Mutual Release

by Liz Crowe

  He moved fast, yanking her shorts down and shoving his fingers past her panties, and making her gasp in agony at the sudden piercing pain before he covered her mouth, held her down on the desk, looking down at her with pure evil in his eyes.

  Evan sat in the roomy first class seat, rattling the bourbon-flavored ice cubes in his glass, sunk deep in a mire of confusion tinged with a nearly breathtaking horniness that was only now starting to fade. He looked across the aisle at Julie, the woman who’d captured his imagination and was on the verge of bringing out all the lessons he’d learned about trust, and how important his role was going to be in her life.

  She was curled over on her side, sound asleep, her near-perfect face calm for a change, her usually furrowed brow smooth and that smart-ass mouth silent. She flinched once, eyelids fluttering in some kind of dream state. Evan was mesmerized by her, had to practically sit on his hands to keep from touching her.

  He had never felt so strongly about anyone, not Rachel, not Karen, not Felicia, not Sophie… no one. It was distressing, kept him up nights pondering the potential power of their ultimate connection. It scared the living shit out of him if he were totally honest with himself. It was not as if he thought he’d never find someone special, but this someone… she was special, but he wasn’t quite sure if he could handle what she needed from him.

  Julie muttered something, shuffled around. He reached over and pulled the blanket back over her shoulder, using it as an excuse to run a finger along the edge of her jaw, willing her to relax. Which she did.

  “Oh hell,” he muttered and flopped back into his own seat. He had no business going full Dom on this woman, but the very second he’d realized it was what she would require – that moment in her office when he’d brought in the beers to compare and she’d let him kiss her – he was unable to purge the compulsion from his brain. He needed this. Bad. But felt neither ready nor worthy.

  Thinking back on all his experiences so far, he realized while he may have the physical power to bring a woman to orgasm, to draw out that experience using a unique blend of pain and pleasure, Julie Dawson needed something deeper – to be able to trust him. And that he was not completely certain he deserved yet. This really bothered him when he acknowledged it. And made him sure of one thing – he planned to earn it.

  “No.” Julie’s breathy exhalation made him turn, instantly on alert. She was asleep still, he could see that, but kept thrashing around, tossing the blanket to the floor of the cabin and brushing at her arms, her stomach, as if shoving something down and off her body. “Stop,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Please.”

  Evan’s every cell and fiber went into hyper-drive. Someone had hurt this beautiful, crazy, driven woman. Visions of Damian floated through his brain. Every trail he’d followed that asshole down had gone cold. His mother tried to help, but was fading into a dementia which made her ask Evan where Olivia was every time he stopped by the now-empty house to bring her favorite treat – a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar. But the vision of Julie – his woman; he already thought of her as his, probably to his ultimate detriment – flailing around in the grip of a nightmare made him want to start hitting things. So he channeled the anger and already fierce possessiveness that had gripped him these last weeks, waved the flight attendant away with a smile, and knelt next to her seat.

  “Julie,” he said firmly, holding on to one ice-cold arm. “Julie, wake up. It’s okay. I’m here. I won’t…” His voice broke but she was calming already. Her chest heaved as she tried to breathe through the panic, but her eyes fluttered open, staring at the seat in front of her first, then at him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said, never more serious about anything in his life. “You okay?” He held up a hand and a water bottle appeared in it. He opened it and handed it to her.

  She shook, but took a sip. He kept his palm on her arm for another minute, staying silent, letting her collect herself knowing he was nearby. Her breathing calmed, she sipped the water, then looked at him with those incredible blue eyes. He smiled, pouring all he had into willing her to sense she could trust him.

  “Sorry,” she said, running a hand down her face. He itched to kiss her, and his near-constant erection roared to life again, making him wince in his crouched position. When he did take this step with her, it would be epic. But getting there might kill him, of that he was certain. “All right, mother hen, I’m good.” She pulled her arm out from under his hand. “Can I have one of those?” She pointed to his rocks glass on the tray.

