Playing For Forever: An Erotic Love Story (Playing For Keeps Book 3) by J.C. Grant (4)

“What are you doing, writing a sonnet? Get off my phone.”

Oh. My. God.  

My body slumped down in defeat as my tears spilled over, streaming down my face.  

“You know who it is now,” he stated quietly.

“Yes,” I barely forced past my lips. I couldn't believe he'd recorded me without my knowledge.  

“Do you want to tell me?” David's voice was eerily calm.

“No,” I whispered as my gaze slowly slid from the screen to him.

His jaw clenched and his lips pursed as he tried to control his anger. I could see it simmering under the surface, ready to explode.   

The silence between us was tense and heavy as the sounds of the video filled the room. I was desperate to stop it, but I was afraid it would set David off. So I did nothing.

Once the video ended, David remained silent, and panic rose inside me.

Eventually, he asked softly, “Why did you transfer all of this onto your laptop? Were you trying to hide it from me?”

His stoic expression had cracked for the briefest moment, but I saw it: pain and betrayal. My chest tightened viciously at the thought of losing him. In that moment, I knew I would do anything to fix it.  

“No. Yes—I wasn't sure what all was in there,” I tried to explain. “But I didn't know that was in there. I swear.”

He studied me, my tears still streaming down my face.

“Okay.”

Okay?

He blew out a harsh breath before he continued, “When I first saw it, I…” He stopped, as if reconsidering his approach. “I've been watching it for two hours. So, I've worked through a range of emotions.”

I couldn't help but wonder what he did, what his first reaction was. All of a sudden, the rest of his words sank in, and a sob broke free, knowing David had watched it over and over.

“Not gonna lie, those artistic shots of your cunt, hurt.” His accusing gaze pinned me in place. It took everything in me not to buckle under the weight. "I mean they're gorgeous. I'd fucking frame those—put 'em in my office. It hurts that you sent them to someone who’s not me.”

“David,” I whispered, but I didn't know what to say.

“I know we have to deal with our pasts. We have to deal with Dawn and Zach. I know neither of us are fucking virgins... Still fucking hurts.” He paused, holding my gaze. Then his tone shifted, somewhere between business and cold. “So, I went through everything that came from your phone. Everything that's not sexual, or you with another guy is in a folder—just so you know, there’re only forty. The rest are right here.” 

He pointed to a folder labeled HISTORY.

“After I find out who's in the video and how many copies there are floating around, I'm deleting everything. Do you have a problem with that?” His tone was challenging.

“No,” I whispered.

I couldn't understand how he would be able to find out any of that. But I didn't think there were any copies floating around, because I knew that guy; he was one of the good ones.

“I'm sorry.”

“You didn't know. I can tell you didn't know.” His voice was kind, understanding. “But I wanna know who it was. Who recorded you?”

Unable to hold his intense gaze, my eyes darted down to my lap as I quietly admitted, “It was Ryan.”

As the silence grew between us, my eyes closed in dread as I waited for David to put it together.

“Ryan who?” David's voice was deadly calm.

Swallowing thickly, I looked up at him from under my eyelashes, hesitantly meeting his gaze, then I admitted, “You met him... at Boa.”

His expression hardened.

“Him?”

I stared at him, startled by the amount of fury, disdain, and disbelief in one whispered word.

He stood abruptly, stalking away, barely suppressed rage radiating off him. My anxiety heightened as he angrily paced the living area. After what felt like an eternity, he finally came to a stop at the far wall behind the couch, bracing his hands against the dark wood console.

I watched him intently.  

His broad, bare back to me, the honed planes of muscles, strained and taut, his head hanging down. His sculpted body made a strangely arousing image of a man in mourning. Then my eyes landed on the two large urns—where there had always been four.

“What if that's on the fucking Internet?” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

“He wouldn't. He's not like that,” I assured David.

David turned to me then.

“He's not like that?” He stared at me in disbelief. “He took a fucking video of you without asking!”

“I know, but—” I tried.

“I mean, I get it. I do. You don't think I wanna film you sucking my dick?” He didn't wait for a response. “Of course I do! But I'm sure as fuck not gonna do it without you knowing! Any fucking asshole who would do that to you, would sure as fuck put it on the Internet."

“David—”

"And honestly”—his true feelings were pouring out now—“how do you think it makes me feel? I never thought you were the type of girl to do that—send pussy shots.”

My chest stung at the implication and knowing he saw me differently now.

“They meant nothing. It all meant less than nothing,” I swore. 

He watched me; his expression was a mixture of disappointment and challenge. Then he exploded, “I was gone for two fucking nights, I didn't get any pics. Never even occurred to you! I don't even rank as high as these fucking assholes!"

I flinched at his words.

He was right.

When he was gone, it never crossed my mind to send him any sexy photos. Not once. But there was no comparison between David and anybody else as far as I was concerned.

"David, that's not true."

"Really? Because I didn't get any pics. In fact, the only time I've gotten any pics like that from you is when I sent them first. And that was the first time I've ever done anything like that."

"You're right,” I admitted. “I didn't think to send you any. But no one compares to you. And those pics... I mean,” I hesitated, afraid of telling him the truth. But I did anyway. “I haven't had sex with any of the people that sent dick pics. And I only sent three of the photos of me."

He studied me, taking in my words.

"I just want to mean more to you than anyone else."

The vulnerability in his tone... In an instant, I saw the unwanted, unloved, abandoned child in him. My heart twisted painfully in my chest as fresh tears filled my eyes.

“You do,” I promised.

“Well, it really doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“What do you need? What do you need me to do?”

He considered my question before he responded, “It’s probably just the video fucking with my head. I’ll work it out. You don't need to do anything."

But what I heard was: You can't do anything.

"David…” I started to ask the one thing that had been running through my mind: Are you going to leave me now? But instead, I asked, “Do you ever think you'll look at me the same again?"

He held my gaze as the silence stretched out between us.

And my fear grew.

"I wasn't lying,” he admitted softly. “There's nothing you could do that would make me not want you."

Perverse pleasure and hope swelled inside me. "Please, come here."

He pushed away from the console, coming around the couch to stand in front of me.

"I love you. That doesn't change anything," he said, pointing to the computer.

"Then show me," I pleaded.

His eyebrows drew together as he studied me, seriously considering my request. "Just...  give me a minute."

As David turned his back on me, heading to our bedroom, I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.     

This was real.

I was going to lose him.

Stunned, I sat there, frozen in place, my world crumbling around me. My body felt weak and quivery, riddled with anxiety.

I didn't know—it could have been seconds or minutes when I finally realized I hadn't done anything wrong, other than not be a virgin.

Getting to my feet, I took a deep breath, and headed to our room with determination. What I was going to do, I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t handle him walking away from me. Not even for a few minutes of space. I found him lying on our bed, face up, arms folded over his eyes. 

"David, I didn't make that video. I didn't know it existed, so I sure as fuck wasn't saving it."

He let out a harsh breath but didn't move.

"I get that. It's just... seeing you like that. With someone else. It's really fucking with my head."

My hope plummeted with his admission.

"I know. I hate that you saw it. I hate that it exists. It fucking kills me that you saw me like that with someone else. I wish I'd never done anything before you. None of it meant anything to me."

He didn’t respond. As the silence drew out, my anxiety and fear escalated.

"It's kind of funny,” he huffed out humorlessly. "It's supposed to be me who has a sex tape—traditionally.” He fell silent, and I scrambled for what to say next, what to say to fix it. But before I could come up with anything he continued quietly, “You know, it's one thing to know you've been with other men. It's a completely different thing seeing it."

My heart sank and the heavy knot in my stomach grew, but I was making my way toward him on my jelly legs.

"I'm so sorry," I begged, desperate for him to believe me as I crawled up onto the bed.

"Austin."

David's quiet protest just made me more determined, more reckless.

"Are you going to leave me?" I challenged as I straddled his legs, making my way up his body on my hands and knees. 

He moved his arms then, looking at me. His eyebrows drew together, his expression was both disbelief and warning, but his eyes... they were deep pools of anguish.

"Fuck no."

The fierceness in his voice was calming, soothing. Easing my fears.

"Will you do something for me?" I questioned, tentatively, staring into his dark gaze. It was the closest thing to heartbroken I’d ever seen.

"Of course." His voice was soft and sincere, making my hope surge.

"Prove to me that you want me."

"Austin—"

"David, please." 

Sex meant something to David, at least with me, and I knew if I could get him past that hurdle, we would be on our way to getting us back.

Maybe.

It was the only thing I knew to do.

When he showed no signs of giving in, I decided to tell him the truth.

"I'm scared you're gonna leave me,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “Scared you won't want me anymore."

His features softened and he rasped, "You wanna know your mine?"

I nodded. “Need to know.”

"You sure?"

His gruff words sounded like a threat, sending my pulse racing.

I nodded.

"Get up."

Fear trickled through me at his hard command, but I obeyed, climbing out of bed, standing next to it.

"Strip."

Kicking off my flip-flops, I quickly pushed down my sweats and pulled off my tee.

"Lose the bra."

Immediately, I took it off, tossing it across the end of the bed, then waited for his next direction.  

“Don't move,” he warned darkly before getting to his feet and leaving the room.

I stayed frozen in place, waiting for his return, hoping this would work. Hoping it would ease the strain between us.

Several moments later, I heard his feet against the hardwood floors as he entered, walking up behind me. I could feel his body heat as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over my ear.

“Get on the bed, on your hands and knees,” he rasped. His voice was a delicious mix of threat and condescension, making my pussy pulse.

On shaky legs, I obeyed, crawling onto the bed.  The familiar, buttery-soft sheets under my knees and hands comforting me.  

His broad palm glided up my back, and I almost sobbed with relief. That’s when I realized, David hadn’t touched me once since I’d entered the room. He hadn’t touched me since I told him it was Ryan. In that moment, I knew, I’d do anything to keep his touch.

His hand slid up, gripping the back of my neck, pressing, until I complied, dropping down to my forearms. His hands moved to my ass, thumbs slipping into my crack, spreading my cheeks wide, exposing me.

My lips parted, pulling in deep, even breaths as I tried to ignore the vulnerability, tried to choke it back. I wanted to be strong. I was determined to take whatever he dished out with my with my dignity still intact. The truth was, this was the perfect opportunity for him to take out some serious aggression on me.

Not that I thought he would.

But he could.

The tension built as I waited, but I refused to be self-conscious. David was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with; I didn't want to hide from him or be insecure. Ever.

But more importantly, I didn’t want to lose him.

He growled softly, an appreciative, hungry sound.

My body jerked when I felt the flat of his tongue on my clit, hot and wet, crudely sliding up to my ass, teasing.  

