by J. C. Grant
Then I realized my thighs were subtly rubbing together.
Stupid girl, might as well write it across your forehead.
“Yes,” I breathed. I could feel David’s stare like a hot hand on my face.
“Were you when you came in the office?”
There was something in Dr. Vaughn's voice that I couldn’t place, but I knew what he was getting at. Did I suffer from PSAS—permanent sexual arousal syndrome. I don’t know why, but the question irritated me.
My eyes rolled in annoyance. “No.”
“Do you know at what point you became aroused?”
Swallowing down my embarrassment, I answered, “When he sat down.” Tilting my head in David's direction, my eyes darted to his thick thighs. “When he sat back, leaned against the arm of the couch and spread his legs wide.” My tongue slid over my lips before I continued. “That's when.” Trying to defend myself, I added, “It's the way he moves. His size. All that muscle... it just... does something to me.”
I noticed then, I'd tucked my chin down, nearly talking to my chest, hiding behind my hair.
It sank in then.
I was ashamed that I was so violently attracted to my husband. Ashamed I couldn’t control it. And afraid he would use it against me—humiliate me.
“Why are you smiling? Does it amuse you?” the doctor asked sincerely.
When I looked up, he wasn't looking at me; he was looking at David.
“It doesn't amuse me, no. But it does make me happy. Why wouldn't it? Knowing I have my wife's attention, knowing I can turn her on just by being me. Of course that makes me happy.”
The doctor didn't respond to David. After a brief pause, he asked, “Did you feel this way toward your last sexual partner?”
“What does this have to do with anything?” I asked, self-conscious with David there, and frustrated with the pointless questions.
“You said the problem was interacting sexually with your co-star. And you believe that’s because of childhood sexual abuse. Yet you're having a very active sex life with your husband, seemingly without any issues. So, understanding your husband's dynamic with you, as opposed to your past relationships, will help me figure out how to help you with your co-star.”
At his explanation, I relaxed, relenting, willing to do almost anything to make this work.
I was grateful David sat quietly while the doctor dug into the actual issue. My issues. My abuse. Every nasty detail I could remember.
Two hours later, I wanted to disappear, crawl into a hole and never come out, or hide behind David for the rest of my life, but we knew what the root of the problem was.
“You're very lucky, Mr. Taylor. Your wife's caveman brain is strong enough to overrule her PTSD. Her attraction to you is solely primal. She's responding to her evolutionary instincts, choosing the best mate to reproduce with. And while this is great for you in the short term, it doesn't bode well for the long term.”
I sat shocked he would insinuate David and I wouldn't last, while trying to absorb his conclusions.
As he spoke, it seemed so obvious. I’d always dated a very specific type, physically. And David was that exact type to the nth degree.
I felt ignorant that I'd never realized it before. He had been sexually aggressive from the start and restrained me frequently—both were triggers for me—but my physical instincts had easily overruled my past trauma. Along with that new information, we also learned, men of similar builds to my attackers would also be a trigger, whether I was consciously aware or not.
I was fucked.
Because lean, wiry body types were the standard in Hollywood.
“Austin,” Dr. Vaughn interrupted my thoughts. “If you really want to deal with this, on a deeper level, I recommend more sessions.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, then clarified. “Yes.”
By the time I climbed in the passenger side of my car, I was already shutting down, disconnecting from the pain.
“How did you get here?” I numbly asked as David pulled out of the neighborhood, easily maneuvering my car through traffic.
“Aaron. He picked me up from the airport, sweetheart.”
“Are you missing something important?” I asked, as I stared unseeingly at the afternoon traffic.
“There's not a fucking thing on this planet more important than what I'm doing right now.” His tone was sincere and calm as his hand smoothed up and down my thigh.
“I don't want you to get in trouble since you just started back.”
“I'm fine. We need to worry about you and fixing this. I got the fixing part covered. But digging up all that shit with that man... I need to make sure you're okay before I do anything else. So lay the seat back, relax, try to sleep. Gonna take you home, cook you dinner, give you a nice, long, hot bath, and put you to bed. And I'm going to stay with you until I know you're okay.”
I grabbed his wrist and his fingers immediately entwined with mine, squeezing my hand tight, almost desperately.
“Austin, the only way our relationship works is if it’s just us.” He tugged my hand into his lap as he glanced over at me. “No third person. No therapist. Definitely, no outside dick.” He pressed my hand to the back of his bulge, making his point, earning him the barest hint of a smile from me. “Just us. We work our shit out together. Get me?”
“I get you,” I breathed.
I did get him, and he got me. So much. He really saw me, every flawed part.
When we arrived home, he did exactly as he said; he took care of me.
And the way he took care of me... the tenderness and gentleness alone made me cry. When I started crying, he shushed me, holding me, rocking me, brushing my hair back, and telling me, "It's okay. It's never going to happen again."
*****
“How are you feeling?” David's voice wrapped around me, gently waking me.
