The World: According to Graham (17 page)

My only thought is
thank God.

“Graham,” I yell, as he slams against my cervix over and over again. This is rough, unapologetic sex, and it’s exactly what I’ve been craving. “Spank me.”

His right hand connects with my butt check. The sting of the slap is extinguished by the thrust against my cervix.

His left hand connects with my other butt check. Again he follows this up with deep penetration.

He does this over and over again in the ultimate mix of pleasure and pain. It’s dirty and kinky, and I love every second of it.

“Why do you make me do this to you?” he asks, as if he doesn’t want to be bringing me this much pleasure.

“I love it. More,” I say, gripping the quilt. “More. Harder . . .”

With one final slap and thrust I find the orgasm I’ve been craving. My pussy grips him so tightly that he yells out something incoherent and warm sprays of him flood me as I continue to pulse on his throbbing cock. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me to him so my back presses against his chest. With his dick softening inside of me, he takes my lips with such brutality that I can feel the sweet ache that accompanies a bruising kiss. I don’t care. I kiss him back with the same ferocity.

I wrap my arms around his neck, angling his mouth towards me so his tongue can reach deeper down my throat. I want more of his mouth—more of him. We continue the devouring of each other even after his semi-erect cock pulls out of me and falls towards his hip and the essence of him runs down my inner thighs.

The kiss begins to change to one that is more tender. Instead of him biting my lips and sucking my tongue, he licks my teeth and trails kisses along my jaw line. With one hand, he reaches up and taps my arm, indicating that he wants me to drop them. I obey and am rewarded with his sweater being removed from my body.

“Lie down on the bed, Rachael. I want to look at you.” It’s the dominant voice that I love and obey. I recognize this for what it is. He’s finally quit the battle with himself and has given in to our shared pleasure. Secretly, I congratulate myself for wearing him down. I wasn’t just using a line on him when I said that we communicate best through being physical.

I fall back on the mattress and spread myself open for him to examine. He starts at the heel of my foot, and runs his index finger over the bump of my anklebone and to the inside of my calf. In slow, languid strokes, he traces my rounded calf muscle and up to the knee. His eyes are hooded and his lips are swollen but in a neutral line. Graham’s shoulders are relaxed. His shirt is off but he’s somehow managed to put his shorts back on. They hang low on his hips, revealing his perfect abs. A dark smattering of pubic hair that has been neatly trimmed peeks from the top. It’s so damn sexy that I’m already up for a second round with Mr. Jackson.

His finger runs up my inner thigh and catches some of the liquid. He rubs it over my bump. He continues to collect more of the wetness from my thighs and massages it into the evidence of my pregnancy. When it has been completely covered by him, he leans in closer to admire his work. His eyes flash to mine. “I did this to you.”

I nod, not wanting to speak for fear that I’ll say the wrong thing. This is the possessive, dominant Graham that I’ve only seen on a few occasions—just enough to keep me wanting more.

“Mine,” he states again, as his finger makes its way up over my navel and to my breast. He takes one nipple between his fingers and gives is a tug.

The nerve impulse goes straight to my core, and I cry out in delight. My eyes close. I can’t look at his expression any longer. It’s too much. This is the Graham that I want, and I want it again—now, soon. And I don’t know if he will fulfill my needs for a second time.

He reaches over to the other breast and squeezes the nipple. I cry out again and come very close to begging for more. Instead, I savor the attention and see what else he has planned.

He rolls my nipples between his fingers, as he begins to talk. “You want me, Rachael. I can smell your need.”

“Yes,” I cry, as my head rolls back and forth.

“Yet you denied me what’s mine.” He pinches my nipples.

“I love you, Graham. I was stupid. I’m sorry.” My voice is high-pitched and throaty. It’s more of a cry than an apology.

The mattress dips with his weight as he crawls on to the bed, straddling my hips. “Open your eyes.”

I obey and look into his clear, Caribbean blue orbs. He bends down and sucks and nibbles at my left breast while he continues to pinch and roll my right nipple.

