“He said it was to help me, but he had that black dress and those shoes laid out for me. You said he was controlling. I didn’t see it.” I spin in the chair coming face-to-face with Marshal’s baby-blue stare. Emotions I’ve successfully avoided bubble inside me, churning our dinner. “How did that happen?”
Marshal’s lips meet mine and I reach out to him, surrounding his thick neck until my breasts are against his solid chest.
When our kiss ends, I shake my head and blink away unwanted tears. “Marshal, you’ve known me forever. Is that me? Am I so easily manipulated that I would allow someone to control me without my realizing it?”
Taking my hand, he pulls me from the chair onto his lap as he sits again on the edge of the bed. For the longest time, he stares, brushing strands of hair from my face and over my shoulders. Although he isn’t speaking, I hear him, his turmoil and his angst. Whether he and I are intimate or only friends, there isn’t another soul on this earth who could answer my question with as much knowledge as Marshal.
“Are you,” he finally says. It isn’t a question but a prelude. Marshal’s head shakes as the depth of blue in his orbs swirls with emotions. “No, Samantha Ann Anderson, you are not.”
“Then how—”
His finger comes to my lips. “You’re fucking strong. You’re adventurous. You’re smart. You’re brave and fucking loyal to your core. You’re also incredibly gorgeous, and if I haven’t mentioned it before, you have the best rack I’ve ever seen.”
My lips curl as I tip my forehead to his. “I sense a but.”
His fingers splay beneath the hem of my shirt. “Oh, yeah, you have a fine ass.”
“Marsh.”
He takes a deep breath while leaving his warm hands against my skin. “No, there’s no but. There is a sidebar. You saw a future, one you’ve been wanting since we were kids, and Jack offered that to you. You were so busy seeing the dream that you didn’t notice the nightmare lurking off-screen. Are you easily manipulated? There’s only one person who can do that to you.” He kisses me. “It’s you, honey. And the good news is you saw it, you figured it out, and you stopped him. That’s what his stupid invoice is to your parents. It’s him trying to take back power.” He tilts his chin toward my computer. “That over there is you refusing.”
“Maybe that” —I lean my head toward the computer— “can wait. I’d really like to forget about him for a while and be reminded what it’s like to feel good.”
Marshal takes ahold of the hem of my shirt and lifts. There’s no resistance from me as he pulls the tank top over my head, drops it on the floor, and stares down at my breasts.
“Hello, ladies.” He pulls his gaze away from them and as his blue eyes meet mine, he shakes his head. “No bra, you naughty girl.”
Warmth climbs my neck to my cheeks as my skin tingles and my nipples bead. “I wondered if you’d noticed.”
“Only the second I walked through your door.”
Reaching for his shoulders, I lean close and bring my lips near his ear, knowing I can be honest with him. “No panties either.”
“Oh fuck.”
His bicep bulges as with one hand, he pulls his t-shirt over his head. Every toned muscle makes itself known in his washboard abs.
“Do you think the research can wait?” I ask.
“I think we can find something better to do.”
“You think?”
“No, honey, I know. Lose the shorts.”
“So bossy.”
“I am, and you like it.” He lifted his chin. “Scoot up the bed. I haven’t had my dessert yet.”
Marshal
I wake to that feeling that it’s not morning, yet the world is calling. As I blink my eyes, I see the way the otherwise-dark bedroom fills with light and different colors. Reaching for Sami, I find only cool sheets. They weren’t cool by the time we finally gave into sleep. No, they were on fucking fire.
Unabashed receptiveness is something I need to add to my growing list of Sami’s attributes.
Sitting up, I see my best friend through the darkness, sitting at her desk in front of her laptop. The light from the screen reflects off her white satin robe and her long chestnut hair is now piled on her head in a messy bun, giving me a sexy silhouette of her slender neck as she shakes her head.
I blink again and again, finally noticing but not understanding what she has on the screen.
As I roll to the side, the sheet drapes over my waist and leaning my elbow on the mattress, I prop my head on my fist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
She flinches at the sound of my voice as she cranes her neck toward me. “How?”
“You never told me that you were into porn.”
Her face inclines before she spins the chair toward the bed.
Before I can speak, I’m struck by her expression. No longer is it the blissful one I saw as she cuddled against my side, laying her head on my arm and drifting off to sleep. From the illumination of the screen, I see her anguish. It isn’t only visual. Fuck, I feel it vibrating through the air as I scramble from the covers to look closer.
“No,” Sami says as she stands, her small frame trying to shield the screen. “Please, Marsh.”
I’m fully nude and that fact isn’t even on my radar. All I can concentrate on is Sami as I reach for her shoulders. “What the fuck, Sami?”
Letting her chin fall to her chest, she takes a step to the side.
I stare, my eyes glued to the woman on the screen.
Porn isn’t new to me.
My education started young, sneaking peeks at Bruce Jefferson’s dad’s stash of Playboy and Hustler magazines. He kept them hidden in the attic of their detached garage.
When I was older, Robbie Thompson discovered pay-per-view. Every Friday night I and a few other boys would spend the night. That didn’t last long, only until his parents received the detailed billing.
Next, I figured the internet was safe until I learned about a thing called browsing history. That led to an interesting conversation with my mother, one that neither of us wants to remember.
I could blame my viewing on curiosity or even hormones; however, no matter the root cause, as I became older, I found the real flesh-and-blood version far surpassed images or even movies.
I’m hardly a prude. I enjoy a woman’s body for the amazing creation it is, and right now, the woman standing and staring up at me is so racked with emotion that it takes me a minute to understand.
I blink my eyes again, certain my mind is playing tricks on me.
Perhaps I’m still in bed and this is some kind of erotic dream.
One more look at Sami confirms that one person’s dream is another person’s nightmare.
My focus leaves the screen and goes to Sami.
“What the fuck? Did you pose for that? Are there more?”
A tear slides down her cheek as she shakes her head. “There are more. I don’t know how many.” Her words come out staccato, punctuated by her rapid inhalation.
That fucking prick.
“Did you pose?” I ask.
“No.” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “I didn’t know.”