Rose

by Sydney Landon

  Maybe it’s twisted, but I’m strangely proud that I drove him to this. I’m also completely and utterly excited as I imagine what he’s doing while he thinks of me. In a flash, I’m plastered against the door once again, hoping to hear him say my name. Then it happens—the unthinkable. I have no idea how, but the wood surface that had been supporting part of my weight is gone and my arms are flailing at empty space. When the world stops spinning, I am sprawled on the bathroom floor feeling as if I’ve just wrenched the stitches on my thigh open. But that’s not the worst of it. I look up to find Max staring down at me as if I’ve sprouted two heads. “Rose, what in the hell …” he begins, sounding bewildered. I believe it’s safe to assume he’s never had a woman crash his private time before.

  “Holy shitballs,” I wheeze out as I take in the scene before me. I wonder if he’s completely overlooked the fact that his jeans are unzipped and hanging open. That’s not what has me so transfixed, though. His amazingly beautiful and very large cock is still in his hand as if he were in mid-pump before I came to be part of the show. I’ll never know what would have happened next, because for the second time that evening, a loud noise comes between his dick and me. “Um … Pizza’s here!” I squeak as I climb less than gracefully to my feet. I wince as my stitches once again twinge. If I’ve pulled them all loose, then I’ll consider seeing what Max is packing in his boxer briefs a worthy cause. “I think I have enough cash left in my purse to pay for it. You just er—continue on and I’ll handle it.” Okay, maybe not the best choice of words with that last part, but it just slipped out.

  I really have to give him props for maintaining his cool under fire. This would be enough to embarrass anyone, but he’s no shrinking violet. A dart of my eyes downward backs that fact up. He remains impressively erect—the one-eyed monster seeming to glare at me for my untimely interruption. I fight the urge to apologize for it, and then almost giggle at that thought. Laughter, when a man is holding his cock, is probably something you can never take back. He closes his eyes briefly as if trying to collect himself, before removing the hand holding his manhood. When it snaps up toward his belly button, I almost sob at the beauty. He puts his impressive package back in his shorts, then gingerly zips his jeans up slowly over the bulge. Even I wince, thinking of how bad that must feel. A stallion that size needs to roam free, not be confined to a stall. He bites off a curse as the doorbell chimes once again. He quickly washes, and then dries his hands before reaching into his back pocket. He removes his wallet and peels off some bills, handing them to me. “Please take care of it.” All right, so I automatically assume he’s speaking of the big problem that has taken up residence in his jeans. It’s something I would take great pleasure in handling for him. He snakes his fingers in front of my face and puts an end to that fantasy. “Rose, the pizza, for God’s sake.”

  It’s official, I think glumly as I hurry toward the front door. Max has a pecker the size of my arm, and he’s probably never going to let me near it again. And even with everything that is screwed up in my life—that may be the biggest tragedy of them all.

  6

  Max

  Just when you think you’ve experienced everything, life throws you a curveball. In this case, it’s more of a nosy redhead crashing in on my jerk-off session. I can’t blame her completely. After all, if I had, at least, kept it together until she was asleep, it wouldn’t have happened. What kind of host leaves his houseguest in the kitchen while he takes a spank break? The sad thing is that even after the humiliation I’ve just suffered, I’m still throbbing in my now way-too-snug jeans. The zipper feels as if it’s about to cut off circulation to my cock. There’s no way I’m going to pick up where I left off, though. Hell, Rose would probably bring the delivery guy in this time to watch.

  I can’t believe the little minx was listening at the door. Was I that loud? After losing control and touching her in the kitchen, I had been in desperate need of relief. I was so close to the edge that I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her unless I released some of the pressure that had been building all day. Who am I kidding? It’s been building since the last time I touched her all those months ago.

  I lean my head against the wall, attempting to bring myself under control. I can’t help but laugh as I wonder if this is what it’s come to. If not for Rose staring at my dick as if she’d discovered the Holy Grail, I’d feel like some kind of pervert. Who knows what would have happened if not for another timely interruption. I’m beginning to think that my house is a cock-blocker. First, with the smoke alarm, and then with the doorbell. Apparently, it’s trying to warn me of imminent danger.

  “Um … is everything okay in there?” I hear called from a distance. “The pizza’s getting cold.” Then she quickly adds, “But no rush. Take all the time you need. I can totally start without you. I’m used to doing stuff on my own. Shit! That didn’t come out right. I really wasn’t referring to what I saw when I accidentally walked in on you. I’ve barely thought about it since. By the way, everyone does it, so don’t feel bad. Sometimes two or three times a day. Heck, I’ve even—”

  I literally run from the bathroom before she can finish her last statement. If she’s trying to make me feel better, it’s not working. Her ramblings are likely to have me dropping my pants yet again if she keeps it up. Already, I can’t get the image of her being so horny that she touches herself multiple times. I want to volunteer my assistance with that like a twisted boy scout. She gives me an innocent look that I know is anything but as I wave a hand for her to precede me back into the kitchen. When I enter the room, all I can think about is how I had my hands all over her gorgeous body not long ago. “How about we eat in the living room while we watch a movie?” One that contains absolutely no sex scenes whatsoever.

