Chapter 11
Maddox
She’s laughing. She’s actually laughing. She came so hard against my fingers inside her and my tongue teasing and working her clit, that when she was done she started laughing uncontrollably – giggling like a kid being tickled.
“You’re laughing at me?” I tease, grinning. “I’ll give you something to make you moan.”
I haul myself over her and slip my tongue, salty with her moisture, into her mouth and press my body against her, spreading her legs wide apart with my knees, dipping my cock in so it rests heavy and hard against her still-quivering, slick, sex.
“Not at you,” she whispers, her hips arching up to feel my length slip between her soaking wet lips. “Oh… god… please.” Her hands fall to my hips. “Inside me. Please.”
I lift up, kissing her again, then reach down and find the honey hot spot where I need to be. I slip my rock hard erection into position and press forward, finding her muscles almost too tight to penetrate.
“Let me in,” I breathe, then shove harder, breaking through, slipping into slick, hot bliss. For a few seconds, I’m immobilized by the tense heat of her body enveloping me in molten pleasure, then she moans loudly and rocks underneath me. I catch up with her, our bodies working together in perfect synchronous motion, her fingers digging into my shoulders, then my ass, pulling me in deeper and deeper until I’m buried in her perfect, tight snatch.
Between the last time we did this – that furious, mind-bending encounter that happened so spontaneously – and this time, a thousand ugly thoughts have crowded into my head.
She’s so far out of your league you’re deluding yourself.
She’s nuts, and needy, and her family is fucking dangerous.
She’s playing games with you just for kicks.
She’s so far out of your league…
With every thrust driving deep into her, I listen to Avery’s little moans and whines as they become more regular – even as she grips my ass – pushing me in, in her time, pleading with me to fuck her harder. She sets the pace and I match it, hauling into her hard, and then pulling back until she begs me back in.
What was she? Seventeen years old when I realized I loved Avery? Even then she had something special, and she was just a kid.
I was a kid too.
Her breathing picks up. Using both hands I lift her ass up tight against me but don’t change my rhythm. I kiss her neck, throttling deeper at the same speed. Her body responds with small tremors at first, radiating out from my cock, reverberating to her toes and her fingertips gripping my skin.
She scared the shit out of me back when we were kids and she scares the shit out of me now. The only difference is that now I realize there’s so little to lose and so much to gain.
“Oh god, Maddox, don’t stop,” she begs, her voice a sexy whine to my ears.
She’s coming. I feel it. The little tremors in her pussy turn to convulsions gripping my cock like a hot vice, rolling forward like tidal waves breaking against solid cliffs walls. She doesn’t scream as her toes curl and her legs wrap hard around my hips, but she cries out, whining, like I’m hurting her – but I see the pleasure on her face. When she’s done and she stops shaking, she starts to laugh – again.
I’ve wanted this since we were both kids. Now that I have it, I hope I know what to do with it.
I start laughing too. I can’t help it. I want to come, but I’m so pleased seeing her come underneath me, seeing her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, knowing I make her feel that good, it barely matters if I come at all; except it matters to Avery. She bites her lip and looks up at me, a ‘just-fucked’ grin coloring her beautiful face.
“Your turn,” she says.
Oh good lord.
I plow on, feeling it build, rising up, peaking, tightening in my balls with every thrust into her tight, hot essence. I want to make it last but it lifts so fast after she says, ‘Your turn’, I know trying to hang on any longer is pointless. I lock my eyes onto hers and I let myself go, thundering into her, heaving hard with everything inside me, over and over again until I explode inside her like a failing damn, my cum pouring in, draining away from me in waves.
When my orgasm subsides, I’m spent, weak, and quaking on top of her like a broken animal, heaving for air, blurry with pleasure.
And this time I don’t feel the desperate desire to escape. This time I pull Avery close and kiss her, my tongue probing, my teeth nicking her lips, playing with her.
“We’re going to do that again,” I promise her, nuzzling her hair, breathing her scent into me. “And again.”
