Raw Ch. 07

I was a strong, independent woman.

Malcolm had been the first to tell me that. Now I said it every time I started to think I'd never get back to being the person I had been six months ago. Before my life was flipped upside down. Before when everything was going great. And yet, it was that same life I resisted returning to.

I wanted to stay at the beach house with him, isolated from the rest of the world. I'd write in my study overlooking the ocean while listening to the waves crash just yards away. He' teach math to preppy high-school kids who went up to the Hamptons on the weekend. And in our free time, we would lay on the beach or perfect the art of kink in the Black Room.

It wasn't going to happen, but it didn't stop me from dreaming about it. While I could write anywhere, I wouldn't make him give up his job and move out here permanently. I'd probably try to talk him out of it if he even suggested it.

As much as I did not want to return to Chicago, we had to go back. My big brother, Drake, was getting married in just over a month, and I wouldn't miss it for the world. I was honored when Daphne had asked me to be a bridesmaid. I had been to many weddings before, I had just never been in one. I think I might have been a bit more excited than they were.

But the moment the car door closed, I wanted to cry. I stared out the passenger window at the three-and-a-half story building that had served as my refuge for the past four months. Like a child moving away, I turned and watched out the back window as Malcolm pulled the car out of the cul-de-sac. The house grew smaller and smaller until I could just see the top of the observation room peeking above the archway of trees as we drove under it. Then any trace of the house disappeared from sight as we turned onto the highway. So long, my friend.

We arrived in Chicago from Baltimore after ten o'clock. It was dark, and we were both exhausted. Yet as tired as I was, sleep did not come easily. I probably kicked Malcolm at least a dozen times while I tossed and turned. Bless his heart that he didn't move to the guest room...or force me to.

The sun was shining through the bedroom window when I opened my eyes. It took me a moment to realize where I was. I took a deep breath and smiled as I snuggled deeper into the pillow, pulling the sheet and blanket tighter around myself.

This was home. Familiar. Comforting. And I had missed it.

When I inhaled again, I smelled bacon and moaned.

Before Malcolm, I had never been the type of person to wake up before there were double digits on the left side of the colon of the alarm clock. Now, I was more apt to if the reason was morning sex. Or someone making breakfast.

With some effort, I crawled out of the cozy cocoon I'd created. I scrounged up a pair of sweats to go with Malcolm's confiscated T-shirt that I wore regularly to bed now, pulled my hair into a messy ponytail, and followed my nose downstairs. He'd better have made enough for two.

I found my boyfriend at the stove with a spatula in one hand and the handle of the frying pan in the other. He had on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, the latter pulled taut over his broad shoulders. My smile widened as I thought of how lucky I was to have such a handsome man as my lover and best friend. And a cook, to boot!

I kissed the middle of his back between his shoulderblades and ran my hair through his thick hair. I'd convinced him to get a trim before we came back, but it still was long enough to get a little messy from sleeping. It just added to his charm.

"You'll make a morning person of me yet. I could get used to waking up to this." I peaked around his shoulder to see that he was making scrambled eggs.

He twisted in my embrace long enough to kiss my lips. "Trust me, you're not the only one."

I pressed my face against his backside and sighed. Then I frowned. There were some newly-added contents to my modern kitchen: a pile of boxes stacked against the wall by the fridge. They were severely out of place and did nothing for the décor.

"You didn't waste any time, did you?"

"Your brother dropped them off last week. But since they are here, and he was free today, Drake is going to be by later with a trailer. The opportunity presented itself. Why delay the inevitable?"

I ran one hand down the front of his chest, rubbing my breasts against his back now. "Because I can think of something better to do with our time right now. Why rush it? Especially since you're on sabbatical until January."

He pushed my hand away just before I could slide it lower. "Can you set the table, please?"

I stuck out my lower lip but obeyed. When I was done, I sat at in one of the chairs—one leg bent under me and my other foot perched on the edge of the seat—and stared out the window. Two birds flitted around the oak tree that was a brilliant combination of orange and yellow. I would miss that view every morning. I would miss making breakfast—even though that was usually just a bagel with cream cheese if I even ate at all—in my own kitchen.