  We end up watching Bridesmaids, which she picks. Of course, the opening scene has a woman being fucked within an inch of her life. Even though Rose claimed to have never seen it before, the smirk on her face says she’s a liar. If I’ve learned nothing in the past few months, I know that she likes to push my buttons. I survive without any further incidents and the rest of the evening is relaxed. I’m in my bed a little past midnight and trying not to dwell on the fact that she’s just down the hall from me. I curse Lucian under my breath, blaming him for bringing Rose into my life. I had a perfectly satisfying existence before she came along. Now, I’m restless and edgy. A big part of it can be attributed to sexual frustration, but it’s the other part that bothers me. I like her—a lot. She brings out a side of me that has been buried for a long time. But haven’t I been better off since that part was buried?

  I’m still staring at the ceiling when I hear a knock on my closed door before it slowly opens. I reach over to the nightstand and click the light on. Rose is shifting nervously on her feet, showing none of her earlier playfulness. She looks uncertain and shy as her hands clench together. I notice that instead of wearing the gown she’d purchased earlier, she’s still wearing my shirt from last night. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, and then it hits me. She doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe she’s afraid of what will happen should the solitude of the night prove too much for her again. I know I should lead her to a less intimate part of the house and offer her some company. Instead, I silently pull back the cover on my bed and move back far enough for her to get in. That’s all the encouragement she needs. She hurries over and wraps herself around me before laying her head against my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” is muffled as she burrows even closer. She shifts slightly, making her next words clearer. “I’ve never been very good with the dark. I’m almost normal in the light of day when surrounded by people. But sometimes when it’s quiet, I lose control.”

  I tighten my arms around her and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Just sleep now. I’ve got you.” I rub her spine, soothing her until she relaxes. Neither of us says anything further. As I drift off to sleep, I know that no matter what the days ahead hold, my life h
as changed. Since the moment I picked her up off the ground, it’s never felt wrong. Her in my home, in my car, shopping together, sharing food, watching a movie, listening to her sassy, quirky wit—it’s just felt … right. Easy. It’s as if she’s woken me from the stupor I’ve existed in for so very long, and I fear that I’ll no longer be content with my perfectly crafted existence. But I like sex without emotion, without strings. Do I? Is that what I still want? I took a chance once and very nearly had it all. Am I strong enough to do that again? I look at Lucian and see how happy he is after finally vanquishing his demons. But not everyone is given a second chance at happiness. What if I try and fail? Would I even survive it this time?

  7

  Rose

  I barely recognize the person staring back at me from the mirror. It’s Monday morning and I’m dressed in one of my new outfits for my first day of work with Lia. Yesterday, I watched movies and surfed the Internet while Max did some work. I did wonder if he was trying to avoid spending time with me, but I couldn’t really blame him after my sudden invasion into his life. I know he’s a private person, and it must be hard to share his space with me. He went out to pick up some Thai food for our evening meal and came back with a new cell phone for me as well. I’d argued, saying it could wait until I received my first paycheck, but he’d been adamant about me needing it in case of emergencies. After finding myself out of an apartment and a car just days before, I couldn’t really argue with that. Instead, I’d thanked him and secretly added it to the amount that I already owed him. I wonder briefly how my parents would even reach me, but I also feel relief that my father can’t use the phone as a means to control me any longer. If he wants to find me, he’ll damn well have to put some effort into it.

  Again, last night, I’d gone to him when the darkness proved too much to bear. I didn’t tell him I was afraid of hurting myself, but I was certain that he knew. He invited me into his bed in the same manner as the previous night and I’d been weak with gratitude.

  Today, I needed to tell Lia what had happened while she was gone. I had decided to swallow my pride and ask her if I could possibly have an advance on my paycheck so I could afford somewhere to live. I knew that she would invite me to stay with her and Lucian, but I won’t do that. I have no doubt they would welcome me with open arms, but they’re newlyweds with a baby. They deserve their privacy to enjoy this special time in their lives.

  My stomach growls as the smell of coffee drifts down the hallway. I study my appearance for another moment and feel my throat tighten. I look nothing like my usual self. I’ve never worn anything other than traditional, tailored pieces. Conservative and expensive. Today, I’m wearing a form-fitting red pencil skirt with a leopard-print silk blouse along with a black belt and strappy, matching sandals. It’s modern and sexy while still being dressy enough for the office. It’s the type of outfit I’d often looked at longingly in magazines but was never free to purchase. My parents would have told me I looked like a whore. Maddens didn’t dress in trendy clothing. It was considered trashy and common. I had to admit that it looked better than I could have ever dreamed. I no longer looked like a repressed virgin.

  Why then is my skin crawling? Why is my heart threatening to pound from my chest? Sweat gathers on my forehead and begins to trickle down my temples. My hands are trembling and my head is light. You look cheap. What if someone sees you like this? You’ll be an embarrassment. The voices of disappointment in my head are at an all-time high as I stumble away from the mirror, trying to get away from the ugliness shown there.