In a few minutes I come to my senses. Avery is still nuzzled tight against my shoulder, her leg draped across my thighs. She’s twirling my belly hair absently in her fingers, which is sexy as hell. I could go again, but as soon as my breathing returns to something like normal and my head clears, reality sets in.
We’re supposed to be in the city – like now.
“I hate to say this,” I whisper into her hair, “But if we’re going, we need to go. We’re already so late, it may not even matter.”
In truth, at this point, I don’t even care.
Avery sits up slowly, the sheet falling away from her breasts. I want to kiss those again, and nip her nipples till she whines.
“We’ll go,” she says, resignation in her voice, a shadow of the old sadness returns, darkening her previously bliss-filled expression. “They’re expecting me. But… things need to change.”
Oh sweetheart. Things are going to change, whether we like it or not. And some people are really not gonna like it.
* * *
The Fairmont Hotel in downtown San Francisco is buzzing with VIPs from the banking world, real estate, military contractors, and just enough Hollywood celebrities to keep the paparazzi interested. The press is lined up outside the hotel entrance, kept behind red velvet ropes by an army of uniformed security guards and plain clothes bouncers. We are so late, and now we have to navigate through this barrage of flashbulbs and gossip rag reporters, shouting out Avery’s name, hoping to get a rise out of her – or me.
I’ve had my run-ins with the paps on more than a handful of occasions. I guess that’s the price you pay for working with high-profile clients, but it does get very old, very fast. I hope the captions under tomorrow’s photographs don’t happen to mention that I have that just-got-laid-by-the-bosses-daughter grin on my face. I hope the camera’s miss Avery’s slightly bruised lips.
Keeping Avery close, we make our way through the gauntlet of hanger’s on, all of them hoping for a selfie and a bit of face time. We get past them, past the throng of lingering guests in the hotel lobby, and then move into the ballroom. Evelyn Thomas is in the VIP area surrounded by a bevy of idolaters, all paying tribute to the Senior Senator from California. When she catches sight of Avery slipping in from the sidelines with me at her side, she politely excuses herself from her conversation with the Chief Executive Officer of General Dynamics, and heads in our direction.
“Where have you been?” she demands, her icicle stare vacillating between her willful daughter and the body guard/driver assigned to get said daughter to scheduled events on time.
“Sorry Mother. I was running late,” Avery says coolly as a thousand eyeballs pan in our direction, observing the cautious tension between mother and daughter, and the awkwardly hovering bodyguard.
“You were supposed to introduce me at nine sharp. We’re late. Get a move on. Do you have your notes?”
“Yes, Mother. I have my notes,” Avery replies between clenched teeth.
“Good. We need to talk after this is over,” Evelyn says. “I need to get you up to speed on some additions to the campaign schedule. You’re going to have to start doing some heavy lifting from here on out. And you’re going to learn to be punctual.”
I see Avery’s expression fall, but then she sucks it up, nods at her mother, and moves toward the podium to introduce her mother to the crowd of guests and donors.
* * *
I know how to make myself mostly invisible. It’s a skill they taught me as a Marine infantry soldier, and one I’ve honed further since taking this damn job in personal protection. Hanging on the edge of the hotel ballroom with a drink in my hand – soda water and ice – my eyes scan the room for potential threats while never losing sight of Avery.
I watch her work the room like a pro. When she’s “on,” like she is right now, she is the dutiful daughter; her beaming smile warming the ice-cold hearts of Wall Street bankers and soulless titans of industry. She moves through the crowd with a gentility and grace that very few can match. She has everything; brains, looks, charm, empathy, and even humility. It’s a rare combination and it has value to her mother, who uses it like a commodity to open doors and solicit support.
I watch the men in the room as they catch sight of her. They patiently, politely disengage from whatever conversation they’re involved in, and then gradually make their way in her direction. She handles the demands for her attention like a skilled dancer handles the trade of partners in a Virginia Reel. Everyone gets a chance to bask in her warmth for a moment or two; just long enough for her to convince them they are the only one in the room, and then she demurs to the next obligation, her eyes telling the last that she really wanted to linger, but obligation and duty call.
