by J. C. Grant
“Hi.”
I looked up at the mirror. A guy was standing next to Fergus, who was hovering.
“Hi.” My voice was flat as I tried to suppress my building nausea.
“I'm Stephen. Nice to meet you. Austin, right?” He reminded me of my lack of manners, but I couldn't care less. I felt like my entire world had been turned upside down. And everything about this guy screamed womanizer, though I didn't think he had a sexual preference.
I just smiled, still trying to squash the sick feeling crawling through me.
“So.” He moved between me and the mirror, forcing me to focus on him. He placed his forearms on the armrests, leaning in, getting far too close to my face. So close I was self-conscious of my breath. “What do you want to do today? How about over-the-top glam. Really make you shine.”
He was so fake; it took everything in me not to react.
“Maybe something a little less done. Maybe a natural, I-just-had-really-hot-sex look.”
“Yes.” I heard Fergus say behind me. “Yes.”
“That your bodyguard?” Stephen joked.
“Yeah.” More like babysitter.
“Mr. Taylor would like to speak with you.” I automatically reached for the phone. “Not you, Mrs. Taylor.”
Stephen pulled away, standing upright, and took the offered phone.
“Hello?”
I watched as Stephen's flirty, cocky demeanor melted away, turning to one of apprehension.
“Of course.” He paused. “I wasn't—” he tried again.
I could only imagine what David was saying. Part of me didn't think he was allowed an opinion, considering he had a whore—a whore the entire world thought was his girlfriend.
Stephen held the phone out to me, his overall behavior reminded me of a petulant child.
“Yes?” I answered, already tired from the events of the day.
“You want a natural, I-just-had-really-hot-sex look?” His voice was a dangerous growl that my body responded to without my permission. “Come back and I'll give it to you. But I'm the only one who’s gonna give it to you.”
He was being ridiculous, but it was hot.
I'm seriously twisted.
“David—”
“I know you're hurting about what happened this morning. I feel fucking sick over it. But stop fucking flirting.” His jealousy satisfied that needy, insecure part of me. Soothing me.
“I wasn't,” I said through a growing grin, the tension in my body easing.
“I fucking love you.” It was so heartfelt. And just a little threatening.
“Good.”
“Good?” he questioned.
“Yeah, good.” I knew he could hear the smile in my voice. I ended the call and handed the phone back to Fergus.
“Mrs. Taylor—?”
“He's fine, Fergus. And I wasn't flirting. If you call him every time I talk to someone, we're going to have a serious problem.”
I looked at Fergus in the mirror. He was already texting—David, no doubt.
“You're married,” Stephen stated. “I think he's a little obsessive.”
“He is,” I agreed. I knew David was too much, but I needed it, especially after this morning. And it wasn't this guy’s place to say anything about it. “Just keep it on the natural side.”
He hesitated, seeming surprised by my dismissal of David's behavior. “Okay.”
My eyes closed and I took a deep slow breath. I couldn't tolerate looking at him, not after his dig at David, and not after all the drama I had endured today already. I still had those grotesque images floating around in the corners of my mind, begging me to acknowledge them.
“Mr. Taylor wants to see you before you go out there,” Fergus commented.
“Tell him I said no.”
“Mrs. Taylor—”
“Can you give me one second?” I asked as I picked up my phone.
Austin: No. Do your work. Leave
me alone.
11:19 AM
David: Never gonna happen.
11:20 AM
That made me smile.
“Sorry,” I muttered to Stephen, closing my eyes to block him out and let him get back to work.
“So, how long have you been married?” he asked after a long moment, distracting me from torturing myself over the how's and why's of David being with that scraggly looking girl.
“Two weeks’ yesterday,” I murmured.
“How long have you known each other?” I could feel his breath on my face as he spoke.
“A little over three weeks.” I tried to be patient. I knew where this was going.
“And he's that obsessed with you? I see a divorce in the near future.”
“When he stops being obsessed with me, that's when I see the divorce,” I corrected him.
He didn't respond.
Ours was not a conventional relationship, and most people didn't understand us or care to. So I knew this was coming—unsolicited opinions and advice. That didn't mean I was going to be nice or passive about it.
We didn't speak again.
I didn't know how long I sat there with him putting stuff on my face. Something soft. Something wet. Something cold. Something painful.
“How's it going in here?” The photographer came in to check on our progress, saving me from another something painful. “Almost ready?” he asked, his thick Italian accent making it difficult for me to understand.
Once I was finished the photographer offered me his hand to stand and escorted me outside to a set of rusty stairs.
David was right, he was fast, and I was done within thirty minutes.
I casually mentioned to Fergus I was going shopping before I went back to the gym. He didn't seem surprised and didn't ask where. I figured if he was ex MI6, he could figure it out on his own.
I pulled into the parking structure at Westfield Century City—it was closer to the gym than Beverly Hills. Before I got to the escalator, I saw Fergus walking toward me.
