Exposure

by Ember Dante

  “Hey, hold up. What’s going on right now?”

  “What?” I pouted, my fingers still fiddling with the remaining buttons on his fly. “Can’t a woman be happy to see her boyfriend after a very long, very difficult day?”

  “Sure, but something’s not right. What happened after I left?”

  “Nothing. Everything is fine. I just want to have sex with my boyfriend. Besides, it’s your fault.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You turned me on when you were in the office this afternoon. I want you to make good on your promise to make my day better.” My fingers abandoned his pants and shifted to his shirt, gathering the material to give it a swift yank. “I’ve had a shitty day, and right now all I want is for you to fuck me hard and make me forget it.”

  Doubt etched itself onto his face, but he grabbed my hand and held it over his dick. “You want this? Now?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  He slammed the door and spun me around. “Hands on the wall.”

  It was a new, exciting side of Ian. I smoothed my hands over my skirt, drying the thin layer of sweat on my palms.

  “Now, Emmy.”

  My throat constricted and trepidation filled me. I complied, stretching my arms to rest my hands on the wall at shoulder level. Ian dropped into a crouch and placed his hands beneath my skirt to slide my panties down my legs. Feverish, I leaned hard against the wall, desire pooling in my stomach as he slipped the garment over each foot in turn. His fingers trailed up my legs as he stood, stopping only to hoist my skirt over my hips. Once I was completely exposed from the waist down, he kicked my legs apart, forcing me into a classic frisking position.

  His hands roamed over me, groping and caressing, over my remaining clothing and my bare flesh. In an unexpected move, he yanked open my shirt’s placket, sending buttons flying. A few bounced off the wall with a soft ‘plink’ while the rest skittered across the wood floor. My heart hammered in my chest, galloping at a frantic pace as he lowered the cups supporting each breast, freeing them from their lacy prison. The soft material of my shirt grated against their hardened peaks, pushing me that much closer to the edge. Just when I thought I couldn’t wait any longer, he plunged into me, forcing all other thoughts from my mind.

  It was the hard and fast I craved, the kind of rough guaranteed to erase the memory of Brett. Every thrust pushed me onto my toes, the tension from the fist holding my hair kept me grounded. His breath was hot on my neck, the stubble on his jaw rasping across my skin in its wake. Sensing my orgasm was close, his other hand skated down my body to cup my sex, and his fingers strummed my clit. I bucked against him, and his strokes lengthened, driving me into a much-needed state of bliss. My shout of euphoria pierced the apartment only moments before Ian joined me, coming with a growl that sounded more like a roar. The hold on my hair loosened and both of his hands roamed over me, skimming over my curves.

  “Is that what you needed? Did that help?” he murmured, his voice husky, lacking its typical smoothness.

  Still panting, I glanced over my shoulder. “Yes, I feel much better. Now I’m hungry—feed me.”

  “I feel so used,” he joked.

  I pulled my skirt into place while Ian straightened his clothes. He handed my panties back to me, and I gave him a quick peck on the lips.

  “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back.”

  “Hurry. I’m hungry,” he said with a wink.

  The rough sex worked wonders, leaving me relaxed and refreshed, and in a much better mood. A glass of wine was waiting for me when I returned.

  “So, what was wrong with my tires?” I asked, taking a sip of the cool, crisp liquid.

  Ian slid two dinner plates across the island and grabbed the wine from the fridge before joining me on the other side. I was momentarily distracted by the delicious aroma and stuffed a few bites of pasta in my mouth before pushing him for an answer.

  “Oh, my God ... this is amazing.” I grabbed my glass for another sip of wine. “What kind of sauce is this?”

  “Sun-dried tomato cream sauce.” He took a bite, chasing it with a sip from his own glass. “You like it?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I stuffed in another forkful. “You have to make this again,” I mumbled.

  “Okay.” He laughed, then turned serious. “Listen, your tires were fine. The valve stem cores had been removed.”