That’s when she’s “on.”
When she’s “off,” as I know all too well, she rides a roller coaster of self-doubt, sadness, and fury – with a hole in her soul so deep and dark that it’s doubtful anyone or anything will ever be able to fill it. She has no idea at all how the world sees her. When she looks in the mirror all she sees is her mother’s disapproval and her father’s disinterest. She’s spent her entire life trying to be good and do right. Trying to measure up. Trying to win approval. Or on the flip side, trying to deaden the pain and just run away from the doubt and self-judgment. She treats herself like there’s no way she’s ever going to find someone who could love the unlovable Avery Thomas. From her perspective, down deep in that hole, she’s an absolute failure.
She has no idea how lovely she is, inside and out.
It makes my heart hurt to think of how she sees herself, and how empty and useless she feels too much of the time.
“I want to speak with you about Avery.”
I turn. Evelyn Thomas has approached from behind, having slithered up stealthily like the cold-blooded reptile she too-closely resembles.
“She’s distracted, and I’m fed up with her behavior. And I’m annoyed that you can’t even manage to get her to her scheduled events anymore, no matter how many times I try to emphasize to you how important punctuality is for these things – especially when there’s press present. What is going on with her?”
Senator Thomases tone is sharp with demanding authority. She speaks to me – to everyone – as if they exist to do her bidding without question. Her arrogance works well to cow her inferiors and inspire her peers with confidence. But I’m neither cowed nor impressed. I’ve already made my choice, and it isn’t my job, my professional reputation, or loyalty to the Thomas family. It’s Avery. It was always going to be Avery.
I didn’t know that until tonight, but now I know exactly why I came back here after eight years away. It was always going to be Avery, come what may.
“Avery’s a big girl,” I respond coolly. “I can’t boss her around. I don’t want to.”
“It’s your job to make sure she’s where...”
“It’s my job to protect her and keep her safe,” I interrupt sharply, setting my empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “I’m not her secretary.”
Evelyn Thomas narrows her eyes at me in that intimidating way she has. She’s unaccustomed to brooking opposition from any corner, much less from the help.
Toward the center of the room a loud burst of laughter – sharp and cackling – erupts. I return my attention to Avery without blinking.
Avery is standing with a couple from Palm Springs who own a third of the golf courses in that community. The three of them are looking – awkwardly – in the direction of a fourth person whose boisterous laughter has parted the crowd around him.
It’s Aaron Schilling causing the scene. Judging by the alcohol glow coloring his cheeks and the glassy look in his eyes, he seems determined to ramp the scene up another notch or two. Then he does something that’s just flat stupid. He starts moving toward Avery with a hungry look in his eye.
“Excuse me,” I say to Evelyn Thomas, stepping away from her, heading at pace toward the widening circle at the center of the ballroom.
Aaron Schilling is the thirty-something year-old, ne'er-do-well son of a billionaire real estate mogul who owns half of Lower Manhattan and more than half of the tacky, over-done resort developments in North America. He’s a trust-fund drunk who gets entré into events like this one because of his last name and the checks his father freely writes to make sure he maintains access to the people in a position to help him make billions. On his best days, Aaron Schilling is a pretentious little prick. On his worst, he has all the indications of being a genuine predator. The look in his glazed eyes right now tells me he’s in predator mode. That’s the first strike against him. The second strike is that he has a thing for Avery; a thing she has politely, gracefully ignored, walked away from, or actively rebuffed, for many years.
Before I can get forward, Schilling makes contact. That little shit grabs Avery’s hand and pulls her away from her Palm Springs friends, mumbling something like “Dance with me, babe.”
The band stopped playing ten minutes ago. No one is dancing.
Avery pushes Aaron away with her free hand and tries – as inconspicuously as possible – to extract her other one from his grasp.