When he stepped onto the escalator behind me I asked, “So, do I pretend like I don't know you?”
“Whichever you prefer, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Is this like, you report every little thing I do to David? If I went and got a cinnamon pretzel, is he going to find out?”
“Why would you want to keep that from him?” he asked neutrally.
“It's a question. A hypothetical. I don't want a pretzel.”
“It would depend on what David asked,” he answered honestly.
My phone chimed, alerting me to a text.
Elaine: David said you're out
shopping.
12:42 PM
Austin: Century City.
12:44 PM
Elaine: Rock Salt at one. Grab
lunch or just walk in and out.
12:46 PM
Austin: Okay
12:48 PM
At least I was dressed for it this time.
I told Fergus what Elaine had set up. His expression was unreadable as he indicated I lead the way. We went to Rock Salt, did a walk in and out—I was still full from breakfast and I wanted to eat with David. With the events of the morning I needed the stability of our routine of eating every meal together. We made our way to Bloomingdale's, knowing I could find everything I wanted there, including some hot boots. Standing in line to make my final purchase—charcoal towels and Egyptian cotton sheets in the palest gray I could find—my phone chimed, alerting me to a text. I immediately opened it.
David: Pics of you with “unidentified
man” are online. Not fucking
liking it. Bout done? Missin you.
2:32 PM
God, he's sweet.
Then I realized, Elaine works fast.
Austin: Yes. Leaving soon.
2:34 PM
David: Find everything you wanted?
2:36 PM
Austin: Yes.
2:37 PM
David: You sure? You don't have
that just fucked look.
2:38 PM
At least now I know I'm not crazy.
I thought I felt him earlier. That electric-like hum intensified, my body's response to his proximity. He was close. And he'd been watching me. A second later, I felt a large presence behind me. When his chest pressed into my shoulders, my body hummed with recognition and I felt that strong pull, that need to touch him, be against him skin on skin.
“Hey.” His deep, rich voice rumbled in my ear. “Come with me.” His large hand grabbed mine.
“David—” I half protested as he pulled me through the store behind his towering body. He was wearing worn jeans and black boots. I could see every outline of muscle in his broad back and shoulders through the thin, black, V-neck tee. He was my dream man, before I even realized I had one. But seeing him, the events of the morning came rushing in full force.
How I responded to him... it was purely visceral. I was torn again between my emotions and my body's response.
He led me toward a corner, then down a hall into a dressing room or what used to be a dressing room. It looked like it was in the process of a remodel.
“David, what—?”
“I know you don't like to talk, but we're going to talk. You're going to tell me how you feel,” he ordered harshly, pushing my back against a mirror and dropping to his knees, yanking my leggings down to my ankles in one swift move. His hands glided up my legs as he spoke. “I know this morning changed something.”
When I didn't respond, he pushed two thick fingers into me, slow and steady, separating my tender tissues in one explicit movement
My sex tightened around the intruding digits, eagerly welcoming them as my head fell back and my body warmed, relaxing into the wall.
“I recommend you start talking,” he warned, forcing his fingers deeper.
His aggressive touch and demanding words sent a searing arousal coursing through me and a low groan escaped me.
Abruptly, he stood and spun me around.
“Bend over,” he commanded, pushing on my lower back as I slowly complied. I heard the rasp of his zipper and the rustle of fabric as he pushed his jeans down, freeing his cock. “Put your hands on the wall.”
I obeyed.
He wasn't being mean, it was a needy, desperate kind of aggression that something inside me responded to immediately and I felt every ragged raw emotion I had been avoiding all day.
I felt his hot length brush against my sex. Once, twice. “Tell me how you feel about us, me.”
I hesitated, not sure where to start or if I wanted to. He was using his command over my body to get what he wanted again. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, because that was one area he had absolute control over me.
He gripped his length, teasing my cleft with long sweeps.
“Tell me, Austin,” he coaxed with voice and cock.
I kept my head down, eyes on the floor. “I know her.” His body stilled. “She wasn't an arrangement. She was your girlfriend.” I paused, taking a stuttered breath. “That's what I found online before our first date.”
He exhaled roughly. “She wasn't. I promise you.” He pressed through my folds, his thick crown rubbing over my clit. “Elaine didn't correct it, because we didn't want to risk the situation being dug into.”
That made sense. It would ruin the image they had cultivated for him if knowledge of his arrangements came to light.
“How did this morning make you feel?” he implored, making me slick with his pre-cum.
My eyes squeezed tight as a shiver ran through me, from his tone as much as his cock slipping over my sensitive nub. I struggled for words. “Hurt. Betrayed. Disgusted.”
“Why disgusted?” he asked encouragingly, teasing my opening with his head, making me groan.
“Because...” I panted. “You were with her. Because you ever wanted her. Because you had arrangements.”
“That's good, let it out,” he breathed encouragingly. “Keep talking. Tell me everything.” He gave me a little more and I moaned. After a moment he said, “Keep talking or I stop.”
