My Always One

by Aleatha Romig

  It’s not only his monster cock that puts him in a league all by himself.

  It’s him.

  Maybe that’s been my problem with finding my forever and always.

  I met mine at five years old and have been comparing everyone ever since. I don’t think it’s been a conscious thing, but as I imagine what he’s hiding under his blue jeans and my core clenches, I know the bar has been raised. Before it was Marshal’s friendship that was the standard measurement; now it’s so much more.

  “Here it is,” I say, clicking onto Jackson’s email account.

  Marshal is up and off the bed, his handsome face next to mine as he leans near my shoulder.

  “It looks like him.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Boring.”

  I start scrolling, reading each subject line. I have to agree it’s not enthralling reading. “What about folders?” I ask as I continue to navigate through Jackson’s private information.

  There are hundreds.

  Who has hundreds of folders?

  “Shit,” Marshal says, “look at all of those.”

  “And they’re all labeled with initials. It will take hours to go through them all.” I sigh and lean back. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  Marshal’s strong hands come to my shoulders. His long fingers squeeze and massage.

  “Oh.” I roll my head on my neck. “That feels so good.”

  “Don’t let him make you tense.”

  I can’t see my best friend, but I feel him. It’s not only his hands on my shoulders and neck, but it’s also his calming presence. “I think in some way, Jackson always did that.”

  Marshal’s hands come off my shoulders. “Well, then I won’t.”

  “No, please don’t stop. It feels amazing.” Once again, Marshal is behind me, squeezing and massaging. “Yes...”

  “What did he do?”

  “No details, remember.”

  “Honey, you’re not talking about sex. I know that.”

  My head shakes as I close my eyes. “Made me tense. I didn’t see it as it was happening. Like that night you were talking about, at that bar. I’d spent the day with Mom looking at wedding dresses and I didn’t realize that the time for dinner had been changed. I hadn’t looked at my texts, so even though I thought I was on time, I wasn’t.”

  Marshal didn’t say a word as his fingers continued their magic.

  I wasn’t seeing the computer screen right before my eyes but rather memories.

  “He said it was to help me, but he had that black dress and those shoes laid out for me. You said he was controlling. I didn’t see it.” I spin in the chair coming face-to-face with Marshal’s baby-blue stare. Emotions I’ve successfully avoided bubble inside me, churning our dinner. “How did that happen?”

  Marshal’s lips meet mine and I reach out to him, surrounding his thick neck until my breasts are against his solid chest.

  When our kiss ends, I shake my head and blink away unwanted tears. “Marshal, you’ve known me forever. Is that me? Am I so easily manipulated that I would allow someone to control me without my realizing it?”

  Taking my hand, he pulls me from the chair onto his lap as he sits again on the edge of the bed. For the longest time, he stares, brushing strands of hair from my face and over my shoulders. Although he isn’t speaking, I hear him, his turmoil and his angst. Whether he and I are intimate or only friends, there isn’t another soul on this earth who could answer my question with as much knowledge as Marshal.

  “Are you,” he finally says. It isn’t a question but a prelude. Marshal’s head shakes as the depth of blue in his orbs swirls with emotions. “No, Samantha Ann Anderson, you are not.”

  “Then how—”

  His finger comes to my lips. “You’re fucking strong. You’re adventurous. You’re smart. You’re brave and fucking loyal to your core. You’re also incredibly gorgeous, and if I haven’t mentioned it before, you have the best rack I’ve ever seen.”

  My lips curl as I tip my forehead to his. “I sense a but.”

  His fingers splay beneath the hem of my shirt. “Oh, yeah, you have a fine ass.”

  “Marsh.”

  He takes a deep breath while leaving his warm hands against my skin. “No, there’s no but. There is a sidebar. You saw a future, one you’ve been wanting since we were kids, and Jack offered that to you. You were so busy seeing the dream that you didn’t notice the nightmare lurking off-screen. Are you easily manipulated? There’s only one person who can do that to you.” He kisses me. “It’s you, honey. And the good news is you saw it, you figured it out, and you stopped him. That’s what his stupid invoice is to your parents. It’s him trying to take back power.” He tilts his chin toward my computer. “That over there is you refusing.”

  “Maybe that” —I lean my head toward the computer— “can wait. I’d really like to forget about him for a while and be reminded what it’s like to feel good.”

  Marshal takes ahold of the hem of my shirt and lifts. There’s no resistance from me as he pulls the tank top over my head, drops it on the floor, and stares down at my breasts.

  “Hello, ladies.” He pulls his gaze away from them and as his blue eyes meet mine, he shakes his head. “No bra, you naughty girl.”

  Warmth climbs my neck to my cheeks as my skin tingles and my nipples bead. “I wondered if you’d noticed.”

  “Only the second I walked through your door.”

  Reaching for his shoulders, I lean close and bring my lips near his ear, knowing I can be honest with him. “No panties either.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  His bicep bulges as with one hand, he pulls his t-shirt over his head. Every toned muscle makes itself known in his washboard abs.

  “Do you think the research can wait?” I ask.

  “I think we can find something better to do.”

  “You think?”

  “No, honey, I know. Lose the shorts.”

