Calendar Girl: October: Book 10 (10 page)

He was answering every question I asked, but his tone, the way he went about it, was all wrong. With unbelievable accuracy, he yanked my hips up so I was supporting my weight on my knees when he plowed into me. I cried out, screamed rather. Even though he’d worked me up, I was nowhere near ready for the spike of steel between his legs. His cock was hard as stone and unrelenting as he slammed into me.

“Gonna take you over and over, sweetheart. Need it. Need your sweet cunt. Need your wetness. It’s so dry, so fucking dry. I can’t breathe!” He pounded into me, leaning over. “No moisture. You’re my oasis in this hell hole,” he murmured while biting into the skin of my lower back. He bit down so hard I shrieked, but he only bit harder.

It stung so bad, but at the same time, his dick was hitting that spot inside that made me keen. Over and over, he battled his demons with every brutal thrust, taking me higher and higher.

“Get me out of here, sweetheart. Take me away,” he begged.

It was too much—the pressure, the sting, the accuracy of every press and release into my body. I couldn’t stop my body’s response. I orgasmed, my pussy clutching him hard, but he didn’t stop and didn’t release. Over and over he powered into me until he took me over the edge again and again. He was mindless in his pursuit of my pleasure, but he didn’t come.

Finally after the fourth time of shooting into the stratosphere, I collapsed down to the mattress, but he held tight to my hips. “No! Need you. Need you to make it go away,” he cried out, sobbing through it.

With energy I didn’t know I had left in me, I pushed back, kneeling on my knees, impaled on his cock. He tried to push me back down but instead I bumped him back. His dick finally left me as he fell to his ass. I turned around and straddled him, pushing my knees against his thighs and my hands against his biceps. It was like one of those bug displays where the butterfly was pinned to the board. I had my guy pinned. He was so exhausted he allowed it. Thank God.

Tears streamed down his face as he shook his head from left to right. His skin was covered in sweat.

I got really close to his face. “Look at me!” I spoke loud enough to break through the noise of his sobs. His eyes shot open. Pupils fully dilated. Just as I suspected, he was locked deep into the flashback.

“Wes!” I was yelling. “Come. Back. To. Me.” I kissed his lips and each time gave him love, stability, and his home. I could feel him start to participate more, until finally, his fingers tunneled into my hair holding my head, our lips hovering over one another. “Mia…you’re paradise,” he whispered against my lips, licking the bruised flesh.

“Wes…” I kissed him with every ounce of love I had. Deep, tongue tangling, lip bruising, soul affirming presses, until I said the one thing that sealed it. “Remember me, Wes. Baby, remember us,” I whimpered and his eyes flashed open. Nothing but green orbs the color of fresh cut grass on a sunny morning.

“Nothing will ever make me forget you, Mia. Forget us. You’re my forever. The only reason to fight this is for you…my personal paradise.”

“Baby, I love you,” I choked over the emotion swelling in my chest.

“God, Mia, saying I love you isn’t enough.”

With his lips, he proceeded to tell me what he couldn’t say.

Thank you.
His kissed my forehead.

Thank you.
He kissed the apples of my cheeks.

Thank you.
He kissed my neck.

Thank you.
He kissed my lips.

He repeated this circuit until everything disappeared and we were on an island nestled deep within the safety of our love. Nothing could break that paradise. Nothing.

T
he building was tall
, ridiculously ostentatious inside, and filled with businessmen and women in smart suits that probably cost more than my motorcycle. Wes gripped my hand so tight I kept wringing it until he’d loosen his hold. Our palms were moist and sticking together as we walked through the building’s cavernous lobby to the elevators. I scanned the directory and pressed seven. Lucky number seven. One could only hope.

“Why are we here?” Wes sighed and leaned against the back of the elevator.

I huffed and leaned into him. “You know why. It’s time.”

“I’m fine,” he grated through his teeth.

