Текст книги "End of the Innocence"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 33
Sex with Brad was always different after a threesome. Sometimes it was tender, such as when we were with the Russian girl. Other times it was possessive, as if he was claiming me back, reasserting his dominance with his cock, hands, and mouth. And sometimes it was fire, two souls battling each other, passion and fury in between our bodies, the giant need for each other frenzied in its intensity.
That day, with precious minutes ticking by, I expected it to be fast. But he took his time, laying me back on the bed, his eyes moving slowly over my skin, drinking me in. His hands dropping his pants, then his underwear, until there was nothing but raw, hard cock. Ready for me. Wanting me. He leaned over my body, tasted with teasing kisses, my neck, breasts, the side of my stomach, the curve of my hip. His hands pulled my legs open, and I squirmed as he drug soft lips closer, along the cut where my panties would lie, his eyes catching mine as he lowered his mouth to my sex.
God. I bucked under his mouth. His tongue was a velvet soft flutter over my sensitive clit. I was so aroused. On the edge of everything. He took me to the peak, keeping the rhythm up until I cried his name and clenched my legs. Until I came, my back arching, my hands finding and gripping his thick hair.
He moved up my body, joining me on the bed, his knees pushing my legs apart, his cock settling and thrusting into my hot and ready core.
“Are you mad?” I whispered, staring into his face.
He cocked his head at me, confused.
“At what he was doing ... when you came in.”
He chuckled, shoved fully in, a place he didn’t typically go, the extreme depth of him usually painful. I winced, slapped his chest, warning him with my eyes. “I’m only mad if he was doing something you didn’t want. or, if he was making you uncomfortable. From the looks of it, you were very comfortable.”
“But you didn’t mind just watching?”
“Watching you being pleased?” He shook his head, dragged his hips backward, then gripped my legs and pushed back in. “Seeing your face when you come, your muscles when they clench. The arch of your back at a time when I can focus on it, enjoy it. I lose so many sensations when I fuck you. Your sounds, the flush of your cheeks. Sitting there, watching you come ... it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It’s not about ‘minding.’ It’s about enjoying.” He quickened his thrusts, the movements of his hips, and dropped my legs, returned to my mouth. Then he wrapped his arms underneath me, pulled me to his chest, and rolled us over, our bodies joined as one, until I was astride, and he was below. And then he gave me a brief moment of control, and let me ride him to completion.
Chapter 34
APRIL
Days until wedding: 120
People in danger typically try to put as much distance as possible between them and their attacker. They believe that space equals safety. But they are wrong, and often get hurt as a result. You see, when your enemies are close, when their bodies are pressed flush against yours, at that range they can do very little damage. They need distance to swing a punch, to extend their hands and choke your neck. Distance to reach down and unzip a zipper. The lesson is simple: Dictate your space. Keep your enemies as close as possible until you are ready to give them space. And when you give them that space, use it to destroy them.
I had broken the triangle choke into an acronym for easy memorization. A. Arm Across. I move my attacker’s arm across his body. S. Scoot away. I slide my body away from him, moving him down my chest. L. Leg over his shoulder. Creating a noose, which I will use to hang him. A. Ankle. I grab my ankle, tucking it under my other leg, tightening the noose. P. Press. Press down on his head and squeeze until the air has left his body and he passes out between my legs. After he has gone limp, continued pressure will eventually cause death. A SLAP.
