by Sara Hubbard
I open the email and a giant dick pops up on my screen. I choke on my coffee and spit it out, splattering the front of my white blouse. A spot lands on my nipple, making it look like a wet t-shirt contest. Shit. I grab a tissue and begin wiping at my boob, forgetting about the large hairy dick on my screen. Doesn’t her company screen for stuff like this? Thank God mine doesn’t, or I’d probably be fired.
“Interesting screen saver,” my boss says over my shoulder.
Of course he’s standing behind me. The balls on the dick shake, and the head of the penis sways from side to side. I want to scream. I didn’t hear him coming, but he likes to sneak up on me from time to time. Always when I’m doing something I shouldn’t. I turn and try to hide my screen with my body. My hand is still over my left boob. I drop my hand and the attention to my nipple made it rock hard. It peeks through my blouse, commanding attention.
Mr. Hersey’s attention is on my nipple and then it raises to the dancing dick on the screen. We both stare at it, like it’s an elephant in the room. When the silence becomes awkward—which is quickly— my gaze lifts to meet his. Why the fuck would she send me a dick?
I gulp and take a deep breath.
“You never did tell me who that famous client of yours is? I suppose your only client at this point, isn’t he...or she?”
Dina withheld Sawyer’s name for my benefit and not because she wanted to protect his privacy, so I don’t see any harm in dropping his name. Plus it might distract my boss a little. And boy, could I use a distraction right now.
“Sawyer Davis. He’s a professional boxer.”
“Never heard of him.”
Maybe you should Google him…or not.
His face drops, like he’s disappointed. He probably imagined me schmoozing some movie star or singer. No such luck. I got the guy who gave me the stitches in my head. Speaking of which, I need to go get those out at some point today.
“They make decent money, do they? From fighting?”
Given what I know of Sawyer, I know he’s probably a millionaire. If not close to being one.
“Yes, sir. Very decent.”
“Well I suggest you hurry up with that sale, Molly. Your job depends on it.”
“So you said.”
“Are you being snarky with me?” He folds his thick arms over his protruding belly.
“No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
When he walks away, I pick up the phone and stare at the numbers. I’m not ready to call him yet. I don’t even know what to say. Hey, Sawyer, heard you murdered your stepfather. Want to go look at houses? I bang my head on the desk, earning me a confused look from Ryan.
“Girl, you are a certified mess, you know that?”
I sigh. A certifiable mess, maybe. Yes. I could be just that. “Thanks, Ryan.” I pull my balls up and dial the number, not knowing what I want to say.
"Hello?" Sawyer picks up on the second ring. His breath is deep and he labored, like he’s working out.
"Can we talk?"
***
Sawyer is at the gym again. I admire his dedication. The night we spent on the couch, he told me his regular routine: wake, train, lunch, weights, supper, cardio. The only time he seemed to not be training was when he had a meeting, some of which were with me.
I have no idea how to approach the subject of his past. It makes me uncomfortable because I worry that I don't know him at all, and I guess I really don't. But I like to think that I saw something in his eyes that assured me I was safe with him. I felt safe with him—until now.
When I get to the gym, they don't give me a hard time. They ask for my name and I see myself to the back room where he trains. I’m careful when I enter; the last time I barged in, he took a fist in the face when he noticed me. I still feel guilty about that.
I walk on the balls of my feet to avoid the clack of my heels. Grunting and groaning fills the room, and not just from Sawyer. There are at least a dozen other men in here and a couple of women, sparring and wrestling. I can almost taste their sweat in the air. I never sweat that much and probably never will.
Sawyer is in the ring, dancing on his toes, dodging and faking, avoiding the punches of the guy he's fighting. They’re wearing headgear and gloves. I don't notice the other guy at first, except that he's bigger. Sawyer has my undivided attention with his determined, angry, ‘I'm going to fuck you up' face smack dab on top of his hard moist body. In this moment he frightens me as much as he makes me want to get naked with him. I’ve never been quite this horny before and I don’t know how to deal with it. I mean, I wanted Jason from time to time when he initiated sex, but not like this. Not like I want to go all feral, lunge across the room and pounce to land on him, straddled.
