Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

“I look forward to it,” I promise her.

  “So, how’s your eye?” she asks concerned.

  “I don’t even feel it,” I lie. My orb has a pulse, but I wasn’t copping to it. Honestly, I’m still pissed I didn’t get a shot in. For now, I change the subject. “So, drinks are at five, dinner is at seven, and there’s a band at ten. As long as we get the first two in, I don’t care about the last.”

  “You don’t like dancing?”

  “I’m sure you noticed at the bar, I’m not particularly good at it.”

  “Maybe you need the right partner?”

  “Or maybe my skills lie in the courtroom and not on the dance floor.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she winks. “You were very coordinated last night.”

  Just then her phone rings and mine follows suit. India is her call and not paying attention to the dash, I hit accept and find out quickly Whitney was mine. I don’t turn off the hands free fast enough to make it a private call either.

  “Baby?” Whitney pouts in her whiny voice no one should be subjected to. “Are you driving?”

  “What do you need now?” I snap at the same time Taylor ends her call likely because she couldn’t talk with Whitney’s voice in the back ground. It’s enough to make you contemplate ear plugs. Fuck, I knew better than to answer.

  “I just needed to hear your voice,” she lies. “You didn’t kiss me goodbye when you – ”

  “I don’t have time for games, Whitney,” I chastise her. Glancing over at Taylor, I notice she’s made herself busy texting, and I wanted to ask who she’s talking to. But to do that, I have to get rid of Whitney first. “I’m out of town for business so get to the point.”

  “The alumni convention,” she pouts. “I used to attend those with you.” Another lie. She attended one and we hadn’t stayed more than an hour before I demanded she go pack so we could leave. We had been together a total of five days at that point. Five days too long.

  “Goodbye, Whitney,” I say, disconnecting and exhaling hard. Christ, the woman is relentless. “I’m sorry,” I offer to Taylor who just shrugs. Feeling the need to explain, I begin with, “I ended the relationship two years ago, but our families are close and –”

  “Is she going to be at any of the events?”

  “The anniversary party and wedding, yes.”

  “Can’t wait,” she says while looking out the window.

  “Taylor, I –”

  “Until you stop taking her calls and coddling her, she won’t give up. Family history or not, you haven’t set the precedence. You haven’t given her boundaries, or a reason to think she can’t win you back.”

  “I hardly think –”

  “I take it she’s the one after my ring, huh? I also assume both families were for the union?”

  “Yes, and no,” I sigh.

  “Was dumping her an act of rebellion?”

  “First and only,” I confess. “Though it should be said my parents would fully support any rebellious activities I may have. I just never have any.”

  “Van,” she says softly. “I’m the anti-Whitney. If she’s what your friends and family find acceptable, I’m a shitty substitute.”

  “You’re not a substitute, you’re the solution.”

  This may have been the wrong thing to say because the last hour of the drive is now being spent fighting. Taylor, I found out, does not back down. She fights dirty. She also yells with her hands too.

  “I’m the solution? So what? Parade me around to shock the ‘rents, make Whitney jealous? So, when you end things, the next sucker you drag home, the fam will flip for? I mean, now that you’ve lowered the bar and all. I get it, the real future wife is a shoo-in once I’m gone. First, you dump that snobby bitch, then you show up and parade my big ass around at parties. Why? Because anyone after me is a goddamn improvement?”

  “That’s what you got from what I said?”

  “Because it’s what you said!”

  “That’s not what I said!”

  “Tell me, Evander,” she growls. Yes, she actually growls when she’s pissed. “What am I the solution to?”

  Ending my life of loneliness, I should have said, but went with, “We’ve been over this, Taylor.”

  “How could I forget?” she snaps. “You need a stand-in!”

  “I do not –” I pause and take a breath. “I want you on my arm, okay?”

  “Great, now I’m an escort!”

