by Dani Stowe
She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes. “I’ve got to be just as crazy about you. Who else could love such a big gorilla?”
Lord of Psychology
Bonus Chapter
You’re about to head down memory lane...
Nancy
Months later...
The golden watch hanging from a golden chain swings before my eyes, following from left to right, left to right.
I giggle. This feels so silly and the watch stops swinging.
Tiny sighs. “Mrs. Livener, do you want my help or not?”
“Yes.” I try to calm myself. “This just feels silly,” I admit. “It’s weird that my husband of all people is about to hypnotize me.”
“We talked about this, Nancy. If you try to relax, submit to this experience, then I can help you get over your nightmares.”
I exhale. I want to get over my nightmares. I want Dickie Mueller to stop beating me up in my dreams. The abuser still haunts me and I feel guilty that Dickie, although he’s dead now, has followed me into Tiny’s bed. We were both victims of Dickie’s abuse. Though it seems Tiny has healed emotionally, I’m now constantly reminding my husband of the beating he received whenever I wake up in the middle of the night dripping of cold sweat, begging Dickie to stop beating me. Not to mention, Tiny says he feels helpless because he can’t step into my dreams to keep me from being at the mercy of another man.
I get serious, stretching my spine straight and looking my spouse straight on. I run my hands at my sides over the velvety navy-blue chaise lounge where all of Tiny’s clients sit with their feet propped while they are in a therapy session. Tiny has chosen to sit with me—straight across instead of in his usual stiff brown leather chair.
My cheeks warm at how handsome Tiny is. His beard has grown back and I reach out to scratch my fingers through the trimmed bristles, which makes him smile. Regardless of how ridiculous being hypnotized feels, at the very least, I should try to succumb to this treatment for Tiny’s sake. Tiny sees this resignation in my posture and takes it as a cue, raising the watch to swing it once more.
“Follow the watch,” he says calmly, “and listen to my voice. Relax. There’s no one here who can hurt you.” We are in Tiny’s office. “Surrender to my voice.” His voice sounds sure. Its seductive tone entices me to do as he says. “I want you to clear your mind of all thought except to focus on the watch and the sound of my voice.” I focus and listen. “On the count of three, you will be completely relaxed and your subconscious will surrender to me. One... two... three...”
There’s a vibration under my legs and I look down to see I’m sitting in the front seat of a car. This is a car I’ve been in before. I look at the outfit I’m wearing—a short frilly red dress. I’ve been in this outfit and in this moment before.
Looking at the street ahead through the windshield, I recognize this is the end of our date, the date Tiny and I had together and I’m afraid to look at him. I can feel him staring me down with those needy puppy-dog eyes, begging me to choose him over Dickie, who is also waiting on the front steps. Waiting to hurt me.
Reluctantly, I glance over at Tiny. He’s talking to me but his lips are not moving. The Tiny sitting next to me looks different. He’s not chubby. He’s made himself lean and as tall as he is now, but I can still see the geek in him, which I love. I have no idea how he’s able to this—plant himself to look differently in my memory this way. He’s dropping me off but I don’t want to get out of the car. I want Tiny to take me back to the park and push me on the swing again. I want to run away to college with him and be there for him through all his great achievements and marry him. I don’t care how old I am in this moment—eighteen. I want to marry him. Right now. Today.
“What’s going on?” Tiny asks. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the end of our date,” I reply. “We’re in Jaxon’s jalopy in front of my house.”
“You have to get out,” Tiny says, which sends a shiver down my spine.
“I don’t want to,” I say, turning my head to look at Dickie on the steps. “Dickie’s here. He’s going to jab me with his fists a few times in my ribs where no one will see where he’s bruised me.”
“You have to get out,” Tiny repeats. “I can’t change your choice here, Nancy. This is a defining moment in your life, but I can suggest a new outcome. Do you trust me to plant a new memory?”
I close my eyes, squeezing. “I’m scared.” My lip is quivering. “Dickie’s going to hurt me real bad, Tiny.”