And then I realized I would be missing a whole hell of a lot more than this room. Waking up in my own bed. Taking a shower in my own bathroom. Writing in my own office. Cuddling up by the fire in my own living room during the winter. Walking to the farmer's market for fresh veggies and fruit. Being so close to wherever I wanted to go in the city. Whenever I wanted to go.

A shudder ran through me, and my sigh came out shaky. No. I would not cry. I sucked up what little courage hadn't drained out of me in the last few minutes and sat up straighter. "I just don't understand why we have to do it today."

Malcolm kept his back to me while he dished up our plates. He didn't speak until he had sat down across from me and took my hand in his. "You are a strong—"

"Cut the bullshit!" I yanked my hand away and stabbed at my breakfast. With a plastic fork. What the hell? Of course, it pierced the paper plate and got stuck.

"Becca!"

"I'm not procrastinating or having commitment issues or anything like that. I was merely making a comment that I don't see the need to rush into making this change. We just got back."

I wanted my real plates and silverware. I wanted to relax this morning after being away so long. I wanted normalcy. I almost swiped the plate—food and all—to the floor, but I resisted. Barely.

"I thought it would be easier for you to not have to be reminded—"

"He didn't fucking rape me in my condo!" The fork squeaked as I pulled it free.

"I know!" He inhaled deeply and let out a loud, slow breath.

Without even lifting my eyes to his face, I knew his eyes were closed. It was his way of trying to stay calm. I imagined he was counting in his head. Imagining what he was doing while counting, I couldn't be one-hundred percent sure, but it was probably spanking me.

After a couple of more loud exhales, he said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, apology accepted," I mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.

"I'm going to help you. You're not in this alone. We're not taking it all, anyway. It'll still be here for you."

The longer I stared at the stack of cardboard, the more I thought of it like dirty dishes or laundry. It was something I loathed to do. Okay, maybe I was procrastinating. I really did want to be with Malcolm. But I just didn't want to give up who I was, either.

As much time as I'd been spending with him the past two years, moving in with him was a huge shift out of my comfort zone. Because deep down, I knew I wasn't doing this because I had chosen to. I had been told—no, instructed—to do this. My heart skipped a beat when he usurped control like that. I craved it. But that strong, independent woman he kept reminding me I was? That person also knew that going forward with this meant I was relinquishing a little bit of those very same characteristics by even being in this relationship.

How much would I have to let go of who I was in order to be who he wanted me to be?

"Eat your breakfast, then we'll get started."

I frowned but obeyed. Again. Because I knew he was right. At least this time.

We were both quiet while we ate, but I could feel his eyes on me. Boring into my head like a watchful parent. And for some reason, I felt guilty. As if he could read my thoughts and knew I was having reservations. Damn him and his ability to know me so well.

True to his word, after he'd cleaned up the frying pan and disposable dishes, Malcolm helped me pack up what I deemed were the priority necessities. Clothes and personal items. Office supplies and research material for my writing. Special pieces of furniture and knickknacks that would make his place feel more familiar and cozy for me. I should have been grateful that he hadn't demanded I just pack a single, overnight bag and leave everything else behind.

Drake showed up around noon with his truck and the U-Haul trailer attached. He helped us load the boxes and larger, harder-to-pack items. We made plans to meet up with him and Daphne later to get some dinner, and then he took off for Wheaton.

When I'd inherited the condo, I had moved in little-by-little over the course of a few months without any help. It was surreal, this time, watching my brother drive away with my things. In the end, I had chosen to leave most of it behind. I wasn't ready to sell, and it made more sense to keep the place furnished for when I was in the city. An easy place to crash.

Malcolm had been right: I wasn't losing my place completely. But it still tugged at my heartstrings that things were changing. I had yet to accept that it was all for good.

Sue was sad to know I was leaving the city so soon, but she said she understood when I rang her after Drake left. I promised to call or E-mail regularly, and I'd visit at least once a month if not more so we could have lunch together and discuss progress on my chapters in person. I reminded myself that while I'd wanted to stay at the beach house and could write from there, this made a hell of a lot more sense. Plus, we could always visit the coast during the summers when Malcolm wasn't teaching.

