“Well…sure I will. If you think it’ll make good pictures then of course I’ll sign a release for my boots.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “My mother will have a coronary.” I waited for Ben’s sarcastic comment.
“Your mum needs a good rogering.” Ben did not let me down.
I burst out in laughter at the absurd image of Clarice Huntington Bennett Exley ever being rogered at any time in her life.
“Hell, nobody ever said you had to have an orgasm to get pregnant, and I’m pretty sure my mom only had sex the one time with my dad.”
“I think you could be right, my luv,” Benny said. Ben had met my mom a couple of times so he knew what he was talking about. “At least she got it right and made you if it was just the one time,” Ben joked and I laughed some more.
My parents divorced when I was fourteen—probably from a lack of regular rogering and the realization that they had absolutely no interest in each other, but to be fair, they’d both stayed in the same general area until I’d graduated high school. My mother would hop across the pond to London when the mood struck and I would take great delight in shocking her with my friends, lifestyle, and general obnoxiousness until she’d had enough of that particular visit. Her new husband, Frank, was much older than her, much richer than my father, and probably delighted when she left San Francisco on her trips. I doubt she got much rogering with Frank either. Maybe Frank got some when she was traveling but who the hell knew. My mother and I were at odds most of the time.
Now Daddy was a different story. He’d always been my go-to parent. He called me regularly and supported my choices. He loved me for who I was. And in my darkest hour was the sole reason I am still here walking the earth. I wondered what Dad would think of Ethan.
Ben took off to chat up some hot blonde as a possible lay and I stayed and sipped my Olympic Flame.
“Hey, lovely lady, those are some purty purple boots you got on there.” A big guy with red hair, sporting his own pair of boots, western jeans, and a belt buckle in the shape and size of Texas loomed over my table. An American for sure. There were tons of people filtering into London for the Olympic Games and this guy definitely looked like a European virgin.
“Thank you. I collect cowboy boots.” I smiled at him.
“You collect cowboys, huh?” He dragged his eyes over me leeringly. “Then I s’pose I’m in the right place.” He sat down next to me, his big body crowding me on the lounge seating. “I’ll be your cowboy if you want,” he muttered the rest under his alcohol breath, “you can ride me.”
I scooted over on the seat and turned away.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“My name is, I’m-not-interested.” I stone faced him. “And my middle name is, You’ve-got-to-be-kidding-you-drunk-pig.”
“Now is that any way to be friendly to your American guests all the way here from Texas?” Big Red leaned closer and laid his arm on the back of the seat, pushing up against my side, his leg plastered next to mine, his breath blowing in my face. “You don’t know what yer missin.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea.” I leaned back as far as I could from him and scooted further down the seat. “Do they teach you manners in Texas or do the girls there like obnoxious drunks who proposition them in public?”
Big Red did not take the hint, or maybe he was too dumb to comprehend my question because he grabbed my hand and lurched to his feet, pulling me along. “Dance with me, honey.”
I balked but his grip was so strong I didn’t have a chance against his tremendous mass. He was like a hairy red caveman who’d had too much grog, jerking me against his body and slithering us around the dance floor. His hand covered my ass and started creeping up my skirt. That’s when I picked up my boot and rammed the heel down as hard as I could on his toe.
“Get your hand off my ass before your balls become pom-poms for my boots. You have two balls and I have two boots—one for each.” I gave him a fake smile.
He grunted at me and narrowed his eyes. I could tell he was contemplating if I was serious or not and then he made a sneer and backed off of me. “Cold, English bitch,” he muttered, weaving through the crowd, off to harass some other poor person most likely.
“I’m an American, you asshole! From the good part of the country!” I yelled at his back before spinning into the hard wall of a male chest. A chest I’d been up against before. A body that carried the scent of pure intoxication for me. Ethan.
He did not look happy as he scowled at the retreating bulk of Big Red and then back at me. Ethan pressed his hand to my back and pushed me toward a table. I could tell he was pissed. But even angry he still looked beautiful in his black t-shirt, dark jeans, grey jacket, and that wickedly serious glare on his face.
“Why are you here, Ethan?”
“It’s a damn good thing I am, isn’t it? That ape was all over you—his mitts on your ass—no telling what he would have tried next!” He glowered at me in the plush seat, his jaw a hard line, his lips set in a slash.
“I believe I handled him very well all on my own—”
Ethan took my face in his hands and kissed me, holding me trapped to his mouth, pushing his tongue in, demanding I allow him access. I moaned and kissed him back, tasting only mint and the faint taste of beer. I still couldn’t believe he was a smoker. I could never smell it on him. Even if I’d wanted to deny his kiss, saying no to Ethan was next to impossible. I always wanted him. He pushed all the right buttons for me and for that reason he was dangerous.
“Look at you,” he said slowly, eyes raking down at my outfit and then back up to my face, “it’s a miracle there aren’t fifty hard-ons trying to get at you.”
“Nope. Just two—Big Red and you.”
“Who?” He narrowed his eyes.
It was my turn to raise a brow at him. “Benny was with me until a few minutes ago, and I’m gonna let that one slide, Ethan. Not sure where to go with it.” I folded my arms beneath my breasts. “Are you supposed to even be here, Ethan? Better yet, how did you know I was at this particular club? Are you stalking me now?”
