by Bec Botefuhr
“Youcouldn’thavetoldme,soIcoulddealwithit?Youwentoutof yourwaytomeethim,Sierra!”
“No,”Icry.“Ididn’t.Itwasn’tlikethat.”
“Iheardyoutellhimyouusedtolovehim.Youlethimtouchyour face.”
“Fuck,Marcus,IwaslettinghimtouchmycheekbecauseifImoved, itwasgoingtobetoknockhimoutandIdidn’tthatwouldgodownwell.
Whydon’tyoutrustme?”
“It’snotyouIdon’ttrust,”hebarks.
“Ohbull.YouhonestlybelieveIstillhavefeelingsforhim.Youof allpeopleshouldunderstandhowitfeels,Marcus.Youputmenextto Chayneforalongtime,andyou’vespentweekstryingtoconvinceme shemeansnothingtoyouandyetyoucan’tpossiblybelieveI’mover Ben.Iwastryingtodotherightthing,Iwastryingtomakehim understandthatitwasnevergoingtohappen.DoyouthinkifIwantedto seehimformyownpersonalreasons,thatIwouldhavedoneitoutside theWhiteHouse?”
Marcusdropshisheadintohishandsandhisbreathingbecomesdeep andragged.Iputmyhandonhisback,runningmyhandsupanddown.
“Marcus,Iwantyou.Howmanytimesdowehavetogothroughthis possessive,jealouscrap?Ineedyourtrustasmuchasyouneedmine.”
Helooksupatmeandhiseyesareglassyandpained.
“Idotrustyou,sweetheart.Butseeingyouthere…ithurt.”
“Iknow,butIwasjusttryingtogetridofhim.Ihavenothingleftfor Ben,notagoddamnedthing.”
“Therewasaphotographer,”hesighs.
“Iknow.”
“Thatwillbefrontpagenewstomorrow.”
“Whatarewegoingtodo?”
Herubshistemples.“Ihonestlydon’tknow.IfChayneseesthat,she mightjusthaveenough…”
“Wedidn’tdoanythingMarcus,wedidn’tgetcaughtkissing.”
“No,Isupposeyou’reright.It’snothardevidence.”
“I’msureitwillbefine,letthemthrowitatus.”
Heleansbackinthechair.“Iwantyoustayingwithmeuntilthis blowsover.”
Inod,notbotheringtoargue.He’snotgoingtohearit,nottoday.We bothfallsilentandremainthatwaytheentiredrivetohisplace.Whenwe getin,hewalksinsideanddropshisbriefcaseandphoneontothekitchen bench.Heturnstome,unfasteninghistie.Ifeelmychestclench,the lookinhiseyesisthatofexhaustionandpureconfusion.Likehe’sjust hadenough.HaveIleadhimtowonderwhyhe’sbotheringwithme?
HaveIruinedagoodsituation?AreMarcusandIjustdestroyingeach otherslowly?
“I’mgoingtohaveashower,ordersomedinnerok?”hesaysina tiredvoice.
“Ok,”Iwhisper.
HepullsoffhisshirtandIcatchaglimpseofhisbackashe disappearsintothebathroom.Withasigh,Ipulloutthemenusbythe phoneandlookthemover.Iordersomepastaandredwine,thenIchange outofmyschoolclothesandgetintosomecomfycottonpantsanda singlettop.WhenMarcuscomesoutwithatowelwrappedaroundhis waist,Ican’thelpmygaze.Ittravelsoverhisdamp,hardbody.Hishair isdrippingdownontohischeeksandgod,helookssodelicious.Imakea mewlingsoundandwantsobadlytowalkoverandtearthattowelclean offhisbody.
“Sierra,”hewarns.
“Doyouregretme,Marcus?”Iwhisper,meetinghiseyes.
Henarrowshiseyesandshakeshishead.“DoyouthinkIregret you?”
“You’relookingatmerightnow,likeyou’reexhaustedandtiredof trying.Likemaybeyouregretgettinginvolvedwithmebecauseithas causednothingbutpain.”
