#wow you have to save your breath to 'steal my gyms?' weak.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

[janeykath318]

The Trials Of Being A Bodyguard 4

The Trials Of Being a Bodyguard4

Jemma was excited for the trip to Europe, being very fond of travel and sightseeing. She had a list of tourist places to see in between the official diplomatic pomp and circumstance they’d be doing with various premiers and presidents. She boarded the plane with a spring in her step and positively beamed when Bones took the seat beside her.

Bones seemed to be rather agitated, though and sat down with a tense scowl on his face.

“I may throw up on you,” he warned. “Ummm…You have problems on planes, Bones?” She asked nervously.

He nodded. “Aviophobia. I apologize in advance for any panic attacks or puking.”

“It’s okay, Bones,” she assured him. “Maybe I can chatter enough to keep you distracted for a while.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” he managed with a weak grin, before leaning back and closing his eyes.

The whole lift-off process, Jemma talked away about nonsense and weird dudes who’d tried to date her, going into great and hilarious detail. Somehow, her hand ended up on his in an extra attempt to soothe his discomfort.

“Did you know I met your daughter, Bones?” She asked, once they were in the air and he’d recovered somewhat. He opened one eye.

“She told me about going to the palace. Girl was practically bouncing off the walls talking about how super nice and pretty you are. I told I’m well aware of that fact.” Jemma felt warm inside at this statement.

“She definitely takes after her dad,” the princess went on, “Uncannily perceptive and she got this look on her face like she was sizing me up for some reason. I wonder what nefarious schemes are going through her young mind right now.”

Leonard chuckled to himself. If only she knew. Joanna was much too smart for her own good sometimes.

“Probably plotting to steal the crown. She loves that tiara.” He realized then he hadn’t let go of her hand and quickly released it, muttering an embarrassed, “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, Bones,” Jemma assured him with a wink, “I won’t tell.”

She wouldn’t care if he held it the entire trip. It just felt right.

“How in the world am I gonna survive a two week trip with you?” he asked, looking fondly exasperated.

Jemma shrugged and pulled out a novel to read. “I don’t know, Bones. It’s a rough job watching out for me, but you’re the most determined man I’ve ever met.”

“If by determined you mean more stubborn than a mule and twice as ornery, then yes, I am.”

He did that funny eyebrow raise again, making him look half crazy. Jemma couldn’t help it. She giggled. Oh, how she loved him. Despite the impossibility of the situation, the fact that he probably couldn’t return it, she was head over heels and falling harder.

“Just so you now, I’m keeping you, Bones. Consider your job secure.”

With a devious grin at him, she retreated into her book.

She could hear a muttered, “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

He seemed to finally relax though and they settled in for a long flight.

About three hours in, the princess yawned and shut her book.

“I’m bored, Bones. Tell me something interesting about you.”

The eyebrow happened again. “Not much to tell, your highness,” he said, “Don’t understand why you think I’m an international man of mystery.”

She grinned. “You are kind of mysterious, though. How did you come to be a bodyguard?”

A strange look came over his face and she quickly backtracked. “If it’s too personal, you don’t have to tell me. It’s just…..You’re the first person assigned to me who doesn’t continually inform me of your great physical prowess in all areas of life. It was irritating hearing them talk about how much they could bench or how many martial arts they knew.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have such an impressive resume, Jemma,” Bones admitted, looking at her briefly. “Up until four years ago, I was a doctor: with a great job, a wife, and daughter.”

“Whoa,” Jemma breathed, “a doctor? Really?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I lived for fixing up people. Saving lives. Then Jocelyn got sick and by the time we caught the cancer, it was too late to save her. There’s an old saying "shoemaker’s children go barefoot and doctor’s wives die young.” Turned out to be true. If I’d slowed down enough to pay attention to her the way I should’ve, she might’ve had a chance. As it was, she was gone in six months.“

"That’s awful, Bones,” Jemma whispered, feeling sick for what the man had been through. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you and Joanna.”

He swallowed and nodded, echoes of the sadness written on his face.

“Yeah, we were shattered. Jo just cried and cried nonstop for weeks. When I finally went back to work, I hated it. Couldn’t stand to set foot in a hospital. Quit two months later.”

“Wow.” Jemma remained quiet for a few minutes, thinking over what he’d told her. She blushed to think about her previous behavior and how irritating it had probably been.

“So you must have made it through training really well and impressed someone a lot to get assigned a job at the palace. Some of these guards have worked for ten years before they get in.”

