Mind F*ck

by Dawn, Kimber S.

  Mind Fuck

  By

  Kimber S. Dawn

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Why-Annie Lennox

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Meet Kimber

  Obsession by Alice Hart

  MindFu*k Copyright © 2016 Kimber S. Dawn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Kimber S. Dawn: 2016 authorkimbersdawn@gmail.com

  Cover Designed by Raising Kane Photo Co.

  Editing by Silla Webb

  Interior Design by Alpha Queens Book Obsession

  This is the book I never read

  These are the words I never said

  This is the path I'll never tread

  These are the dreams I'll dream instead

  This is the joy that's seldom spread

  These are the tears...

  The tears we shed

  This is the fear

  This is the dread

  These are the contents of my head

  And these are the years that we have spent

  And this is what they represent

  And this is how I feel

  Do you know how I feel?

  'Cause I don't think you know how I feel.

  —Annie Lennox, Why

  For making me whole again,

  I love you, David. Always.

  I was not the prettiest girl in school, nor was I ever the smartest, but in the eyes of Liam Dean, I was anything and everything more. I was his. I was Liam’s girl. And that was all that mattered. It didn’t matter that I was from the wrong side of the tracks. It didn’t matter that the only reason I was at Harvard-Westlake High School was because my schooling was bought and paid for by my mother’s recently deceased husband number four. None of it mattered, not as long as I had Liam by my side.

  From the moment I first laid eyes on him my freshman year, his senior, he made everything bad and wrong in my life, finally, for the first time, go beautifully and perfectly still. And in less than five minutes of our eyes first meeting, he’d made it very clear to everyone standing around us, that I was Liam’s girl and Liam’s alone. And that was that.

  Everything about Liam and I, our beginning, our blooming love that once was considered nothing more than a fling, or puppy love, our teenage years, our twenties, everything has always been easy with us. We hardly ever fight, and if we do, nine times out of ten all we need to do is work on our communication a bit here and there and it fixes itself. He doesn’t cheat. Hell, even now after five years of us being married, his friends still jerk his chain about it. About how Liam Dean was so pussy whipped, there was no other pussy but mine on the face of the planet.

  And me? Well, I for damn sure don’t cheat. I know when I’ve got it good. And the first fifteen years of my life were utter and complete hell. Being dragged from between my mom’s boyfriend’s houses, or worse, between her husband’s houses, was not my idea of a preferred upbringing.

  No, the first fifteen years of my life were not at all like my life was when I became Liam’s. No where near it. From the moment he made it known to his friends and family that I was his, from that day forward, if he could make it better, or easier, any of it, he did. Over and over.

  And then, he went and made my happy ever after permanent. Three years after falling in love with Liam, he made me his wife in the grandest setting imaginable. The opulence of our wedding was utterly astounding. The pews were draped in candle colored satin, and the floors were adored with plush dark gray carpets and runners with silver, actual silver threaded rope detailing the edges. My dress alone cost over ten thousand dollars. Yeah, ten grand.

  However, for the love of my life, there had never been any expenses spared—no cost was ever too much or too frivolous where Liam was concerned, and those benefits were shared with me when I came into his life. Causing me to learn at quite an early age that money isn’t ever really that important…not unless you don’t have it, and then it becomes very fucking important.

  “Baby girl—” I hear my husband’s voice as his knuckles rap against the bathroom door, “—so, are we? Are you?”

  I’m pulled away from the memories that make us, and as I blink through my tears I note that no, we are not. Again.

  No two lines. Just one. Staring back at me through my wet lashes. “No, I’m so sorry, Liam. We’re not.” The pain shreds my heart a little bit more than it did the last time I went through this pregnancy test thing.

  I don’t know why I can’t get pregnant. It breaks my fucking heart every time I have to tell him no, that we’re not. I can’t stand to look in his eyes and see that same, sad pain again when I tell him.

  “I won’t.” The thought quickly crosses my mind, but I stop my mouth from speaking the words because I already know I will.

  I hear the door ease open but I keep my eyes reverted down, watching as the toes of his Brooks Brother’s shoe steps across the threshold before his voice cuts back through the silence of the dark bathroom. “Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m here, baby girl.” His voice sooths away the ache of what never was and his arms slide around me, pulling me up from the floor and cradling me to his chest as he walks us from the master bathroom to our bedroom. “I gotcha, baby. It’s okay.” He mutters in a rough voice, “Maybe this is the Lord’s way of telling us it’s just not time yet.”

  As he lays me down on our massive four-poster bed, I look up at him and wonder aloud, “After five years of marriage, Liam? I’m twenty-six years old. When will it be time? If not now, baby, when?” I ask him, pleading as the pain and loss of something that never existed overwhelms me.