Feeling embarrassed, I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself not to react, not to pull away.

“Last chance to change your mind,” David warned darkly as his hands moved restlessly over my ass, squeezing roughly.

My eyes flew open as the meaning of his words sank in. He’d warned me before, but never like that, with those words. I knew what he was going to do. Admittedly, I was scared, but I needed to give myself over to him completely.

We needed it.

He needed it.

“No, I want it.” A tiny part of me was terrified of what I was asking for, considering his current frame of mind about that video. 

He pulled back. “Hold your ass open for me.”

I hesitated at his obscene demand.

“Now, Austin.”

Obeying, I dropped down, my head, neck, chest flat on the bed. The new angle forced my hips back, aiding in exposing myself to him. For him.

Something about doing it myself made me feel more vulnerable, made the act feel degrading.

As I laid there, exposed, my heart raced as anxiety crept in. It was going to hurt, there was no way it wasn’t. He was too big.

He was way too fucking big.

I heard him opening something, and my heart skipped, and the temptation to turn around only grew. I wanted to know if he was watching me or if this was a test, and what the hell did he bring in with him?

The tension built, my trepidation turning into pure fear. I was actually trembling.

“Nervous?” His deep rumble filled the room, making my stomach flutter.

“Yeah,” I breathed shakily, staring at the white sheets beneath my head.

“Change your mind?” His tone was unreadable.

“No,” I answered a little too quickly. 

No matter how scared I was, I wasn’t backing out.

“I’d never hurt you, Austin,” he whispered, seeming angry at having to remind me. 

His hand landed on my lower back as his tongue massaged my puckered flesh, and I shivered, sucking in a stuttered breath. It felt like he was testing me, pushing me, trying to see if I’d stop him. When I didn’t, his touch turned gentle, coaxing, loving. His fingers moved to my clit, working with delicate precision. His other hand moved up my back in a firm glide, comforting me, before sliding around, palming my breast, then softly kneading and thumbing my nipple into a hard peak. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered, before he went back to work, massaging. His gentle ministrations and the heat of his tongue had my body going lax. 

My eyes closed and I focused on him, really focused on him. I had the sexiest man I’d ever met, one of the hottest men in Hollywood, behind me with his face buried in my ass, tonguing my tight flesh like he loved it, like he wanted to devour it.

My body sagged as sparks of pleasure coursed through me, the nerve endings coming alive under his attention. My mind slowly went numb as instinct took over. A mindless need to come.

It was addictive—the things he did to my body, the chemicals pounding through me, replacing worry with blind lust.

I didn’t want to admit how good it felt, but my body’s response made verbal admission irrelevant as my hips arched back of their own volition, seeking more. David moaned in approval, then pulled back.

Feeling movement on my other side, I turned my head to see him grabbing four of our pillows, placing them under my hips.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands gliding over my hips, encouraging me to lower them down. “Can you keep your ass spread for me a little bit longer?”

“Ummm,” I breathed, surprised by his concern.  “Yeah.”

 I’d expected aggression and frustration after what he watched, but he was showing me nothing but his sweetness. His gentleness.

I felt something wet and warm dripping down my crack, and I squirmed.

“Shhh, it’s just coconut oil.” His deep rasp was so soft and caring, it made something in my chest tighten. His fingers dragged through the oil, and I clenched up. “Mmm, more comfortable with my mouth?” His voice was a delicious purr that went straight to my core. But before I could answer, I felt his tongue again.

Fuck, I hated that I liked it. I should have been embarrassed or grossed out or something. But it felt too fucking good. My hips pushed back and a low moan escaped me. 

A happy noise rattled through his chest. “That’s my girl,” he growled as an oil slick finger replaced his mouth, massaging my tight ring of muscle with determination. 

Without warning, his thick digit slipped inside, and I gasped.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, pushing deep.

The back of my neck heated as the sensation raced through me. My skin tingled, every nerve ending in my body sparking. There was no pain, just a slight uncomfortableness.

When he slipped a second finger in, I groaned. His breathing turned ragged, a distinctly aroused sound, turning me on more.

Wanting to see his face, his reaction, I looked over my shoulder. I took in the violent rise and fall of his chest, his parted lips, and his downcast eyes as he watched, seeming entranced by the sight of what we were doing.

His gaze met mine, and he muttered in awe, “You are so ready.”

“More,” I moaned.

I couldn’t believe it, but I was ready. I wanted it. He’d made sure I was prepared, and I was grateful for his forethought as his fingers worked in and out, stretching me open with skilled strokes.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, sounding as aroused as I was. “I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, so good.”

David took his time, pumping his fingers in and out of me, slowly, gently, while his other hand worked my clit. 

“Yes.” My voice was a breathless cry, almost embarrassing with its desperation. 

His fingers slowly slipped out of me, and I watched with fascination as he covered his cock with the coconut oil. I could only imagine the pornographic image we made, him stroking his length, my ass up in offering.

He slid his dick through my crack, and I braced myself for the pain. Then I felt the thick head pressing against my opening, sinking in with little resistance.

My throat tightened and my breath caught at the intrusion.   

“Fuck,” I whimpered, burying my face into the mattress, arching my hips back, my body relaxed completely, giving into the obscene act. Accepting. Inviting.

A moan tore from my throat as he slowly worked himself deeper, half an inch at a time, giving me time to adjust.

“Shhh, just take it. Just take it,” he whispered softly, almost pleadingly.

When he was fully seated, his balls against my sex, he stilled, holding deep inside me. 

He felt huge, so much bigger than he ever had. I felt too full to breathe.

This was the most intimate thing we’d ever done. With his punishing length buried deep in my backside, I didn’t feel like my body was mine anymore. I felt owned.  

Nothing had ever felt more basic, more primal, more animalistic.

“Tell me you're never going to leave me,” he rasped.

I wasn't sure how our roles had suddenly been reversed. I realized then his anger had more to do with his abandonment issues.

“Never,” I swore. I couldn’t imagine ever leaving him.

“You’re mine now.” He pulled out slowly, the oil eliminating any friction. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours. I always was,” I promised. The stimulation of his length inside me and his fingers on my clit overwhelmed me.

He fucked me gently, with long, slow strokes, gradually speeding up until we were thrusting recklessly together. The building pleasure was more intense than anything I’d ever experienced before. I was afraid to let it happen. At first.

“Come on, I feel you. Let go, come for me... I’m gonna come deep inside you, so fucking deep you’ll never get me out.”

His words pushed me over the edge.

It was a strange feeling. It was the exact opposite of every orgasm I’d ever had. Every muscle in my body was relaxed, never tensing or twitching, just an intense euphoria melting through me, slow and lingering, like marinating in bliss.

My entire body shivered as he withdrew, lying next to me, pulling me into him.  

“You okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

I nodded, too zenned out to speak.

He sighed, rearranging me until I was cuddled against him, my head resting against his pec.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “You take it up the ass like such a good girl,” he purred as his fingers skimmed up and down my arm.

Looking up at him, I smirked. “Well, you give it up the ass like such a good boy.”

A throaty laugh rumbled through him.

As I stared across the room, a glint caught my eye.  “Did the décor people not show up?” I asked when I realized what I was looking at.

“Oh, nah.” His voice was husky. “I bought those, I wanted you to be able to keep something. They wouldn't sell me anything else.”

That made me feel so much worse. He was always thinking of me, always putting my happiness before his own. And how had I repaid him? By forcing him to give me space and hiding nude photos on my laptop. I felt like a self-centered asshole.

Suddenly, I realized we were missing someone. “Where's Chance?”

“In the guesthouse.”

Propping myself up on an elbow, I looked down at him, my eyebrows drawn together in question.

“I scared him,” David explained dejectedly. “When I broke those fucking... urn things. I didn't wanna stress him out anymore, so I put him out there... I didn't want him to see us fight.”

That was understandable.

“Is he okay? Does he have water?”

“He's fine. He has air-conditioning, water, a big-ass couch to himself, his favorite TV show... I'll go get him now,” he said, drawing the covers aside.

My eyes greedily drank in all that perfectly honed muscle, shifting and rolling, as David pulled his sweats on, then headed for the door.

"Austin,” he said, over his shoulder. “If there's any other photos or videos floating around—"

"There's not. I swear. Trust me, I've been thinking about it."

"No one else has ever been on the phone while you were doing anything?"

"No."

I watched as his back rose and fell with a slow, deep breath.

"We're never discussing this again.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “And if something comes out, I'll deal with it, not you."

"Okay," I agreed, grateful not to feel like we were ending.

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

The next day, things were different.

Our usual sweet and flirty morning was replaced with stilted and awkward—for me anyway. Knowing David had those images of me in his head, I was walking on eggshells. David went through the motions, as if trying to will things back to normal. But things weren’t normal, and I could sense his discomfort in everything he did. The way he moved. The way he spoke. 

He wasn’t my David.

That changed when Fergus called, informing us the video had never left my phone, other than me transferring it from one phone to the next—I was still inwardly cringing at that.

Once David knew there were no copies floating around, the shift in him was visible, his tense muscles relaxing.

 As the day went on, David had seemed to have let it go, for the most part. He'd become more demanding and possessive, my David on steroids, especially at the gym. But he’d held true to his word and never mentioned the video again.

I tried to relax, I tried to match him, acting like nothing had happened. I tried. I did. But it felt forced, uncomfortable, and just wrong.

When Elaine called the following morning, interrupting another awkward breakfast, I was relieved.

“Hello?”

"I hope I'm not calling at a bad time. I know how you guys love your morning routine."

David hadn't told anyone about the video, other than Fergus. So Elaine was ignorant of the current strain on our relationship.   

"No, that's fine."

"Well, I have, what I think, is really good news. Jeff called this morning. The offer is five million for twelve episodes. And that includes your writing six of the twelve episodes, creators’ cut, and artists’ pay."

"Whoa," I breathed, stunned. I’d never really thought about the actual numbers because it seemed like such a long shot.

"If the first season does well, you can negotiate for more the second season. I think five million is a really good starting point."

Elaine’s words finally broke through my thoughts.

"Yeah, of course. I'm just in shock." I was numb; it didn’t seem real.

"What's going on?" David's deep voice rumbled from beside me.

When I looked at him, I noticed he had abandoned his breakfast and muted the TV, giving me his full attention.

"Ummm, Elaine, let me put you on speakerphone."

I honestly didn't want to tell David. Because if I told him, he would pry, and he would find out about the call from Elaine I received days before, the day he found the video and that was not a pot I wanted to stir.

"Hey,” Elaine chirped. “So Austin has an offer."

I watched David as she repeated the specifics to him.

"What the fuck?" David muttered, then pinned me with an accusing glare. "When did this happen? How did this happen?"

