by J. C. Grant
“Austin.” He gave me his sexy, narrowed-eyed look—a look I'd taught him. “I've been thinking about you a lot lately.”
“Because I'm with David.”
“Well, yeah. You're supposed to be waiting for me, remember? Have you been getting my messages?”
“I've been ignoring them.” My voice was breathless as I shook with anxiety, still not in control of my body's responses.
“David's probably deleting them.” He seemed so sure of himself, making me angry, but my anxiety was still winning.
“What're you doing here?” I breathed.
“I came by yesterday. Your neighbor let me know you'd be here today. I asked her to call me when you were.”
I knew I should never have spoken to her.
“Please leave.” My voice quavered.
“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at my totes, ignoring me. “Where's your car?”
“In the driveway.” I was certain he saw it, since he came through the front door.
“No. Your car. Not that shit he bought you.”
I didn't know if it was the dig at David or my car, but that shook me out of it—they were both fucking amazing.
“What the fuck do you want?”
He looked surprised by my sudden outburst.
“To talk to you.” He paused, considering his next words. “You never let me explain, and I'm sorry you didn't understand what was going on.”
“You're sorry I didn't understand you were cheating on me?”
“I wasn't—not really.”
“Was it some kind of emotional development exercise I wasn't enlightened enough to understand?” My anger was winning and it felt fucking good.
“Austin, we had a plan. The opportunity presented itself and I took it. I didn't say anything because I didn't know if it was going to work. And I wasn’t going to risk you getting mad and blowing it over some silly impulse.”
“What plan? We didn't have a plan. I didn't think you'd be successful, and I was right—”
“That's why I did it!” he yelled suddenly.
Well, at least he wasn't completely delusional. He knew that was the only way he was going to make it—on someone else's coattails.
“I'm glad you got want you wanted.” And I was. Kind of.
A little.
Okay, not really.
“You have it now, too.” He moved closer. “I understand why you didn't wait for me, but I'm in a position now for us to be together.” He grabbed my hands and I jerked back, but he didn't let go.
“Stop it. Let go,” I gritted out as the restraint triggered me.
“Just listen,” he pleaded, moving closer, backing me into the wall. Trapping me.
“Get off me!” I screeched as adrenalin pumped through me. I pushed as his body pressed against mine. His hands tightened, pinning mine to my sides.
“Just listen,” he whispered harshly.
His body heat was suffocating. His breath smelled like peppermint and that smell triggered so many memories—some good, but mostly bad.
My stomach turned as those memories came back as if they happened yesterday—not thirteen months ago.
“Why're you here? You don't want me.” I held my head up, trying to ignore my hammering heart and the irrational panic raging through me.
“That's not true. I loved you. I did all of this for you.”
“What do you want?” My chest heaved as I struggled to move, frustration and fear crawling through me.
“I know you're mad at me.” His tone was patronizing. “I know I took too long, but now we have this opportunity.”
He leaned in then, closing the few inches between our faces.
My head pushed against the wall as I struggled to get away from him. The blood pounding through my ears was deafening as his body pressed harder against mine, leaning into me. My fight or flight instinct took over and I fought, twisting and kicking, frantically trying to force my body away from the wall, away from him. I felt the bones in my wrist shifting as I tried to twist out of his grip, and I struggled harder, anxiety taking over.
“Kiss me, Austin. Just kiss me. Your body will remember.”
I felt his lips on the side of my mouth as I continued struggling. So close. Sharing breath. I closed my eyes and focused. I slid down the wall, trying to get leverage, but he followed. Then we were wrestling in my hallway. He finally got me flat on the floor and straddled me. My hands pinned above my head in one of his. His other hand gripped my breast crudely, pinching my nipple painfully as he leaned in again.
“Come on. Just kiss me. I know how to get to you.” His lips moved over my neck as his hand slid down to my sex, rubbing through my shorts. “Just relax and enjoy it. I know what you like.”
I bucked uselessly. The noise that tore from my throat was unrecognizable to my own ears—a sob mixed with a scream, and I felt myself shutting down. Disconnecting.
The front door banged opened and David's boots echoed on the hardwood floor. I could feel the anger in his heavy steps and relief coursed through me, allowing me to breathe.
Zach sat back, but kept me pinned, his hand still at the juncture of my thighs.
My head turned to see David step into view. He nailed Zach with a murderous glare. Then his eyes focused on me and fury hardened his face. His eyes went cold. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. I had never seen him like this; he was full of pure rage.
“Get your fucking hands off my wife,” David demanded, his voice menacing.
“David,” I breathed.
Zach pulled back and let go of my now-bruised wrists and stood, stepping over me, taking a defensive stance. David huffed out a humorless laugh—it sounded like gravel in his throat.
He closed the distance between us with three long strides. Without warning, David grabbed Zach by the back of the neck, throwing him in the direction of the living room.
Zach stumbled down the hall before righting himself.
“You think you can take my girl?” David’s voice was dark and dangerous as he stalked after Zach into the living room. “You think you can touch my wife?”
“She's not yours!” Zach shouted.
“She. Is. Mine.” David's voice was deadly calm as he backed Zach out of the house.
