His Secretary:Undone(31)

Until after the holidays, that is. I'll deal with that when the time comes.

This time, he doesn't bring any lingerie, and he doesn't even make any  comments about what varietal of wine my pussy tastes like. He does bring  dinner, from some fancy Italian place I've never dared to set foot  inside, and for the first time since we kissed in the pool, I actually  feel like we might be dating.

I'm not sure how that grabs me.

"So far, so good," Adrian says, pouring himself another glass of red  that is not Beaujolais nouveau. He's referring to the fact that my  mother hasn't knocked on the door yet, and I hush him violently.

"Don't tempt fate," I hiss at him, like fate can't hear me if I'm whispering.

He shrugs. "I'm not superstitious."

The doorbell rings.

"Welcome to hell," I mutter, as I go to answer.

My mother gives me an icy smile. "I see you've rethought your holiday plans."

"Yeah, well, I guess you were pretty persuasive." I stand in the middle  of the doorway, attempting to block her path. "I'm kind of in the middle  of something right now."

"Nonsense. You can always make time for your mother when she's visiting  from so far away." She pushes past me, and stares Adrian down as she  pulls out a chair on the opposite side of the table. "Well. Seems like  you've taken the news rather well, unless she's saving that for pillow  talk."         

     



 

I grit my teeth. "It's fine, Mom. Really. I already told him I'm not going to do it."

"Yes." She grimaces slightly. "But you're going to anyway. I can see it  in your face. You've always been a terrible liar, for such a deceitful  little witch."

In that moment, I think I actually see Adrian's jaw unhinge in  disbelief. Or perhaps in preparation to swallow his prey whole; it's  always hard to tell, with him.

"Are you laughing at me?" my mother hisses. I realize that mental image  has brought a pretty inconvenient smile to my face, but I don't  particularly feel like hiding it. With Adrian beside me, I feel a  strength and steadiness at the center of my chest.

"No," I tell her. "There's nothing funny about you, Mom."

Adrian clears his throat. "Don't speak to her like that."

Vicious anger flashes in my mother's eyes. "She's my daughter, Mr. Risinger. I'll speak to her however I like."

"You're very skilled at bullying, Mrs. Burns," he says, his voice deadly  quiet. "It takes one to know one. You may have a few decades of  experience on me, but I promise I don't back down easily."

She just quirks an eyebrow at him. She's not taking him seriously - not yet.

"I'm not terribly pleased with the way you've taken over my daughter's life," she says, daring a response.

Adrian's fingers are tapping out their slow executioner's beat on the  table. My mother's eyes snap to them, staring, her lips going thinner  and thinner as she stares.

The look on his face is terrifying. It's also the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"At least I appreciate her," he says, his voice quiet and even and calm.  "Your daughter is brilliant, and beautiful. I think it's very sad that  you can't see that. But I think it's reprehensible that you talk to her  like she's a disappointment. Mrs. Burns, quite frankly, I don't care  about your guilt trip. An animal can give birth to a child and raise it,  so that doesn't particularly impress me. I don't know how Meghan turned  out the way she did, but all I see is you trying to intimidate her into  being a scared little girl again so you can feel important. I won't  hear this. I've said what I have to say, and if Meghan is determined to  allow it … well, there's nothing I can do about that."

He stands up, slowly. I don't dare look at my mother. My heart is thumping, my head rushing and my fingertips tingling.

I reach out and grab his wrist.

"Don't leave," I tell him, softly.

"Well." My mother's voice is soft and tremulous. "It looks like you've  made your choice. Don't come crawling back to me when he finds a skinny  woman-"

Adrian slams his hand down on the table. I almost jump out of my skin,  but my whole body is throbbing with a heady mixture of gratitude and  fear and …

And love.

"Get the fuck out," he growls. "You heard her. GET THE FUCK OUT."

My mother slams the door behind her, but I hardly hear the sound. I'm  clawing at Adrian's clothes before I even realize what's happening, then  I push him against the wall and I tumble to my knees.