Ben had, per Brad’s wishes, become my instructor, moving us to the theatre after dinner on Wednesday nights. Brad had the room’s seating moved to the attic, blue mats now covering the large space. There, Ben and I would ‘roll,’ him training me on jujitsu defense tactics created by the Gracie family over the last three decades, tactics designed to allow a smaller individual to defeat a larger one. Ben had grown up in California, trained in their academy for over a decade. Though his instruction would never count in the world of belts and qualifications, it was priceless in the world of my personal safety, a world Brad now seemed obsessed with. I now kept a gun in my SUV, had campus security walk me to my vehicle if night had fallen, and my humble college abode was outfitted with five thousand dollars worth of security cameras, alarms, and monitoring services. I had forbid Brad from placing tracking devices on my car or cell. My stubborn stance on the item had led to a fight, which led to incredible sex, and then another fight, Brad unwilling to drop the subject. But I had stayed firm. A life without freedom wasn’t, in my mind, worth living. I didn’t ever want my movements tracked, for someone to have a finger on where I was at any moment. There was a level of caution that was necessary and reasonable, then there was a level that was invasive and controlling. Brad was a control freak; it was in every ounce of his DNA. It was important to me that I never be controlled. He could control his work, his clients, his juries, his employees, but not me. So that argument I won, his dark eyes flashing in frustration at the outcome. The jujitsu argument he won, as there was no good reason for me not to have defense abilities.
The sport was a close contact one, most moves requiring limbs to be tangled, bodies pressed in solid contact, faces inches away from each other, breaths commingling as he straddled me, taking aggressive stances that I would try to combat. Ben was often surprised by my aggression, my intent focus on how to best administer pain while in different defensive positions. But his reports back didn’t surprise Brad. Brad knew behind my sweet exterior was a need for control, one that often asserted itself during sex, or in other small ways of manipulation. It simmered below my skin, rising to a boil if provoked.
A SLAP. Hopefully, I would never use it.
♥♥♥
“Good. Again.”
I released my arms, freeing Ben’s neck, and waited for him to stand. “I think I got it.”
“You’re still holding your breath when you choke me. And you’re thinking out the moves. It needs to become second nature to you.” He stood, his hands settling to his waist, the dim theatre room lighting putting much of his face into the shadows.
“One more time. Then I’ve got to take a shower.” I didn’t know the time, no clock in the room, but it felt late. And I had promised to meet Olivia at the library, both of us facing mid-term finals.
“I’ll step in.” Brad’s voice came from behind my head, and I turned to see him in the doorway, his dress clothes still on, though he had lost his jacket at some point in the evening.
I frowned. “I don’t want to mess up your clothes.”
He held out a hand, sending a cocky grin down at me. “I’ll let a beautiful woman mess up my clothes any day.”
“Wrong answer,” I grumbled, accepting the hand and yanking it unnecessarily hard when standing.
“I’m sorry, love. I’ll let your beautiful ass mess up my clothes any day.” He winked at me, stepping backward slightly on the blue mat, until we were at least ten feet apart.
It wasn’t about his clothes. I sucked at defending myself against Brad. He was so much bigger, stronger, than Ben. I couldn’t fully wrap my arms around his chest, my moves had to be done perfectly in order for my light weight to properly influence and affect his large mass. And I was not, as much as I’d like to admit it, perfect. Far from it. Most days, I felt like I was two steps above mediocre. I was reminded of my lack of proficiency every time Brad stepped onto the mat.
“Go ahead baby.” I gestured with my hands. “Give me your best shot.”
His best shot ended up forcibly grabbing me, moving me to the floor where he proceeded to pull up my shirt. Took his time groping my chest. I let him enjoy it, putting up a mock struggle until the moment his frisky hand wandered far enough to the right. Then I jumped into action, trapping the arm and rolling, taking it with me to a place that it wasn’t meant to go, a place that meant broken bones or disconnected sockets. And for once, my mediocrity didn’t interfere, and I heard his hand, the three strong slaps against the mats. I released him, rolling over, his arm snagging me into place, a smile on his face as he stole a quick kiss from me. “Not bad, baby. Not bad.”
Chapter 35
Not bad was screaming its way up my shoulder. I winced, taking a break from my textbook and rolled the joint, stretching the limb carefully right and then left, the action catching the attention of Olivia.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just sore.”
She snorted, the perturbed sound catching my attention in the quiet library.
“What?”
“That from some crazy sexual acrobats?” She raised an eyebrow at me over the cover of her textbook.
“No. Working out with Ben.”
“That is so weird. You rolling around on a mat with Brad’s best friend.”
“It’s not sexual, O. It’s self-defense. You should come sometime.”