Tipping my head, I cocked a hip and stared into his eyes. “Really? We’re having this conversation
again
? Because last night, I don’t think you were the one that had a hand around her neck, was pinned down while the man she loves went for her hoo-hah.”

Wes’s nostrils flared, and he ground down on his teeth so hard I could hear the slight grinding sound of his teeth coming together. “You know I would never hurt you.”

I got up close, pressed my chest to his, cupped his cheeks, and forced him to look at me. “Intentionally, no, I don’t think you would. But you aren’t always the man I wake up to. Sometimes, it’s the man who’s fighting for his life, the man who watched a woman he cared for brutalized daily, the man who, for a month, has used sex to put a Band-Aid over the gaping black hole in his heart. Baby…”

Wes wrapped his arms around me. “I’m doing this for you. Because I can’t fathom the thought of hurting you. I don’t want to ever repeat last night. It was lower than low. I don’t even know how you can look at me, let alone stand by my side. I’m so goddamned selfish. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you with me. Please don’t leave, Mia.”

Exhaling all the air in my lungs, I kissed his neck. “I’m never leaving you.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. We exited hand-in-hand, together but wounded. Last night was the last straw for me.

We made it to the frosted door that had Anita Shofner, Psychologist written in bold black block letters. I opened the door and entered a waiting area. In the corner was a receptionist’s desk where a woman who could have doubled as Angela Lansbury sat. She looked up with cool blue eyes, and her entire face warmed as we entered.

“Um, we have an appointment with Dr. Shofner.”

She smiled, picked up a clipboard and handed it to me. “Here you go. Go ahead and fill this out and the doctor will be with you in”—she looked up at the clock; it was a quarter to four—“the next fifteen minutes. Typically, a session finishes up about five minutes ’til.”

I nodded and led Wes over to a set of firm arm chairs. I helped him fill out the paperwork even though he was perfectly capable. The tension surrounding him could be cut with a knife, it was so thick. I rubbed his forearm while his knee bounced. Seeing him so anxious was new. I’d seen Wes in all different settings but never in one where he was openly uncomfortable. Downright leery even.

I twined our fingers together, brought his hand up to my lips, and kissed the back of his hand. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’ll be in there with you. If, after fifteen minutes, you still feel uncomfortable, we’ll bail. Okay?”

He inhaled deeply and let it out. “Okay. It’s fine. I just…I hate what happened, and continuing to talk about it makes me think that it’s going to bring it back even worse.”

I shrugged. “That very well may be, but in the end, it should give you some closure, help you heal so that it eventually becomes part of your past and not your present.” I was spinning a line of bullshit so thick I could hardly see in front of me. I had no idea what seeing a shrink that specializes in post-traumatic stress disorder would do for him, but every single person I’d chatted with swore by it. Said he had to get help, work it out. I thought I was doing a good job reminding him of what he had, loving him openly, but in the end, maybe it was part of the problem. Only thing I knew for sure was that last night was bad.
Really
bad, and I never wanted to experience that again or be afraid to lie down next to the man I loved again.

The door opened and, to my surprise, Gina DeLuca walked out. She hadn’t noticed us yet, but when Wes noticed her, his hands tightened painfully around my fingers, cutting off all circulation. Gina was speaking in a hushed voice, wiping her eyes with a wad of tissues she held. The woman next to her was rubbing a hand up and down her bicep, and then, methodically, she pulled her into a hug. The doctor consoled and hugged her. Yep. That’s all I needed to see to know that this was the right place. She operated on love and compassion, and that’s exactly what my guy needed.

Gina turned around and stopped abruptly. Her wet eyes lit up, and a wide smile split across her lips. “Weston, you came.” She shook her head and held her arms out. He moved to her on autopilot, pulling her into a big hug. A pang of irritation that he had to touch her at all rippled down my spine. I clenched my hands into fists to hold back the ridiculous jealousy that surfaced every time I saw the actress. It was unreasonable, I knew, but I couldn’t help it.

