by Lexi Whitlow
That’s when she’s “on.”
When she’s “off,” as I know all too well, she rides a roller coaster of self-doubt, sadness, and fury – with a hole in her soul so deep and dark that it’s doubtful anyone or anything will ever be able to fill it. She has no idea at all how the world sees her. When she looks in the mirror all she sees is her mother’s disapproval and her father’s disinterest. She’s spent her entire life trying to be good and do right. Trying to measure up. Trying to win approval. Or on the flip side, trying to deaden the pain and just run away from the doubt and self-judgment. She treats herself like there’s no way she’s ever going to find someone who could love the unlovable Avery Thomas. From her perspective, down deep in that hole, she’s an absolute failure.
She has no idea how lovely she is, inside and out.
It makes my heart hurt to think of how she sees herself, and how empty and useless she feels too much of the time.
“I want to speak with you about Avery.”
I turn. Evelyn Thomas has approached from behind, having slithered up stealthily like the cold-blooded reptile she too-closely resembles.
“She’s distracted, and I’m fed up with her behavior. And I’m annoyed that you can’t even manage to get her to her scheduled events anymore, no matter how many times I try to emphasize to you how important punctuality is for these things – especially when there’s press present. What is going on with her?”
Senator Thomases tone is sharp with demanding authority. She speaks to me – to everyone – as if they exist to do her bidding without question. Her arrogance works well to cow her inferiors and inspire her peers with confidence. But I’m neither cowed nor impressed. I’ve already made my choice, and it isn’t my job, my professional reputation, or loyalty to the Thomas family. It’s Avery. It was always going to be Avery.
I didn’t know that until tonight, but now I know exactly why I came back here after eight years away. It was always going to be Avery, come what may.
“Avery’s a big girl,” I respond coolly. “I can’t boss her around. I don’t want to.”
“It’s your job to make sure she’s where...”
“It’s my job to protect her and keep her safe,” I interrupt sharply, setting my empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “I’m not her secretary.”
Evelyn Thomas narrows her eyes at me in that intimidating way she has. She’s unaccustomed to brooking opposition from any corner, much less from the help.
Toward the center of the room a loud burst of laughter – sharp and cackling – erupts. I return my attention to Avery without blinking.
Avery is standing with a couple from Palm Springs who own a third of the golf courses in that community. The three of them are looking – awkwardly – in the direction of a fourth person whose boisterous laughter has parted the crowd around him.
It’s Aaron Schilling causing the scene. Judging by the alcohol glow coloring his cheeks and the glassy look in his eyes, he seems determined to ramp the scene up another notch or two. Then he does something that’s just flat stupid. He starts moving toward Avery with a hungry look in his eye.
“Excuse me,” I say to Evelyn Thomas, stepping away from her, heading at pace toward the widening circle at the center of the ballroom.
Aaron Schilling is the thirty-something year-old, ne'er-do-well son of a billionaire real estate mogul who owns half of Lower Manhattan and more than half of the tacky, over-done resort developments in North America. He’s a trust-fund drunk who gets entré into events like this one because of his last name and the checks his father freely writes to make sure he maintains access to the people in a position to help him make billions. On his best days, Aaron Schilling is a pretentious little prick. On his worst, he has all the indications of being a genuine predator. The look in his glazed eyes right now tells me he’s in predator mode. That’s the first strike against him. The second strike is that he has a thing for Avery; a thing she has politely, gracefully ignored, walked away from, or actively rebuffed, for many years.
Before I can get forward, Schilling makes contact. That little shit grabs Avery’s hand and pulls her away from her Palm Springs friends, mumbling something like “Dance with me, babe.”
The band stopped playing ten minutes ago. No one is dancing.
Avery pushes Aaron away with her free hand and tries – as inconspicuously as possible – to extract her other one from his grasp.