“Okay,” I croaked, my voice raw from the previous night’s cry jag. When I opened my eyes, he was lying next to me, the breakfast tray nowhere in sight.
“Sure?” he checked, his voice full of doubt.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, a small smirk forming on his beautiful face. “Ready to eat?”
At my slight nod, he leaned over his side of the bed, returning holding the breakfast tray, setting it over my lap. I sat up and stared at the Belgian waffles in awe. A scoop of vanilla ice cream, strawberries and blueberries with fudge drizzled over them.
“Babe, you’re the best. This is exactly what I needed.” I leaned over, giving him a sweet kiss.
“You love being married to me?” he asked with a smirk.
“I really do.” I nodded.
“Good.” His lips met mine again, a sweet but firm kiss. “Eat.”
We ate in silence, watching TV. I wasn’t sure who started it, but we leaned into each other, taking comfort from the other’s presence. At least I was.
“I have training today.” His soft voice broke the long silence as his arm wrapped around me, pulling me back with him against the headboard. “But I should be back by three—four at the latest... You sure you're okay for me to leave?”
“Yeah,” I assured him, despite the hollow feeling in my chest. It was going to be awhile before I felt okay, but there was no reason to burden him with that.
His fingers brushed my hair back away from my neck. “Called my guy last night,” he murmured, his breath warming my skin as he pressed his lips to my temple. “After you fell asleep.”
“Your guy?” I asked, snuggling deeper into his side.
“Yeah, my choice—to play me and my solution to your problem. You'll meet him tomorrow at two,” he informed me.
“Okay.” My mind was too clouded and confused to question him further.
Two hours later, after David had left and just as I was getting dressed for the gym, I received a call from Jeff, informing me, “In light of the events on Monday, we think casting Zach Stone might be the right solution.”<
br />
My heart lodged in my throat as I processed his words.
I swallowed thickly. “Ummm... I don't think that will work,” I explained, telling him everything, even the assault at my house. Once he understood the severity of the situation, he agreed Zach was not an option.
"You know the reason I wanted to work with you was because I didn't want any drama on set."
At his words, my chest tightened with panic and I immediately regretted saying anything about the Zach situation.
But he continued on, "On set affairs, dating costars... with the younger cast on TV shows, that's usually a problem—once it ends—one wants the other one off the show, or one threatens to quit if the other one doesn't get kicked off the show. As soon as I saw how possessive David was and how accepting you were of it, I didn’t think you would cause any drama on set—David wouldn't let you. But knowing what Zach did to you, and you didn't go to the press with it, now, I know."
All the tension and anxiety drained away.
“You need to file charges against him,” Jeff added. “Just in case someone at the network wants to push for him... And don't worry, we'll find someone.”
“Okay, I ummm… I just found out this morning, there’s interest from an A-list actor… he’d be very suitable for the part.”
“Who?”
“I don't want to jinx it, but I'm meeting him tomorrow, and I'll know for sure by the end of the meeting,” I lied. There was no way for me to know after one meeting, and David hadn’t even told me his name.
“If it doesn't work out and you don't have anyone by Friday, I'll pick someone from our available options.”
“Okay.” Just the thought of the available options made my stomach turn. I really hoped David's guy was going to work out.
As soon as I got off the phone with Jeff, I called the only person I thought could help me—who wasn't David.
"Austin, what can I do for you?" Aaron answered cheerfully.
"Hey, do you know David's lawyer?" I hedged.
"Yeah, of course. What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.
"I need to file charges against Zach."
"What did he do now?"
"Nothing, the network wants to cast him on the show with me, so Jeff told me to go ahead and file charges for the assault—" I stopped short, not knowing if David had told him.
"Oh, yeah." Aaron sounded relieved. "You definitely want to do that if they're interested in him. Don't worry about it. I'll have his lawyer get that started and let you know what you need to do, if anything."
"That's it?" I asked, dumbfounded that it was that simple.
"Of course. David made it clear, you have access and rights to everything that he has. ‘Treat her the same as me, but better,’” he mimicked David. “It'll be taken care of today, I promise. If you need anything else, call me."
I didn’t know why, but I was a little surprised.
I'm to be treated the same as him, but better?
"Okay, thank you," I said as we ended the call.
Feeling a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, I headed for the gym—with Chance in tow—finally getting my day started.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My bare feet hung off the arm of the couch as my head rested against Chance, using him like a pillow while I flipped through the channels. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. Tracy gave me a brutal workout, and signing the statement to file charges against Zach was surprisingly upsetting. Add that to the fresh reliving of my childhood trauma, I was a mess. My insides were quivering with anxiety while my muscles were too weak to move.
Closing my eyes, I took deep, even breaths and focused on Chance’s calming presence behind me. Before I could make any headway, my phone rang.
“Hey,” David's deep voice rumbled.
“Hey,” I sighed, so relieved to hear his voice tears filled my eyes.
“What's up? What's wrong?”