  I set my fork on the plate and turned toward him, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Removed? As in, intentionally?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who would do that? And why? What could possibly be the reason?”

  “I have a pretty good idea who.” He lifted his glass to his lips. “And why.”

  “Okay. Who?”

  He lowered his chin, leveling his gaze with mine. “Someone who would love nothing more than to stir up shit.”

  “Brett?” I frowned. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “No, I can’t prove it, but he’s the only one who comes to mind who would have motive and opportunity. He’s also familiar with your apartment complex and where you park.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “It’s a dick move, and it means he’s fucking with you. He’s probably still pissed about our run-in a couple weeks ago.”

  That rush of adrenaline returned, and I knew I had to say something. I also knew Ian was going to be pissed.

  “Um, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Ian frowned and cocked his head to the side. “What, babe?”

  I turned toward him and dropped my hands in my lap. My eyes followed and watched my fingers pick invisible pieces of lint from my shorts. I’d made the decision to tell him about Brett, but I had to admit I was having second thoughts.

  “Em?”

  “I saw Brett tonight,” I blurted.

  There was a hard edge in Ian’s voice. “What? When?”

  “He was waiting for me after work. I think he was drunk.”

  “What the hell, Emmy?” He demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me when you got here? Scratch that. That should have been the first thing you said when you got here.”

  He stood abruptly, sending his barstool skidding backward about a foot and grabbed our plates before carrying them to the other side of the island.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice took on a plaintive tone. “He freaked me out. I just—” I drew in a breath. “I just wanted to forget.”

  The raw anger Ian displayed was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by concern. He stacked the plates in the sink and leaned against the edge of the counter, both hands braced about a foot away from either side of his body.

  “What happened?”

  It wouldn’t help to downplay it, so I told him the truth, laying out the way Brett had touched me, the things he said, and the intense fear and loathing I felt.

  “So let me get this straight.” His voice was laced with mild irritation. “Brett was waiting for you after work, confronted you, and fucking assaulted you—again. Then you came here and demanded that I fuck you after this had transpired.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Would you say that’s a fairly accurate interpretation of events?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and nodded, bracing myself for an eruption that never came, an unfortunate remnant from my time with Brett. When I opened my eyes, Ian was in front of me, resting on the edge of his stool. He gathered my hands in his and threaded our fingers together.

  “I get it. I’m not thrilled you waited to tell me about Brett, but I’m glad you did. Thank you, again, for trusting me.”

  “I really am sorry. I panicked, and all I could think about was you and Parker hunting him down to kill him.”

  “Oh, believe me, I haven’t ruled that out.” He laughed. “I can see the merits of having a conversation with Brett.”

  “Please don’t.” I gave my head a frantic shake. “I’m afraid if you approach him it will just piss him off even more.”

  “Baby, I don’t give a fuck if he gets pissed at me, but he’s
not going to pull any more shit with you. He needs to let go.”

  What could have been a major blow out between us was over before it really even began. Ian’s patience and understanding were two of the many things I loved about the man.

  “Do you know how wet it makes me when you get all possessive like that?”

  He slid his hand up my thigh, his fingers slipping beneath my skimpy sleep shorts and into my thong to test my theory.

  “Maybe I should act possessive more often,” he murmured. “Although,” his fingers dipped inside, teasing me but not penetrating me completely. “I don’t think you’ve ever had any trouble with that.” I gasped when he pushed further inside. He leaned closer, his mouth barely brushing over mine. Now that was fucking hot. “Do you like that, baby?”

  “Mm-hmm.” A moan was all I could manage. It hadn’t even been an hour since our hot, frantic sex when I’d arrived, and I couldn’t think of anything but having him inside me again. He removed his fingers, and I whimpered at the loss.

  “How’s this for possessive?” he asked and stood, a playful smile on his lips.

