Playing For Love (35 page)

He huffed out a laugh, his breath against my face.

Then he rested his chin on my shoulder and continued reading whatever had caught his attention about Zach.

“Is this better?” he teased.

I tried to suppress my laughter but failed.

“Okay.” He reached over, exiting the page. “No more Zach for today. Okay? I'm going to put away your clothes.”

“Thanks, babe.” I watched him as he stood.

I continued staring as he walked toward the hall, the muscles in his shoulders and back shifting and flexing. The thin fabric of his lounge pants hid nothing of those thick glutes clenching as he walked.

I took a deep breath and refocused once he was out of view. Scooting into the far corner of the couch, I opened a new file and started writing. 

Three pages in, a black tank top landed on the couch next to me. Looking over at it, then up at David's face, his expression unreadable, I picked it up, not understanding what he wanted. It was my boxing tank or boxers tank.

“How do you know Kyle?” His voice had a hard edge to it.

“Who?” I asked, confused by his demeanor and the name.

“You got his shirt.” He nodded toward my tank.

“This?” I lifted the tank, looking at it a moment. “I got this like... three years ago.” I folded the tank over and tucked it between my thigh and the couch. 

“How do you know Kyle Dixon?” he demanded.

“The boxer?” His eyebrow lifted. “I don't. I got this from a promoter.”

His head tilted slightly, that eyebrow still lifted.

I explained, “I was waiting for Tara to get out of an audition and this guy walked out of the building she was in, and he handed me a box of tanks and panties.”

“And they just happened to be for Kyle Dixon?” Disbelief was clear in his voice.

“No. They were all for different things. But the Dixon stuff was all American Apparel, so... I kept them and gave the rest to Tara.”

He studied me.

“So you've worn his name on your tits? On your pussy?” His voice was gruff.

Oh, shit.

“I guess so.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face and neck jumping. His eyes roamed my face down to my chest and back up.

“If I ask him, is he going to know your name?”

What? Oh no...

“You know him?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes hard. “He trains at
our
gym.”

Fuck
.

“I've never met him, David. I don't even watch sports stuff. I've never been to a fight or match... or whatever.”

He held up the thong with a cruel smirk on his face. Gripping the small triangle of fabric with both hands, he pulled, the ripping sound filling the room. I put down the computer and shifted closer to him.

“David, stop it. I like the brand,” I tried to explain. 

“I can buy you as much of this brand as you want. I can buy you
any
brand you want.” His tone conveyed that my reasoning was bullshit as far as he was concerned. 

I really liked the design, two red metallic boxing gloves on either side of DIXON. The position of the design was flattering and it was comfy.

He grabbed the tank, shredding the material easily. Then he reached behind him, pulling my other Dixon tank out. I tried not to react, not to show any response as its fate became the same as the other. I watched his veins bulge, his muscles flexing as he ruined my last favorite sleep tank.

“You're not going to wear anyone's name on your body, but mine.”

My pussy quivered at his dominance, his outright aggression.

Fuck me. There's something really wrong with me.

“Don't get too comfortable. If I find anything else like that, I'm gonna be right back here,” he warned in a soft growl.

I could feel how wet I was. I tried to ignore it and focused on writing.

*****

I was still writing when my phone rang three hours later.

“Hi, babe,” I answered, knowing it was David. He had gone over to my house to get more of my clothes.

“He told the fucking truth. His version, anyway.”

“What?” I felt my panic rising up.

“Elaine texted me. He said he was talking to his ex and her new husband found them together. They got into a fight over her. He's leaving out the part about getting his ass completely beat for trying to rape you.”

My stomach sank at his words; I hadn't allowed myself to actually think about it. “Did he say names?”

“Not yet. He will. It'll be better for him like this,” he added bitterly. “More drama. More build up.” 

“I'm sorry.”

“Why? This, I expected. I've been expecting to beat his ass since I found that photo of you two.”

I sighed heavily. I didn't know what to say. Part of me thought Zach would be too vain to let anyone know how badly David had beaten him. Another part of me wanted to tell our side, press charges, and publicly humiliate him. But I didn't want our personal life being picked through—the press would with David's fame. I was also terrified of David getting in legal trouble because the beating he gave Zach was past anything that could be considered self-defense.

