The Culmination (The Club Series Book 4)

by Lauren Rowe

  I slip a cuff around her left wrist, my chest heaving. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna beg me to use that big, fat dildo on you just to give you a break.” I tighten the cuff.

  She yanks wildly on her wrist restraint and squeals when it doesn’t budge.

  I slip a cuff around her other wrist. “I’m gonna fuck your pussy so hard, you’re gonna gag on my cock in your throat.” I tighten the second cuff.

  “Yes,” she breathes. She tugs forcefully on both wrist restraints and they don’t budge. She’s completely immobilized. Securely bound to the bed.

  I freeze. The image of my mother tugging on rough ropes binding her wrists just flickered across my mind.

  Sarah yanks on her wrist cuffs again. “Yes,” she purrs.

  My heart is pounding in my ears. Sweat is beading down my back and chest.

  I take a deep, steadying breath. I can do this. I want to do this.

  “I’m gonna fuck you so hard... ,” I say softly, but I can’t finish the sentence.

  Shit. I just need a second. Pull yourself together, Jonas. This is just a goldfish, not a shark. I will not let something that happened twenty-five fucking years ago when I was a goddamned child define or limit my sexuality as a grown-ass man. I can tie my beautiful wife up, fuck her like she owes me a hundred bucks, and enjoy it. Of course I can. Victory will be mine, just like the Muse song says.

  Sarah’s thrashing around on the bed, pulling on her wrist restraints, kicking her legs. I grab her right ankle roughly and secure a cuff around it.

  My stomach seizes.

  I see the big man’s hairy ass, clenching and releasing as he thrusts into my mother, grunting and cursing her as he does.

  No. Stop this, Jonas. Stop. This has nothing to do with that.

  I secure Sarah’s left ankle into a cuff and tighten it, rendering her completely bound and immobilized.

  She’s spread-eagle on the bed.

  She can’t break free.

  She’s completely at my mercy.

  I see the big man with the hairy ass shove a knife between my mother’s legs, all the way in until the blade disappears inside her.

  I take a deep breath, but I can’t force air into my lungs. I never let myself remember that horrifying detail. Why am I remembering that now?

  The walls of the bedroom are warping and closing in on me.

  I see the knife twisting and stabbing the ragged flesh between my mother’s legs. She thrashes against her bindings and begs for mercy. Mercy that never comes.

  “Jonas?”

  The walls are closing in on me. Oh, fuck, is this a panic attack? I haven’t had one of these since I was a teenager. What the fuck is happening to me?

  Sarah says something, I think, but I don’t catch it. I’m frozen to my spot next to the bed, staring at Sarah’s bound wrists—at my mother’s bound wrists.

  “Jonas? Did you hear me?”

  A deep red stream of blood gushes out from between my mother’s legs and floods the white sheets. Blood on the sheets. Blood on the sheets. She tugs desperately against her bindings, but to no avail. She’s screaming in agony. She’s begging for mercy. She’s begging the big man for mercy.

  But mercy never comes.

  “Jonas.”

  I rub my eyes and take a deep breath. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “Jonas, untie me.”

  I blink hard and look blankly at Sarah. She’s staring at me, a horror-stricken expression on her face.

  “Did you hear me, baby?” she says, her voice quavering. “I said ‘mercy,’ baby.” Her lip trembles. “Mercy, Jonas. Mercy.” She chokes on a sob. “Mercy.”

  Chapter 44

  Sarah

  Jonas loosens the restraints from my wrists and ankles and sits on the edge of the bed, his broad back facing me, and the moment I’m freed, I scramble to turn off the blaring Muse song and sit beside him on the bed. I lean into his shoulder and rub his back in the silence, waiting for him to speak—and when it’s clear he’s not going to say a damned thing, no matter how long I wait, I stand, take his cheeks in my hands, lean my face down to his, and pepper every single millimeter of his lovely face with gentle kisses.

  I lay soft kisses on his eyelids, forehead, nose, and cheeks, and when I get to his lips, he slips his tongue in my mouth and pulls me into him, guiding me firmly onto his erection. As his body burrows into mine, way, way, way into mine, I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, exhaling with relief and pleasure.

