by K. Bromberg
I begin to cry. Think of what I could have lost. Anderson calms me down, tells me travel arrangements are already made for tomorrow and too late to cancel. That we need to enjoy the one night we have together for our anniversary. Make the most of it. Start proving everything we just said to each other in the car.
I calm myself and stare at him for a moment before taking a deep breath to say what it feels has taken me a lifetime to confess. I ask that he doesn’t speak until I finish. I tell him I love him more than anything. I express to him that in losing the us that we once were, we also lost that spark in the bedroom. The want to please the other, the desire to be spontaneous, try new things, step outside of the box.
He nods his head at me, granting my request for silence as I gather my last thoughts together. The feelings evoked from the hotel room flood back tenfold and crowd the room around us, giving me the courage I need to finish what I need to say. We sit like this for some time, no words exchanged but our eyes speaking volumes: willingness and trust. Acceptance and understanding. But for some reason, the silence we sit in doesn’t seem so lonely anymore. It’s filled with a spark of what’s been missing for some time.
And so I add fuel to the spark, hoping it catches fire.
You are now free.
Instead of hinting at things I want as I have in the past, I flat out tell him. New positions, toys, anal, sex-swings, light bondage. Nothing earth-shattering to many these days but life changing for me. I say each sentence, pay particular attention to each word, and watch his reactions. I reassure that I love him, that I’m happy, that he’s more than enough, but that with age, with confidence, I want more. I need more.
And I want to find that more in him, with him.
I exhale loudly into the silence I’ve asked for. My nerves hum and I jostle my knee as we continue to stare at each other, his silence a slow torture to me. I need him to respond, need him to tell me that I’m not asking for too much. That he can give this to me.
But he doesn’t say a word but rather stands up and disappears from my sight. I bite my lip to fight the tears that threaten and the predicted rejection that lodges in my throat. It doesn’t matter how many times he rebuffs me, each time is just as devastating as the first. I squeeze my eyes, the gamut of emotions overtaking me as I hold everything in: Anderson’s dismissal after our promises earlier, the guilt and shame riding a close second.
The bed shifts and Anderson places his hand on my thigh, squeezing it when I refuse to open my eyes. “Lil?” There is a gentleness to his tone that pulls on so many things within me that I open my eyes to meet his. He reaches out and frames my face—his thumb brushing away the lone tear I couldn’t contain—and the tenderness in his touch almost makes me lose my hold on the reminder of them.
He repeats his question again, pulling me from my thoughts. “What brought all this on now? Is it because of these?”
He bends over to pick something off the floor beside the bed and I’m surprised to see the box from my closet. I stare at him as he takes the lid from it and sets the container between us. My eyes flicker back and forth, trying to gauge the expression on his face juxtaposed to the quiet ache that the sight of some of the toys create.
Because now I know just how much they can enhance my pleasure.
My cheeks stain red as I stare at them and silently, guiltily recalling those sensations while Anderson watches me—the weight of his stare as he waits for an answer flusters me.
“Yes. No. Yes …” I blow out an exasperated breath and look up from where I am fiddling with my fingers to meet the clear brown of his eyes. “I just …” My voice trails off for the first time, losing my confidence. I take a moment and when I look down and see the invisible lines on my wrists, they give me what I need to be honest. “This time apart has made me realize how much I love you, but that I’ve been unhappy, resentful … that for some time, I’ve been jealous of the old ‘us’ and I don’t want to be that way anymore. That’s a horrible place to be. We’ve let life get in the way … put everything else first, and I think this—discovering new things together—will make us find that trust in one another, rekindle what we used to have.” I shrug, tears welling in my eyes. “I don’t know. At first I thought the toys might help … but now ... All I know, all I care about is that I miss … us.”
Anderson gives me a measured nod followed by a full blown smirk. The one that fifteen years ago captured my heart when he walked past me in his football uniform during lunch in the quad.
“After this week, us being apart because of work, once again … I realized I miss us too,” he says with a nod of his head. He reaches in the box and moves items around with an obvious unease, but at least he’s looking. He quiets for a moment before looking up and meeting my eyes. “I’ve been stubborn. I’ve been so wrapped up thinking with my ego and not my dick that I’ve completely missed the whole point.” I suppress the burgeoning hope I feel, afraid to believe too quickly that Anderson has finally heard me. “Without you here, I realized that it’s lonely as hell … and that I need to stop and listen to you sometimes, really hear the words you’re saying. And you’ve been saying that these toys don’t mean that I’m not enough, but rather you just want a little more variety.”
I close my eyes, the tears leaking out because he finally gets it. I hiccup back a sob as relief finally finds its place within me.
With eyes steadfast on mine, he leans in and closes the distance between us. “You know what I think?” he says, an eyebrow raising and desire darkening in his eyes.
“Hmm?” I can’t speak. It’s been forever since I have seen that cocky look on his face and in a sense, he just gave me my answer without saying a word.
