Still Into You: A Novel (Better Than Series Book 3) (2 page)

              I never have to see Neil again, but Randall is still out there.

              My contact at the metro St. Louis police department, Detective Donovan Garrett, gives me regular updates.  Randall seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth.  Part of me prefers it that way – he can just stay gone and out of our lives. Another part waits, wondering when he’ll show up again.  I also wonder if I’ll ever get answers to what happened to me.  It’s a frequent topic in sessions with Dr. Matt.

***

              Dr. Matt taps his pen on the arm of his chair and leans slightly forward toward me. “Why do you expect yourself to remember, Biz?
You
weren’t there.”

              I shake my head, confused by his statement. “Of course I was.  I was in that room.  I called my dad, passed out… I… I remember waking up, no clothes, sprawled on the bed on my stomach… I remember the tripod, the camera… I just can’t remember, couldn’t tell what I’d… what Randall had, you know,
done
to me.  I
was
there.”

              Still leaning forward, Dr. Matt proceeds to elucidate me about what he means by “not there.” “Biz, physically you were there, but I suspect you’ll never remember. If I’m right and you
were
drugged, you will probably never recall …”

              “But,” I protest.

              “Just hear me out.  Have you ever had surgery?”

              I give him a look and tell him “Sure.” I had my tonsils out when I was ten.

              Dr. Matt asks flatly, “Do you remember surgery?”

              Somewhat irritated I answer, “Yes, I remember being wheeled in and when I woke up my throat was on fire.  I was given ice chips to suck.”

              Trying to bring me back on point, the good doctor stops me, “That wasn’t the question, Biz.  The question was, ‘Do you remember the surgery?’ ”

              Instantaneously, I blurt out sarcastically, “Of course not.  I was under anesthes…i…a.”  And as that word tumbles out of my mouth, Dr. Matt’s reasoning finally hits me. “Are you saying I was drugged THAT much?”

              The doctor nods, pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows in silent confirmation.  He finally speaks, “I think it’s possible you were.  You see, after a surgery you won’t recall the actual procedure or you would have memory of the pain.  Your retelling of the events of that night with Randall are similar to your surgery experience.  Beginning.  End.  No middle and no recall of it.  And other than the frustration of not knowing, there is no recollection of the act or of pain.”

              He’s right.  I don’t remember any physical pain or feeling “used” down there.  I don’t remember Randall touching me, only threatening me verbally.  I only have Neil’s word about a video.  I think back to Randall’s plan to take me with him when he escaped the police. Wanting to “own” me. Possess me. Steal me from Davis.

              When I relay to Dr. Matt about Neil and Randall’s behavior and the supposed video, we both sit in silence for a moment. 

              Dr. Matt finally speaks, “Have you ever considered, Biz…” I know what he’s thinking even as he talks, “…since you have never seen a video…that maybe there isn’t one? Or that maybe there is, but someone doesn’t want to share it, because maybe they are…”

              Neil’s words at the skatepark flood back into my consciousness. 
“Oh, Biz, still so naïve.  There is no video.  I mean there is, but I don’t have it.  Randall is a complete freak about that video.  He won’t even show it to me.  I have no idea where it is or what he did with you.  God knows I’d love to.”

             
Dr. Matt and I say the word at the same time, “Obsessed.”

              At this moment Randall, although not seen for months, seems more of a threat than I ever imagined. If he is obsessed, is he really as “gone” as we all think?

Chapter 2-Present:  Friending Jake

Closing the door to our condo and turning to face it as I shut and lock it for the night, I exhale any residual anxiety from the evening.  It really wasn’t that bad – seeing Jake.  Cathartic, actually.  Closure, if you will.  Before I can even turn around, I hear the TV click off in the bedroom.  Davis.  My husband.  Love of my life.  He’s right where he was when I left, or so he would have me believe.  I know him pretty well after five years together.  He’ll be sitting upright on our bed, with his legs stretched out in front of him, reading or messing around on his iPhone, trying to act nonchalant.  I know he is anything but. He’s probably been glued to his phone and pacing like a tiger in a zoo enclosure.  He hates when I’m away from him and I feel the same way.  Especially tonight, when I went out without him to see an old (sort of) boyfriend.  Davis and I are just better when we’re together.