He stared me down, his piercing gaze cutting right through me. It took everything in me not to look away.

"David, you went to the Halloween party with her, and you knew what it was for. You sent me the short the other day,” Elaine explained, clearly confused. “What did you think that was for?"

The look he gave me told me he knew I'd kept something from him. Again.

His lips pursed and his eyes swiveled away, looking out the window.

"David, this is an amazing offer," Elaine added.

"Yeah, I get that." His voice was low and rough and... disappointed?

"Austin? What do you think?" Elaine asked, pulling my attention away from David.

"Can I have a say in casting?" I hedged.

David’s eyes cut back to me then.

"You're the creator. I'm sure you can."

"I want final decision on casting,” I amended. “I'm the one who would have to work with these people every day."

David’s expression was unreadable as he silently watched me, listening to every word we said.

"If Jeff agrees to that, are you saying yes?" Elaine checked.

"Yes." My voice was clear and confident, despite my unease with not having discussed it with David first, and the fact that I didn’t know the first thing about creating a show.

I’d just jumped into the deep end without looking.

Sink or swim. 

“Perfect, I'll let him know. And I'll call you back.”

“Thank you, Elaine,” I said ending the call, steadfastly avoiding looking directly at David. I could feel his disapproving gaze on me, as real as a hot hand.

“What?” I asked quietly, focusing on my food, knowing exactly what was wrong. Finally, I glanced up. My eyes meeting his, I added, “You said you'd support my career.”

David's eyebrows pulled together as he stared at me in disbelief.

"I said, I would support you in anything you wanted.” He leaned in close, nearly looming over me. It was intimidating as hell. “But you'd have to fucking tell me what was going on for me to support you,” he accused harshly. “You did this behind my back. You didn't even ask me. You just decided, right here in front of me."

"You didn't ask me about baseball," I countered.

"Yes! I fucking did! You just never gave me an answer." 

Fuck, he was right. I was just too chickenshit to tell him the truth.

“I didn't tell you about the initial interest, because I was afraid nothing would come of it. And I didn't want to look like a failure to you.”

His expression softened. 

“Can you please be happy for me?” My voice was small, my insecurities coming through. “This might be it for me, whether it actually goes through or not.”

“Sweetheart, it won't be.” His voice was sympathetic, sincere and resolute. “I promise, even if I have to produce it, this will not be your last chance.”

He tucked me into his side, comforting me.

“Eat,” he whispered, pressing his lips to my temple. And just like that, everything between us felt right again.  

 

 

*****

 

 

Much later in the day, I realized how wrong I’d been.

I had been camped out on the couch for thirty minutes, writing, when David walked in the living room. He was wearing his perfectly worn black boots, black jeans, and a V-neck tee that hinted at the thick muscles hidden beneath. He was dressed to go out. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.

I had watched him slip on lounge pants, the same time I pulled on my sweatshirt and shorts. He watched me wash my face and put my hair up in a messy bun. He had watched me get ready for a night at home and said nothing. I couldn’t help but worry he was going out to get even.

That’d be my reaction, not his.

I hoped.

We’d had a crazy day.

After we'd found out the pilot had been green lighted, the contract had been messengered over, and Elaine had spent hours on speakerphone explaining every part of it to David and me, she assured us the show wouldn't start filming until mid-March. Which meant I wouldn't be traveling with David until mid-July.

To say he wasn't pleased about the show would be a gross understatement, but to his credit, he never asked me to pass on the opportunity. Now I was wondering if it had been the calm before the storm because his energy was way off.  

“I’m gonna grab our dinner.” He paused, making no move toward me, which set off all my alarms.

It was Friday night; the only night worse for making a take-out run would be Saturday.

“Where?” I asked cautiously.

“Boa.” His tone was unreadable, but I knew.

Boa would be packed, as would every other restaurant in Hollywood. He only wanted to go for one reason: Ryan. I couldn’t imagine Ryan was still working there, but I wasn’t willing to risk it.   

“David, let me get dressed, and we can have a date night,” I suggested, trying to stay calm as I closed my laptop, setting it on the ottoman.

“No.” His voice was even, but the order was clear. “You stay here. I already called it in, and it’ll be too crowded to get a table this late.” 

“David, don’t—” I tried again.

“He filmed you with your phone,” he exploded. “Why wouldn’t he do it with his?”

“David, please, drop it. Let it go,” I implored.

“Austin, I love you more than anything, but if you keep defending him, we’re gonna have a serious problem,” he warned gruffly.

“David, please—”

“Austin,” he barked, his narrowed gaze pinning me in place. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. I’d never seen him so angry unprovoked.

But fuck, he looked sexy.

“Stay here. I’ll be back soon,” he growled, then turned and walked out without another word.

I grabbed my phone, dialing Fergus.

“Yes?” he greeted.

“He’s going to Boa. Stop him.” My voice came out much higher than normal in my panicked state.

“Call him. Keep him on the phone in case he gets there before me.”

Fergus’ serious tone and lack of explanation needed reconfirmed my fears.

I dialed David.

After two rings, I heard his phone. He’d left it in the kitchen. Hopping up, I headed for the garage, but when I opened the door, he was already gone.

My eyes closed as I sighed in defeat.

Fuck... please don’t let anyone call the police.

Deep down David craved violence. I knew that from witnessing what he did to Zach. He’d kill someone if he ever let that rage off its leash. That fact should've been disturbing, scary, something. But it wasn’t. I just couldn’t bear thought of him getting arrested over this, destroying his image and career.

I knew that wasn’t a rational response.

 

 

 

David

 

 

I couldn’t do it anymore. Acting like I was fine, like it didn’t bother me, when the truth was, that video was eating me alive. And not knowing if there were more videos... videos of her fucking him...

I had to find out. 

Or just beat the shit out of him.

Truthfully, I was planning on both.

Austin getting that contract for the show was too much too fast. I wanted to be happy for her.

I really did.

But I wasn’t.

I wasn’t ready to share her, to let her have her own life. I definitely wasn’t ready for how it made me feel.

It was like a fucking freight train was headed straight for us. Either I had to find a way to control it, or get out of the way. But getting out of the way meant letting her get swept up in the Hollywood machine. No matter how comfortable she was with herself, no matter how confident, Hollywood would tear her down, change her into someone else, physically and mentally.

Another shallow shell, willing to do any publicity stunt to maintain her fame. Even if I didn’t divorce her our marriage would be over; it would end up another pawn in the Hollywood game.

No... fuck no.

Getting out of the way wasn’t an option, I wasn’t going to lose her. 

And knowing she made the decision behind my back... I’d thought I was getting her to open up and share. I felt like a moron. I felt like she didn’t need me, like I was irrelevant. Unnecessary.  

Maybe it was because I was still too raw from finding that video only three days before. I didn’t know, but whatever the reason, I needed something I could control.

As soon as I pulled up to the valet, I saw Ryan and that video replayed vividly through my mind...

Austin on her knees in front of him, her sweet little tongue licking along his shaft, his voice encouraging her, directing her as she slid the head into her mouth.

Looking at him, the hot knot in my stomach grew.

That primitive possessiveness rose up, fierce and vengeful, my irrational need to own Austin, the part of me that wanted to drag her back to my cave and hide her away from other men.

Austin was mine, she was always meant for me. She was my whole world. And he’d defiled it, recording her, touching her, like she was his.

Motherfucker... I’ll break every bone in his face.

My heart pounded in my chest, my body flush with rage as I climbed out of the truck, stalking over to him, ignoring the valet who approached me.  

“David!” Fergus’ distinct voice called out from behind me, but I didn’t stop.

“We need to talk.” My fists clenched at my sides, giving away my intention.

Ryan took a step back, keeping distance between us. “What? I only called her one time, man. We never even talked.”

What the fuck?

She’d never mentioned it, and I’d never seen a call from him. Didn’t mean he hadn’t, but I wasn’t letting him side track me. “I’m more interested in your penchant for filming.”

He visibly paled. “She never—I didn’t know—I thought she wasn’t into it—she never said anything,” he stumbled out nervously.  

Then Fergus was there, positioning himself between us.

“David,” Fergus tried.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, never taking my eyes off Ryan. I wanted to hurt him, make him bleed. If I was being honest, I wanted him dead. For touching her, fucking her, sticking his dick in her mouth.

Next thing I knew, I was moving toward him.

“David, stop,” Fergus insisted quietly. 

“How many,” I demanded, taking another step toward Ryan, backing him up against the glass wall. 

“What? No—none—just that one. Like I said, she never said anything—I thought she wasn’t into it.”

He was telling the truth, that was obvious. He was terrified. It still wasn’t what I wanted; it wasn’t enough, not even close.  

“You do that a lot? Film girls without their knowledge?” My voice was a quiet threat, as I crowded him. My fists clenched and my muscles trembled as fought the urge to hit him.

“What? No,” he tumbled out, his gaze darting between me and Fergus.

“Just Austin.” My eyes narrowed as I watched him try to find a way out of the situation. 

“Ah—I,” he paused, seeming scared to answer.

A hand on my upper arm pulled my attention away from Ryan. 

“Come on,” Fergus murmured sternly, tugging my arm, inconspicuously enough not to draw more attention than I already had by cornering a valet in front of a crowded restaurant. “Not Here.”

At Fergus’ words, the sounds of nearby voices and traffic finally registered. We had an audience gathering.

My jaw clenched and I took a deep breath, then backed away from Ryan, reluctantly following Fergus.

Once we were inside, Fergus asked for my to-go order, then turned to me.

“The only way you are beating him down is if you get him to your house.” He kept his voice low enough to keep our conversation private. “And Austin will be there, to witness it. There are too many witnesses here.”

My eyes darted away from him, scanning the room. There were more than a few people I knew, and I didn’t want to interact with them. I couldn’t. There was no way I could put on my All-American sweetheart act at the moment.   

“You got lucky with Zach,” Fergus continued, quietly. “No witnesses, and he never tried to press charges… But you can’t keep doing it.”

I knew he was right. People were always looking for a payday, something to blackmail or sue you for. I hadn’t even paid off that Kelsey bitch, yet. And I couldn't bring myself to make Austin watch me like that again. No matter how much I wanted to hurt him, needed to, craved it.

Fuck.

“David, I know that video fucked you up, but if you really love Austin, you will let it go.” My gaze met his then. “She can’t change it.” His words were slow, deliberate, making sure I understood.

But I already knew that, that’s why I’d been acting like I was fine around her, not letting her see how I really felt about it.

“What if Dawn had made one of you two?” he challenged.

Fuck me…

I recoiled at that.

“How would you feel?” he pushed.

“Point taken,” I gritted. 

It’d fucking kill me if Austin had seen something like that.  

I was a self-centered asshole.