  Immediately, he’s grabbing my ass with fervor and coaxing my body into rhythmic, sensual movement with his. His passion lights a fire inside me, and I press myself into him feverishly, smashing my breasts into his muscular chest and rubbing myself against his erection in a heated frenzy.

  Our kiss is becoming as feverish as the movement of our bodies. He clutches me, pulling me tighter and tighter as I gyrate my hips back and forth on top of him, my excitement building and overtaking me, my eyes locked onto his.

  It takes only a few minutes before I’m slammed with an orgasm that has me grabbing at his hair, pulling on him desperately, and shuddering violently. Just as my climax begins to subside, just as I feel like I’m going to melt onto the floor in a puddle, Jonas cries out and grips me fiercely, his body rippling and jolting deep inside me.

  When Jonas becomes still and quiet, I kiss his face again, every inch of his beautiful face, the most gorgeous face I’ve ever beheld in my life, the face of the man who loves me like I’ve only ever dreamed of being loved, the face of the father of my children, the love of my life, and I run my hands through his sweaty hair.

  He takes a deep breath and pulls me into him, and I put my cheek on his broad shoulder. For a long time, we remain wordlessly pressed against one another, our chests rising and falling together, our hearts beating together, our sweat mingling, before he finally pulls back and kisses my lips gently.

  “I wanted to do it... “ he begins, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

  I touch his cheek and look into his blue eyes—the sad eyes that captivated me from the first moment I saw them. “We did something way better than that,” I say. I grin at him, but he looks down. “Tonight, we climbed to the top of the highest peak—and we conquered it, baby. Together. Just like we always do. Just like we always will.”

  “Sarah.” He shakes his head like I don’t understand something basic.

  I glide my fingers over the sun and moon and stars covering his chest, my diamond bracelet glimmering in the dim light. “‘Love is the name for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete,’” I say, quoting his homeboy to him. “Jonas, we’re whole. You give me exactly what I need—everything I can’t do for myself—and I do the same for you.” I jut my chin at him. “Baby, tonight you pressed the Ding Dong button on my vending machine, like you always do for me and always will—and I asked for mercy for you when you didn’t know how to ask for it for yourself. Like I always do and always will.”

  His eyes glisten.

  I touch his cheek. “That’s fucksellence, my sweet Jonas—the highest peak. The culmination of human possibility.”

  Chapter 45

  Jonas

  The song that’s blaring through our backyard speakers right now is Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day.” Sarah created the playlist for the twins’ birthday party, and, of course, every song has been perfect. But, out of all the songs that have played during the past hour since we’ve been out here, soaking up an unusually warm and glorious Seattle afternoon, this song is my absolute favorite.

  “No, no, no. Not like dat, Uncle Jo Jo,” Gracie says, furrowing her brow. “You have to wear da crown when you pour da tea. Like a princess.”

  “You heard the girl,” Josh says, smirking. “Put on the tiara, Uncle Jo Jo. Pour the tea like a princess. Come on.”

  “I’ve got an idea, Little G—” I begin, glaring at Josh, but Gracie interrupts me.

  “I’m not little. I’m big.�
��

  “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I’ve been calling you Little G for so long, I just forget sometimes. My bad. So, Big G, here’s my idea. Why don’t we let the birthday girls pour the tea this time, since they’re already wearing princess tiaras today?” I glance over my shoulder at the other side of the lawn, where Lu and Sunny are toddling around in Elsa and Anna dresses, birthday tiaras, and pink sparkle boots, chasing bubbles blown by Henn and shadowed every move they make by our Boston terrier, Buster.

  “But da twins always spill da tea,” Gracie says, scrunching up her little face and rolling her eyes. “I don’t like it when dey spill, Uncle Jo Jo. Da tea party has to be clean and pretty.”

  “Yeah, Uncle Jo Jo, da tea party has to be pretty and da twins always spill da tea,” Josh says, rolling his eyes in mock horror. “Come up with an effing good idea next time, bro. Jeez.”

  I laugh. “I know, Big G. The twins are train wrecks. We all know that. How you put up with them is beyond me. But here’s the thing. I always get to pour the tea. Like, every single time—because you’re so sweet and good to me.” I wink. “But I was thinking since the twins are turning two and all, we could maybe just this once make them feel extra special and let them pour the tea, instead of me? You know, pretend they’re doing a good job. Like, we could clap and cheer and tell them ‘good job’ but then secretly giggle behind their backs because they’re really just spilling the tea.” I take a swig of my beer and shoot an amused look at Josh. Three, two, one...