“I think that we should start with this.” Anderson holds up a Lelo vibrator from the box and I groan out softly at the thought. “Well then, it’s settled. I’m going to go grab a quick shower, and when I come back into the bedroom, you better be on the bed. Naked.” He presses a kiss against my lips. “And ready to get fucked.”
I startle my head back to look at him, the Anderson from fifteen years ago looking back at me. “So, you’ll …”
“Five minutes.” It’s all he says as he stands up and starts to walk from the room, my pulse quickening, and the tingling that’s been gone for so long when it comes to Anderson rushes back like a flash flood. My eyes track him as he pulls his shirt off on his way toward the bathroom. Disbelief and desire surging within me.
He passes through the doorway, stops, and turns around. “Hey, you never told me, did you get my anniversary present?”
My fingers still on my blouse where they are unbuttoning, and the chocolate covered strawberries flash through my head along with the unopened card I couldn’t bring myself to read because of the guilt. “Yes, thank you,” I gush, a little too fervently, before controlling my emotions so he doesn’t know I’m lying. “I forgot when you called to tell you … they were so satisfying. Just what I needed.”
He chokes out a cough, covering his mouth to physically stifle the violence of it.
“Hun, are you okay?” I begin to scoot off the end of the bed to help him but he just holds his hand up to stop me.
After a moment, he recovers and angles his head to the side, staring at me with confusion etching his features. “Just what you needed?” The inquiry in his voice has me explaining further.
“Yeah. The chocolate covered strawberries … so delicious.”
“I didn’t send you … they … those were courtesy of the hotel for our anniversary.” Anderson stumbles over the words, bewilderment etching his features.
Now it’s my turn to be confused. I shift my eyes back and forth as I try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Huh …”
“Nothing else came to the room?”
“No … was it … I wasn’t there much. Maybe …” I don’t finish my thought, worried my excuses may tell too much and that maybe something was delivered while I was being held against my will.
“Hmpf,”
he says with a nonchalant shrug that contradicts the beseeching look in his eyes. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he just stares at me a bit longer before shaking his head in an amused defeat.
“What was it?” Now I’m curious. His conflicting posture and demeanor have me wanting to know what I’m going to miss out on.
“No worries.” He smirks. “It … it definitely wasn’t chocolate covered strawberries.” He chuckles with a shake of his head.
I go to ask for more of an explanation but the look in his eyes stop me as he stalks towards me in a predatory manner “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you. Make sure I’m just what you need.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my mouth, tongue delving between my lips to dance intimately with mine. And just as abruptly as he started the kiss, he turns and heads back in to the bathroom, throwing, “Five minutes and counting,” over his shoulder.
I stare at the now empty doorway, my heart swollen with love, and my conscience a little lighter. Wow. I’m kind of in a state of disbelief. Over his apologies, his revelations, his acceptance of wanting more.
I pull my shirt over my head and unfasten my bra as I digest it all. I flop back on the bed and laugh aloud. Our tenth wedding anniversary. Who would have thought that not being together might have been the best thing to help us find each other again. Completely fucked up, but incredibly true.
I close my eyes for a moment. Images I never saw but can’t erase run through my mind. I startle when the phone on the bed rings. It’s Anderson’s, and I never pick it up. I usually just look at it and then tell him who called so that he knows.
I reach out for it and sit up when I see the phone number. The Italian country code. My mind immediately thinks the hotel is calling because they found whatever gift Anderson sent me.
“Hello?”
“Ciao. This is the Mauro from Hotel Mulino di Firenze.”
“Hi, yes. What can I do for you?” I ask, toeing off my shoes as I wait for the response.
“You recently stayed with us in our presidential suite, si?”
“Yes but not in the—”
“We found a bracelet under the bed when the room was cleaned that we think belongs to you.”
“Bracelet?” Relief flows through me. I completely forgot about my bracelet, my mind so overwhelmed with processing the last seventy-two hours. But now that I’m reminded, I’m relieved they found it. Now I don’t have to worry about having to explain to Anderson that I lost it. “Thank you so much … but … uh … I was in room two hundred something, not in the Presidential suite?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have called the wrong number then. Let me—”
“I did lose a bracelet. Just, I didn’t have a suite,” I quickly correct him, thinking the language difference might be the problem in understanding, desperate to get my bracelet back.
“Scuzi … let me check.” The line is silent for a moment, filled only with the click of a keyboard. “No, I’m sorry. The bracelet was most definitely found in the suite and it does have this phone number as the occupant …”
My pulse begins to race as adrenaline starts to surge and awareness begins to break through the haze.
I hear more typing. “… ah yes, here it is. This is the correct number for Marco, si?”
“Yes,” I whisper into my husband’s telephone. Marco’s telephone. The hotel clerk’s voice now a distant sound in my ear.
My mind fires to process.
Understand the magnitude of what has happened.
Accept that fact that he’s already given me everything I just asked him for.
Already given me just what I needed.
I guess I received my anniversary gift from Anderson after all.
