by J. C. Grant
“What? I'm not making you watch anything.” His voice was casual, completely oblivious to my racing thoughts. I felt him move, looking away from his phone. While I’d been sentenced to reality TV, he was catching up on sports stuff. “I thought I stopped on Lifetime—that's what you usually turn it to.”
“I do not... Are you gonna treat me like this?” I asked, gesturing toward the TV.
“Treat you like what?”
“Like you aren't that into me. These guys act like they don't want to be around their wives or girlfriends or whatever.” I could feel myself ramping up, my insecurities running wild.
“What? No.”
“They act like they would rather hang with their friends—”
“Where is this coming from?” he demanded as his arm tightened around me. When I didn't answer, he continued gently, “I'd rather be with you than anyone else.”
I stayed silent, unwilling to vocalize my fears about his career.
“Hey.” He squeezed me, trying to get me to look at him. “We should have a date night tonight, like regular people.”
“Okay, what?” I agreed, grateful to have a reprieve from my thoughts.
“A movie and dinner. Or is it dinner and a movie?”
A laugh bubbled up out of me. Then I reminded him, “If we go out to dinner here, it's going to be a lot worse than LA—fan wise.”
The past four nights, Mom had reserved private rooms, so we hadn't dealt with that problem yet. And lunch had been at restaurants more than happy to accommodate our desire for privacy. David had worn his hat whenever we went out during the day. But even pulled low, people had still noticed him, still stopped him for autographs.
His lip curled up briefly in annoyance before he asked, “How about one of those dine-in movies?”
“You ever been?” I inquired because he didn't seem like the type to enjoy that.
“No, but some of the guys at the gym love 'em.” He paused. “You ever gone?”
“Yeah,” I answered as I disentangled myself from him to go find my mother—she would know if there was a dine-in theater nearby.
David let his head fall back against the couch as his eyes rolled in annoyance before focusing on the ceiling. Then he grumbled, “I gotta stop asking you that shit.”
I felt a twinge of sadness and sympathy. I understood exactly how he felt. I hated the thought of him having a life before me.
“Is there an iPic nearby?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen island, where I found my mother getting an early start on Thanksgiving dinner.
Her face showed her confusion as she repeated, “Eye pick?”
Struggling not to laugh, I clarified, “It's a dine-in theater.”
“There's an AMC dine-in theater in Aurora.” She gestured toward the backdoor, despite Aurora being in the opposite direction.
“David,” I called loudly.
“Yeah,” he answered, his deep voice easily carrying through the house.
“AMC dine-in okay?”
Seconds later, David stood in the doorway, leaning a thick, muscled shoulder against the frame. “Sounds good.”
My mother perked up at his appearance. “David, I was going to ask you, do you want Austin to bake the pies?”
His eyebrow went up, a smirk forming on his chiseled face. “You really can bake?”
“Ye—” I started to answer.
“Oh, she can do fancy pastries and complicated little gourmet thingies. She makes this one that tastes like pecan pie but way better,” my mom answered for me.
I knew why she was offering because she wanted me to make the complicated gourmet thingies. Despite my mother owning a donut shop, she had never baked in her life. That included donuts.
“Will you bake complicated gourmet things for me?” His voice had dropped an octave to the sexiest rumble.
My skin prickled as that voice washed over me, warming my insides. Biting my lip, I nodded slightly. I'd do anything he asked me to in that tone.
“Start gettin' ready,” David directed.
Without hesitation, I obeyed, and two hours later we were climbing into that white Range Rover, heading to the theater.
As soon as we were seated in the oversized reclining chairs, David called the waiter over, quickly ordering several desserts. When the waiter was gone, David leaned over and whispered, “I like this.”
Then his hand found mine, entwining our fingers.
“We've never been to the movies together,” I murmured in astonishment. How was it possible that we hadn't done the most common relationship activity? “How weird is that?”
“It's only weird to me because I haven't been in... probably six years. And I’ve never gone to the movies for a date.”
When the lights went out, David squeezed my hand until I looked over at him. Giving me a sexy grin, he tugged my hand into his lap, placing it on his hard thigh, mere inches from his crotch. It was something he had done a dozen times before, but this time it felt different.
Maybe because I was completely open now, bare to the bone. David had forced his way into my past, into my mother’s house, seeing every nuance of who I was. Letting David get to know my mother was the most intimate and terrifying thing I'd ever done.
As we sat there, I felt a flutter in my stomach, like I was on a roller coaster rushing toward the bottom, weightless.
I felt alive, not an ounce of fear.
Then David shifted over, pressing his arm flush to mine, his hand settling possessively on my thigh. His body heat and smell surrounded me in the dark, creating the perfect aphrodisiac, allowing me to pretend it had always been this way. Just us.
After a beat, I noticed, his hand mirrored mine where he'd placed it. I was struck with the realization he wanted me to be possessive; he wanted to feel that same rush I did. Our entire relationship, he had been telling me with actions, Be possessive of me, and I was just now getting it.
David's legs spread wider as I slid my hand over, gripping his warm inner thigh.
I was rewarded with a happy growl. “Mmmm, I like that.”