Davis must have heard the door close.  He shouts out a greeting, “Hey Baby, you’re back,” quickly followed by a question, “How was it?” 
How was it?
  I ponder the question and how I will respond as I make my way to the French doors to our bedroom.  It doesn’t matter what I say, Davis won’t like it.  He was not pleased at my decision to go and meet with Jake Gianni.  Jake was my boyfriend at Weldon University, right before Davis and I fell in love.  He was actually Davis’ friend first, but, at the time, he turned out to be, well, an asshole.  Putting it bluntly, Jake was just on a mission to bang me.  That’s it.  He may have liked me a little, but, really, he knew I’d been with a certain guy before I met him and I was…how do I put this… “enthusiastic” when it came to sex with that guy, and Jake wanted some for himself.  That guy was Neil Ireland.  Now convicted felon Neil Ireland.  But Jake, he never had me.  All he got for his efforts at bedding me was a beat down from Davis.  So when Jake contacted me on Facebook, asking to be friends, Davis was naturally pissed. I explained to Davis that I wanted to give Jake a second chance to prove he was a decent person.  Maybe he had changed.  We talked it over a lot and I eventually friended Jake.  That was okay.  I could handle that.  I can handle way more now than I could five years ago.  I still always want to trust.  Davis still feels I’m too trusting.  After chatting on Facebook for a few months, Jake asked me to go have coffee to talk in person.  Again, Davis wasn’t thrilled, but supported my decision to go meet Jake.  He told me if I felt uncomfortable or unsafe at any point to leave or call him and he would come get me. 

I walk into the bedroom and hang my purse on the back of the desk chair.  I pull off my diamond earrings and throw them in my jewelry box.  I should probably be more careful with my jewelry.  Even without looking, I can tell Davis is in exactly the position I thought he’d be on the bed, watching me.  The TV isn’t off, it’s on CNN and muted.  I haven’t turned to look at him yet.  Taking off my watch and, this time, placing it in the jewelry box, I tell him, “It was weird… at first… and then… fine.  No drama.”  I can’t wait to get out of my street clothes and into my jammies.  As I pull my t-shirt over my head, I turn to face Davis and give him a smile to let him know it went okay… maybe also to tease him a bit.  I can tell by the way a mischievous smirk appears on his face and one of his eyebrows arches that I have his attention, at least physically, now. 

I pull my t-shirt all the way off and continue to tell him about the meeting with Jake, “He’s… sweet.” Davis’ sexy smirk morphs to a frown. “and really a little sad.  He’s had two failed marriages and no kids.”  No kids… just like us, I think to myself with a mental sob.  I quickly shake off the thought and continue, “He apologized about 20 times in the course of an hour.  How he was so sorry if he hurt me.  How he couldn’t believe what an ass he was, cheating on me.  All I could say was, ‘Hey, it’s fine.  It was so long ago.  Things are the way they are supposed to be now.’  He shook his head like he didn’t agree.” 

Davis’ eyes are on me.  He hasn’t said a word, but I can feel a tension coming off him.  Something between anger and desire.  I have a habit of chattering in a squirrel-like fashion that I know turns Davis on.  That’s probably what’s happening, since I’ve been doing all the talking. I have to admit, I’m feeling the need to pounce him. Who’s the tiger, now? 

I slip off my capris and walk around the room in my bra and panties. After depositing my t-shirt and capris in the hamper, I stretch.  The lengthening and relaxing of my muscles releases more tension, but I’m not just doing it for my benefit.  Davis is still watching me closely, processing my words about Jake and, if I know him, working hard to not think about the other man that hurt me… and him.  The one that isn’t a Facebook friend or in jail.  The one still on the loose – Randall Ireland.  Maybe I can take his mind off of that.

Davis finally speaks, and when he does it comes out in a low, spine-tingling growl, “Jake still wants in your panties.”

I think my distraction techniques have worked.  “What, these?”  I reply coyly, while popping my black boy short-covered booty toward him, looking over my shoulder and snapping at the bottom of both sides of said boy shorts by reaching around behind with both my index fingers.  I continue toward the master bathroom, trying to act cool and not like I’m completely dying to touch him (which I am, so I guess I still have a few acting chops in me) when Davis lunges toward me, grabs my arm and forcefully pulls me over to him on the bed. 

