by Romi Hart
She gaped at Marc, offended. “You of all people should know better than that! I barely agreed to go on a date with you. How could you possibly think—“
He silenced her with his lips, coming down in a brutal assault of a kiss infused with all the passion of his words. She let it ease her concern, build her strength, and reaffirm her belief that, maybe, there could be a future for them. When he pulled back, he winked at her, still embracing her while she tried to catch her breath. “I know that, Reesa. But it sounds just as ridiculous to me when you suggest I’d be messing around with other women. I only have eyes for you.”
Something warm and snug wrapped around her heart, and she gazed up at Marc with a newfound appreciation for him. His sincerity and brutal honesty went a long way in building her faith in men again. And she especially felt comforted in the knowledge that he wanted them to be exclusive.
She started to tell him as much, but something flashed in the corner of her eye. She saw Marc squint, too, and they turned in unison to find the camera fixed on them. Reesa gaped, and Marc released her abruptly, storming toward the paparazzi gathered just around the corner of the bathroom. Several of them took off, probably tabloid reporters who didn’t need a quote from the famous footballer to embellish an outrageous story. But two of them started shouting questions, one on top of the other, and Reesa was so startled she couldn’t make out what either said.
“How long has this affair been going on?”
“What’s her name?”
“Where did you meet?”
As the words finally came clear, the question they hurled battered Reesa’s ears. She stared, wide-eyed, as Marc stopped dead in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. He turned and smiled at her, motioning her toward him. Mechanically, she walked over and let him take her hand. In a voice that sounded calm outwardly but that she knew didn’t match the turmoil inside as his fingers clutched hers a little too tight, he told them, “I’ll make one statement on the record, and then you can leave.”
Like hungry wolves, they quieted, holding out microphones, tablets, and cell phones to record his statement. He cleared his throat and said, “Theresa Brighton and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks, and trust me when I say I had to work hard to get her attention. We’re still learning about each other, but I hope she’s as happy so far as I am.” With those words, he turned away, sliding his arm around her waist and guiding her back toward the carnival.
“What happens now?” she asked quietly, her heart thudding for an entirely different reason.
He sighed. “Now, they’re going to take your name and find out everything they can about who you are and what you do. Then, they’re going to try to find some secret affair I’m having with some woman who doesn’t exist to create some drama they can publish.” He stopped and took both her hands in his, capturing her gaze. “I swear to you, no matter what they say, there is nothing going on with anyone else. Like I said, I only want you, Reesa. I didn’t lie when I told them I was happy. And I hope you are, too, because this is going to be tough going for a while.”
She nodded, swallowing her nerves. “I’m happy. I’m still not sure how we got here,” she laughed nervously, “but I’m glad. And I can be strong through all this, okay?”
“I know. That’s part of what I love about you.” He kissed her gently. “Now, let’s go have some fun. I want to put Jordan down myself, and even I can throw a pretty accurate baseball a few feet.”
She tried to smile, but the words he’d just used repeated over and over in her head. That’s part of what I love about you. He'd used the word ‘love'. It made her heart soar, but at the same time, it frightened her. She couldn't let things move too fast, and she certainly didn't want Marc to start using words like that lightly. Of course, he hadn't said he loved her, only things about her. But the line between the two was very fine and hard to see.
In fact, she was having trouble defining the difference herself. There were plenty of things she was learning to love about Marc, and she worried she was getting in too deep, those sentiments blurring into one overwhelming emotion she recognized and denied.
Instead of focusing on that, she leaned against Marc as they walked, drawing strength from his confidence and reminding herself that, at least for now, they had to stand together to get through the hardship of what they would face. Reesa could worry about everything else another day.
Chapter 7
Somehow, Reesa knew she shouldn't have turned on the news. A sense of dread made her queasy as she saw the image in the corner of the screen, the headshot she used in her advertising. But there was no reason for the picture to smile out at the world as the anchor launched into her story.
She couldn’t turn it off, knowing it would only make her look worse as Marc sat forward, listening with a furrowed brow. Hearing about their relationship everywhere they turned had grated on Reesa’s nerves, but she could deal with that. She’d even managed to get through the harassment of paparazzi at every turn and dodge several cameras the last few days. But sordid details of her past being aired like so much laundry in front of the world…
She hadn’t signed up for this, and she hadn’t really wanted anyone to know about it, least of all Marc. It was a part of her life she didn’t like to recall, and the reminder hung over her head as thick and gloomy as the impending accusations Marc would surely throw at her.
“Mrs. Brighton seems to have more to hide than People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive this year,” the reporter began. “While Marcus Winters has entered into a whirlwind relationship, the first on record since his stardom began nearly ten years ago, and managed to hide it for weeks, Theresa Brighton has buried her darkest secrets for years.”