  Exiting the car for the valet, we are both yelling at each other not caring about the scene we’re causing. Taylor’s hands are pointing and making lewd gestures at me, while my hands are itching to throttle her. She’s getting emotional over an arrangement she already agreed to and I couldn’t figure out why. Other than my call from Whitney setting her off, I was clueless.

  “You should have been an attorney,” I yell back. “You’re never wrong!”

  “Not when the evidence suggests you’re a fucking tool!”

  “Evander,” I hear from the main entrance. “Who do we have here?”

  “I’m his fucking fiancée,” Taylor says, sticking her hand out to Morris, who just grins. “Thrilled to meet you.”

  “Morris Mazzoni,” he says, not hiding his delight. “And I’m in agreement with whatever you say.”

  “See,” she says partially grinning. “Morris gets it.”

  “Yes,” I say while grabbing her bag. “I bet he does.”

  “How did you get the black eye, Evander?”

  “Oh, that,” Taylor waves him off. “Lap dance gone wrong.”

  “Drinks at five,” he says, eyeing Taylor. “Should finally be interesting.”

  “Shit,” she says while taking my elbow. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’m –”

  “Adorable,” I interrupt with a hard kiss thus ending the stupid fight. “Let’s check in.”

  “Did we just have our first fight?”

  “No,” I correct. “Our first fight will be over something important like who’s on top or gets the last piece of cake while they’re on top. That, Taylor, was a misunderstanding.”

  “I don’t know why I’m upset,” she mumbles.

  “I thought you were gorgeous when you were happy. But you are stunning when you’re pissed. I’m making it a point to piss you off often.”

  “It has to be said there are times you are odd, Van.”

  Guiding her inside I said, “You’ll get used to it,” when I wanted to say, you’ll have a lifetime to get used to it.

  I have to get my shit together.

  Going off the rails because I’m jealous and picking a fight accordingly wasn’t me.

  I don’t do fights.

  It’s just that…I want to be more than a solution to a problem.

  I want to be special to him. Important. Necessary.

  But I had to remind myself that when I agreed to this it was to help Van. It was to get him to like me. See beyond the juggernaut. And I also need to remember it’s temporary.

  This I find difficult to do because he’s throwing so many mixed signals at me, I couldn’t keep up.

  The lines have become blurred.

  Simply put, Evander Church is truly the most contradictory man I’ve ever met.

  One minute he is sweet and possessive and the next he reverts back to what he knows.

  Three times I asked him what he expected of me tonight and each time he sighed and demanded that I be nothing less than myself. So, that’s what I’m doing. Kinda.

  Honestly, I don’t know what the hell to do because I was out of my element.

  Not because it was a hall full of successful attorneys but because I was here to lie. Here to make Van look good.

  I was fucking arm candy.

  At the moment, I was also the lone female in the room too.

  Few men brought their wives or girlfriends to the lodge, and those who did must have sent them elsewhere for the event. Obviously, he’s breaking tradition by having me tag along, and if he was going for shock value,
he succeeded. These men have no idea what to make of me. Or rather of Evander and I, together. For every introduction, I was polite and when engaged in conversation, I pretended to listen, answered at the right time, and always sang Van’s praises. However, I don’t know why I bothered, since every man I’ve met so far had one agenda.

  His own.

  Then I hear more than one asshole run his mouth at Van’s expense. I hate shit talking. I hate wanting to confront these men but knowing I couldn’t. At least not yet.

  I find myself waiting to for my turn at jump rope and when I see it, they wouldn’t know what hit them.

  To be sure I behaved, I’ve only had one glass of wine, even though I wanted the bottle and a straw.

  I’ve feigned stupidity when I was blatantly propositioned, even though I really wanted to tell Van his friends were dicks.