“As you’ve mentioned a hundred times before. I have Mace. As do you. There’s no need for you to be a black belt to boot. And the CIA-level security system he just installed at your house? Was the retinal eye scan not available? Plus, since when does a trophy wife need protection? You gonna get mugged while walking through Neiman Marcus?” She kept her gaze on her book, my attempt to catch her eyes futile.
“I’m not gonna be a trophy wife.” I ignored the other attacks, the ground covered ten times before. She didn’t know about the attempt on my life eight months before. Didn’t know about Brad’s family or the hidden threats that would exist for the rest of my life. It was something I would never tell her, along with the side of our sex life that involved strangers and kink. She already had enough reservations about Brad, enough irritation toward the man who had stolen her best friend.
She set down the book, her eyes finally meeting mine. “You’re twenty-one. He’s thirty-four. You’re hot. Driving a BMW. Carrying a hard-working family’s second mortgage around on your finger. Probably won’t work a day in your life. Nothing about that screams trophy wife?”
I studied her face, the anger in it. Why was she mad? Where was this hostility coming from? Was it too much to ask that she be happy for me? “You’re forgetting, in that ridiculous equation of yours, that I love the man.”
“No. You’re dazzled by him. Without the money, without his man-whore reputation that presents a challenge, you would have dropped him by now. Not run around, letting him orchestrate your every move.” She closed her notebook, capping the pen, and stood, sliding the items off the desk and into her book bag, the worn item in sharp contrast to the barely-used Louis Vuitton carryall that slouched carelessly by my tennis shoes.
I stood, fighting to keep my voice low, aware of the attention we were attracting from the others at our table. Pens had stopped scratching, eyes stopped reading, an eavesdropping silence blanketed the entire area. “Don’t presume to know how I feel. You have no idea of my feelings, and I shouldn’t have to—at every interaction with you—defend my actions and validate my love.” I watched with dismay as she bent, hefting her book bag over her shoulder.
“Whatever. Becca’s the one who blows sunshine, not me.” She pulled out her cell, her fingers moving over the screen, doing godknowswhat as she turned away. “See you later, Jules.”
I watched her go, my eyes on her as she moved past the main desk, pressing the buttons for the elevator, waiting for the car, and then stepping on, her head never lifting from her phone, never turning to look, my last glimpse the blue material of her book bag as she stepped onto the car.
I sat, trying to sort out my emotions, trying to understand what just happened, anger brewing amidst the confusion.
“Ouch.” The word came from my right, and I glanced over to see brown eyes studying me behind thick glasses, the girl’s mouth twisted into a wry grin.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“It is a kick ass ring, though.” She smiled, dipping her pen in the direction of my hand.
I smiled politely, closing my own textbook with a sigh. So much for studying.
♥♥♥
While I planned my future, Rebecca planned my wedding, Olivia cursed my relationship, and arrangements of a completely different nature occurred in the seedy underbelly of the city. Money was exchanged, plans were constructed, and my fate was determined.
For the second time in twelve months, my life was in danger. And just like before, I was completely oblivious.
Chapter 36
“What’s going on with your law school application?” Brad’s voice came to me through the darkness and I turned, watching the light of the pool reflect off his muscles as he pushed up and out of the water.
I leaned back against the cushion of the pool chaise, my own skin almost dry. We had been swimming almost nightly, the unseasonal heat wave perfectly complemented by laps in the pool. We aimed for dusk, the sunset through the palm trees creating a perfect oasis and a half-hour of darkness before the bugs came out. He cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting for a response as he grabbed a towel off the chair beside me. “I haven’t given much thought to it,” I responded vaguely.
“You should be giving a lot of thought to it. What’s your top choice? We can shoot for admission there.”
I shot him an odd look. “My top choice? I was only going to apply to State. It’s the only law program nearby.”
He shook his head. “State is fine, but we’d be foolish not to use my contacts. Ignore the distance, where do you want to go?”
