by Gwyn McNamee
When I used to think of home, it was my mother’s house, or my condo. Now, when I think of home, all I see is Dani’s flowing blonde hair, loving blue eyes, and dazzling smile directed at me.
I. AM. SO. COMPLETELY. FUCKED!
The combinations my father drilled into me as a child come back easily. I demolish the bag, pounding it until my arms and shoulders drop helplessly to my sides.
Maybe I should have given this a bit more thought. I still need to actually move in my chair today.
Rick moves from behind the bag and eyes me. “You want to talk about it now?”
“Fuck! Seriously?”
He unwraps my hands and tosses everything to the side. “Yes, seriously. You don’t have the energy to kill the bag again and it looks like it hasn’t done anything to ease your frustration. So, talk.”
Shit.
I run my shaking hands back through my sweat-soaked hair and clench my eyes closed.
“I just feel like I’m failing miserably at the whole relationship thing with her.”
The responding chuckle from Rick only angers me more. “Dude, you excel at everything you do. I’m sure it’s the same with Dani. You are probably overreacting.”
Am I?
He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew everything, but fuck if I’m about to admit my inability to fuck my girlfriend to him, or anyone else for that matter.
“Yeah, maybe.” I don’t know how else to respond. I know he means well, but he’s not going to get anything out of me today.
“If you’re looking for a nice date night for you two, you should come to my sister’s show.”
“What kind of show?” I vaguely recall Rick telling me his younger sister is some kind of artist, but I’ve never been much of an art fan so I didn’t really pay much attention.
I follow him toward the locker room, my arms and shoulders screaming in protest with every move.
“She’s being featured at a gallery next Saturday. Her whole new collection will be displayed. There will be food and wine. It should be a good time.”
An art gallery might not be a bad idea.
“Okay, sounds interesting. I think Dani would enjoy it.”
“Great, I’ll make sure to put you on the list and I’ll text you all the details tonight. Margaret will be thrilled you’re coming. She’s terrified no one will like her work and she’ll be stuck there all night with people giving her dirty looks. A few friendly faces will be greatly appreciated.”
I know the feeling. I sure as hell hope Danika’s face is friendly the next time I see her.
Sitting on the side of the bed, I lean down and slide my shoes on. I sense movement in front of me, and when I sit back up, I find Danika leaning against the doorjamb, watching me. Her four-inch cabernet-red stilettos make her already-mile-long legs look never ending. The shortness of her black sequin dress only adds to the effect.
Her blonde hair cascades in ringlets around her face, stopping just at her shoulders, and as she glides slowly toward me across the hardwood floor, it swings around her. Somehow, she has managed to match her lipstick to her shoes perfectly. How women do that, I will never understand.
The corners of those perfectly-colored lips tip up as she looks me over. Thank God the freeze out of the last week has thawed. She was pissed—rip off my balls if I would let her near them pissed—since the whole lingerie/rejection incident. I don’t blame her, I really don’t, but we also never talked about it.
It’s been simmering beneath the surface and I’ve been waiting for things to erupt. I don’t know what’s been holding her back from confronting me about it, but I know why I haven’t mentioned it—fear.
I am utterly terrified she will leave me if I tell her the truth—if I even can. I don’t even know what I would say…how I would tell her…
“Well, you clean up nice.” She stops in front of me and looks down at me with a grin. I tilt my head back, taking her in as she towers over me in her heels.
I spent my entire life towering over people. At six foot three, most men didn’t come eye-to-eye with me. It sounds petty, and vain, but being bigger and stronger than everyone always gave me a sense of pride and confidence in everything I did. Literally looking down on everyone—everyday—can certainly give someone a superiority complex, but it wasn’t like that for me. It was just a sense of knowing my own power.
Until you lose it, you never realize what being on the same level with someone, what looking at them eye-to-eye, actually means. It’s something I still can’t get used to, which is why I spend most of my time behind my desk at the club and I let Gabe and my various restaurant and bar managers handle all the day-to-day operations.
Danika drops to her knees in front of me and pushes my knees apart so she can slide between them. Somehow, she knows exactly what I need in this moment. She reaches out and grabs the ends of my bowtie, tugging on them gently before sliding her hands up to cup my face.
“There,” she says before kissing me and pulling away with a grin, “now you are perfect.”
“Hmm, I don’t know about perfect.” I push her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“Well,” she replies, getting to her feet without ever taking her eyes off me, “perfect for me, then.”
I catch her wrist as she turns to walk away. Glancing back over her shoulder, she raises her eyebrow in question. “You look amazing tonight. I’m not sure I want you going anywhere public in that dress.”
She grins and turns to bend down and kiss me again. “Don’t worry, you are the only one who will be able to see up it.”
Thank God! I would murder anyone else who even tried to get a peek.
I burst out laughing as she turns and disappears into the bathroom. She’s probably right. “I’ll meet you by the door,” I call as I slide into my chair and head to the living room.
The click of her heels tells me she’s right behind me and she appears at my side, her clutch tucked under her arm. “Ready?”
“Yep, let’s go.”
