A mark of her happy mood, and maybe enough time and distance, but it didn’t aggravate her so much to think of it. Henry’s basic laziness had been the least of his sins. She would have forgiven him all of it if he’d only stepped up to defend her. If he hadn’t been so damn happy to keep his job and suggest she try another field, like teaching.
In her heart of hearts, she’d always known it irked him that she’d been a better programmer, a more creative designer. They both knew it, even when they paid him more.
“Not thinking about that,” she reminded herself out loud and went upstairs for a swimsuit, a robe and big bath towels. She wound her ponytail into a bun, pinning it in place. Her hair was already wet from the rain, but no sense dragging it through the hot tub water. In the kitchen, she filled a thermos with coffee and added almond milk, stevia and a dollop of Jameson whiskey. Her lean and mean version of Irish coffee.
She carried it out with her, hustling to keep the towels dryish when she had to leave the shelter of the eaves. Fox had his head tipped back against the hot tub rim, his arms outstretched on either side, and looked like a magazine ad for spa sales. They’d no doubt go faster than hot cakes.
Setting down the towels on a bench, she put down the thermos quietly, in case he’d fallen asleep, and shrugged out of the robe.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, startling her.
“What?” She looked behind her, wondering what put that look on his face.
“A swimsuit, really? And not even a sexy red bikini number, but a something that looks like a refugee from the Olympic trials. Are you planning to swim the Channel?”
She wrinkled her nose at him and climbed in the tub, hissing at the hot sting of water on her chilled skin. “You might love doing a strip tease, but I don’t. I always wear a suit out here.”
Scanning the dense foliage, he raised his eyebrows in question. “Am I missing the vantage point through which some nosy neighbor can see us? You were fine with hanging me out there.”
So she had been. Really, she hadn’t been thinking at all, once he’d started undressing. And they said men were the visual ones. “No. No one can see. I’m just...not comfortable naked.”
“Ever?” He scooted closer. Not touching her, but near enough to do so easily. “Do you wear your swimsuit in the shower?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t. Just when I’m not alone. Or might not be...private.”
“What about with a lover?”
“I haven’t done that recently, as I’ve said.”
“So this is new, the not-getting-naked thing.”
“It’s not a thing.” Irritation crawled up her spine and she handed him the thermos to have something to do. “Here—Irish coffee if you want some. Fully leaded, though.”
“I plan to be awake late into the night, so great.” But he set the thermos aside and lightly caressed her shoulder, toying with the swimsuit strap. “How is it not a thing?”
Sloppy of her. She should have gone with it and given him some story—anything other than the truth—that being exposed as she had made her want to keep covered all the time. As if the experience had trained her to be afraid, to forever watch for attack. She remembered the first night she’d come out to the tub. It had seemed like such a treat, to slip into it naked under the stars, all hers. But then the wind had rustled the bushes and the fear had seized her—that same chest-constricting fear from those dark weeks, triggered by footsteps in the dark, rapists in the bushes, millions of faceless men behind thousands of screens wanting her to hurt, to pay, to die.
She’d tried to stay in the tub, telling herself that they couldn’t find her. It was only wind in the bushes, right? Only pixels. Only ones and zeros. But she’d lasted only minutes before she scrambled out, hiding behind her towel, and rushed into her house, locking the door with shaking hands and running to crawl under the covers and hide.
She’d been so damn cavalier when she’d first been outed as Amazonia’s chief designer. Hell, she’d been amused at Jared’s mood of alarm the day he’d come to her desk to inform her that the trolls had likely gotten her home address. “You should think about taking security measures,” he’d said.
She’d barely looked up from her console. “That’s okay, we have an alarm system.”
“Maybe think about a security guy,” he persisted. “An off-duty cop or something.”
“To guard against trolls? Because what—they’ll yell at me about the game?” She might have laughed, raising her eyebrows at Jared’s overreaction. After all what could they really do?
That all changed when the Rape Lisa site went up. She’d known better than to look. Had resisted the urge for days. Eventually, of course, she had, sitting alone in her office, curiosity getting the best of her.
Though she’d expected something like it, the image of her face photoshopped onto a dancing naked body had stunned her. A new version of her with bouncing, water-balloon breasts, obscenely wide hips and a twig waist—the typical gamer babe done 3-D hentai style. The background was disconcertingly familiar, a jungle setting ripped directly from Amazonia. The story kicked into action right away as a massive, naked demon-man with a huge, erect penis—more like a sword, really—approached hentai-her, unseen, as she jiggled and danced like a vapid fool.
He viciously grabbed Hentai-Lisa by the breasts, like they were handles, and she laughed in hysterical delight, twisting one way and then another, her squeals like a cross between a pig and a little girl. The man shoved her facedown over a fallen tree. She landed with a gasp and another one of those squeals, kicking and flailing as he subdued her, twisting her arms behind her back at an impossible angle.
Hentai-Lisa’s face was turned to the side, staring out of the screen. Her face.
The creator had gone to the trouble of animating her mouth to form an O as the monstrous man penetrated her from behind with that sword-like member. If the bodies had been real, his penis would’ve knifed clear into her lungs, killing her.
