by Violet Blake
If I didn’t get my head back in the game, I had no doubt my heart would tumble with it.
...
A few hours later we sat on the couch in the game room eating popcorn and watching American Ninja Warrior. Correction: I was watching TV. Sawyer was preoccupied with other matters.
“I can’t believe I got you to break the rules.” He reached into the bowl and grabbed a handful of popcorn. My feet were in his lap, and I wore his plaid shirt, sans undies. He wore his boxer briefs, but if I had to guess, he wasn’t happy about any clothing.
Neither was I. But rules were rules, and tonight I’d already done enough damage. “I bent them—we still played a game that involved betting. It was a temporary indiscretion. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
I softened the harshness of my words with a wink, and he threw a piece of popcorn at me. I tossed it into my mouth.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Since we don’t have time for seven times tonight, we’re not at a party, you’re not ready for anal sex, and I’m not at work, what does that leave us for the night?”
“You forgot me tying you up. I came prepared.”
The very idea made me quiver all over. It wasn’t that the idea of tying him up made me all tingly. The thing is, I had to find out if I was really that bland if left to my own devices. I had to prove Ethan wrong. And if I didn’t? I had a whole three weeks to get my skills up to snuff before I went out into the big bad world all on my own.
Sawyer’s silence tore my attention from the TV to him. Gloom twisted its way around him, seeming to suck the light from the room. Frowning, he chewed his mouthful of popcorn with much more deliberation than necessary.
I moved the bowl out of my lap and shifted position so I sat astride him. His hands stayed at his sides, his eyes haunted. The fun-loving guy I’d been spending the last week with had completely checked out.
My fingertips traced his cheekbone. Even his skin seemed cool. “Hey. What’s going on?”
He closed his eyes for a few beats, gave a quick shake of his head, and met my gaze with a smile so brief I almost missed it. “Sorry, I’m just—it’s been one hell of a week.”
Bull and shit. “Anything I can do?”
“How many more rules can we break tonight without the fun police coming for us?” Although his words were playful, his grim voice, almost a whisper, didn’t come close to matching.
This weirdness had to stop. After a hard swallow, I reasoned that maybe the rules were bendable, if they didn’t outright break. “I think we could find a few ways to have some fun.”
“I’m waiting…”
“What if…what if we made you the center of attention for once? You’re always making me have orgasms—”
He snorted. “Making you?”
I sniffed and held my spine a little straighter. “Did I say I didn’t enjoy it? All I’m saying is, maybe you should tip the scales more in your favor.”
“How would you recommend I do that?”
Yeah. How? I bit the inside of my cheek. I could do this, damn it. “Okay. I want you to make yourself come. In front of me.”
His brows rose so high I thought they’d fly right off of his forehead. Just when I was about to turn and run away, a calculating smile took over. “You’re serious?”
“It was dumb,” I said quickly. “I suck at this.”
He caught my arm and hugged me to him. “Not at all. I’m just surprised. I thought you’d have me toilet paper the neighbor’s yard or something.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, come on. I’m not that Mary Sue.”
He pinched his fingers together. “Maybe a little.”
“Ugh. Okay, just…get naked. Take my poor innocent mind out of the clouds and put it right in the gutter.”
He took my hand and licked my fingertip. “Where do you want me?”
I fought a shiver from what he was doing to my finger. My sex throbbed, wishing his finger were much farther south. “Right here?”
He nodded. “This is your wish. What do you want me to do?”
I bit my lower lip and a few scenarios played through my mind. “Is it easier if I’m, you know, right there, or do you prefer to be more…solo?”
“I want you right there,” he said.
“I don’t want to, uh, get in the way, so what’s easiest?”
“Up to you, sweetheart. This is your fantasy.”
I had to make a decision before I passed out from anticipation. So I laid down on my back, with my head resting on the armrest. “Maybe you could straddle me?”
There was no maybe about it. He stepped out of his shorts and positioned himself at my hips, his thighs on either side of my waist. Gripping his huge, perfect cock in one strong hand, he made one stroke from base to tip. A drop of clear fluid appeared at the tip and I sucked in my lower lip, biting it hard.
He pumped himself slowly a few times, and I watched his hard-on grow. His balls tightened against him, and my fingers ached to reach out for him. Because this man? Un-fucking-real.
I still wore his shirt, but it was up high around my waist now. I reached for the hem and pulled it over my head. Sitting up pushed my breasts against his cock, and with his free hand he took one of my breasts into his hand and pushed me back. While his thumb plucked my hard nipple, his other hand stroked his shaft. His movements soon became quicker, more insistent.
I resisted the temptation to reach down and pleasure myself. This was about Sawyer, though, and I wanted to drink in every second of this moment.
Groaning, his movements became more frenzied. “Where do you want me to come?”
I met his eyes, which were so bright and clear they reminded me of sapphires. I could get lost in those eyes. “On my chest.”
He bent down to kiss me. “You have no idea what a turn on it is to watch you watch me. The way your cheeks turn so pink, and your nipples get so red. If this weren’t your dare I’d fuck you so hard right now.”
“Next time, Callahan.”
