing in the Escalade. Without the hindrance of vehicles following, Ned enjoyed a leisurely drive back to the Littlefield estate and he was thrilled to see there were no paparazzi as he pulled the limo through the gates.

  Sean and Marty followed in the Escalade, pulling around to the garage area, but much to his consternation, Ned discovered another aggravation in the form of Andrea standing outside the front door, tapping her foot and obviously waiting for him.

  So, instead of parking the limo in the garage, he stopped at the front of the house, got out and inquired of her, “Is everything all right, Mrs. Littlefield?”

  “Fine, Ned. I’m glad you’re back. I guess Ivan got off on his trip okay, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am. So what can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m just restless with Ivan gone, so I’ve decided to go into town.”

  Ned didn’t say what he was thinking, Mr. Littlefield just left! How the hell have you had time to get so restless?

  Seeing his frown, Andrea felt it necessary to add, “Ivan said I could. Go shopping, I mean. He even gave me my own credit card.”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Littlefield. He mentioned that to me, as well. He said to take you, if you decided to go shopping, to The Town Square, that he had informed the shop owners you might frequent them.”

  “Great. I’ve never been to The Town Square, but I’ve heard of it. Are there a lot of shops there?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Littlefield, there’re every kind of shops available.”

  “You don’t have to be so formal, Ned. You can call me Andrea.”

  Ned cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mrs. Littlefield.”

  Andrea smiled at his serious expression.

  “Oh, I see. What you’re really saying is that you don’t think Ivan would approve?”

  Feeling suddenly free and playful in her new role as Ivan’s wife, with her own black credit card, Andrea teased, “Ned, don’t be so stodgy, for heaven sake. I won’t tell Ivan that you broke some kind of cardinal Littlefield rule and called me by my first name.”

  Ned didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent as he motioned for her to seat herself in the limo.

  “Why don't we take the Escalade? That way, if reporters do surface along the way, they’ll think it’s just one of you guys going out for something. What do you think?”

  “Well, Mr. Littlefield said if you decided to go shopping, Sean and Marty were also to accompany us, so they will be in the Escalade.”

  “Is that necessary? My goodness, no one is going to kidnap me.”

  “That possibility could exist, Mrs. Littlefield.”

  “That’s crazy, Ned. But if they have to go, we’ll just all ride in the Escalade. I’ll ride up front next to you and the guys can ride in the back.”

  “If that’s what you want, Mrs. Littlefield,” Ned said, hard put to keep the edge from his tone as he summoned Sean and Marty via the communication device.

  With five minutes they had pulled the Escalade back in front of the house and Ned parked the limo in the garage. Returning, he motioned for Sean to relinquish the driver’s seat as he explained, “Since Mr. Littlefield left instructions we were all to shadow Mrs. Littlefield if she wants to go shopping, in case of any emergency, you guys pile in the back because Mrs. Littlefield wishes to ride in the front.”

  Ned opened the passenger door for Andrea then went around to the driver’s side as the guys settled in the back seat, all quietly exchanging pointed looks but no one said anything as Ned maneuvered the Escalade through the gate and onto the street.

  He only half listened to Andrea chatter about going shopping on her own and what a beautiful day
it was and how she loved Vegas this time of year and how she wished she could have gone with Ivan. But then her direct question brought him into the realm of actually having to respond.

  “Ned, have you ever been inside Ivan’s private jet?”

  “Yes, ma’am, a few times.”

  “Have there been many—ah—other women inside it?”

  Ned did not answer that. He met the amused looks of Sean and Marty in the rearview mirror and cleared his throat, silently conveying his annoyance, knowing they were waiting to hear his response and were both glad Andrea hadn’t put the question to them.

  Ned hoped Andrea would get the message that he was not going to divulge private matters pertaining to Ivan’s life before she entered the picture as he remained silent and she did, instead saying, “Is it impressive? I mean, the jet? Is it real fancy inside?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ned, I wish you wouldn’t say ma’am to me. It makes me feel old.”

