The Boyfriend Collector, Two

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “What’s up?”

  “You were right about not changing the rules. We made a deal, and I’m holding you to it,” he says bluntly. “My office. Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock.” The call ends, and I know this because the moment I ask what he’s talking about, I’m greeted with silence.

  I sit up, drop the phone to my side, and push the heels of my palms against my eyes. “What now?” And which part does he want to hold me to? Of course, the bigger question is, why can’t I just let him go? Because this is killing me. I want him more than I want to breathe, and I can’t seem to decouple our lives.

  Perhaps what Waylon said is true: some bonds define us.

  The next morning, having only slept a few hours, I get up and spend the day getting the rest of my legal affairs settled. Specifically, signing another mountain of papers that give access to all sorts of accounts—lines of credit, cash, and accounting records—as well as specify who will inherit it all should both Bex and I die. A grim thought. Anyway, in the absence of children, I named a well-known local charity for homeless and abused girls as my sole beneficiary. Frank said it will take a few weeks for the mansion’s deed to be transferred to them as well, something I planned from day one.

  Merry Christmas, girls. I certainly don’t want that huge house—too many bad memories—but with the right funding from Hale Enterprises and the public, the Peachtree Blossom estate, with its seventeen acres of land to run and play, is going to make a lot of children feel hope.

  As for me? I’m numb. I can’t feel a thing. I could be dragged off by a little green spaceman or kidnapped by a crazy vampire from that new Fanged Love series I discovered, and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash. I could be anywhere, with anyone, and underneath it all I’d still be that lost servant girl, living in a dark room the size of a closet, believing in fairytales and that someday I will be free from a pair of monsters.

  “Any update on my legal case?” I ask Frank as he gathers up the papers in a folder. I have to take them to my “husband” to sign. I’ll do it tonight.

  “I guess that means you stopped watching the news,” he says.

  The news lost meaning when people, who know nothing about me, started talking about my life. I also haven’t spoken to Bex much over the past week. “I figure if anything important happens, I’ll find a pack of wild paparazzi outside my door again.” Thankfully, they’ve been quiet since I got back from Italy yesterday.

  “Your grandparents were released on the attempted murder charges,” Frank says.

  “Oh. Fantastic.” Numb. I feel nothing.

  “They’ve been ordered not to leave the state until the other charges have been reviewed by a judge.”

  “That’s good news, right?” I ask, with a tinge of hope in my voice.

  “Could be. It means the DA feels there’s sufficient evidence to pursue the case. That, or he didn’t want the bad press we threatened him with should these two cutthroats walk away unscathed. I think he’s got his eye on State Attorney General.”

  “So there’s still a chance they’ll get prison time?”

  “If they’re charged with embezzlement and fraud, their assets will be frozen again. If they’re convicted, they’ll lose everything.”

  “And the stuff that’s in my aunt’s name or out of the country? Their yacht? Their villa in the Virgin Islands or whatever?” I’m not exactly sure what they own, but they’re too cunning not to have millions stashed away for a rainy day.

  “Generally, those assets take much longer to get at, if the US courts have any reach at all.”

  Meaning I shouldn’t hold my breath. It’s more than unfair; it’s just plain wrong that they get to keep even a solitary sock purchased with my stolen money. Nevertheless, how much time am I going to spend stewing over this? None. I can’t allow myself to keep spinning and spinning over the things I can’t change. Or want and can’t have?

  I stand and hold out my hand. “Thanks for all your help.”

  Frank shakes my hand, but his expression turns to a grimace. “I think you should reconsider my earlier suggestion. Maybe go back to Europe?”

  He wants me to go into hiding. Preferably outside the US, where it would be harder to track me down since I’m not as well known there. “If I go anywhere, it’s going to be on vacation, not to live like I’m in witness protection.”

  Frank nods solemnly. “Then I wish you luck, Ms. Hale—or do you go by Mrs. Hughes now?”

  Mrs. Hughes makes me instantly think of Bex. Ms. Hale makes me think of how much I want to be called Mrs. Hughes for real. I can’t win.