  Before I registered what he was doing, his hands slid beneath my thighs, and he tossed me over his shoulder. A sharp gasp whistled between my teeth as his hand swatted my backside. I squealed at the unexpected contact, then a round of giggles bubbled from my throat when I returned the favor, swatting his ass.

  “Oh, babe, you’re going to pay for that.”

  “What? Turnabout is fair play.”

  He carried me to the bedroom, his steps quick and sure, and tossed me on the bed. The dinner dishes were forgotten, along with all thoughts of Brett.

  21

  Emmy

  It had been a full week since the ‘Brett incident’ and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since. I was relieved, but also wary. He was too stubborn to give up, and it was more likely that he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Ian was more optimistic, believing that Brett had come to his senses once he was sober. I was sure that was for my benefit, some attempt to reassure me that everything would be okay.

  I should have known better.

  The sun was bright, and I was forced to shield my eyes from the glare—the sunglasses weren’t cutting it—as I approached my car and noticed a hot pink square of paper stuck haphazardly under a wiper blade. My head swept back and forth, looking for anything or anyone out of place. Curious, I stepped closer and plucked the offending note from the windshield.

  I just want to talk—I still love you, Bunny.

  Ugh. Bunny. I crumpled the small square and tossed it aside, giving the surrounding area another look before climbing into the car. I still didn’t see anything, but a general feeling of unease washed over me, making me wish I had elected to stay at Ian’s again rather than returning to my own apartment.

  As I pulled out of the lot, I swore I caught a glimpse of a familiar vehicle, one that looked eerily similar to Brett’s Ford F150 Raptor. It was a ridiculous notion. There was no way he would be so stupid as to actually follow me. I shook my head to clear my overly anxious mind as my fingers fiddled with the radio, finally settling on a classic rock station and cranking the volume to a level I hadn’t used since I was a rebellious teenager. The dulcet tones of Led Zeppelin filled the car, silencing the nagging voices in my head. I forced several slow, deep breaths, letting the music carry away my worries with each exhale.

  The drive to work seemed shorter than normal, a welcome side effect of the music, and by the time I parked in my assigned spot, Brett and his note was just a memory...

  Until I pushed open my office door and gagged.

  The air was filled with the cloying scent of red roses, and I didn’t have to read the card to know who sent them. I dropped my purse on the desk, picked up the vase, and marched straight to the break room, where I tossed them into the trash. The eyes of my coworkers—including Becky—were on me, watching my every move. Returning to my office, I calmly closed the door and got to work.

  “What was that all about?” Tyler asked, not even bothering to knock before opening the door. He couldn’t let anything go unnoticed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He closed the door and assumed his usual position in front of my desk, his feet propped on the edge and his hands behind his head.

  “Those roses probably cost somewhere around a hundred bucks, and you just tossed the lot in the garbage.”

  “I don’t like roses.”

  “Yeah, I know that. Does Ian?”

  “They weren’t from Ian,” I replied, meeting his intense stare.

  His eyes opened wide with understanding. “Brett?”

  “Yep. The stupid fucker never learned I don’t like roses—especially red ones. It didn’t help that he gave me red roses after every fight.”

  Tyler straightened in his chair and leaned forward. “What’s his deal? I would’ve thought he got the message when Ian threatened to kick his ass.”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say? He’s an idiot.”

  “You know, Emmy Lou, he’s not going to just go away. You’re gonna have to talk to him, eventually. Even if you just tell him to fuck off.”

  I knew I needed to tell him about the night Brett was waiting for me, but there was nothing he could do, and I’d already told Ian. There was no point in sending Tyler into panicked mother hen mode. Looking back, I was in denial about the seriousness of the situation.

  “I have. Multiple times. I’ve been telling him the same damn thing ever since I broke up with him. He just won’t get it.”

  “You could always let Ian deal with him. I have no doubt he could get his point across.”

  “I’d rather avoid that, if at all possible. Ian will kill him, and you know it.”