  Ned merely nodded, not knowing what to say to that. They lapsed into an awkward silence that Andrea finally broke by asking Sean and Marty, “Do you guys like working as bodyguards?”

  Again, Ned met their eyes in the mirror, this time smirking at them as Sean said, “Yes, ma’am. We do. Mr. Littlefield is great to work for.”

  Feeling the mounting tension caused by her personal questions, Andrea changed the subject, asking mundane questions concerning The Town Square and what it had to offer.

  Ned glanced at her, seeing her for the first time as definitely immature and easily excited. As they arrived at their destination, he said, “Well, here we are. Hope you enjoy your shopping, Mrs. Littlefield.”

  “I wish you'd call me Andrea, Ned.” Then turning to look at Sean and Marty in the back seat, she added, “And you guys should call me Andrea, too.”

  Summoning the nerve to speak up on their behalf, Ned said, “Mrs. Littlefield, none of us will never disrespect Mr. Littlefield’s wishes that way and I personally would appreciate it if you wouldn’t ask me to anymore. I’m sure Sean and Marty agree.”

  Stunned by his tone, Andrea quieted down and stared out the window as he pulled up to valet parking.

  Without a word, Ned helped her out of the vehicle, gave the Escalade up to the parking attendant and he and the guys followed Andrea as she proceeded to the first shop, all keeping a respectable distance but close enough to offer assistance should it be needed.

  While Sean and Marty walked ahead and took a position to the other side of the shop she had entered, Ned leaned against the building on the opposite side while she went in and when she emerged, they followed her to yet another one and another.

  When she stopped before a storefront window and just stood staring, they hung back.

  Andrea frowned, lost in thought, glancing more at her own reflective image in the glass than the clothes.

  I believed shopping would take my mind off Ivan and what he might do in New York, but it hasn’t. I can’t help seeing him meeting some beautiful woman, a model maybe, someone thrilled to be there for him as he steps off his private jet; someone to remind him of all the things he’s missing being married to a plain Jane like me.

  She swallowed hard, the thought making her sick to her stomach.

  I’ve got to stop driving myself crazy this way. Ivan chose me. He wants me. He’s not looking for anyone else.

  Yet she couldn’t stop visualizing Ivan dancing with some gorgeous woman in one of New York’s fancy night clubs.

  Tangled in that mental picture, Andrea didn’t see Roger Dalton approaching. When he spoke from behind her, she jumped, startled, and turned from the window to meet the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen. She vaguely recognized him, but was unable to place where she’d seen him.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Sean, Marty and Ned advancing toward them and shook her head. They stopped short and just watched as she addressed Roger.

  “I beg your pardon? Were you speaking to me?”

  “Sure was. I said you should buy that off-the-shoulder red dress in the window because you’d be a knock-out in it,” Roger said, flashing the most perfect smile Andrea had ever seen. It fairly lit up his boyish face.

  Feeling flattered and apprehensive at the same time, feeling the eyes of the bodyguards on her, Andrea said, “I don’t know about that. It’s a little low cut.”

  “When you have a body like yours, you need to show it off.”

  His praise flustered her and she muttered, “Excuse me,” then hurried inside the shop, anxious to get away from him, flushed with the realization that he was still watching her intently.

  Suddenly she remembered where she’d seen him before.

  On a billboard, that’s where. He’s an entertainer, and well he should be because he’s movie-star handsome, with his perfect build, perfect tan, and those great sky-blue eyes and jet-black hair. He’s almost as handsome as Ivan, she concluded.

  Browsing through the clothing racks, Andrea found herself mentally comparing the two men, deciding the difference was that Ivan presented a more demanding presence and with the added dynamic of his magic, gray eyes, she concluded that her husband would win hands down in a contest between the two.

  Ivan looks every inch the man about town, experienced and wise. The stranger looks like a fresh boy not too far removed from the farm, someone who knows his charms and is out for mischief.