Wes stepped back, and Gina gave me a tentative wave. “So you’ve finally agreed to take my advice and see Dr. Shofner. That is so great. She’s been a godsend to me. Call me later in the week if you want to talk about, you know”—her shoulders slumped, and her expression went from jovial to defeated in a split second—“uh…anything that she wants you to work on. Not that you need help but, ugh…” She shook her hands as if they were wet and pumped them. Finally, she sucked in a breath. “Anyway, good luck. I hope she helps you as much as she has me.”

Then she was off, racing out the door like her heels were on fire. Yep, my jealously was sorely misplaced. That woman was broken in every way and needed the friendly face Wes provided. There was nothing between them but trauma at this point.

Wes cast a glance at me, his eyes sad and remorseful. I held his hand. “Nothing you could do. Let’s see about this doctor, eh?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. We turned around and the doctor held the door open. “You must be Weston Channing and Mia Saunders. Please do come in.”

We entered the room, and the scent of vanilla hit my senses. A cream-colored candle in the corner was lit, offering a comforting scent that went well with the room. An entire wall to the left was filled floor to ceiling with books. Neatly lined medical texts along with a few rows of fiction titles I recognized and another holding the greats.

During my time with Warren, I had gotten a lot of reading in. Same with Alec. Both men were huge lovers of the tomes, and I’d discovered a quick fascination for the classics. Books I’d not bothered to read during high school like
Great Expectations
by Dickens,
Romeo and Juliet
by Shakespeare gave me an escape into another time where things should have been simpler but weren’t. Living life was filled with people, relationships, love and fear. As with anything in life, no matter what era, everything revolved around the simple act of love or the fear of something unknown.

The doctor’s desk, an enormous antique cherry wood desk with round legs and beveled edges, sat along the back wall. It looked sturdy enough to need more than two men to lift it if the doctor wanted to work on her feng shui. On the right wall was a sitting area with a coffee table. A long striped couch in shimmery golds and whites faced into the room. Two high-back reading chairs faced the couch, creating a cozy vibe I appreciated.

“Please, have a seat.” Dr. Shofner gestured to the sitting area.

Wes led me to the couch, and after I sat down, he sat next to me. When I say next to me, I mean he was practically on top of me. His hand clasped mine, and he pulled it to his lap where he proceeded to cover it with his other hand. The doctor noted the movement but didn’t mention it. Wes was very clearly out of sorts. It wasn’t every day one saw a man so self-assured clinging to a woman in such a way.

The doctor sat in one of the tall burgundy chairs, crossed her legs, and rested her chin on her curled knuckles. Her honey-brown hair was done up in an elegant chignon, a pair of tortoise-shell glasses perched daintily on her nose. She wore navy slacks and a beige scoop-necked blouse. Her look was professional, yet approachable. A single charm dangled off a gold bracelet around her pale wrist. It had a heart, and I imagined briefly that someone who loved her had given it to her as a gift, maybe a husband or child. I looked around the room, and from where I was sitting, I could just barely see a family photo facing her chair. Another point for the doctor. A family woman. Her reputation, the help she was giving Gina, and the fact that she was a woman with a family made me believe she could potentially help my guy get through the trauma of his experience in Sri Lanka and Indonesia in a loving way.

Dr. Shofner glanced at me and then Wes. “I understand that the two of you are here because you are having some problems from a recent tragic experience.”

I nodded. Wes didn’t budge or say a word. “And this trauma is affecting your relationship?” the doctor hedged, poking a bit into the personal nature of why we were there.

“Yes,” I stated firmly.

Wes’s shoulders tightened when he spoke. “I almost forced myself on Mia last night. I was stuck in the middle of a dream,” Wes stated flatly. “I don’t want to ever do that again or risk hurting her. I love her. We plan to get married. Can you fix this?” He rushed the request out so fast I just stared and waited for the doctor to respond.

Dr. Shofner licked her lips and clucked her tongue. “Okay, well, I hope to help—” I cut her off. “He didn’t force me to do anything, and he most certainly didn’t hurt me. More than anything, I was surprised and rattled because the night terrors routine has changed. I’m not sure how to bring him back anymore.”