“Aaron. You’re a little tipsy. Let me go.” She says it sweetly but as I get near I can tell by her tone that she is both embarrassed and distressed. Everyone is looking at the two of them – then at me. The crowd quiets, waiting to see what the wobbly, intoxicated Aaron Schilling is going to do next, and what I’m going to do in response.
He yanks Avery’s arm hard and repeats his demand with a minor threat in his tone. “I said, ‘Dance with me.’”
I’m there and between them before Schilling can finish his slurred sentence. I put a thumb into the sensitive nerve at his wrist, causing him to release Avery’s hand and wince in pain.
“Do not touch Miss Thomas,” I hiss, using my left hand to nudge Avery safely behind me. “Now take a walk.”
Schilling recovers from the searing pain momentarily inflicted upon his wrist and meets my eyes with confusion first, then with stupid, explosive rage. He draws back a fist, intending to strike, but lacking any skill or experience in the art of hand-to-hand combat, is far too slow to pose anything remotely threatening.
The next thing Schilling knows, he’s on the floor, on his knees, begging for release from the painful grip I hold on his awkwardly twisted, hyper-extended wrist.
I lean down and speak softly in Schillings ear. “If you ever touch the lady again, or even look at her side ways, I’ll break your arm off and shove it straight up your ass – no lube. Do we understand one another?”
Schilling nods. All the glow has drained from his cheeks. He’s blanched as pale as death. His eyes are wild, starting to tear.
I give Schilling’s wrist a sharp twist. Not enough to break it; just enough to wrench a few tendons, leaving him with a painful, long-term reminder of his bad behavior and the warning I’ve given him. Then I shove him backwards, causing him to land on his ass on the floor as everyone looks on. Someone in the crowd starts laughing.
Having dispensed with that moron, I turn toward Avery. “It’s time to go home,” I say. I meet her eyes with an expression that communicates this is not a suggestion.
She turns and leads the way across the wide ballroom toward the hotel lobby as I follow close on her heel. We are almost at the exit when Evelyn Thomas steps ahead of Avery, halting our path forward.
“What in the hell was that!?” She spits at me. “You just assaulted the son of one of my biggest campaign contributors! Are you out of you mind?”
John Thomas steps up behind his wife, his head nodding in agreement with her words, but his expression is wary. General Thomas may be a large man — but his heart is small. I long ago realized he doesn’t live up to his rank. Everything he’s done has been for money and power.
I clench my jaw and hold my breath to steel my resolve. That woman is formidable, and even with Marine Corps training and long years of being shot at by bad guys in the sand box, I still find her more intimidating than my old lieutenant. But I have a job to do, and that’s take care of my girl.
“I just want to get Avery home,” I say evenly. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow when everyone has calmed down.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Evelyn Thomas hisses at me. “I’ve had it with your attitude and your inability to do a simple job. Take a long walk. I want to deal with my daughter on my own.”
I’ve had enough of her bullying. Avery starts to say something, but I step forward between her and her mother.
“Senator Thomas. You can fire me. I don’t care,” I say, my tone cool but firm. “I’m here to take care of Avery. Nobody else seems interested in how she’s dealing with this circus you’
ve tossed her into. So I’ll do that. And right now, I’m taking her home.”
I slip my hand around Avery’s waist and move her past her parents, toward the exit. When we’re clear of the fray Avery looks over at my stony face, her eyes wide with surprise. Once inside the car, I take a deep breath, slip my hand into hers, lift it up and kiss her fingers.
“I’m in, Avery,” I say to her. “Whatever that means. I’ve got your back and not because I’m paid to. You’ve got my heart and soul, so… let’s just take care of each other. Okay?”
Avery bites her lip. She nods. “Yeah,” she says, her voice small but certain. “Yeah. That’s what I want more than anything.”
I watch a small, dim light behind her eyes brighten as some of the darkness lifts from the depths of that black pit in her soul.