“So... what do we do?”

“Nothing,” he said casually and moved on as if it was
nothing
. “I couldn't get all your clothes. They wouldn't fit in the truck.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't do that,” he demanded. “Don't fucking apologize to me. Unless you hurt me, don't fucking apologize for anything.”

“Okay,” I responded quietly, feeling reprimanded.

*****

It was Wednesday morning when images of Zach's battered face were “leaked.
”
He didn't look nearly as bad as I'd expected. I had a feeling he'd done everything to make it look better, including packing it in ice for the past five days.

Pussy.

I had to talk David out of cutting his stitches off every day. His biggest complaint was that he had to use his left hand to fingerfuck me. The coordination wasn't quite the same, but still very effective.

As I made my way through the great room, I heard,

“Good mornin'.”

Fuck me, his voice.

It still affected me, wrapping around me like a dark promise.

“David.” I sat at the kitchen island and waited until he looked up from cooking our breakfast before I continued. “Tomorrow is October first... and Halloween is my favorite holiday.” I waited for a response, reaction, anything.

“Okay. You want to decorate the house?” His deep voice rumbled.

“Yeah,” I responded a little too excited. He didn't even try to hide his amusement at my outburst.

Five hours later, we were decorating the house—with the help of two professionals. After another three hours, we had successfully turned our pristine home into the creepiest-looking house I had ever seen.

I loved it.

And the décor to the interior was beyond anything I had imagined. It was elegant, dark, and sexy, at least I thought so.

“What do you think?” I asked, trying to dampen my excitement.

“If you like it, I like it.”

I kind of hated his answer.

“I think it's sexy.”

He looked at me, his eyes shifting to a heated gaze, and growled, “Then I fucking love it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

We were sitting in David's office after our first hard workout since the stitches, and both of our phones chimed, alerting us to a text.

Elaine PR: He released your names.

Don't talk to anyone about

it. NOT A WORD.

10:45 AM

“Great,” I grumbled. 

“It'll be fine. He hasn't pressed charges. He just wants the attention,” David assured me.

Grabbing my laptop, I laid on the couch with Chance, trying to get some writing done while David worked. I didn’t know how long I stared at the screen worrying about Zach and his need for publicity, and Kelsey and her need for... something, getting nothing accomplished.

“Ready to go?” David's voice cut through my random thoughts.

“Ah, yeah.” I closed the laptop.

I didn't remember getting in the car or the drive to Little Dom's—the eatery that we were sitting in front of.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, looking around. This was my area of town, not his.

“I'm starving and I think you mentioned something about getting out of the house more.”

Right.

That was before everyone knew about Zach and the face bashing that took place.

David got out and came around to my side of the truck, opening my door first, then Chance's. That's when I noticed David was wearing his black hat. When I didn't immediately move to get out, David leaned in, blocking the door.

“Hey, you'll feel better after you eat.” His tone shifted. “And after you tell me what's wrong. Now get outta the truck.”  

I didn't respond.

He watched me, then his mouth and jaw relaxed and he leaned in, capturing my lips in the sweetest kiss. Pulling back and grabbing my hand, he encouraged me to get out. I quickly dug a pair of oversized, black sunglasses out of my purse and slipped them on as he led us to an outdoor table, quickly arranging the chairs at an angle to give us privacy. 

I didn't know what that was about.

We hadn't spoken about Dawn and her psych hold, or when it would be up, and I wasn't going to bring it up now.

I was suddenly self-conscious sitting in my crop yoga pants and a too-thin tee. I looked over, taking in David's attire. He wore sweats and a lightweight hoody over his tank. He had obviously changed at the gym and I was too zoned out to notice.

The waitress approached and David ordered for us.

“Be right back.” She seemed happy to do her job, and she didn't seem impressed with David, which made me relax significantly.

“So,” David started, keeping his voice low. “What's wrong?”