The way David could read me was unnerving at times, but at that moment it was welcomed. I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand.
“Jeff called this morning...” I rasped. “They wanted to use Zach. And—”
“What the fuck? No fucking way is Zach working with you!” David all but shouted.
“I know, I know. I told him everything. Zach's not going to be on set with me.”
“Fucking bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.
When David didn't say anything else, I added, “They want a definite decision by Friday, or they're choosing someone else.”
“That's fine. I'm telling you, my guy is perfect for you,” he assured me. “It's gonna be fine.”
“Okay.” I really hoped so.
“Wow, that was the last thing I expected to hear today. Fucking Zach...” His voice trailed off, muttering the last part.
Hesitantly, I added, “I filed charges against him today.”
He was silent for a moment. “How?”
“Your lawyer—through Aaron,” I corrected.
“Good girl.” I could hear the grin in his voice. Something about it put me at ease, instantly erasing my anxiety. “Called to see if you wanted me to grab something for dinner on the way home.”
It amazed me, with everything he had on his plate, that he was still so thoughtful.
“I'll do that, just tell me what you want.”
“No, after the shit you just told me, I want your ass at home, where I know it's safe. Now tell me what you wanna eat. If not, I'll cook.”
Honestly, I wanted him to cook. I loved his cooking, but there was no way I could let him cook after training all day and traveling back and forth.
“Just pick up something good.”
I heard him grumble something before he said, "All right, something good it is. Another dinner and movie night in bed?"
I loved how he easily accepted my news and moved on; understanding but not making a big thing out of it. It made me feel normal, like maybe I wasn’t so broken after all.
“Only if I can get a snugglefuck,” I said through a grin.
He growled. “Yes, ma’am, you most certainly can.”
I bit my lip, grinning like a lunatic.
David
“I'll be gone a little longer today, sweetheart,” I said as I climbed out of bed, heading for the closet.
“Okay. What time does it start again?” she asked, still lounging in bed.
Austin couldn't seem to remember anything related to my games, not that I blamed her. I was fairly certain what happened on Monday was not only a trigger but a flashback. I was impressed she was functioning as well as she was.
Initially, I'd been relieved knowing she wasn't going to be able to go through with the show. But one of us should get to do something we loved, one of us should get our dream job.
“One. I should be home by six, eight if it runs long.”
“I wish I could go with you,” she complained in her sexy little rasp.
Goddamn, that made me feel good.
“Me too, but I want this leading man shit settled. Go hang out with him this afternoon.”
I really did want it settled, especially after she told me about the phone call from Jeff. No fucking way was I letting someone else tell my wife who she was going to make out with. I was making that fucking decision.
Fuck, I chose someone for Austin to make out with.
As I stood in our closet getting dressed, I felt that familiar reluctance to leave creeping in. It was getting harder every day to leave her, especially when it was to go do something I didn't like. I was really starting to regret signing up for three more seasons.
“Babe, what time is your take off?” Austin's voice interrupted my thoughts.
Turning, I found her—in all her bare-assed glory—standing in the closet doorway.
“Ten forty,” I answered, staring at the smooth pussy I'd had my face buried in less than an hour ago.
I could still taste her.
“Babe, it's nine,” she said sweetly. “You need t
o leave.”
“I know, but I don't want to,” I admitted, letting my eyes rake over those delicious curves.
“The sooner you leave, the sooner you get back?” she tried.
Meeting her gaze then, I corrected her, “Doesn't work like that—and you know it.”
“I know, I just don't want to be the reason that you're not playing well.”
Stepping closer, I took her face in my hands. Letting my fingers run along her jaw then into her hair, I leaned in close and whispered against her lips, “I'm playing great, sweetheart. Better than I ever have. I'd just rather be with you.”
“Is this because of my meeting today?”
Truthfully, it wasn't. I felt that way every day.
“No.”
“Babe, you gotta leave. Traffics gonna be bad.”
“I know,” I breathed, pulling her in closer, capturing her lips in mine. I kissed her slow and deep, letting her feel how much I wanted her, needed her, and, most importantly, that I owned her.
Austin
I was stepping out of the shower when I heard Chance barking at the front door. Knowing it was the clothes from my shopping binge after dinner at Chow’s, I ignored it, drying off and dressing in sweatpants and a tank while I went through my morning routine and blew out my hair.
The clothes could wait until I was ready to make the trek out to the front gate. And there was always the hope Fergus would bring them in if I waited long enough.
After I was well into the long process of getting ready to get ready, as David liked to call it, I headed for the front door. Chance was still sitting there, waiting.
Opening the front door, intending to make the long walk down to the gate, I stopped short, finding the box on the front porch.
There were two problems with that. One, how did they get inside to leave it on porch? Two, it looked too clean, as if it hadn’t been through any shipping.
Chance sniffed and bumped into the large box. Then butted it with his head, knocking it over. Before I could stop him, he stepped on it, breaking the box open.