  “Okay,” Gracie says, right on cue, her lovely face lighting up. “Dat sounds fun.”

  I smirk at Josh and swig my beer again. If there’s one thing I know, it’s what makes a woman tick, whether she’s four or forty. And what I know about Gracie Louise Faraday is that she loves a good inside joke, just like her mommy and auntie. Well, just like any woman, I suppose.

  “Good idea, Uncle Jo Jo,” Gracie says. She giggles. “We’ll tell dem ‘good job’ and then we’ll make dis face, me and you.” She rolls her eyes with the subtlety of Bugs Bunny.

  “Perfect.” I take another long swig of my beer and smile at Josh. “Problem solved.”

  Josh laughs. “Master manipulator.”

  “Just smarter than everyone else.”

  “Yo, Uncle Henny!” Josh calls over to Henn on the other side of the lawn. “Could you bring the birthday girls over here? Big G has decided out of the kindness of her heart to let the twins pour the tea this time.”

  Henn’s in the middle of blowing a huge bubble for Lu, but he shoots us a thumbs up. He bends down to say something to Sunny and she immediately sprints across the lawn over to me. She barrels into me like a train hurtling off its tracks and throws her little arms around my neck. “Daddy!” she squeals, leaping onto my lap.

  “Hi, baby,” I say, kissing her cheek. Her tiara comes flying off her head and I pop it back on. “You wanna pour the tea, Sunny?”

  “Oh, yessssssss! Sunneeeeeeee pour teeeeeeeeeee! Wooooh!”

  Henn comes over with Luna in his arms. “Lu doesn’t seem all that excited about pouring the tea,” Henn says. “She wants to play with bugs, instead.”

  Josh laughs. “Well, by all means. Come on, Lu. I’ll play with bugs with you. I’ll show you which ones are the tastiest. Take my seat, Uncle Henny. You’d better get used to doing this—I see a lot of princess tea parties in your future.”

  Henn beams at him, the proud father-to-be. “For sure. Tea parties, spear-phishing, drive-by-downloading, bikeshedding, doxxing—all the usual daddy-daughter stuff.”

  “Not like dat,” Gracie is saying to poor, hapless Sunny. “Like dis.”

  I shoot Gracie a look, reminding her of our complicit agreement.

  A light bulb goes off on Gracie’s adorable face. “Oh, so gooood, Sunny,” she says, nodding her head with exaggerated encouragement. “Good job,” she coos. And then she shoots me a look that clearly says, “Sunny sucks balls.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Gracie never ceases to entertain me.

  The sliding glass door opens and Sarah ambles out of the house with Kat.

  “Hey, guys,” Kat says when the duo reaches our tea party. She’s got Jack on her hip and a glass of wine in her hand.

  “It’s a princess tea party,” Gracie says matter-of-factly.

  “Looks fun,” Sarah says.

  “What’s Josh doing over there in the dirt?” Kat asks.

  “Eating bugs with Lu,” I answer.

  “Awesome,” Kat says. “You wanna play with bugs with Daddy and Lu, Jack?”

  Jack squirms in Kat’s arms, clearly communicating his excitement, and she lets him down onto the grass to toddle over to his father and cousin.

  “When Jack Faraday plays with bugs, he teaches them to ride unicycles and solve complex calculus problems,” I say, and Kat laughs.

  “When Jack Faraday plays with bugs, he decodes heisenbugs,” Henn says, and no one laughs.

  “That one flew way above my head,” Sarah says.

  “Or maybe it just wasn’t funny,” I add.

  Henn looks unfazed. “Trust me, guys. With a hacker crowd, that line would have gotten gargantuan laughs.”

  “Wow, this looks like a really fun tea party,” Sarah says.

  “I’m letting Sunny pour da tea dis one time,” Gracie explains. “And she’s doing such a good job.” Gracie shoots me another secret look of utter mortification and I burst out laughing.

  “Sunnee pour tee, Mommee!” Sunny explains proudly, spilling water all over the plastic table and herself.

  “I can see that,” Sarah says. “Looks like we’re gonna need to get you a change of clothes in a minute. Hey, Gracie, how come you’re not wearing the pink sparkly boots I got you to match Sunny and Lu?”