  “A cup of ice? Your wish is my command.” He stood, not even attempting to hide the pretty obvious effect she’d had on him. Jeans did not leave any room for imagination or raging hard-ons. She raised an eyebrow at it, then looked up at him. He kept one hand on the back of her seat and the other on the one in front of her, looked over to ask the attendant for two more Pappy Van Winkles.

  “Well then, Country Club,” she said, lifting her glass to clink his, “better put that thing away before you scare the natives.” She looked right at his crotch and sipped.

  Evan smiled and slipped into his seat across the aisle from her, holding out his hand. She took it and with that one gesture he held out a small glimmer of hope.

  “Thanks,” she said, leaning back and looking over at him.

  “Sure. I understand girls with expensive tastes in brown liquor.” He sipped, loving the warm, smooth burn of the hundred-year-old bourbon.

  “Yeah, that too.” She sipped and turned back, but left her hand in his for a few more minutes before the attendant broke it up, making her way toward the back of the plane.

  “Holy shit, I am wiped out,” Evan groaned when the bellboy finally left after showing them the fully-stocked bar, the fridge, how to work the complex shower and tub, and practically drooling all over Julie in the process. He would really have to work on his inner jealous tyrant, Evan mused as his ears burned while he tipped the punk. This was a wholly new sensation, and he knew he wasn’t handling it well at the moment. He looked around to find Julie, but she’d disappeared into the bedroom. She wandered out, whistling at the obnoxious opulence of the suite.

  “You sure do know how to take a holiday trip, don’t ya? It must be the Country Club boy in you.” She grabbed one of the Brooklyn Lagers from the bar and perched on one of the stools at the high granite counter.

  Evan gave a jaw-cracking yawn as a response. He felt like he’d been drugged, but bourbon did that to him, especially early in the day.

  “Well, I can certainly attest to the fact that a nap will do wonders for you. Be my guest.” She flipped through a magazine, pulled her long blond hair up off her neck with a band, making him nearly fall over with the need to press his lips and tongue along that now-exposed expanse of flesh. She sipped, and he could tell she was at peace, calm for a change, and not humming like a fucking live electrical wire.

  All was well with her for the moment. But he also realized it would and could change at the drop of a hat, or a comment, or a move from him. He sighed and wandered into the bedroom, already sensing his eyes drooping shut as he kicked off his shoes, shed his jeans and travel-wrinkled shirt before climbing under the silky duvet. He stretched out on his back, relishing the feel of the soft cotton on his skin. His cock was hard, but he was getting used to that state of affairs. He had even stopped jacking off morning, noon, and night, knowing he should save himself and his energy for the task ahead – the breaking down of Julie’s many tall, imposing barriers so she would be his, heart, head, and soul.

  His dreams were a tangle of images: Olivia, her healthy, strong laughter and the amazing beauty she was on stage; his mother, the woman he’d never understood but loved as a son will, broken down by the boy who’d fucked them all. And finally Damian, tall, handsome, cocky, gripping a cigarette with hands which he used to hurt, maim, hold women down while he…

  Evan jerked awake, breathing heavily in the dark room. His heart pounded, his skin crawled with a familiar agony, as when he’d realized he had
failed his sister and given her over to a monster. He groaned and put his feet on the floor, trying to shake the gut-deep feeling of frustration and unhappiness.

  “Evan?” Julie was at the door, holding his phone. “Sorry, but, uh, this kept ringing and I answered it. It’s your mom.” She held the thing out, making him blink. She kept her finger on the mute button. “Chatty, isn’t she?” But her smile was soft, and he sensed she was still okay, hadn’t flipped her switch over to manic again, at least not yet.

  “Yeah.” He smiled back, covering his lap and cursing his apparent teenager-like lack of control over his own body whenever the woman was within five feet of him.

  She put the phone in his hand, then surprised him by leaning over to press a soft kiss on his cheek before she walked out. He ripped his eyes from her hip-swaying exit and answered. By the time he emerged from the bedroom, more than a little wrung out from trying to remind his mother’s fading brain her daughter was dead, as was her husband, and that Evan had eaten dinner with her the night before and would not be around for “actual Thanksgiving,” Julie was tucked up on the large leather couch, sipping her beer and staring out the window.