The Princess herself was certainly impressed at his rapid rise.

Bones shifted a bit in his seat, trying unsuccessfully to fit his long legs comfortably.

“Probably because I was so angry at myself and life in general, I worked an insane amount in the gym to deal with it, so I was too exhausted to think and poor Jo wouldn’t have to see me like that. My personal trainer had connections here and next thing I know, Pike’s offering me a new career opportunity. Course, I had to learn how to disable a threat and handle a gun during that which wasn’t really my cup of tea, but I passed it okay.”

“Good to know you can take down the bad guys, Bones,” she teased, easing the conversation back to lighter ground. “Why, when I first met you, I thought Pike hired you solely for that do-not-mess-with-me scowl. I bet Joanna doesn’t dare disobey when you give that look.”

He shook his head. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “She’s got an obstinate streak in her.”

The far away, gentle smile on his face when he talked about Joanna made Jemma’s heart squeeze. How she wanted to hug them both tightly and never let anything hurt them again. All the rest of the flight, she told him stories of her rambunctious childhood and kept him so entertained, he forgot to be nervous when they landed.

[anavoliselenu]

Beautiful lies chapter 8

I choke on a swig of bourbon and clear my throat. "No." My voice is gruff. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. I have. Almost constantly. I imagine lifting her up with her ass in my hands until her legs hug my waist. Pressing my fingers to her warm center while biting the soft skin at her throat. The waiting and wanting is pure torture. Christ, I’m screwed. How did I not think this through when I brought her home?

"No shit?" Both he and Collins turn to face me, like this is breaking news.

"Please tell me you’re not still hung up on Stella," Collins asks, his sympathetic eyes locked on mine.

Fuck no. I’m not hung up on her. I’m just trying to do the right thing – without having one fucking clue what that means.

They watch me, cataloging my contemplative mood and Pace chews on his lower lip. "Seriously dude, Stella is ancient history, even if she refuses to get the fuck out of your life, there’s nothing wrong with moving on."

"I know that," I grumble. I’ve told myself the same thing, over and over, yet some unknown force holds me back. Of course they don’t know it’s been two fucking years since I’ve been intimate with a woman, and being in such close proximity to a beautiful girl like Selena is the worst kind of torture.

"So, what’s the hold up, man? I’d be tapping that sweet pussy every night." Pace gives me a goofy grin.

"She’s a virgin." As soon as I’ve said it, I want to take it back. It’s too intimate a piece of knowledge to share with them. It’s Selena’s personal business. I don’t tell them how I’ve come to possess this information, or that I’d bought the right to that particular privilege; I just sit there staring down into my now empty glass, wondering if and when I’ll do something about it.

"Wow." Collins says while Pace’s cocky grin widens. Asshole. "Not what I was expecting you to say," Collins continues, "I thought you’d feed us that line again about her being your buddy’s little sister."

Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten the story I gave them. Just another testament to how messed up my head is right now.

"We all know things aren’t totally finished with Stella – so I’m not going to pretend like they are, but really, is that honestly what’s stopping you?" Pace asks, his eyes full of genuine confusion.

"I don’t know." It’s partly that – partly that I’m not sure if Selena wants me, or if I even deserve to take something so precious from her. Part of it is her innocence, the sweet way her eyes follow me around the room, her trusting nature, the selflessness she displayed to save her sister in the first place…she’s entirely too good for me to use for my own pleasure. I already feel guilty – but after, I know I’ll feel guilty as fuck. And even though I tell my brothers nearly everything – my participation at that auction is something I’ll take to the grave. Not for my own sake, but because I doubt Selena would want anyone knowing she’d sold herself that way.

"You need to figure it out, bro." Pace slaps me on the back before pouring another measure of liquor into my glass. "Otherwise I have a feeling you’re in for a massive case of blue balls."

He’s not kidding. I’m certain I have enough pent up semen to father three-quarters of the world’s population. My dick aches constantly and my brain swirls with thoughts I shouldn’t be having, but worst of all is the way my heart beats faster when she’s near and all my senses tune into her completely.

My life for the past two years has been a lesson in order and self-control. I worked hard, and logged long hours at the gym, but I haven’t been really living. Selena's brought out a different side to me. Just the act of her curling around me at night had softened me, made me remember life wasn’t only about coping. There were things worth living for. I wanted more of that mixed in.