  “So bossy.”

  “I am, and you like it.” He lifted his chin. “Scoot up the bed. I haven’t had my dessert yet.”

  Marshal

  * * *

  I wake to that feeling that it’s not morning, yet the world is calling. As I blink my eyes, I see the way the otherwise-dark bedroom fills with light and different colors. Reaching for Sami, I find only cool sheets. They weren’t cool by the time we finally gave into sleep. No, they were on fucking fire.

  Unabashed receptiveness is something I need to add to my growing list of Sami’s attributes.

  Sitting up, I see my best friend through the darkness, sitting at her desk in front of her laptop. The light from the screen reflects off her white satin robe and her long chestnut hair is now piled on her head in a messy bun, giving me a sexy silhouette of her slender neck as she shakes her head.

  I blink again and again, finally noticing but not understanding what she has on the screen.

  As I roll to the side, the sheet drapes over my waist and leaning my elbow on the mattress, I prop my head on my fist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  She flinches at the sound of my voice as she cranes her neck toward me. “How?”

  “You never told me that you were into porn.”

  Her face inclines before she spins the chair toward the bed.

  Before I can speak, I’m struck by her expression. No longer is it the blissful one I saw as she cuddled against my side, laying her head on my arm and drifting off to sleep. From the illumination of the screen, I see her anguish. It isn’t only visual. Fuck, I feel it vibrating through the air as I scramble from the covers to look closer.

  “No,” Sami says as she stands, her small frame trying to shield the screen. “Please, Marsh.”

  I’m fully nude and that fact isn’t even on my radar. All I can concentrate on is Sami as I reach for her shoulders. “What the fuck, Sami?”

  Letting her chin fall to her chest, she takes a step to the side.

  I stare, my e
yes glued to the woman on the screen.

  Porn isn’t new to me.

  My education started young, sneaking peeks at Bruce Jefferson’s dad’s stash of Playboy and Hustler magazines. He kept them hidden in the attic of their detached garage.

  When I was older, Robbie Thompson discovered pay-per-view. Every Friday night I and a few other boys would spend the night. That didn’t last long, only until his parents received the detailed billing.

  Next, I figured the internet was safe until I learned about a thing called browsing history. That led to an interesting conversation with my mother, one that neither of us wants to remember.

  I could blame my viewing on curiosity or even hormones; however, no matter the root cause, as I became older, I found the real flesh-and-blood version far surpassed images or even movies.

  I’m hardly a prude. I enjoy a woman’s body for the amazing creation it is, and right now, the woman standing and staring up at me is so racked with emotion that it takes me a minute to understand.

  I blink my eyes again, certain my mind is playing tricks on me.

  Perhaps I’m still in bed and this is some kind of erotic dream.

  One more look at Sami confirms that one person’s dream is another person’s nightmare.

  My focus leaves the screen and goes to Sami.

  “What the fuck? Did you pose for that? Are there more?”

  A tear slides down her cheek as she shakes her head. “There are more. I don’t know how many.” Her words come out staccato, punctuated by her rapid inhalation.

  That fucking prick.

  “Did you pose?” I ask.

  “No.” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “I didn’t know.”

  “Are all the pictures of you?”

  “No.” Her volume rises. “Oh hell no. Based on quantity alone, I’d say I wasn’t his favorite model.”

  I’ll take her raised voice to tears any day of the week. “You have every right to be pissed.” I point to the screen. “You’re saying he took that picture and others without your consent.” I didn’t phrase it as a question, yet she answered.

  “Yes. Without my consent. Without my knowledge.”

  Sami spins around and enlarges the picture. Though it becomes very pixilated, I finally figure out what she’s showing me, the bed. I turn toward her bed. My memory is fuzzy.

  “The bed we got rid of, is that the one in the picture?” I ask.

  “No. This was taken in Jackson’s place before he moved in with me.” She flails her hands as she points toward the screen. “I’ve been looking at these for over an hour. The majority of them were taken at his place. I’m so damn angry. I think he must have had some kind of camera set up in his bedroom. But look...”

  She sits and quickly scrolls. “See this one?”

  “I’ve looked at porn with friends before, Sami, but for the record, this isn’t doing it for me.”

  “Good. Don’t look at the woman.” She points to the window. “Look at the trim around the window. See the color. I’m certain I know where it is.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She grunts as she again scrolls. “Don’t look at me in this picture. Look at the color of the window casing.”

  It’s fucking hard not to look at her. Damn, she’s stunning. Yet what gets my attention isn’t her perfect body; it’s her face. “Shit, Sami, you didn’t know this was being taken?”

  “No.”

  “Why aren’t you happy?”

  She quickly stands. “Maybe because I just found my ex-fiancé’s treasure trove of self-made porn. No, I think it’s called revenge porn.”

  “Only if he puts it out on the internet.”

  “Well, it violates some law.”

  “I think it does.” I rephrase my question, wanting an answer. “Why aren’t you happy in the picture?”

  She shakes her head. “God, I was such a dunce.”