I’d been pretending to be fine, not wanting to punish her. But I’d never considered that it was as upsetting to her as it was to me that the video even existed. The thought just never crossed my mind. I’d been too focused on dealing with how I felt—trying to get past it.

“She called me panicked. She’s worried about you... No one else, just you.” Fergus’ words soothed me some, taking the edge off my anger. 

“Mr. Taylor.” The hostess approached.

“Yeah, here.” I dug out a hundred, handing it over.

“Go home to her,” Fergus encouraged.

“I am,” I assured him. 

We both turned, going back out to the valet. They hadn’t parked either of our cars yet. I tipped the valet anyway and gave Fergus a nod, reassuring him again I was cool. I was going home.

Austin was mine.

She was waiting for me.

I had to find a way to let the past go.

 

 

 

Austin

 

 

When David walked back in the house, I let out a sigh of relief.  

After he had left, I’d paced the first ten minutes, struggling not to blow up Fergus’ phone like a lunatic—I’d managed to limit myself to four calls.

Despite Fergus’ reassurances, my gaze darted between David’s hands and face, searching for marks or any signs of a fight.

He set the take-out bag on the kitchen island and made his way over to me. Without a word, his hands slid into my hair, gently, tilting my head. His mouth closed over mine, a soft brushing of lips that slowly turned possessive. All the tension in my body melted away as his tongue pushed in with long, lush sweeps, that echoed in my cunt.

My hands fisted in his hair, pulling, holding him to me.

“Be right back,” he whispered against my lips. 

My heart skipped at his low rasp. I didn’t know if it was the anxiety of waiting for him, the relief he was home, or the fact he wasn’t being distant, but something low inside me coiled tight, and my clit throbbed viciously. 

I was horny as fuck.

Dear God, I was twisted.

“I love you,” I breathed, holding him to me a moment longer, arching up, trying to communicate what I wanted. 

“I love the fuck outta you,” he swore softly before pulling away, ignoring my prompt.  

Disappointed, I watched his retreating form as he headed to the bedroom. I didn’t know what had happened with Ryan, but we seemed okay, good even. And that was really the only thing I cared about.     

Except his dicks not in me right now.     

Fifteen minutes later, he swaggered into the living room wearing nothing but low hanging sweat shorts, his hair and hard body wet. He’d apparently showered. His skin was still flawless, no signs of bruising or scratches on his sculpted form. 

“Sorry, I brought that shit up,” he muttered as he approached me. “That wasn’t cool. Won’t happen again, sweetheart.” He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. “Go take a shower. I’ll get the food ready.”

His demand was gentle, letting me know he needed a moment alone.

Guess we’re not as okay as I thought.

When I’d emerged from the shower, his mood had shifted significantly. He seemed almost grateful to be with me. Attentive. Caring. And he’d reinstated the We are never talking about it again rule for the video, which I was more than happy about. He’d even teased me about being worried about him. Apparently, Fergus had ratted me out. But David seemed to enjoy that fact too much for me to be mad about it. 

As soon as we finished eating, I stood, gathering our plates, taking them to the kitchen before he could protest.

Just as I was putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, he called out, “Did Ryan call you?” His tone was diplomatic, calm, and unreadable.

I hesitated, unsure if he meant while he was gone, or... “No, why?”

“He said he did.” Thighs spread wide, David leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. He looked like he was prepared to hear the worst. 

“No…” Slowly, making my way back over to him, I reconsidered. “Well, maybe. I didn’t keep his number in my phone, and I’m not so good at checking my voicemail, or answering unknown numbers.”

He watched me with a thoughtful expression for a moment. “You really aren’t freaked out are you?”

Sprawling out on the couch adjacent to him, exhausted from the days stress, I looked at him genuinely confused. “By what? That Ryan said he called?”

He huffed a small laugh. “That I got up and left the house to beat the shit outta someone.”

Oh... that.

“No.” I drew the word out. “But I was scared you’d get arrested.” Suddenly, it occurred to me. “Anger’s the only emotion I’ve ever been comfortable expressing, so...” I trailed off, shrugging.

“You are my girl,” he muttered, making me feel lighter than I had in days. 

He took a long appreciative look at me before grabbing the remote and sitting back, getting comfortable. 

Several moments later, once I knew the conversation was over, I mentioned casually, “I need a trainer.”

“Austin, no.” His voice was stern as was his side-eyed glare.

Elaine had mentioned it earlier to us, suggesting he should find someone for me. He hadn’t responded at the time, but I had the impression he wasn’t a fan of the idea.

“David, you're going to be gone,” I tried to reason.

Without a word, he reached over and hauled me up against him, tucking me under his arm.

“I seriously need one.” My voice was small, trying for sweet.

“You'll be just fine working out on your own,” he muttered, fast forwarding through the credits of some movie he’d chosen.

“No, I won't. You're going to be gone. I'll get depressed, bored, sad, horny, and I'll want to dive into a tub of ice cream every day.”

He ducked his head slightly, trying to hide his smirk.

“It's not funny, David.” Though, I was just happy we were interacting normally, as if the Boa/Ryan incident hadn’t happened.

He looked at me dead on then. He shook his head slightly as he said, “No, it's not funny. It's gonna fucking suck.”

Our gazes locked, both of us searching. For what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe that we had both truly let the video go. That we were okay.

He let out a heavy breath. “Okay,” he relented, “but I get to pick the trainer. You have no say.”

“But, David—”

“No, Austin. I train you. Then I fuck you. You're asking me to let someone else take my place—”

“Well, the fucking won't be part of it,” I cut in, trying to lighten his suddenly heavy mood. I didn’t want any more seriousness for the evening.

But he continued, undeterred. “You want someone else to take my place in an activity that is very intimate for us. I get to pick the trainer. Get me?”

“Yeah.” I relented.

He leaned forward, grabbing his phone off the ottoman, muttering, “I knew this was gonna happen.”

“What?” 

He tucked me back under his arm, molding me against his side.

“That you'd figure out you've got complete control over me—and start using it.” His eyes cut to me, a mischievous look on his face.

“Pfft. As if,” I mumbled, taking the remote from him, changing the channel.

 A small sarcastic “Mmm-hmm” was his only response as he texted someone.

My heart did a happy leap in my chest. The perverse pleasure I felt at knowing I still held that power over him—the strongest man I'd ever known—was intoxicating. 

Empowering.

So much more now than before the video incident, before his earlier excursion to Boa. Now I had a deeper appreciation for that power, and for David.

“By the way,” he broke the long silence, “I called your mom. We're going to her house for Thanksgiving, okay?”

“Yeah, that was the plan before I met you,” I muttered, absently, searching through the DVR. “Wait, you called my mom?”

“Yeah, a few times actually. I got us a private plane. Gonna be gone for a few weeks.”

He tossed his phone on the ottoman before maneuvering us down on our sides into a spooning position. His thick arm wrapped around me, tucking me close. His big, warm body behind me, firm muscles pressing into my soft curves. Comforting me. Protecting me. Arousing me, as his cock hardened against my ass.

“David,” I breathed, shifting my hips, pushing back into him.

“Yeah, sweet girl,” he purred condescendingly. His lips brushed my ear, his breath warming my skin as his hand moved to my lower stomach, pressing, encouraging me to grind against him. “You wanna get fucked?” he asked, using his sex voice.

“Please,” I panted, rubbing against his length, the thin material of our shorts the only thing separating his throbbing cock from my ass.

“Where do you want it?”

My thighs pressed together, my hips squirming, I was too focused on trying to get friction on my clit to respond.

His other hand fisted roughly in my hair, pulling my head back against his shoulder.

“I said.” His tone was harsh, demanding. “Where do you want it... Ass or pussy?”

My breath hitched and my core throbbed frantically, my body responding to his words and aggression. “Both,” I answered, breathlessly.

He made a filthy, satisfied noise. “Looks like we need to get that dildo, huh?”

At the thought of him fucking both my holes, a shiver ran up my spine and a low moan escaped my throat.

“Yeah, we do.” His rasp was cocky, gloating. Triumphant.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

 

“Good morning,” David's deep voice filled the room.

Opening my eyes, I saw him walking toward me, carrying our breakfast tray, Chance on his heels.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked sweetly.

The past week had been crazy. In addition to our normal routine, David had been busy interviewing potential managers for the gym while I wrote the pilot for the series. Though, he'd made sure we found time to hit up the Pleasure Chest to pick out a toy for our DP play and found time to use it.

A lot of time.

We'd both gotten a little carried away the night before, and I was sore. Really sore.

“I think we might need to take the day off from the toy,” I admitted, carefully sitting up, trying not to wince.

“I'm thinkin' a few days,” he murmured, placing the tray over my lap.

My eyebrows rose.

“You looked bruised, sweetheart.”

That explained why he overreacted, all his “Fuck, I'm sorry” and “Are you sure you're okay?” Also explained why it hurt to sit.

“I'm okay.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmured again just before pressing a kiss to my forehead. His touch was tender, gentle, as if I was the most precious thing in the world to him. It tugged at something deep inside me, making my eyes sting. 

He pulled back fractionally, his gaze moving over my face with a thoughtful expression. Then he leaned in, capturing my lips.

“I love you,” he breathed against my mouth before carefully crawling over me, settling in on his side as Chance hopped up, lying at the foot on the bed. David turned on the TV, and we ate in comfortable silence.

Most men would've held that video over me indefinitely, but not David. He'd held true to his word, never bringing it up.

I'd thought having anal sex would've made all the difference. But the day we did, the day he found the video... Well, it might have been a big step in the right direction, but what really changed things was the toy.  The double penetration.

Maybe it was because it was a first for me, or because it was a first for both of us. But David was happier. It was almost as if pushing past another sexual boundary had made the video nonexistent.

Like it was nothing.

Like it never happened.

Sure, I was sore as fuck, but it was worth it.  Every time we used it, as crazy as it was, it seemed to make our relationship stronger. We felt more connected.

Just as we were finishing breakfast, David announced, “I have a doctor’s appointment Tuesday. You need to come with.”

“Why? What's wrong?” I asked, still watching TV.

“Well, it's been almost three months.” His voice was casual as he leaned back, getting comfortable against the headboard. “And you're not pregnant.”

I choked on my coffee. 

Once I'd recovered, I looked over at him. “Well, I hope not. I'm taking birth control.”

His expression was incredulous. “I told you to stop.”

“And you thought I would? Just like that? No conversation? Really?” I asked sarcastically.

“Why? You don't want kids?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

My brows pulled together, confused by the suddenness and randomness of the conversation. He hadn’t mentioned having kids once since our wedding.

“Not yet—I never agreed to stop taking birth control.” Then I added, “And I'm not even going to consider it right now.”