He raked a hand through his hair, and looked away from me. A bleached blonde cocktail waitress appeared instantly, blushing and jiggling as she took his drink order. I’m sure Miss-Sex-On-The-Beach wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he asked her to sit on his lap. Seriously, how did he even come to a place like this without women stumbling at his feet?
When Ethan asked me if I wanted something from the bar I simply shook my head and lifted the drink Benny had bought me. The waitress gave me a look as she took off, hips swinging.
“What do I do for a living, Brynne?” His voice was steely and I had to give him credit for not looking at her ass considering she practically waved it at him like the Olympic flag, and the fact he was speaking toward the dance floor, sweeping the room with his eyes.
“You own Blackstone Security International, Ltd. and have the tools at your disposal to stalk your dates?” I said sarcastically, tilting my head in question.
He spun back to me and flicked his eyes over my body. “Oh, we’re well past you being just a date, my beauty.” He leaned in, his lips at my ear. “When we fucked in my bed you passed into uncharted territory—trust me on that one.”
My heart stuttered at the look on his face and the words he’d just spoken. Instantly wet for him, I tried to steer the conversation away from the sexual. I don’t know why I bothered though; Ethan probably knew I was panting for him as we sat together.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Clarkson’s credit card popped up. Only the work of a moment.” He reached for my hand and caressed it with his thumb. “Don’t be angry at me for coming. I would have just stayed back if you were with your friends but that fucking cowboy put his hands on you.” Ethan brought my hand up to his lips, the brush of his goatee a touch I was beginning to love and take for granted. “I wanted to see you having fun. You looked so sad the last time I saw you in that cab.”
Ethan
smiled and his whole face changed.
“I love when you do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“When you kiss my hand.”
He looked down at my hand, still clasped in his. “It’s a very lovely hand, and I would be devastated if anything ever managed to harm it.”
His eyes returned to mine again but he mostly stayed quiet and watched me, rubbing circles with his thumb or pulling my hand up to his lips when he wanted to. Ethan needed to touch. It was just something he did that I understood about him. And oddly it comforted me. I couldn’t explain it really but I knew how he made me feel when he touched me. I suppose it was something I should talk to Dr. Roswell about at my next appointment.
Ethan’s choice of words struck me as unusual though. He was definitely overprotective, like he worried about me getting hurt. That train pulled into the station six years ago, Ethan.
Benny and Gaby showed up, did the meet and greet with Ethan, and then slipped away about as inconspicuous as frat boys at a kegger thinking they were playing it cool. Whatever. I’m sure they would stay up half the night speculating anyway.
When his drink arrived he used his left hand to hold it. Ethan never let go of my right one. Not until he put me in his car to drive me home.
He kept looking over at me in my seat, pulling my eyes to his repeatedly; arousing me to the point I felt the urge to squirm to relieve the ache between my legs.
“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” I finally asked.
“I think you know.” His voice was soft with a hard edge to it.
“And I want you to tell me because I really don’t know.”
“Brynne, I’m looking because I can’t keep my eyes off you. I want to be in you. I want to fuck you so badly I can hardly drive the damn car right now. I want to come inside you and then do it again. I want your sweet cunt wrapped around my cock while you scream my name because I made you come. I want to keep you with me all fucking night long so I can take you over and over again and you don’t remember anything else but me.”
I gripped the armrest and shuddered, sure a mini orgasm just rolled through my body. My panties were so wet I could have slipped down the leather seat if my boot heels weren’t dug into the carpet of the Rover.
By the time Ethan pulled up to the curb I was shaking. He got out and came around to open my door. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. At the porch I fumbled for my key and dropped it. Ethan picked it up and got it in the lock and us into the foyer. He held my hand through five flights of stairs, neither of us saying a word.
I pushed open the door to my flat and Ethan followed me in. And like other times, the instant we were closed together in privacy, a different man emerged. A man barely contained in his hunger for me. I knew I would not say no either.
My back hit the wall and I was lifted off my feet in two seconds. Ethan’s mouth was on mine, probing and seeking two seconds after that.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said, tightening his grip on my ass.
I did what he told me to do. Spread against the wall, my purple cowboy boots dangling to the sides like a frog for dissection, I surrendered to whatever he had planned. I accepted that Ethan drove this part of us—the sex. He was in charge of every commanding thing he would do to my body, and I craved his touch far too much to have second thoughts right now.
“Unzip me and take out my cock.”
I did that too. His hips pulled back to give me access, but his mouth and tongue still plundered as I unzipped his jeans and sprung him, hard as bone and sheathed in silk. I stroked his flesh with my hand as best I could and reveled in his guttural hiss at my touch.
Ethan got his hand up my skirt and his fingers under my thong. He ripped it up the back, snapping the material like a rubber band before impaling me on his enormous erection. I cried out as he filled me, so stretched by the size of him I convulsed from the sensation. He held me suspended for a moment, our bodies finally joined.
“Look at me and don’t stop.” He tightened his hands under my ass cheeks and started pumping into me. Hard. Deep. Punishing really but I didn’t care. I wanted this from him as I stared into eyes burning blue fire at me.