  My blood pressure spikes. “Why aren’t you happy in that picture, Sami?” My hands ball into fists at my side. “Did that asshole force you?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “If I were to guess—because that’s what it will be since I don’t remember that exact instance—I would say that we argued and this was about to be make-up...” She shrugs not finishing her sentence. “He has this thing where he likes to watch.”

  “Watch what?” My mind is a cyclone of thoughts.

  Watch Sami with another guy.

  Watch her with another woman.

  Watch her with herself.

  “Sami, watch what?”

  She turns away. “No details, remember.”

  I can’t stop myself as I reach for her shoulder and turn her until she’s facing me. My question comes out louder and gruffer than I intend. “Watch what?”

  “Me touching myself.” She lifted her chin toward the computer. “Let me rephrase. He likes to watch women masturbate. Like I said, I wasn’t even his star model.”

  Fuck.

  Holding onto Sami’s shoulders again, I gently run my hands up and down the soft satin sleeves. The robe she’s wearing is barely long enough to cover her round ass. And if I tug on the sash, I am sure I could get a real-life view of the tits on the screen. Instead, I stay in friend mode. “As long as you were okay with it...”

  “I wasn’t okay with pictures.”

  “Tell me where you saw that weird color trim.”

  “It’s not weird. It actually looks nice. Wait...” Her eyes open wide as she pushes past me and picks up her phone on her bedside stand. “Shit, shit,” she mumbles, scrolling and looking down at her phone. “I deleted most of the pictures with him in them.” She stops and looks up at me. “Here. I must have kept it because his face isn’t in it.” She shoves the screen my direction.

  I see a table near an open window. On the table is a wine bucket and glasses. It’s then I see the same trim. My gaze meets hers. “Where was this?”

  “In Holland.”

  “That bed and breakfast?”

  She nods. “It’s called Feliena’s Room. Jack liked it because it’s larger than other rooms and has exclusive access to the porch.”

  “Apparently,” I say, going quickly through the pictures, checking out the ones with the greenish trim, “it also has exclusive access to cameras. I know this is hard, but look at the angle of all of the pictures.”

  This time, Sami is looking from behind me, her hands on my back as she peeks around my shoulder. “You’re right.”

  “Do you know the identities of the other women?”

  “Some,” she says as she sits on the edge of the bed. “There are dates. I’m not certain if the dates are representative of when the pictures were taken or when he uploaded them.”

  Turning away from the screen, I run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t understand why he has them in his email.”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve been looking through them for a over an hour. I’m not the only woman in pictures with dates after our engagement. Hell, Ellen and I aren’t even the only two. It seems that after he sold his apartment, he primarily used the bed and breakfast.”

  “This can’t be legal.”

  Sami sighs as she falls back on the bed, lifts her arms over her head, and stares up at the ceiling. “You’re naked.”

  It is the first time since I crawled out from the sheets that I even considered it.

  “Do you want to take my picture?”

  Faster than fast-pitch softball, Sami grabs a pillow and chucks it at me. “No. Don’t joke.”

  I walk toward her, then lean over her and climb onto the bed until I have her straddled. “Listen to me.”

  With an over six-foot-tall, two hundred-plus-pound naked man straddling her, Sami puts her hands over her ears and starts singing. “La la...”

  “Oh no.” I reach for her hands one at a time until I have both wrists secured over her head, and her wide-open green eyes staring up at me. “You, Samantha Ann, will listen to me.”

  “You can’t ma
ke me.”

  “I am making you. I have you pinned and your wrists captive.” Keeping her hands secure, I do what any naked friend would do. I untie her robe, stare down at her perfect body, and begin tickling her.

  Sami tries to resist, but within seconds, the bedroom rings with her laughter as she wiggles and writhes beneath me. “Stop it,” she cries between giggles. “I’m going to pee.”

  Letting go of her wrists, I reach for her waist and roll until she’s on top of me. Somewhere during the tickling, giggling, and rolling, Sami’s long hair became loose and is now hanging down around my face, leaving us in our own tunnel.

  “Thank you,” she says before leaving a kiss on my lips.

  “Honey, I’ll take your laughter over tears any day.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?” I ask, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “How you can find me angry and sad and make it all go away.”

  “I wish I could make it all go away, but I think you found the answer to that asinine invoice tiny-dick sent your parents. How about this weekend we take a trip to Holland?”

  She nods as my cock remembers that Sami and I are more than friends.

  We’re friends with benefits, and now that we’re awake and unclothed, it’s time for more benefits.

  Sami

  * * *

  “Did you request Feliena’s Room?” Marshal asks for the third time during this thirty-minute drive.

  “Yes, but on short notice, they couldn’t guarantee we’d get it. Honestly, we may not get a room at all. Besides, I’ve been thinking. How can we prove that we didn’t install cameras if we find them?”

  “This isn’t about legal action against the bed and breakfast. It’s about confirming our suspicions.”

  I stared out the window of Marshal’s car as we made our way into Holland. “You know, this is such a cute town. I hate that he has ruined it forever.”

  Marshal’s hand comes down gently on my knee and squeezes. “Only if you let him.” As we brake at a stop sign, he looks both ways. “It’s been forever since I’ve been here.” He turns his sexy smile my way. “Do you remember coming here for field trips?”