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author K. Bromberg is that reserved woman sitting in the corner that has you all fooled about the wild child inside of her—the one she lets out every time her fingertips touch the computer keyboard. She’s a wife, mom, child rustler, multi-tasker of all things domestic and otherwise. She likes her diet cokes with rum, her music loud, and her pantry stocked with a cache of chocolate.
K. lives in Southern California with her husband and three children. When she needs a break from the daily chaos of her life, you can most likely find her on the treadmill or with Kindle in hand, devouring the pages of a good, saucy book.
On a whim, K. decided to try her hand at this writing thing. Her debut novels, Driven, Fueled, and Crashed of The Driven Trilogy were well received and went on to become multi-platform bestsellers as well as landing on the New York Times and USA Today lists.
http://www.kbromberg.com
https://facebook.com/authorkbromberg
http://www.goodreads.com/Kbromberg
http://pinterest.com/kbrombergwrites/
@KBrombergDriven
COME
A Dirty, Dark, and Dangerous Prequel
By
JA Huss
COME
Copyright © 2014 by J. A. Huss
All rights reserved.
Find me at
New Adult Addiction
jahuss.com
Cover design by J. A. Huss
Edited by RJ Locksley
ISBN- 978-1-936413-42-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Other books by J.A. Huss
Rook and Ronin Series
TRAGIC
MANIC
PANIC
SLACK
TAUT
BOMB
GUNS
COME: A Dirty, Dark, and Deadly Prequel
by JA Huss
A dirty promise turns into a dark obsession…
Harper keeps her head down—invisible. Moving through life unnoticed, hiding from the past, evading the future.
James has no boundaries—invincible. Looking for a way out, looking for someone he can save instead of kill.
Resistance has no hope of winning when you’re desperate to claim a deadly woman. The bond is uneasy and the future uncertain. But one thing’s for sure.
Alone… Harper and James are dangerous.
Together… they are unstoppable.
Chapter One
JAMES
Even if I wasn’t looking…
Even if I wasn’t watching…
Even if I wasn’t obsessed…
There’s no way in hell I could miss her.
The beach is packed. It’s Saturday afternoon. And even though it’s been a hot June, today is Orange County perfect. Seventy-eight degrees at eight PM and just enough wind to make her golden tresses dance around her heart-shaped face. The waves are just big enough to keep the surfers entertained as she eats her fast-food dinner from the steps at Pier Plaza. The sunset, a red mixed with orange that lines the horizon far off in the distance, sets a scene with warm light that falls across her bronze body.
It’s the perfect evening. But this girl is the only thing I see.
I’ve watched her for three months. She comes to the beach twice a day. Once in the early morning, just before Huntington Beach Pier opens. She does some crazy routine that probably does zero for her conditioning, that’s how easy it looks. Not easy for most. Easy for her. This routine—it’s probably something she’s been doing since she was a kid.
She comes out again each evening. More fast food, eats on the Pier Plaza steps. More sea-watching. Even if there aren’t surfers out there to entertain her, the Pacific Ocean is what occupies her mind.
She pays attention to everything. Everyone who walks by. She never talks to anyone. If the skaters on the bike path hanging out in front of the steps get too close, she leaves. If they engage her, she turns her head. They call her names sometimes, but she’s either deaf or very well-trained.
She’s not deaf.
>
I know she’s not deaf.
I know where she lives.
I know she’s hiding.
I know I’m the last person she wants to see.
I know she sleeps in boy short underwear and a tank top.
I know she has anxiety issues because she keeps a bottle of pills in her bathroom.
I know she never takes those pills. I count them. But every time I check, the bottle has been moved. So I know she thinks about them often enough to want to hold the bottle.
I know she has a phone. But I also know she never uses it. I’ve checked the minutes. It never changes. I know how much money she has, what’s inside her fridge. I know she touches herself at night sometimes. And she moans as she comes, her back arching for a second.
I know she’s sad and she fights it off. I’ve read her journal pages. It’s not really a diary. She writes the pages each night, then goes to bed, wakes, reads them. Then burns them in the kitchen sink before she starts her AM routine.
They always say the same thing. Please hurry. Please come to me. Please find me. Please don’t forget me. Please, please, please, do not leave me here all alone.
I know a lot about her but I don’t know her name. Or who she’s waiting for. I have an idea, but that might be wishful thinking. I don’t know why she’s here. Or why I’m here, for that matter. I’m as unsure about all those things as she is that this absent prince will come save her.
But I’m certain of one thing.
This girl?
She is mine.
I’m the one who came to her. I’m the one who found her. I’ll be the one to keep her.
Chapter Two
HARPER
“What’s your name?”
The voice startles me because I had no idea anyone else was at the end of the pier with me. The waves are large this morning and they crash hard enough against the pillars below to envelop me in a mist of seawater. I don’t turn to face him. He has a smooth rumbling voice that tingles my insides and for a moment, I sense I’ve heard it before. I picture the kind of man attached to it. Someone big. Someone young, but not as young as me. I continue to scan the horizon, staring out at the Pacific Ocean, waiting for the sunrise. It’s mere moments away and I hate that he’s interrupting my sunrise.