  On and on they brag about their accomplishments and lined up en masse to kiss Van’s ass when they aren’t hoping to fuck me in mine. I don’t understand why telling these yahoos he was engaged would even matter. Because these men have no scruples and zero respect for the sanctity of a fake marriage. I also don’t see why he bothered coming here year after year. My OB checkup is more enjoyable than this. Snagging another glass, I sit at the bar and scan the crowd. Van currently has his wannabe legal posse hanging on his every word, while I thank the good lord of liquor I’m not powerful in any way. Because the more I watch him, the more I realize he’s fucking miserable.

  And I’m not helping him.

  Slamming my drink back, I saunter right up to the boys and push my way through.

  The night got off to a bad start with my drama, and I plan to correct it.

  Coming to his side, I slide my arm around his waist and cuddle in close. Instantly, I feel him relax. Then I start getting looks. Looks I don’t much care for. Half whispering, yet speaking loud enough so they all hear me I ask him, “Let’s go up to our room. We’ve got forty-five minutes before dinner.”

  “Forty-five?” he asks, squeezing me.

  “I know,” I sigh. “You need at least an hour which is why you’ll have to settle for a blow job.”

  Van’s eyes widen, the others sputter, and Morris—the only redeemable male here—simply winks at me. Pinching him to get his attention, Van snaps out of it and says, “Thirty for you, ten for me and five for clean-up. That’s my offer.”

  “This man is a shark!” I announce to the group. “Good thing I like his bite.”

  Clearly this is the right thing to do when he ushered me out of the bar, to the elevator, and straight to the room. Once inside, he tackles me to the bed and groans, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, my oral skills are rusty.”

  “For saving me, Taylor,” he chuckles.

  “Oh, well, then you’re welcome.”

  “How rusty?” he asks roughly.

  “I may need the full forty-five.”

  “I saw the way they looked at you,” he says, reaching between my legs. “I didn’t like it.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but they’re dicks.”

  “I know,” he says, circling my clit. “I shouldn’t have subjected you to it. My fiancée deserved better.”

  “Your real fiancée would. I don’t deserve anything.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he says, pinching the bud causing my eyes to roll back.

  “You’re right, I deserve an orgasm. Really, it’s the least you can do.”

  “You look beautiful, Taylor,” he says licking my lip. “I should have told you before drinks, but I’m telling you now.”

  “You’re making me like you,” I whisper.

  “Good,” he says low. “Now I’m going to make you come on my tongue.”

  True to his word, he did. I didn't just come on his tongue, I coated it.

  Not one to be overly selfish, I straddle him wanting a hard ride.

  But the power position doesn’t last long. Suddenly flipped to my back, wrists pinned, and legs spread, Van gets nose to nose with me and says, “We’ve done it your way, Taylor. Now we do it mine.”

  Just as I am opening my mouth to ask about this, he moved lower, trailing his tongue between my tits.

  Okay, this is hot.

  Hotter still is when he slid two fingers inside and started to pump.

  On a moan, his mouth hovers at my sweet spot but he doesn’t lick.

  “Spread wider and offer me your cunt.”

  The man sure knows how to use his words and his tongue because he doesn’t tease or even nibble.

  What Van does is feed on me.

  Instinctively, my legs find their way over his shoulders, my fingers sink into his hair to keep him in place, and I marvel at him between my thighs. The feeling is so deep, so intense, I come before I can even announce it.

  Since I rarely come during sex; oral or otherwise, I wanted to share the news.

  Nope.

  With a final press of his lips to my clit, Van crawls up my body, kisses me once and says, “Tasting your come was…”

  “Icky?”

  “A wish come true.”

  Holy fuck.

  “Van,” I whisper into his chest. “We missed dinner.”

  “Fuck dinner,” he says, palming my ass. “I need more of you.”

  Unsure what to say or do, I stayed silent. Sighing into my neck he grunts, “This isn’t done.”

  “Okay,” is all I had.

  “It’s just beginning.”

  “Okay,” is still all I had.

  “And it’s never going to end.”

  I don’t say okay. What I do is smile.

  Because with just a few words, he erased all my fears.