“Aaron. You’re a little tipsy. Let me go.” She says it sweetly but as I get near I can tell by her tone that she is both embarrassed and distressed. Everyone is looking at the two of them – then at me. The crowd quiets, waiting to see what the wobbly, intoxicated Aaron Schilling is going to do next, and what I’m going to do in response.
He yanks Avery’s arm hard and repeats his demand with a minor threat in his tone. “I said, ‘Dance with me.’”
I’m there and between them before Schilling can finish his slurred sentence. I put a thumb into the sensitive nerve at his wrist, causing him to release Avery’s hand and wince in pain.
“Do not touch Miss Thomas,” I hiss, using my left hand to nudge Avery safely behind me. “Now take a walk.”
Schilling recovers from the searing pain momentarily inflicted upon his wrist and meets my eyes with confusion first, then with stupid, explosive rage. He draws back a fist, intending to strike, but lacking any skill or experience in the art of hand-to-hand combat, is far too slow to pose anything remotely threatening.
The next thing Schilling knows, he’s on the floor, on his knees, begging for release from the painful grip I hold on his awkwardly twisted, hyper-extended wrist.
I lean down and speak softly in Schillings ear. “If you ever touch the lady again, or even look at her side ways, I’ll break your arm off and shove it straight up your ass – no lube. Do we understand one another?”
Schilling nods. All the glow has drained from his cheeks. He’s blanched as pale as death. His eyes are wild, starting to tear.
I give Schilling’s wrist a sharp twist. Not enough to break it; just enough to wrench a few tendons, leaving him with a painful, long-term reminder of his bad behavior and the warning I’ve given him. Then I shove him backwards, causing him to land on his ass on the floor as everyone looks on. Someone in the crowd starts laughing.
Having dispensed with that moron, I turn toward Avery. “It’s time to go home,” I say. I meet her eyes with an expression that communicates this is not a suggestion.
She turns and leads the way across the wide ballroom toward the hotel lobby as I follow close on her heel. We are almost at the exit when Evelyn Thomas steps ahead of Avery, halting our path forward.
“What in the hell was that!?” She spits at me. “You just assaulted the son of one of my biggest campaign contributors! Are you out of you mind?”
John Thomas steps up behind his wife, his head nodding in agreement with her words, but his expression is wary. General Thomas may be a large man — but his heart is small. I long ago realized he doesn’t live up to his rank. Everything he’s done has been for money and power.
I clench my jaw and hold my breath to steel my resolve. That woman is formidable, and even with Marine Corps training and long years of being shot at by bad guys in the sand box, I still find her more intimidating than my old lieutenant. But I have a job to do, and that’s take care of my girl.
“I just want to get Avery home,” I say evenly. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow when everyone has calmed down.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Evelyn Thomas hisses at me. “I’ve had it with your attitude and your inability to do a simple job. Take a long walk. I want to deal with my daughter on my own.”
I’ve had enough of her bullying. Avery starts to say something, but I step forward between her and her mother.
“Senator Thomas. You can fire me. I don’t care,” I say, my tone cool but firm. “I’m here to take care of Avery. Nobody else seems interested in how she’s dealing with this circus you’ve tossed her into. So I’ll do that. And right now, I’m taking her home.”
I slip my hand around Avery’s waist and move her past her parents, toward the exit. When we’re clear of the fray Avery looks over at my stony face, her eyes wide with surprise. Once inside the car, I take a deep breath, slip my hand into hers, lift it up and kiss her fingers.
“I’m in, Avery,” I say to her. “Whatever that means. I’ve got your back and not because I’m paid to. You’ve got my heart and soul, so… let’s just take care of each other. Okay?”
Avery bites her lip. She nods. “Yeah,” she says, her voice small but certain. “Yeah. That’s what I want more than anything.”
I watch a small, dim light behind her eyes brighten as some of the darkness lifts from the depths of that black pit in her soul.
I want to light up her world. I want to fill up her heart. I want to make her feel safe and appreciated. I want her to see herself the way I see her. I just want to make her happy.