What's wrong with me? Focus. Did it suddenly get hotter in here? I undo the top button of my thick wool sweater.
Smack. Sawyer's fist connects with the guy's face. The guy’s head rocks back and he stumbles.
"Sawyer! The fuck I tell you! This is for practice. Save it for the big day." A big, bald man in the corner in track pants and a red polo shirt slaps a towel on one of wires of the ring. He speaks with such force that spit fires from his mouth. I can see it fly out from his lips, even from where I'm standing, which is at least fifteen feet away.
"My bad," Sawyer says, and as he smirks, his mouth guard pushes through his lips to settle between his gritted teeth.
"That's enough for today, ladies. I'm not impressed. You're wasting my time here. I don't train losers.” The coach tosses the towel into the ring and stomps out of the gym.
Losers. Asshole. I kind of wish Sawyer hit him instead of his opponent.
"Sorry, man," Sawyer says, shaking his opponent's hand.
"Don't sweat it. What’s a fight without getting knocked around a little?"
I continue quietly walking forward until a man to my right, who's just finished chugging water from a water bottle, whistles at me.
Sawyer's head turns. His gaze begins on me and settles on the whistler. He points at him, his eyes carrying an intensity that would cut through metal. "I will fuck you up."
I raise my eyebrows. Before the conversation with my mother, I would have simply rolled my eyes at him, but now I know he has a history of violence, it unsettles me. I can’t help but analyze everything he does and says. This won't do. I need to talk to him, and hope he trusts me enough to confide. But…from what I know about him, he's not the sharing type.
The whistler smiles and gives me a going over so complete I feel violated. Then he turns and saunters away.
Sawyer pushes the wires apart and steps through.
"Was that necessary?" I ask him.
"If you knew him, you'd say it was."
"Well, I don't. And it's not."
He sighs. "Look. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to warn him to stay away from you."
I make a face and prop my hands on my hips. Is this what a friendship with him looks like?
"You wanted to talk?" He grabs a water bottle and squirts water in his mouth and over his face. It washes over him, dripping from his lips and sliding down his neck and chest. I snap my eyes up at his face.
"Yes. I'll wait for you at the front."
"Sure? You could come out back."
No. I can't. "I'm good."
Sawyer is quick to shower and he walks out of the change room not ten minutes later. When he sees me, the sides of his lips curl into a wide smile that I can't help but mirror, even though the butterflies in my stomach are making me feel nauseous—and not because I want him, but because I dread having this conversation with him. Why couldn't my mother just leave me in the dark? Shit.
We climb into my car, but we just sit there. His soap and aftershave hits me: a mix of citrus and cedar. The urge to mount him hits me again. I was never this dirty minded, even when I was a teenager. It’s very distracting.
"So…" he says, rubbing his hands along his thighs. "What’s up? Did you find the perfect house? Or sh
ould I say...home?" There it is again: the shy smile. How can he be one way one minute and so different the next? Which is real?
"No." I shake my head and glance out the driver side window. "I wish. But I do have some properties that you might like.” I slide my hands across the steering wheel, stalling. “That’s not what I had talk to you about, though."
His lips form a tight line and his eyes narrow at me. He gazes at me suspiciously.
"This is really hard for me."
His gaze softens. "Are you okay?" His hand reaches up to cup the side of my face. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. Well, not nothing. But not to me. Well, kind of to me."
"You're talking in riddles."
"I heard some things about you the other day that surprised me, and I guess I just wanted to know if they're true."
He leans back against the door. I can see a wall forming between us, and know it's unlikely I'll break through it. In a way, it reminds me of Amy, the way she gets when we talk about her family—especially her step-father, a man who didn't have a problem pushing her and her mother around.