The doctor held up two hands. “Whoa, whoa. Night terrors. Routines. Assault. Marriage. Let’s slow down. Mr. Channing…Weston…can I call you Weston?”

Wes nodded.

“Okay, Weston. I know who you are. I’ve read the papers and have an inkling of what you may have undergone.”

Of course, we’d just seen Gina leaving her office. Obviously, she’d told the doctor what had taken place.

The doctor clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward. “You’ve experienced something that no human being ever should. Captivity is something you
survived
. It does not define who you are.” She sat back and let out a slow breath. “Now, what we need to do is talk about your personal experience. Go through the event and discuss it, no matter how off-putting or vile. We can do this alone or with Mia here. It’s up to you.”

Wes looked at me and then away. “For now, she stays. But maybe the next session, when we uh”—he cleared his throat—“talk about the details, we can do that alone. Is that okay?” He directed the question at the doctor but was looking at me. Through all of this, he still wanted my approval. What he didn’t realize was that I just wanted him to be better, to come back to himself. Find peace. I smiled big and squeezed his hand.

“Okay, so since we have Mia here this session, why don’t we talk about this issue of force you mentioned.”

I rolled my eyes and was about to deny it,
again
, when Wes placed a finger over my lips. “Sweetheart, what happened was intolerable. I’m afraid to sleep by your side tonight. That’s why I agreed to come here. If this will help, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I tipped my chin and watched my strong man, the love of my life, tell a stranger about our torturous night.

“Often, I have night terrors. Mia has figured out a way to bring me back from them,” Wes said.

“And that is?” she prompted, lifting her notepad off the table and scribbling some notes.

Wes’s cheeks turned pink, and he opened and closed his mouth. The shy guy thing was ridiculously adorable and made me want to kiss him repeatedly until I, too, held that rosy glow. He lifted a hand and cupped the back of his neck, rubbing it and shaking his head.

“We make love,” I answered softly, wanting to save him even a speck of embarrassment.

The doctor smiled. “And how does that bring him back?” The question was directed to me.

“I don’t know exactly. At first, he’s really angry, sweaty, his eyes completely dilated. He usually wakes with a scream or cry, or I have to wake him by turning on the light because he’s thrashing around.” The doctor made some notes and waited for me to continue. I checked that Wes didn’t want to continue in my place, but he just gave a gesture that said keep going, so I did. “Sometimes I can tell he’s still there.”

“There?” The doctor’s eyebrows rose.

I twirled a lock of hair around my index finger, thinking about how to respond when Wes jumped in.

“In the dream, on the compound, in that hut chained to a wall, sitting in my own filth.”

I leaned back, hoping he’d take the reins.

“Then it’s like I hear Mia through a fog, or from very far away asking me questions.” He frowned and looked at his shoes, his gaze intent on the loafers he’d paired with a dark wash pair of jeans.

“What questions?” the doctor interrupted.

He shrugged, not lifting his gaze, his shoes seemingly the most interesting thing in the world. “If I love her. Where I’m at? Those types of things. Usually, that helps bring me back. But then I’m…uh…you see, my lower region uh is so…” He couldn’t continue even as he gestured to a part of his body that made me weak in the knees. He should be damn proud of that appendage. It did amazing things to me and deserved to be spoken of in high praise.

“Hard? Ready to copulate?” The doctor offered in a monotone, not even a hint of suggestion. I wanted to applaud her professionalism as my thoughts went astray with the mere mention of his fat cock.

“Yes!” he said overly loud and then closed his eyes. “I mean, yeah. Christ! This is so embarrassing.”

I rubbed his shoulder and leaned close. “Not at all.”

“It’s really not, Weston. It’s a natural response to fear, and because of what you went through, being frightened for your life, it makes sense that you’d want to reach out to your mate for comfort, seeking love. I don’t see any problem in it. However, something must have changed or you wouldn’t be here.”