His jaw clenched and nostrils flared as his eyes darted away. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt or annoyed, but I didn’t want him to be either.

“David, it would be career suicide to get pregnant right now. And honestly... I'm just not ready,” I admitted softly, hoping he would understand.

His jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

I wanted to ask if he was really ready for a kid or just wanted to trap me, tie me to him in a permanent way, but I resisted.

For a whole minute.

“Do you really want to have a kid? Share me with someone who will need my constant attention? Or do you just want to chain us together permanently?”

He looked over at me.

“Chained,” he admitted freely, gruffly. “More than fucking ever, now that you got that contract.”

 Ahh...   

“David, even if we were ready, our lives are not,” I tried to reason. When he didn't respond, I continued, “If I got pregnant now, I wouldn't be able to fly with you to your away games. And after, I still wouldn't be able to with a newborn. And they take time and attention. I don't see you giving any of that up.”

Eventually, he admitted, “No, I'm really not ready or willing to give up any time with you—for anyone.”

He sounded almost disappointed with himself. 

“That's okay, you know. We can be selfish. It's just us and Chance. We need to be selfish now, before we have a kid,” I encouraged.

“I guess so.” Then he added, “Guess I'm gonna have to come up with another way to chain you to me.”

“We're married, not sure we can be more chained together.”

“Marriage isn't permanent. A kid is—at least for eighteen years. Don't worry, I'll come up with something.”

“Great. Just nothing involving surgery or sharing organs,” I teased.

His eyebrow lifted in that signature way of his as he watched me.

“Not funny, David.”

“Not laughing,” he deadpanned.

I should have been concerned about what craziness he might come up with, but I was too elated at having made him see reason so easily, preventing what could've been a huge fight.

A fight I won.

My victory high didn’t last long. 

Six hours later, I was in my office, lying on my pale pink couch, completely submerged in my own little world, a couple of pages into writing the second episode, when David's deep voice boomed, “Austin, get the fuck in here, now!”

The anger in his voice had my heart hammering in my chest as I set my laptop aside. We'd had a perfect morning and afternoon consisting of the gym and then a long, lazy lunch at Georgie. My mind raced with what could've happened in the hour I’d been holed up, writing.  

Trepidation trickled through me at the thought, Maybe the video did get out.

When I entered the living room, I found David sitting on the couch reading.

His eyes lifted, pinning me in place with a hard look. “Get over here.”

Instantly, I knew it wasn't about the video.

From his expression and his tone, I was in trouble. And I felt it, just like a child who got caught red-handed, except I didn't even know what I'd done.

I stared at the papers in his hands, focusing on schooling my expression.

“What?” I asked, trying to sound annoyed, but just sounding bored to my own ears.

He caught my gaze and his eyebrow lifted as he said, “I'm reading your script—for the pilot.”

My breath left me in a rush as I stared at him.

“There it is.” His voice was smooth, low, and somehow more threatening because of it.

“What?” I asked, frozen in place, trapped in his predatory gaze.

“Understanding. From your expression, you understand why I'm mad, and you understand you have some things to explain.”

Finally, I shook myself out of my stunned stupor and moved. Sitting next to him, I pulled a knee up on the couch to face him, getting closer, hoping to soften him with my body language.

“David—” I started.

“This main guy is me, isn't it?” He cut me off, his tone was all business. “This Jason guy?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you cheat on him?”

“Kinda, but—” I tried again.

“Is this your fantasy? Because I know you haven't cheated on me. Do you want to?” His tone shifted from matter-of-fact to accusing. “I mean, this is what you've been thinking about the past three months. This is what you've been writing—cheating on me.”

“David, no, please listen,” I begged.

His jaw flexed and his eyebrow lifted saying I'm waiting.

I took a deep resetting breath.

“This script is... basically what would've happened had I met you when I first moved here. Because I wouldn't have been ready for you. You would've scared the shit out of me.” I wrung my hands as I continued. “I wasn't used to the way men are here... I would've fought being with you. I would've been too intimidated by you to go... anywhere with you.”

“Is that what you wish would've happened?” His voice was soft, sincere. And his eyes... The vulnerability I saw there broke my heart, and made my pussy throb.

Goddamn, I'm fucked up.

Was I really going to admit this? Lay bare another layer of my fucked-upness?

Fuck it.

“Selfishly, part of me does, yes.” My voice softened. “Because you're my safety net. You make me feel safe and secure, like I can do anything, and I'll be okay—better than okay. So, yeah, part of me wishes I'd met you then, even though I would've seriously damaged our relationship.”

He was silent a long moment, considering my words. “So I make you feel safe? That's why you wish we’d met sooner?” His tone was unreadable.

“Yeah, safe. Free. Free to fuck up, to be myself, to do anything I want and still be safe, knowing you'll always protect me. Who wouldn't want that? You've given me a freedom I haven't known since I was little—it's kind of fucking huge for me.” I held his intense gaze, despite the vulnerability I felt at my admission.

His mouth lifted on one side, a mixture of pride, shyness, and genuine happiness, a boyish grin that was completely disarming and endearing.

“You telling me that is kinda fucking huge for me.” His voice was barely a whisper when he added, “Everything about us is fucking huge for me.”   

“Have I ever told you how perfect you are?” I whispered in awe of the man before me.

Giving me a sidelong look, he grinned, then turned his attention back to the script.

Moving closer, I curled into him, placing a hand in the middle of his sculpted chest and slipping my leg between his, tilting my hips. 

Either sensing my need or maybe I was just too obvious, he reached across me; his bicep pushed into my breasts, his hand gripped my hip as his leg moved, firmly pressing his thick, muscled thigh against my sex. 

Getting the contact I needed, a soft purring sound spilled from my throat, a sigh mixed with a moan.

Just when I thought he was going to relax and give me what I wanted, he asked gruffly, “What about fucking this married guy in the elevator at the Oscars?”

My arousal was dashed in an instant.

“That wasn't me. It was someone I know.”

He pulled back, studying my face, then finally said, “Good. It was someone I know too.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“There's going to be a lot of that in the series. I have to pull from everything I know, not just what's happened to me—it's the only way to push this out for eight seasons. If the first season goes well.”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He leaned further back into the couch as understanding and surprise crossed his face. “You're going to air out everybody's dirty laundry, aren't you?”

“I'm not going to name actual names. People outside Hollywood aren't gonna know who it is,” I defended.

“Yeah, but we live in Hollywood—I don't personally care. I just want you to be aware that there might be some blowback from this.”

I knew that, but I'd always believed in the saying: Go big or go home.

“I know, but I feel like this is my only shot. And I want to be true to me—to my Hollywood experience. Not the Entourage rose-colored glasses version.”

“I'm down with that.” He nodded. “Hundred percent. Now, let's discuss the body double you're gonna have for the sex scenes.” His tone let me know the conversation had only just begun.

Shit.

I had a feeling I wasn’t winning this argument.

 

 

*****

 

 

“I thought you grew up in the country, said something about a ranch?” David looked over at me as we entered the Cherry Creek neighborhood in Denver, where my mother and I had lived since I was nine years old.

Obviously, he and my mother had talked, because I never mentioned it to him. That was the main reason I wasn't nearly as excited about this holiday trip as David was. He and my mother had been busy all week, making plans, menus, and reservations. You name it, they were all over it. To say I was uncomfortable with all the liberties he’d been taking would be an understatement.

“Yeah, my grandfather's ranch isn’t too far. We lived there until I was nine—we still own it.”

He nodded absently as he took in the surroundings.  

The past week had flown by. I'd finished the second script for the series, and David had hired and trained a new manager for the gym. So, at least that was covered while we were gone. I hoped that worked out, because we needed the help with his baseball season approaching.

I glanced in the backseat, checking on Chance. He'd been quiet as a mouse during the flight and was now fast asleep, not a care in the world.

Must be nice.

Catching David's expression, I could tell he was not happy with the white Range Rover Sport rental we were in. It was new, but it was quite a bit smaller than ours—for David it was a tight fit. And he didn't like being dependent on the navigation, and for some reason, he wanted to pass on my turn-at-the-corner-with-the-taco-place-kitty-corner-it style directions. 

I'd never been able to remember street names once I learned my way around an area.

Except my addresses, I could remember those.

Finally, he said, “This is a nice area. I like this.”

“Yeah, I like it,” I muttered, unsure what to say.

The closer we got to the house, the more real it became. David was going to see a side of me no other guy ever had.

The queasy feeling in my stomach intensified. 

Moments later, we pulled in front of the gray stone house I'd spent the majority of my life in.

David turned off the truck, and I took a deep breath, trying to brace myself for what was soon to come.

He wasted no time climbing out and grabbing our bags, simultaneously letting Chance out. “Austin,” he prompted, standing in the open back door.

Numbly, I climbed out and headed for the porch.

As I stood there, opening the front door, David and Chance right behind me, my heart fluttered, an irrational moment of panic, afraid of letting David into my past. Literally. 

But with how much they had talked, my mom had probably told him more than I could even think to be worried about. He probably already knew shit about me that would make me lose sleep at night.

Nothing to be nervous about.

Yeah, right.

Taking a deep breath, I forced the anxiety down, and pushed open the door. 

The first thing I noticed was Mom had repainted again, pale gray this time. All the rugs, curtains, and foyer table were new. The hardwood floors and the living room furniture were the same at least.

That's how it was every time I came home. My mother was constantly changing the interior of the house, a side effect of all those home-renovation shows she loved to watch.

“Is your mom here?” David asked, setting down our bags.

“Oh, no.” I turned to him. “You hungry?”

“Sure.”

Laying my purse on the foyer table, I led him and Chance through the house, back to the kitchen. As we passed the living room, I noticed our dark leather U-shape sectional seemed small compared to the one David and I had. 

“So where is she?” David probed as we entered the kitchen.

My mother had remodeled it a few months after I left. I still wasn't used to it. It was similar to ours, white cabinets, Carrara marble countertops, and dark wood floor, except Mom's was traditional/country while ours had a traditional/modern feel.

“Oh, uh, she owns a donut shop and a uh...” I trailed off, my gaze landing on the kitchen island.

Two large dog bowls sat on the counter. Elaborate. Expensive. 

Gifts were how she showed affection. And that was my fault. Since my assault, my rape, I hadn’t been willing to have an emotional connection. Not wanting to feel anything at all. I had held her at arms length, forcing her to substitute material things for affection, forego love for gifts. What’s worse, before David she had been the only person who really knew me, who was close to me.

Regret settled over me like a dark shadow.

I’d wasted so much time, time I’d never get back. But I could change the future, and I intended to.

Grabbing one of the bowls, I started filling it with water.