“No one is going to hurt you. You’re not really in the past. Remember? You can do this. You need to face him. Just listen to my voice and talk me through everything. I’ll be with you this time.”
As if on autopilot, I’m reporting to Tiny what’s happening. I open the car door, step out, and swing the door shut as I had done once before. Walking up the porch steps, I cringe when Dickie wraps his fingers around my forearm and I roll my eyes as he turns to flip off my date.
“What the fuck were you doing with that dork? And why are you wearing that necklace? Did he give that to you?” Dickie curses as I open the front door with a key and step inside.
“My parents forced me to go on a date with him,” I reply, dreadfully walking up the stairs to my room.
“Did you fuck him?”
“No. Of course, not.” I walk into my room.
“But you like him, don’t you?”
I want to pause. I want to stop this replay right now because the next set of words about to come out of my mouth are going to get the wind knocked out of me. “Dontyne was very nice to me.”
“Nice? So, you like fat boys now, huh?” Dickie shoves me and I fall face first on my bed. Quickly, I whine, bracing myself for the backhand that’s about smack hard across the back of my head.
“Kick your leg straight out,” commands Tiny. “Kick him right in the balls.”
“What?” I ask. Tiny’s voice is in my head.
“Do it now!” he shouts and I kick my leg straight back!
“Ugh,” grunts Dickie and I turn around to see Dickie is pissed, his eyes red and beady. He stands up straight looking like he’s ready to attack me with his fist winding back.
“Oh, God!” I cry out. “Dickie’s going to kill me.”
“He’s not going to kill you,” Tiny says calmly. “This is your imagination taking over—your fear. Use that fear, Nancy. Kick him hard. Kick him right in the face. Put him down this time.”
Dickie swiftly comes at me and against my own will I do what Tiny says and kick Dickie hard in the face. His head cocks back and I have no idea where I get the courage but I kick Dickie again with the heel of my foot right in the jaw and he falls to the ground.
I lean up to see Dickie groveling and my fear is gone, but now I’m filled with so much anger and regret that I kick the asshole once more. I want to stomp on him! I raise my foot.
“Whoa, killer. That’s enough,” warns Tiny and his voice fills me with remorse. This is the moment I not only get beat by my boyfriend, but I let Tiny get away. I want to run to him, tell him I’m sorry and that I choose him.
With haste, I make my way out of my bedroom, scurrying down the stairs, and head straight to the front door, swinging it open. My heart leaps when I see the ol’ decrepit station wagon is still parked out front with a young Tiny still inside.
But the engine starts up and I pant when I see the brake lights go out and the car slowly begins to pull away. He’s leaving!
“No, wait!” I shout. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me, Tiny. Come back.” The car continues to roll away as tears scroll down my face. “Why are you leaving me?” I ask. I know he can hear me—both the boy in the car and the man in my head. “Take me with you, Tiny. Turn around. Please! Come back.”
“You know I can’t take you with me in this moment, Nancy. That’s not how our story ends,” he speaks in my head.
Our story? It ends? No!
“Get me out!” I scream. “Get me out of
this dream or memory or whatever this is. It’s turning into another nightmare.”
“Shh,” he coos. “I’m going to count to three and when I do, you will open your eyes and be back in my office with me. One... two... three.”
My eyes flip open and I thrust myself into the arms of the man in front of me. I kiss him—his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. I gnaw on his jaw feeling his bristles scrape across my lips, turning them raw. He laughs as I bury my nose into his neck to smell him, and then I lick his throat to taste him.
“Make love to me, Tiny.”
His fingers rake up the nape of my neck to become entangled in my hair. “We’re in my office, Nancy.”
“I don’t care.” I reach for the buttons at the front of my blouse, undoing them, and then slipping off my shirt. Pulling on the knot at his neck, I loosen his tie. “I need you, please. I need to feel you’re still with me. I need to feel you inside me.”
Undoing the clasp of my bra, I let my breasts bounce free and lean up to plant my bosoms in his face to entice him. But he tugs on my arms, pushing me back.