I suck him desperately, urgently, but he pulls me to my feet before I  can finish him that way. Kisses me until I'm dizzy with it, then spins  me around and presses me against the table. His hand on the middle of my  back, he makes me bend at the waist and assume the position. He yanks  my panties and pajama pants out of the way.

He knows, without being asked, exactly what I need.

At first it's slow and gentle, light little smacks followed by caresses.  Then harder, and harder, until the tears I've been holding back finally  come. He spanks me as the tears fall, pooling on my dining room table.

Most men would be afraid to fuck me while I'm crying like this, sobbing,  like my soul's being ripped out of me, but Adrian, Adrian knows. He  knows the exact moment when I need to feel him inside, stretching me,  yet another challenge for my body to accept. Every sensation banishes  the guilt and fear and ugliness further from my mind. Every thrust,  every jolt of my hips against the hard wood, certain to leave bruises.  Every smack of his palm.

He grasps my hair by the root and yanks my head up, and I whimper. But I  remember the safe word, and he knows I remember it. He doesn't stop.  Doesn't even hesitate.

His every breath is a growl. I can feel all the coiled tension in his  body, everything he held back while he listened to my mother's insults.  Ever so slowly, ever so gradually, he replaces little fragments of  self-hatred with a strange, sharp sense of joy. One for each thrust. One  for each heartbeat. One for each breath.         

     



 

There are so many, so many more, so many little fragments in places I can't even find. But this is a start.

In spite of how it would look to anyone watching, what I feel in his  movements, in his touch, is something very simple. But a revolutionary  concept, to me.

I matter. I have value. I matter.

Not me, but thinner. Not me, but with better clothes and a better  haircut. Not me, but with a flatter stomach. Not me, but with a more  advanced degree in something useful. Not me, but with more discipline  and self-control.

Just me. Just me, the way I am, every day when I wake up in the morning without even having to try.

I howl his name when I come, rattling the table, and I don't give a fuck about my neighbors.

Afterwards somehow I'm sitting on the floor, crumpled down with my pants  more or less pulled back up, panties still slightly askew, and the  tears still flowing. Adrian is beside me, pulling me into his lap.  Kissing my forehead, murmuring that everything is going to be okay.

I don't quite believe him. But it doesn't matter, really.

Because I've got him.





***

I go to sleep swimming in tears, and I wake up in love with Adrian Risinger.

Maybe I was before. Maybe I always was. I don't know, but it takes me  less time to realize it than it takes me to notice that he's gone.

He carried me to bed last night, stripped down and climbed under the  covers and held me until I feel asleep. I remember that. I didn't  exactly expect him to be here when I woke up, but I still feel a cold  disappointment in my chest as I turn on the coffeemaker.

There's no note on the fridge, nothing written in the mirror for the  steam of my shower to reveal. He doesn't call or text. I don't know what  to make of that, and it frightens me, more than it probably should.

I was a raw, exposed nerve last night. I feel slightly more sensible  now, but I'm still in love. It throbs quietly with every heartbeat, so  much a part of me that I can't figure out why I ever denied it. And  that's how I know it's real.

Adrian's feelings are a bit more of a mystery, but he wouldn't have  stuck himself in the middle of a fight between me and my mom - twice -  if he didn't care about me.

I manage to pull myself together for work, my heart thumping overtime,  afraid of what he's going to say to me when I walk in. My hand shakes so  much that I almost spill his coffee, and as soon as I walk in, I'm  starting to think maybe I should. Preferably all over his lap.

"Hey, um … " I sit down, slowly. "I missed you this morning."

He glances up at me. Fuck. Are we really doing this again?

"I'm sorry about last night, Meghan," he says. "I obviously overstepped  my bounds. It should never have happened. If you want, I can try to  apologize to her … but I'm sure she doesn't want to hear from me."

"You didn't," I insist, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes  already. Damn it. "She needed to hear it, and I needed to hear it too."

Adrian processes this, silently. I can tell he wants to say a thousand  things he's not saying, but he's shut down again - some door inside that  he'd cracked open is slammed shut again, and I don't know how or why.