“Ah... I don't know.” I didn't want to make a big deal about Zach or Kelsey and why I wasn't getting anything accomplished with my writing. I felt like we were waiting for the other shoe to fall, even though everything between us had been going great. I couldn't shake the feeling that Zach was about to change that.

The waitress returned, delivering our waters, when we heard, “David. Are you going to forgive your wife for cheating with Zach Stone?”

I felt David's muscles stiffen minutely. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer.

Then his lips were at my ear. “
Don't
turn around. Just ignore him.”

“What did Zach say? That I was having sex with him?” I whispered, horrified.

“I don't know,” he muttered.

I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Elaine.

Austin: Did Zach say we were

having sex?

2:25 PM

Elaine PR: He's hinted at it.

2:28 PM

“Austin, let it go,” he beseeched. “If I find out he's telling people you were fucking... I
will
end up in jail.”

“Okay,” I relented.

The idea of the story he was spinning was eating me up, but after witnessing what David was capable of, I wouldn't risk it. A second incident would definitely result in charges.

“Here.” He pulled away and took off his hoody. “Put this on.” From his tone it was clear the paparazzo was taking pictures.

I quickly did, then leaned back into his side. His arm closed around me, tucking me to him.

“Miss James, do you know your marriage is fake?”

I looked at David as his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. The man continued, clearly trying to goad David into an altercation.

“I'll have that taken care of,” the waitress whispered as she delivered our salads. 

David gave her a thankful smile as he attempted to ignore the shouted questions of the man—who was careful to stay across the street on public property.

The waitress returned with our entrees the same time a patrol car pulled up. Once the police ran the man off, we enjoyed the rest of our lunch.

We drove home in silence, neither of us wanting to talk about the things the cretin had mentioned. When he pulled into the drive, I wasn't feeling any better about anything. I went straight to our bathroom and stripped, getting in the shower and letting the warm water wash away some of my stress.

A few short minutes later, David's hard body was behind me, pressing against mine.

“We are legally married, sweet girl,” he whispered, trying to comfort me. His hands smoothed down my arms, helping me relax. Then he grabbed my soap and loofah.

“We both know what happened that day. He just wants to start something. He wants us to respond.”

He meticulously washed my body, making sure every inch of me was clean. Then he focused on my hair, taking his time massaging my scalp. Backing me under the water, he rinsed me clean as he pressed his hard length into my belly, his pecs jumping, bumping into my jaw as his fingers combed through my hair. He quickly washed himself and rinsed off. I was more than a little surprised when he turned off the shower without trying to start anything. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me, drying me before scooping me up and carrying me to bed. Again, not bothering with a towel for himself.

He laid me in bed and left the room only to return with waters. I noticed then Chance was in his own bed. I was a little disappointed with that. I enjoyed having his big body pressed to mine. His heavy breaths kept me company whenever David wasn't with me.      

David sat at the end of the bed, his hands diving under the covers, finding my feet.

“I'll always give you what you need,” he answered my questioning expression. “You don't need sex right now. You need a serious massage.”

He started with my feet, and the tension slowly slipped from my body with each press of his fingers. It felt so good I didn't know what to do with myself as my body slowly melted into the mattress. He worked his way up my calf before switching to the other. I was almost asleep when he moved to my hands, working his way up.

I didn’t know if he ever got to the other arm. 

*****

I remembered my legs being nudged open wide, and then a weight settling on me. A devastating arousal burned through me. My sole focus had been getting more of that sensation.

“Did we have sex last night?” I asked between sipping my coffee and staring at my too-sexy husband.

His eyebrow lifted and he nodded with a cocky smirk on his face.

“I love it like that,” I whispered almost whimsically.

“I
know
.” He was implying something more, but I didn't have a clue what.

We went through our morning ritual, and then I headed to the living room while David went up to his office. I was still sitting on the couch writing when I heard David come in through the garage.

“Where did you go?” I asked, still focused on my screen.

“I went to the store and by the post office.” His voice conveyed his confusion then shifted to somewhere between matter-of-fact and annoyed. “I told you when I left. Asked you to come with me. Asked if you wanted anything. You said no. To everything.”