  “She seems very nice,” she said, her face neutral.

  He flopped into a chair opposite her. “Yeah, well, you don’t know the whole story.”

  She shot him such an odd look he was instantly on alert. “No, I don’t,” she said, before turning away. “Bet mine is worse.”

  “Not a contest,” he said, wanting to end this particular line of discussion. “Let’s go out. Get some food. Have a drink. Enjoy New York City a little.”

  “What am I supposed to wear? I wasn’t exactly given time to pack.”

  “Oh, right.”

  She glared at him. “If you hand me an AmEx gold card and tell me to shop wherever I want, I will punch you in the fucking nose.”

  He laughed. “No, no, but I will tell you to go look in the bedroom closet.”

  “How would you…?” She rose, nearly making him breathless at the sight of her curvy perfection as it unfolded from the couch. She marched into the bedroom. He counted to ten. “How the hell did you know what size I wear? What I would… want to… Damn, Country Club, is this a Versace? I’m gonna have to find a new nickname for you – something like Sugar Daddy.”

  “Ah, no, I like Country Club better. It grounds me.” He stood and walked up behind her as she perused the closet full of designer evening, casual, and exercise wear.

  She whipped around, something new in her eyes that made him uncomfortable. But then it was gone. He smiled, forced one from her, and headed for the bathroom. “I call the first shower. Or would gladly share, you know, conserve water and all that?”

  “Dream on, dream boat,” she said as she pulled out a hot black dress and matching shoes. He grinned. “I want to wear these tonight. So I hope you brought your dancing shoes or had them magically appear or whatever.”

  He stopped and watched as she held the dress up to her and looked in the large mirror. “I knew that would be perfect.”

  “You are a manipulative SOB but with really great taste in clothes. I may keep you around.” She looked over her shoulder and shot him a flirty wink.

  He scoffed, shut the bathroom door behind him and flipped on the shower to disguise the sound of himself moaning in pain. He had never truly grasped the term “blue balls” until that minute. He was going to be very hard-pressed to hold back.

  But that part was crucial with a woman like Julie. This whole thing had to go at her pace or it would detonate all over him, ruining his chances for the real connection he so badly desired.

  They sat at some random and very expensive sushi bar, laughing over their river mud fight and chatting about the local beers they’d tasted so far. Or rather she chatted and Evan listened, observed, and almost decided Julie Dawson was a woman he may want but would never truly have. He could sense her every nuance of mood, the way her scent changed when she got excited about something, even something as innocuous as a perfectly hopped IPA. When he realized she’d stopped talking about anything at all, he sat up straighter.

  She frowned at him. “You realize staring is rude, right?” She put a bite of tuna sashimi to her mouth. He watched her chewing, unable to speak at the sight of her jaw, her lips, and the long line of her throat. “Yo, Country Club, you need a Red Bull or something? I feel like I lost you somewhere between the hotel and here.” His face flushed. “Holy shit, you just blushed. That was the cutest thing I have ever seen.” She let her chopsticks hover over the plate of brightly colored fish, plucked one of the hotter looking morsels and held it to his lips. He wondered if he would be able to swallow but opened his lips, took the stinging hot portion. She raised an eyebrow. “Impressive,” she said, letting her eyes trail along his chest, and lower.

  “You won’t make me blush by checking me out.”

  “Damn. I like it when you do that.” She picked up another bite, ate it, then sipped her beer in silence. Evan kept watching her, now staying quiet on purpose so he could sense her mood better. “So,” she said, apparently unable to let the quiet drag on any longer, “you said if I joined you on this horrifically spontaneous and out-of-character junket you would tell me something about you.” She pointed at him with the chopsticks. “You know, along the lines of what I told you about me?”