  He’s thirty. I’m twenty-six. Liam started trying for a baby way before I did. We’re talking high school, people, my senior year. I had plans to go to UCLA’s nursing school and then go on and get my Nurse Practitioner license after I graduated. But Liam had bigger, grander plans for me. These plans entailed no waiting. No waiting for me to become Liam’s wife, no waiting for our lives to really begin, no waiting for Liam to finally set into motion the cogs of our lives.

  Everything, and I mean everything Liam has ever set his sights on, he’s gotten. Any quest or stake of claim, has always been ans
wered with nothing less than approval and nods by his parents’ and other elders.

  My fucking self included. I was barely nineteen when Liam asked me to marry him. I was barely twenty when he gave me the keys to his family’s fortune and told me to plan the wedding of my dreams.

  Who was I to remind him that I had other plans I wanted done before his? It was the wedding of my dreams and all Liam ever wanted. Who was I to take that away from him? No one. I was nothing without him. I knew it then, and I know it know.

  Liam’s mother passed away when he was very young. In fact, he barely remembers his mother, and his father refused to remarry after her death. And sadly, for him to be so little and without a mother figure at such a young and impressionable age, any and all issues Liam had or has, I believe, roots there. Sure, there’d been a few girls worth mentioning before me in Liam’s life, but since his mother’s passing, there really hasn’t been a woman who has fit in the way I did. I fit right in to their father-son duo family. And it didn’t matter that it probably seemed awkward from the outside looking in, or from other people’s views. I didn’t care. I loved the feeling of belonging, almost as much as I loved being Liam Dean’s girl.

  I’ll never forget the night Liam told me about his mother. Not for as long as I live. He smiled even though his dark hazel eyes watered with unshed tears, and he pulled me into her stale, cold room.

  The doors creaking told me Liam hadn’t been inside her room for much longer than he’d probably like to admit at the time.

  “The depression was so bad at the end, that she kept all the shades drawn constantly in the last few months. I just remember her being cold and it being so damn dark in here.” He shuddered. “I don’t like it in here. I haven’t for as long as I can remember. Actually, I fucking hate it in here,” he whispered as I looked around at all of her things, still untouched after all these years. His mother’s bed was the most delicate bed— if a bed could be called delicate— that I’d ever seen. The wrought iron spindles were so thin at points it almost looked like a blade in places on the elaborate, intricately detailed head and footboard.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. It was, every thing was. The blurred cloudy painting of a woman in a dark red dress standing beside a melting, dark and bare tree was my particular favorite. The make-up, all of her intricate hair combs, and crystal perfume bottles filled with different colors and fragrances on her vanity, I guess it was the sight of all her things, but not her that caused me to pause as pain for the boy— the man, I love swelled inside my heart.

  “I’m sorry, Liam,” I told him. And I meant it too. But Liam’s never been one for sympathy, he sees it as pity, and no self-respecting man has pity. Or so the Dean men believed.

  I remember my heart breaking for him, over and over, a million times, but not being able to tell him. I remember my love growing so much for him, as we stood in his mother’s tomblike, cold room with all of her old dusty things around us, and vowing right then and there, no matter what Liam Dean ever needed or wanted, I would give it to him. Even if it was my very soul.

  It’s so easy to give your heart to someone, it really is. It feels so right. It feels good. It’s as weightless as it is effortless when you hand over your heart to someone else. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says, falling in love is easy, it’s staying there in the face of hell that’s fucking hard.

  His voice almost sounds hollow when he speaks, finally answering my question and I watch in amazement as his hazel eyes flash different contrasting colors as his face hardens and his brow furrows. “I don’t like it when you call me baby, baby girl. You know it. As for us ever bearing children, it will come. It will come when the time is right, period. There’s no need to rush anything.” As his hand clasps down around my thigh, he squeezes his hand before squatting in front of me, putting us eye to eye. “We’ll take another test next week. It may still be a bit too soon.”

  His mask of stoic stone softens and when he smiles, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen and butterflies flutter through my belly. “I love you, baby girl. You know it?”

  He’s always right. He always makes my dark, bright with light. And he always knows exactly what I need him to say. Always.

  I barely nod and a moan escapes my lips as his fingertips lightly brush from my hairline down my face, over my lips, and past my chin before his grip circles my throat.

  Fuck yes.

  If any one, were to ever ask me for marital advice, or perhaps what makes a good marriage, great, my answer would be this—him. Even when it was my very first time, Liam Dean has never been gentle during sex. Honestly, right now, in front of God, if I were to have to tell the truth, I can’t say I’ve ever even made love to my husband. Ever.