Where do I want to go? I hadn’t even allowed myself to think that way. I was getting married, would spend the next umpteen years of my life in this city. Me trotting off to a strange city for law school didn’t seem the prudent thing to do. “Ignore the distance?” I laughed. “Brad, that’s easy to say, but you don’t mean that.”
He stopped in the middle of drying his hair and looked at me. “Julia, this is a huge decision for you. It’s three years out of our entire life; we can make arrangements to make it work. Pick your school, and we will work out the rest.”
“I don’t want to live my first three years as a wife away from my husband. I can go to State. It’s no big deal.”
He frowned, sitting on the edge of my seat, his eyes locked with mine. “I don’t want you to be punished because you decided to marry me. I want you to make the right choices for your career. Do you know what field of law you want to practice?”
More decisions. “No. Not corporate. I died of boredom in the West Wing. Maybe criminal.” I reached out and caught his hand, stopping him as he rose. “Being your wife will never be a punishment. I chose to marry you, and living here is part of that choice.”
He leaned over, placing a soft kiss on my forehead and then leaned in more, brushing his lips across mine. “Regardless, make a list of your top five choices. State can only take up one spot. I’ll see who I know in each alumni base, and Rebecca can start collecting references.” He snagged my towel and held out a hand to help me up.
“I can collect my own references.”
“She can collect better ones.”
♥♥♥
The damn man had the annoying quality of always being right. I assembled my list, bringing it to Rebecca with dread, expecting some bitchy ass comment about adding to her workload. But she held the side of sass, glancing over the paper with a low whistle. “Damn girl, you don’t mess around.”
“It’s my dream list. I didn’t say it was realistic.” I grinned.
“Give me a few hours. Brad’s got enough favors hanging out there that this should be a cinch.”
“You’ve got time. I don’t need to send in apps ‘til the end of the next month.” I prepared to leave, standing and grabbing my bag, but was stopped by her outstretched finger.
She grabbed a pink flower post-it and scribbled something on it, then ripped off the top copy. “This is the next LSAT prep course. With those schools, you’re going to need one hell of an LSAT score. I already signed you up last week, per the big man’s instructions.” She held out the daisy-shaped note, and I took it reluctantly.
“I’m really just happy going to State ...” I ventured before she stood up with a start, her chair making a grotesque sound against the stone floor.
“Julia, that man will never forgive himself if you short-change your life because of him. I won’t go getting in your business, but trust me. He worries day and night about making you happy. Pick the damn school you want to go to.” She cocked a hip and fixed me with a look you might give an unruly child.
“You won’t go getting in our business?” The statement was so absurd I literally burst out laughing. I had no doubt the woman probably knew every aspect of our lives, right down to the time of my monthly cycle.
She laughed, then fixed me with a wry smile. “Hey, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. Now, attend the damn LSAT course and leave me be. I need to find you some references so good that admissions will overlook your paltry three-point-eight GPA.”
I didn’t even question how she knew my GPA, her investigative skills way too advanced for a mortal like me to ever understand. Screw LSAT prep, I needed to take classes in Rebecca 101.
Chapter 37
MAY
Days until wedding: 108
Rebecca and my mother had taken over wedding preparations. Like, locked me out of the room, forbade me to touch their plans, taken over wedding prep. Which was great, because the details alone were enough to raise my stress level tenfold. I loved the thought of a big wedding, had Pinterested enough images for a hundred weddings, but when it came to organizing it all? Tasting cakes, picking out calligraphy? My chest seized at the sheer enormity. So I turned it over to them, trading hundreds of hours of details with one weekly update. The more money that poured out, the more intricate details and decisions that were added to the spectacle that was becoming our wedding, the less I cared. The more I realized that the details, the window dressing, was unimportant. Important to us was the whispering of words that would tie us together until death did us part. The words mattered, the packaging did not. All it did was dress up the connection—the connection that no one else understood. No one else really got him and me and why we were so perfect for each other. Trying to explain our relationship would involve trying to explain our sex, and no one outside of our world would understand it.