  “I don’t like matching,” Gracie says simply. “I like to be da only one.”

  “Oh,” Sarah says. “I didn’t know that. Darn.”

  “Gracie absolutely refuses to wear her new pink sparkle boots,” Kat says, sticking out her lower lip. “I begged and pleaded, but she wouldn’t do it. I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  “That’s okay. To everything turn, turn, turn, I guess,” Sarah says, pouting.

  Kat flashes Sarah a commiserating face.

  “I hungy, Mommeeee!” Sunny says.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” Sarah says. “Because we’re gonna have arroz con pollo y frijoles and then birthday cake con helado.”

  “Mmmm. Quiero helado, mami,” Sunny says. “Yummaleesh.”

  “Yup. You can have ice cream despues de comer tu comida, mamacita.”

  “Okay, mami.”

  “And guess what? We’re all gonna sing you and Lu ‘Feliz Cumpleaños.’”

  “Wooh!”

  “Jonas, will you help me start wrangling everyone into the house so we can get ready to eat in a bit?”

  “Sure thing, baby.”

  A muffled cry sounds through the baby monitor in Sarah’s hand. “Oh. Guess who’s awake?” She turns on her heel, obviously intending to answer the call of motherhood.

  “I’ll go,” I say, hopping up.

  “How did I know you were gonna say that?”

  I grin. My baby knows me so well. There’s nothing I like better than getting my own personal just-woke-up-from-a-nap smile from one of my babies. “Henn, will you assume wrangling duties for me?”

  “You bet, boss.”

  When I enter the nursery, my son the Mack truck is quietly lying in his crib, staring at the frog-mobile dangling above him. The minute he sees me, his face lights up and he begins gurgling and kicking his legs frantically with excitement.

  “Hey, Jeremiah,” I say softly, picking him up out of the crib. I give him a kiss on his forehead. “Hey, little dude. Did you sleep well?”

  I love these quiet, stolen moments with my son, our little miracle baby, Jeremiah Joshua Faraday, conceived, we’re pretty sure, on our weekend away in San Diego—the first in a long line of mommy-and-daddy-need-to-fuck-each-other’s-brains-out getaways. Was Jeremiah
conceived on the airplane to San Diego? Or on that first memorable night in the villa? Or maybe it was that second day and night, when Sarah and I test-drove every single one of the toys in that duffel bag of tricks (some of them to startling success and others to laughter-inducing failure)? We’ll never know for sure. All we know for certain is that our son wasn’t conceived while Mommy’s limbs were cuffed to a fucking bondage sheet.

  In fact, Sarah and I never used that hideous implement of my torture again. I didn’t even bring it back home with us on the plane, which means our private butler got a happy surprise after we left. But although we’ll never know exactly when or how our little miracle occurred, we do know one thing for certain: according to doctors, Jeremiah Joshua Faraday’s not supposed to be here right now.

  I bring Jeremiah over to the changing table and set about changing his diaper, and as I do, I glance around at the surrounding walls, my heart swelling at the sight of Sarah’s recent additions to our family mural. Now, in addition to the smiling sun and moon adorning opposite corners of the room, Jeremiah the smiling bullfrog leaps through the starry sky, too, spreading his unique brand of joy to the world. And there’s also Jeremiah the little prince, a feather in his cap, riding his brown pony alongside his princess-sisters, trailing behind King Jonas and Queen Sarah on their great white steed. And Jeremiah the one-eyed mini-monster, frolicking with his beastly family among the flowers on a grassy hill. And Jeremiah the bullfrog, once again, sitting atop my broad shoulder as I hold the book of love with my muscled arm and read it to my infant daughters and smitten wife. And, my favorite vignette of all, my entire little family, all five of us, standing atop the highest peak in the world, our arms linked and raised in victory.

  “Does it look okay?” Sarah asked just last weekend, a paintbrush in her hand, leaning back from the wall to survey her brand new handiwork. She rubbed her face right then and unwittingly smudged green bullfrog paint right on the tip of her nose. “I wanted to do this earlier, but life kept getting in the way.” She flashed me an adorable grin, totally unaware of the paint on her nose—and my heart exploded into a trillion pieces at the sight of her.