Playing For Forever: An Erotic Love Story (Playing For Keeps Book 3) by J.C. Grant (6)

Then why hasn't he called?

Fuck, I needed a moment, time to myself to shove all my insecurities right back in the box they came out of.

“I'm going to go take a shower,” I told Fergus as I placed my purse and phone on the kitchen island. “Do you mind letting Chance out?”

“Of course.” He headed across the room toward the patio doors.

After a long hot shower, I dressed in one of David's T-shirts and the baggiest sweatpants I owned, then headed into the living room, intending to feed Chance. We’d just recently switched him to raw food, I was still adjusting to it.

I stopped short when I found Chance in the kitchen, already eating his dinner.

“Oh, thanks, Fergus. Did you—” I stopped short when Fergus pointed at the refrigerator.

My pink stationary was taped to the fridge, with explicit instructions on how to feed Chance scrawled across it in David's handwriting.

As stupid as it was, it was little things like that that made it so hard to believe that David would fuck me over, cheat.

Padding back to the living room, I tucked into the corner of our couch, turning on the TV, flipping through channels, and finally settling on a movie. I stared at the screen unseeingly, debating what to do.

I didn't want to play games. I wanted to call David and find out what the fuck was going on, but my pride prevented me from doing anything at all. Afraid of looking needy, desperate, or worse, finding out my fears were true. It felt like déjà vu.

Deciding to go all in, I grabbed my laptop.

Twenty minutes later, I sat stunned and sickened, re-watching a video of Dawn throwing herself at David, wrapping herself around him. 

But that's not what bothered me most.

Why would he go to such a public place?

He knew it would be crowded, packed with fans and groupies. And if he hadn't known before, he certainly knew when he pulled up.

He avoided crowded places here at home—with me. In fact, we barely went out because of it.

And I still haven't heard from his ass all fucking day long.

I didn’t know how long it was before I finally spoke. “When was this?” My voice was unrecognizable to me, dull and hollow. 

“An hour ago,” Fergus answered from behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, I found him standing right behind me, apparently watching the entire time.

An hour ago...

But David hadn't called.

Then another clip of David got my attention.

“Is this now?” I questioned.

After a brief pause, Fergus said, “Fifteen minutes ago... almost.”

I didn't respond.

I felt like I was back in the grocery store. Back to that first week.

My gut twisted viciously as I watched a woman slide her hand up David's thigh, another leaning in, nearly grazing her breasts against his arm.

A blonde on one side, a brunette on the other. The image they created... I couldn't help but wonder if David had ever had a threesome. Maybe with them.

My stomach plummeted, humiliation and betrayal crawling through me. Then anger bubbled up, hot and fierce, eating through my insides like acid.

Was I scared? Sick?

Fuck that, I was pissed.

Was this how he acted? Was this his norm during the baseball season?

I couldn't imagine it, but I also couldn't imagine him going all day and not calling me or texting me.

Repeatedly.

I couldn't understand how he could go from needing to know where I was every second of every day to no contact for twelve hours. Not after what happened last time.

“You're hurt he didn't call,” Fergus stated.

I ignored him. Now, was not the time for his insightfulness.  

Shutting the laptop, I turned to him. “You hungry?” I asked a little too aggressively.

“Sure, as long as you're not cooking,” he hedged.

Ignoring the jab, I asked, “You ever been to Mr. Chow?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like going tonight?” I pushed.

“Sounds good.” He seemed to understand I needed a distraction.  

Grabbing my laptop, I stood, going to my room and hiding it in my nightstand. That's what it felt like, hiding, like I was trying to hide from the videos, from the reality of what David was doing.

Turning away from the offending item, I headed into our massive walk-in closet, purposefully avoiding David's side as I surveyed my wardrobe.

I wanted to feel sexy and attractive to counteract how ugly I felt inside.

Did I want to flirt? Absolutely.

Was I going to? Fuck no.

I'd finally hit the point of not wanting to hurt David when he hurt me.

A little voice in my head kept screaming, Doormat!

Once I settled on the perfect outfit, I started getting ready, going through my normal routine for a night out.

“You mind driving?” I asked Fergus thirty minutes later, when I emerged from the bedroom.

“Of—” He stopped short, his eyes raking over me. 

From his surprised expression, it seemed my ensemble was having the desired effect. I'd chosen black skinny jeans, the really tight ones that gave my ass a little lift—I didn’t know how I was going to get them off later, but I'd cross that bridge when I got there. I paired them with a black tank, a light gray biker jacket, and my black Louboutin booties. I accessorized with a diamond-encrusted skull necklace and thin diamond hoops. 

“Do you care which car we take?” he asked, still staring at my face.

Despite having seen me with much more makeup on at shoots, he seemed shocked by my smoky eyes, heavy black eyeliner, and neutral lipstick.

“Nope.”

Grabbing my purse off the island, he led me outside, opening the passenger door of his car for me. After I climbed in, he handed my purse to me, formal, with a bit of a flourish, like a real gentleman.

“Thank you,” I murmured, impressed.

“Sorry you're unhappy,” Fergus murmured as he folded gracefully into the driver’s seat.  

“I’m fine,” I lied, not wanting to discuss it.

He gave me a side-eyed glance that told me he knew better. Then he started the car and backed out of the garage.

“So, I guess spying on people pays well. This car is nice.” I tried to lighten up the mood, or at least shift it to something more shallow, as he drove us through the neighborhood. 

“Your car is much nicer,” he countered soberly.

“What?” I asked, thrown by his response.

“Well... it’s more expensive, almost double.”

“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“David loves you. He'd do anything for you. Give you anything you wanted.” His voice was sincere, serious even.

That was why the conversation had gone in such a bizarre direction. He was pumping David up to me. 

I tried to smile, but failed.

“He never looks at other women,” he added.

I knew he didn't when he was with me, but people’s circumstances and environment changed their behavior. That's what I'd been dreading all along, because I'd never known him as David Taylor the professional athlete. When we met, he was in a “transition” phase, free to spend all his time with me. 

Who was he with thousands of screaming fans, women throwing themselves at his feet?

Whether I liked it or not, I was about to found out. 

We fell silent for the remaining drive to Beverly Hills.

As soon as Fergus pulled up to the valet, my door was opened and an older man was holding out his hand for me, helping me out.

Heading toward the entrance, the first thing I noticed was Fergus' demeanor. It wasn't the normal keeping my distance Fergus. Nope. His hand was hovering at the small of my back, fingers pressing, directing me through the flashes of the paparazzi.

Once inside, Fergus stepped forward, the hand at my back pulling me along as he spoke to the hostess. Moments later, we were seated. I didn't know if he'd had time to make a reservation, but with how crowded the restaurant was, I doubted it.

Fergus must know everyone in this town.

I was still taking in the almost Alice in Wonderland atmosphere (all that was missing was a few well placed hearts) when the waiter approached the table.

Fergus ordered without opening his menu.

Never having been there before, I ordered several things; something I'd learned from David—never stick yourself with only one option when you don't know what you like.

Once the waiter left, I sipped my water, glancing around the room, taking in the familiar faces—and there were many.

After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, I excused myself to the restroom, but not before awkwardly asking Fergus where the restroom was.

Ugh... should've just walked around aimlessly until I found it.

I quickly took care my business and washed my hands. Staring at myself in the mirror, I wondered what I was really doing. What was my real motivation for being with Fergus at Mr. Chow?

Taking in my appearance, my long, loose waves, the sultry makeup—my just fucked look—I wondered if I was falling into old habits. I certainly looked the part.

Except, I didn't feel any of those self-destructive desires I used to.  

Was I being flirtatious?

Was I trying to hurt David?

No. I just wanted to escape my life for a minute. Pretend everything was fine. Pretend like David was at a late photo shoot. Or at dinner with his manager.

Despite all that pretending, I couldn't resist checking my phone before I left the bathroom.

I found one missed call from David.

One.

After what I saw, all I had was one missed call from David? My anger came back with a vengeance. Turning my phone off, I shoved it deep in my purse, like that somehow was going to make things better. As I exited the bathroom, a tall rocker-type guy bumped into me.

“Hey, sorry.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” My voice was casual if not bored, expertly hiding the anger I felt inside.

“Hey, no wait.” He stepped in front of me. “What's your name?”

“Austin,” I answered, my annoyance coming through.

“Austin, it's nice to meet you. I'm Corey,” he said, blocking me as I tried to sidestep him.

“That's good.” I started to move past him again.

Patience was not something I possessed at the moment, and my ability to hide my anger was quickly wearing thin.

“So wait.” His hand wrapped around my upper arm, stopping me.

My eyes narrowed as I looked at him over my shoulder, then pointedly at his restraining hand.

“Get off me.” My voice dripped with venom.

He pulled back. “Geez, calm down. I just want to talk to you.”

Still holding his gaze, I considered our location and the number of witnesses. Despite my unhealthy desire to put him in his place, I turned away, not wanting to cause a scene.

“Hey, no, seriously. Wait, I'm sorry. You got a boyfriend?”

“No,” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed back to the table, because technically that was true. I didn't have a boyfriend; I had a husband. And nothing about me was gangly rocker dude's business.

To my dismay, he followed me.

“Are you serious?” My voice rose with my irritation.

“If you'd stop being a bitch for five seconds and let me talk to you—”

Before I could respond, Fergus stood, speaking for me, “Can I help you?”

“You have a bodyguard? What are you? Like a playmate?”

“Stripper,” I deadpanned.

“No shit?” he asked excitedly.

“Austin,” Fergus warned. Whether it was for telling the guy I was a stripper or talking to him in general, I couldn't tell.

“I'm fine,” I grumbled as I sat down.

Fergus remained standing, along with gangly rocker dude.

“Seriously, I wanna call you. What’s your number?” He had an heir of entitlement about him, as if it was a given I would give him my number. 

“No.” My tone was bored as my eyes drifted toward the ceiling.

“Last name?” he tried again, completely undeterred.

When Corey leaned on the table, Fergus moved closer. It was subtle, but I noticed.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” I heard a vaguely familiar voice say.