“Christ,” he moaned. His body jerked, and he came, pouring white cream on my skin.
When he stilled, I propped myself up on my elbows and kissed his neck, his jaw, and nibbled on his earlobe. “Thank you,” I whispered.
His arms folded around me and he kissed me hard, heated. “I’ve never done that with an audience.”
“Never?” I asked. Any woman who passed that up was just stupid. “The world is missing out.”
He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to put that on my resume. Gives awesome hand jobs to self.”
“I’d hire you on the spot.” I stood and smacked his ass.
He settled in next to me and traced the scar on my lower abdomen. “What’s this from?”
I fought like hell against the pain that lingered at the memory. “A scar?”
“How did you get it?” he asked.
Putting a harness on the emotion, I shrugged. “My appendix ruptured.”
“It actually ruptured? Doesn’t that usually end up with people being dead?”
“I made it to the hospital and had surgery and a crap ton of antibiotics just in time.” No thanks to my parents, Ethan, or Breanna, who were under the same roof at the time and couldn’t be bothered. Nope. They were too busy being pissed at me for causing a scene. Frowning, I remembered bits and pieces of that day, clouded over by a haze of the Percocet I’d taken to keep the ever-growing pain away so I could take care of my assigned duties as Ms. Stepford Fiancé that day.
“Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up to face him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just…don’t remember much about it is all, and it was a weird week.” I turned away.
His fingers ran through my hair, skimming my cheek. “I don’t believe you.”
I wanted to tell him the truth. Explain why I was so screwed up when it came to relationships and feelings that I couldn’t be with him the way he wanted. But that would open things up. We’d move outside the friends-with-benefits zone, and that was a region I was n
ot willing to wander when the eventual loss of him would be so crushing.
I couldn’t do it. “It’s Saturday night, and we have one day left for the weekend. Since there’s nothing left for us to do from the list, and we’re not doing the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, so I should go.”
Without hesitation, he tightened his arms around me. “I don’t want you to go.”
I should’ve been relieved. But relief was replaced by a million thoughts, all leading to how staying meant I’d be breaking our rules. Rules that kept both of us safe from being hurt.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked.
“I…I should.”
Tension released from him in a rush—like I’d thrown a dart at him and he deflated. Regret practically slapped me in the face.
“Let me take you home,” was all he said, and rose from the couch. He picked up his clothes and put them on, his motions methodical, automatic.
This was for the best. I joined him, every article I put on making my stomach ache. We got into the car, and he drove me home in silence. When he stopped in my parking lot he got out. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
I nodded and led the way. We stopped at my door, and I fumbled with the keys. His warm hand covered mine, guided the key into the lock, and turned the key. I dared to look up at him and was rewarded with a reassuring smile.
Frowning, I stared into my empty apartment. I couldn’t tell him that I’d spend every moment of every day filled with the fear that he’d follow the same MO as Ethan my family.
Still, I wanted the fairy tale. I wanted true love, a real family, and a life full of happiness. Thing is, opening myself up to let those things in couldn’t possibly have been more terrifying. Every person I’d given my love to had, in return, given me rejection.
Ugh. I peered up at him. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t want to go. It’s just that…well, what if this turns too real?”
His hand hadn’t let go of my hand. “What if it does?”
“I don’t know,” I finally said. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to be your friend, Blair. No matter how far this goes, whether we’re platonic or lovers or whatever you want to call it, I want you. We both have barriers we’ve got to get over, though. So the question is, how do we do that?”
I brushed my thumb along my lower lip, the answer obvious. “We have to talk about it.”
“Why do you think we can’t do that?”
“Because keeping it inside is safe. Nobody can see where you’re hurt.” The idea of something making him hurt almost destroyed me.
His smile was glum but not without understanding. “Agreed. What do you say we not make any rash decisions tonight? We’ll get through the next few weeks and see what happens.”
I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Get through the next few weeks? Am I really that bad?”
He chuckled and drew me close to him. “Hell, no.”
Savoring his warmth and inhaling his intoxicating scent, I mulled over my next move. “Want to come inside? We can have dinner and watch a movie and see what happens.”
“I’m a big proponent of seeing what happens,” he said, and kissed the top of my head.
Well over an later we’d eaten and laid on my couch watching TV. Sawyer snored quietly behind me, his arms bound protectively around me. A horror movie was on, a secret guilty pleasure of mine. This movie was a slasher pic—I preferred the Japanese psych thrillers, but this is what was on—and some bimbo was running through the woods screaming bloody murder.
Sawyer’s body flinched, and he squeezed me. I ran my fingers over his bicep in front of me, and he relaxed. I nestled in and enjoyed the show. The bimbo was hiding behind a tree, and the villain stealthily made his way to where she hid. She held her hands over her eyes and whimpered, and Sawyer tensed his arms around me again.
Probably not the best movie to watch while he was sleeping unwittingly behind me. I reached for the remote on the coffee table but couldn’t quite grasp it.