“A pot shop?” David asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

Doing a double take, I noticed he wasn't too thrilled about that possibility.

It took a moment for me to put it together.

Her owning a cannabis dispensary would be in conflict with his carefully crafted persona.

I knew my behavior affected him, his career, his image, but I hadn’t considered Mom’s would. I couldn’t help but imagine the kind of spin that would get.

David Taylor’s drug dealer mother-in-law.

“No,” I laughed, leaning against the sink. “A dry cleaners.” 

“Cool. So when’s she gonna be home?” he pressed, as I placed the water bowl down for Chance.

I was a little surprised he didn’t already know my mother’s schedule, since he’d spent so much time talking to her. As I looked at him standing in her kitchen, all my frustration bubbled up. Their phone calls, and planning, scheduling this trip behind my back... “Why don't you call her and ask? Brother.”

He looked at me, confusion marring his too handsome face. 

“I thought I had a husband, but I'm starting to think I really acquired a brother,” I complained, unable to hide my irritation anymore. He had forced himself into this part of my life before I was ready, without asking, as if it was his right. “You talk to her more than I do. You act like... she just adopted you or something.”  I caught myself before I made a reference to her being his mom. Bringing up his late mother was not how I wanted to start the holiday.

My near slip cooled my anger. Because maybe, just maybe, he was reaching out to my mom because he hadn’t had one in so long.

“Is that what you want? Me to be your brother?” David either didn’t notice or care about my near faux pas, as he purred, “Wanna get into something kinky?”

It took a second for me to catch on, but when I did my cheeks heated with embarrassment, despite my growing grin. “What?”

“I'm down to play,” he rasped, crowding me, pressing me back against the sink.

“You're crazy,” I admonished, but I couldn't stop grinning.

“I'm crazy? Because I wanna give you every kinky fantasy you ever had?”

When he put it that way...

“Do we have time now?” he asked, his half-lidded gaze raking down my body as his strong arms caged me in.

I bit my lip, looking up at him from under my eyelashes. “Couple hours.”

“Show me your room.” His voice was deep and rough, making my core flutter.

I let out a little squeal and ran toward the stairs, David right behind me.

As we entered my old room, David asked, “How long have you had this bed?”

My room had exactly five pieces of furniture: an almost black, distressed wood nightstand, armoire and chest of drawers, a taupe chair, and my bed. It was a queen bed with an antique iron headboard featuring a vine design. The headboard I'd had since I was thirteen, but I knew David was referring to the mattress.  

“No one's slept on it but me. That I know of. We bought it a year before I moved to LA.”

“Cool,” he murmured, stripping off his shirt. Then his boots hit the floor, followed by his jeans.

The taupe blackout curtains, which I'd insisted on when I was a teen, were partially drawn. The light filtering in through the sheer layer underneath cast a soft glow over his thickly sculpted muscles, magnifying the prominent veins running along his forearms and lower abs.

I blindly toed off my shoes, my gaze locked on his deep V of muscle as he moved toward my bed.

I noticed the linens were new, more masculine than my style—a brown and blue damask comforter with navy blue sateen shams and light blue sheets. It was obviously a high-priced luxury set.

“Looks like you ranked high enough for new sheets,” I teased, downplaying their meaning. Mom wanted David to feel welcome. To feel loved.

“These're new?” he asked, pulling back the covers, climbing in. “Guess, I really do have your mother's approval.”

“Like you didn't know,” was my sassy reply as I clumsily pulled off my socks. When I gripped the hem of my shirt, that deep and rich resonant voice stopped me, quietly commanding my full attention.

“Leave the leggings and shirt on.”

He held the covers up in invitation, and I noticed he was still wearing his black boxer briefs.

Biting my lip, I crawled in, unsure what he had in mind.

As the blankets settled over us, our gazes caught. Those dark eyes pulled me in, promising to fulfill my every fantasy, but I couldn't help feeling silly.

“David, I don't know if I can do this. Role-playing,” I admitted.

“I don't wanna role-play. I wanna pretend.” His voice was low and soft, like he was confessing his deepest, darkest secret.

I shifted uncomfortably, partly from the conversation, partly from being fully dressed in bed. “It's the same thing.”

“No, it's not. You act, that's pretending. That's pretending so well that you believe it yourself. That's what I wanna do.” He was so sincere, I realized this wasn't sex play; this was something more.

I made a reluctant noise in my throat.

“Just listen to me,” he coaxed gently, then pulled me up on my side, facing him, our bodies less than a foot apart, but the only point of contact was his hand on the dip of my waist, playing with the hem of my shirt.

Something about it was more intimate. Our clothes on, in my childhood bedroom, in absolute silence, the sheet pulled up to his shoulder, creating a semi quasi tent. Suddenly, I felt like a teenager who had snuck a boy into my room, excited, nervous, waiting to find out what he would do next.

“Close your eyes.”

The tender, pleading quality in his tone had me obeying without question.

“After my mom died, my aunt called and looked up any family member, no matter how distant, trying to get rid of me. She promised my mother she wouldn't kick me out before I graduated, but she still tried everything she could to get rid of me.”

With that new information, my heart broke for him officially. I couldn't imagine that level of rejection at seventeen years old. He'd told me she didn't want him around and made him pay for his own food, but to openly and actively try to pawn him off on a virtual stranger? 

“So what I'm saying is, what if some crazy thing happened and someone knew someone who knew someone, and your mom offered to take me in for the last couple of months of my junior year until I graduated.”

That scenario I could imagine. My mother wouldn't have hesitated to help him, would've wanted to do anything to make his life better, easier.

“So.” His voice was still hushed but deeper, more intimate, making my breathing hitch. Then his hand moved on my hip, drawing lazy circles, and I felt a little flutter in my stomach. “I'm just saying, what if your mom had taken me in at seventeen.”

Those lazy circles became bigger, pushing my shirt up fractionally. 

“The first time I laid eyes on you,” he continued, softly. His voice was an arousing mix of possessiveness, desperation, and awe. “It would’ve been game over. I would've reacted to you the same way I did—actually, it would have been way worse.”

My world narrowed down to his husky voice filling the small space between us as I built the scene he was describing in my mind.   

“I was so lost and looking for someone to hold onto, someone to love, take care of... I would’ve known as soon as I saw you, and I would've followed you everywhere. Clung to you like a life raft in a storm.”

My heart did a happy leap at the thought of David at seventeen, same height—from our previous discussions—with half the muscle. Me still wearing baggy clothes, desperately trying to hide my developing curves.

I could picture it perfectly.

“You don't know that you would've been physically attracted to me when I was fourteen.” My voice was soft, quiet, not wanting to break the mood.

“Wouldn't have mattered what your body looked like—but, I would've been. I've seen pictures. You were already in a D cup, and your hips had already filled out.”

My eyes open at that. “My mother showed you pictures?”

David nodded.

Goddamn, my mother had no boundaries whatsoever.

And I wasn't in a D yet. I was at that awkward point where a C was too small and a D was too big. But I wasn't going to correct David's generous interpretation. 

“Hey.” His voice softened, and I inwardly cringed, knowing what was coming. “All that stuff you're scared of me knowing? I've known since before we got married. Your mom told me.”

Fuck.

I knew leaving them alone for two seconds was a mistake.

“Now, close your eyes for me.” There was a tenderness in his voice that pulled at something inside me, making warmth bloom hot and fierce in my chest and cunt. 

Finishing his what if scenario seemed to mean something to him. And knowing it was pointless to be upset about something he'd known for over two months, I forced myself to let it go and closed my eyes.

“At fourteen, your body was ready for me—”

My core fluttered. “What if I'd been too intimidated by you?”

“I'd have told you everything about me, about my past. We'd have connected just like we did, but you'd have been more open.”

It was messed up, but so true. It hit me then, David had given this quite a bit of thought. 

“And if you weren't ready for a relationship, I would've waited. And I would've scared off any guy who looked at you. I'd have been your permanent shadow.”

“You'd have been possessive at seventeen?” I whispered through a grin.

“Hell yeah. Especially since I didn't have anything. Would've kept you all to myself. No boys coming over to do homework, hang out, none of that shit.”

I couldn't help but giggle at that. “I didn't start hanging out with boys till high school.”

“Wouldn’t've happened then either,” he muttered.

His hand fanned out across my hip, palming possessively, his thumb tucked under my shirt, finding my bare skin, sweeping back and forth rhythmically.

“All mine,” he growled. “Right from the start.”

Goose bumps raced over my skin and my breath caught.

“I would've play wrestled with you. Stealing the remote from you, keeping it out of your reach, getting you to climb all over me to get it back.”

Oh, God.

I could see it. It felt as real as if it was an actual memory. My breathing turned heavy as I visualized straddling him on the couch, our chests pressed together, me struggling to reach a remote he held captive in his big hand.

He continued on. “I would've kept play-wrestling with you until your body's instincts took over, finding friction against me. And the first time you did, the first time your body reacted, I would've encouraged you.”

His hand on my hip slid around, palming my ass, then massaging rhythmically. That's when I noticed my hips were already shifting of their own volition.

Fuck, I was horny. And wet.

His strong thigh slid between mine, pressing firmly against my sex, his hand still kneading, urging me to ride it. 

And ride it, I did, my hips shifting with purpose, working my clit against him, chasing my orgasm.

“Come for me,” he managed through labored breaths, that big hand still encouraging. 

And just like that—with my eyes closed, our heavy breath the only sound in the room, the thin fabric of my leggings the only thing separating my throbbing sex from his hard thigh—we were teenagers, hiding in my room, doing something we weren't supposed to be doing.

“That's it, just like that. Grind down on me, take what you need,” he rasped, his lips brushing along my forehead, his body strung tight, restraining himself.

There was something different about his touch. More careful, gentler? Whether deliberate or not, he was showing me what it would’ve been like, how he would have handled me, how he would have treated me. It was fucking hot.

Arching, I pressed my chest against his, gripping his shoulders as I raced toward climax.

“Don't stop.” He held my hips, following the movements, not forcing.

“David,” I gasped as pleasure shot through me, sharp and sudden, tremors racking my body as I came. 

“Yeah, that's my sweet girl,” he growled softly.

“Again,” I breathed.

“Take what you want, anything you want.”

As my hips shifted, I tucked my head into the crook of his neck, focusing on the pleasure still pounding through me.

“I would've owned your first orgasm,” he went on. “I would've let you use me every day to come, held you just like this until you were shaking against me.”

God, that sounded perfect.

“It wouldn't've taken long,” I admitted.

Because at fourteen, I'd already had more orgasms than I could count. The first by accident; the rest, very much intentional.

“You were already playing...?”

I nodded. My voice came out small, shy when I elaborated, “Using a pillow.”

