End of the Innocence(43)

“Are you mad?” I whispered, staring into his face.

He cocked his head at me, confused.

“At what he was doing ... when you came in.”

He chuckled, shoved fully in, a place he didn’t typically go, the extreme depth of him usually painful. I winced, slapped his chest, warning him with my eyes. “I’m only mad if he was doing something you didn’t want. or, if he was making you uncomfortable. From the looks of it, you were very comfortable.”

“But you didn’t mind just watching?”

“Watching you being pleased?” He shook his head, dragged his hips backward, then gripped my legs and pushed back in. “Seeing your face when you come, your muscles when they clench. The arch of your back at a time when I can focus on it, enjoy it. I lose so many sensations when I fuck you. Your sounds, the flush of your cheeks. Sitting there, watching you come ... it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It’s not about ‘minding.’ It’s about enjoying.” He quickened his thrusts, the movements of his hips, and dropped my legs, returned to my mouth. Then he wrapped his arms underneath me, pulled me to his chest, and rolled us over, our bodies joined as one, until I was astride, and he was below. And then he gave me a brief moment of control, and let me ride him to completion.





Chapter 34

APRIL

Days until wedding: 120

People in danger typically try to put as much distance as possible between them and their attacker. They believe that space equals safety. But they are wrong, and often get hurt as a result. You see, when your enemies are close, when their bodies are pressed flush against yours, at that range they can do very little damage. They need distance to swing a punch, to extend their hands and choke your neck. Distance to reach down and unzip a zipper. The lesson is simple: Dictate your space. Keep your enemies as close as possible until you are ready to give them space. And when you give them that space, use it to destroy them.

I had broken the triangle choke into an acronym for easy memorization. A. Arm Across. I move my attacker’s arm across his body. S. Scoot away. I slide my body away from him, moving him down my chest. L. Leg over his shoulder. Creating a noose, which I will use to hang him. A. Ankle. I grab my ankle, tucking it under my other leg, tightening the noose. P. Press. Press down on his head and squeeze until the air has left his body and he passes out between my legs. After he has gone limp, continued pressure will eventually cause death. A SLAP.

Ben had, per Brad’s wishes, become my instructor, moving us to the theatre after dinner on Wednesday nights. Brad had the room’s seating moved to the attic, blue mats now covering the large space. There, Ben and I would ‘roll,’ him training me on jujitsu defense tactics created by the Gracie family over the last three decades, tactics designed to allow a smaller individual to defeat a larger one. Ben had grown up in California, trained in their academy for over a decade. Though his instruction would never count in the world of belts and qualifications, it was priceless in the world of my personal safety, a world Brad now seemed obsessed with. I now kept a gun in my SUV, had campus security walk me to my vehicle if night had fallen, and my humble college abode was outfitted with five thousand dollars worth of security cameras, alarms, and monitoring services. I had forbid Brad from placing tracking devices on my car or cell. My stubborn stance on the item had led to a fight, which led to incredible sex, and then another fight, Brad unwilling to drop the subject. But I had stayed firm. A life without freedom wasn’t, in my mind, worth living. I didn’t ever want my movements tracked, for someone to have a finger on where I was at any moment. There was a level of caution that was necessary and reasonable, then there was a level that was invasive and controlling. Brad was a control freak; it was in every ounce of his DNA. It was important to me that I never be controlled. He could control his work, his clients, his juries, his employees, but not me. So that argument I won, his dark eyes flashing in frustration at the outcome. The jujitsu argument he won, as there was no good reason for me not to have defense abilities.

The sport was a close contact one, most moves requiring limbs to be tangled, bodies pressed in solid contact, faces inches away from each other, breaths commingling as he straddled me, taking aggressive stances that I would try to combat. Ben was often surprised by my aggression, my intent focus on how to best administer pain while in different defensive positions. But his reports back didn’t surprise Brad. Brad knew behind my sweet exterior was a need for control, one that often asserted itself during sex, or in other small ways of manipulation. It simmered below my skin, rising to a boil if provoked.