“Fuck off, Liam,” Corey barked.

“Fergus, hey, man. How’s it going?” Liam asked just as he came into view. “Oh shit,” he muttered under his breath as his gaze landed on me. “Hey.”

I couldn't help but smile at Liam’s nervous expression. “Hey.”

“So... David's at spring training?” Liam asked. Though, I was pretty sure it was for his friend’s benefit, not an actual question.

Regardless, his words hit hard, bringing all David's activities and potential activities of the day rushing back in.

“Yeah.”

The word fell flat as a new wave of pain came in, abrupt and sharp, as graphic images of him with those girls, inside those girls, flashed through my mind. My heart twisted violently, making it hard to breath.

“It's his first night there,” I managed to say,  despite the growing knot in my stomach.

“Do you know her?” Corey asked Liam.

I was grateful their attention was distracted, giving me a moment to recover from the crippling pain in my chest. 

“Tell me you're not hitting on her, dumbass.” Liam voice was a mixture of pleading and accusation.

Tall gangly dude, aka Corey, just looked at him.

“Corey,” Liam spoke slowly, as if talking to a small child, “she's married to David Taylor.”

“David Taylor married a stripper?” Corey looked impressed. Too impressed.

Ewww, he's really into this whole stripper thing.

“No, she's an actress, stupid. An actress who married David Taylor—can't you see the fucking diamond on her finger?” Liam pointed at the ten-carat diamond in question.

“Jesus, you gotta polish that thing?” Corey was taken aback at first. Then he smirked and winked at me. “Bet that's not the only thing you polish.”

That was the type of behavior I was used to from men. That I could deal with, happily. Much easier than dealing with the potential heartbreak from loving David.

I bit my lip with a practiced seduction, then using the sexiest voice I could muster, I taunted, “It's definitely not the only thing I polish.”

Liam and Fergus' face were priceless. At their slack-jawed expressions, I couldn't resist... Looking at Corey, I leaned on the table, my upper arms pushing my breasts obscenely up as I ran a finger casually over my bottom lip and added, “From what I understand, I'm fucking amazing at polishing.”

Liam ducked his head, muttering, “Oh fuck.”

It was then I realized David would be getting a play-by-play of this interaction, and judging from Liam's expression, he knew it too.

Liam grabbed Corey's arm, pulling him away, whispering harshly, “Dude, come on. David's gonna beat the fuck outta you.”

Glaring at their retreating forms, I leaned back in my chair.

Once they were gone, Fergus reclaimed his seat, asking, “Why did you act like that?” 

I shrugged, steadfastly avoiding looking at him, then finally muttered, “Just in a mood, and he pissed me off.”

I never would've done that if I'd been with a girlfriend... Well, probably not.

“Who pissed you off? David?”

“No.” Yes. “That fucking pain in the ass, what's his name? Corey?” I pointed in the general direction they left, as I studied my napkin, worrying the edge between my fingers.

“That's how you deal with a guy that pisses you off?” he asked, genuinely curious.

I shrugged.

“I understand why David is the way he is about you.”

At his knowing tone, I finally turned to him and questioned, “What's that supposed to mean?”

It never occurred to me that Fergus would think there was anything wrong with how David treated me. I didn't—before today anyway.

“You're the female version of him in many ways. I understand why he's so overprotective of you.” His accusation was clear. 

“Whatever,” I muttered.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't ignore what he was implying. It was the same thing Elaine had said.

David and I were the same.

I didn't feel like I was anything like him. Hell, after today, I didn't even feel like I knew him. The David.

Finally, the waiter arrived with our food, giving me a moment to reset and retreat into my David’s-just-at-a-work-thing delusion.

Whether it was that awkward beginning to dinner or Fergus feeling like he'd finally figured me out, I didn't know, but the ice had been broken. Fergus was more relaxed with me than he'd ever been before, making dinner and the ride home go more smoothly than I'd hoped.

And once we were back at home, he took over David’s routine, letting Chance out while I headed to the bedroom to go through my nightly ritual, comfortable as could be. It was nice. I didn’t feel as alone. 

As I entered the bedroom, I paused, staring at our king-sized bed. Something inside me shifted, my self-preserving delusion crumbling as a heavy weight settle over me. I couldn't pretend anymore.

I quickly changed back into my baggy sweats and a tee. Then washed my face and brushed my teeth, trying to decide how to deal with my emotions, deal with my current situation—being married to The David.

When I entered the living room, I found Fergus stretched out on the couch, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. I wouldn’t deny, it was tempting. The possibility of curling up with him, taking comfort in someone else—platonically—to distract myself. 

“Hey,” I muttered. “I’m kinda exhausted, I’m gonna crash.”

“If you want to talk, you know where I am.” His voice was soft and sympathetic.

I did feel like I could talk to him, though.

Maybe later... Let’s try being a grown up first.

“Thanks, and thank you for dinner,” I added. He had refused to let me pay.

“Anytime.” 

With Chance in tow, I headed to my room and

closed the door behind me. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I crawled under the covers. The ache in my chest flared to life as I stared at the screen, debating turning it back on.

When I finally decided, my stomach sank as I watched my phone power up.

Five missed calls from David.

I wouldn't lie, those missed calls made me feel better, if only slightly.

Then worse, because he hadn't called all day, not until after he'd spent time with other women.

Setting my phone aside, I searched for something to watch on TV, something to distract me. I needed to sort out my own emotions before I confronted David. I needed to gather my thoughts and figure out exactly what I was upset about, so we could have a productive conversation, not the angry, emotional verbal vomit I wanted to spew at him.

 

 

 

 

David

 

 

“Where is she?” I demanded as soon as the call connected. “Been calling both of you all fucking night.”

Austin had turned off her phone after my first call. I was starting to think I'd seriously underestimated what she was feeling when I left.   

Obviously, my plans to have her in Arizona tonight were fucked. All I wanted was her—with me. 

“Sorry. My phone died. She's in the bedroom.” 

“The bedroom?” I was instantly furious. She was sitting at home with Fergus, ignoring me? “Then why the fuck isn't she answering?” I barked.

“She saw the video of you and Dawn.” His voice was level, calm, but his words hit like a ton of bricks, stopping me in my tracks; I'd been pacing since we arrived home from the restaurant.

No wonder she's not answering.

She almost never looked up anything about us; it never occurred to me she'd find out before I told her.

 Then he added, “And the video of you eating dinner after, with the two girls.”

Goddamn it.

“I was sitting at a fucking bar. Those groupies—” I stopped myself, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

Of course someone filmed that. And they probably edited out the rebuff.

Instantly, I knew I'd fucked up. I should've called her, but I wanted to wait until I knew I could bring her down.

Fuck.

If I'd seen a video of her like that—two guys with her—I'd freak.

“I wasn't eating dinner with them,” I swore fiercely. “Is that what she thinks? Does she think I was eating dinner with them?”

“I don't know, but she was upset. Hurt, I think.”

Fucking perfect.

That's exactly what I was trying to avoid, hurting her. And after this morning...

My heart sank. Any hopes I had of her willingly seeing me tonight died.

“That's why she's not answering.” I sighed, dejected.

If she'd called me, yelled and screamed, something, it'd be better than her going silent on me. 

“I would guess so.” Fergus was all business. “We were at Chow's having dinner. I never heard her phone ring.”

Wait, what?

“You were at Chow's having dinner with Austin?” I checked.

“Yes.”

“Fucking serious?” I muttered under my breath.

Obviously, her going to Chow's with Fergus was to let me know how unhappy she was. But I had to be honest, I felt like that dig was a little too deep. She knew damn well I wanted every first with her I could get, and she gave it to Fergus like it was nothing. Yeah, it was just a restaurant, but it was still a first and I wanted it.

“There was an incident I was going to call you about.”  

My heart stilled at his tone, afraid I was about to hear she'd done something to make herself feel better, something that'd crush me.

“What happened?” My voice was soft as my throat tightened, scared of the answer.

“The lead guitarist from Liam’s band—” Fergus started to explain.

“Corey?” I thundered.

“Yes.”

At his response, I braced myself for what I was about to hear.

Fergus proceeded to tell me what had taken place, everything from Austin finding the videos, to the moment they arrived home. My breath left me in a rush, relieved that Austin hadn't done anything.

“On the drive back, she finally told me the truth,” Fergus continued. “He touched her, restrained her as she was leaving the restroom.” 

Everything in me stilled. I went cold, an icy fury pumping through my veins. I’d never felt anything like it before. I wanted to break every finger on Corey’s hands. Slowly. Painfully. Meticulously. Taking my time.

Corey was one of the nastiest motherfuckers I'd ever met; I wouldn't allow him anywhere near Austin, much less let him touch her. He was the kind of asshole who convinced his naïve fans to suck his dick in a crowded room, just to prove he could. 

Taking a long, deep breath, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to focus through the blinding rage. I needed Austin to talk to me.

“How long has she been in our room?” I asked, pacing again.  

“About thirty minutes.”

The flight back to LA was only a little over an hour.  I needed to deal with this in person, not over the phone. “I'll be home in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he said simply.

“And, thanks again.”

“No need to thank me.” Something about his tone made me feel like I was fucking up.

I ended the call and texted Aaron.

 

David: Get me home, now.

And pick me up from the airport.

10:10 PM

 

Aaron: Only turbo prop available. Glendale

Municipal in 25 min. I'll pick you up in Burbank.

10:25 PM

 

Burbank would be much easier and faster to get home from than LAX, but a prop? Turbo or not, I was too big to be in a plane that small. I was about to find out what claustrophobia was all about.

“I need you to take me to Glendale Municipal,” I informed Daniel.

“Now?” he checked.

When I nodded, he headed for the garage.

Checking my pockets—wallet, phone, keys—I followed Daniel. I didn't bother packing, everything I needed was at home.

Austin.

Climbing into the passenger seat, I put on my seatbelt as Daniel started the truck. “Take tomorrow off. Let you know when I need you again,” I told Daniel as I stared at my phone. I forced myself to wait until he pulled the truck out onto the main road before I called Liam.