I want to light up her world. I want to fill up her heart. I want to make her feel safe and appreciated. I want her to see herself the way I see her. I just want to make her happy.
Chapter Twelve
Avery
I agreed with Maddox. And he actually went out of his way to be nice. Oh, and we fucked. Jesus.
What the ever-loving hell?
Maddox is driving. He’s checking his mirrors to make sure no one is following. He’s still on the job, despite the fact that we bolted the party way too early, and he basically told my mother to go get screwed. Jesus Christ. What’s happening?
I have no idea what to do with this. We had sex. Fantastic, earth moving, walls tumbling down around my head sex. But beyond that? I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never done that. I know how to play my part and try to cooperate. I know how to completely flake out and disappoint everyone. Beyond those two extremes I am so far out of my element I may as well be a tree frog in the desert.
Just like I’m out of my element on the campaign trail. That shit is so suffocating, so antithetical to everything I am as a person, it makes me ill.
None of this is going to go well. My mother is going to fire Maddox and make me go on the campaign trail with her, making speeches, doing luncheons and interviews, glad-handing gross old men with fat check books. I should have left the country and become an expat exile in Cancun when I had my chance.
Maddox turns into the parking deck, barely slowing his speed. He winds through the concrete stacks toward my assigned spot, then pulls in, turns the key, and kills the engine.
He sits there a second, just staring ahead at the blank wall. Then he takes a breath and turns to me.
“I want to come up with you. I want to stay tonight,” he says.
In a flash, I think of about sixteen different ways this whole thing could go very wrong for both of us.
“My mother is probably going to fire you,” I say. “You won’t get your paycheck. You won’t be able to put a down payment on a house or whatever shit you’re trying to do.”
He nods. “I hope that’s not true. But if that does happen, I’ll deal with it. I’ll deal with all that tomorrow. Tonight I want to take you upstairs, fuck you until you scream, do it again, and then lay down next to you and sleep. Then maybe wake up in the morning and fuck again.”
Just listening to him talk dirty like that makes me wet. I’m still sore from earlier in the evening. But arousal, thick and sweet, is starting to pool between my legs again.
I can’t be around Maddox Bryant without feeling that way. Like if I’m not wrapped up in his arms, everything in the world is wrong.
Maybe I’ve had that feeling for the past seven years. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me.
I thought about the way Maddox leveled Aaron Schilling at the party, bringing him to his knees, begging and almost crying. He did that because Aaron put his hands on me. Maddox is possessive, and there’s something dangerous about that possessiveness.
Something seductive and damned alluring too.
He wants to fuck me until I scream. I wonder if he can make me scream. No one else ever has. I wonder if I can make him scream?
Once upstairs, tucked safely in my apartment, Maddox doesn’t pause. I start to ask him if he wants a drink, but before I can get the words out, he shoves me up against the wall, pinning my body flat against his, his tongue finding mine, spreading my lips, then roughly biting them as a low moan escapes both of us in unison.
“You’re mine,” he growls, whispering in my ear. “Seeing you preening and smiling for all those men tonight – I wanted to kill every one of them – slowly. I want you to myself. I don’t share.”
The heat and blood rush in my ears all at once. My sex pulses with need, and whatever was in my mind about taking things slow — or not giving in — or whatever bullshit I had in my head, I don’t care.
He doesn’t bother with heading to the bedroom, and I don’t care. He yanks at the zipper at the back of my dress, running it all the way down, then pushes it off my shoulders, tugging it past my hips and down to the floor. That done, there’s nothing between us but his suit, his gun, and my very sheer bra and panties. My nipples stiffen under the stroke of his hand while I slip the knot of his tie and release him from that small bit of bondage.
Maddox takes a step back, dropping his jacket on the floor and shrugging off his shoulder holster, hanging it on a kitchen chair.
“God damn, you’re fucking beautiful,” he says, his eyes drinking me in while peeling off his shirt. I drop to my knees and help him with the rest.