Sawyer runs his tongue along the corner of his mouth. "Go ahead. Ask."
It seems absurd to ask if he killed his stepfather, even though we both know that's what I want to do. I can't put it like that. I’ll get nowhere.
"I barely know you, Sawyer, and yet I find myself liking you—a lot. The thing is…I want to know you…and I know you’re kind of a private person…but I just need to know…about your past. I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to be okay with whatever happened. I just need to know…what happened to your stepfather?"
His eyes are like molten lava, threatening to scorch me. I have no idea what he will say or do. I only know he isn't happy and I'm suddenly very, very nervous.
"You're right. You barely know me, and lucky for you, you'll never have to worry about changing that."
He opens the door and hops out.
Shit. I jump out and follow after him. "Sawyer! Please. Talk to me."
"You’ve already decided what you want to believe. I can see it on your face. Anyone decent gets close to me, they walk away. It will happen sooner or later—might as well make it now. Trust me, it's better this way."
He turns and I clutch his arm. He stills, but I don't let go as I round him and we’re face to face. I don't think, I just unload. "You have a temper. I think you could really hurt someone if you wanted to, but I don't believe you could have hurt someone just because. If you hurt your stepfather, and I don't know if I believe you did, but I think…there was a reason. You can talk to me. Maybe not today. But someday. You wanted me as a friend, and here I am."
His hands reach out and cup my face, his thumb slowly caressing my chin.
“I just need to know that…I’m…safe with you.”
“I would never hurt you, Molly. I could never. The shit from my past…” His face fills with wrinkles as he averts my eyes. “I did what I had to do to protect the people I cared about.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“Okay?”
I nod and close my eyes and his warm lips are on mine, a single delicate kiss, slow and sweet. My whole body is on fire and yet all my muscles relax like they've turned into mush.
When I open my eyes he gazes down at me, his eyes soft. "Where did you come from?"
"Furlow."
He smiles and drops his hands. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"Done what? Kiss me? Why are you sorry? I'm not. Sometimes friends kiss."
"Sometimes friends do more."
"Don't get carried away."
I chuckle and pull him into a hug. He needs me. And as long as he does I'll be there for him, just like I am for Amy.
Fourteen
WE ARE SUPPOSED to look at houses this afternoon. At least, that's what I tell my boss when he asks me, yet again, if I've sold a house to Sawyer. We go back to Amy’s condo. She’s at work, so Sawyer and I can be all alone. This is in the back of my mind when I bring him here, although I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with him when we get there.
Not exactly. I mean, I guess I want to spend some time with him, get to know him better, but deep down I also want something else to happen, something involving us getting naked.
"So this is where you live?" he says as he surveys the apartment.
"Well…for now."
He raises his eyebrows in question.
"I lived with my ex up until our wedding day and it was either here or my parents. You've met my mother, right?"
"Yes. How can I forget her?" He stops in the hallway and points down the hall. "I want to see your room.”
I swallow hard.
He laughs. "Relax. I just want to be nosy."
"So go on then. I’m an open book."
Sawyer walks into my room and takes a little stroll around the space. It isn't big. It isn't me. Amy decorated it with red walls—a power color, according to her—and the furniture is dark, almost black.
"You haven't even unpacked."
I sigh. "Guilty. This wasn't meant to be permanent. I'm saving up some money to get my own place."
"No trust fund?" he says. I can't tell if he's serious.
"No trust fund? Why would you ask that?"
"You parents have money. They look like they were born with it."
I take a seat at my desk and pull my leg up and hug it to my chest. "Well, my mother did, I suppose. But my father earned everything he has. My grandfather came over from England when he was in his late twenties. He was a miner over there, and when he came here he was dirt poor. He worked at a lumberyard until he retired. My mom's dad thought my father was unsuitable when they started dating, but once dad graduated from law school, he caved, since my mother loved him so much."