I liked that too. So much.
Nothing had ever felt more right in my life.
David
I muffled a grunt as Austin flopped down next to me, her elbow digging into my ribs. Hard. Then harder.
Most people acted differently around their parents, more proper. I loved that Austin hadn't changed her behavior since being at her mom's. In fact, she seemed more comfortable as she crawled on me, getting situated with her tablet.
She'd been shopping online for hours. She'd started at noon, and it was nearly seven now. Her mom told me to be grateful Austin wasn't going to make me endure Black Friday. I'd never participated in it, but I was pretty sure I didn't want to.
“Oh, sorry, babe.” Austin started to move, pulling away.
“You're not going anywhere,” I muttered, wrapping an arm around her, stopping her.
She'd gone to change her clothes thirty minutes before. I wasn't ready for her to disappear on me again.
Pulling her close, I pressed my lips behind her ear.
“Why don't you lie down in my lap?” I suggested.
“You wanna get really comfy?” she asked, looking up at me, her voice hopeful.
My eyebrow lifted, intrigued.
Without a word, she leaned over my lap, the thin material of her shirt and my sweatpants did nothing to hide her hard nipples pressing against my thigh. A low groan rattled through me as my cock jumped in approval. He clearly did not suffer from the same carb coma I was in.
“Sweetheart, not right now. I—” I started to protest, despite my hand rubbing up and down her spine, encouraging her.
Her hand slipped between the cushions. Slowly, our section of the couch started to recline.
“Ohhh, I like this,” I muttered, stretching out, getting comfortable.
“As much as that blow job you thought you were gonna get?” she teased, sitting up.
I loved her like this. Playful. O
pen. Relaxed.
“Give me a couple hours,” I threatened, flipping through the channels.
She smirked. “You ate way too much if you were gonna turn down me sucking your dick, babe.”
Oh God, I really did. All day. Since Austin's grandparents had passed away, it was one of their new traditions—casual nontraditional holidays. No rules, no eating times; it was whenever, wherever, all day.
This morning I'd found out how serious she was about their new tradition when I walked into the kitchen to make breakfast and found Evelyn in her flannel pajamas, already carving into the turkey.
Over the past ten years, the few occasions I'd attended holiday meals, they'd all been formal. I preferred my new come-as-you-are, eat-as-much-as-you-want, whenever-you-want style. I hadn't had a Thanksgiving where I felt like I belonged since I was sixteen, and even then, it wasn't a happy occasion. But with Austin and Evelyn, it was fucking awesome. Casual, small, and perfect.
“It was all so good.”
“You didn't have to eat all the tarts,” she added distractedly.
“Yes, I did. My wife makes me fancy tiny handmade gourmet things, I'm eating 'em.”
She didn’t reply as she continued shopping online. Tired of being ignored, I pulled her closer, lifting her leg up over mine, making her cuddle.
I have to force my wife to cuddle on Thanksgiving.
She propped the tablet up on my too full stomach and laid her head on my chest.
A contented sigh escaped me as my arms settled around her.
I officially had everything I ever wanted. Since we’d arrived, we’d been heavily embedded in domestic shit: running errands, grocery shopping, family meals, movies.
I fucking loved it.
And it was all because of Austin. She’d given me the family experience I’d dreamed about as a kid, a casual, carefree, accepting environment.
It was probably nothing to other people, but for a kid who spent his childhood walking on eggshells around his father, and whose Thanksgiving’s were too embarrassing to admit to, it was huge.
Nuzzling into Austin’s hair, I murmured, “Get us some oh shit gifts.”
She looked up at me, confusion written all over her gorgeous face.
“Ya know, when you don't know someone's birthday, but you should.” At her expression, I explained, “Like my coach or Jeff.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh shit.”
I nodded. “We have virtual strangers in our lives that we need to give fucking awesome birthday gifts to... Look for Rolexs, something nice.”
“’Kay,” she agreed, already busy with her new task.
My arms tightened around her and I relaxed, enjoying the feel of her body against mine as she focused on shopping.
We stayed like that, me breathing her in. It was hands down the best fucking Thanksgiving of my life.
“Hey,” I rasped, breaking our long silence. “We still pretending?”
She looked up then, and her face softened as she bit her lip and nodded.
“What are you pretending?” Evelyn asked, startling me. I’d never heard her come down the stairs, if that was even where she’d been. One thing I’d learned over the past few days, Austin’s mother could be a ninja when she wanted to be.
Evelyn and I had talked more in the past two weeks than Austin and I had. The way she left after the wedding, I wasn't sure what to expect. Evelyn was a dichotomy; she never reached out, never tried to communicate. But once I did, she was an open book again, sending me old pics of Austin, filling me in on old traditions, new traditions, making plans for us.
But I was shocked when Austin answered, “David wants to pretend like we met when he was seventeen and I was fourteen.”
I realized then why they were so close: Austin was shamelessly honest with her mother.
Evelyn sat down at the far end of the U-shaped couch, looking at me. I was grateful the room was only lit with the pale light of dusk as my face and neck heated with embarrassment, knowing how it must sound.