A deep “Mmm” vibrated through him. “I fucking love your body. It would’ve drove me crazy, but I would've waited to fuck you. Because there're so many things I'd wanna do first. Make you come with my fingers, my mouth. We would've learned together all the different ways to make you come, all the spots that drive you crazy. We would've learned all that together.”

My body tightened at his words, on the verge of another orgasm. I was shocked by how aroused I was by just the thought of this alternate reality. 

Then the full meaning of what he said sunk in. He was still a virgin at seventeen, which made sense. When did he have the time, between getting the shit beat out of him and taking care of his dying mother.

“But if that had happened, you wouldn't have your baseball career,” I countered, playing devil’s advocate.

“Yes, I would.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “But I would've played harder, better, because I would've had you to take care of. I would've worked my ass off and made pro in one year instead of two.” 

I loved that. It made my insides all warm and squishy. He was so open, vulnerable, and I’d never been more in love with him.

“But how would you have handled me being in high school and you being halfway across the country?” I asked through a growing grin, far too pleased by what he was saying, and wanting more.

“I would've begged your mom, on my hands and knees, to homeschool you.” I could hear the smile in his voice. He shifted, his tone turning serious and sincere, “I would've seen you every chance I had—flown you out. Called and texted you all fucking day, every day.” Then he added, in the most charmingly cocky way, “And you'd know from the other girls at school, you'd see how shitty their boyfriends treated them... make you want me even more.”

A huge grin split my face.

That was true. I could only imagine how mature David was at seventeen, with everything that he'd been through.

I could visualize everything so clearly. 

“Hell, I bet I could've convinced your mom to let us get married when you were seventeen.”

God, he's probably right.

“But if that'd happened, I wouldn't have the show now. I wouldn't have had all those Hollywood firsts.”

“Yes, you would. I learned everything—all the games, rules, and crazy shit—the hard way. We would've moved to LA together, learned the ropes together. You would've had more firsts, because I wouldn't've known what all I needed to protect you from.”

Envisioning it so clearly, I let myself get lost in that world for a moment. A world where we'd been together from the start.

It felt fucking amazing.

The alternate reality he’d created was perfect. It solved our problems, because our issues weren't what happened to us, not really. The problems between me and David were from our dating history; the video, the exes, being cheating on—at least for me.

The first time I was cheated on, I was genuinely blindsided. It never occurred to me that someone would go to the trouble of lying and cheating, instead of just breaking up with me. Maybe that was because I never felt anything for them; getting rid of one and acquiring a new one held no real meaning for me—other than a nice change of pace.

I wanted the picture David had painted. Really wanted it. In the next breath, I realized we could never have it—ever. 

“But we can pretend.” David's soft rasp broke through my thoughts. 

I didn't know how much of that I had said out loud, but it was apparently enough.

“Won't we seem kinda crazy?” I asked quietly, both embarrassed and hopeful. I really wanted to pretend.

“Who's gonna know?” he challenged gently. “But us? And it's not forever, but why not pretend while we can, while we're on vacation?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, biting my lip. 

I knew we’d just reached a new level of fucked up. Pretending like our problems didn't exist wasn't healthy; it would most likely come back to bite us in the ass. But it felt too good to care.

 

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

“Hey,” David's deep voice interrupted my intense struggle to wrap my head around the reality show we were watching, WAGS, and the fact I was potentially going to be dealing with these type of catty women.

Worse. I was technically going to be a WAG.

WAG… Could they have come up with a more unattractive term?

We'd been lying on the couch for an hour; I was curled against his side, my legs tangled between his, his heavy arm around me, holding me in place.

“Is there a reason you’re making me watch this?” I blurted, not looking away from the screen.

It was the first day since we had arrived that we weren't running errands or going out to lunch and dinner with my mom. It had started as soon as my mother arrived home, shortly after we made our pact to pretend, and David made me come a dozen times.

Over the past few days, David’s behavior had been drastically different. He was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. I wasn’t sure if it was being away from Hollywood or just our pact, but things between us were perfect.

“What? I'm not making you watch anything.” His voice was casual, completely oblivious to my racing thoughts. I felt him move, looking away from his phone. While I’d been sentenced to reality TV, he was catching up on sports stuff. “I thought I stopped on Lifetime—that's what you usually turn it to.”

“I do not... Are you gonna treat me like this?” I asked, gesturing toward the TV.

“Treat you like what?”

“Like you aren't that into me. These guys act like they don't want to be around their wives or girlfriends or whatever.” I could feel myself ramping up, my insecurities running wild.

“What? No.”

“They act like they would rather hang with their friends—”

“Where is this coming from?” he demanded as his arm tightened around me. When I didn't answer, he continued gently, “I'd rather be with you than anyone else.”

I stayed silent, unwilling to vocalize my fears about his career.

“Hey.” He squeezed me, trying to get me to look at him. “We should have a date night tonight, like regular people.”

“Okay, what?” I agreed, grateful to have a reprieve from my thoughts.

“A movie and dinner. Or is it dinner and a movie?”

A laugh bubbled up out of me. Then I reminded him, “If we go out to dinner here, it's going to be a lot worse than LA—fan wise.”

The past four nights, Mom had reserved private rooms, so we hadn't dealt with that problem yet. And lunch had been at restaurants more than happy to accommodate our desire for privacy. David had worn his hat whenever we went out during the day. But even pulled low, people had still noticed him, still stopped him for autographs.

His lip curled up briefly in annoyance before he asked, “How about one of those dine-in movies?”

“You ever been?” I inquired because he didn't seem like the type to enjoy that.

“No, but some of the guys at the gym love 'em.” He paused. “You ever gone?”

“Yeah,” I answered as I disentangled myself from him to go find my mother—she would know if there was a dine-in theater nearby.

David let his head fall back against the couch as his eyes rolled in annoyance before focusing on the ceiling. Then he grumbled, “I gotta stop asking you that shit.”

I felt a twinge of sadness and sympathy. I understood exactly how he felt. I hated the thought of him having a life before me.

“Is there an iPic nearby?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen island, where I found my mother getting an early start on Thanksgiving dinner.

Her face showed her confusion as she repeated, “Eye pick?”

Struggling not to laugh, I clarified, “It's a dine-in theater.”

“There's an AMC dine-in theater in Aurora.” She gestured toward the backdoor, despite Aurora being in the opposite direction.

“David,” I called loudly.

“Yeah,” he answered, his deep voice easily carrying through the house.

“AMC dine-in okay?”

Seconds later, David stood in the doorway, leaning a thick, muscled shoulder against the frame. “Sounds good.”

My mother perked up at his appearance. “David, I was going to ask you, do you want Austin to bake the pies?”

His eyebrow went up, a smirk forming on his chiseled face. “You really can bake?”

“Ye—” I started to answer.

“Oh, she can do fancy pastries and complicated little gourmet thingies. She makes this one that tastes like pecan pie but way better,” my mom answered for me.

I knew why she was offering because she wanted me to make the complicated gourmet thingies. Despite my mother owning a donut shop, she had never baked in her life. That included donuts.

“Will you bake complicated gourmet things for me?” His voice had dropped an octave to the sexiest rumble.

My skin prickled as that voice washed over me, warming my insides. Biting my lip, I nodded slightly. I'd do anything he asked me to in that tone.

“Start gettin' ready,” David directed.

Without hesitation, I obeyed, and two hours later we were climbing into that white Range Rover, heading to the theater.

As soon as we were seated in the oversized reclining chairs, David called the waiter over, quickly ordering several desserts. When the waiter was gone, David leaned over and whispered, “I like this.”

Then his hand found mine, entwining our fingers.

“We've never been to the movies together,” I murmured in astonishment. How was it possible that we hadn't done the most common relationship activity? “How weird is that?”

“It's only weird to me because I haven't been in... probably six years. And I’ve never gone to the movies for a date.”

When the lights went out, David squeezed my hand until I looked over at him. Giving me a sexy grin, he tugged my hand into his lap, placing it on his hard thigh, mere inches from his crotch. It was something he had done a dozen times before, but this time it felt different.

Maybe because I was completely open now, bare to the bone. David had forced his way into my past, into my mother’s house, seeing every nuance of who I was. Letting David get to know my mother was the most intimate and terrifying thing I'd ever done.  

As we sat there, I felt a flutter in my stomach, like I was on a roller coaster rushing toward the bottom, weightless.

I felt alive, not an ounce of fear. 

Then David shifted over, pressing his arm flush to mine, his hand settling possessively on my thigh. His body heat and smell surrounded me in the dark, creating the perfect aphrodisiac, allowing me to pretend it had always been this way. Just us.

After a beat, I noticed, his hand mirrored mine where he'd placed it. I was struck with the realization he wanted me to be possessive; he wanted to feel that same rush I did. Our entire relationship, he had been telling me with actions, Be possessive of me, and I was just now getting it.

David's legs spread wider as I slid my hand over, gripping his warm inner thigh.

I was rewarded with a happy growl. “Mmmm, I like that.”  

I liked that too. So much.

Nothing had ever felt more right in my life.

 

 

 

 

David

 

 

I muffled a grunt as Austin flopped down next to me, her elbow digging into my ribs. Hard. Then harder.

Most people acted differently around their parents, more proper. I loved that Austin hadn't changed her behavior since being at her mom's. In fact, she seemed more comfortable as she crawled on me, getting situated with her tablet.

She'd been shopping online for hours. She'd started at noon, and it was nearly seven now. Her mom told me to be grateful Austin wasn't going to make me endure Black Friday. I'd never participated in it, but I was pretty sure I didn't want to.

“Oh, sorry, babe.” Austin started to move, pulling away.

“You're not going anywhere,” I muttered, wrapping an arm around her, stopping her.

She'd gone to change her clothes thirty minutes before. I wasn't ready for her to disappear on me again.

Pulling her close, I pressed my lips behind her ear.

“Why don't you lie down in my lap?” I suggested.

“You wanna get really comfy?” she asked, looking up at me, her voice hopeful.

My eyebrow lifted, intrigued.

Without a word, she leaned over my lap, the thin material of her shirt and my sweatpants did nothing to hide her hard nipples pressing against my thigh. A low groan rattled through me as my cock jumped in approval. He clearly did not suffer from the same carb coma I was in.

“Sweetheart, not right now. I—” I started to protest, despite my hand rubbing up and down her spine, encouraging her.

Her hand slipped between the cushions. Slowly, our section of the couch started to recline.

“Ohhh, I like this,” I muttered, stretching out, getting comfortable.

“As much as that blow job you thought you were gonna get?” she teased, sitting up.

I loved her like this. Playful. Open. Relaxed.

“Give me a couple hours,” I threatened, flipping through the channels.

She smirked. “You ate way too much if you were gonna turn down me sucking your dick, babe.”

