by Emily Snow
She sighs and looks down at Shady. “Did he force himself on you, too?”
“No. Actually, it was the other way around. She latched on and didn’t let go. Believe it or not, most bitches like me, Mary.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Bitches are apparently different than lambs, huh?” I smirk.
She doesn’t say anything, just continues looking around. When she sighs and looks at me again, I start to open my mouth, but she holds up her hand.
“Renee stays, too. I pay rent and utilities and—”
“No, I’ll be paying them, regardless. That’s not—”
“I pay rent and utilities, or I walk.”
I know damn well she didn’t come here to walk away, but I’m kind of loving her assertiveness.
“How about you pay utilities and take care of Shady?”
“I’m sure she’s no trouble.”
“Well, she is. She is horrible, the worst dog a man could have.” I walk slowly toward her. “She’s a bed hog, too.”
“Did you hear what he said about you, girl?” Mary says, squatting back down and petting her.
When she’s done, she stands up. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Come to bed, and I’ll tell you.” I grab her hand and walk toward the stairs.
She follows.
Good, little lamb, I think to myself.
Chapter Five
Mary
Not Strong Enough
His hand is so big. So strong. But I am terrified to follow him up those stairs.
“Shouldn’t you show me around?”
He sighs and turns around. “I suppose I should, but I want you in my bed.”
The way he says it, coupled with the way he looks at me, like he … wants me, sends chills up and down my spine.
“Garage and kitchen.” He points to where we were just standing. “Out back is Shady’s haven. It’s fenced in for her safety. Foyer. There’s a nice porch out front if you like sitting out and watching cars roll by.” he points at the front door, which is impressive. It’s bigger than an average door and wooden.
The large entry has a closet and dark wood floors. It’s seriously bigger than my apartment’s bedroom … or the one I left behind.
“Half-bathroom, dining room, living room, and beyond the living room is a den I use as an office. The computers all set for you with the same password as the security system.” He walks toward the stairs. “Three bedrooms. Two on the left; the master is on the right.”
I follow him up, and Shady follows behind me.
He turns right and points. “Laundry room is in there. There’s a bathroom shared between the second and third bedroom.” He opens a door and looks back at me. “Our room.” Then he winks. “Your room.”
I walk in behind him, and he lets go of my hand and stands back.
The room is huge. The bed is the biggest I have ever seen, sitting off the floor at least three and a half feet. There is a matching chest of drawers and a dresser with a large mirror above it. The television mounted on the wall in the corner is bigger than the one in my apartment yet only half the size as the one I saw in the living room downstairs.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“I think you like television,” I answer, looking up at him.
He smiles. It’s genuine and soft. “When I have downtime, I enjoy watching movies.”
“I think you’re expecting a lot of me.” To live here, to be his, to agree to this all tonight—it’s a lot to handle.
He nods once, shrugs, and then shakes his head. “I’m asking you to end a relationship that you aren’t happy with, but for some reason, you stay in.”
“It’s safe,” I answer as honestly as I can.
He smirks, and I see that arrogant pilot glint in his beautiful eyes. “Sweetheart, there is no man on the planet who can keep you safer than a man who has been trained to kill with his bare hands and has an arsenal of weapons at his disposable and the knowledge to use them.”
“Who is leaving—”
“But ensuring you are safe, comfortable, looked after, and have time to become independent and strong.”
“I’m strong. You said I was.”
“In some aspects, you are invisible. Others”—he shrugs—“need work. You’ll do the work here, and then, when I get back, I’ll know you’re ready to work on being strong with someone … with me.”
I look around for an escape.
“Why don’t you go shower, take a bath, whichever you prefer?” He looks at his watch. “Then we sleep.”
“And then you leave me to this.” I wave my hand around. “I’m not—”
“It’s easy if you allow it to be. Call him, break it off. The fucker is vacationing in the Hamptons with his family, and you’re here.”
“I don’t have time to vacation.” It’s not a lie, though not the whole truth.
“When I get back, you and I are going to take a long vacation.” He looks me up and down. “I’ll be half-starved by then, little lamb.”
“And what will we do? Will you tease me and leave me lying there again?”
“No. It will be different then.” He chuckles. “You’ll regret that statement.” In two swift steps, he is in front of me, pulling me hard against him. He kisses my head. “I’m being patient with you.”
At that assertion, I can’t help laughing. “That’s such a lie.”
He looks down and smiles. “Well, as patient as time and circumstances allow. I learned something tonight.”
I step back and look up at him. “Am I supposed to ask what?”
He smirks, kinks an eyebrow, and smiles. “I’m even stronger than I thought I was.”
“Is that possible?” I joke. The man seems very sure of himself at all times. “You’re pretty arrogant, you know.”
“I’m not arrogant at all, little lamb. I don’t exaggerate my ability.”
At that declaration, I feel a pull at my core. With the way he looks at me, I am again struck with the reality that he can see through me. Through the wall I worked for years to build.
He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it as he walks into the bathroom, almost dragging me behind.
He releases my hand and walks to the tub made for two, turns on the water, and then turns toward me. “Take a bath, relax, then come to bed.”