“That wasn’t the point of this exercise. This exercise was to—”
I bend down, kissing him, shoving my tongue in his mouth before he can speak anything more. Running my palms down his buff arms, I find his hands and plant one on my ass and shove the other hand under my skirt where I force him to cup my mound and rub. With a finger, I scoot my panties to the side of my slit and I nudge his finger to push inside me, making me moan into his mouth.
“Ah fuck, baby.” He’s giving in and he pumps his finger in me a few times, and then escapes my kiss, pushing me.
My back lands flat on the chaise lounge and the pulse between my legs quickens with desire as I watch him tear off his clothes to reveal the beast I’ve awakened. His long member is already thick and hungry with need.
My skirt and undies are stripped from my bottom where his hand lands with a smack on my ass and a growl follows in admiration. I’m tossed across the lounge and positioned on my back so my legs are spread to a wide split, exposing my center, which is ogled before my clit is sucked and nipped. Suck, suck, suck. Nip, nip, nip. I come in an explosion with a lick, lick, lick. And, as my orgasm shoots through my body, I’m entered and fucked.
“Fu-uh-ug,” I chug. I’m choking on so. Much. Ecstasy. It’s unbelievable how a person can feel this good. It feels like I’m still in a dream until Tiny reaches his climax. The pinch in my gut from the depth of his erection—so long, so deep—brings me back to reality where I force myself to stay. I choose to be present with him. I want to feel him fill me. His hot cum warms my insides.
Tiny pulls me up as he pulls out and wraps his arms around me to just sit and hold me. I dangle, relaxed.
“You okay, doll face?” he asks, smoothing my hair away from my face.
“I’m better than okay.” I smile. “For the first time in my life, I feel... I feel...” I can’t seem to find the word I want to use to explain this feeling. I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel like the strings that have made me a puppet for so long have been cut. “I feel...”
“Free?” he cuts in, swaying my dangling body in his arms as if we are in a dance. I allow myself to become loose, completely supported in his grasp, treasuring the tiny motion of his sway.
“Yes.” My head falls back and the space between my breasts is kissed. “I’m free.”
End of Book 3
GRIND HER
Chapter 1
Taloulah
Four.
Four words is all I’ve typed beneath the greeting and above my closing signature. I wanted to be as clear as possible. I did not include a heading or even the date. Four words are all he needs to read, so there will be no confusion in this matter.
I sit up straight. I’ve been waiting in Nick’s office for barely five minutes but it feels like I’ve been staring at his desk and empty chair forever. I cross and then uncross my legs before crossing them again, folding my hands over my knee. I need him to take me seriously. I need him to know I mean business.
I haven’t been this nervous with Nick in a long time. I’ve cleared everything off his desk except for the letter and his morning coffee, which, of course, is in his favorite tumbler with a little sugar because he likes sugar, despite the fact he won’t admit he likes his coffee sweet and even discourages himself from ingesting sweet things.
Hmm. The letter looks off center. I stand up and take two steps to lean forward over the desk and from this higher angle, the envelope looks centered but it’s too far from the edge. I nudge it closer towards me when I notice the tumbler might also be too much of a distraction. If he goes for the tumbler first, he might dismiss the letter altogether.
Steam escapes the small mouth opening. I gently pick up the tumbler so coffee does not spill over the sides of the top. Nick doesn’t like to have coffee dripping down his chin, although I’ve let a little leak to the rim in the past just to watch him lick his lips. I set the tumbler down farther to my left, so I know he’ll most certainly see the letter first when he sits.
But wait! He might pick up the coffee as he walks in. He always walks in to stroll by on the left side.
I move the coffee to the opposite end, the wrong end, and study the desk once more. Polished wood and clean. Only the letter sits front and center towards his black leather chair along with a cup of sweetened coffee that he will have to reach for with his opposite hand over the letter, which he will not be able to avoid now.