  On unsteady feet, I make my way to the bathroom and begin looking through the cabinets. Towels and washcloths litter the floor and I toss them aside in search of something to help me dull the noise that threatens to consume me. I am frantic by the time I remember the razor in the shower that I used earlier. For the first time, I don’t bother to try to hide what I’m doing by using my thighs. Instead, I pull up a shirtsleeve and push the razor against the sensitive skin of my inner arm. I feel a small bite of pain as it pierces my skin. The protective guard keeps it from cutting deeply, but it’s enough to give me what I need.

  I lean back against the wall as the familiar peace fills me. As I look down at the bead of blood that wells from the cut, I suddenly feel sick. What is wrong with me? How had I let it come to this? I’d have been better off dying than living this way. I was hurting myself over the style of my fucking clothes.

  Then I hear his voice and I know there is no way to hide what I’ve done. He sounds upset and pained as he says, “Rose, baby. Why didn’t you come to me?” Why didn’t you come to me? Why did he ask that? I’ve never had anyone to turn to. I couldn’t understand why he asked that question. That’s it. I drop the razor to the floor and sob into my hands. I hear him leave the room before returning a minute later. He gently pulls my recently injured arm toward him and cleans it before putting a bandage on it. He sighs as if not sure what to do before pulling me into his arms. I melt against him and give in to the tears of desolation that seem to be never-ending. He doesn’t say a word, just lets me get it all out. When I’m down to the occasional jerking hiccups, he calmly picks me up and sets me once again on the bathroom counter. He pushes my skirt up to get closer to me. A cool washcloth is pressed against my eyes as he cleans the makeup that is now completely ruined away. I wince as I see smudges of it on his neatly pressed dress shirt. “You’re going to need to change,” I say huskily as I point at the mascara smears dotting the expensive fabric.

  He tosses the washcloth into the nearby hamper and presses closer between my legs. Cupping my face, he murmurs, “It doesn’t matter.” As he stares into my eyes, he rubs his thumb almost absently across my bottom lip as if trying to discern what’s going on in my head. “I can’t stand you hurting yourself, sweetheart. What brought it on this morning?”

  My first instinct is to say something flippant and pull away. I’ve never shared this part of me with anyone else, and I feel raw and exposed. I take a deep breath, along with a leap of faith, and tell him the truth. “It’s the outfit,” I admit, feeling beyond absurd that something so trivial drove me to cut. Surely other women never feel this way.

  He’s quiet for a moment as he ponders my words. He then shifts back slightly to inspect me from top to bottom. “You look beautiful,” he says quietly. “But you don’t have your shield. You’re exposed for the world to see.”

  “What?” I blink up at him, puzzled by his statement. Is he trying to say that my outfit is too revealing?

  He surprises me by leaning down to press a brief kiss on my upturned lips before replying. “You’ve hidden behind the pearls and the demure sweaters for a long time. Other than Lia and Jake, it’s kept people at bay. You’re intimidating as hell when you want to be.” He laughs. “I’ve no doubt that you can stop some poor bastard in his tracks with a single look. You’re sophisticated beyond your years, and I’m sure that’s exactly how your parents wanted it. And after a while, you used it as a way to control those around you. Instead of insecurity, they only saw cockiness and confidence.”

  I gape at him, not certain if I’m offended or in awe. He has effectively opened me up and pointed out the parts of me that I’ve worked hard to keep buried. I barely know him, and he’s seen through the smokescreens to the insecure woman hiding behind them. “I … no, that’s not it,” I deny weakly, but we both know I’m grappling at straws.

  One of his hands settles around the nape of my neck, and he pulls me to rest against him. “All right, baby, whatever you say.” He’s backing down as if sensing my agitation at his all too accurate assessment. I put my arms around his waist at some point and we remain there for a while longer in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Finally, he says, “Let’s go have some breakfast. I’m starving.” I nod my head in answer but can’t imagine forcing a bite down at this point.

  While I’d been getting dressed, Max had fixed us both a garden omelet. Despite the churning of my stomach, I find my mouth watering a
s he sets the plate before me. I take a hesitant bite and close my eyes in bliss. “Wow, this is yummy,” I manage to get out between bites. Really nice. Distract him from what he saw in the bathroom by inhaling your food like a starving animal. If the smile on his handsome face is any indication, he’s vastly amused that I’ve eaten half my food, while he’s barely had a few bites of his. “Sorry,” I mumble, “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

  He waves his fork as if to say, carry on. He opens the newspaper sitting beside him and flips through it while I sip my coffee. “So I was thinking,” he begins without glancing up, “there is no use in you moving all of your things to Lia’s until you find an apartment. Why don’t you continue staying with me? I find your company stimulating—er, enjoyable and—”

  “You want to keep an eye on me after my latest razor incident,” I insert and know that I’m right when he releases a sigh.