  “And that would be a problem, because…?”

  I gave him a caustic smile. “I’d rather my boyfriend not go to prison.”

  “I hate to say it—you know I do—but maybe Becky is right. Give him a chance to say his piece. Maybe he just needs closure.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I said I hated to say it. I don’t necessarily agree, but it may be worth a shot. I don’t know. Hell, I’m just a wimpy gay dude, and I’m ready to kick his ass for you.”

  “You are not a wimp,” I said, my eyes fixed on his. “I don’t know what to do, Ty. I don’t know how many ways I can say the same thing. What’s it going to take?”

  “You could hire a bunch of good ole boys to kick the shit out of him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ha-ha. That is not funny.”

  “Okay. How about a hitman?”

  “Still not funny.”

  “I thought it was pretty fucking funny,” huffed Tyler.

  “I hate to be a bitch, but I need to kick you out, Ty. I have a lot of work to do.”

  Tyler clutched his hands to his heart. “Oh. My heart. You’re killing me, Emmy Lou, you’re killing me.”

  I flicked my fingers in a shooing gesture. “Yeah, yeah. You can give me shit later.”

  “Fine. I can take a hint,” he sniffed. “Let me know if you need anything. You know I’ve always got your back.”

  Tuesday began much the same way, with a simple note stuck beneath the wiper blade of my car. I plucked it free and crumpled it without reading it. There was no need. Once again, I took stock of my surroundings and saw no sign of Brett. It was a small relief but didn’t alleviate the tension gnawing at my gut. I made it to work without incident, but that, too, was little comfort. Brett had already texted me multiple times, increasing his demands to talk each time.

  I barricaded myself in my office and focused on the final draft of the Release article due at the end of the week. Ian gave me a few extra details I needed, filling a few blanks—because, let’s face it, I didn’t exactly take notes during my visit.

  My morning was interrupted by another flower delivery, red roses again, which I promptly discarded in the break room trash—again. No one questioned me, but my actions did ga
rner raised eyebrows from Becky, who had been avoiding me ever since our argument regardless of my attempts to talk to her. Something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” Ian murmured, leaning in my doorway, one hand on the knob, the other on the frame. I had been so engrossed in my work, I hadn’t heard him open the door.

  My cheeks ached from the smile spreading across my face. “Hi.”

  He walked in, closing the door behind him, and I rushed around the desk to greet him with a hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d drop by and see if I could take you to lunch.”

  “I’d love that. I usually don’t get to see you during the day,” I teased. “What’s up?”

  “Do I need a reason to see my girlfriend?”

  “No. Just curious.” I laughed.

  “Actually, my session was canceled, and I didn’t feel like being cooped up inside, so here I am. Can you leave?”

  I nodded. “I’ll just grab my bag.”

  He released me and leaned against the door jamb. “Mark called this morning. The magazine wants to send me on a pretty extensive assignment. I have to leave Sunday.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Most of the week. I’ll be home late Friday.”

  “Bummer,” I pouted, keeping my eyes downcast. It was the perfect opening to tell him about the notes on my car and flowers from Brett, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “Hey.” His fingers glided up and down my arm. “What’s up? This is no big deal, babe. I’ll be home before you know it.”

  “I know. I guess I’ve gotten spoiled seeing you every day.”

  “I’m spoiled, too. I almost told him no.”

  “No, don’t be a slacker.” I laughed, resting my hand on his waist and giving him a slight squeeze. “I thought you were taking me to lunch?”

  He gave me a quick kiss and swatted my behind before pulling the door open. “After you, Beautiful.”

  Brett’s game was wearing on me. Fortunately, there hadn’t been a repeat of him waiting for me after work, but that didn’t give me much comfort. He was still leaving notes on my car and sending flowers, and they were always red roses. A general feeling of being watched hovered over me like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over everything I did. It seemed like it was just a matter of time before he made physical contact again, and that thought terrified me.