Hewalksover,stoppinginfrontofme.Icanfeeltheheatfromhis bodyagainstmyskinandIshiver.Hegripsmyface,titlingmychinup.
“I’vefeltalotofthingsinmylife,Sierra.I’vefeltpain,anger, disappointmentandregret.Iknowthemalltoowell.WhatIknow,right here,rightnow,withyou…isthatIloveyou.It’snoteasy,butInever expectedittobe.Inever…everthoughtChaynewouldgodownwithouta fightandthiswouldjustbeawalkinthepark.Iwillfightuntilmylast breathforyou,SierraWalters.Youshouldknowthatbynow.”
Ilookupintohiseyes,andIdotheonethingthatwilllethimknowI feelthesame.ThatI’mwillingtogivemyselftohimcompletely.ThatI trusthimandmostofall,thatIlovehim.Ilowerslowlytomyknees.
Whentheyhitthefloor,Ilookupathim.
“Sir,”Iwhisper.
“Baby,”hemurmurs.
“Itrustyou.Iloveyou.Iwantallofyou.Iwantitall,rightnow.”
Hekneelsdowninfrontofme,takingmyfaceinhishands.“You’re toobeautifultobeonyourknees,sweetheart.Ithoughtoncethatwas whatIwantedfromyou,butyou’vetaughtmethatcontrolisn’t everything.Thathavingasubmissiveisn’teverything.Yougiving yourselftome,it’swhatI’vealwayswantedfromyou,butbaby,you don’tneedtobeonyourkneesforanyone,everagain.”
IfeeltearsfillmyeyesandIgriphisface.“Iwanttodothisforyou, Iwantyoutodothisforme.”
“Thenwe’lldoit,butyouneedtogetoffyourknees.You’renot lowerthanme,Sierra.You’rerighthere,inperfectline.”Hesays, tappinghisheart.
Hehelpsmetomykneesandtogetherwestand.Hegripsmyhips andliftsme,puttingmybottomontothecounter.
“Nomoreknees,butyoucanstillcallme‘sir’.”
Ismileandlaughsoftly.“Youcantakethemalefromthedom,but youcan’ttakethedomfromthemale.”
Helaughs.“Thatmadenosense.”
“Itdidinmyhead.Idon’twantyoutochangeforme,Ikindoflike yourcontrol.”
“Ohdon’tyouworry,youwon’tescapemypossessivecontroleasily.
It’sjust…Iwantyoutoknowinthebedroom…it’snolongeraboutthat tome.Makinglovewithyou,onthesamelevel…baby…itdoesn’tget betterthanthat.”
Igivehimahalf,lazysmileandstrokemyfingersoverthestubble onhischeek.Beforewecansaymore,ourpastaarrives.Marcuspaysthe deliveryboyandthencomesbackin,placingitonthecoffeetable.We bothsitonthegroundandopentheboxes.Thesmellofcheese,garlic, tomatoandpastafillsmynoseandIgroan.Mystomachagreeswithme byrumblingloudly.Marcuschucklesandpourstwowinesandweboth begintodigintothefood.Mid-waythrough,Idecidetoaskhim somethingIhavewantedtoaskhimforawhilenow.
“Doyouthinkwe’lleverbeabletodothiswithouthiding?”
Heplacesaforkfulofpastaintohismouthandthinksamoment.
“Yes,Iwouldliketothinkso.”
“DoyouthinkChaynewilljustgetoverthisandmoveon?”
Hefrowns.“No,thatmuchIknow.”
Ifrown.“Iwishshecouldjustseeit’soverandleavenicely.”
“Sheknowsthere’salotofmoneyupforgrabs.”
“Money,it’sanevilthing.”
Henodshishead.“Right.Openyourmouth.”
Idoasheasks,andhepopshisforkfullofpastaintomymouth.I giggleasIslideitoffandchewthedeliciousmorsel.
“Didyoujustfeedme,MarcusHarrison?”
Hegrins.“Idid.Nextwe’regoingtocurluponthecouchandwatch amovie.Imay,ormaynotcopafeelwhenIpretendtoyawn.”