  “Rose is good. Thanks.” I grab the folder and slide it into my oversized purse made of a used potato sack. Found it at a flea market in Florence for two dollars. I would have paid twenty. I like unique, underappreciated things. “Keep me posted.”

  I head out to the lobby and grab my phone to call an Uber.

  “Ma’am,” says one of the men who are guarding me again. I almost forgot they were there. It’s like they melt into the shadows and then pop out unexpectedly from nowhere. “It might be safer if you just let us take you where you need to go.”

  “No, thanks. I’d like to at least pretend I’m a normal person.” I don’t care how big the threat is; I refuse to be a prisoner of fear.

  The man gives me a nod and holds the door open. “Just be sure to verify the driver’s ID.”

  “Got it,” I say.

  As I wait for my car to arrive, it dawns on me that everyone is nervous as hell. They see the writing on the wall and think I’m insane for carrying on. But Gertie and Mel can suck it if they think I’m going to let them steal one more minute of my life.

  No, it’s not a perfect life, but it’s mine and at least I have… My mind jumps to Bex and our last conversation. He sounded like a man who’d reached his limit, and the thought of losing him makes my heart ache. But so does continuing on like this, pretending I don’t still want him.

  I spend the rest of my day trying to focus on college applications. I’ve decided to shoot for a few out-of-state universities in the fall. My SAT scores were decent, and my high school GPA from being homeschooled was respectable. I’m unsure if any of that is enough, but I’ve got the means to go anywhere I want now, and I owe it to myself to try. Worst case, I can reenroll at the community college here and try to transfer somewhere else later. I wish I could just get my head together.

  My mind is on loop, pretty much playing out what I think will happen tonight: Bex cutting ties for good. Maybe I pushed him too far. Maybe he’s realized that my needs and his hero complex aren’t compatible.

  No. No. That’s wrong. He said he was holding me to our agreement. But which part?

  By the time I get to Bex’s office that evening, wearing a light blue dress and boots, I’m a nervous mess.

  “All clear, Ms. Hale.” One of my two shadows pops from Bex’s office and gives me the nod.

  I go inside the waiting area, dimly lit by a small lamp on the end table next to one of the couches. Hailey’s workspace is empty, everything put away for the day.

  “Bex?” I knock on the frost glass door to his office, left ajar.

  “Come in,” he says in that deep voice I’ve become addicted to.

  I enter and find him sitting at his desk with his head down as he signs a paper. Just seeing him makes me feel anxious—lust, yearning, aching in my heart. I want him so much, it hurts.

  “I have some more to add to your workload.” I slide the folder of legal documents from my purse and place it on the corner of his desk.

  “Frank mentioned you’d be dropping them off.” He looks up at me with those stunning blue eyes, and I’m frozen in place, captivated.

  “Take a seat.” He glances at the couch.

  I nod, but I don’t lie down or try to get comfortable. I sit up straight like I’ve got an ironing board strapped to my back.

  Bex doesn’t take his usual armchair this time. Instead, he grabs whatever he’s working on, places it in his drawer, an
d turns off his desk lamp, leaving the room bathed in warm orange light from a floor lamp in the corner.

  He looks at me and folds his hands neatly on top of his desk. “Do you know why I asked you to come, Rose?” His tone reminds me of a school principal. Not that I ever had one, but I’ve seen them on TV when I was lucky enough to sneak it in the kitchen.

  “I’m guessing you’re unhappy about something, but I don’t know what.”

  He nods slowly, eyes locked on me. I feel my skin tighten against my bones as a chill washes over me. Only, it doesn’t feel bad. I like it when he looks at me. Even now, when he’s angry, he looks as sexy as fuck.

  “Why don’t we start with reviewing the rules. You remember them, don’t you?” he asks with displeasure in his tone.

  “Yes.”

  “Then repeat them,” he demands.

  “Why…?”

  “Because I’m asking.”