Shuffling back in my strappy pale pink heels, I tug my fitted rose-pink dress until it’s taut down my torso and pull my ponytail tighter before sitting back down. I cross my legs, fold my hands over my knees, sit up straight, and again... I wait.
The latch to Nick’s doorknob finally unhinges behind me and I hear his office door creak open then shut. Nick strolls in as beautiful as always. Today he’s wearing his charcoal Ludlow suit with a lighter gray cotton shirt underneath, which I ordered online from J. Crew. Aaaaand he has no tie! This is good—it means he’s feeling relaxed today, which he normally is anyway because it’s Friday. If he was wearing Canali or Brunello Cucinelli, it would mean he has a business deal scheduled, which puts him in seal-the-deal mode and I would’ve had to just drop the letter and leave. If his suit was Ralph Lauren, well... there’s no room for me when he and Ralph intend to impress a lady.
Nick stops at the side of his desk. He’s on the phone. Business as usual. Hopefully, he will remain in this mindset—as a professional—when he opens the letter to read the four words I’ve typed.
Nick shakes the pill container in his pants’ pocket. I hate when his hand is in his damn pocket. I hate that fucking pill. I get it. It works. It helps people to realize their dreams of falling in love with the right person, but all it’s done for Nick is help him curate his collection of submissives. Money seekers—gone. Wannabe brides—busted. The only women Nick keeps around now are the ones that genuinely want to be belted in the Bank. The Bang helped Nick figure out which women really want to go in there—the dirty dungeon. Even if I wanted to, I’m not allowed to go in there. I’m not allowed to get my hands dirty.
Nick’s voice heats up. I watch him remove his hand from his pocket and he clamps his phone between his shoulder and ear to undo his jacket buttons in front. I wish he was facing me so I could see his fingers pop the buttons through the loopholes. He always does it so slowly, with so much care. This could very well be the last time I watch him ever do that, though I love watching him do that. I’m sure there’s no one in the world who enjoys watching him undress as much as I do. Well, I wouldn’t call watching him enjoyable. It’s tortuous really—watching him change clothing, which he does often in front of me. I must admit, I’m going to miss this torture.
My eyes flush warm to the point they get wet and my throat constricts. Don’t cry!
Nick slides his jacket below his shoulders to reveal his pressed dress shirt and I put out my hands and arms in preparation. Once he’s
slipped the jacket into one hand, he tosses it at me without looking. I catch the Italian worsted wool blazer as always, on cue, and then I lay the blazer partially folded across my lap.
I fix my glasses to get a good peep at Nick’s rear end. Sometimes, most mornings, I pretend he’s on the phone standing in that exact position on purpose to please me, like he knows this is the best part of my day. I love the way his pants hang at his waist to fit snug on his rump where the fabric then falls just slightly loose below his taut bottom to contour his legs.
Nick grips his waist with his right hand as he talks then scrapes his fingers into his scalp at the back of his head. Yay for me! I get a bonus this last day. His hair gets messy in just one little spot until he smooths it over with his palm. Nick doesn’t like his hair messy. He won’t let anyone touch it, other than his overpaid stylist. There are times I want to just pounce on his desk, trap him between my thighs, and scratch my fingers all through his hair just to piss him off...
But, of course, I’d never do that.
Nick leans to his right to reach for his coffee cup, his hand in the shape of a “C” ready to get a hold of what normally awaits him. I gulp as his perfectly manicured strong fingers find nothing because the cup isn’t there.
He turns to look at his empty hand which he squeezes into a near tight fist and I watch his eyes wander up towards the opposite side of the desk where his coffee rests beyond arms reach and far away—where it doesn’t belong.
He closes his eyes, his deep dark brown eyes twitch below his reddening lids in frustration and he grits his teeth with a growl. “Isn’t that a damn shame,” he says lowly, twisting his head behind him in my direction so the square of his jaw juts straight at me.
I’m pretty sure the statement he made is intended towards the person on the phone but by the way Nick is looking at me—angrily—so fuming and fiery, still sexy though. Angry sexy. I know he wants me to feel ashamed. I’ve broken the routine.