As the days ticked on, my stress began to grow, the thought of my family and friends across the table from bloodthirsty savages too much for my mind to take. And weddings in an Italian family were apparently some type of giant family reunion where everyone was invited and fully expected to rescheduled doctor’s appointments and cruises and murders, to drive the five or a hundred or a thousand miles to attend. My family made up twenty-two invitations. Brad’s? Ninety-six. On Brad’s mother’s side of the family, every single invite’s RSVP had been returned, all with the box ‘Will Attend’ firmly checked. On Brad’s father’s side—the Magiano dynasty—the only response had come from Maria’s family and twenty or thirty great aunts and uncles. Total silence from Brad’s father, brothers, and cousins. I had cut Rebecca off at that stage of the update, waving my hands wearily and dropping my head heavily on her desk.
“Why were they even invited?” I moaned. “Did Brad know this?”
She looked at me grimly. “Yeah. He said a lack of invitation would be a sign of disrespect. And mentioned something about them showing up out of spite if they weren’t invited.”
I closed my eyes. Yeah. Dom Magiano seemed to have a thing about being challenged. “So ... we have no idea if they are coming.”
“Right. And my ass isn’t calling them for a follow-up.” Her indignant tone broke through my anguish and caused a smile.
“What’s Mom think? About his family not RSVPing?”
She shrugged. “I’ve managed to distract her with other stuff. But just know that there’s a chance that six or seven of these gorgeous tables will be empty. Or full. I’m not sure which you’d rather.”
“Oh my God,” I moaned. “Please stop talking. Is it too late to call this entire thing off?”
She raised her eyebrows at me, pulling out a drawer and lifting a huge, three-ring binder, its seams busting, colored tabs happily dividing plastic sleeves. “And ruin all of my hard work? Puh-lease. This is going to be the event of the decade, and that beautiful man in there has already dropped a small fortune on satisfying me and your mother’s every whim.”
I propped my chin on the desk, looking past her OCD organization and staring into her eyes. “How are you still sane? My head would explode with the decisions, powder versus baby blue, crab cakes versus crab legs ...”
She interlaced her fingers and fixed me with a stare. “I’m thirty-two, dating a barely acceptable man who I will probably fuck for another year before I move on to someone marginally better. When, and if, I do ever find someone I want to spend the rest of my life chained to, I’ll slap together some crap-ass wedding with a budget that equals two pairs of your ridiculous shoes. I have the opportunity here to plan the wedding of my dreams, with someone else’s money, and while on the clock. Please, turn into Mariah Carey and have a vow renewal every year so I can make this my full time job.” She grinned at me and opened the binder. “Now, let’s discuss the seating chart.”
Seating. An geometry equation where we tried to keep Campbells from Magianos, Brad’s clients and our friends acting as referees via seating clusters, the constant threat of entire empty tables a likely eyesore. The unknowns stacked, like additional cards to an already fragile pyramid. I wanted it all to disappear. Brad’s family, even, at times, my own. I almost didn’t even want friends at this point, the struggle to please everyone exhausting in its requirement of effort. Olivia and I had, in some way, mended fences—if mending fences meant that we pretended our library argument had never occurred. But any interaction with the girls was still stressful, the pressure to provide a brochure-worthy show of ‘life is perfect’ just to ensure support of my future life. Support Becca readily gave. Support Olivia dribbled out depending on whoknewwhat. It had all seemed so much easier at Christmas. When the wedding was still so far out, and everyone, including Olivia, had been full of smiles and positivity.
“By the way, you need to go to Franco’s and pick out a dress. That should be easy for you, with your penance for shopping.”
At her words, I came back to Earth. A dress. I could handle that. “Sound good. Do I just stop by there one day after class?”