Ilaugh.“Arewegoingtomakeout?”
Hewiggleshisbrows.“Ithinkwe’regoingtomakeout.”
“Secondbase?”
“Ifyou’relucky.”
“Arewegoingsteady,Mr.Harrison?”
Hegrinsandleansbackagainstthechair,pattinghisfull,butstill firm,belly.“Ithinkwe’regoingsteady,MissWalters.”
“Well,damn!”
Withthat,Icrawloverandpositionmyselfinhislap.Hewrapshis armsaroundmeandgrins,pressinghislipstomyhead.
“Whatarewegoingtowatch,sweetheart?”
“Ohyouknow,somethingtotallyscarysoIcanburymyfaceinto yourarmwhenI’mafraid.”
“Niceplan.”
“I’mfullofthem,”Isay,snugglingcloser.
“Youwannaknowsomething,sweetgirl?”
“Always.”
“Iloveyou.”
Ifeelmyeyesburnwithunshedtearsathiswords.Ipressmynose intohischestandbreathhimin,deeply.
“Wannaknowsomething,sexysweet?”
Hechuckles.“Always.”
“Iloveyou,too.”
CHAPTER12
SIERRA
“Whatthefuck?Getmethenumberofthatfuckingreporterright now,Candice.”
IjerktothesoundofMarcusyelling.Irollandgroan,mybodyis pleasantlyachingafteronelong,hotnightofMarcusandme…well…
fucking.Well,itwasmoreofacombinationactually.Sexandmaking love.Isitupwearily,runningmyhandsthroughmyhairandtryingto detangletheknots.Iwishwecouldallwakeupassexylookingasthe girlsinthemovies.Seriously,theywakeupwithperfecthairandmakeup.It’srudereally.
“Findit,Candice,now!YoutellthemIamrequestingit.”
IrubmyeyesandturnmyfacetothedoorwhereMarcusisyelling athispoorassistant.Whathasshedonenow?Igetoutofthebedandpull onsomelightclothes,thenIwalkoutintotheloungewhereMarcusis pacing,backandforwardandclearlyfurious.Whenheturnstofaceme,I seesomethinginhisgazethatworriesme.It’spityandalookof sympathy.Godwhathashappened?
“Findit,Candiceandcallmeback.Ineedthatarticledown.”
Heslamsthephoneclosedandwalksovertome,carefully,asthough he’sapproachingsomeonewhoisabouttobreak.
“Sitdown,Sierra.”
Iblinkafewtimes,confused.
“What’sgoingon?”
“Thatreporteryesterday…hereleasedanarticlethismorninglikeI predicted.”
Ifrown.“Hecouldn’thavegottenanythingtooserious.”
“Hedidn’t…it’s…Sierrasit.”
“Whatisit?”Isay,feelingmystomachclenchwithnerves.
“Please.”
Isitdownonthecouchandhegripsapaperinhishand,Ididn’teven noticeitsittingonthetablebesidehim.Hewalksoverandsitsinfrontof meontheoppositecouch,meetingmygaze.God,Marcusislookingat measifI’mnotgoingtolikewhathe’sabouttoshowme.Whatdidthe reporterpossiblycatchtocausethisreaction?Afewpunches?Imean honestly,howbadcoulditbe?
“RememberwhenItoldyouChaynewouldgotoanylengthstobring medown?”
“Yes,”Iwhisper,myvoicefartooshakytobeusedrightnow.
“Well,IthoughtmaybeshewouldtrytocatchusoutandtrytosayI wascheating.Clearlyshehasn’tbeenabletodothat,soshe’sgonetothe nextbestthing.”
“Andthatis?”
“You,Sierra.Shethreatenedtouseyou,andItoldhertostayaway but…”
“Whatdidshedo?”Isay,myvoiceahigh,shriek.
“Sierra…IneedyoutounderstandI’mgoingtodealwiththisand…”
“Showme!”Iscream.
