The London Sisters: The Complete Series: Bonus Content Edition

by Abby Brooks

  The good news is that I don’t have to fake a damn thing. The meatballs are delicious. I moan and my eyes roll closed. “Shit, woman. Smart. Sexy. Beautiful. And you can cook? How perfect can you be?”

  She beams and takes a bite, blushing as she chews. We talk as we eat. I ask her about her family and she goes on about how wonderful they are. She tells me about her sisters—love shining in her eyes.

  “Our childhoods couldn’t be more different,” I say and take a bite of meatball.

  She shakes her head, suddenly self-aware. “I can only imagine. I’m sorry for going on and on.”

  “No need to be sorry. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hear it.”

  “Was it hard? Growing up in the foster system?”

  “I think growing up is just hard. Period.” I shrug, not sure I’m ready to show her the stark contrast between her memories and mine.

  “That’s true.” Chelsea smiles and I know that she’s giving me the out, searching her head for a safer topic. I surprise myself and keep talking.

  “From what I gather,” I say, stabbing the last meatball on my plate. “You were raised. For better or for worse, your parents instilled a sense of belonging and this burning desire to succeed in you. Me? I raised myself. Forged who I am despite the people and influences working against me.”

  She nods, conceding the point, guilt casting a shadow across her face. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  “But,” I say, leaning forward to catch her eye. “I’m not so sure it was a bad thing. I’m quite comfortable in who I am. All the things I am, I chose to be, you know? I don’t doubt my wants and needs because I understand where they come from.”

  “I never thought about it like that. I’ve often wondered who I’d be if I wasn’t busy trying to live my life the way my parents taught me. Trying to live up to who they want me to be.”

  “You’d still be you. Good and sweet and wonderful. And maybe a little more okay with being a lowly physical therapist.” I make sure she catches the sarcasm in my voice and sees how much I respect her job.

  Chelsea picks at the food left on her plate, a flurry of thoughts parading across her face. “How did your parents die?” she finally asks.

  I sit back in my chair and clear my throat, dropping my eyes from hers for the first time since we sat down. It’s the one thing, the one thing in my past I haven’t made peace with. The one part of myself I don’t want to share. Don’t want her pity or her judgement.

  “It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head, an apology in her eyes. “I was out of line.”

  I think of her in the kitchen, bared to me in more than just the physical sense. She showed me her soul tonight and here I am, hiding mine from her in return. That’s not fair or right or just.

  “They were murdered.” The words taste like ash.

  Her lips part. Shock. Pain. Regret. They dance on her face in the silence. “Oh wow…” At least she didn’t say she was sorry. So many people go for that. Empty words to fill the space, designed to make themselves feel better.

  “My dad was involved in a crime ring in New York. All kinds of illegal stuff. Guess he got started with them when he was a teenager and then just never got out. He didn’t climb very far up the ranks. I don’t think he was an ambitious man. But he got in deep enough, I guess.” I want to watch her face as I talk, but I’m mostly speaking to my plate. “According to my grandma, my mom was okay with it in the beginning. Liked the danger, I guess. And the easy money was probably nice, too. But after I was born, she wanted him to get out. And it didn’t take long until he wanted to get out. Building a better life for his family stopped meaning providing all the material things and started meaning providing the stuff that matters. Safety. Protection. The ability to sleep at night. That kind of stuff.”

  I glance at her and she’s rapt. Her eyes trained on mine. No judgement. No pity. Nothing. It’s not at all what I expected and everything I should have expected because when hasn’t she been exactly what I needed?

  “He thought he got out,” I say. “But I guess the mob had other ideas. They broke into our house and killed my mom while my dad watched and I hid under the table in the kitchen. She fell to the floor in front of me, her blood sneaking out towards my hands while my dad screamed. The sound…” I shake my head. “It haunts me.”

  Chelsea reaches across the table and touches my hand. Silent support.

  “The guy came for me next, digging under the table for me.” A memory, harsh and ugly. My hands smearing in my mother’s blood as I tried to push away from the snarling man who would kill me. I won’t share that with Chelsea. It’s mine to bear. “My dad shot him. The guy didn’t die right away, turned and killed my dad and then died, half under the table with me.”

  I finish the story and regret everything. That was my story. Mine and no other. I’ve never shared it with someone who wasn’t my grandma or a therapist and I don’t know what caused me to share it today, but I wish I could scoop it back up and hide it away. Take it all back and return to flirting and laughing with Chelsea.

  “How old were you? Six?”

  I nod.

  “That’s a lot to carry.” Her voice is soft, her focus trained on me. In this moment, I am all that she sees and I refuse to buckle under the scrutiny.

  “It was. It is. I think things would have turned out a whole hell of a lot differently if it hadn’t been for my grandma. She was determined to raise me up strong enough to carry it all.”

  “Was she your mom’s mom or your dad’s mom?”

  “My dad’s. And she was hell-bent on making me better than him. In showing me how to find my own true north and keep my moral compass pointed that way. I had four good years with her until she passed. And those four years were the foundation that kept me sane while I was bounced around the system.”