“That's why you wanted to know what she looked like at fourteen,” Evelyn said, putting it together quickly.
Suddenly, I was struck with how obvious my insecurities were, out there on display for her mother to see.
Austin sat up, her gaze meeting mine. If she hadn't already known my what-if scenario was thought out, she did now.
It was the only way I'd been able to deal the past two weeks. I wanted to own her, needed to own her. She was mine. But that video made it hard to believe. And I refused to lose her, refused to let her know how much it affected me. The anal, the toy, her giving me that level of trust helped so fucking much. Still, I had to tell myself every day that video was before us, remind myself I had the same shit in my past—mine just wasn't recorded.
That was how it started.
Actually, it started when we met. I distinctly remembered wishing I'd met her after my mom died—hell, I wish I'd met her before that. Knowing it was impossible, I'd let that irrational desire go—until Dawn and Zach popped into our lives again. It took me back there, wishing I'd met Austin sooner, that I'd never wasted my time with those women.
I wanted all of Austin’s firsts, but that just wasn't possible. So I forced myself to get past it, to let it go. Again.
But the video, that was a whole different level. Watching Austin swallow Ryan's cock was too much for me to deal with. And having met him... All of it played out vividly in my mind.
Ryan’s cock sliding into her mouth, then her pussy, her ass.
I couldn't get around it. I couldn't let it go.
Seeing that video really fucked me up.
So, I started recreating our past. It started as a random thought, then built and grew into an entire alternate life. I was aware how completely insane it was.
But what I saw in Austin's eyes wasn't accusation. It was reverence. Acceptance. I'd hoped she felt the same way I did when she agreed to pretend, but now I knew. She wished it'd just been us from the start too.
Every time I thought I couldn't fall more in love with her, she reacted like this, understanding my insecurities, embracing them.
Her breathing turned shallow as I held her gaze. Something flashed in her eyes, something intense and dark, making hope bloom hot and fierce inside me.
I'd thought I wanted her to be obsessed with me, but this was so much better.
Austin was becoming addicted.
She got off on my irrational obsession. She craved my possessiveness, my jealousy. Her reaction fueled my desire to possess her. Own her.
There's no way two people could be more perfectly suited for each other.
“I would've loved that.” Evelyn's voice broke the intimacy of the moment. “Could've skipped your first boyfriend, the one you made cry.”
In an instant, I relaxed. Evelyn didn't seem put off by my unrealistic fantasy either.
“You made a boy cry?” I nudged Austin, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
“Yeah,” Evelyn answered as Chance hopped up, laying his head in her lap. “He was nineteen. She was fifteen. Made him cry like a baby. He was a sobbing mess on my porch, because she told him—.”
“Mom!” Austin scolded. “Maybe stop telling him everything.”
My chest shook with silent laughter, and Austin scowled at me.
“Not my fault,” I defended, lifting my hands in surrender.
“You could have saved me so many headaches,” Evelyn added, rubbing Chance's head absently while looking accusingly at Austin. Then her gaze met mine. “You can actually handle her.”
“Unbelievable,” Austin muttered, getting up. “You look for oh shit gifts.” She handed me the tablet. “I'm going to get something to drink, want anything?”
“Espresso,” Evelyn ordered, earning her a glare.
“No, sweetheart, I'll do it.” I started to get up.
“No, I can actually work this machine,” she declared with a fake snobby attitude, pointing at me, telling me to stay. “Latte?”
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“Yeah.” I sat back heavily.
“And when I get back, you two are going to be done talking about me,” she called out as she headed toward the kitchen.
Having Austin wait on me felt wrong. It reminded me of the way my father made my mother wait on him, cooking and cleaning like a fucking slave. Earlier, when Austin was baking, it hadn't felt that way, probably because I helped and taste tested everything Austin was mixing.
“You still struggling to deal with the video?” Evelyn asked quietly.
Tilting my head back against the couch, I shut my eyes.
Should've known Austin told her.
I took a deep breath and met Evelyn’s gaze.
“Yeah, kinda fucked me up.” I decided, if they could be brutally honest, then I could too.
“She was devastated that you saw it, that someone could record her without her knowing.” Evelyn kept her voice low, letting me know that Austin’s hearing us discuss it would upset her again.
I really was an asshole.
I had no idea how much it had upset her.
I guess I wasn’t the only one acting like I was fine.
“Yeah, I know. It's not her fault. I'm not mad at her,” I assured Evelyn.
I wasn’t. I’d never been mad at Austin for it. I still wanted to kill Ryan, and I’d give anything to burn the image from my brain, but I didn’t blame Austin.
“Just wish you could erase your pasts,” she added knowingly.
“So much,” I admitted on a sigh.
My phone buzzed then.
Fergus: Dawn is in Denver. I'll be there tomorrow.
Find another place. Use an alias. Call me if she
shows up. Otherwise, see you in the a.m.
7:15 PM
Fuck.
Not being sure how much her mother knew, and not wanting to alarm Austin, I said nothing.
“Can you take any time off from work?” I asked Evelyn.
“I can arrange something, why?” she asked, still focused on Chance. She had fawned all over him since the moment she saw him, and he ate up every second.