  “Fine. Complete honesty and obedience to the process—but those are for your patients, and I’m not—”

  “In here. In this office, you’re what I say you are, Rose,” he growls in a low voice. “And right now, you are a liar. You are my patient who’s broken my rules, and there is only one way to make it right.” He leans back in his chair, resting his hands over his stomach. I suspect he has a set of hard abs underneath there. Bex is a disciplined man.

  As for me, I could just get up and walk away or tell him to go fuck himself. I know I could. Which is why I am allowing this to play out. It’s within my power to say yes or no, and right now, I want to be here. I want to come clean.

  He rises from his desk, and I notice how his movements are slow and deliberate, like he’s making an effort not to punch a wall or something. I’ve never seen him like this—so intense. Actually, not true. He was like that yesterday when I left his office.

  He takes his place in that infamous chair to face me. Just two feet of air is all that stands between us now, and I suddenly don’t feel so in control anymore. I can’t hide behind my words or dance around the truth—not that I want to anymore.

  “Why don’t we start with the night you had sex for the first time,” he says.

  I blink. Is that what this is about? “You want to talk about losing my virginity?”

  “Yes. Why don’t you describe it to me, in detail. What he did to you?”

  “Wh-why do you want to hear about that?” My stomach does a flip.

  “I ask the questions, Rose,” he says. “Your job is to answer honestly and to be obedient to the process.”

  I hate the word obedient, and he knows it. I told him the first time we met. “What part would you like to hear?”

  Bex smiles slowly with a wicked gleam in his eyes—not the reaction I expected.

  He crosses his legs. “Tell me what he did,” he says calmly. “I want to hear about every touch, every lick, every thing he did to make you ready for him.”

  “Okay, Bex. What’s going on?”

  “I lied to you. That’s what’s going on, Rose.” His voice is slow and deep.

  But didn’t he say I lied to him? “Sorry?”

  “Our relationship isn’t unconditional,” he adds.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I have needs, and if they’re met, you stay. If they’re not, you go.”

  I’m so confused. We went from talking about my virginity to this? “So you’re threatening me. I have to tell you the intimate details of my sex life, or I’m out of your life?” Has he gone insane?

  “I’m giving you a chance to stick to the rules.” He uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “I want you to tell me how he touched you. How it felt.” Bex’s hand is suddenly sliding up my dress, stroking my inner thigh. “Did he do this to you?”

  I freeze. Not because I fear him or because his touch is unwelcome, but because I’m afraid of how much I like what he’s doing—his warm hand, dangerously close to my most intimate of places.

  “No.” I shake my head, my voice just above a whisper.

  “Mmmm…” Bex’s hand goes higher, and I feel his fingertip brush over my panties. He barely makes contact, but it’s enough to produce a pulsing, throbbing sensation, starting from my clit, all the way inside my core. “How about that? Did he touch you there?” he whispers. “Did he make you wet before he fucked you?”

  I still don’t move. No one could make me wet like he does.

  His hand catches the delicate fabric of my panties and pushes it to one side. “Then he must’ve done this to you, Rose.” He slides a finger over my clit and gently runs it between my soft folds. “Because only an animal would fuck you for the first time without making sure you were completely ready.”

  He takes his free hand and slides up the hem of my dress so he can watch himself touching my pussy.

  I can’t look down. I can only watch the carnal look on his face as he strokes me, spreading my wetness over my clit, but not entering me.

  He’s being careful. He knows. He knows I’m still a virgin, which means he knows I’ve been lying about sleeping with all of those men. What I don’t understand is why this is the punishment.

  My mind cares. But my body doesn’t.

  He withdraws his hand and stands. He starts unbuttoning his shirt slowly, like he’s enjoying every second of this and wants me to see he’s in control. This office is his world.

  He sheds his shirt to the floor, finally giving me a glimpse of those hard abs with a dark trail of hair running below the navel. I don’t know where he finds the time to get so ripped, but he’s hotter than I imagined.

  Bex starts unbuttoning his black pants, and that’s when I notice the prominent bulge at eye level.