“Hey, man. I'm so sorry,” he greeted on the first ring. 

“Tell Corey he ever talks to Austin like that again, I'll break his fucking hand,” I warned darkly.

“Yeah, I'll tell him. Man, I'm sorry. He was just high and... fucked up. He didn't know what he was doing. And the whole stripper thing—”

“I don't give a shit,” I cut him off. “Give me his fucking number, and I'll do it myself.

“Taylor, I'll do it, man. Seriously. I know that shit wasn't cool.”

“No one,” I clarified, “is gonna say shit like that my wife and get away with it.”

“Yeah, I get it. I seriously understand, dude.”

“I really don't think you do,” I muttered, ending the call without another word.

Men had treated her like an object for most of her life, and with her history... No one was going to treat her like that. Not anymore.

Daniel cleared his throat but didn't say a word.

I dialed Austin again.

After three rings her voice mail picked up. I left her another message, explaining and apologizing for not calling sooner. Then I searched through her texts, looking to see when she received mine.

It wasn't there.

The only texts she'd sent or received all day were to and from Aaron.

 

 

 

Austin

 

 

I knew he wanted to talk.

But I didn't.

What was there to say?

With his last call, my anger and jealousy dissolved into repulsion.

Surprisingly, the Dawn thing didn't even bother me—aside from the fact that he should've told me she was free to roam around and harass us. Him throwing Dawn on her ass was probably going to be a nightmare for Elaine, but that wasn't my concern. 

My concern was the half-dressed women leaning into him with their tits hanging out.

The concept of trying to keep a man never made sense to me. Why would anyone want a man who didn't want them? And I had far too much pride to stay with a man who'd cheat on me.

That was the thing, my David wouldn’t cheat, but would The David?

Pulling out my laptop, I found the video again.

My heart raced as I hit play.

Watching closely, I dissected it.

David didn't encourage them, but he didn't seem to be discouraging them either, keeping his hands on the bar in front of him. But the short clip was only from one angle with dim lighting and appeared to be from a cell phone.   

My stomach plummeted as I watched the brunette's hand slide up his thigh again. Then heat flashed through me.

He was mine.

His thigh, his jeans, every fucking part of him. Even his goddamn boots. It was all mine.

Fuck!   

Possessiveness was an emotion I was unfamiliar with, and the violence I felt was shocking.

If this is how David feels all the time...

Shutting the laptop, I stared at the TV. Stunned.

He had more self-control than I'd ever given him credit for. I wanted to rip the girl’s hand off his body, push her off that stool and flat on her ass. There was toxic cocktail of emotions inside me; I felt completely out of control.

Seconds later, I decided, I'm tired of this.

Tired of feeling inadequate and incapable of dealing with our relationship and the emotions it evoked. Tired of trying to talk myself through emotions I didn't fully understand.

Over the next hour, I found myself checking my phone every fifteen minutes, hoping David would call back. 

He didn't.

He was probably still out.

Partying.

With those girls. 

 

I stared at the TV, confused and hurt and angry.

Who was The David?

Could I trust him?

The entire day had been a nightmare, living in doubt. It was the reason I didn’t want to date an athlete. I refused to live my life like that.

I didn’t know if I wanted to throw up or cry. But I knew I wanted to escape it, run away from it. Pulling my laptop out, I clicked on favorites and started shopping—my other tried-and-true coping mechanism, retail therapy.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

“You think you can fucking ignore me, and it's just gonna be like that? That I'm just gonna let it go?” An angry snarl came from just above my ear, cutting through my sleep-fogged brain.  

I felt a big hand wrap around the front of my throat, pulling me back into a warm, hard body. 

“Have I ever let you ignore me? You think I was gonna start now that we're married? Do you think there's any scenario where I'd let you ignore me?” His hand fanned out over my throat, forcing my head back.

“David, what are you doing here?” My voice was a soft rasp as I cracked open my eyes. I could just make out his shadow in my periphery. He was angry, but his body heat was seeping into me, relaxing me. His warm skin and firm muscles... God, how could I miss him so much in less than twenty-four hours.   

“You know exactly what I'm fucking doing here. You ignored me.” His voice was gruff, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke. “You won't let me explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I muttered, barely above a whisper, as the images of him with those girls flashed through my mind. I felt a twisting sensation in my chest.

Completely unaware, or uncaring, David went on. “I didn't call earlier, because I didn't want you to worry.” His thumb brushed reassuringly along my neck.

“I know, I listened to your messages,” I admitted, suddenly feeling sick hearing him reiterate what he’d said before. The more he said it, the more it felt like a lie.   

He shifted behind me. That’s when I felt his hard length brushing against my bare ass. I’d kicked off my sweats before going to bed, and David had full access to me. And the fact he hadn’t already touched me set off my alarm bells, making those gut-wrenching what-if scenarios more real. His hand left my throat, moving down the front of my body, pushing me back into him.

My hips lurched forward.  

“I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” I hissed suddenly, my voice dripping with venom. “I don’t know where your dick’s been.”

His hand stilled on my hip, and my body jerked forward, shaking him off.

He made no move, said nothing. The sound of his deep, even breaths filled the room. That’s when it sank in. I hadn’t realized I really felt that way. But it was my worst fear—David cheating.

And fear was a powerful thing.

“Austin,” he whispered, sounding forlorn.

“I don’t want whatever STD you have,” I snapped.

There was a moment of tense silence.

“Austin,” he growled low, grabbing my hips, jerking me back into his naked body, grinding his dick against my ass. “The only place this—”He thrust crudely, pressing his hard length into my crack. “—has been is in you.” His hand moved to my jaw, fingers digging in slightly, forcing me to look at him.  

The faint light filtering in through the window allowed me to see his solemn expression. He was painfully gorgeous. Silently, we studied each other. Then his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. He looked determined and fierce.  

“Just you... I’d never cheat on you. Fucking never,” he swore vehemently. 

I didn’t respond, but hoped bloomed inside me, desperate for him to be telling the truth. In that moment, I knew, if he had cheated, it would destroy me, so I kept my guard up, kept my anger firmly in place.

“I’ll fuck you, because you give great dick, but you better find a condom.” My voice was matter-of-fact, despite my inner turmoil.

He huffed out an aggravated breath. Next thing I knew, I was flat on my stomach. David was above me, his hand planted firmly on my back, holding me down as he wedged his knees between my thighs, spreading them wide.

“No, Austin. I know you can be a hard-ass. I know it’s to protect yourself, but not with me. Not anymore.”

My heart raced as a bizarre primitive arousal pounded through me. It was angry and competitive, like I needed to prove something. It was an uncomfortable impulse. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to prove I was better than any other woman. I knew it couldn’t be healthy, but the desire was too strong, overwhelming me, drowning out all coherent thought. 

“I’d never cheat on you.” His hand left me, removing my tee. Then he came down, bracing his forearms on either side of me. “You’re mine.”

Gripping my hair, he wound it around his fist, pinning my head to the side, exposing my neck. I felt his nose trail over my skin, followed by the flat of his tongue. I shivered. It was odd, but strangely erotic. Possessive even.   

He lowered his body, letting his cock settle in the cleft of my ass, and I let out a shuddered breath. It felt so good, his body on mine, pressing me down. I hated to admit it, but I craved it, the contact, skin on skin.

Slowly, he licked up the side of my neck again, all the way up to my ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth, suckling. My clit pulsed, keeping time with his gentle pulls. It was such a simple act, but he made it feel filthy as hell. My hips arched back as my pussy clenched and flooded, a low moan spilling from my throat as I tried to get some friction.

“There’s my girl,” he purred, then shoved a hand under my hip.

Warm, wet fingers sought greedily between my legs, stroking and delving anxiously along my seam, grazing my clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure arrowing through me. “This is my pussy. This is where I belong.” 

My hips shifted, my ass pressing into him.

“And you’re not keeping me out. Not out of your pussy and not out of your heart, so open the fuck up. Talk.” His voice was both a threat and warning as his fingers crudely massaged my throbbing nub.

It felt dirty and oh-so good. A delicious pleasure raced through me. My hips shifted, minute circles was all I could manage under his weight, and that just added to my arousal.

“You gonna talk?” he taunted.

“Yes, please,” I begged, squirming, still trying to get the friction where I needed it.

“Good girl.” His voice was a guttural rasp. “Why didn't you call me back?”

“Because I don't know how to deal with feeling like this. At first I was jealous. Then I was ready to let you go.”

His fingers stilled. “You're never letting me go. I won't let you, so don't waste your energy trying. And you're supposed to feel however the fuck you feel.” His conviction and confidence was contagious. Reassuring. “There's no right or wrong. Just tell me. I can deal with you being jealous. I can deal with you being mad. I can handle whatever you're feeling as long as you tell me. Tell me when something's bothering you. That's our deal.”

“I wanted to sort it out for myself first.” My voice was quiet, embarrassed.

“Well, you took too long. So I'm gonna sort it out for you.”  His fingers went back to massaging my clit as his hips shifted, his hard length probing my opening, before pushing in. 

“Oh, fuck yes, please,” I breathed.

 

 

*****

 

 

“Austin, wake up,” David's deep voice rasped behind me.

Rolling over, my eyes met his, and the events from the previous day slammed into me full force. The anger with it.

I saw David’s expression tightened, steeling himself to deal with me, as if he could read my mind.

“Sit up,” he commanded quietly. “We gotta eat. Then I'm taking you back with me to Arizona.”

He sat the tray over my lap as I obeyed, sitting up.

Taken aback by his demeanor, I watched silently as he rounded the bed and sat next to me.

Once I recovered, I informed him, “I have an appointment with Tracy this morning. And I'm not going to miss it.”

Still facing the TV, his jaw clenched. Once, twice, then he relented quietly. “Fine... I'll go with you to the gym.”

We fell into an uncomfortable silence.

That was until David started pleading his case. “I told you, I wasn't eating dinner with those girls. We talked about all this last night.”

“I told you, that's not all I'm mad about. I took what I wanted from you. I got my orgasms, but I'm still pissed.” 