I stood in my kitchen that looked exactly the same as it had that morning—and every morning before—with the exception of the missing cardboard boxes. This was probably the one room that I hadn't taken anything out of. Just for the hell of it, I grabbed a coffee mug from the cupboard and put it by my purse on the counter, even though I never drank coffee. I could use it for hot chocolate or something.

"I'm proud of you." Malcolm's hand was warm on my left shoulder.

"Thanks." I smiled out the window at my lovely autumn tree, silently saying goodbye. My hands splayed out on the round tabletop as I leaned forward to watch two squirrels race across the branches. They knocked several leaves loose in their wake that fluttered in a rainbow swirl to the ground.

"How about one last hurrah?"

I tilted my head back. "Huh?"

He spun me around to face him, his hands at my waist. "I think you deserve a little playtime, Lady Becca. A little reward."

Goosebumps prickled my arms. I gulped back my breath as the shorts I'd changed into to pack were suddenly tugged to my ankles. My panties were not far behind.

"Now, what shall it be?"

I lost contact with his face as he tugged my sweaty T-shirt over my head and it got caught on my chin. He left it covering my face and pinning my arms up in the air above my head as his hands wrapped around my bared hips and lifted me onto the tabletop. Then he was unhooking my bra. Finally, he removed my shirt the rest of the way and slipped the bra's straps down my arms.

"I think we'll start with an Australian kiss."

"A what?" The last syllable came out as a squeal as he'd tugged my hips closer to the edge and I fell backwards, my head bumping the table.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of one."

I couldn't tell if that was mock horror in his voice or if he was serious. I tried to sit up, but he gently pushed on my shoulder. I was left to stare at him over the swell of my breasts.

"You see, it goes like this. You push her thighs apart," he said as his hands moved between my legs. "Press your mouth against her lips. And use a lot of tongue."

My giggle morphed into a moan, my back arching off the table as he acted out his instructions. Holy cow! He'd gone down on me many times, but something about this angle where he was slightly below me really made his tongue delve in deeper.

My head lolled back and forth, and my hands gripped my breasts now. Just under the encouraging sounds that spilled from my mouth, I could hear the slurping sounds he made as he kept it up. His nose bumped my clit as he moved his head around, his hair brushing the insides of my thighs.

Soon enough, I was delirious. But there was an itch deep inside, and no matter how he thrusted his tongue into me, it just wasn't enough. My hands moved to lace in in his hair. I tugged gently, hoping he'd get the picture. He ignored me.

I almost regretted wanting him to stop as I took in the image of his head between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs. But when my clit tingled as he nipped at it with his teeth, I growled and tugged on his hair one more time. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet mine.

For a moment, he just stared at me. Darkness completely filled his eyes. His tongue had stopped licking, but his breath still heated my pussy in sharp gasps. I held my own breath as I propped myself up on one elbow, trying to read in his mostly blank expression what he was thinking.

His tongue swept up my pussy one more time. Then he was standing. Shoving down his pants. Pulling my hips even closer, making me lie flat again.

He thrust into me so hard my whole body rose up as I cried out. His hands slid behind my back and held me in that partially-sitting position while he plunged his cock into me over and over again. I came, screaming his name. My fingers clutched at his arms, trying to pull him deeper inside me.

It was over too soon. Had it even happened? I was panting, my back flush with the table again. His head was between my legs, lapping at my pussy in a leisurely manner as if he had never stopped.

When I could speak again, I mumbled, "What the hell was that?"

"I told you. An Australian kiss."

"Damn."

I shrieked as he suddenly stood up and flipped me onto my stomach. As soon as my toes touched the ground, his cock sunk into me until my ass connected with his pelvis.

"It's like a French kiss, but down under," he said between grunts.

"Huh." I rested my forehead on my folded arms.

"See? We have plenty of time to play now that the work is all done."

I moaned as his cock bumped my G-spot. I turned my head and laughed as I stared out the window and saw the two squirrels staring back. I let out a sharp squeal as Malcolm smacked my ass. The squirrels scampered off, and I laughed again.