“What did you get?” I questioned, unable to remember him speaking to me at all.

“Water. I told you we needed more water,” he said absently as he sat things on the counter.

“You didn't get me any ice cream?” I asked, hopeful he would go back without me having to ask.

“Ya know, you're lucky your husband loves you so fucking much and knows you well enough to get you some, huh?”

“Thank you, babe.” I never stopped typing and I never looked away from my screen. The subtle noises coming from David in the kitchen stopped.

“Austin, you've been writing for hours. I need you to stop writing and actually
be
with me...
Austin
, look at me.”

I turned, our gazes locking. He wasn't mad, just a little sad or maybe he looked lonely, almost like he'd been shut out of something, which I guess for a time he had.

“Sorry, babe.”

“I need my wife to spend more time with me.”

I saved my work and shut my laptop, setting it on the ottoman.

“Okay. I'm all yours, Mr. Taylor,” I said as I got up and made my way to the kitchen.

“That's the way I like it,” he muttered as I leaned up on tiptoes to kiss him. He pulled back, teasing me with a glare for half a second before leaning down and catching my lips in a lush kiss. When he pulled away, his eyes met mine for a long moment. I was awed by how much love I saw there.

“We got our first mail as Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.” He held up a large envelope in his right hand and I noticed all the swelling was gone. He still had a couple more weeks before the stitches could come out, though.  

“Oh, this is for an event, isn't it?”

“Yeah, looks like it's for the Casamigos Halloween party.” 

“Really?” I didn't wait for a response as I tore it open, pulling the invitation out.

“So I guess we're going?” he laughed.

“Yes!” My voice conveyed how ridiculous that question was. “It's in...”

“Three weeks,” David responded. “Need to get costumes.”    

“Do you always go?”

“Never gone.” He shook his head, putting the groceries away. He got a lot more than just water and ice cream. “But it's our first Mr. and Mrs. mail. So I guess I'm going
this
year.”

I squealed, running to my office with the invitation, and started searching for costume places. I quickly discovered what I wanted and a place in LA to get it. It was expensive, but it would be so worth it. David opened the office door just as I was getting up.

“You done?” he asked with his hands behind his back. “You find us something?”

“Yeah,” I answered suspiciously. He was up to something; I could feel it.

I walked past him and into the living area.

“You want some ice cream?”

“Yeah, what kind did you get?” I asked, still wary.

“Really?” He sounded offended. “I got our favorites.  Mint chocolate chip and cookies and cream. What else would I get?”

“Best husband
ever,
” I said, sitting on the couch.

He walked back over toward me, tossing me a plastic bag. I opened it and found black material, a lot of black material.

“What's this?”

“Look,” he tossed over his shoulder as he went back to the kitchen.

I pulled the material out and held it up. It was a tank top. I couldn't stop the smile that broke out on my face. Across the front it said Property of David Taylor in bold silver print.

“I thought you needed a replacement for the two I ripped up,” he called out, standing at the kitchen island.

I dumped the bag out on the couch. There were two more tanks, ‘David Taylor's Sweet Girl’ on one and ‘Mrs. David Taylor’ on the other, and three pairs of panties. Thong, boy shorts, and bikini style, all had Property of David Taylor on them.

I had to admit, it was super cute. And overbearing, but the material was divine.

“Go put them on,” he bossed, scooping the ice cream into bowls.

He was being too much, but I loved it. 

*****

By Friday morning, I was looking forward to my fitting and to getting a little space from David. The constant togetherness since we got married had started to wear on me. I was pretty sure it was just because I wasn't used to being with anyone around the clock. But I had done it with my mom, I could get used to it with David.

I knew I was struggling when I started looking forward to my bi-weekly colonics a bit too much, just to be alone, just to get a little time to be me—even if it was with a hose up my ass. I was still afraid I was losing myself in him, becoming some twisted version of me.

As if I'm not warped enough.

I was positive David had noticed—between my eagerness to go to my colon-hydrotherapy appointments and my dwindling enthusiasm about our morning routine, but he'd said nothing; he just watched me closely.