The ride to the gallery is short, less than ten minutes through the light drizzle falling over the city. Our driver for the evening is a guy I’ve used before. He’s always prompt and very professional, which I appreciate when Gabe isn’t accompanying me somewhere. Frankly, I’m glad he had plans with one of his bimbos tonight, because I don’t want to do anything but focus my attention on Danika and making sure she has a wonderful evening out.
I owe her that…after everything.
We pull up outside the gallery and I usher Danika inside in front of me, trying to prevent her from getting too wet as the drizzle increases to a steady rain. As soon as we enter, Rick and his sister, Margaret, greet us near the door.
“Savage! So glad you could make it!” Maggie bends down and gives me a hug before turning to Danika. “And you must be Danika. I’ve heard so much about you from Rick. Apparently Savage talks about you constantly at the gym.”
Shit.
“Oh, really?” She glances down at me. “And just what does he say?”
Rick looks momentarily stunned. Then, he smiles and winks at me. “Only good things, of course. It’s nice to finally meet you.” They hug briefly before someone grabs Maggie and drags her off into the gallery. She waves a quick wave goodbye to us. “Sorry, she’s being pulled in a hundred directions tonight, but I guess that’s good. I have to greet some more people. I’ll find you guys later.”
We say goodbye and I follow Danika over toward the right wall of the gallery, where a large canvas is hanging, bright spotlights framing it in a white glow. We stop in front of it and examine the painting. A waiter strolls past and offers us champagne, which we both grab, before returning our attention to Maggie’s work.
“Is it just me,” Danika asks, glancing down at me, “or is that a giant vagina?”
I almost choke on my champagne. Coughing to clear my windpipe, I take another sip and return my eyes to the painting. Now that she said that, I can’t see anything but pussy.
“Uh, yeah, vag all the way.”
The reds, pinks, and peaches on the canvas melt together in a vertical, oblong oval.
She laughs, rubbing her hand on the back on my neck. “Do you think it was intentional? Is Maggie some big feminist or something?”
I shrug. “Who knows? I’ve only met her a couple times, and I can’t say she ever seemed to have any sort of agenda, at least not one she discussed with me. But, I don’t think there is any way you can paint something like that and not see it looks like a crotch.”
“Agreed,” she says, squeezing my neck gently, “let’s go see another one and see if the pussy theme continues.”
I chuckle and follow her to the next painting, currently being examined intently by someone I know very well.
“Andrew! I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s been a while.” He turns toward me, and I can’t miss the surprise in his eyes when he sees me. He looks around the room nervously.
“Savage,” he says, shaking my hand, “it’s, uh, good to see you. You’re looking good.”
His eyes dart away from my face and over my shoulder and he shifts side to side.
“Thanks, you too. This is my girlfriend, Danika.” He smiles at her and shakes her hand, but his unease doesn’t sit well with me.
“Nice to meet you.” His eyes aren’t even on her. He’s looking around the room again.
Why so nervous, old friend?
I realize Danika has no idea who he is and that I’m doing a terrible job at introductions. “Andrew and I were roommates in college,” I explain, “but we haven’t seen each other in over three years.”
“Three years?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “Has it really been that long?”
You know exactly how long it’s been.
I smile despite my annoyance at him playing dumb. “Yep, we haven’t seen each other or even spoken since right before the accident.” I watch his smile falter, now that I’ve called him out and drawn attention to his shitty idea of friendship.
“Oh, yeah, I, uh, guess so.” He runs his left hand back through his hair and the overhead light glints off a gold band on a really important finger. I’m just about to ask him about it when I hear a sudden intake of breath behind me.
“Savage?”
I know that voice.
I know that voice all too well.
What the hell is Rebecca doing here?
She slides into view, her hands, holding a bottle of water and a glass of what I imagine is whiskey, shaking visibly. My eyes immediately drop to the very obvious baby bump accentuated by her skin-tight dress and then shift over to the giant diamond on her ring finger.
Andrew avoids eye contact when I look to him. He grabs the whiskey from her trembling hand, taking a long drink before wrapping his arm around her waist protectively.
Jesus fuck!
“Becca.” I try to keep the disdain from my voice, but Danika’s supportive hand on my neck alerts me I probably failed miserably.
“You, uh, look good.” Her voice shakes as badly as her hand, clenched to white knuckles around the bottle of water.
“Looks like I missed something big here. How long have you two been married?” I watch as they look at each other uncomfortably and then the floor—anywhere but at me.
Andrew is the one who finally has the balls the answer. “About two and a half years.”
Two and a half years. She didn’t even wait a year after leaving me to marry one of my best friends.
“Wow, you don’t take long, do you, Becca?” This time, I don’t even bother to try to contain my anger. The tension in the air is as thick as a London fog. Danika squeezes my neck again and then steps toward Becca.
“Hello, Becca, I’m Savage’s girlfriend, Danika. I’ve heard so much about you. I wish I could say any of it was complimentary, but, I’m sure you already know that.”
My heart may have just stopped; my breathing certainly has.
Where the hell did that come from?
I don’t know, but I’ve never been more ecstatic Danika doesn’t have a filter than I am at this moment, seeing the look on Becca and Andrew’s faces.
Turning to me, Danika raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Let’s go enjoy the exhibit.”