A terrified, high-pitched scream rang out from the TV. Sawyer made a rough noise behind me, and the next thing I knew, I was thrown on the ground beneath him. He seized my hands with one of his and trapped them above my head. The other arm barred across my neck, pressing into my windpipe. I couldn’t breathe, and struggled to get free. An unholy light shone in his eyes, his nostrils flared, and his teeth bared.
The cry I let out was a sound of unfiltered fear.
In the span of a few breaths his eyes cleared. He blinked. His hands tore from mine and he stood lightning fast.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered, shaking his head and seeming to grasp at the threads of reality.
I stood and reached for his hand, coughing and wiping tears from my cheeks with the other. “I’m so sorry. I was watching that movie, and I realized it was probably messing with your dream so I reached for the remote and then she started screaming and then you…and I…”
I stared at him dumbly, the horror of the situation hitting me full force. My throat hurt and had gone dry. I swallowed, trying to get that horrible painful feeling to go away. He hadn’t said anything, sitting in front of me so still, as if afraid to move.
Tears burned my eyes and I shook my head, swiping them away with my palm. “What happened?”
“I have to go,” he said, his voice broken and rough. He turned and stepped into his shoes, grabbed his keys off the table, and made for the door.
“Wait,” I cried, nauseous with emotion.
But before I could say another word the door slammed behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
By Tuesday I’d checked my phone for a text or email from him more times than were possible to count. Wednesday I checked the online newspaper for reports of John Does. Thursday I hadn’t heard from Jessica that anything was amiss, which lead to a conclusion: Sawyer was avoiding me.
My head was still firmly wedged in my ass. Fear was an awful, destructive thing, and its effects had become debilitating.
This was so stupid, to keep waiting for him to call. Why was I the one who had to sit around, waiting for an explanation, some sort of confirmation that everything was okay? Why did I have to wait for him? Why couldn’t I walk my ass down to his office on my lunch break and tell him how I felt?
Yeah. Why the hell not?
Besides, wasn’t the whole point of the bet to stop being such a weenie and go after what I wanted? Now. That didn’t mean I knew exactly what it was I wanted where Sawyer was concerned. Friends with benefits was fine. Great. But aside from all of that? I knew one thing: I had to know that he was all right.
So. At noon I bade good-bye and Godspeed to my coworkers and ventured off for my biggest journey yet. Suck it, Bilbo Baggins.
Standing at the entrance to the brewery, I hesitated only a little. I could do this, damn it.
I pushed through the door, put on my best daughter-of-a-powerful-politician swagger. For once I was glad I’d opted for heels, and the all-black suit just worked. Yay for serendipity.
The receptionist shifted her attention from her monitor. Although she smiled, I could tell I’d interrupted something important. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Sawyer Callahan,” I said.
She checked her screen, maintaining cool, courteous professionalism, even though I figured a snowball would have a better chance in Hell than I’d have getting a few minutes of his time. “I don’t see that he has any appointments. What is your name, please?”
“Blair Bartlett.” I said it as if I were as significant as Obi Wan. Or even Darth Vader.
“From?”
She probably thought I was a solicitor. Awesome. I lowered my voice and leaned in a bit closer. “We’re sort of…dating.”
“Ah.” Surprise barely registered on her face, but she picked up the phone, never letting her eyes stray from mine. “Hi, Mr. Callahan. I have Blair Bartlett here for you. Sure. I’ll send her right up.”
She hung up the pho
ne and stood. “Come with me.”
Okay. Enough with the friendly stuff. Time to put Badass Blair back on. I held my head high and followed her, each step I took freaking me out a little more. But I was here, and I had shit to say.
We took an elevator up to the third floor, which held the executive offices. On the walls hung pictures of the brewery since its inception more than 100 years ago. Finally, we stopped outside one of the offices and she knocked.
“Come in,” Sawyer called.
Shit. Deep breaths. Don’t trip. Try not to choke.
“Thanks,” I said to the receptionist, and walked through the door.
Sawyer was harried, busy, and judging by the darkness under his eyes, hadn’t had much sleep this week, either.
Were those…glasses? He wore glasses? Black-rimmed hipster glasses, no less. Every geek fantasy I’d ever had—thank you, Skinemax—revved up to death-defying speeds. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and it looked as if he’d spent all morning running his fingers through his hair the wrong direction. My mouth had all of a sudden become the Gobi Desert, and my sex got wet. Sweet mother of pearl, the man was delicious.
Knock it off, hussy. Remember the mission?
He combed his mop out of his forehead with his fingers, revealing row after row of lines. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, and shut the door behind me. I stood with my back to it, mostly because I was shaking and didn’t want him to see that. “Actually no. Things are not okay.”
Was it irritation that deepened those lines on his forehead? Or genuine concern? “What’s wrong?”
“You’re seriously asking me that? You think it’s normal to just get up the way you did and leave and not call me for a few days?”
He winced. “I—”
I held up a finger. “Shhh. I have the floor,” I said in my take-no-prisoners voice. Where had that come from? Clearly I’d been watching too much Judge Judy. “I’ve come to a few realizations. One: I can hide in my own safe little bubble like I have been for the last few days, worried, and waiting for you to call. That is standard protocol for me, which leads to number two.