After a moment, he continued, “And the thing with Dawn... it actually worked out really well. We'll have a better case against her now.”

It took a second for the full meaning of his words to sink in. I looked over at him. “Wait a second... So you knew she was there?”

“Yeah, we knew,” he said as if it was obvious, though he didn’t look at me, he was still fixated on the TV.

We.

“So you're keeping secrets from me? How long was she there? How long did you know?” I fired question after question.

“She'd been waiting for me... for two days.”

He was so casual, so matter-of-fact.

“Are you joking?” I asked incredulously. “So you didn't think I could handle it, or was it just information that you didn't feel like I needed to know?” When he still wouldn’t look at me, my words tumbled out in a rush, my voice growing louder. “Are we doing that? Keeping secrets from each other? Because I have a ton of things that I would love not telling you about!”

He looked over at me then, a placating expression on his face. “Okay, slow down. It's not like that. And I apologize. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry.”

“I am so sick of hearing that, I don’t want you to worry,” I mocked him.

His lips pursed, his expression somewhere between angry and calculating.

My phone buzzed then, interrupting our standoff. Reaching over, I grabbed my phone, still watching David out of the corner of my eye. 

 

Elaine: Have you seen this?

7:05 AM

 

Clicking on the link she sent, I saw David's texts, the ones from the day of the Halloween party. All three pictures attached. I pushed away my panic and focused, taking in details. That's when I noticed the contact photo was the exact same one David had programmed in my phone. A selfie he'd taken while in bed with me.

It's from my phone.

“David,” I whispered through my growing panic.

If someone had David's texts, they had my responding texts, which were graphic. X-rated graphic.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his anger gone, replaced by concern and alarm, apparently sensing my mood shift.

I handed him my phone, speechless.

“What the fuck? This is from your phone.” He looked up at me. “Who sent this?”

“Elaine.”

He sighed, reaching for his own phone. “Someone got into Austin's phone.” He paused. “It's on that sports gossip site. Yeah, just meet me in the living room.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, still holding my phone.

“Hey, I need to text Elaine back,” I explained, holding my hand out.

“He just needs it for a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder as he exited the bedroom.

I grabbed my laptop, turning it on, and e-mailed Elaine, explaining to her that those texts were from my phone.

David walked back in just as I was putting the laptop away.

“Always so impatient,” he rumbled, a sexy smirk forming on his face as he made his way back over to me.

Despite everything that was going on, I couldn't help but stare at the deep V of muscle running down along his hips. It was completely exposed, his sweats barely hanging on his hips.

Fuck me, how am I supposed to stay mad?

“There's my girl,” he growled, climbing back in bed.   

My eyes darted down, staring at the sheets, suddenly embarrassed by my blatant eye-fuck.

Handing my phone back to me, he ducked down, catching my gaze.

“Sweetheart, I'm sorry I hurt you yesterday. I didn't think it through. It was last minute, and I was freaking out about keeping you safe, keeping you away from her. And I didn't want it to affect you. I fucked up.” The sincerity in his voice was heartbreaking, melting me to him. “I won't do it again. No more secrets, I promise.”

“It really hurt. All day, it hurt,” I admitted quietly, struggling not to get emotional. And failing.

“Sweet girl,” he whispered huskily as he pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms.

Turning into him, I buried my face in his chest as my hands came up, hooking over his biceps, desperately clinging to him.

“I'm so fucking sorry.” He rocked me as my tears fell. “I thought about you all day. It never occurred to me you were as miserable as I was.” 

“Don't do it again,” I whispered, not willing to let him hear my crying voice.

“I won't.” I couldn't be sure, but he sounded on the verge of tears too. I felt his lips press on the crown of my head as he breathed me in, nuzzling into my hair, holding there. “I love you.”

Warmth bloomed in my chest. The way he held me, the way he breathed me in, I'd never felt so cherished. So loved.  

After a long moment, I whispered, “I'm sorry about the texts.”

“It's not your fault. I can't imagine anyone being able to get your phone. It's either on you or locked in the gym office or at home.”

That was true. No one had access to my phone, and very few people were as brazen as David, pickpocketing my phone out of my purse.

“What time is your appointment with Tracy?” His voice was a soft rumble, soothing me, allowing me to relax about our current dilemma of someone having access to my texts.

“Nine.”

He made a low grumbling sound.

“Don't you have practice today?” I asked, pulling back and looking at him.

His expression was soft, gentle. “I'll skip it.”

“David—” I argued.

“I'll skip it.” His tone was final.

 

 

****

 

 

I woke up in a strange bed surrounded by white. A huge white headboard, white bedside tables, a white duvet, and white Egyptian cotton sheets wrapped around me.

This was definitely not what I had requested. I'd requested a tufted bed in gray. Admittedly, the bed was cool and elegant, but not at all what I wanted.

We hadn't left LA until late last night. I must've fallen asleep on the plane and David hadn't bothered to wake me up, because it was my first time seeing the room.

Turning over, my eyes settled on the opposite wall that held three open doorways. The one in the middle was a half-empty closet. Half-empty was generous; there were only a handful of hanging items and two pieces of luggage sitting in the floor of the closet.

Hopping out of bed, I slipped out into the unfamiliar hallway, that’s when I finally noticed what I was wearing: one of David's oversized T-shirts, my bra, and nothing else.

True to his word, he skipped his training yesterday, opting to pack my bags before heading to the gym with me. After the gym, we'd spent the day shopping together, hitting up Rodeo Drive, walking in plain view of the paparazzi, making sure they had plenty of PDA to witness. Elaine had decided it would be best to not respond to the rumors David was cheating—the texts and videos—and let our actions speak for us. I still wasn't sure where we’d landed on admitting those texts were to me.

When I entered the open living room, I found Chance asleep on the oversized white sectional couch.

That made me mad. There was a reason I requested gray furniture from Restoration Hardware. I wanted David to feel comfortable, have some of the warmth and familiarity from home.

Every room in this house was bright white and with the almost black hardwood floor, the house felt cold.

This was exactly what I didn't want for David. He told me his condo was black and white. He said he picked it based on pictures, and after living in it for a couple months, he realized he hated it.

Looking at the house, I felt like a failure—I took on the job of hiring the decorators.

Walking over to Chance, I rubbed his head. His heavy eyelids barely opened.

 “Good morning,” David purred behind me, startlingly me.

Turning around, I found him standing at the kitchen island, cooking, watching me.

My gaze trailed down from his chiseled face to his strong neck, his traps, the thick swells of his shoulders, and down his defined eight pack. 

 

 

“You're so getting fucked before we leave,” he growled.

Sauntering over to him, I asked coyly, “So, out of everything you packed for me, this was all you could find?” I tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, holding it out like a dress. 

“I didn't even open your bag,” he rumbled with a sexy smirk.

Taking a closer look at the shirt, I realized he hadn't. It was the shirt he wore the day before.

“I like you smelling like me.”

There was something different about him, his voice, his attitude. He was happier, sexier? I wasn't sure what it was, but I liked it.

“Where we going?” I asked, sitting across from him.

“Coming to training with me today,” he informed me as he plated up our breakfast.

“And that’s when?”

“Hour and a half, plenty of time.”

He didn’t know me at all if he thought that was enough time for me to eat, have sex and shower. But I was going to leave that argument until after I’d had my orgasms.

“I’m sorry about the furniture, I asked for—” I tried to explain about the miscommunication.

“I take it all back,” he cut me off, his tone soft and sincere. His dark eyes pulling me in. “If I’m with you, I love it.” His voice dropped an octave when he added, “Especially, if I’m in you.”

I shivered and my core tightened.

An hour and a half definitely wouldn’t be long enough. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

I'd imagined there would be a lot of fans around, but this... these women were right on him. Only thing separating them from him were a few feet and a chain-length fence.

Fergus helped me maneuver through the crowd to the front. Poor Fergus, he'd been nothing more than a glorified chauffeur all morning. When I didn't meet David's deadline, we went back and forth, David demanding I go with him anyway.

Finally, Fergus offered to drop off David and come back for me. Reluctantly, David agreed.

I wasn't sure why looking good for him was so important to me. It was an archaic notion, the little lady wanting to look good for her husband to impress his colleagues. But that's what I'd done, made sure my hair and makeup were natural but perfect.

Most of my impulses since being with David were new and confusing; this was no different.

From the options David had packed for me, I settled on black, ripped skinny jeans, black tank, and converse.

Standing at the fence, I took him in.

I'd never liked a man in uniform of any kind, but the way David filled out that Dodgers uniform... Damn.

From the hat down to his cleats, it was all working for me.

David mumbled a few words to one of his teammates. Then I heard a lewd remark another one of his teammates made in reference to me.

“Fucking watch it,” David growled low.

I could hear them clearly, and if I could, all the groupies could too.

That's when I heard, “You're that cheating bitch.” 

Until that moment, I'd completely forgotten about Zach and all his bullshit.

“Back up.” Fergus moved, getting between me and the two girls who were now focused on me.

“Oh, you have a bodyguard? Your skank ass better,” another girl said, pointing around Fergus to me. “He's leaving your ass. You here to beg forgiveness?”

Being confronted by his fans was refreshing, only because I found I didn't care as much as I thought I would. It was hard to care about something that was so far from the truth. Though, I was curious if they were referring to the texts or the video, but I didn't ask.

“Austin,” David called as he quickly came over. When he reached the fence, he barked at the girls, “Back off.”

It was only a moment before they both deflated, processing his words, or the meaning behind them.

He looked at Fergus then, “What the fuck is she doing over here?”

“She wanted to see you.”

His expression softened and he looked at me then. It was the look, the one that tore right through me and stripped me bare, that put all my insecurities on display for him.

“Sweet girl.” His voice was part pleading, part confusion. “You want to see me, come see me. Don't stand out there.”

“I—” I started, but I didn't know what to say.

Instantly, I felt stupid. It was glaringly obvious I didn't know his world. At all. This was a huge part of his life, and I wasn't part of it.