Chapter Ten

Selena

The mid-morning sunshine and the fact that there’s still a warm male tucked against my side, remind me that it’s Saturday. I stretch leisurely in the bed, already daydreaming of the delicious frothy cappuccino I’m going to make myself. I feel quite proud that I’ve mastered that damn over-pretentious coffee machine. It only took me three weeks.

Justin surprises me by reaching out and tugging me back against him. I’m greeted by a rather impressive erection nudging my backside. Gah! It's warm and solid and my body clenches uselessly, responding automatically at the mere thought of him.

Aside from those first two nights, we’ve had no other sexual contact. I should feel relieved, but instead I find myself increasingly frustrated and confused. Almost a month has passed. I had figured he would take my virginity right away, but after several days and then weeks, I've become increasingly anxious and curious about it. Now I just want to get it over with, I'm tired of waiting and wondering when he’s going to do. I was purchased as a sex slave and I know I'm not living up to my end of the bargain.

In the evenings he stays up late, working in his office and all but ignores me. Does he not find me attractive? Is he gay? Were my blowjobs that bad? The wait is maddening. Is there something wrong with me that my master refuses to fuck me? The belly churning anticipation is worse than the actual event. I need to get this over with. I’d often suspected he took care of his needs during his morning shower, but I’ve never been brave enough to venture into the bathroom for confirmation.

At first I wondered if he was waiting for me to make a move, to climb into his lap, or kiss him…but I know that’s not it. He wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted from me the first two times. He’d ordered me to my knees, undone his pants and stroked himself while I’d watched. I knew he wasn’t timid, which made this all the more confusing.

You could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife – it’s a real and visceral need permeating the air around us. And each night I’m expected to cuddle up to a shirtless, buff, delicious smelling man, lay in his arms and be the perfect little obedient bedmate. The problem with all this? It’s fucking confusing. He’s spent a million dollars to bring me here, and I’m all too aware of the money – every time I call home, when I hear about Becca’s progress, every time I wander the various rooms of his mansion, or catch my reflection in the mirror and remember where my new designer wardrobe came from, it sends another wave of confusion rattling through me. I need to know what’s expected of me – where we stand – what this arrangement involves.

His cock is the only part of him I clearly understand. It’s less discreet in its desires. But his mind is like a fucking maze. One I have no hope of ever solving. I’ve thought about confronting him. But in this moment – feeling his hot arousal press against me, I want something else entirely.

A low rumble escapes his throat as he presses closer, his cock nestling in against my ass cheeks. Warm need dampens my panties, making them cling to my sensitive folds. He pushes his hips closer again, stealing my breath as I feel every hard ridge of him. His hand moves along my belly, inching its way upward and I hold my breath, wondering where it will land.

Wishful thinking takes hold and I angle my body toward his, wanting to feel his firm hand cup my breasts, rub against my sensitive nipples. His fingers splay open and brush the underside of my breast.

His breathing remains even and steady against the back of my neck and he’s making sleepy little noises, which only urge me on. As much as I wish I could see his face, I’m too afraid to move – too afraid it will break the spell. I consider pushing my t-shirt up out of the way to help him, craving the skin to skin contact against my breasts and nipples, but instead, I press my bottom back into his hard arousal and he releases a grunt. The sound makes all my inner muscles clench.

"Soph?" he asks, his voice sleepy and rough.

Oh god. He was still asleep, and now I’m mortified.

I roll toward him and look down between us to where his cock is straining against his boxers, trying to come out and greet me.

Just let me take care of it for goodness sake.

I place my hand over his heart and feel its steady thump.

"Sorry, it’s just morning wood," he says, noticing my fascination with what’s below his navel.

"It’s okay," I whisper. "Do you…Are you…" Spit it out, Soph. My lack of experience means I have no idea how to ask for what I want. I consider dipping my hand below his waistband, taking his firm cock in my fist and stroking him. I want him to kiss me, and pin me to the bed with his big body. Instead, he continues watching me with a little crease etched between his brows. He looks at me like I'm an amusing child that he has no idea what to do with.

"I’ll take care of it," he says, climbing from bed and leaving me wet and so turned on I could scream in frustration.

***

I’m bored as shit.

In the weeks since I moved in, I’ve developed a routine – one that bores me to tears –but at least it’s a routine. I wake mid-morning when Justin’s been gone to work for hours, have breakfast and coffee at the kitchen island while I talk to Beth – Justin’s personal chef - then I change and sit outside in the sun, curling up in one of the lounge chairs on the balcony while I read.

