Earning Her Trust: Braxton Arcade Book One

by Adore Ian

  I do neither of course.

  We run the drill a few more times on both sides. By the time we’re doing it full speed, I feel like a fucking boss. Damian pins my arms above my head and all I do is get one of my legs between us, get him in a triangle choke and turn to the side. He goes down like a tree before Paul Bunyan. Hands free.

  “When you get free, you run,” he says. “Most assailants won’t chase you. They want easy targets.”

  Damian

  The next weekend, I’m still thinking about how Marrin didn’t tell me about the letter. We talked about it some more and I totally get where she’s coming from. I know the reason she didn’t tell me wasn’t because she doesn’t trust me. But it still kinda bothers me.

  Then again, maybe I’m just feeling guilty because right now I’m driving to go have dinner with Nadia.

  It’s early Saturday evening and Marrin has the night off. I’d much rather be hanging out with her, but instead I told her I had plans and that I’d see her after. I didn’t tell her I was meeting my mom and she didn’t ask.

  I pull up to the restaurant and exit my vehicle.

  A minute later, I’m sitting down across from Nadia.

  Less than twenty minutes later, I get up and leave.

  My chest is tight, my throat clogged. I’m sweaty with fury and a sadness I don’t understand.

  I didn’t say goodbye—just peaced the fuck out.

  I don’t remember the drive back to my apartment. All I know is that at a quarter till eight, I’m knocking on Marrin’s door.

  She answers and I fucking crumble at the happy, surprised look on her face.

  She pulls me inside and my forehead finds her shoulder.

  “Dame, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nadia,” I choke. “Fucking. Nadia.”

  White-hot fury scores my back. For a second, I wish I’d never come here. I want to break something. Want to ram my fist into something to take the edge off my anger.

  The concrete floor is looking pretty good. That won’t break.

  But my hand will.

  “Fuck,” I growl. “Fuck.” I back away from Marrin, wiping angry tears. I cover my face and retreat until I hit the wall. I knock my head against it once, twice—

  “Stop,” Marrin orders. She takes my head in her hands and forces me to look at her. “Baby, what happened?”

  I don’t think she’s ever called me that before. I hate how much I like it. Hate how much it calms me down—how much she calms me down, the compassion in her eyes. I want to be angry… but I can’t find the strength.

  I slide to the floor, bringing her with me. I pull her onto my lap and hide my face in her shoulder. Thank fuck I’ve stopped crying.

  She cradles my head. “What happened?”

  “Nadia invited me to dinner. I’ve no clue why I went. I got there and she was her usual robotic self. I asked why she’d invited me and she told me she wanted to talk about what happened to me. Said she’s finally able to talk about it. Like—right there in the middle of a fucking restaurant for fuck’s sake. Who the fuck does that?”

  I feel the tears again and tilt my head up to the ceiling.

  “I hate her. I hate her. She’s a selfish fucking bitch who told me to keep my mouth shut because God forbid anyone know her son had been molested by a grown man. God forbid he have to suffer any consequences. Or my family. They acted like nothing happened—nothing. I was the only one who suffered. I kept my mouth shut because I was a kid and I was scared and my parents told me to stay quiet so I did. Parents are supposed to protect their kids, Mar. They’re supposed to protect us.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “My dad was a cold bastard, but my mom hadn’t always been. She used to be warm and loving and—I remember liking her. I remember thinking she was a good mom when I was little. But then she changed. And now all of a sudden she’s ready to talk about what happened to me? Are you fucking kidding me? She doesn’t get to decide that. Right?”

  “Right.” Marrin holds my face, leveling our eyes. “Only you can decide when you’re ready to talk to her. She doesn’t get to dictate terms just because she’s suddenly willing to acknowledge what happened or that she failed as a parent. She doesn’t get to decide how you feel or when you’re ready. She doesn’t get to decide whether or not you forgive her. She doesn’t get to decide any of it. The best she can do is own what she did and apologize.”