I’m swollen and aching for him to enter me, so close to another orgasm. My hips begin to rock forward and back, simulating the moves that I would like him to make with his dick inside of me.

His mouth pops off my nipple with a smacking sound. He catches my eyes and holds them hostage with his. “Did you get pregnant on purpose? Was this your way of justifying a relationship with me?”

The first question is legitimate and one that I had planned on addressing with him when I told him, if he hadn’t freaked out so much. The second question just pisses me off. Horny as hell or not, I will not be treated like this. I roll away from him and off the other side of the bed.

Protectively, my hand crosses my bump, and I feel the dried evidence of his orgasm. “Listen, you bastard. I didn’t get pregnant on purpose.” My other hand balls into a fist. “I stopped taking my birth control because I thought we were over, and the idea of sleeping with another man disgusted me. You . . . you showing up that night was a surprise. I should have made you wear a condom, but I didn’t. Now we’re faced with the consequences of my shitty mistake. But don’t you dare ever think that I did this on purpose.”

Swallowing hard, I stare at the floor, the ceiling—anything to avoid looking at him. “After you left that night, I knew I had to find a way for us to be together. I knew that I still was crazy in love with you and it wasn’t going away with time. My plan was to let you get settled in your new public life, then to reach out to you and see if there was still a place for me in your heart. Fortunately or unfortunately, however you choose to look at it, the unplanned pregnancy moved up the timeframe.”

Before I can truly register his movements, he’s crossed the mattress and has me pinned against the bedroom wall in front of the bed. “Quit protecting the baby,” he growls. “I’m not going to hurt either one of you.”

He takes both of my arms and pins them over my head with one hand. He leans down and kisses every centimeter of my protruding abdomen. His other arm grabs my waist and I wrap my legs around him, using my toes to push his shorts down. In some act of physics, his dick enters me as my body welcomes him.

“Don’t call our baby a mistake,” he growls into my ear as he impales me over and over again against the paper-thin walls of our new home. “He isn’t a mistake. You aren’t a mistake. We’re not a mistake.”

It becomes his mantra and I love it.

His eyes are clamped shut and his body is tense. He’s using me to exorcise whatever demon has been plaguing him and I’m more than happy to let this play out, but I’ll be damned if he brings up the idea that I somehow trapped him into a relationship. He got to ask once and hear my response. It better never be mentioned again.

I come long before him, but I do my best to not let him know. I want to be used and this still feels so right. Continuing his sweet torture, I tug his long locks and scratch his back. When he swells inside of me, I lean forward, biting his shoulder and instead of the mantra, he yells, “I love you.”

Now, with his words and actions, I’m finally sated.

“Where is she?” Max demands under his breath as I arrive at our meet-and-greet just in the nick of time. There’s a line of people out the door of an auto parts store that has paid a shit-ton of money for us to do a public appearance.

“She’s in Virginia with George,” I reply through gritted teeth and a fake smile as another fan approaches me with huge balloon-like tits spilling over the top of her toddler-sized tank top.

They have a long table set up near the tire section. Our banner hangs behind us, advertising our radio show and tour. The radio station has two smaller banners that are freestanding on either side of the table. Kids who are probably the station’s interns hover around, trying to look busy and handing out crap for us to scribble on.

Max is first in line. I’m seated in the middle, and Jake is lounging lazily to my right.

“I love you guys so much,” she gushes as she hands me a newspaper to sign. I’ve autographed stranger items. I always scratch my radio name, Revere. No one really cares who Graham Jackson is anymore, except the pixie back in Virginia.

“Thanks.” I smile and hand her back the newspaper.

Max leans over. “Still not wanting to be seen in public with you. She’s a winner.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say through my clenched jaw and tight fist that I hide under the table. “You don’t know the first thing about us.”

In the parking lot, a radio station is broadcasting live and giving away miniature foam radios with the call letters imprinted on them. I could use one of those stress balls right about now.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so glad that you’re single,” some grandmotherly type beams as she hands me a koozie with the radio station’s call letters printed on it, and one of the stress balls. Our demographic is men between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, yet only the women seem to show up at these events. It’s rather baffling to me. Our show is very locker-room humor. I ponder if the grey-haired, frumpy, wrinkled lady with perma-set curls in front of me gets the jokes. “My granddaughter is single. She’s really pretty. You want to see?” She fumbles with her five-year-outdated phone, trying to show me a picture. I smile pleasantly and count the minutes until this is over.