She cast a sidelong glance at Marc, wincing at his deep concentration and the concern building in his expression. Hanging her head in her hands, she waited for the ball to drop. “It appears that, at a young age, Brighton married and found herself in a failing relationship that ended in turmoil. Her former husband, Ethan Riley, filed charges against her for domestic violence, entering the hospital with a shattered cheekbone and a broken jaw. At the same time, Miss Brighton filed her own charges against her ex-husband, claiming months of physical and mental abuse.
“Based on her testimony and an examination by a physician who refused to speak with us, her assault on Riley was deemed self-defense, while prosecutors managed to put Riley away for fifteen years. The ruling was controversial, considering the extent of the damage done to Riley, and he still claims she was the aggressor in the relationship.”
As if the story wasn’t bad enough, Ethan’s face filled the screen, his orange jumpsuit glaring at her like a giant accusation. “I would never hurt Theresa,” he told the interviewer, putting on a pitiful air. “I loved her. I still love her, even after all this. But she had a violent streak in her, and I suffered the consequences.” He pointed to the scar on his cheek, which sat on top of a very small dent where the bone hadn’t quite healed properly.
The anchor was back on the screen. “Ethan Riley has had some difficulty during his incarceration, suffering at the hands of those who feel abusers don’t have the same rights as other inmates. Hopefully, when Riley goes up for parole in six months, he’ll have a chance to reclaim his life. There is a mutual restraining and no contact order between Riley and Miss Brighton. According to Riley, he’s not concerned that, upon his return to society, his ex-wife will attempt to contact or hurt him in any way. The question is, was she really to blame for the violence in the marriage? And is Marcus Winters aware of her past? Could he be facing the same potential devastation as Ethan Riley? Only time will tell.”
Angry and mortified beyond words, Reesa pushed up off the couch and stormed into the kitchen, needing space before the ensuing finger pointing and the overwhelming guilt she was going to feel when she had to face the confrontation with Marc.
“Reesa, wait,” he called after her, but she ignored him, trying to catch her breath as panic clutched at
her chest and compressed her lungs, not allowing her to bring in enough oxygen. Her head ached, and she felt her world spinning out of control. He was behind her by the time she stopped at the window, reaching to open it and let in the cold wind blowing outside.
When he placed his hands on her arms, she shrugged him off, not turning to look at him. “Don’t do that, Reesa. Talk to me.”
She shook her head and told him in a strained, gravelly voice, “There’s nothing to say, Marc. I’m sorry. It was good while it lasted, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
There was nothing for several heartbeats, and she wondered if he’d left, her blood pounding so hard in her ears she hadn’t heard his footsteps or the door closing behind him. But then his fingers landed lightly on her shoulders, and she could feel his heat radiating into her back as he stepped closer. “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” His voice was calm and soothing rather than filled with betrayal and hurt. “I know something’s twisted here, so tell me what it is.”
She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t risk meeting his gaze. If Marc’s eyes showed any signs of believing the story or of feeling like she’d stabbed him in the back by not telling him about all this, she wouldn’t make it through her story. “I’m not guilty,” she said, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.
“I never thought you were. Tell me what really happened.” He gently pulled her against him, infusing her with his comfort and strength.
Taking a deep breath, she blew it out and focused on taking herself out of the equation, telling the tale as if she was just a distant observer. “I was too young to get married, but Ethan was a charmer, and he was way out of my league. I met him freshman year in college and married him early in my junior year. He was one of the most celebrated players on the lacrosse team that year, and I went to all the games and cheered him on. I was loyal to a fault. He was so sweet, so caring and considerate, and I worshiped him.
“But after we married, the mask fell off. He started calling me names, making me feel worthless, and when I begged him to stop, he got physical. It was mostly bruises, in places others wouldn’t see, and a few scrapes and knots here and there, but he actually fractured two ribs once and caused me a severely sprained ankle another time that tore several tendons.”
She swallowed, wincing as she remembered the pain and the way she’d shied away from people, becoming a shell of a person. She trembled, and Marc rubbed his hands up and down her arms for comfort. She could feel the anger growing in him as she spoke. Fighting against a quivering chin, she continued, “The night it happened…” She had to stop and clear her throat before she tried again. “The night it happened, Ethan had been drinking with some of his teammates, and he came over. I had my old roommates over, Lindsey and Carmen, to study and keep me company. Lindsey’s boyfriend, Craig, had come over to say goodbye before he flew out to his grandmother’s funeral, and he’d stayed for a while, watching television and playing Scrabble with us.
“He was leaving as Ethan showed up, and he accused me of cheating on him. I sent Lindsey with Craig and asked Carmen to go home, not wanting them to see how things had become between the two of us. As soon as we were alone, I tried to explain the situation, but he went crazy. He started screaming that I’d always been a lying whore, and he’d married me out of pity. He slapped me, and I took it, begging him to stop. And then, he went for my throat. He was choking me, and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to die, and all I could think was how pathetic I would look for being with someone who could treat me like that.”