"Is something funny, Lady Becca? Do you want me to stop so you can tell me all about it?"

I gulped. "No, Sir."

"Good girl." He thrust harder, his fingers digging into my hips.

After I came again, he gathered me into his arms and carried me upstairs. In the shower, I knelt before him and sucked his cock. His hands fisted in my wet hair, guiding my head until he let go and groaned his release across my breasts while the hot streams of water rained down on us.

Later, while he drove my car to Wheaton, I nodded off, a smile plastered to my face. Of all the things that amazed me about Malcolm, his stamina during sex was always near the top. It prolonged the pleasure for both of us. I never got tired of it. And he didn't even need drugs to feel that way.

I did it for him. And he for me. What an awesome, natural high.

###

I spent the next week getting acclimated to living fulltime in Malcolm's house. I'd absconded a large guestroom on the first floor with a view of the backyard as my new office. After painting the walls, I brought in an oversized chair that unfolded to a single bed. I'd had it in my den back home, and the bed had rarely been used. Hopefully, it would come in handy now for late nights of writing.

Malcolm found a colorful rug in one of the private play rooms from the basement that was just the right size to cover enough of the hardwood floor to make the room feel cozier. I arranged the hide-a-bed with my favorite end table and reading lamp in a corner. A desk unit that had just happened to mysteriously be waiting for me had replaced the room's previous occupants, a double bed and dresser. I wondered if it had been Drake's doing. I would have to thank him for selecting a layout that provided enough room for my laptop, printer, and workspace.

Overall, I really hadn't brought that much with me, unless you counted my clothes and personal hygiene items. I don't know what I'd been so upset about. Thankfully, he had ample closet space, and I found a place for everything in his—no, our—bedroom and bathroom. I was still having a hard time calling it that despite having spent so much time staying here the past two years. Malcolm kept telling me that everything was ours now, but I knew it would be a long while before I believed that.

We had gotten into the routine out East of having a small breakfast together and then going our own ways for the morning. His was to take a run on the beach like he used to do back home. Mine was to work on my book. We both agreed to try to keep that up once we were in Illinois again. I hoped we could continue that schedule once he went back to work in two months for the spring semester, too, because it gave me a little bit of stability in my still-chaotic world. Which I was blaming partially on my big brother.

It was the week of Thanksgiving, and we were running around helping Drake and Daphne with last minute preparations for their wedding on Saturday. Who the hell got married on Thanksgiving weekend anyway? What was the rush?

Maybe it was her long-term training in submission, but Daphne was the calmest bride I'd ever encountered. She had all of her ducks in a row, and she hadn't even used a wedding planner. Not for the first time, I envied her.

We celebrated Thanksgiving at Drake's house, and my mother and other brother, Alexander, joined us with his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Cameron. I cherished these times we could spend together as a family. They were too few and far between now that us kids were all grown up.

The conversation during and after dinner was primarily about last minute details for the ceremony and reception. It was all happening too soon. Hell, I'd barely had time to find and get a dress fitted! But I was glad we'd come back to the Midwest in time to be a part of it all.

The entire celebration—not to mention the happy couple—was absolutely beautiful. Elegant, much like Daphne was, yet formal like my brother. They couldn't have wished for a better day. Although I would have preferred it to be warmer. I was still freezing despite the harvest-gold colored shawl we'd found to wear over my burgundy, floor-length gown. With my ample cleavage from the dress's V-cut neckline and my bouquet of autumn flowers, I felt a little like a cornucopia on display.

For several hours, I talked with family and friends at the reception. I ate too much, and I didn't think I'd be able to walk for a few days, especially after having eaten Thanksgiving dinner two days earlier and a big rehearsal dinner last night. But I was happy for my brother and his new wife.

By the time we got home, I was so exhausted that I fell face-first into bed still wearing my dress.

"They looked so amazing today. I think it was perfect for them." Malcolm's voice came from all directions, as if he was walking around the room.

"Mmm," was all I could say. This bed had never felt so soft before. Then I moaned long and loud as he removed my shoes.