“Take her inside,” he directed Fergus, not looking at me again.

As Fergus led me back through the crowd, I could hear David talking to fans as they asked for autographs. Thankfully, my sunglasses hid my tear rimmed eyes as Fergus led me into the stadium and down to the front row, just left of home plate. 

“Where's David?” I asked, searching the field as we took our seats.

“Dugout, probably.”

At Fergus' tone, I flushed, realizing how desperate I sounded.

“I'm going to get a water, want anything?” I tried in vain to salvage my dignity.

“I'll come with you.”

We'd made it no further than a few steps when I heard, “Austin!”

When I turned, I found David at the bottom of the railing. He crooked his finger in a “come here” motion. As I obeyed, his eyes narrowed, a slight smirk forming on his face. In an instant, all my trepidation and insecurities about attending dissolved.

“Goddamn, you look sexy.” He motioned over his shoulder. “You got all those assholes talking.”

I smiled. “Glad you think so.”

“You could wear a trash bag and be the hottest person here,” he muttered gruffly.

Huffing a small laugh, I smiled. Whether he believed it or not, it was sweet of him to say.

“Hey, seriously. You don't have to try. I'm always proud of you, always proud to be with you.”

Stunned, I just looked at him.

That's what it was.

That need to look good for him. I hadn't understood what that feeling was. I wanted him to be proud of me. Really wanted him to be proud of me.

Taking off his hat, he turned it around, snugging it down on his head, allowing me a clear view of his too handsome face. Holding his hands out to me, he gave me a devilish smirk.

When I made no moves toward him, his eyebrow lifted and he leaned in, gripping me under my arms.

“Lift your knees.” 

The next thing I knew, I was off my feet, my arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands gripped my ass, holding me up so I was looking down at him.

Damn, he's gorgeous.

“Mrs. Taylor, let me see it,” he demanded huskily.

When I showed him the tattoo, he leaned in, kissing it, like always.

“I'm so fucking happy you're here.” His lips brushed mine before claiming them in a lush kiss.

It was a wet, hot, soft sliding of lips.

Squirming in his arms, I pressed closer. He helped, squeezing my ass, pressing my sex against his abs.

“Fuck, I knew an hour wasn't enough,” he breathed between kisses. “Sweetheart, I gotta put you down. I'm gettin’ hard.”

Smiling against his mouth, I laughed as he lifted me back over the little wall. 

“Don't wander off too far.” He gave me another kiss before turning to Fergus. “Bring her to the locker room when we're done.”

He winked at me as he backed away. When he turned, Taylor 23 drew my eyes and something burst in my chest, overflowing.

“I'm proud of you, baby!” I called out to his retreating form. I had a moment of panic, afraid my sudden outburst was inappropriate.

But then he turned, and a beautiful smile spread across his chiseled face. “I love the fuck outta you,” he swore loudly.

I watched as he turned around, walking back over to his teammates. His uniform did little to hide the sculpted body underneath.

That ass.

Practice was low key. I walked around with Fergus, checking the different levels and stores, until I heard what sounded like a gunshot.

When I looked to Fergus, he explained, “It's David.”

Immediately, I headed down to see.

He was right; it was David. Just then, the pitcher through another ball. I watched David, his stance was casual, relaxed. And his swing matched. A loud crack echoed through the stadium and I jumped, startled. My heart pounded as the ball flew high.

“Is that...?”

“Home run. He does it nearly every time—when he’s doesn’t break the ball or bat.” Fergus' voice was matter-of-fact.

Damn. 

I didn't know shit about baseball, but I was pretty sure that was a good thing.

As directed, Fergus took me down to the locker room when training was over.

Kind of.

He led me down a long hall and through a door, where David was lying prone on a massage table, a well-built older man massaging his shoulder.

The smell was overwhelming, a mixture of male sweat and cleaner. Loud male voices echoed from a hallway at the end of the room. The room was huge, containing three full-sized massage tables with double the space in between.

My gaze finally settled on David's feet, traveling up his nude form.

“Sweet girl,” David rumbled, pulling my attention away from his muscled ass and to his face.

“Come ‘ere. This is Harold. Harold this is my wife.”

“Hi,” I greeted shyly as I approached David, unsure if I should sit, stand, or just stay out of the way.

David solved my dilemma, gripping my wrist, tugging me forward.  

“Congratulations, and don't worry, he doesn't just refer to you as his wife, Austin.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, embarrassed. 

The guy probably had to ask David what my name was. Then I felt all warm and squishy inside, thinking of David talking about me to other people.

David tugged again.

This time I didn't resist, leaning down and kissing him. He let go of my wrist and caught me behind the neck, holding me to him. When his tongue slipped into my mouth, I relaxed, giving in. He really kissed me then, his tongue stroking mine in aggressive, hungry licks. My clit throbbed so violently I was afraid the other men would see it through my jeans. 

He pulled away suddenly and asked, “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, dazedly, still only inches from his face.

“Good.” He smirked, and his grip loosened, allowing me to stand up. “There's a party tonight I wanna take you to, okay?”

Still lust-drunk, I breathed, “Okay.”

 

 

*****

 

 

I was standing in the bathroom getting ready for the party.

“What was that about at lunch? With Fergus?” I asked, putting on my eyeliner as David watched, leaning casually in the doorway. 

 Shortly after David's massage, all three of us went out to eat, where David told Fergus to take the rest of the weekend off, but Fergus hadn't looked too pleased about it.

“He's afraid I'm gonna get in a fight. Thinks I'm more aggressive since I met you,” David answered dismissively as he drank his coffee.

I paused, looking at him in the mirror. “Are you?”

“I'm fine.” 

“David, did you ever get into fights before?” I asked cautiously. “Before Zach?”

His eyes drifted up as he considered it. “No, but I've never been in love before, never had anyone to protect.” His gaze met mine then. “Are you scared of me?”

“No,” I responded, incredulously.

“Then it doesn’t matter.”

There was something in his voice, something that niggled at the back of my mind, but I ignored it, not wanting to deal with any deep thoughts at the moment.

“Wear the black dress I packed for you,” David directed before disappearing from the doorway.

Forty minutes later, we were pulling up in front of a house. Music was pouring from it, as were scantily clad women.

Fuck, I knew this was part of the scene; it was part of every scene that included high profile-men. I'd just hoped David wasn't interested in it.

As soon as I climbed out of the Mercedes truck, David was next to me, gripping my hand.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to my lips.  

Walking up the long driveway, passing by several of those women, I felt overdressed.

The black dress David had been referring to was actually a black romper, the top half was very fitted, while the bottom half was loose and flowy, hitting midthigh. I paired it with nude platform sandals, and kept my jewelry to a minimum, small diamond studs and my wedding rings.

Still, it seemed too much for this crowd.

Last time he's dressing me.

Though, in all fairness, I hadn't challenged him. And based on his attire, I probably should've.

He'd covered that perfectly honed body with a thin, white, V-neck tee, ripped fitted jeans, and those scuffed black boots. His tousled, dark brown tresses fell into his eyes, while those dark brows and dark scruff accentuated his sculpted face.

His utter male perfection would never be lost on me.

Entering the house, I was surprised. The interior was a strong contradiction to the traditional exterior. The house was modern with gray wood walls, white glossy floors, beige and red décor. The entire back wall of the house was open to what appeared to be an expansive backyard, if all the writhing bodies, splashing, and loud voices were any indication.

David led me through the house, through the few guests still lingering inside, seemingly aware of where he was going, which concerned me even more.

“David!” I heard a deep voice yell when we entered the brightly lit kitchen.

David gave a half nod in greeting, pulling me forward. “Dwight, this is Austin. Austin, Dwight.”

“Oh, wow." Dwight looked to David then back to me. “Nice to meet you,” he greeted, but made no attempt to shake my hand.

“You too,” I responded automatically.

For some reason, I got the distinct feeling Dwight wasn't happy to meet me.

“Sarah... isn't here,” Dwight hedged.

There was something obviously going on between David and Dwight, something Dwight didn't want to say in front of me. 

“Didn't figure she would be.”

Dwight looked confused at first, but he recovered. “Make yourselves at home. All the usual suspects are here.”

“Thanks, man.”

Then David pulled me into the backyard. It was impressive, boasting a large pool, a mini golf course, and three separate fire pits surrounded by couches.

It was a party house.

And everyone was partying.

David led me over to an empty couch at the far end, in the shadows and away from the craziness.

“What was that about in there?” I asked as David pulled me down into his lap.

He leaned in, his breath warming my ear as he spoke, “Look around.”

Scanning the crowd, I recognized a few faces from earlier in the day. They were David’s teammates.

“All of these guys are married or have girlfriends, except Noah. And none of their wives or girlfriends are here.”

Distracted by his lips grazing my ear and the possessive hand moving up my thigh, it took a moment for the full weight of that statement to sink in through my lust haze. 

My stomach churned.

It's that kind of party house.

Looking over my shoulder, I met his gaze, and with a growing lump in my throat, I asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because I'm not gonna hide anything from you anymore.”

Everything inside me stilled. Frozen with fear.

He continued, “And no, I don't come to these. I haven't for years. I don't want any of this. I never have. I want you. I want what you give me—that's all I've ever wanted.”

I didn't respond.

“You are my life. The only reason I'm playing ball is to take care of you... I'd rather fight with you all fucking day, than be with anyone else,” he swore fiercely.

His words rang true. Maybe because he'd said something similar to me so many times before. Maybe because he put up with every irrational, crazy emotion I had without a complaint.  

Whatever it was, something inside me shifted. Softening, relaxing. I leaned in, whispering against his stubbled cheek, “I love the fuck outta you.”

He growled, his chest vibrating against my back as he squeezed me tight. “I love the fuck outta you.”

We settled there in that dark corner, mostly keeping to ourselves, though David introduced me to anyone and everyone that approached us.

Suddenly, he shifted me over. “I'm gonna get us something to drink. Don't go anywhere.”

As he walked away, I drank in the sight of the thick muscles in his shoulders and back, shifting and moving under the almost sheer fabric. My gaze finally settled on his ass and thighs in those fitted jeans.