Later, I either go for a swim in the pool or jog on one of the treadmills in the gym. From there, my day unravels a bit. I wander the house, take a nap, text with Becca, and basically just wait around for Justin to get home. It’s a bland existence. I want to get a job – I need something to occupy my days other than thoughts of Justin and my strange new life.

The silver lining to all this is that Becca has been entered into the trial program and is receiving aggressive doses of medication that make her feel weak and sick but seem to be working. It’s much too early to tell if they’ll send her late stage cancer into remission, but we’re all hopeful. And while I don’t regret my decision, I have five more months to go, and I don’t think I can take another day of this complete mental and emotional boredom. I need more stimulation.

At six o’clock, all of the household staff is gone, and I’m showered and dressed and waiting for Justin to arrive home from work. Grabbing the little LED display remote, I tap the keypad, bringing the surround-sound speakers to life and change the music to something uplifting. A jazzy, upbeat band that I’ve never heard before fills the room. I crank it up loud, craving something different, some stimulation, then pad into the kitchen in my bare feet.

I open the door to the built-in wine cabinet that’s always a cool fifty-two degrees and pick out a bottle of white wine. The label proudly announces it’s called Naughty Girl Wine. Sounds perfect. After wrestling out the cork, I pour myself a large glass and sit down at the kitchen island to wait for my master’s arrival home.

As absent as our physical contact has been, he dominates my days and nights. My schedule revolves around his. I’m all too aware of when he wakes and prepares for his workday, showering and moving about the room in the dim light, dropping his towel and dressing in the closet so as not to wake me. When he returns at night is the happiest time of my day. To prepare for his arrival, I shower, style my hair and apply makeup and greet him like I’m seeing a long lost friend. It’s pathetic, but it’s my life.

I sit and sip my wine, hoping the combination of the alcohol and the jazz music spilling from the speakers will lift my mood. My stomach rumbles loudly. God, where is he? I glance at the clock. He’s later than usual. I pour myself another glass of wine and continue waiting. Dinner is ready and in the warming tray, as usual, and I can’t help peeking to see what Beth’s left us tonight. Its steamed fish garnished with fragrant orange slices, oven-roasted root vegetables and a side of creamy risotto. My mouth waters just looking at it and I steal a couple of vegetables off of each plate, being sure to keep the portions even, popping them into my mouth and chewing greedily like I’m breaking numerous international laws. The garlicky carrots and parsnips practically melt in my mouth and I steal another bite before replacing the covers on the two plates.

After two glasses of wine, I’m slightly buzzed and grab the remote for the sound system again. This cool jazz is giving me a headache. I flip absently through the music choices, not knowing what I’m searching for until I find it. Heart thumping, booty popping hip hop fills the room and my lips curl up in a lazy smile. I take another fortifying gulp of my wine and rise from the stool I’m slumped in, suddenly needing to move. I shimmy and shake across the kitchen, rolling my hips and lip-syncing along to the lyrics.

I dance while watching my reflection in the glass window across the room. Sticking my ass out, I give it a little shake. How could he not want this?

"What the hell are you doing?" Justin’s deep voice rumbles behind me.

Gah! My hand flies to my heart and I spin around, my spine instantly straightening. I meet his eyes, taking in his amused expression. My face flames fire-engine red and my mouth opens uselessly, then closes again, knowing I’ve been busted.

Justin’s dressed like he always is when he returns home from work. A custom tailored dark suit, light shirt and coordinating tie. Tonight the tie hangs loosely around his open shirt collar and his eyes are ringed with dark circles.

Making a split second decision, I saunter over to him, swaying to the beat of the still pumping music and grab his tie, tugging him closer. His body brushes against mine and the awareness of his broad muscular frame and captivating scent send endorphins skittering through my blood steam. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the music, or it could just be my lack of control in my new environment, but whatever the reason, I’m feeling bold. Alive for the first time in a long time. I drag a fingertip down the length of his tie, appreciating the feel of fine silk against my skin. Justin eyes my movements, but remains completely still as his breathing grows ragged.

Tired of being ignored, I grip his tie and work my hips back and forth in front of his lap, rolling my pelvis to the beat of the music, careful not to brush up against him, I’m just trying to show him there’s more to me than the kept little girl he treats me as.