  And as odd as that is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  However, in my defense, when I handed my body and soul over to Liam, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was broken and fucking angry as hell about it. I knew the devil I was handing my heart to. I knew his name, and I would have done it again a thousand and one times if needed. And when you hand yourself over to someone with so much anger pent up inside that it’s darkened his very soul, you have to be prepared for when his anger unleashes.

  Liam unleashes his demons during sex.

  It’s savage, it’s rough, it’s raw and unfiltered, but it’s him, it’s ours…and I love it.

  I love him.

  She’s a fucking angel, a saint, and my reason for breathing; she’s nothing less. She’s mine. She always has been, and she always fucking will be. Period. Lexy Mayer has had my heart from the minute she fell into my life. I was nothing. I had nothing. No reason to live, no reason to wake up the next day, until I looked up from the football players bench in the courtyard at school and watched as she tripped through the doors of Harvard-Westlake High, with her strawberry blonde hair falling down around her face. The breath in my lungs stilled the first time I saw her smiling green eyes, sparkling as she laughed at herself and awkwardly moved to grab her books from the courtyard pathway.

  Before I even realized I’d moved I was there, shoving Jeff Lee out of the way and scooping up a few books before handing them to her.

  Goddamn it, she was beautiful. Not the typical beautiful, though. Her face reminded me of a sweetheart, and her wide set hunter green eyes did shit to me that nothing else ever fucking had. I don’t think my eyes had finished scanning her face from those eyes to passed her cute little button nose when I knew she was mine. Fuck Jeff Lee and any other punk that wanted to take it up with me. As far as I was concerned, Lexy Mayer was mine. But by the time my eyes landed on her pouty, red lips and she smiled at me, what ever was left of me after her eyes was fucking gone. It was forever hers, and hers alone.

  Lexy Mayer had me mindfucked. She did then, like she does now.

  When I spoke to her, I meant for my tone to be just as hard as it was when I reminded her about calling me baby. Just as I meant for my voice to be as soft as it was when I reminded her, that where we’re concerned, if it’s meant to be it will. Everything about Lexy has happened for a reason, as crazy yet cliché as it sounds, it’s the truth. She came into my life out of no where, like a tumble weed. Or a gypsy. Or a gypsy’s child, whatever. The bottom line is, she fell into my life just as she fell into my school. She shouldn’t have been there, hell I wouldn’t have been there had coach not caught me sneaking out after first hour. But there I sat, pissed at the world as well as the motherfuckers that stood around me, cheering me on for whatever piece of ass I’d tagged that belonged to one of my best friends’ the night before.

  Before Lexy gave me her fucking everything— and dammit did I have to work for it—any and all ass I’d had was at the expense of not only the bitch I was fucking, but also whatever best friend of mine wasn’t giving it to her right. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been there treating his bitch like the fucking slut she was.

  As long as they cried but didn’t put up enough of a fight to call it rape, I fucked what ever
little unfaithful whore I wanted, and I treated her exactly like she was— nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  My first time with Lexy was easily one of the most intense moments of my life. It scared the living fuck out of me, if I’m being completely honest. Her fucking eyes stayed glued to mine. The entire time. Not once did they move. And the fucking kicker, the kicker was when she came so hard around my cock, that her cunt squeezed down on it like a vice milking it, instantly. And then, then…she fucking chuckled. The darkest, most seductive, sexy chuckle, I’d ever heard in my eighteen, almost nineteen years fell into my silent, dark room. And I knew, I fucking knew I had to marry her. I wanted my child growing in her belly, right fucking then. I slid my hand between her legs, and when I slipped my first two fingers into her still convulsing pussy, my mouth watered when my fingers felt our cum still seeping out of her.

  “You feel that, baby girl?” I asked her around a lump lodged in my throat.

  Her nod slightly pissed me off, so I growled against her ear with my face pushing against the side of hers. “Answer me. Now.” I fucked her with my fingers harder and started thumbing her clit.

  “Yes, Liam.” Her voice was as harsh as mine sounded.

  “That’s me and you. That’s what we were made for, you know it?” I pumped my fingers inside her with one hand as my other stroked my hardening cock. “I want to fill you up with so much of our cum, baby girl. So goddamn much,” I muttered.

  Her head shook back and forth against the mattress, and when her face rested against my bicep, I felt the tell-tell tears streaming down the side of her face. Then I heard her whispered pleas.

  “Liam, I can’t. I’m too sensitive. It’s too much,” she whimpered.

  I couldn’t have stopped my cock from slamming into her if I’d tried. And I didn’t.

  Nor did I hold back.

  And when her pleas for me to stop stuttered into pleas for me not to, I knew my little Lexy was the perfect little fucking freak I’d been waiting for…I also knew, every time I heard her dark, sinful chuckle, that she’d always be mine and mine alone.