Hecloseshiseyesandhandsmethepaperwithamurmuredsorry.I flipitoverandmyworldstops.Itjustendsrightthere.Ittakesmea momenttofocusmyeyesenoughtoevenreadwhat’swrittenunderthe pictures.There’sthreeofthem.ThefirsttwoarewhatIexpected,thelast oneisnot.Ihearmyownragged,painedcrycomefrommylipsasmy eyesscanoverthepictureIneverwantedanyonetohavetosee,ever again.Istartwiththetoplineofthepaper,andread.
MARCUSHARRISONCAUGHTUPINASEXSCANDAL.
Thetoplineisbold,outthereandcoveringtheentiretopofthepage.
Icontinuereading.
SierraWalters,formerassistanttoSpeakeroftheHouse,Marcus Harrison,wascaughtyesterdayinalovetrianglebetweentwomen.Our reporterscaughtthemomentasBenjaminFord,theownerofalarge company,showedupoutsidetheWhiteHousewhereSierrawassaidtobe waitingforMarcus.Asyoucanseefromtheexchange,BenandSierra weregettingquitecloseuntilMarcuscaughtthem.MarcusHarrisonwas saidtohavepunchedBenjaminFord,usingwordslike‘she’smine’and
‘stayawayfromher.’OnlookersclaimthatBenjaminfoughtback, fightingforSierraalso.ItseemsSierraWaltershasherselfcaughtin quiteatriangle.Havinganaffairwithatakenman,whileleadinganother on.ItseemsSierrahasquiteapast,twoyearsagoshewascaughtupina relationshipwhereshepracticedBDSM.Sierrareportedherformerlover afterhetookthingstoofarandlefthertiedfortwodays,afterhe whippedhersomuchitscarredherbody.ItseemsSierrahasn’tlearned herlesson,becauseshe’sbackformore,puttingherselfbetweentwo dominantmenandtakingtheriskoncemore.
Istareatthefirstpictureonthepage.It’sBentouchingmyface.The reportercaughtitjustasIclosedmyeyessoitlookslikeI’menjoyingit.
ThesecondpictureiswhenMarcusgrippedmearoundthewaist,itlooks likehe’sholdingmetight.MyhandsaregrippinghisandI’mlookingup athimwithwhatlookslikedeepconcernandlove.It’sthethirdpicture thoughthathasmystomachheaving.It’sapictureofmethatthepolice tookwhenIreportedtheassault.Obviouslythereporterdoesn’tknow Benwastheonewhodidit,ortheywouldn’thavepostedsuchcrap.I stareatthepicture.Iamskinny,mywristsarebleedingandthereisa smallglimpseofmyscarredbottom.It’snotenoughtobeconsidered exposure,it’smorethesideofmyhipwherethescarstravelupto.The policetooknumerouspictures,andIdon’thonestlyknowhowthis reportergotholdofthem.Howdotheygetholdofanything?
Istand,mylegstrembleasIstandanddropthepaper.Marcusstands quickly,reachingouttotouchme,butIslaphishandawaysoangrilyhe winces.
“Don’tfuckingtouchme.”
“Sierra…”
Iturnaround,havinglostanyrationalthought.Ishoveathischest, hard.Ipushandpushuntilhe’stakingstepsbackwards.
“Youknewshewasgoingtouseme!Shethreatenedyouandyou knewshewasgoingtohurtme!”
“Ididn’tknowshewouldtakeitthatfar,Sierra.”
“Imadeamistaketrustinganyofthis.Nowtheentireworldknows aboutmypast,somethingIhavemanagedtokeepsecretforsolong.Over you!You,Marcus!You,whoisfarmoreconcernedabouthiscareerthan hisgirlfriend.Ishouldhaveknown,thisisn’tevenyourfault,becauseI shouldhaveknownIwouldneverfitintoyourworld.Yourjob.Your money.Yourpower.It’snevergoingtoworkwithmebecauseI’llnever catchabreakwhileChayneisaround.”