Tears were falling now, and Reesa couldn’t close the floodgates. Her voice remained calm, though, and she struggled to work through the rest of the memory. “It’s fuzzy from there. My vision started to go black around the edges, and I remember being on the couch and reaching for anything I could use to hit him and knock him away. I managed to get the lamp off the end table, and I knocked him over the head. He backed off and stumbled long enough for me to get up, but he came back at me, so I swung again. I had to get his face three times before he finally fell down, unconscious.
“I called 9-1-1, and when they came, he was awake and screaming about his face. It was a bloody, broken mess. They took me away in handcuffs, and I had to call Carmen to bail me out. It took everything I’d saved to get out, and I’m thankful I had a good public defender who sympathized. But I couldn’t go back to my life. I transferred to a different college, lost touch with all my friends. And I started fresh, here in the Bronx.”
As she finished, Marc turned her around and wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs, pulling her into his chest and wrapping her in a tight embrace. For the first time in years, she let the pain surface, let it consume her until she couldn’t cry anymore. It was like a purge, and Marc drew it out of her, replacing it with his gentleness.
“You don’t have to feel guilty about it, Reesa. You did what you had to do to survive. You shouldn’t have still been with him, and if he ever comes near you, I’ll kill him.” His vehemence caught her off guard, and she knew Marc meant every word of it. She’d never really worried much about Ethan’s release, but now, she desperately hoped he didn’t try anything stupid. She didn’t care what happened to him, but she didn’t want Marc risking anything for her sake.
“He wouldn’t dare,” she told him, her throat raw and her face swollen. She looked up at Marc, mortified by her outburst. “I’m more concerned with your reputation.”
He shook his head vigorously. “I’ll deal with that, and I’ll stand behind you on this, Reesa. I won’t let them tear you apart because some cowardly asshole decided to take out his insecurity on you.” He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, and then his lips closed over hers, drawing her in with a gentle caress of his tongue. She kissed him back, more desperate than ever for what he could offer her.
All at once, she hated that she needed him and loved that he could care for her in this way. She’d wanted this for longer than she realized, wanted someone who could bring out her desire and make her feel safe, all at the same time. Ethan had been fueled by passion, but it had been the passion of rage and violence. With Marc, it was different, coming from a deeper, more sensitive place, and she reveled in it.
He kept his kiss light, but it didn’t satisfy Reesa. She wanted more, and she reached between them, stroking his manhood until it grew hard beneath her touch. “God, what do you do to me?” he groaned, letting his head fall back and his eyes flutter closed. “I should be comforting you, not ready to fuck you.”
The harsh term did nothing to douse the flames building inside her. Instead, they fueled the fire, and Reesa moaned. “Fuck me, then, Marc. It’s what I need right now. Having you buried deep inside me will comfort me. Please, I need you.”
“I couldn’t deny you if I wanted to,” he breathed, coming back down on her mouth with bruising force. Gasping at the bold move, she matched it, unzipping his jeans and shoving her hand into them, grabbing his cock and releasing it from the denim prison. She stroked him harder, faster, and he all but growled at her, like an animal barely in control and ready to spring.
Reaching behind her with her free hand, she shoved the few dishes on the counter into the sink, the loud clanging hard on her ears, but she didn’t care if everything broke. She was too desperate and didn’t want to wait for the niceties, the foreplay. Pushing her own jeans frantically down, she hoisted herself up on the counter, spreading her legs and grabbing Marc by the shoulders.
His lips were slightly parted, his eyes dark with arousal, and he didn’t fight her, letting her guide him toward her throbbing pussy. She scooted to the edge, making it easy for him to find her opening, probing only for a moment before thrusting into her.
Reesa had known pleasure with him, but this was different, rougher and more carnal. She screamed, the orgasm instantaneous, and she dug her nails into Marc’s flesh, knowing she was going to leave her imprint and not caring. As he pounded into her flesh brutally, she met h
is frenzied pace, rocking back and moving her hands to the counter to brace herself against his powerful movements.
His fingers found her hips, helping to steady her as their tips dug into her until she thought they might fuse to her skin. She wouldn’t have minded; she wanted this feeling to last forever, to overwhelm her senses and flood her until all the horrid memories were forced out and washed away. She brought her knees up, bracing the soles of her feet on Marc’s shoulders, and the new angle took his cock deeper into her, until he hammered against her end.
Reesa’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body racked with shockwaves as her pussy spasmed with a violent orgasm. Marc’s scream as he joined her in the freefall over the edge carried her higher, until she lost herself, lost track of time and space. There was only Marc and the pure bliss that coursed with her adrenaline through her veins.
Her chest ached, and she grew lightheaded, unable to think as she fought for some sense of control. When she felt Marc slipping out of her, Reesa finally found a modicum of reality to cling to and chuckled softly. “Wow,” she said simply, not quite sure how else to address what she’d just done. Her whole body was sore, and she knew it would only be worse in the morning. Still, she was drained, and though she longed for bed and the chance to be cradled in Marc’s very capable arms, she felt like she had to say something.
“Wow doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Marc sighed, finally lifting his head from her shoulder. His eyes were hooded, his crooked smile lazy and his dimple deep. “I hope you didn’t just use me.”