"What about you? How did you grow up?"
He clears his throat and picks up the only photo on the table. It’s a family portrait of my mother, my father, Mia, Jason and me. Everyone assumed we'd marry, and here I am, sitting in my room feeling hugely confused and attracted to a man who I barely know anything about.
"Brother? Sister?"
I scratch my head and look away. "Sister and ex."
"Wow. He made the family photo."
"Uh huh."
"Your mother must hate me."
I try to hide my smile. "She's not your biggest fan. But she also hates Amy and Amy is my best friend." I stand and gently take the photo from his hand.
"You look happy in that photo."
I shrug. "I was. And then I wasn't. Things will never be the same. I lost my sister and my boyfriend when he cheated on me. It doesn't even matter who initiated it. I can't look at them the same anymore."
"But you still love him."
"I was with him for six years. That's a big chunk of my life. I'm still not sure who I am without him."
He cups my neck and tips his head to look deep into my eyes. "I know exactly who you are, and you're amazing. He's an idiot. And I'm sure he's already realized that."
He leans in, and I meet him halfway. At first he kisses me slowly, gentle touches and caresses of his lips against mine. Then his hands dip from my shoulders to skim my breasts and waist, only to grip my ass. He pushes his erection into my stomach and I groan. Our kisses become deeper, his tongue flicking in my mouth, dancing with mine. I’m on fire, deep within my core, and I can't get close enough to him. I want him inside of me. I want to remember the first night we had sex. And I want it now.
He takes a step forward and I take a step back. We fall onto the bed; my body crushes beneath his until he positions his arm to hold himself up. I reach down to the button of his jeans and tug them open. My hand dips inside his underwear, gripping him. I can barely take him in my hand and my eyes open and widen before fluttering closed. No wonder I was sore.
"I want you," he whispers, his breath tickling my neck and making the hair on my neck stand on end.
"We’re still friends," I say, my voice dee
p and throaty.
"The best."
"I'm not sure I can do more than friendship. I—”
"Stop talking." His hands slides into my underwear and slowly he penetrates me with a single finger, and then another. He groans and his erection seems to pulse in my hand. I grip a little harder and move my hand faster, up and down his shaft.
His fingers are like magic, in and out, in and out. Then his thumb moves in rhythmic circles over my clit and I'm sure I'm done for.
"I want you so bad," I whisper. "I'm going to come if you don’t stop."
He removes his hand and I try to stop him, but I stand no chance. He grabs the hem of his shirt and whips it over his head, chucking it across the room. I slide my hands across his chest and abs, and I can feel myself getting wetter.
After a frenzy of removing clothes and him literally clutching my underwear and ripping them clean off of me, he’s hovering at my entrance and I hold my breath, spreading my legs wide. After rolling on a condom, he enters me and I gasp.
"Sawyer. Oh, Sawyer."
He rocks inside of me, his eyes intent on mine. Our damp flesh slaps together and, at my opening, I feel a throbbing sensation so intense I clutch the sheets and grit my teeth to stop myself from screaming.
He must see the tension in my face because he murmurs, "Let go. Let it go."
And I do.
“Sawyer,” I cry. The buildup inside me intensifies until I can’t keep it in anymore. I let go…my sex pulses, making me jerk and gasp, and electricity ripples through me, starting deep in my core, a deep ache from my toes to the tip of my head. He collapses on top of me and rolls onto his back.
I’m breathing heavy. My body has never been so relaxed. I could fall asleep right here and now; the smile on my face stretches from ear to ear.
"I like being friends," I whisper.
He chuckles and turns his head to meet mine. His eyes have that hazy, hooded, after-sex quality to them that makes me sigh. I slide my hand across the sheets and rub my pinky against his. He takes my hand in his and lightly squeezes it.
"This isn't good," he says, but he's smiling so I know he doesn't regret it. "I wanted to keep you, and I've gone and ruined everything."