“She loves me.” I heard Zach's muffled voice.
“Even if she did, wouldn't matter.” David's voice was ice, followed by a noise I couldn't place.
By the time I got up on my shaky legs and to the doorway, David had him on the ground, pinned with one hand on his chest. The other drew back over and over, punching him. He looked wild. Savage. He looked like he liked it, like it was a relief.
Zach's arms swung haphazardly, only catching David in the shoulder, then the chin. David didn't flinch. He looked possessed as he kept hitting him.
David had four inches and forty pounds of muscle on Zach. It wasn't even close to a fair fight. I always thought, if I was put in this situation again, I'd enjoy watching my attacker get their ass beat, but watching as David hit Zach mercilessly, I felt sick. Zach wasn't even capable of defending himself against David. I felt a new panic take over when I realized David could kill him.
“David, stop,” I begged, bordering on hysterical.
He hit him again.
“David!” I screamed.
His head turned to me then, his expression severe.
“David. Stop.”
“What?” Then he shifted, his expression turning cold. “Why the fuck are you defending him?”
“I'm not!” I lowered my voice. “I don't want you going to jail.”
He looked at me a moment, processing my words, then stood. His chest heaved as he stepped over Zach and walked over to me. I quickly inventoried David. I couldn't see any damage to his face, which made me feel even worse about what I’d just witnessed.
His hand was covered in blood. Zach's blood.
My gaze moved past David to Zach. His face was unrecognizable, the blood distorting his features. I couldn't even tell where the
blood was coming from. My eyes darted away. It was too disturbing.
“Look at me.” David's voice was demanding and begging at once, an unmistakable desperation underlying it.
Instantly, my eyes met his.
After a moment, my brain started working again. He needed to get inside, in case anyone came over to see what was going on. I grabbed his left hand, the one not covered in blood, and led him into the house like I would a stray dog—watching him closely, never turning my back on him.
I sat him on the couch and hurried to the kitchen for a towel, returning and pressing it to his hand for a few seconds before lifting it away to check for cuts. I found a few deep ones. It took a second to realize they were from Zach's teeth.
“I need to call an ambulance,” I muttered, reaching for the house phone.
“No.” David's voice was low and hushed.
“David, we have to. The movers are coming. If they find him and we did nothing to help him...” I begged with my eyes for him to understand. “Just let me go check on him.”
David's hand caught my wrist as I tried to step a way. I glanced at his restraining hand, then his face as he searched mine.
“I have to check on him.”
His eyes darted away, not in annoyance, more like he was avoiding something. Finally, his gripped loosened and I pulled away, going outside.
I found myself approaching Zach slowly, afraid of what I was going to find.
He was in the same position. Unmoving.
“Zach?” I whispered.
He moaned, a pained sound.
“Zach, do you need an ambulance?”
His head moved then, looking at me through swelling eyes. He looked frightening. It took everything in me not to cringe.
He shook his head minutely.
I swallowed thickly and asked, “What do you need?”
He looked like he was going to say something. His jaw twitched, but didn't move.
“If you can fucking stand, get the fuck outta here.” David's hard voice boomed behind me, startling me.
Zach sat up slowly and I took a step back. He said nothing as he carefully got to his feet. He started toward the gate and stumbled. I turned away, walking back to David.
David's his expression was cold, his body near vibrating with fury as he watched Zach.
“If you ever fucking touch her again, you won't be walking away.” David's eyes burned with rage as he spoke.
David gestured for me to get inside, then I heard the gate swing shut.
I went straight to the kitchen. Grabbing a hand towel, I started dumping ice in it. I didn't know what to do, never having been in this situation before.
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around me from behind, making me jump.
“Breathe,” he rasped, his lips grazing my ear as he spoke.
Relaxing into his big body, I closed my eyes and breathed him in, feeling the tension slowly drain away.
“That for me?” he whispered after several minutes.
“Yeah.” I handed the makeshift ice pack to him.
“Come here, sweet girl.” He led me to the couch. Sitting down first, he pulled me into his lap, making me straddle his thick muscled thighs.
We looked at each other, neither of us saying anything.
My gaze darted to his bloodied hand as I broke the awkward silence. “Put that on your hand.”
“I got it.” He obeyed. “Look at me.”
When I did, his eyes were sad. Resigned.
“Did you kiss him?”
“No,” I breathed.
“Did he kiss you?”
“No, he tried—but no.”
He swallowed thickly, then whispered, “Did he—?”
“No, David. You got here before he could do anything.”
His expression shifted to stark relief. Then he pressed his forehead to my chest. His arms closed around me, squeezing me tight to him. Everything in his touch expressed a gratefulness I found alarming and deeply satisfying. Running my fingers through his hair, I pulled him in to me, soothing him.
For the first time, I really felt the magnitude of my power over him and understood how much he would do for me.
It was an intoxicating feeling.
We're all kinds of fucked up.
“You would tell me? If something happened? If he did something to you?” He sounded terrified at the possibility.
“Yes, of course,” I tried to reassure him. “I would, babe. I'd tell you.”
He pulled back enough to look in my eyes.
“Are you scared of me?”
“No.”