  “She hasn’t even done that—apologize. She just started talking and I couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair.” Tears leave my eyes. “It felt unfair.”

  “It was unfair. And thoughtless and selfish and cruel. You deserve so much better than that. I’m so sorry this happened.”

  I pull her to me and inhale her scent. She cradles me and we stay that way until I’m able to get up.

  Sometime later on the couch, she says, “This might sound shitty, but at least Nadia is trying to reconcile. She might be going about it the wrong way, but that’s more than I got from my mom.”

  “She’s never apologized?”

  “In court, yeah, but not really. Not honestly. Her defense team tried to argue she’d been manipulated into taking drugs and that’s why she attacked me. She calls the Arcade every year on Thanksgiving, but I’ve never accepted the call.”

  “How come?”

  She shrugs. “It’s easier. If I only let her be the villain then she can’t disappoint me again. Frank got two months in jail, by the way.”

  I perk up immediately. “Did he now?”

  She nods. “Yep. Alice called earlier to let me know. Judge said next time he violates the restraining order he’s going to prison.”

  “Nice. Though, he should already be in prison.”

  “Agreed. But I’ll take what I can get.”

  We hang out for a few more hours then I leave to go sleep and think at my place.

  Problem is I can’t sleep. And when I think, I feel angry and helpless. I hate feeling helpless. Hate feeling uncertain and weak. I need to be in control. Need to feel powerful and respected and confident.

  Damian: You up?

  It’s past midnight, I doubt she is.

  Marrin: Yeah. Why?

  Damian: I want you in a bad way.

  Marrin: I’m listening.

  Damian: Remember what you said about manhandling? I wanna do it. I wanna chase you, catch you, then fuck you. I wanna own you. Full submission, but I want you to play hard to get.

  Marrin: (squeals) Right now?

  Damian: Yes. That okay?

  Marrin: Hell yes. Give me 10 minutes.

  Damian: Safety word is still parakeet, right?

  Marrin: Yes. And if I can’t talk, I’ll tap you or something three times.

  Damian: Yep. Understood. Could you wear nylons?

  Marrin

  Damian shuts the door to my apartment. It’s dark. I’m wearing a simple black dress and black nylons. My hair is tied in a loose braid. He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt. I back away as he takes off his shoes and socks.

  “What’s your safety word?” he says. His voice is vicious and low and laced with promises of punishment.

  “Parakeet,” I reply because I know he needs to hear it, needs to make sure I know I’m in control and that we can stop the scene at any time.

  “Come here, Red.”

  A thrill twirls through me and my clit grows heavy. The game has begun.

  I back away. “Why, Sir?”

  “Because you belong to me. Your body belongs to me, your pleasure. Everything. Come here.”

  I keep the smile off my face as I take a step back. “No.”

  Damian lunges for me. I get away only because I leap onto the coffee table and he has to go around. I hop over the couch and land on the floor behind. He rounds the opposite end and I back away.

  He stops his hunt.

  I stop my retreat.

  “You wanna know what I thought when you fainted? Like I was a king and you were a foreign kingdom ripe for the
taking. I wanted to conquer you right there. Fuck you for everyone to see just so they’d all know who you belong to.”

  My ovaries are going to explode. Blood is rushing to all the right places in my body and I can’t remember why I’m supposed to run from him.

  I remind myself it’s about him tonight. He wants to feel in control, wants the conquest, the power. So I say, “I’m not a kingdom, Sir.”

  A savage kind of desire settles over his face.

  “But you are mine,” he croons. He removes his shirt, flashing the goods I’m ready to max out my credit card for a taste of. Hard, sculpted muscles—tense and heavy in the glow of the moonlight pouring in from the windows. Just the right amount of tattoos—

  Kill. Me. Dead.

  I lick my lips. I’m so turned on, it hurts.

  He smiles like a predator. “You’re wet aren’t you, Red? You’ve been without me for too long. We both know it’s true. Both know I have what you need.” He cups the erection straining against his jeans. “What your slutty little pussy craves. Now come here—”

  He lunges and the nylons make the concrete too slippery to get away. He grabs me from behind, hands taking liberties as he does.