  And there it all is. Well, the majority of it anyway. Out there in the open for Chelsea to study and digest. I thought it would be uncomfortable, having everything out in the open like this, but it almost feels good to share it. And good that of all the people in the world I could share it with, I chose her.

  “Sorry,” I say, swiping up my wine with a flourish and taking a quick sip. “Not exactly second date material.”

  “This doesn’t exactly feel like a second date.” Chelsea takes a drink of her own wine. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m glad to know you. To skip past all the parts where I have to guess at the things that made you the man in front of me and just get to the truth of it.”

  “I do appreciate a general lack of bullshit and prefer to get right to the point.”

  Chelsea laughs. “I may have noticed that about you.”

  “Oh yeah? And what else have you noticed about me?”

  “That you’re good and you’re strong and you see right through the bullshit other people put up. You see who they are underneath it all. You see me, I think. Maybe even better than I see myself.”

  “Not yet,” I say. “But I’ll get there.” I stand and gather our plates. “If you’ll let me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Max and I settle into an exhilarating routine of being the sole focus of each other’s attention. Here I thought that I had the unique ability to obsess over something, to put all my attention on one thing in a way that puts other people to shame. Turns out it’s unique to the both of us.

  He writes me these beautiful emails, long and detailed, discussing the most intimate parts of who he is and where he comes from. I learn about the good foster families and the bad. I learn about the things that used to scare him and the stuff that still does. I learn about the nightmares that overtake him, the memories that cloud his days and send him into his house, shades drawn, a deep frown etched into that handsome face.

  In return, I pour my heart out to him as well, both in person and through text. I tell him the things the demon-bitch in my head says. Tell him how I feel I will never be enough to satisfy anyone. I show him the deepest, darkest parts of m
yself, the parts where I am nothing more than a scared little girl inside, trying my best to get it all right and failing miserably all the while.

  He texts me first thing in the morning.

  Good morning, my beautiful.

  And I respond, each and every time.

  Good morning, my knight in shining armor.

  My phone is always with me. In my hand as much as possible because we are constantly in contact, even while we’re at work. And as soon as we’re home? I’m at his house or he’s at mine and we’re talking, laughing, learning more about each other. And the sex…

  Holy shit.

  The sex is amazing. He guides me and controls me, maybe sensing the fact that I’ve never done much more than lie on my back in a bed while some man grunts over top of me. I never considered myself inexperienced before. I mean, I’ve had my fair share of partners. But I’m learning that there’s a whole new world of experiences that Max is going to open up for me. Experiences that both scare the hell out of me and excite me at the same time. I’m at once unnerved by the bareness of it all and turned on by the fact that I’m sharing this kind of secret double life with Max. That he knows things about me and I know things about him that no one else knows.

  This is intimacy and it builds fast between us.

  Tonight he’s coming over with toys. Like, adult toys. And yes, I know I’m an adult, but no, I’ve never used them. Like, never ever. The day I admitted that to him, he looked at me with some strange mixture of shock and pity and disbelief so strong I felt ashamed. Of course, he saw that shame and pulled me into his lap, pulled out his phone that very moment and started browsing a section on Amazon that I’ve never been to before. He asked me what intrigued me, letting me look and read and explore, being patient as I worked through the heavy weight of embarrassment pushing down on me and begging me to be silent.

  In the end, I asked him to choose, because for the most part, I felt like I’d be willing to try just about anything I saw. He smiled and hid the phone from me, clicking on way more items than I thought appropriate and purchasing them on the spot. When I asked what he picked, he told me it was a surprise and that we’d get to play as soon as they arrived.

  I got a text this morning saying that the packages had arrived and I am not at all ashamed to admit that I have thought about nothing else since then. The fear of the unknown mixing with the tantalizing secret, mixing with just the little taste of danger that some of the more illicit items aroused in me. I don’t know what we’re going to do tonight and the expectation is sublime.

  After a very distracted day at work, I arrive home and shower before spending more time picking out my underwear than I do my actual outfit. Max is taking me to dinner, but I don’t know if I can eat. My belly is twisting in excitement. I’m perched on the couch when he knocks and practically sprint to the door, letting him in with a strong gust of mid-November air.

  He’s got a bag with him. A big bag. And I can’t get my eyes off it.

  “What did you bring?” I ask, reaching for it as he snatches away.

  “Patience, sweet girl.”

  “I used up all my patience today. I am officially out of patience.” I reach for the bag again. “What’s in there?”

  Max moves the bag out of my grasp. “You are being very naughty, little girl.”

  “Maybe I like being naughty.” I bite my lip, doing my best to look scrumptious and irresistible.

  Max’s eyes go dark. “Naughty girls need punishments.”

  Adrenaline mixes with lust and I am on fire. “Maybe I need you to punish me.”

  Max advances on me. Wraps his fist in my hair and pulls back, exposing my neck, so I’m looking up at him as he peers down at me. “I am in charge of your needs. I will decide if, when, and how you need punished.” He presses a kiss to my lips and a surge of desire pools between my legs. “Do you understand?” he asks, his lips brushing mine.