Dismay flooded her features. “No! You don’t just ‘stop into’ Franco’s; this is going to be a full day affair. They need to know your measurements before you arrive, and they will order the best designers and have a fitter there to make adjustments. I’ll let them know your favorite champagne and have—”
Nothing was easy anymore. “Oh my God,” I groaned. “Please. As few decisions as possible. I’d like to enjoy this. Please call and tell them how indecisive I am. Just have them pull five options, all designed for someone with small boobs. I don’t want sequins or beading, or something that looks like Cinderella Barbie would wear. No poufy stuff underneath, or crazy buttons, or glitter. And I don’t want to spend over a thousand dollars. I’m wearing this one time.” I finished the plea with one long breath outward, looking up to see a disappointed look on Rebecca’s face.
“You do realize that you are the worst bride ever. And cheap.” She said the word as if it was offensive.
I ignored the comment, sitting back in the chair.
“I don’t know if Franco even has dresses for less than a grand.”
“Then I’ll go to David’s Bridal.”
She wrinkled her nose like I had said a bad word. “Fine. I’ll call Franco’s. But you know Brad’s gonna freak on you if he thinks you are skimping.”
I stood, walking around the desk and giving her a hug. “I’ll handle the big guy. And I’ll go to Franco’s on Saturday, just text me whatever time they want me to come in.”
“Try to enjoy it. You’re living every woman’s fantasy.”
“I am enjoying it. Every bit except when it involves Brad’s family. And thank you, you freaking angel, for handling these details.” I grinned and headed for the door.
“Later. Oh, and Julia?”
“Yeah?” I turned, one hand on the doorframe, and looked at her.
“You know his birthday is Friday.”
My brain closed in a bit. Friday. I should have known this, realized—at some point—that a birthday hadn’t occurred, that his time clock would be turning one year over. We had been together ten months, I should have asked, should have thought of this by now. “Friday.”
“Yeah. You didn’t know?”
I walked slowly back into her room and plopped into the closest chair. “No. But thanks for giving me so much advance notice.”
“Sorry,” she chirped, sounding less than apologetic.
I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out my cell, dialing a number and putting the phone on speakerphone, setting it on Rebecca’s desk. She looked at me quizzically and I held up a finger.
“Hello?” Martha’s brash voice rang through the speaker.
“Did you know Brad’s birthday is Friday?” I demanded, leaning forward so that she could hear me clearly.
“Umm ... did you say Friday?” she asked slowly, and I heard the fridge open.
“Yes, Friday,” I drawled.
“Okay.”
“Okay’s not an answer. You did, didn’t you?”
“He mighta told me not to mention it. Brad doesn’t like birthdays.”
I growled, the sound eliciting a laugh from Rebecca. “Anything else he ‘mighta’ told you not to mention?”
“You ain’t married yet, honey. I don’t have to open up the treasure trove of secrets ‘til you my boss, too.”
I grinned at the phone. “So you’re gonna start talking then?”
“Probably not.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll find a way to crack you later. You making dinner?”
“Yep. Baked chicken and potatoes. What time are you gonna be home?”
I checked my watch. “Around six-thirty.”
“It’ll be ready. Love you.”
“You too.” I ended the call and looked at Rebecca. “You got dinner plans? You’re welcome to come to the house. Martha’s baked chicken is deathly.”
“Nah. Brad’s got me doing research for a case, which means I need to put this fun aside and get some real work done.” She grinned at me and moved the gigantic wedding binder to the side.
I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “What the hell am I supposed to get him for his birthday?”
♦♦♦
Julia Campbell was not just a job. It was not just money; it was also a joint between families, the rare opportunity to mend a bridge, which had been burned many times before. The Magiano dynasty ruled superior, dominating the other families in this hundred-mile grid of opportunity. A chance to create goodwill with that lead heavyweight was valuable and not something the cooperating family took lightly. The job would need to be done perfectly. So much was at stake.
So proper precautions were made. She was watched, her schedule and habits monitored and recorded. Younger assets were assigned to sit in her classes, trail her along the manicured lawns of campus, and strike up casual conversations alongside her in the library. Their reports back were basic. She ate Chick-fil-A, did not flirt, and rarely went out with friends. After much discussion and strategizing, a plan was decided upon and a date was set. The date became their goal, and a countdown of sorts began, all attention and focus centered on preparation for that day.