  “Struggle all you want, but this,” he gropes between my legs, “is mine.”

  But then he snakes his hands together in a bear hug and I know what he wants. I hook a leg around his and pry his top finger until I’m free.

  “You’ll have to catch me first,” I tease, prancing across the room.

  Then it’s on. Damian hunts and I flee. He catches me and I get away a few more times before he catches me in such a way that I know we’re past the foreplay.

  His arms are like iron bands around my torso and he hauls me into the air.

  “You done running?” he growls.

  “Yes, Sir,” I pant.

  “Good.”

  He bends me over the back of the couch with the grace of one throwing a wet towel over a clothesline. A large hand forces my head down toward the cushions, my feet strain for purchase on the slippery floor. He shoves up my dress to my hips—SMACK.

  Jesus fuck.

  Damian doesn’t just smack my ass, he smacks my pussy. It’s painful and erotic and touches my clit just enough that I definitely want him to do it again—SMACK.

  I throw out my arms to hold myself up as sensation goes through me like lightning.

  Hands slither up my thighs and grab the fabric covering my sex. There’s a distinct ripping sound and the thought of Damian tearing my nylons, how it must look, causes warmth to flood my core.

  Cool air hits my vulva just before hot breath. My whole body tightens in anticipation.

  “No panties today, Red?”

  “No, Sir—”

  SMACK.

  There’s no time to recover before Damian shoves his entire cock inside me. It’s barbaric and obscene and borderline painful. The collision of our bodies so violent I gasp and squirm—unable to hold myself up.

  He grips my hips and spears me with his cock over and over and over again. Greedy and cruel. No thought for my pleasure as he fucks me. Taking and taking and taking.

  I love every goddamn second of it.

  He pulls my hair hard and I arch back. He shoves up my dress as far as he can then leans forward long enough to unhook my bra with his teeth. The weight of his body is momentarily crushing, thoughtless. He releases my hair to grab the back of my neck and bend me just enough for his other hand to get a rough fistful of my breast.

  I yelp in pleasure and pain.

  “Fuck yeah,” he grunts, cock still driving into me in brutal, gluttonous thrusts.

  Everything about him is uncivilized and filthy. He’s fucking to claim, to conquer. To force submission. I feel branded and used, and so incredibly turned on. I hear us meet every time he fucks into me. It’s absolutely obscene and I’m doing this to him. I’m allowing him to take what he wants and it makes him so hard and happy. I grow wetter at the thought.

  “What’re you thinking about, Red?”

  “How greedy you are,” I gasp. “How you’re fucking me like a Neanderthal. How much I want your hot cum inside me, all over me.”

  Grunting like a beast, he releases my neck. He hauls me up, pulls out of me, flips me around, shoves up my dress and bites each of my breasts hard.

  I half yelp, half moan. He points to the ground. “Elbows and knees.”

  I consider not obeying, trying to gauge if that’s what he wants.

  But he’s all business and cruelty. “You want me to get you off, Red?” He slaps between my legs. “Then get on your fucking elbows and knees and put this pussy in the air for me to take.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I move faster than a bat outta hell. Then I wait, prone and ready, ass in the air. Jeans rustle but I can’t see what he’s doing.

  “Christ…” He massages my ass cheeks. “If you could only see the view, Red. Best view in the whole world and it’s just for me, isn’t that right?”

  SMACK.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He shoves two fingers into me and I moan at the unmistakable cooling sensation of lubricant. He grabs my hips. “Quiet.”

  He slathers me, then shoves his cock inside me to continue his barbaric intrusions.

  I moan. The sound and feeling exquisite.

  “Silence, Red. Not a peep.”

  But another moan escapes me as he varies his shallow strokes with a deep thrust.

  He reaches around me and pulls one of my nipples. I whimper.

  He pulls out. All sensation gone.

  “What did I say? If you can’t follow the rules, there are other ways I can shut you up, Red.”