“With you?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Yes, Mary, with me.”
I look down, disconnecting my eyes from his, and see the bulge in his pants, doing a horrible job of hiding his desire.
I close my eyes and sigh.
He grips my shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he walks out, leaving me briefly before returning with a T-shirt that has the US Navy insignia on it.
“Sleep in this.” Then he leaves me alone.
As I lie in the bath, I think about everything that has transpired with Joe and me over the past few months. I know the feelings I have for him are totally different for the ones I have tried to avoid having since the day Jebadiah Shadows stormed into my life.
Shadows is a cocky bastard, conceited ass, an arrogant pilot, a man who throws down sexual innuendoes like lightning bolts, intending to start a fire. Little did he know when he began, I have a forest of feelings I have hidden for years. The summer storm Jebadiah Shadows ignited was like a wildfire, and I was unable to calm it even though I tried so hard.
Joe. Joe is safe—well, he was until I realized I was a pawn in a game to piss off his parents. He said it wasn’t true and asked what had gotten into me, the girl who was so sweet he had to have me, no matter what his friends or family said about me. He asked if it had anything to do with my “new friends.”
When I told him no, it wasn’t a lie. At least, I thought it wasn’t. It’s possible I watched the passion that oozed from Frankie and Jax for one another and wanted it, too.
When he announced he was vacationing in the Hamptons this summer, I was certain he would ask me to go.
&nbs
p; A week before he left, I broke down and asked him if he wanted me to come. He looked at me in a way you would look at a child whose delusional ideals of the Tooth Fairy and Santa Clause had exceeded their use-by date.
“You know my family will be there.”
I smiled and shook off the betrayal I felt, one that’s truth was concealed by my want to believe I could someday be accepted by a man who wasn’t “ruined” like me. I needed to believe him, wanted to believe him. I tried so hard to believe him that I did.
Two days before he left, I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling while he was in the bathroom, showering off … me. My thoughts wandered, and I found myself thinking about Shadows. Not just thinking about him, imagining him while I finished what Joe had started yet wasn’t able to achieve.
Was it wrong? Was I wrong? Broken? Fucked up?
Yes, it was. I was—I am.
Realization through self-induced orgasm brought on anger. Anger in myself for pretending I could ever be like Joe, like his friends.
When he came out of the bathroom fully dressed, and I realized he was leaving, I shoved my emotions away and simply sat up.
“I think we need a break.”
He jutted his chin out slightly, puffed up his chest, and stared directly into my eyes. “I was going to suggest the same thing. I just didn’t think saying it after sex was tactful or classy.”
The superior smugness, an attitude I had seen him give everyone around us and felt given to me at times, was unbridled, undiluted, and directed toward me.
I nodded, and he grabbed his cardigan.
“This doesn’t mean we’re not together. This means we are taking a break.”
I wanted him to leave, so I nodded once.
He nodded back and walked toward the door. Then he stopped and turned toward me, his eyes squinted, and he gave me a hard smile,
“I’ll be back in a couple weeks. We’ll decide how to proceed from there. If you cheat on me, you’ll regret it.”
I didn’t respond. The abused girl in me gave way to the intended intimidation.
Two days later, he called and asked how I was. Eventually, the calls became farther and farther apart and the messages every four or five days. Both calls and messages were quick and seemingly pointless. They weren’t, though.
He was showing me he’s here, and I know he always will be. As long as I play by his rules and don’t need him, he will keep me.
To me, it means I will be safe from other men and, more importantly, from my own sickening desires.
A knock at the door brings me back to the here and now.
“Just a minute,” I say as I push myself out of the now lukewarm bath water, stand, and towel off.
~~~
When I walk out, he is sitting on the bed. I notice that some of my things are scattered about the room.
“Did you …?” I stop because he clearly brought my things in.
“Left side of the closet is yours. The chest of drawers is yours. Your toiletries are in the bin next to the door. Your schoolbooks and supplies are in the office downstairs. Do you remember where that is?”
I nod.
“Good. Now let’s rest.”
He stands up and pulls the gray duvet cover down then turns and looks at me. His stance is wide, as are his shoulders and bare chest. His presence fills the entire room. He is more relaxed here in his home, more confident if that’s at all possible.
“Mary.” He steps toward me with his hand extended. “Which side of the bed do you prefer?”
I hold my hand over my stomach, trying to calm the nerves. I shrug and look down.
He takes my hand, pulling me toward the bed gently. “I thought all the shyness was gone. I saw you bare, made you come, showed you the same.” He stops at the end of the bed. “Which side, Mary?”
“Where’s my phone?”
He points toward the dresser.
I pull my hand gently back and walk to it. I open my messages, and unlike my friends, there is no message from my mother telling me she misses me, my aunt asking me to have lunch, my boyfriend confessing his undying love or telling me he can’t wait to see me.
Nothing but Joe from three days ago, asking, How are you?
I take a deep breath and start to message him back.
“Mary, can that wait?”
I look back at him and nod. He leaves tomorrow. I can deal with Joe then.