  He smiled, but his brain was buzzing. Was this the time? In this neutral, totally non-sexual environment surrounded by a bunch of overpaid, bored, pasty-faced New Yorkers? He took a breath. “Okay, well, do you want a family secret? Or… something else?” A sudden calm descended, and the rest of the noisy, trendy restaurant faded as he locked eyes with her. Every nerve in his body was on alert, but his mind was quiet when he realized what he needed to tell her now. “Never mind, I’m choosing.”

  She leaned back as he leaned forward and touched the hand she had resting on the table. “Okay, Mr. Mysterious, what’s up with you?” But he sensed she was nervous; he could smell it on her, and it nearly made him insane. Wondering just how he would manage being so in tune with a woman who had the potential to make his life a living hell while showing him the brightest parts of heaven, he took a deep breath.

  “I have spent the last nearly fifteen years frequenting clubs which support my sexual preferences, my… lifestyle. As a Dom. While it does involve physical urges and requirements, it’s more than that. My personality demands I… be in control.”

  She stared at him, blinked once. “Well, okay then.” She sipped, but her hand shook, rattling the glass when she set it on the table.

  He leaned forward and put his entire hand over hers. She calmed, and closed her eyes. “I know you sense something about me. Like just now, when I touched you. And your heart stopped pounding so hard.” She opened her eyes, looked shocked for a half second, then frowned. He kept going, figuring he may as well lay the whole thing out for her now.

  “So the things you need to know about me relative to this are,” he held up fingers as he counted, “one. I like it rough. Two. I’m in control in the bedroom. I set the stage, I call the shots. You will have an orgasm – several of them, but only when I tell you to. Three. I don’t share. You’re mine. And four. You have to trust me. Completely. And that is going to be hard for you, I can tell.” He narrowed his eyes, deciding to jump in with both feet, caution be damned. “Why don’t you tell me what happened to you that makes you cry out in your sleep?”

  She tried to pull her hand out from under his but he gripped it harder, holding her in place. She bit her lip, blinked fast, and he felt her anxiety rise to a near fever pitch.

  “Julie,” he whispered, leaning even further over the small table, “who hurt you?” Even as he heard the words come from his mouth he regretted them. It was too much too soon. She wasn’t ready to trust him and he’d fucking blown it by jumping right into her worst nightmare and demanding she share it with him.

  He let go of her hand and sat back, trying to calm the wild thrumming of his own pulse.
Her eyes were dark, her leg shook under the table, and he knew he’d lost her, at least for the next few hours. Goddamn, Adams. What made you think that was the right approach? You know how skittish she is, and it’s obviously because someone has really hurt her physically, emotionally, something. And not her gay husband either.

  He looked around. Time to break the moment. “So, there you go. You done? I’m sick of this place. Let’s go to that club you were telling me about.” He stood. She sat a moment, staring at him, her face unreadable. The way a slow, seductive smile spread across her face told him one thing – he was doomed, at least for tonight.

  “Okay,” she said, getting to her feet. She had on the slinky, curve-hugging black Versace and the mile-high shoes which laced up her ankle. “Let’s go.” She stepped right up to him, eye-level thanks to the shoes, and put her hand to his face. The heat of her skin made him want to gasp. But he didn’t. He let her run her finger along his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulder. And when his ever-vigilant cock sprang back to attention, he grabbed her ass and pressed her close.

  “Yeah, you do this to me. It’s part of our… dynamic… if you will. I’m a walking boner whenever you’re around. Lucky for you,” he bit her earlobe hard and she squirmed against him as her arms went around his neck, “my control over this will have everything to do with your pleasure. But don’t fuck with me, Julie. I’ll know it when you do. We clear?”

  She jerked away, glaring at him, and stomped out, leaving him standing alone. He grabbed the shawl she’d left behind and his coat and followed her out.

  Chapter Three

  From there, the night progressed pretty much as Evan expected – straight downhill. The twenty-block cab ride was tense at best until just before they arrived, when Julie put a hand on his thigh and gripped it. But she kept her eyes forward when she spoke, as if afraid to look at him – or too freaked out, one or the other.