  * * *

  Propped against the building, Ned exchanged knowing looks with Sean and Marty, both of whom shrugged as if to say, “Her funeral, and his,” as they all watched the interchange and knew Roger was continuing to hang around waiting for her to exit.

  Ned had been on the verge of bounding over to them when Andrea darted inside the shop. He knew who Roger was and knew his reputation with the ladies. What he didn’t know was if Roger Dalton had any clue who he was trying to bag.

  He debated going over to tell him how dangerous a game he was playing, but decided instead to wait and see how Andrea would handle the situation, if indeed, it became a situation.

  * * *

  Andrea took her time trying on outfits. She finally purchased the one from the window, telling herself she had not been influenced by what that stranger had said; that she was buying the dress solely to surprise and impress Ivan with h sophisticated choice.

  When she exited the shop and saw Roger still lounging outside, she wasn’t entirely displeased. For the first time in her life, Andrea, with a nervous glance at the bodyguards, gave in to a girlish fantasy of being pursued by a handsome, young stranger.

  Feeling confident enough to be outgoing for the first time in her life, she rationalized the encounter as an innocent flirt.

  What harm could it possibly do? There were no paparazzi around. And she didn’t think Sean, Marty or Ned would tell Ivan.

  “Did you buy it?” Roger asked with a boyish grin when he saw her package.

  “Yes, I did. But excuse me, I don’t know you and…”

  “Well, that can be remedied quickly enough. I’m Roger Dalton. Some say I’m an entertainer but the truth is, I just sing for my supper at the Roman Spa Casino,” his soft southern accent rolling the words glibly off his tongue as he offered his hand.

  “In other words, I’m just a glorified nightclub singer. But if you want to call that entertainment, feel free.”

  Andrea shot Ned a guilty look. The other two bodyguards avoided her eyes altogether but she knew they were all watching the two of them and she grew extremely nervous, suddenly feeling that even taking Roger’s hand was cheating on Ivan. When she hesitated, Roger said, “I don’t bite, honest.”

  Flashing a disarming, dimpled smile, he took the decision from her by reaching for her hand and placing it within his own, assuming a serious face.

  “There. See I told you, I don’t bite. Now turnabout is fair play. You know my name so how about telling me yours, pretty lady?”

  “Andrea. Andrea Par…I mean, Andrea Littlefield. Mrs. Ivan Littlefield.”
>
  “Yes, now I recall reading about Ivan’s marriage. That newspaper picture didn’t do you justice, not even a little bit.”

  “Do you know my husband?”

  “Yes,” Roger lied. “He’s very impressive.”

  “He is that, for sure, and I don’t think he’d like me talking to a stranger.”

  Roger laughed. “God, girl, what are you? Six? You have to get Ivan’s permission to talk to people? And besides, we aren’t strangers anymore, right?”

  Andrea flushed angrily, uncomfortable with how close to the truth Roger’s offhand remark was.

  “I don’t have to have my husband’s permission to talk to people and I resent your implication.”

  Roger effectively hid his own sudden revelation when he saw the wary look cross her face.

  Damn, I definitely struck a nerve. So I’m not far from right and that means I am definitely playing with fire. He swallowed hard. But what choice do I have?

  He masked his emotions as he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. How about I buy you a drink to make amends and we’ll discuss the fallacy of talking to strangers.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Not even an ice cream soda or a milk shake? They make the best at a place just down the street. That’s what I was talking about,” Roger declared innocently, flashing another disarming smile.

  “Come on, Andrea. It’s my day off and I have some time to kill and you seem to be doing the same thing. What harm would there be in sharing some gab time and a milk shake? Now don’t tell me that wouldn’t hit the spot on a hot day like this. Ivan couldn’t object to that, could he?”

  * * *

  Ned, Sean and Marty watched the two of them saunter down to I Love Burgers.

  Shaking his head in disbelief when Roger put his hand on Andrea’s back, Ned snapped a quick picture of them with his cell, already feeling sorry for Roger Dalton and hating what he knew was going to happen when Ivan found out.