“Good. Left or right?” he asks about my side preference again.
“It’s your bed,” I say with a little bit of annoyance.
His eyes smile, and he takes one, two, three steps toward me then grabs me and lifts me up before walking back to the bed and maneuvering himself in the middle with me on top of him.
I am looking down at him. He flashes me a smile, and I immediately feel embarrassed. He grips my hip with one hand; the other is behind his head.
“This works for me.” His eyes soften. “Pick a side, little lamb, or you’re going to have a big surprise in about two seconds.
“It’s your bed,” I repeat.
He shakes his head. “Not the point.”
“Then what is?” I ask as he shifts underneath me, and I am forced to hold myself in position by putting my hands on his toned six-pack.
“I want you to be comfortable.”
“Well, I’m not,” I admit.
“You will be.”
“For how long?” I ask without thinking. Needy, I sound completely needy.
His eyes search mine as he clasps my knees. “Ask me how many women I’ve asked which side of the bed they prefer.” He slowly strokes the inside of my knees, causing me to allow desire to seep in.
Desire mirrors in his eyes, and his body hardens underneath me.
“How many?” I ask then swallow back the thickening need in my voice.
“None.” He runs his hands up and down my highs slightly. “Ask me how many have slept in this bed, this house.”
I can’t speak, or my voice will betray me again.
“Not one, Mary.”
I nod.
“Ask me why.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to, because he’s not safe for me.
“I have fucked a lot of women: for release, to pass time, because it just feels fucking good, and to try to get a certain someone out of my head. A certain someone who is trying her best to turn off something she thinks is wrong, but it’s not. Christ, Mary, it’s okay.”
“Why me?” I finally ask, my voice breaking like I knew it would.
“Oh, little lamb, you have no idea, do you?”
I look away, and he sits up, spreading his knees so I drop between his legs, my feet at the sides of his waist.
He looks down briefly, and I am reminded I chose not to put on dirty panties after my bath. I should have grabbed them.
He lifts my chin. “You’re not every man’s fantasy Mary. You’re not a goddamned Barbie doll with a trust fund. You aren’t overly confident. Hell, the confidence you do have is bullshit, and the confidence you should have is buried.”
I pull my chin away from his hand, ashamed and further embarrassed.
Both of his hands land gently on my cheeks, and he turns my face toward him. “You’re not every man’s fantasy, because they know fuck not. You are mine. My fantasy. And come hell or high water, you’ll be my reality.”
I close my eyes in hopes of storing the image before me in my head, my brain, my memory. I have never been looked at that way, not even by him. Not that I have allowed myself to see until now.
Chapter Six
Shadows
Bedtime Stories
She is trembling again, and fuck, it amps me up, but I need to proceed with caution.
For months, my every intention of doing this smoothly has been fucked up by my inability to shut my fucking mouth around her. It is messing with me and making me come off as unstable.
“I don’t understand you, Shadows. I don’t. I mean … Do you think you’re in love w
ith me?”
She keeps talking, but holy shit, did she just ask me if I was in lo- lo- lo-
Fuck, I can’t even think the damn word, let alone say it.
By the time she’s done talking, I have no clue what it is she just asked, except the lo- lo-
Fuck it. That part.
“What I know”—I emphasis “know” because I just can’t think when it comes to her—“is that you and I have both come from beginnings not many have survived, yet here we are. What I know is that part of you you’re trying to hide, that you can’t face, is not a sickness, Mary. Shit happens. Awful shit happens, and we either let it consume us, or we find a way to live with it. What I know is that the person you choose to spend time with, build a life with, become a partner with should enhance everything you are, including where you came from and what you have overcome. They should show you that who you are today, even the parts you find you need to hide, are not something you should hide from them. I will show you that.”
She shakes her head. “Pick someone else to be your cause. I don’t need you to make me okay. I’ve done just fine alone.”
She attempts to get up, but I hold her securely.
“No one else has ever made me want to get close enough to them to even consider this. No one.”
“Stop, okay?” She pushes at my arms, and I let her escape. I let her because she is not my prisoner.
As much as I want her, it wouldn’t be enough. Even a wolf tires of toying with its prey.
She stops and turns around, pointing an angry finger at me. “You don’t think I know what you want. You want the weak person you see inside of me. You want to keep me safe because you couldn’t keep your sister safe. I’m not sick. I can control the dark parts of me. I can go days without even thinking about it. Can you say the same?”
Annoyance has always replaced the feeling of hurt and pain inside me. I do what I can to keep it at bay now, but it’s not easy when you feel like you are opening yourself up for the first time ever.
“I don’t want you fucking weak Mary. I want your strength. I couldn’t keep her safe, and it fucking kills me, but it doesn’t consume me anymore. The darkness, you can hide.” I half-laugh. “I live the life I do because I can’t and won’t hide it. As far as picking someone who thinks I can fix them to spend my life with, fuck that. People don’t fix other people; they fix themselves. You and I, Mary, we are survivors. I don’t want someone who isn’t going to eventually become strong enough to be my partner.”