Iturnandrushoff,hedoesn’tsayanythingforalongmoment.Long enoughthatImakeittothebathroomandslamthedoor.ThenIfallto myknees.Iscreamandcry,grippingmyhairandheavingasreality washesthroughme.Theworldseenwhathappened.Theworldknows.I cannevershowmyfaceagain.Nothere.Notatschool.I’mdone.This willruinme.Marcusbangsonthedoorfuriously.
“Sierra,openup.Letmetalk.I’llfixthis.Iwilldestroywhoeverdid this.”
Idon’tanswer.
“Babyplease,letmein.”
Istilldon’tanswer.Hetriesandtriesforagoodhour,butIthinkpart ofhimwon’tbargeinbecauseheknowsitwillonlyendbadly.He’s silentamoment,andthenIhearhimonthephone,talkingsoftly.
“Quinn,Ican’tgetheroutofthebathroom.Sheneedsyou,please comeover.”
Hedisappearsforamoment,thenheknocksagain.
“Sierra,Ihavetogoanddealwiththisatwork.Pleaseopenthedoor, sweetheart.”
Ituckmykneesuptomychinandwrapmyarmsaroundmylegsand closemyeyes.Notwantingtoanswer.Ican’t.I’msohurt.Sobroken.So scared.
“Sierra,Idon’twanttoleaveyoualone.Openup.”
Heslamsonthedoorangrily.
; “Comeon,Sierra!”
Ifeelhottearsstreamdownmycheeksatthefrantictone.He’s worried,Iknowheis.Iknowhefeelsguilty.Idon’tblamehim.I’mmad athim,yes,butIdon’tblamehim.Iwentback.Ishouldhavelethimdeal withChaynebeforeIeversteppedbackintothepicture.Wouldthathave doneanygood?Wouldithavestoppedher?Idon’thonestlyknow,but whathappenedyesterday…thatcouldhavebeenavoided.Ishouldhave neverletBencometoseeme.IopenedmyselfandMarcusuptothis hurt.Icouldhavequitepossiblyruinedhiscareer.He’sbetteroffwithout me.Idon’tfithisworld.
“Sierra,Ihavetogo.Quinnishereok?Iloveyou…”
ThenIhearsomefainttalkingbeforethefrontdoorcloses.Hewent towork.Heleftmehereforwork.Ifeelmoretearsstreamdownmyface.
IwasfoolingmyselftoeverbelieveIcouldfit.Ihearafaintknockonthe doorandthenQuinn’svoicefillstheroom.
“Babygirl,openup.”
Iletmykneesgoandcrawlovertothedoor,unlockingit.Quinn opensitcarefullyandwhenheseesmesittingpitifullyonthefloor,his facesoftensandhelowersdowntohisknees.
“Oh,babygirl,whydidn’tyoutellme?”
IbeginsobbingloudlyandQuinnwrapshisarmsaroundme,pulling metohischest.
“Iwasashamed!”
“Whodidthattoyou,Sierra,wasitBen?”
Inodintohischest.
“Jesus,Sierra,youshouldhavereportedhim.Whydidn’tyoutell someone?”
“Iwasashamed.Ilethimtiemeup,Quinn.Ilethimdothosethings andonedayhetookittoofar.”
“Itdoesn’tmatter,heshouldhavebeenreported.”
“I…I…Idon’tknowwhattodo.HowcanIpossiblyrecoverfrom this?”
“Youwill,babygirl.Marcuswillfixthis.”
Iclosemyeyesandmytearsdrenchhisshirt.
“Iamleavinghim.”
“Sierra…why?”
“Ican’tbethisgirl.Ican’tbesecondbest.HeknewaboutChayne.
Heknewshewouldhurtme.Heleftmejustnowtogotowork.Hedidn’t eventrytobargeinandhelpme.Heisholdingback.Iknowhe’strying toprotectme.IamtheonewholethimhavemebackandIshouldn’t have.Ishouldhaveleftit.Ishouldhavelethimtakethetimetoend thingsproperlywithChayneandthisneverwouldhavehappened.It’smy faultBenwasevenattheWhiteHouseyesterday.Thiscouldruin Marcus,andit’sallmyfault.Ican’tdoittohim…orme.”