He growls again, “Grrr, It… Kills… Me… when you do that.”

Any attempt at retaining my “faux aloof” attitude is lost and I sigh huskily, “Tell me about it, Mavis.”

Davis doesn’t say a word, but he certainly “tells me about it.”  He has me straddling him, still in his TV watching position.  But he’s not watching TV now.  Davis reaches over to the bedside table and with a quick flick of his wrist, grabs the remote and turns the television off completely.  His hands are both back on me in a flash, his thumbs at my hipbones, fingers and palms cupping my ass.  He digs his fingers in first and then his thumbs, facilitating a rocking motion of my most sensitive area against his rough jeans that are straining against the hardness of his already developed erection.  It feels delicious and all the friction is making me slick up.  I hum aloud and run myself down the full length of him.  Davis hands move from my hips and wander slowly, purposefully, side by side up my stomach.  He spreads his fingers to encompass most of my torso in his touch.  His hands eventually reach my breasts, which now feel fuller and almost pulsing.  Davis cups them both and runs his thumbs roughly across my taut, needy nipples over my black satin bra.  Still grinding into him for more, I arch my back and push my breasts further into his hands.  It’s not enough.  I want more.  So does Davis, and in the seconds it takes me to reach around and unhook my bra, he has divested me of it and chucked it across the room.  I hear it smack against a wall on impact.  His hands are back on me in an instant, continuing their mission.  Davis rolls one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, extending it, almost to the point of pain.  It’s an exquisite sensation that shoots lower into my core, increasing my want.  I’m having a hard time focusing, but need Davis to be less clothed.  Now. 

I manage to reach down for the bottom of his t-shirt and just before yanking it up, smile at the words on the front of it, CAT LOVER.  Cat Lover? Ooooh. I get it. Cat. Lover.  As in the cat that every woman has.  I smile even bigger.  My grin must be a like a green light to Davis, because he lurches forward as I tug up on the shirt, and once again pulls my hips down on his.  As his shirt comes off I’m rewarded with the sight of his hard, straining abdominal and chest muscles as he comes toward me, reaches around my waist and pulls me down on top of him, finally skin to skin. 

Davis doesn’t allow it for long.  He rolls me to my back and brings his face close to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.  No.  He inhales and then kisses my forehead, my eyebrows, eyes, temples, cheeks, near my ears, everywhere but my mouth.  Davis kisses under my ear and then with a flattened tongue, licks me slowly from there to my collarbone.  He kisses all the way across, stopping to pay extra attention with more licking to the place where I was once injured.  He slides slowly down to my breasts and gives each one, in turn, the Davis treatment. I groan in anticipation.  When his lips finally encircle a nipple, his tongue laves it and he sucks powerfully as I build exponentially.

One of my hands is in his silky dark brown hair, rubbing strands of it between my fingers as I pull him in, begging for more.  My other hand is at his waist, working fretfully to unbutton and remove his jeans.  It’s tricky, one-handed.  I say a silent thank you that he has already taken his belt off and then one aloud when I see he is not wearing boxers.  I believe the actual words are, “Commando!  Thank you.”  All Davis does is smile.  I don’t see it, but I can feel it as his lips leave my nipple ever so briefly.

My hand encircling his warm hardness, I try to slide down and move him onto my slickness, while tipping my head down to kiss his hair and encourage Davis to look up and kiss me.  He is having none of that.  In fact, Davis is heading in the other direction.  Before I know it, Davis IS looking up at me, but from a lower viewing area, at the apex of my thighs. He winks one of his dazzling green eyes at me, dips his head and moans with pleasure above my now only-too-ready core.  Just his breath washing over my sensitive folds starts the flood. Davis luxuriously licks up and down.  He is managing my need, not letting me move to the next level too fast or too slow.  Davis’ tongue eventually arrives at my clit and after circling it slowly a few times, lingering under the hood and giving a bit more pressure there, he begins his assault.  I know he uses the “alphabet method” at times down there and if that’s what he’s doing now, he’s never going to get to LMNOP, because… I… I…