My craving for him hadn't lessened; it'd only grown more violent. Being around David all the time, that crazy surge of chemicals telling me to fuck him was constant. There were times I couldn't think about anything else.

Right now is no different.

My pussy throbbed painfully in agreement.

When David started back toward me, carrying our drinks, I noticed a tall thin blonde wearing a hot pink bikini top and short jean shorts; half of her ass was hanging out. I couldn't even be mad at her. She had the kind of ass that should be wearing those shorts; a small perfect little bubble butt.

Something tightened in my chest as she changed directions, making a beeline for David.

I knew I needed to get used to women shamelessly throwing themselves at him, flirting with him. I'd had it easy in LA. Fans almost never approached him, and women had stopped being aggressive with him in my presence.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched cute Bubble Butt walk right up to him, trying to brush her breasts against him. Seamlessly he shifted, twisting his upper body and moving his arm behind him, smoothly dodging her attempt. It seemed an unconscious move on his part, natural, as if he did it all the time.

With that little display of loyalty, my possessiveness grew stronger.

He was mine.

A sharp burst of warmth shot through me, my chest and cunt heating, feeling equally loved and turned on. Faithfulness was sexy as fuck.

“I know that look, and you better have been lookin’ at me,” he growled as he leaned down, getting in my face as he set our drinks on the table.

A happy thrill ran through me at his reaction, his jealousy.  

“Maybe,” I teased.

“Mm-hmm,” he grumbled, sitting down next to me.  Without warning, he picked me up, easily hauling me into his lap, positioning me between his legs.

The material of his worn jeans and tee did nothing to stop his heat from seeping into me, comforting me, relaxing me.

“Mmmm,” I purred, reclining back into his hard body, looking up at him. “You're so fucking hot.”

A sexy smirk formed on his face as he wrapped his arms around me. “Mrs. Taylor—”

“David,” someone called out, interrupting us.

David's gaze slid to the side in annoyance. “Martinez.”

“Taking my advice?”

I tore my gaze away from David to see the man approaching. He paused midstride, before recovering and closing the distance between us.

“Take your advice?” I asked, knowing it wasn't anything he wanted to tell me.

“Oh... Yeah, about coming out.” His acting skills left a lot to be desired. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Martinez.”

He didn't offer his hand and neither did I. I also noticed David made no attempt to introduce us, or to interact with him.

“Nice to meet you.”

David's hand slid up my inner thigh, making a point. Or just trying to make the guy uncomfortable. After another awkward moment, Martinez excused himself.

“What was that about?” I asked once Martinez was gone.

“Thinks I should be cheating on you.” Then he added, “Thinks you're cheating on me.”

“Ah.” I couldn't really blame him then; he was just trying to look out for David.

Kinda.  

“He's bitter. His wife cheats on him,” David whispered, leaning in, letting his lips trail over the tender flesh behind my ear.

“Then give him a break.” My voice was soft, matching David’s tone, not wanting to break the mood. “He just wants company in his misery.”

“Let's get back to what had you so turned on,” he purred.

I shrugged, not wanting to admit it.

“Please,” he rasped sweetly, his nose trailing up my neck, sending goose bumps racing over my flesh.

He pulled back, his gaze meeting mine, pleading.

My eyes rolled in embarrassment before I muttered, “The way you avoided touching that girl.”

His eyebrow lifted as a small smile formed on his face. “Are you surprised by that?”

Biting my bottom lip, I gave him a one-shoulder shrug.

“I don't flirt with other women. I didn't even flirt before I met you,” he said soberly.

My eyebrow lifted, giving him my “really” face.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, slightly annoyed. At me or himself, I couldn't tell. “One time, and I was trying to make you jealous. It will never happen again. It was stupid and thoughtless.”

“I don't want to talk about this right now.”

“Well, I want you to fucking believe me. I want you to trust me. I want you to know that I wasn't flirting with those women at the bar—or anywhere else.”

Technically, he hadn't flirted with the women at the grocery store...

“This is just a huge adjustment, and it's scary—it scares me, you being gone so much,” I confessed, letting my hands roam over his thick biceps. “And it's nothing compared to when you're actually going to be away, away.”

“No more secrets, like I said. Anything happens that might make you uncomfortable, I’ll tell you. You see anything you don't like, you tell me. A picture, video, I don't care what it is, you tell me.”

“Deal,” I agreed easily, mostly because I just didn't want talk about it anymore. I wanted to focus on his body.

 He was almost wrapped around me, his hands moving restlessly over my hips and thighs, his cock hardening underneath me.

I didn’t know how long we’d been sitting there, enjoying the feel of our bodies pressed together, when I finally noticed several girls starting to lose their clothes.

That's what I thought; it's that kind of party.

Glancing at David, I found him watching his hands, sliding up the inside of my thigh. Higher. And higher.

“David.” Once I had his attention, I nodded toward the pool, toward the topless girls.

“Don't even fucking think about it,” he warned. “Your top is staying on.”

That had never crossed my mind, but since he brought it up...

“Really? Because we fuck in public, and you're at a party where there's half-naked girls everywhere,” I challenged.

“I don't leave your tits hanging out or pussy exposed for everyone to see—and I don't come to these parties,” he defended fiercely.

I smirked, giving him a side-eyed glare, saying I can do whatever I want.

“Austin,” he warned.

Still giving him a mischievous look, I hooked my leg over his, spreading my legs wide. Grabbing his hand, I directed it higher, under my shorts and to my bare sex.

“Why don't you just worry about that, Mr. Taylor,” I breathed. 

“Yes, ma'am.” His warm fingertips played over my seam in short strokes, teasing everywhere but where I needed it most.

I squirmed.

He chuckled, a happy, pleased sound.

I heard a splash and a high-pitched shriek over the music. My gaze sought out the noise, finding Dwight in the pool with the cute Bubble Butt girl. She was topless, and Dwight was helping relieve her of her bottoms.

Lovely, I get to watch this guy cheat.

Inexplicably, my clit throbbed. Something about it turned me on, as I watched him artlessly impale her. They were both clearly drunk, him more than her, it seemed, as he thrust clumsily into her.

Movement off to the side of the pool caught my eye. It took a second for me to realize what I was looking at. One of the topless girls was sucking Martinez off, while he sat on the edge of the pool, making out with another girl.

It was surreal. I’d seen some crazy stuff living in LA, hanging out with the people I did, but nothing like what I was seeing at that moment. I felt a twinge of panic, worried it might turn into an orgy.

I gasped when David’s slick fingers slipped over my swollen clit.

“You like watching?” His rumbled words startled me, tearing my gaze away from the scene. 

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Maybe?”

We couldn't see much. We were quite a bit away, and they were in the water.

David’s left hand came up, cupping my breast, squeezing.

I gasped as my eyes closed and my head fell back against his thick shoulder. “That’s good.”

My body was so sensitive. I’d been aroused since his little display of loyalty, and it hadn’t dissipated. Just thinking about it made my pussy pulse, as if chanting his name.

“David,” I muttered, through labored breaths. 

“What do you need?” he purred, tauntingly, his lips moving against my cheek, his scruff scratching deliciously. Before I could form an answer, his fingers slid back, teasing my opening.

A low moan poured from me as my channel clenched, trying to grip his fingertips. “More.”

He complied, pushing in an inch as his other hand kneaded my breast, thumbing my nipple lazily.

Strings of pleasure shot through me, but it wasn’t enough. I felt like I would burst if I didn’t get more.  

“Fuck me,” I murmured, frantically trying to work his fingers deeper. 

“Not here,” he rasped. “Not in front of these assholes.”

The rejection triggered something in me. Making me feel possessive. I wanted to dominate David. I wanted to claim him, let all these groupies know he was mine. 

I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “It’s mine,” I declared. “Whenever, wherever.” 

“Yes,” he breathed, his gaze turning heavy lidded.  

His teasing fingers slid free of me as I stood, turning around, straddling his lap on my knees.

“You’re mine.” I started unbuckling his belt, and he quickly took over, getting his cock out in record time.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he swore through his labored breath, holding his brutal length out for me.

Bracing a hand on his shoulder, I pulled the material out of the way and carefully lowered down, taking the tip into me.

“Oh, yeah,” I sighed, bone-deep relief coursing through me as the wide head stretched me open.

“Fuck, sweet girl,” he growled, thrusting up slightly. 

I held his heated gaze as I sank down slowly, cataloging his reactions.

“You’re mine,” I gritted, struggling to not moan as my ass met his thighs.

“Oh, yeah. Fuck, yeah, sweetheart,” he agreed eagerly, his husky voice sounding almost desperate.      

I ground down, working my clit against his hard abs.

He gripped my ass in one hand, the other going to my breast, needy, hungry, squeezing, making my nub swell. After a moment, I realized he was making sure my shorts were covering us.

“We good?” I muttered against his lips.

“Yeah, we’re good.” But his hand stayed on my ass, kneading my flesh, matching the one on my breast.

My hands slid up his neck, tangling into his hair as I rode him. Slow and easy. Back and forth. Rubbing my clit with each shift of my hips. My gaze trailed over his face, taking in his perfection—his strong jaw, his dark stubble, his soulful brown eyes, and his softly sculpted lips. His lips were parted, his eyes half-lidded, watching me intently. The pleasure building was blinding, as was my need to possess him. 

“Mine,” I whispered, then licked his upper lip.

A low groan rumbled out of him, then his hands became more aggressive, squeezing and rubbing in all the right places.

“All yours,” he rasped, flexing his hips in small involuntary thrusts, helping me get him deeper.

“Fuck, I love you.” I licked into his mouth again, and he caught my tongue, sucking.

He sucked my tongue the same way I sucked his dick, making me feel powerful, in control. Fisting my fingers in his hair, I pressed my forehead to his and stopped moving, lifting up, letting him fuck me from below. He squeezed my ass hard as his hips thrust up, hitting my end with purpose.

“This cock is mine,” I breathed.

“Fuck yeah, keep saying it.” He groaned, his breath warming my face.