Bile-yellow sickness billowed in her gut as she watched her virtual rape, heart pounding.
He thrust again and again. With every thrust, her mouth formed that O and she emitted a squeal.
No! Not her.
But it had felt like her, somewhere deep down. All the horror. The shame.
She knew she should’ve turned it off, but she’d felt pinned as the little girl-pig squealing modulated between distress and delight, as blood ran down her legs and flew in an exaggerated red mist. Still the man punished Hentai-Lisa with that sword of a cock, in and out. Finally he withdrew, cock shining crimson.
Her used-up, sexed-up form simply rolled off the log and onto the verdant jungle floor with an undignified plop and one last deflated squeal.
And then the ticker came up. The number 1,899,343 became 1,899,344. Her skin went clammy, her stomach roiled. The words play again appeared.
Play again.
Because her naked body was back up dancing.
She’d barely made it down the hall to the bathroom before she’d thrown up. It had been the number, really, that did it. All those views. All that hate.
Stupid people with too much time on their hands. They wanted everyone to see her as less than human and it worked. Even on her. They wanted to scare her and that worked too.
1,899,343.
Her mother paid for security on their apartment building, and to escort her, but everyone saw the images and looked at her differently. Sometimes she imagined glimpses of that rape in the reflection of their eyes. Every man on the street stood out to her pounding heart. Though it all stopped after they fired her—celebrated by a website that tolled the wicked witch was dead—it took months before the fear subsided. She’d thought she’d gotten over it, until she found herself naked and alone in the hot tub, the shadows flickering in unspoken menace.
The bubbling wound in her heart she never wanted Fox to see.
Stupid. She should have taken the swimsuit off when he said something. She’d be naked with him soon enough anyway. She wanted to be. She never wanted to think about that time again.
But she couldn’t just take it off now. It had become a thing.
Chapter Fifteen
Fox watched her stall. Her tells for lying fell into the standard realm, pretty much, with a certain blandness of expression she assumed while she thought her way out of something. The happy smile she’d worn when she returned to the gazebo had faded, making him kick himself for teasing her.
By way of rescuing her—and to spare himself whatever excuse she planned to make up—he moved his hand to stroke the back of her neck. She liked light touches, responding almost involuntarily to them. Letting her chin drop, she closed her eyes and smiled, just a little.
“That feels good,” she murmured.
He traced the bumps of her spine from the dip at the base of her skull down to her shoulder. She had a lovely, even elegant neck, as long and graceful as the rest of her. The tight, almost prim bun she’d put her hair in only served to reveal her more. A woman of fascinating contrasts, with her physical delicacy and iron will. She’d loved being in control over him, more than she might be admitting to herself. The way she’d worked his cock, with complete confidence and a touch of cruelty in the scratching of her nails. He’d go with that, if being in charge gave her what she needed to feel secure with him.
His cock filled at the memory and he dropped a kiss on her shoulder, her skin smooth and moist. A light breath sighed out of her, encouraging him to add another kiss, a bit higher. Then, of course, he had to move the thick swimsuit strap down slightly, so as not to miss the next inch of skin. She didn’t object, angling her head away, giving implicit encouragement. He kissed his way up, enjoying the way her breasts—criminally crushed under the high neck of the suit—rose and fell as her breathing accelerated. The strap, once past the point of her shoulder, draped down her arm, forgotten by her.
He experimented with the long line of her neck, finding the spots that made her breath halt and that one sweet spot that elicited a quiet moan. Some women hated having their throats touched. Guys too. He’d had a buddy in high school who lost his shit if anyone touched his neck. But Emily loved it, moving for him as he made his way around to her throat, letting him turn her and stroke her skin under the other strap.
Maybe the pliancy came from their mutual accord for him to drop the subject of the nakedness thing, but she also seemed to have released a layer of defense between them. It had seriously turned her on to watch him jack off. If he’d managed to pull those running pants down her spectacular legs and slide his tongue between them, he would have found her hot and slick, he knew it. Too bad he had been feeling the chill.
But it had prolonged the anticipation.
And he was plenty warm now.
Tugging down the strap on the far side, he traced the fragile skin over her collarbones with his tongue, loving the way she let her head drop bonelessly, a soft hum of delight vibrating her throat. He nearly straddled her, but thought better of it and risked breaking the spell by grasping her hips, coaxing her to sit on his lap, facing him.
His cock, more than ready for more, rose between them. He kept his hips back and her hands found his shoulders as he continued to nibble and kiss his way along her collarbones and the hollow of her throat. Her hips under his hands moved in a wave, an unconscious invitation he burned to accept.
Not yet, Sparky.
Trailing his hands up her lean waist, he moved them to her arms as his mouth found the upper curves of her breasts. He tugged on the draping straps, pulling them lower. Emily opened her eyes, the gray a dreamy color like the fog. Meeting her gaze, he posed the challenge, the tight spandex of the suit giving way bit by bit. Her breasts rose as she took a deep breath and dropped her arms, giving him freedom to pull the straps all the way down.