“Why were you treating me like a wild animal?” His eyes closed. “Fuck. I left Chance in the truck.”
“Oh, shit,” I breathed. “I'll get him.” I backed off his lap.
“No, I got him.” He stood, pressing a kiss to my forehead before quickly exiting the house. Seconds later, Chance came barreling through, rubbing against my legs.
“Chance, up.” David pointed at the love seat.
Chance obeyed right away and David reclaimed his previous spot and pulled me back into his lap, angling me to straddle him again.
“What're you gonna say if the police show up?” he asked suddenly, his hands restless on my thighs.
The question was surreal and confusing. He asked so matter-of-factly. I thought a moment, trying to figure out what he was after.
“I'd say it was self-defense, you were protecting me.”
He searched my face.
“You're not afraid of me?” he asked again.
“No. I'm not,” I promised, cradling his jaw, willing him to see the truth.
“Then let me inside.” His hand cupped my sex through my sweat shorts. There was an urgency in his touch, in his movements. Before I could answer, he was unbuttoning his jeans, freeing his cock, demanding gently, “Let me in.”
He didn't wait for a response as he pushed my shorts aside and grabbed his thick length, lining himself up at my opening. His other hand gripped my ass, urging me to push down.
I wasn't ready.
He didn't seem to care, overcome with his need.
“Sweetheart, let me in,” he breathed against my lips, his forehead pressing to mine.
His hand on my ass moved to my breast, his thumb brushing over my sore nipple. Then he pinched hard and a jolt of pain shot through my body. My chest arched forward and my hips pushed down.
“Let me in.” His voice shifted, turning more demanding.
My cheek pressed to his, my lips against his jaw, my hands clasped behind his neck, bracing myself for the pain as a small helpless noise escaped me.
“David,” I breathed.
Deft fingers moved to our joined bodies, pulling my lips wide as he painfully worked his thick length halfway into me.
I whimpered, the sharp pain pulling my entire focus. It felt like he would rip me in two.
“Fuck. It hurts.”
“Please, just take it.”
His tone pulled at something inside me, making my chest ache and my eyes sting.
My nails dug into his neck as his hands moved to my hips, pushing them down, forcing his cock inside my unprepared walls before hitting my natural lubrication. Then he bottomed out fast, hitting my end hard, shocking me.
He let out a deep groan as his arms closed around me, clutching me tight.
“Did you want him? Even for a second?”
“God, no!”
“Tell me you love me.” His voice was pleading and needy. It broke my heart.
“I love you, David. I do.”
His arms tightened around me, his breath gusting against my neck. “I'd never hurt you,” he swore. “I'd kill myself before I hurt you.”
“I know,” I whispered, alarmed by his words.
“I'd never hit you.”
Then understanding flooded through me and I stilled. He was afraid I would think he was like his father. And maybe he was afraid he was like his father. The rage I saw, the way he went after Zach,
made sense to me. He had years of pent-up anger. Some of it got an outlet today.
“It's okay.”
“Please, come for me. I need to feel you come for me,” he begged breathlessly.
“I will,” I breathed, trying to ignore the wetness I felt on his bloodied hand. I didn't know where he’d put the ice, and I tried not to think about that either. But really, those things were running through my mind so I wouldn't have to think about David savagely beating a man only fifteen minutes ago.
I forced myself to focus on the stimulation, on the pleasure.
“I need—”
His thumb moved to my clit, cutting me off. His other hand was on my breast, working my nipple deftly, and I melted into the pleasure of his skilled touch.
“I'll give you everything you need,” he promised. “Anything. Any fucking thing you want.”
He worked me to orgasm. Over and over, until he calmed down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Call a doctor. You need stitches.”
“Austin,” he sighed in weak protest.
“David, do it. They can't heal if you leave them open. A couple are deep, and they’re from human teeth.”
“Fine,” he sighed.
He pulled out his phone as he walked down the hall, picking mine up from where I’d dropped it.
“Not broken,” he announced, walking back over, setting it on the coffee table.
I went to the bathroom to freshen up before the movers arrived. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a few streaks of blood on my neck and jaw. I should've been alarmed, disturbed, something. I never thought David had that kind of violence in him, not really. I knew he had the potential to be dangerous. He definitely was physically capable of it. I was more unsettled by my lack of concern about it. As I washed my face, I could hear David's voice from right outside the door. After I was done with everything, I went back into the living room.
“I told you,” I nagged, “don't hang around the bathroom when I'm in there.”
“Just checking to see if you were crying,” he defended himself. “A doctor will be here in twenty.”
“Do you think he will press charges?”
“Zach?”
I nodded.
“I don't think so.” Then he shrugged. “Who knows?”
The doctor arrived and took care of David's hand. He needed eight stitches on his first two fingers, under the first knuckle, running horizontally. The doctor didn't ask any questions and we didn't offer any answers. But when I asked, “How many germs are in a human mouth? Is there a shot or something to combat them if they enter the blood stream?” David's eyes rolled up to the ceiling in a terrible attempt to act annoyed with my concern, but he failed to stop his lips from curling up at the edges. The doctor gave me a look, but said nothing. He did give David an injection of a nasty-looking antibiotic, though.