His amused grin falls away and his face takes on a more serious expression. His eyes drop from mine and slide lower, traveling slowly down my body. His look is ravenous and my pulse riots in my neck. The way his eyes are glued to my body is too much. The healthy dose of courage, courtesy of the half bottle of wine I’d consumed, all but evaporates, and my dancing comes to a halt.

His hand circles my waist, his thumb grazing back and forth across my hip bone. "I never took you for a Rhianna fan," he murmurs.

I merely nod and his hand falls away. I immediately notice its absence. Grabbing the remote, I tap the screen several times to bring the volume down to a more reasonable level.

"Naughty Girl, huh?" Justin asks, plucking the wine bottle from the counter. "Are you drunk, Selena?" He sends me a questioning look and I lift one eyebrow. Why do I feel like a rebellious teenager who’s broken into daddy’s liquor cabinet?

He surprises me by bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long swig. I watch the thick column of his throat as he swallows and little goosebumps break out across my belly. When he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I’ve had a hell of a day." He grabs another bottle of wine and two fresh glasses. "Come on."

Dinner is all but forgotten – I have wine and Justin to keep me company and my boredom is temporarily at bay. Hallelujah!

I follow him through the house, into his darkened office and out onto the deck. As soon as he slides open the glass doors, the gentle whooshing sound of the ocean welcomes us. It instantly soothes me.

He strips off his suit jacket and removes the tie over his head, hanging both on the railing to the deck where they lightly flutter in the breeze. Justin sinks down into one of the lounge chairs and begins uncorking the bottle. I slide into the seat next to him and accept the glass of cool, crisp wine he passes me.

It’s not as sweet as the bottle I’d opened, but subtle buttery flavors greet my palate. Mmm. I let out a tiny moan and Justin’s eyes race over to mine.

"Care to tell me what tonight was all about?" he asks.

"What?" I play dumb.

"The club music – the wine, the dancing…" He lifts one dark eyebrow, his playful smirk is back.

"What was wrong with my dancing?"

Fighting off a smile, he clears his throat. "There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with it, sweetness. You just surprise me, is all."

"It’s boring here all day. I’m thinking about getting a job," I say, looking over at him to check his reaction.

"I’ve provided everything you could need. Why would you want to work?" He seems surprised.

After paying for my sister’s care, I still have several hundred thousand dollars in the bank. And I’m living expense-free. I should enjoy it, right? Only I can’t. That’s not me. I’ve never taken a hand-out in my life. "It’s not about the money, I just need something to do – I can’t lounge around all day with the only thing to do is go shopping with Marta using your credit cards. I want something for me. A purpose." Just saying it out loud renews my decision.

He takes another thoughtful sip of his wine, his full lips resting on the edge of the glass more distracting than it should be. "If that’s what you want. What kind of job?" he asks.

"I don’t know. Maybe at a coffee shop, or restocking books at the library. It doesn’t matter. Just something that gets me out of the house."

"You’re welcome to get a job, as long as you’re home in the evenings when I am."

I nod. That sounds good to me too. I’ve come to enjoy his company at night. My boredom is isolated to the daytime hours. I didn’t enjoy sitting alone in this too big house with too many thoughts running rampant through my head. It isn’t healthy. "Thank you."

"What did you do today?" he asks, like he usually does.

"I read, went for a swim." I shrug and focus on my wine. I don’t want to tell him that in the hours before he gets home, I shower and get myself ready, taking extra time to blow dry my hair and put on the dark colored lingerie that Marta insisted he’d like. It’s like even my bras and panties are mocking me, whispering against my skin that he’s not interested.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" He lifts my chin to meet his concerned gaze.

"Nothing." I straighten my shoulders, shaking the feelings away. There’s no reason to feel rejected. If anything, I should be relieved. But if the situation were different – if I wasn’t here under these pretenses, I’d still no doubt feel rejected by his lack of interest. He’s a beautiful, charming, wealthy man. I guess it was dumb to believe that a man like him would be interested in someone like me.

His eyes hesitantly leave mine and though I can sense he wants to press the issue further, he closes his mouth and refills my wine glass.

"What happened at work today?" I recall him saying he’d had a rough day.

His eyes harden and he looks out at the dark blue water, growing quiet. It occurs to me that I don’t really know what he does. He’s very private about his business. "Nothing with work, it was actually something…personal that popped up unexpectedly. I need to go to New York and take care of it."

"New York? When?" Of course what I really want to know is what personal matter he could have in New York, since I know virtually nothing of his past.