Max, ever my wingman, leans over and says to Grandma, “Graham’s taken.”

Grandma looks somewhat apologetic, and then shuffles down the table to begin her spiel about her granddaughter to Jake.

I’d like to say that I took pity on him and helped him out, but I didn’t. I kept my head down, attempted to ignore Max, and smiled prettily for the line of people stretched out the front door of the business.

The hour goes by faster then I’d originally thought it would. When the final item has our signatures scratched on it, the auto parts store ushers us to the back where they keep the extra stock items while security clears out the remaining fans.

David, the Sons of Liberty Manager, has spent the last hour lurking off to the side with a scowl on his face. There’s no mystery why he’s mad. One of his money-makers has been MIA for the past two days and completely ignored his emails, calls, texts and probably airplane sky-written messages. I decide to head this conversation off at the pass as we enter the backroom.

“David,” I greet as I walk towards him, a gigantic smile plastered across my face. “Pyro taken care of yet?” I know that this is Hank’s job, but it’s always a tad fun to poke the bear. He has a pointy nose that hooks toward the ground and gelled, shiny black hair that looks either oily or wet, depending on the light.

“You didn’t respond to my email,” he states, as he crosses his arms over his nonexistent chest. I’ve got a good seven inches on him, and he’s heard from the guys that I’ve been known to throw a punch or two.

I laugh and slap him on the shoulder just a hair too hard, jerking his body forward. He sways for a split second and then recovers his balance.

“Didn’t think that it needed a response other than the delete button. You’re my agent, right?”
My
is the operative word here. I shift my weight to my toes and lean in so just he can hear me. “You work for us. Just remember that.”

As I turn to walk away, he yells, “Quit telling fans that you’re not single. It’s bad for your image.”

I could reply,
“It wasn’t me that said that. It was Max.”
But I don’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake and Max jump to attention and move in a little closer. They’re gauging my reaction to his statement. It’s no secret that my relationship with Rachael is a touchy subject.

Slowly, I spin around and walk towards one of the best agents in the business. Honestly, we’re blessed that he chose to represent us. I grab him by the collar and pin him against the wall. His mouth gapes open like a fish and his eyes grow wide with fear. “Let’s get one thing straight. Whether or not I’m in a relationship is none of your God damn business. What is your business is to make sure that the best interests of the Sons of Liberty are being represented.
Capisce?”

I release him and stroll nonchalantly out the back door of the building, letting the thick metal door slam behind me. The auto parts store backs up to an open field of sea grasses and wild flowers. It’s actually kind of pretty.

The door squeaks open, but I don’t turn around. I pray that it isn’t him. He really shouldn’t push any more buttons at this moment.

To my relief, Jake asks, “You okay, man?”

I don’t respond because the truth is, I’m not the least bit okay. I said that I wouldn’t sleep with Rachael until we had our shit together, and I fucked her every which way to Sunday this morning. Then I left however-many-weeks-she-is pregnant and alone in an RV park in the middle of nowhere. The word ‘okay’ doesn’t even exist in my vocabulary.

Jake continues, “Look. I’ve never felt about a girl like you do. I don’t understand, but you’re my bro, right?”

I nod and kick a rock that’s resting near the door into the field. I watch it soar up into the cloudless sky and be swallowed by the field of wildflowers. It speaks to me.

“Look, Jake, I appreciate the support. My heart’s just not in this right now. It’s back in a tin can called The Cougar with my girl and baby. Just be patient with me. I’ll get it together. I’ll pull the tour together. I’ll make it work like I always do,” I try reassuring him.

He remains silent.

My phone beeps in my pocket, and I check it like the crazed fool that I am. It’s probably one of many messages from others that I receive every day, but when I’m not with Rachael, I check every one of them hoping that it’s her.