  I nod, blushing and smiling and so turned on I’m almost embarrassed. I love it when he takes control like this. Love it when he claims me.

  He releases me and opens the bag, pulls out a box about the size of his hand. “I think—you naughty, needy girl—that you’re right. You need to be reminded who’s in control here.” He opens the box and pulls out a swatch of red lace, a small black oval, and what looks like a remote. “Put this on.”

  The lace turns out to be underwear, the oval, a remote-controlled vibrator that fits into a slit in the panties. And the remote control? All his. I do as I’m told, a mess of nervous expectation, and he tests the remote, cycling through the different speeds from a low buzzing hum, teasing me awake, to a full on, orgasm-building vibration that has me panting and fighting for control.

  “Do you like it?” he asks. “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes,” I say, breathing heavy. “It feels very good.”

  “Good. Grab your purse.”

  My eyes go wide. “My purse?” He can’t actually mean to take me out in public like this, all turned on and totally at his mercy.

  “Yes, Chelsea. Your purse.,” he says dismissively, turning the vibrations off. “I’m hungry.”

  I hesitate. The thought of playing with all our new toys in the safety of my home was such a turn on. The thought of being at his mercy out in public? Where I might lose control? Where I have to trust him to keep me from making a total fool of myself? That’s a little more daunting.

  Max eyes me, all strong and dominant as I falter. “Trust me,” he says. “I will take care of you better than you understand yet.” He runs a thumb across my cheek, hands me my purse, and heads out the door, sending a wave of vibrations through my body with a flick of his finger on the remote. I grab my coat and follow him out in the night.

  He plays with me in the car ride, bringing me to the point of coming time and again, only to turn everything off the moment before I fall over the edge. Meanwhile, he speaks about work. About Reagan. About Charlie. I can barely concentrate. All I know is that I am ready to burst. He takes me to a crowded bar and grill. Loud music. Louder conversation. All the better to cover up the hum of the vibrator in my pants, I guess.

  I get a brief reprieve as we head to our table and the hostess hands us the menus. The moment I sit, he turns it on the lowest setting and leaves it there.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

  I fight the urge to roll my hips, my body aching for more friction. “Yes,” I say, letting my eyes burn into his, hoping he sees how very exquisitely turned on I am.

  “Me too.” He drops me a wink and sends a surge of vibration my way. I jump and squeak and blush furiously as he drops it back to the lowest setting. “I like seeing you lose control. I like it even better knowing that you’ve given it all to me.”

  When the waitress arrives—a perky thing who gives my parted lips a strange look—I order a Long Island iced tea and Max orders a Guinness, both of us needing extra time to decide just what we want for dinner.

  “Did you see the way she looked at you, naughty girl?” Max raises the speed of the vibrations. “She could see how turned on you are.” He leans forward. “I can see how turned on you are right now.”

  I swallow hard, my eyes fluttering. “Is this how you like me? Totally at your mercy, ready and waiting for you?”

  “This is exactly how I like you. Writhing in pleasure, knowing that ecstasy is around the corner.” He lowers the vibrations again. “When I decide it’s time, that is.”

  I manage to choose a meal, though I don’t know how since concentration is pretty much a non-issue. When our waitress comes back with a drink, I blurt out the first item that catches my attention on the menu, a burger and fries that I’m sure I won’t even be able to eat.

  “So, my naughty little girl,” Max says after ordering his own meal. “Have you even thought to wonder what your exact punishment is?”

  I giggle. “You mean sitting in a public space, being teased to the brink of orgasm and back isn’t it?”

  “And just what a
bout that is bad enough to count as punishment?”

  “The embarrassment.”

  “You don’t look one bit embarrassed to me. You look really and truly alive. Excited even.”

  I fidget, nervous again. He’s right. I have very much enjoyed this game. This secret between us, my pleasure at the tip of his finger. I’m not so sure that I’m ready for the rules to change.

  “But what if I brought you all the way to the brink of orgasm…” He flips through the speeds and my muscles clench, my hips rocking forward against my will. God it feels good. Too good. So good that I might just fall over the edge right now. “What if I don’t pull you back?”

  My eyes go wide and my breath quickens. I watch him watch me and can see the lust in his eyes. He is enjoying this almost as much as I am. My muscles begin to flutter, the orgasm so close and just as I begin to fall, the panic of public humiliation dancing deliciously with the danger of our secret, he turns the damn thing off.

  I moan audibly, distraught at the fading of pleasure.

  “Not yet, Chelsea. Not until I decide you’re ready.” He smiles at me, an adorable little quirk of his lips that makes me want to kiss him.

  I don’t come in public that night, even though Max brings me so close I can taste it more than once. But when we get back to my house? I come not once, not twice, but three earth-shattering times until finally, when my body is spent and limp, Max comes too, thrusting himself inside me while I cry out his name.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You doing anything for Thanksgiving next week?”

  Charlie has been quiet today and that’s not at all like him. He’s just been sitting there, quietly picking at his pizza, barely making eye contact.