  “What are you doing?” My voice is shaky. My mouth goes dry, and I lick my lips. It’s like he’s tuned in to my sexual fantasies and knows how much the male anatomy turns me on. It triggers something primal that I’ve had to suppress or, at the very least, had to rely on my imagination for. When it comes to Bex, I’ve fantasized about his long thick cock and how he likes to push my limits with it.

  He continues, “You’re going to show me some of the other things you did with those men. It’s time our therapy went deeper.”

  Reality bleeds into fantasy when I look at him gripping his shaft through his pants. I know what he wants me to do: explore his body. Learn, take, use, whatever. A man like him wouldn’t have it any other way.

  He stands closer and runs his free hand over the top of my head. I look down at the outline of his stiff cock straining against his light gray underwear, gripped tightly in his bending hand like he’s offering it to me.

  I want it. I want to see, so I reach for the waistband still hugging his hips, and slide it down, leaving him standing there in front of me. Hard.

  I glance up at his intense face—jaw muscles tight, eyes slightly narrowed, his lower lip trapped between his teeth.

  I’ve never done this, but I’ve imagined it. With him.

  I slowly wrap my fingers around the thing, testing the velvety soft skin encasing the hardness. Bex’s entire body flinches under my grasp, and the look on his face transforms to something more carnal, as if he wants to fuck like an animal. I like it. I’m in control, and he’s ready to take whatever I want to give.

  I slide my hands around him and grip his firm ass, pulling his hips closer to me. He asked me to show him what I did with those men, but really, he was asking me to do it to him. Even if those were just stories.

  I part my lips and suck him in, cupping him by the ass. There’s a moment when I feel dirty for liking it, but then I remember that this is my husband who’s at my mercy, groaning loudly as I swirl my tongue around the underside of his shaft. Even if we weren’t married, I’d want this. I trust this man. I love him. He’s sexy as hell, and I couldn’t be luckier to have him for my first sexual experience.

  Unsure how far to take him, I back off and slowly slide him in again, this time a little deeper. His deep, guttural sounds only make me wetter and hotter. I repeat the proc
ess, letting the crown of his long, thick shaft push to the back of my throat while I squeeze his flexing ass. He holds the back of my head with just enough pressure to guide my movements.

  The pace quickens, and I wonder if I can go all the way. I can’t lie, I’m curious, but the other part of me wants to see him come. I want to watch it like some dirty little porn movie all for me. Bex’s cum jetting on my stomach or all over my pussy, but I want to see the moment he loses his mind.

  Suddenly, Bex pulls away and once again takes his hard cock in his hand. He squeezes down. “Not yet.”

  I look up at him. “What do you mean, not yet?” I wanted to see that. I’m twenty-one, married, and I’m so fucking hot for this man that one touch, one puff of air from his general direction, and I’m going to orgasm. I want to watch him come, and then whatever happens after that will be fast for me. I won’t need much. Maybe he’s worried that he won’t be able to fuck me after he ejaculates.

  “It’s okay if you want to…you know…finish another way,” I say. “I’m on the pill. I’m read—”

  He pulls up his boxers and pants and closes his zipper.

  “Uh…what are you doing?” I ask.

  He walks over to the door and opens it. I clamp my legs shut and shimmy down my dress, unsure if the bodyguards are in the waiting room or hallway.

  “This session is over.”

  I lift one brow. “Over?”

  He looks at the open doorway. “Yeah, over.”

  I’m sitting on his couch, aching and throbbing in places I didn’t even know I had, and he’s kicking me out?

  He adds, “You want more from me, you’ll have to try a little harder in our sessions. No more bullshit. No more lies, Rose.”

  I lower my voice. “I just did that to you, and you want me to try harder?”

  He waits with his jaw clenched and his dick still straining against his pants.

  “Fine.” I throw my hands in the air and stand. “You want to play it that way.” I grab my purse and head for the door, stopping right in front of him. “But the way I see it, you’re the one who’s not following the rules, Bex. So why not just say what’s going on in that head of yours?”