I nod and move around a speechless Andrew. Becca, on the other hand, has started that damn whimper that always began before she started to cry. How I ever found her, or that, attractive, is beyond me.
Danika strolls to the far side of the gallery and drops down onto a bench facing another large, vaginal masterpiece. I stop next to her, afraid to look at her after the way I lost my shit in front of my ex.
“No,” she says firmly, “turn around and look at me.”
I sigh and follow her command. I expect to see anger, annoyance, even jealousy in her eyes, but all I find is compassion and understanding. “So…your ex seems like a raging cunt.”
I drop my head into my hands and laugh, and it feels really fucking good. Danika is a genius at pulling me from my darkest moods with her smart mouth. I look up at her and find her smiling at me, watching me expectantly. A waiter passes next to us and she stops him, grabbing two more glasses of champagne.
“We need these.” She hands me one and I drink half of it in one gulp, while she does the same.
That had to be uncomfortable for her, no matter how much she’s trying to be supportive. “I’m sorry…”
“No,” she says, sitting forward toward me, “you don’t apologize for those assholes. Let’s just forget they exist and get back to enjoying all the lovely pussy art.”
Grinning, I lean forward until we are a breath from each other. “You’re pretty incredible, you know that?”
She bats her eyelashes coquettishly. “I do.”
“Good.” I kiss her, intending it to be sweet and gentle, but she slides her arms around my neck and crushes her mouth against me, twining her tongue with mine.
When she pulls away, she smiles at me and stands, draining her champagne before walking over to the painting. “So, what do you think of this one?”
The sexual tension in the elevator on the ride back up to Savage’s place is palpable. We didn’t see Becca and Andrew the rest of the evening. I imagine after our encounter with them, they fled the gallery as quickly as possible. Somehow, we managed to forget the awkwardness and tension of the confrontation and still have a wonderful evening together.
Maggie definitely loves vagina. I don’t know if she’s a lesbian or not, but she definitely has love for the female anatomy. There’s simply no other explanation for the walls upon walls of paintings depicting female genitalia. The snickers and looks from the other patrons at the event make me confident we were not the only ones to notice a theme. That being said, the woman has talent. A lot of talent. If I were a gynecologist, I would have bought one of the pieces for my waiting room. It would certainly be a conversation piece.
Staring at vagina and flirting with Savage all night, not to mention the four or five glasses of champagne we both drank, left me wet, hot, and needy by the time we climbed into the car. Savage must have sensed my distress, because almost as soon as we got on the road, his hand was sliding up my thigh and between my legs.
The moment his fingers found my wet core and clit, I almost cried out in relief. Somehow, I managed to bite my lip and control myself so the poor driver didn’t have to sit and listen to us fooling around in the backseat like horny teenagers.
Two fucking times. He made me come twice during that short ten-minute ride. God, that man’s hands…
Now, this elevator ride is never-ending. The need coiled inside me is driving me to the brink of madness. It has been months, and I still haven’t felt Savage inside me. The man is hung like a horse—I’ve seen, felt, licked, and sucked the evidence.
His desire for me is clear.
But still…no sex.
I’m trying not to read too much into it, but something has to give. After he flat out rejected me after I threw myself at him in the sexi
est lingerie I could find, I almost lost it.
Frustration isn’t strong enough of a word to describe how it felt, how it feels. I gave him the silent treatment for a couple days, but ultimately couldn’t bring myself to cut things off. Not when he sent me his now-signature white roses.
The ding of the elevator breaks my train of thought, and I follow Savage down the hall to his door. I open it for him and Princess jumps up into his lap as soon as we walk in.
“Do you need to take her out?”
“No,” he says, picking her up and letting her lick his face, “Gabe sent me a text about fifteen minutes ago telling me he already took her when he got home.”
“Wow, Gabe beat us home? That’s gotta be a first.” I laugh and run my hand back through his hair. “Let’s go to bed.” He tilts his head into my touch and looks up at me with clear understanding burning in his eyes.
Thank God he needs this as much as I do.
“Excellent plan,” he replies, pulling my hand from his hair and kissing it. He orders Princess to go to bed and she scampers off across the living room to her bed in the corner. He follows me down the hall to the bedroom.
He disappears into the closet to get out of his tux while I slip my off my dress and head to the bathroom.
My heart races in anticipation of tonight. I’ve never been nervous for sex—ever. But tonight, with Savage, it’s different. It actually means something, and that is fucking terrifying. I don’t know how I know it will be tonight, maybe it was the run-in with Becca, but deep in my gut, I know he knows it’s time.
Several deep, steadying breaths later, I emerge to find him already in bed waiting for me, a storm of desire in his gaze. I move toward the bed slowly, watching him watch me. The way his eyes roam my naked body sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine and causes my already needy body cry out for his touch.
“Have I ever told you how fucking beautiful you are?” he asks as I slide under the covers and press my body along his.
“Once or twice.” He drags me from his side until I am lying completely on top of him before he takes my face in his hands and angles his mouth over mine in a possessive kiss. He devours me, sliding his hands from my head down my sides until he firmly grips my ass, pulling me tightly up against his hard cock.