“I own it, I’ll do whatever I want with it. If I tell you to fuck me in the ass in front of all these groupies you’re going to do it.” My voice was part challenging, part demanding.

“Fuck yes, anything you want,” he panted as he hammered up into me, his fingers digging into my ass painfully.

I’d would definitely have bruises, but I didn’t care. I needed him like this, losing control over me in front of this particular group of people.

“You better make me come,” I taunted.

He bit his lip, his gaze focused between my legs, watching. Suddenly, the hand on my breast squeezed, pinching my nipple hard, before moving to my clit.

My body jolted and my muscles tensed, seizing up as I plunged into a violent orgasm. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

 

Monday morning arrived far too soon. I was dreading it. My screen tests.

And after the perfect weekend in Phoenix, I found myself considering pulling out of the show—as an actor.  I loved being with David, hanging out at the stadium, watching him do his thing. It was so fucking tempting to just be his wife and nothing else.

But deep down I knew I couldn’t. For his sake and mine. I just had to get through the screen tests—that’s what I kept telling myself anyway.

David hadn't told me outright, but I was pretty sure he knew exactly what they were for, if his odd behavior this morning was any indication.

My flight passed in a blur, too caught up in my head, simultaneously psyching myself up and psyching myself out.

When we finally arrived at the studio, my nerves were wrecked.

“Come in with me?” I asked Fergus, hoping that a familiar face would help me calm down.

“Of course.”

When we walked in, Jeff and the casting director, along with a few other people I didn't recognize, were waiting, the camera and boom already set up.

“Austin, this is Lee. Lee, Austin,” Jeff introduced one of the men, who looked like an on-set PA. As I took a closer look, I realized he was the top pick for the leading man. He was scruffy, hair disheveled, clothes a sloppy mess, and not in a hot way. 

Fuck, I'm not ready for this...

 

 

 

David

 

I was in my own personal hell.

But that’s what you do for the people you love, right? Suffer for them. That’s the only kind of love I’d ever known, the kind you had to sacrifice your physical and emotional well being for. Maybe I was being over dramatic. It wasn’t like I was being drawn and quartered.

It just felt like it. 

Austin’s behavior this morning—distracted, tense, and caught up in her head—had confirmed my fears; the screen tests were to test her sexual chemistry with potential male leads.

Ever since she left, I’d been slowly dying inside, waiting to hear the verdict—find out who had been chosen to make out my wife. But the real torture was the possibility someone had been touching her, kissing her. All fucking day.

I was lying in the training room, getting my muscles worked over by Harold when my phone finally rang.

“The texts didn't come from Austin's phone,” Fergus informed me as soon as I answered. “They came from yours. Screenshots of those texts were sent from your phone to a phone in Noah Wright's name.”

It was so far from what I was expecting I didn’t immediately react. But once it sank in that Noah had to have seen Austin's pics, that he had the balls to get in my phone and do that shit... My body heated with rage. 

Fergus went on, “And, he deleted the texts you sent Austin the first day at training camp.”

That didn't make sense, unless…

He's trying to come between us.

That's why he'd released my pics and not hers. 

“He accessed her phone through yours. He was in her texts, not yours. Most likely it was accidental, but...”

I hadn't thought it was possible to hate that little fuck more, but clearly it was.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” I muttered.

“No, you're not. Even I couldn't get you out of that.”

He was right. I hated that he was right.

“David.” The seriousness in his voice made me pause, forgetting all about Noah momentarily.

“You need to come home,” he said solemnly.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I tried to speak. Sucking in a deep breath, I exhaled roughly, then asked, “What happened?”

“It's something she needs to tell you. It's not my place.”

“Fucking tell me,” I gritted.

“Today did not go well for her.” His response was cryptic, but I got the message loud and clear.

It was what I’d been hoping for, that she couldn’t go though with it. That she would fail. Now that it had happened, I felt like shit.“Fuck,” I breathed, both relieved and hurting for her. I never wanted to trigger her, to see her in pain, but I had never been more grateful for her issues; all this would be over—her staying in LA, away from me. I felt a perverse thrill knowing she would need me. That I would get to take care of her, that I would be the only one taking care of her.

It was seriously fucking twisted. But what I needed to be happy and what she needed, were at direct odds with each other. Austin getting hurt was a boon for me. 

“I'm gonna head straight to the airport,” I informed Fergus before ending the call.

As soon as Harold was done, I headed for the locker room, passing by Noah without a second glace. I would deal with him later, my focus was on taking care of Austin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Austin

 

 

I had been curled up on the bed with Chance, crying for hours. My emotions constantly shifting between humiliation and fury.

Mostly, I was mad at myself. What was I thinking writing sex scenes? And why couldn't I just overcome my issues for twenty fucking minutes?

And it had happened in front of other people. I'd never had witnesses before. I'd felt like I'd been stripped bare in front of them, putting my raw, open wounds on display for them to pick and probe.

Why am I so fucked up?

I hated it. It felt like complete strangers had conditioned me forever, determining what I could and couldn't do for the rest of my life.

"Austin.” David's voice filled the room. It was softer than I'd ever heard it before, and I instantly knew he was aware of what had happened.

Seconds later, I felt his strong hands picking me up pulling me into his lap, big arms wrapping around me, holding me.

With my legs on either side of his, our chests pressed together, I buried my head in the crook of his neck, clinging to him with everything I had.

Neither of us said anything for a long time, my shaky, stuttered breaths and sniffles the only sound in the room.

Eventually he asked, “Sweet girl, what happened?”

Swallowing thickly, I tried to come up with the shortest answer. “I couldn't control it.” My muffled voice cracked as I spoke against his neck. “My body... every time he tried to touch me, I jerked away.  And I couldn't make it stop,” I admitted shamefully as fresh tears rimmed my eyes.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he whispered, his hand cupping the back of my head, the other rubbing up and down my back, rhythmically.

“I couldn't fucking control my own body,” I whispered, defeated.

“That's okay.”

I could tell he was relieved, happy even.

Pulling back, I met his gaze. “David, I'm not giving up my life-long dream—”

“Austin, you wrote it. Someone else can play the part,” he consoled. “You can't control—”

“David, I'm not letting someone else's actions dictate my future. You realize that's what's happening? I'm not letting those two fuckers take my dreams away.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed heavily, deflating.

“Okay.” His voice was soft, resigned. “You're right.” His expression was open, vulnerable. He seemed to truly understand how I felt. “Give me a couple of days.”

Tucking my head back into the crook of his neck, I took comfort in the strongest man I’d ever known. But I had no idea how he thought he could fix me. It was an internal issue, my internal issue. I wasn’t even sure I was fixable, but I was going to try.

“Have you eaten, sweetheart?” he murmured, his hand still gliding up and down my back, the other sweeping my hair out of the way, so he could see me.

I tucked in tighter, hiding. “No,” I spoke into his tear stained shirt.

“Let me take care of my girl, huh? Let’s get you showered and in bed. I’ll get us dinner and we’ll spend the rest of the day in our room, eating and watching TV. Sound okay?” His voice was so tender, it brought a flood of fresh tears to my eyes.

I nodded, clinging tighter.

 

 

*****

 

The next day, I found myself sitting in a small waiting room in Beverly Hills—technically a guesthouse turned doctor’s office—trying to find something on my phone to keep me entertained.

Yeah, right.

I was trying to avoid having a panic attack. I didn’t know if this would work, and I was positive David would be mad. He wanted to solve all my problems, but he couldn’t solve this. 

The night before, when David left to pickup our dinner, I called Tara. Luckily for me, Liam was with her, and he was a wealth of information on the subject of rehab facilities and psychiatrists—specifically ones that catered to the antics and eccentricities of celebrities.

That was perfect, because I needed a band-aid-type fix to get me through the week. I’d deal with actually doing the sex scenes later.

“Miss James?”

I looked up, finding a young and very attractive man. He had shoulder-length dark brown hair tucked behind his ears, big brown eyes, a perfectly straight nose, and a square jaw covered in a thick layer of stubble. He was well on his way to growing a beard. It was quite the contrast to his perfectly tailored dark gray suit and tie.

Does everyone is this town look like an actor?

I hesitated, wondering if I could actually talk to this guy about my issues.

“I’m Dr. Vaughn. Are you ready?” he asked. His voice was low, calm and patient.

Something about it reminded me of David, soothing me. I stood, following him into the office.

“Sit anywhere you like,” he encouraged.

There were two high back leather chairs placed strategically by a long sofa. I took a seat on the far end of the large brown leather couch, tucking in against the arm. I realized a second too late how telling that was about me.

That’s probably why he let me choose.

As I started mentally berating myself for not being more guarded, I reminded myself that was the point; this was for work. This was to prove to myself I could get past my issues, even if only a few minutes at a time.

“So, I understand you have an urgent situation?”

I sighed heavily. Liam had made the call for me, using his connections to get me a last-minute appointment.

“Yeah, I was raped when I was seven,” I stated bluntly, disconnected. “And well... I have a new show, and I need to figure out a way to do sex scenes—let virtual strangers touch me—without having a full meltdown.”

“Okay.” He took notes, then looked back up at me. “What exactly happened?”

I explained as thoroughly as I could about the screen test, my body’s reaction, and my inability to stop it.

“Have you had sexual relationships?” he inquired. His voice maintained that calm, soothing quality, keeping me at ease.

I wondered if that was practiced, fake calm. Did he talk differently in his everyday life? Did he use slang? Or was this yoga-instructor-in-an-expensive-suit energy he put off really him?    

“Yeah, it’s just—” I paused, hearing the door knob twist, followed by a metallic thunk.

Then David’s big body was filling the doorway.

“What’re you doing here Austin?” David’s voice was quiet, but the demand and anger were clear as he stepped into the office, shutting the door behind him. 

“David, wha—” I started, dumbfounded by his sudden appearance.

“Did you really think I wouldn't find out?” he cut me off, his eyebrows pulled together.

“You need to leave,” Dr. Vaughn spoke up.

“No, it's fine—he's fine,” I assured him, before turning to David. “I can't believe Fergus told you about this.”