I’ve already mastered the belt, unbuckling it and pulling it free with a bit of dramatic flair. Then I turn my attention to his neatly tailored suit pants. They cling low on his narrow hips, revealing an enviable erection barely concealed behind dark blue silk. As I open the button at his waist with one hand I stroke his hard length with the other, then I slide the zipper down. I open his pants and slip them off his hips, letting them fall to his ankles
One more layer to go. He’s wrapped up inside a pair of clinging Calvin Klein boxers.
Maddox slips his right hand onto my head, threading my hair.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband and roll them down past his thighs, releasing him. Maddox’s cock is hard and standing up for me, waiting for my attention.
I take his girth in my hand and firmly stroke his shaft, pulling my palm around its head.
“You want my mouth, don’t you? You want me to suck your cock.” I blush when I say it. I’ve slept with men before, but words like this don’t come out of my mouth. Ever.
“Fuck, baby, yes I do. You’re mine,” he says, grinning. “Like I said.”
I kneel on the floor in front of him, and I gently wrap my lips around his head and let my tongue trace its contour, tasting pre-cum and sucking it in, using the tip of my tongue to tease him.
“Oh… fucking… god...” Maddox moans.
His finger-grip on my head tightens.
I take in more of his length, letting the shaft slide into my mouth, even as I suck gently, tilting my head back, using the tip of my tongue to tease him up and down his length and around his head, and using my lips to squeeze him at the base of his cock, milking him. I taste the salt of his pleasure on my tongue, even as my pussy drips, slathering wet from the intense turn-on it is to have him at my mercy.
Maddox’ hand grips my head harder and he starts to cautiously thrust forward into my mouth.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he manages, as his eyes close and his head rolls back, a dreamy expression relaxing his face.
With my right hand I reach up and very gently caress his balls, rolling them between my finger tips. He moans with approval and I feel his cock stiffen just a little more.
He pumps me gently but firmly as I suck and lap at the head of his cock, handling his balls, pressing them between my fingers, running my nails over their surface, feeling them draw up tight in my care.
I run my tongue down the length of his shaft, taking in his scent, swirling back and up over the head again. And then I take him all the way to the back of my throat, letting him rest there, swallowing his cock with my throat. I
pull back, panting, and bring my mouth back to the head.
“Oh.. Oh.. fucking hell.” His breath catches in his chest and his cock expands again.
“Oh god, Avery, what the fuck?”
He shoves his cock into my mouth without thinking.
“Mother fucker...” Maddox pulls out of my mouth, his hand wrapping hard around his girth, stroking.
He’s breathing hard and his abs tighten up. He strokes himself, watching me, tipping my chin towards him.
“C’mon.” I tease, holding my tongue out. “Come in my mouth.”
“Fuck.”
In another second Maddox cries out, and his cock spurts its rich essence onto my tongue, across my chest and face, and halfway across the room.
He falls to the floor beside me.
“Fucking hell. What the fuck was that?” Maddox is breathless, staring up at the ceiling glassy-eyed without focus.
“That was me, fucking you, proper.” I say, laughing.
“God damn.”
Twenty minutes later, just when I think he’s about to fall off to sleep, Maddox rolls over and cradling near, looks at me and says, “Where did you learn to give head like that?”
I smile. My pussy is still aching. “I learned a thing or two along the way. ”
“Fucking hell.” Maddox raises up on his elbow. He’s still a little glassy-eyed. “I don’t like the idea of you with other men. But—”
Heat rises over my chest and fills my cheeks. I move in closer to Maddox and run my fingers through his hair. “None of them ever made me come. I’d even sworn off dating the night before you came back into my life.”
He smiles, his face distant. He brings his mouth down on me and kisses me hard. “Tell me how I can do more of that. The whole making you come thing. Because I like it. A lot.”
I give him a wicked look. “Your cock, hard, buried deep inside me. However you want. Whenever you want.”