  We reappear at ten o’clock sharp and I love that Van didn’t bother to fix his clothes or hair.

  Instead he wears mess like a badge of honor.

  With Taylor on my arm, we enter the ballroom where the band is scheduled to play until midnight. Personally, I wanted to order room service and stay in bed, but she insisted we make them jelly—her words not mine.

  Some of the wives have showed for the last hours of the evening, and if jealousy were our aim, we nailed it.

  Like any time I attend these functions, fellow alumni kiss my ass hoping for a favor. As in working for the firm.

  I played my role, pretending I give a shit about their career goals.

  Truthfully, I couldn’t care less.

  I hate these events and had no intention of ever coming back.

  Until Taylor agreed to accompany me, I hadn’t even RSVP’d my decline. I shoved it in a drawer and forgotten about it.

  When she said yes, I dug it out and for the first time ever, looked forward to something.

  Adding the plus one to the invitation felt good.

  Taking my hand, Taylor announces, “We’re dancing.”

  “Evander doesn’t dance,” Rowan laughs and it was a horrible sound which reminded me that I didn’t like him.

  “We don’t come here to dance, sweetheart,” Christopher says, another prick. “Why don’t you go sit with the women, maybe you’ll learn something useful should you attend any future events.”

  “Better yet,” Taylor says, linking our fingers. “Why don’t you watch what happens when a man dances with his woman.”

  “And what’s that?” Rowan asks sarcastically.

  “He gets laid later,” she throws out as we walk away.

  The band, now having a couple to play for, slows the song down for us when Taylor sees I’m clueless. “Just follow my lead,” she whispers in my ear. “I’ll do all the work.”

  “Everyone is watching.”

  “Fuck them, Van,” she says while resting her hands on my chest. What she doesn’t understand is that I reveled in them watching. But Taylor has a point to make. “You wanted to live? This is living. We do what we want, remember? It doesn’t matter what other people see or think. We do this for us. Now, dip me.”

  “As you wish.” Doing as she said, I couldn’t
help but place my lips on her chest while I was there. Gently raising her back up, I notice her eyes were glazed over, which I take as a good sign. “Say something.”

  “You’re beautiful, too.” She smiles. “I should have told you sooner.”

  I’m transfixed by her smile. I’m about to haul her back upstairs when the song changes. It’s upbeat and clearly a favorite of hers because in a blink, Taylor wasn’t just dancing.

  She is performing.

  On me, next to me, behind me, in front of me.

  All I could do is stand there and be her prop.

  It’s fascinating.

  It’s erotic.

  It makes me hard.

  Twirling her to me, I ask, “How did you learn to move like that?”

  Biting her lip, using the pad of her thumb to trace my jaw, she grins and offers, “Practice, Van. Lots of practice.”

  “You are…”

  “Flexible?” she teases.

  “Flawless.”

  “Thank you,” she says, kissing me tenderly.

  “It’s me thanking you, Taylor. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “You really liked it,” she beams.

  “No,” I correct her. “I loved it.” I love you…

  Reaching down to the bulge in my pants, she moans, “You’re hard. For me.”

  “Always hard,” I promise her. “For you.”

  “One more dance?”

  Pulling her tight to me I agree, “One more dance.”

  At midnight, Taylor and I are the only two left, and she sways in my arms until the final song ends.

  Giving her one final dip, I find her eyes and silently wish for her love once again.

  This was the wish I needed now.

  I could work on obtaining the others later.

  Waking up tangled in Van isn’t just sweet, it’s… right.

  Sometime in the night, his hand made its way to my belly and stayed there. Whenever I moved even an inch, he pulled me closer, tighter. He liked his face buried in my hair, and he snored.

  It was the most beautiful snore I had ever heard.

  When I wake to an empty bed, I wasn’t disappointed for long because Van exited the bathroom, naked.

  Strong, thick, hairy legs, a firm ass and when he turns…my God, his cock is awe-inspiring.