“Ethan!” I moaned and writhed against the wall of my flat as he fucked into me; his cock owning me from the inside out. I kept my eyes on him. Even when I could feel the pressure start to build in my womb, and the tip of his penis hitting the deepest spot he could reach, I kept looking at him. The intimacy was off the charts and I could not have looked away if I’d wanted to. I needed my eyes wide open.
“Why am I doing this, Brynne?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, Ethan.” I could barely speak.
“Yes you do. Say it, Brynne!” I tensed as an orgasm started to rule me but he immediately reduced the pace, taking it down a notch with slow pulls in and out of my spread sex.
“Say what?” I cried, frustrated.
“Say the words I have to hear. Say the truth and I’ll let you come.” He speared into me slower and nipped at my bare shoulder with his teeth.
“What is the truth?” I was starting to sob now, completely at his mercy.
“The truth is,” he grunted the rest on three, hard, punctuating thrusts, “You. Are. Mine!”
I inhaled on a cry at the final thrust.
He sped up again, fucking faster. “Say it!” he growled.
“I’m yours, Ethan!”
The second I said the words his thumb found my clit and released the orgasm, rolling and crashing as hard as a powerful wave breaking onto the shore. Like a reward for obeying him. I cried through it, pinned to the wall of my flat, Ethan still going hard at me through the shearing pleasure.
A roar came from deep within his chest as he started to climax; the stare of his eyes almost frightening. He thrust hard one final time, buried to the hilt as the hot seed pulsed up to soak me. He crushed his lips to mine and kissed, rocking the last few slides slow and gentle as he finished. His strong arms still held me up and I don’t know how he managed to do it but he did, kissing me sweetly and in total contrast to the sex-crazed madman of a moment ago.
“You are,” he choked out, “mine…”
He set me down from the wall, holding me steady until my feet were solid, and then pulled out of my body, breathing hard. I leaned against the wall for support and watched him tuck himself back into his jeans and zip up. My dress fell back down. To anyone who walked in at this moment, there would be nothing to show we’d just fucked each other’s brains out upon the wall. All an illusion.
Ethan put one hand up to my cheek, holding me captive but gently to face him. “Goodnight, my beautiful American girl. Sleep well and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He brought his hand over my face, over my lips and chin and throat and down my front. The look of longing told me he didn’t want to leave, but I knew he was going to. Ethan kissed me on the forehead so softly. He paused and inhaled like he was breathing me in, and then he walked out of my flat.
I stood there after the door closed, my body still humming from the orgasm, my ripped underwear up around my waist, the warm trickle of semen starting to flow down my thigh and listened. The rap of footsteps following his retreat was a sound not to my liking. Not one bit.
8
Dr. Roswell always writes in a notebook during our sessions. It seems very old-school to me, but then this is England and her office is in a building that was standing when Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence back in Philadelphia. She uses a fountain pen too, which impresses the holy hell out of me.
I watched her very beautiful turquoise and gold fountain pen scratch words into her notebook as she listened to me talk about Ethan. Dr. Roswell is a great listener. In fact, it’s pretty much the gist of what she does. I don’t know what our sessions would consist of if I didn’t tell her stuff she could listen to.
Sitting behind her elegant French desk table, she was the picture of professionalism and genuine interest. I’d gues
s her to be in her early fifties with beautiful skin and white hair that did not age her one bit. She always wore unique jewelry and bohemian outfits that made her look cultured and approachable. My dad had helped me find her when I’d first moved to London. Dr. Roswell was on my necessities list along with food, clothing and shelter.
“So why do you think you reacted by leaving Ethan in the middle of the night?”
“I was afraid of him seeing me like that.”
“But he did.” She wrote something in her book. “And from what you’ve told me, he wanted to comfort you and for you to stay.”
“I know, and it scared me. For him to want me to tell him why I have the dreams…” And this was my biggest problem. Dr. Roswell and I’ve discussed it many, many times. What would any man think of me once they knew? “He asked me if I wanted to talk about it. I told him no. He’s so—so—intense; I know it will be a matter of days probably before he pushes for more.”
“A relationship is like that, Brynne. You share and help the other person know about you, even the frightening parts.”
“Ethan is not like that though. He’s so demanding all the time. He wants…everything from me.”
“And how does that make you feel when he demands things or wants you to give him everything?”
“Terrified of what will become of me—Brynne.” I took a deep breath and said the words. “But when I’m with him, when he touches me or when we’re…intimate…I feel so safe and cherished, like nothing bad will happen to me with him. For whatever reason, I trust him, Dr. Roswell.”
“Do you think starting a sexual relationship with Ethan is the reason your nightmares have resurfaced?”
“Yes.” My voice came out tremulous and I hated the sound of it.
“Brynne, that’s a very normal thing for abuse survivors. The intimate act of sex is vulnerable for a woman by its nature. The female accepts the male inside of her body. He’s stronger and typically more dominant. A woman has to have trust in her partner or I imagine there would be miniscule few of us having any sex at all. Add that to your history and you have a very stirring mix brewing inside your subconscious.”