Then the words spilled from me in a rush, “Because you held your whore in front of me, because you wrapped your arm around her.” Tears rimmed my eyes, falling without permission.
“Listen to me.” His other hand slid over my back, soothing me. “I was trying to protect you from her. From my mess. I never wanted you to have to deal with it. And I never wanted her. I never wanted anyone until you,” he swore fiercely.
When I didn't respond he stilled with just the tip barely inside me, he continued, “Is that why you let Noah hold you? Because I was holding her back?”
“I didn't realize Noah was there until after,” I admitted still staring at the floor.
He went silent.
Eventually he asked, “What else? What do you feel toward me?”
I didn't know what he wanted, and I wasn't really even sure how I felt. But I knew what I needed. “I need you to be possessive and jealous. I need you to be obsessed with me. Irrationally, insanely, obsessed with me. I need it, to know that you love me, that you want me.”
“You fucking better need it,” he growled and pulled away. I couldn't understand his abrupt shift or what he meant.
My head came up, looking in the mirror at him. His eyes were cast down, focused on my sex. His jaw clenched, his face tense. He looked mean. Dangerous. And I loved it. My body flushed with feverish anticipation. He pressed on my lower back again and I felt his thick punishing length entering me. His groan was long and low as he bottomed out.
“You gotta be quiet,” he rasped as I moaned in relieved satisfaction. His right hand clamped over my mouth and he slammed in hard. Forcing a shout from my throat.
I gripped his forearm, his warm skin and obscene muscles grounding me. My legs shifted wider, my hips pressing back, giving him better access. This was what I needed, his dominance, his aggression. All my stress and insecurities melted away. Being controlled by him, being submissive to him made me feel strong, free, wild, protected, and loved all at once.
“You're the only thing I've ever wanted. Just you.” His voice was hard but sincere.
I moaned and tried to thrust back.
“I can't take anymore.” His tone was both pleading and warning. “Mathew. The strippers. Noah... I can't handle seeing men touch you. You're mine.” He started pounding into me roughly.
I whimpered and bucked into him, his tone igniting something in me.
“You like that?” His hand gripped my hip, fingers digging in. Claiming.
I nodded and moaned.
“You like making me think about you fucking other men? You like going out without me?”
Now, I knew where this sudden, unannounced aggression came from; it was an accumulation of all those incidents brought to a head by this morning’s events. I was too twisted to ever admit to anyone aside from David, but I loved his reaction. It made me feel whole, it made everything right. Smoothed all the jagged pieces inside me.
I nodded.
His expression turned fierce as he fucked me harder, trying to punish me.
“Yes.” I chanted into his hand, pushing back into his pummeling hips.
He watched me closely.
“You just want it rough, don't you? I think you just do shit to fuck me up, so I'll punish you with my cock,” he breathed into my hair.
He removed his hand. “Tell me.”
“Yes. I do. I love it. I need it,” I panted. My movements were frantic. I was desperate to come. “Harder, David. Make it hurt.”
He growled low.
“Fuck, I'm gonna come.” His fingers found my clit, working it vigorously as his vicious length abused my pussy, slamming in and out.
I grabbed my breast, squeezing my nipple roughly.
“Oh fuck,” I breathed as I spiraled into orgasm.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his hips thrusting faster. His rhythm faltering. He pressed in, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into me. “Sweet girl,” he groaned.
Our panting breaths sounded loud in the empty space as we took a moment to compose ourselves. When I finally looked in the mirror I noticed my hair was stuck to my face with sweat.
“I'm sweaty. I hate sweating in my clothes.”
He laughed, creating a deep, rich throaty sound that warmed me.
His hands gripped my hips, sliding me off his cock before holding me still. I looked at his reflection as he stared at my exposed pussy or ass. After a moment, I realized what he was looking at. His cum was dripping out of me.
“David,” I complained. I reached for my purse that I had dropped at some point, and searched for baby wipes to clean myself up. “I don't want to walk around with cum stains.”
“Fine,” he huffed, letting me go.
“Don't you want one?” I asked, holding out the baby wipes as he tucked himself back into his jeans.
“Nope. I like having you on me. Like the way it smells.”
I was perversely pleased with his response. But I had to endure the task of cleaning myself up in front of him. Not really any sexy way of doing that.
He laughed softly as I did.
I rolled my eyes, trying to squash my embarrassment.
As soon as I was done, he kneeled in front of me and worked my leggings back up.
“New boots?” he asked, looking over my purchase.
“Yeah. Freebird. Love them.”
“Me too.” He stood, looking down at me, his gaze darted over my face, searching. “You good? We good?”
I nodded and turned, checking over my reflection in the mirror to break the intimacy. As per usual, I’d opened up and I wanted to run away and hide.
“Good job, on the just-fucked look.” I smiled and winked at him.
“I aim to please, Mrs. Taylor.” He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, watching me in the mirror. “My wife wants a just-fucked look, she gets it.”