Enjoying himself fully now that he felt certain she wouldn’t stop him, he savored the moment of seeing her tits for the first time. Gradually he lowered the material, aware also of how the slow reveal affected her, the way her thighs moved restlessly where they touched his. Her nipples had hardened, upthrust against the wet suit. The band of red at the neckline caught over them in a most tantalizing way.
He left it there a moment, let her feel it bite into her, while he kissed her compressed cleavage and she made those noises of frustrated protest that sent him over the edge every damn time. Her fingers plucked at his forearms, wordlessly encouraging him, but he took his time, letting it build.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Fox,” she blew out on a breath, her voice full of the whiskey sound of deep arousal. She moved to yank the top down herself, but he snagged her wrists, holding them against her thighs.
“Watch.” With a whimper, she did. She might think she wouldn’t enjoy being the one to submit, but it affected her powerfully when he made even small movements of domination like this. Give it time and she might be a convert.
Making sure she saw, and keeping her twitching hands pinned, he gripped the suit in his teeth, grinned around it, and yanked it down. It didn’t take much, the tight spandex releasing her breasts so they popped up with gratifying fullness, her taut nipples as pink as her lips, maybe a shade deeper. Where the rest of her followed long, willowy lines, her tits were luscious globes, the kind he’d expect to see on a much more rounded woman.
Of voluptuous proportions, even, and coming to nearly perfect points with her small, tight nipples. Had he thought they weren’t all that big? Maybe it was the contrast to her elegantly slim frame, but wow.
“Oh, Miss Emily, what gorgeous tits these are. How on earth did you hide these from me?”
She didn’t answer because he didn’t give her time. Still holding her hands against her sides, he sucked one of those tempting nipples into his mouth, not gentle. He’d moved beyond tenderness and now he really needed to fill his mouth with her.
Her heated cries of strained pleasure played like music, a soundtrack that fueled him to further consume her. Letting go of her wrists to better enjoy her, he cupped those glorious tits and squeezed them, holding them so he could move from one nipple to another, feeding his desire with the taste of her flesh. Her composure fraying, she dug her hands into his hair, pushed her pelvis against his, grinding against his erect cock.
He had plenty of experience holding off orgasm—sometimes to excruciating extremes with one particularly sadistic lover—but even with coming so recently, that friction would get to him sooner than he wanted. Emily just worked him up far too much.
So he dropped his hands to her waist and moved her back, kissing her when she objected. Such a delicious mouth. She kissed like a man, firm and strong, but with a deep softness that was all woman. Tangling her tongue with his, she made his head swim, abandoning herself with a consuming hunger that made his balls tighten. He kept it together enough to maneuver them both into a standing position, those delicate hands of hers running over his body and digging with astonishing strength into his ass, pulling his groin against her and mashing the hard points of her nipples into his chest.
If her nails were longer, he’d be done for.
Still, he managed to make enough room between them to tug her suit down her ribcage. She helped because she likely thought he’d fuck her now. He mentally braced himself to withstand the firestorm when she found out he still planned to wait until tonight. Call him stubborn, but that was the plan and he’d stick to it. Games were only as good as the rules. He fondled one breast, tweaking the nipple so she squirmed and panted, distracted enough to let him back her against the side of the tub, he considered making her wait to come until nightfall.
Probably too soon for that. Not as if she didn’t have plenty of sexual energy bottled up already. In fact
, that gave him an idea.
“Sit up here,” he said against her mouth, then rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger to erase the frown line that appeared between her brows.
She edged herself up onto the lip of the tub, however, letting him help her, but looking puzzled when he pressed her thighs together. He took her in, half naked and fully aroused, her face and tits flushed with it, cream and rose against the forest backdrop. Tonight, he’d get her to let her hair down, but the look worked for him. The dark, classic upsweep of her hair, the cool silver of her eyes and the sheer carnality of her gorgeous body.
Tucking his fingers between her hot skin and the wet suit, he looked the question at her. Raising her hips, pink tongue touching her full lower lip, she complied, letting him pull the suit off. With anticipation, he took in her white belly and then the glossy, curling triangle of hair at the juncture of her thighs. She braced her hands on the tub rim and lifted one foot, then the other, for him to remove the suit completely. As she did, she pointed her toes in the way women who’ve taken ballet do. Her feet even had the knotted joints dancers get from being en pointe, which never went away, so a ballet dancer lover had told him.
There had been no ballet photos online. Even if her childhood ones had never been scanned in, there should be ones from her teenage years. He resolved to look.
He tossed the suit onto the floor of the pavilion, since she wouldn’t need to wear it anymore. His bid to keep it that way, at any rate. She sat with her knees pressed together and tits high in the cool air, watching him with a wide-open, vulnerable expression.
“Cold?” He asked, trying to be considerate although it would spoil his plan if she said yes.
She shook her head slowly, as if thinking about it. Uncertain what would come next. Her, actually, and the thought made him smile.
“Would you spread your legs for me?”
She looked taken aback. Not what she’d expected, but she complied, opening her long, lovely runner’s thighs, leaning back slightly for balance, which tipped her nipples up. His cock throbbed, nearly aching.
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