“He didn't, and that's gonna be a whole other discussion. I found out because of the confirmation phone call.”

Oh fuck.

“Who is this?” Dr. Vaughn interrupted.

“That's what I was about to ask." David’s voice was gruff.

“This is my husband, David Taylor.” It seemed odd that the doctor didn’t know who David was. I couldn’t imagine Liam made an appointment for me without saying, “It’s for David Taylor’s wife.”

“Miss James, these appointments are confidential. He cannot stay.”

Huh?

Liam recommended Dr. Vaughn for his experience with eccentric celebrities and celebrity couples, so his attitude came as a surprise. I’d assumed, dealing with men in David’s position, he’d be used to the I-want-what-I-want, instant gratification attitude.

“It's Mrs. Taylor,” David insisted.

“It's fine if he stays. It's actually easier if he stays,” I nearly begged. It felt like the doctor was trying to create a problem were there was none. “That way I won't have to repeat everything back to him later.”

“I can have him removed—”

“No," I cut him off.

“Like to see you try,” David muttered as I spoke over him.

"Seriously, I would prefer he just be here.” I gave David a cool-it look.

“So do you want to make this a couples’ appointment?” he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

My eyebrows drew together as I looked at him incredulously. “There's nothing wrong with my marriage. It's my job that’s the problem.”

“Austin, you’ve gone to a therapist most of your life—a therapist can’t help you.” David’s tone was a mix of condescending, demanding, and offended. “I told you, I’m gonna fix this.”

“I think you’re thrilled that I might fail. And this is something I have to do, David. I have to be able to prove to myself that I can do it,” I explained again, frustrated. We’d had the same exchange the previous night.

“Fuckin' fine,” David relented, begrudgingly.

He sat down heavily on the other end of the sofa, legs spread wide, his arm lying along the arm rest. His attitude clearly said, Let's get this over with. His silence and overall energy dominated the room and clearly intimidated the doctor. David's silence was more threatening than any shouted words ever could be. 

“How is your sex life with your husband?” the doctor asked brusquely.

Apparently, David had rubbed Dr. Vaughn the wrong way if his sudden change in attitude and demeanor were any indication.

Caught off guard and feeling uncomfortable, I hesitated. Out of the corner my eye, I saw David turn, looking at me.

“Ummm... It's good. It's fine.”

“It's fine?” David asked, his tone part offended, part concerned. 

Staring at the carpet, I took a deep breath and answered, "I mean... it's great. It's actually the best sex I've ever had."

When I looked up, the doctor was looking between David and me.

“How many times a week are you having sex?”

“Uhhh... Like... Well... with him gone...” My eyes drifted toward the ceiling, trying to remember how many times we’d had sex. "It's not as much as when he was home all the time.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Two days,” David's gruff voice broke me out of my counting. "We've had sex seven times this week," David answered for me. "Like she said, it's a slow week... I've been gone for most of the past two days."

At the doctors lifted brow, I had a feeling that wasn't the norm.

“Is that bad?” I questioned.

“How many times a week do you normally have sex?” Dr. Vaughn asked cautiously.

“We average twice a day, sometimes more, sometimes less," David answered matter-of-fact.

It was then I realized they were in some kind of alpha-male pissing contest. It was subtle, but it was there.

I watched as the doctor made notes. Just as I was starting to get uncomfortable, he looked at me and asked, "Are you a sex addict?"

“What? No.”

“How frequently did you have sex with your previous partner?”

My eyes darted to the floor again.

That was not a conversation I wanted to have in front of David. In that moment, an image of him watching that video flashed through my mind. He didn't need any more information about my previous sexual experiences.

"Answer him, Austin." David’s voice was calm, but commanding.

“Maybe four times a week?” I answered meekly. 

I glanced over at David. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing as he stared straight ahead.   

“But I was abstinent for thirteen months before I met him,” I added.

When the doctor finally looked up from taking his notes, he asked, “Are you sexually aroused right now?”

Stupefied, I stared at him a moment before my eyes darted to my lap, where I was aggressive mangling my cuticles. Biting my lip, I debated if I should answer honestly or not. Because this was something I didn't want David to know. Ever.

Then I realized my thighs were subtly rubbing together.

Stupid girl, might as well write it across your forehead.

“Yes,” I breathed. I could feel David’s stare like a hot hand on my face.

“Were you when you came in the office?” 

There was something in Dr. Vaughn's voice that I couldn’t place, but I knew what he was getting at. Did I suffer from PSAS—permanent sexual arousal syndrome.  I don’t know why, but the question irritated me.

My eyes rolled in annoyance. “No.”

“Do you know at what point you became aroused?” 

Swallowing down my embarrassment, I answered, “When he sat down.” Tilting my head in David's direction, my eyes darted to his thick thighs. “When he sat back, leaned against the arm of the couch and spread his legs wide.” My tongue slid over my lips before I continued. “That's when.” Trying to defend myself, I added, “It's the way he moves. His size. All that muscle... it just... does something to me.”

I noticed then, I'd tucked my chin down, nearly talking to my chest, hiding behind my hair.

It sank in then.

I was ashamed that I was so violently attracted to my husband. Ashamed I couldn’t control it. And afraid he would use it against me—humiliate me.

“Why are you smiling? Does it amuse you?” the doctor asked sincerely.

When I looked up, he wasn't looking at me; he was looking at David.

“It doesn't amuse me, no. But it does make me happy. Why wouldn't it? Knowing I have my wife's attention, knowing I can turn her on just by being me. Of course that makes me happy.”

The doctor didn't respond to David. After a brief pause, he asked, “Did you feel this way toward your last sexual partner?”

“What does this have to do with anything?” I asked, self-conscious with David there, and frustrated with the pointless questions.

“You said the problem was interacting sexually with your co-star. And you believe that’s because of childhood sexual abuse. Yet you're having a very active sex life with your husband, seemingly without any issues. So, understanding your husband's dynamic with you, as opposed to your past relationships, will help me figure out how to help you with your co-star.”

At his explanation, I relaxed, relenting, willing to do almost anything to make this work.

I was grateful David sat quietly while the doctor dug into the actual issue. My issues. My abuse. Every nasty detail I could remember.

Two hours later, I wanted to disappear, crawl into a hole and never come out, or hide behind David for the rest of my life, but we knew what the root of the problem was.

“You're very lucky, Mr. Taylor. Your wife's caveman brain is strong enough to overrule her PTSD. Her attraction to you is solely primal. She's responding to her evolutionary instincts, choosing the best mate to reproduce with. And while this is great for you in the short term, it doesn't bode well for the long term.”

I sat shocked he would insinuate David and I wouldn't last, while trying to absorb his conclusions.

As he spoke, it seemed so obvious. I’d always dated a very specific type, physically. And David was that exact type to the nth degree.

I felt ignorant that I'd never realized it before. He had been sexually aggressive from the start and restrained me frequently—both were triggers for me—but my physical instincts had easily overruled my past trauma. Along with that new information, we also learned, men of similar builds to my attackers would also be a trigger, whether I was consciously aware or not.

I was fucked.

Because lean, wiry body types were the standard in Hollywood.

“Austin,” Dr. Vaughn interrupted my thoughts. “If you really want to deal with this, on a deeper level, I recommend more sessions.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, then clarified. “Yes.”

By the time I climbed in the passenger side of my car, I was already shutting down, disconnecting from the pain.

“How did you get here?” I numbly asked as David pulled out of the neighborhood, easily maneuvering my car through traffic.

“Aaron. He picked me up from the airport, sweetheart.”

“Are you missing something important?” I asked, as I stared unseeingly at the afternoon traffic. 

“There's not a fucking thing on this planet more important than what I'm doing right now.” His tone was sincere and calm as his hand smoothed up and down my thigh.  

“I don't want you to get in trouble since you just started back.”

“I'm fine. We need to worry about you and fixing this. I got the fixing part covered. But digging up all that shit with that man... I need to make sure you're okay before I do anything else. So lay the seat back, relax, try to sleep. Gonna take you home, cook you dinner, give you a nice, long, hot bath, and put you to bed. And I'm going to stay with you until I know you're okay.”

I grabbed his wrist and his fingers immediately entwined with mine, squeezing my hand tight, almost desperately.

“Austin, the only way our relationship works is if it’s just us.” He tugged my hand into his lap as he glanced over at me. “No third person. No therapist. Definitely, no outside dick.” He pressed my hand to the back of his bulge, making his point, earning him the barest hint of a smile from me. “Just us. We work our shit out together. Get me?”

“I get you,” I breathed.  

I did get him, and he got me. So much. He really saw me, every flawed part.

 

When we arrived home, he did exactly as he said; he took care of me.

And the way he took care of me... the tenderness and gentleness alone made me cry. When I started crying, he shushed me, holding me, rocking me, brushing my hair back, and telling me, "It's okay. It's never going to happen again."

 

 

 

*****

 

 

“How are you feeling?” David's voice wrapped around me, gently waking me.

“Okay,” I croaked, my voice raw from the previous night’s cry jag. When I opened my eyes, he was lying next to me, the breakfast tray nowhere in sight.

“Sure?” he checked, his voice full of doubt.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied me, a small smirk forming on his beautiful face. “Ready to eat?”

At my slight nod, he leaned over his side of the bed, returning holding the breakfast tray, setting it over my lap. I sat up and stared at the Belgian waffles in awe. A scoop of vanilla ice cream, strawberries and blueberries with fudge drizzled over them.  

“Babe, you’re the best. This is exactly what I needed.” I leaned over, giving him a sweet kiss.

“You love being married to me?” he asked with a smirk.

“I really do.” I nodded.

“Good.” His lips met mine again, a sweet but firm kiss. “Eat.”

We ate in silence, watching TV. I wasn’t sure who started it, but we leaned into each other, taking comfort from the other’s presence. At least I was.    

“I have training today.” His soft voice broke the long silence as his arm wrapped around me, pulling me back with him against the headboard. “But I should be back by three—four at the latest... You sure you're okay for me to leave?”