  I clamp down on my bottom lip. I love bossy, caveman Damian.

  He starts to fuck me again, grunting and groaning. Filthy, nasty things leave his mouth. He pushes me down so that I’m propped on my cheek and knees then he folds my arms behind my back, holding them with a hand. He pumps into me, balls slapping my clit. It’s degrading and bestial and my climax grows and grows until it rushes over me.

  “What do you say, Red?”

  I’m nothing more than a twisted ball of moaning and groaning and panting. But I manage, “Thank you, Sir—oh fuck—Sir, thank you for your cock—oh shit—I love your cock, Sir.”

  “Jesus Christ. This pussy, baby,” Damian pants, and I know his control is slipping. His orgasm barreling for him as mine starts to ebb.

  I smile. “You gonna come for me, Damian?”

  “Yeah,” he grunts.

  “Gonna feed my hungry cunt everything your big cock has to offer?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  “Fuck me, Damian. Fill me with your hot cum. I wanna take it. All of it.”

  That does the trick. He grips my hips and shoves himself into me almost frantically.

  Skin claps, fluids leak. It smells like sex, sounds like rutting, feels like fucking and so much more.

  Damian collapses on top of me.

  I slide forward until we’re both lying flat. His weight is crushing, but I don’t ask him to move. Instead I use one of the self-defense moves he showed me and slowly push him off.

  He takes the hint and rolls over, bringing me with him until I’m lying with my back across his chest. His softening erection slips free and I feel the evidence of our play drip from me and onto him.

  “God,” he finally says. “That was…”

  “Filthy? Nasty? Neanderthal-esque?”

  “Amazing.” He cups my breast with a hand, dipping the other between my legs to feel the evidence of us. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Hell, no. Quite the opposite.”

  “Yeah?” His fingers move to my clit and he begins drawing lazy circles. His other hand kneading my breast. “You sure?”

  I bite my lip and spread my legs. “No. No, I’m not sure.”

  “Not too sensitive?”

  “Not yet,” I exhale, back arching, hips rocking. Damian growls with approval from deep in his throat, the sound spurring m
y pleasure.

  He moves us until he’s sitting with his back against the wall, mine still to his chest. He removes the rest of my clothes and hooks my feet over his shins to control the spread of my legs. He opens me up as far as his legs can go. I rest my head back on his shoulder and he looks over mine to see where he strokes my pussy and works my breasts.

  He comments on my wetness all the while, on the sounds and motions of my body under his touch. On how next time we do this, we’ll have a mirror so we can both watch me come. He explores my body like it’s his first time learning what I like. He nibbles my ear, my throat and my lips until I come apart in his hands and all over the floor.

  When his cock stiffens, I turn in his lap and we make love, slow and deep, in the dark.

  27

  Marrin

  It’s the second week of March and spring break is in full swing. The college town is a dead zone but the neighboring public school kids are trying to make up for it. They have the same spring break, so we open the Braxton Arcade at ten in the morning instead of noon. The place is loud with teens and kids. And while I’m happy we’re busy, tips are lousy.

  I’m working the morning shift with Elle who is currently out on the floor giving a group of kids a rundown on how to play Marvel vs. Capcom. I’ve spent the morning ringing up soda orders and finalizing details on a local band we’ve booked to play a show tomorrow night because if we don’t get some locals in here buying alcohol and leaving tips, I’m going to have to sell a kidney to pay my rent.

  The phone rings and I move to check the caller ID. It’s a collect call but it’s not from the state prison. It’s not my mom.

  When Damian said Nadia was trying to reconcile their failed relationship, I was horrified by the way she’d gone about it. But at least she was trying. A small part of me is envious and I don’t know why. The thought of talking to my mother makes me queasy, but at the same time, I don’t know, she’s still my mom. It’s stupid to think she’ll ever be a good mom or the mom I deserve, but it’d be nice to know she was honestly sorry about what happened. I don’t need her to love me or anything. At least that’s what I tell myself. I just need something. Closure maybe. I don’t know.