Oh God, I really did. All day. Since Austin's grandparents had passed away, it was one of their new traditions—casual nontraditional holidays. No rules, no eating times; it was whenever, wherever, all day. 

This morning I'd found out how serious she was about their new tradition when I walked into the kitchen to make breakfast and found Evelyn in her flannel pajamas, already carving into the turkey. 

Over the past ten years, the few occasions I'd attended holiday meals, they'd all been formal. I preferred my new come-as-you-are, eat-as-much-as-you-want, whenever-you-want style. I hadn't had a Thanksgiving where I felt like I belonged since I was sixteen, and even then, it wasn't a happy occasion. But with Austin and Evelyn, it was fucking awesome. Casual, small, and perfect.

“It was all so good.”

“You didn't have to eat all the tarts,” she added distractedly.

“Yes, I did. My wife makes me fancy tiny handmade gourmet things, I'm eating 'em.”

She didn’t reply as she continued shopping online. Tired of being ignored, I pulled her closer, lifting her leg up over mine, making her cuddle.

I have to force my wife to cuddle on Thanksgiving.

She propped the tablet up on my too full stomach and laid her head on my chest.

A contented sigh escaped me as my arms settled around her.

I officially had everything I ever wanted. Since we’d arrived, we’d been heavily embedded in domestic shit: running errands, grocery shopping, family meals, movies.

I fucking loved it.

And it was all because of Austin. She’d given me the family experience I’d dreamed about as a kid, a casual, carefree, accepting environment.

It was probably nothing to other people, but for a kid who spent his childhood walking on eggshells around his father, and whose Thanksgiving’s were too embarrassing to admit to, it was huge.  

Nuzzling into Austin’s hair, I murmured, “Get us some oh shit gifts.”

She looked up at me, confusion written all over her gorgeous face.

“Ya know, when you don't know someone's birthday, but you should.” At her expression, I explained, “Like my coach or Jeff.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh shit.”

I nodded. “We have virtual strangers in our lives that we need to give fucking awesome birthday gifts to... Look for Rolexs, something nice.”

“’Kay,” she agreed, already busy with her new task.

My arms tightened around her and I relaxed, enjoying the feel of her body against mine as she focused on shopping.

We stayed like that, me breathing her in. It was hands down the best fucking Thanksgiving of my life.

“Hey,” I rasped, breaking our long silence. “We still pretending?”

She looked up then, and her face softened as she bit her lip and nodded.

“What are you pretending?” Evelyn asked, startling me. I’d never heard her come down the stairs, if that was even where she’d been. One thing I’d learned over the past few days, Austin’s mother could be a ninja when she wanted to be.

Evelyn and I had talked more in the past two weeks than Austin and I had. The way she left after the wedding, I wasn't sure what to expect. Evelyn was a dichotomy; she never reached out, never tried to communicate. But once I did, she was an open book again, sending me old pics of Austin, filling me in on old traditions, new traditions, making plans for us. 

But I was shocked when Austin answered, “David wants to pretend like we met when he was seventeen and I was fourteen.”

I realized then why they were so close: Austin was shamelessly honest with her mother.

Evelyn sat down at the far end of the U-shaped couch, looking at me. I was grateful the room was only lit with the pale light of dusk as my face and neck heated with embarrassment, knowing how it must sound. 

“That's why you wanted to know what she looked like at fourteen,” Evelyn said, putting it together quickly.

Suddenly, I was struck with how obvious my insecurities were, out there on display for her mother to see.

Austin sat up, her gaze meeting mine. If she hadn't already known my what-if scenario was thought out, she did now.

It was the only way I'd been able to deal the past two weeks. I wanted to own her, needed to own her. She was mine. But that video made it hard to believe. And I refused to lose her, refused to let her know how much it affected me. The anal, the toy, her giving me that level of trust helped so fucking much. Still, I had to tell myself every day that video was before us, remind myself I had the same shit in my past—mine just wasn't recorded.

That was how it started.

Actually, it started when we met. I distinctly remembered wishing I'd met her after my mom died—hell, I wish I'd met her before that. Knowing it was impossible, I'd let that irrational desire go—until Dawn and Zach popped into our lives again. It took me back there, wishing I'd met Austin sooner, that I'd never wasted my time with those women.

I wanted all of Austin’s firsts, but that just wasn't possible. So I forced myself to get past it, to let it go. Again.

But the video, that was a whole different level. Watching Austin swallow Ryan's cock was too much for me to deal with. And having met him...  All of it played out vividly in my mind.

Ryan’s cock sliding into her mouth, then her pussy, her ass.

I couldn't get around it. I couldn't let it go.

Seeing that video really fucked me up.

So, I started recreating our past. It started as a random thought, then built and grew into an entire alternate life. I was aware how completely insane it was.

But what I saw in Austin's eyes wasn't accusation. It was reverence. Acceptance. I'd hoped she felt the same way I did when she agreed to pretend, but now I knew. She wished it'd just been us from the start too.

Every time I thought I couldn't fall more in love with her, she reacted like this, understanding my insecurities, embracing them.

Her breathing turned shallow as I held her gaze. Something flashed in her eyes, something intense and dark, making hope bloom hot and fierce inside me.

I'd thought I wanted her to be obsessed with me, but this was so much better.

Austin was becoming addicted.

She got off on my irrational obsession. She craved my possessiveness, my jealousy. Her reaction fueled my desire to possess her. Own her.

There's no way two people could be more perfectly suited for each other.

“I would've loved that.” Evelyn's voice broke the intimacy of the moment. “Could've skipped your first boyfriend, the one you made cry.”

In an instant, I relaxed. Evelyn didn't seem put off by my unrealistic fantasy either.

“You made a boy cry?” I nudged Austin, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.  

“Yeah,” Evelyn answered as Chance hopped up, laying his head in her lap. “He was nineteen. She was fifteen. Made him cry like a baby. He was a sobbing mess on my porch, because she told him—.”

“Mom!” Austin scolded. “Maybe stop telling him everything.”

My chest shook with silent laughter, and Austin scowled at me.

“Not my fault,” I defended, lifting my hands in surrender.

“You could have saved me so many headaches,” Evelyn added, rubbing Chance's head absently while looking accusingly at Austin. Then her gaze met mine. “You can actually handle her.”

“Unbelievable,” Austin muttered, getting up. “You look for oh shit gifts.” She handed me the tablet. “I'm going to get something to drink, want anything?”

“Espresso,” Evelyn ordered, earning her a glare.

“No, sweetheart, I'll do it.” I started to get up.

“No, I can actually work this machine,” she declared with a fake snobby attitude, pointing at me, telling me to stay. “Latte?”

“Yeah.” I sat back heavily.

“And when I get back, you two are going to be done talking about me,” she called out as she headed toward the kitchen.

Having Austin wait on me felt wrong. It reminded me of the way my father made my mother wait on him, cooking and cleaning like a fucking slave. Earlier, when Austin was baking, it hadn't felt that way, probably because I helped and taste tested everything Austin was mixing.

“You still struggling to deal with the video?” Evelyn asked quietly.

Tilting my head back against the couch, I shut my eyes.

Should've known Austin told her.

I took a deep breath and met Evelyn’s gaze.

“Yeah, kinda fucked me up.” I decided, if they could be brutally honest, then I could too.

“She was devastated that you saw it, that someone could record her without her knowing.” Evelyn kept her voice low, letting me know that Austin’s hearing us discuss it would upset her again.

I really was an asshole.

I had no idea how much it had upset her.

I guess I wasn’t the only one acting like I was fine. 

“Yeah, I know. It's not her fault. I'm not mad at her,” I assured Evelyn.

I wasn’t. I’d never been mad at Austin for it. I still wanted to kill Ryan, and I’d give anything to burn the image from my brain, but I didn’t blame Austin.

“Just wish you could erase your pasts,” she added knowingly.

“So much,” I admitted on a sigh.

My phone buzzed then.

 

Fergus: Dawn is in Denver. I'll be there tomorrow.

Find another place. Use an alias. Call me if she

shows up. Otherwise, see you in the a.m.

7:15 PM

 

Fuck.

Not being sure how much her mother knew, and not wanting to alarm Austin, I said nothing.

“Can you take any time off from work?” I asked Evelyn.

“I can arrange something, why?” she asked, still focused on Chance. She had fawned all over him since the moment she saw him, and he ate up every second.

“Wanted to take you and Austin to Aspen until the New Year. Rent a place.”

She perked up at that. “Oh, that sounds amazing. When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You don't waste any time do you?” she teased. “It'll take a couple of days, but I can work something out.”

“Mom,” Austin interrupted, carrying a bottle of water and two cups. She handed her mother one. I relieved her of the other two items as she settled next to me. “Just curious. Would you have let me marry David when I was seventeen?”

I choked on my latte, shocked by how brazen she was advertising my issues to her mom. No shame.   

“Uhhh... Seventeen?” Evelyn seemed to give it real thought. “I don't know.” After a brief moment, her face lit up and she added, “David was already pro by then, so probably, as long as you finished school.”

I was still astounded by these two women who were now the only women in my life. They were such contradictions. They could be so withdrawn and private, and then switch to open, unapologetic honesty.

It was ridiculous how good that made me feel, knowing I was one of the few who were allowed to witness it.

Austin made a happy noise as she curled up next to me. “See?” she whispered, like a little know-it-all, then leaned over, looking at the tablet. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Taking you ladies to Aspen till New Years. Gotta find a place to rent.”

In that instant, I decided to stick with that story for as long as I could. I didn’t want Austin or Evelyn stressed out over what-ifs and maybes.  

“How's the latte?” she asked with a sexy little rasp, getting closer, draping her leg over my hips, shifting until her thigh was on my dick.

My breath caught and my cock pulsed, eager for some attention.

I knew what she wanted. I wanted it too, but her mother was only ten feet away.

“Austin,” I murmured, trying to adjust her leg. “Later.”

Arching, she pressed her chest into my arm, her sex against my waist and whispered, “You'd have done it when you were seventeen.”

I would have. I would've taken any opportunity to touch her. Goddamn, she was being so playful and open, it was sexy as fuck. How the hell was I supposed to turn her down?

“Mom, toss me that blanket.” Her tone was so casual, it made me pause. How many times had she done something like this?

Once we were covered, she looked up at me from under her lashes and murmured sweetly, “Just need one.”

My resolve crumbled when her small hand wrapped around my wrist, placing it between her legs. Even through her sweatpants, I could feel how hot and wet she was. 

Propping my heel on the footrest, my knee came up, blocking Austin from her mother’s view. Austin's arms wrapped around me, her head buried in my chest as I worked her to orgasm. Over and over again.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWELVE