Raw Ch. 12

I dared to dart my eyes down and felt a smile tugging at my lips. He'd pulled the blanket over his lap at some point, but it did little to hide the tent he'd pitched beneath it. And if I wasn't mistaken, one of the words he was mouthing looked a hell of a lot like 'baseball.'

"Go clean up and take a nap." He said eventually, his voice shaky. "You deserve it. It's been a rough few days for you. We're both home now, so you can relax in your own bed. I'll be fine down here. Take your phone in case I do need something."

Lowering my legs and standing up was a harder task than I'd imagined. I had been sitting in that position for no more than ten minutes—fifteen max—but my body complained as if I'd been there an hour. I noticed the wet stain on the seat, and I was suddenly glad I hadn't paid to have my grandmother's chair reupholstered yet.

I pondered my clothes for a second, deciding to abandon them. It made no sense to get dressed only to disrobe again to get in the shower. So I sauntered across the room naked, my breasts bouncing slightly.

"Please, hurry," Malcolm said, his voice barely a whisper. "You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now."

I just grinned. I heard him groan and whimper as I ascended to my bedroom and bathroom. The poor man. This was going to be a difficult recovery. For both of us.

###

The next four weeks went by so slowly. I felt more like a maid than Malcolm's fiancée. Although, I quickly found that his situation allowed me to be more submissive. To attend to his needs because I wanted to, not just because I had to. Like helping him with leg and arm exercises on his uninjured limbs so he didn't get too stiff from immobility. Or giving him sponge baths—that he claimed to hate, but I could tell by his erection every time that he enjoyed them. Some days, he did frustrate me up the wazoo. On purpose, it seemed, just to test me. But I learned to check myself before I lost my temper.

His constant smile and warm looks whenever I did do something with a smile—especially without him asking me to—showed me that he was proud of my growth.

I was also restless because we hadn't had sex in over a month now. He always stopped us if our casual kisses became too intense. And he hadn't requested a repeat of the voyeuristic masturbation show. I was a little disappointed on the latter because I'd found I'd enjoyed it immensely, but I realized it must have been very difficult for him to be tempted like that. Even though he had insisted on it.

I struggled not to tempt him, as well, although he once said my mere presence was a temptation. I'd tried hiding away for a day to finish my second novel. But it had only resulted in dozens of missed texts asking if I was okay...was something wrong.

So I spent half of my days curled up in the chair or on the other end of the couch working on my laptop. I devoted the other half to fulfilling his non-carnal needs, mentally counting down the days until we could be intimate again. I felt like I was a virgin waiting for her wedding night. And with the doctor not knowing how much physical therapy would be required once the cast came off, I might as well have been waiting until we did get married to sleep with him again.

The downtime did have other advantages. It allowed us to spend more time just being together, even if we were in our own little worlds. Sometimes we talked, but mostly he watched TV and I worked on revisions that Sue sent me. It was peaceful. Enjoyable. And it only made us a better couple.

I'd broached the subject that while I knew he liked frequenting the club, I was hesitant to have a reception there just because they catered to the BDSM lifestyle. I had no acquaintances in the scene. And honestly, neither did he anymore, at least not locally. He apologized if he'd caused me any undo duress because of his request as he didn't want me to feel obligated as I had with Drake's party. He just thought it would be a neat venue due to our predilections. But he agreed, we should scratch the club reception idea. Interesting what communicating openly achieved.

It was near the end of May, and I'd spent the day on a fruitless search for a wedding dress. I'd procrastinated for months and only used Malcolm's injury as another excuse. But I'd relented to his insistence that although we didn't have a new date, it was happening this year, so I needed to get to work on the one thing that I could. Even he knew it took awhile to get a dress ordered and altered.

Other than Sue, I didn't have any close friends in the vanilla world. I'd had acquaintances through the years, but I had tended to keep to myself since I was always in the spotlight as a writer. I was finally seeing the down side to that now. Sue had been unable to attend my first try-on appointment, so I'd battled the racks of overpriced white gowns all alone. The shopping excursion had left me depressed because honestly, I had no idea what I was looking for. And it didn't help that just about everything looked good on me. I'd left with a heavy heart.

Malcolm was watching a sports talk show in the living room when I returned. I heard the TV go quiet as I started up the stairs. I'd been able to keep in the tears the entire drive home. I just wanted to crawl into bed and have a good cry.

"Becca? Detective Jansen stopped by while you were out."

A sniffle escaped. Joy. What now?

When I still didn't answer, he said, "Come here, please."

I looked longingly up to where my bedroom was. But I turned around with a sigh.

Lately, he'd been sitting in the middle of the couch with his cast propped up on an ottoman. It allowed me to sit beside him and watch TV with him, work, or just talk. Today was no different.

He look up as I sat beside him. "What's wrong?"

I snuggled up to his side as he put his arm around me. My eyes drifted closed as I leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing again. "I hate wedding dresses."

He chuckled. "While I imagine you'd look beautiful in anything you pick out, I'm much more anticipating seeing you out of it."

That brought a small smile to my lips. And a little skip to my heart. I'd contemplated something the last couple of days, but I was hesitant to bring it up. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Before I could speak, he tucked his fingers under my chin and lifted it so our eyes met. "Be honest with me. Are you reconsidering?"

I tried to pull away, but he held me tight.

"Becca?" His eyes seemed to droop with the corners of his mouth. "Talk to me."

I worried my lower lip for a minute, trying to arrange my words so they made sense. It was so much easier when I was typing it on a computer. I could go back and erase or change it until I made it sound the way I wanted it to.

"Yes, I am."

He gasped, and I pressed my fingers to his lips.

"I want to make it very clear. I am not reconsidering marrying you," I said, my voice wavering. "I want nothing more in this life than to be your wife. But I don't need an elaborate ceremony. A fancy, expensive dress. A hall full of people I don't know who claim to be family members and friends. I know we talked about all of this already. We had decided smaller was better, especially since we don't have enough family and friends between us to fill that hall, much less a church."

He caressed my cheek now, wiping away a couple of stray tears that trickled down from the corner of my eye when I blinked.

"What if we go even smaller?" I sat up a little, turning to face him. "Just you and I at the courthouse? My mother of course, and someone if you want them there."

His forehead furrowed. " I thought you wanted to get married on the beach?"

I smiled. "I did. I love it there. Hell, I'd live there all year round if we could. But this is more practical. Instead of flying out there to get married on the beach and then flying off to some other country afterwards, what if we just went to the beach house for our honeymoon? You know we wouldn't get bored. Plus, we've been talking about going to Europe early next year for a convention."

He pressed my head to his shoulder again and was quiet for a long time. If not for his fingers playing idly with my hair, I would have thought he'd fallen asleep. Finally, he said, "Have you've been thinking about this a lot?"

"Just within the past week." I sat up a little and palmed his rough cheek. He'd not shaved in a while, and it was quite disarming. I made a mental note to tell him that I liked this look before I refocused my thoughts. "But I don't want to make all of the decisions. It's your wedding, too."

"I'll consider what you've proposed." He pulled me back against his chest and kissed my forehead. "Oh, I wanted to tell you what the detective said."

I let out a soft groan. "What could he possibly have wanted?"

"Get this. He couldn't tell me all of the details, but Jesse and Juliet are both being deported this week. Apparently, they are originally from France and have dual US citizenship. But they were caught smuggling drugs when they were flying out of O'Hare a couple of weeks ago. The police suspected, but they didn't have any hard evidence. Until now."

I contemplated the words he'd just said. "Oh, my God! Do you think they drugged your wine—"

"Yes. I'm sure something was in the glass they gave me the night before the accident. You know I'm not a heavy drinker, but I can hold my own. There's no way that I should have been that out of it after the small number of glasses I had. I'd considered being drugged, but they were pouring their own glasses out of the same bottle. I can't remember if they brought me a full glass to at first or an empty one and filled it afterwards. Maybe the drug was on the rim. Or added later. Hell, maybe they were on drugs, too, but they were used to it so they weren't affected as I was. But it explains why my memory was so sketchy that next morning."

"I'm so sorry." I ran my hand along his cheek as I stared up at him. "It seems so easy to slip something into a drink these days..."

He was silent. Watching me. As if he was waiting for me to figure something out.

His words circled around my head, but I couldn't make any other sense out of it. Until I realized what I'd said. I sat up with a start. "That French man at the bar! The one who helped Brian kidnap me!"

Malcolm nodded slowly. "It was confirmed that Jesse and Juliet provided him with product from their trips out of the country. They had nothing to do with Brian, though, just the drug dealer. Jansen is working with the detectives who handled your case to bring charges against the three of them. He wanted you to know that we shouldn't have to worry about them again."

I settled back into his warm embrace. We sat silently for a while. All I could think about was that it was all over. Finally.

And then another thought trickled into my brain. I wouldn't have even considered it before this conversation. It killed me to ask it, but I had to know.

"Malcolm?"

"Yes, sweetie?" he sounded absentminded. As if he was thinking of something himself.

"How can you afford the beach house?"

His body shook under me. "It's not drug money."

"Well that's a hell of a relief." I laughed as well. "But I'd still like to know. Am I marrying a billionaire or a man with a mortgage that can never be paid off?"

"Neither." He pulled me in tighter and kissed my cheek. "I'm a millionaire."

I playfully thumped my fist against his chest. "Stop teasing me."

He shrugged. "I'm not. My great-grandfather was in the steel business when it first got started in the thirties. He passed some money on down to me after he died. I made some good investments. My net worth is about four-point-seventy-five million. I can show you the bank statements. But as for the house, it's been in the family for years. I inherited it, too, much as you inherited this condo. Before my grandfather passed away, he had opened an account that was solely to be used for the taxes. It's still paying them today. Like my father before me, I just have to pay the utilities and insurance."

I blinked at him.

"The extended family used to go there for summer vacations. Three months out of every year. Man, I always looked forward to it. There used to be a lot more beds in the bedrooms to fit all of the adults back then. Us grandkids slept in bunk beds. My dad was the oldest sibling, so he got the house. Then I got it from him."

My mouth had been hanging open the whole time he was talking, but no sound came out. Finally, my voice box was working again. "What? How? Did you not think that was something you should have told me be now?"

He smiled at me. "I didn't want you to marry me just for my money."

"Ugh!" I crossed my arms and pretended to pout. "You're lucky I love you just the way you are."

"Oh, Becca, you know your money is the only reason I'm marrying you."

I thumped him harder in the chest. He just chuckled and turned the TV sound back up.

###

It was two weeks later before he brought up the subject of the wedding again. We'd spent the day at the hospital getting follow-up X-rays. The fractures on Malcolm's ribs had healed completely. But Dr. Runyon wanted to keep the leg cast on for another week.

I made dinner after we got home and tuned out the baseball game he'd turned on while we ate. While I wasn't a sports nut, I knew enough to watch the occasional game with him and make comments. He either didn't notice or seem to mind that I wasn't paying attention tonight. I was contemplating, instead, what the doctor had told me as Malcolm was getting dressed this afternoon.

When we finished eating, he went to the bathroom with the aid of his crutches. And a string of curse words describing just what he thought of his cast as he had to maneuver into the smaller bathroom and get the door closed. After he returned, he of course needed me to help him get situated once again. He grumbled the whole time.

"Woman, I swear. Quit blocking the game."

"You think I like waiting on you hand and foot?" I frowned as I finished positioning the heel of his cast on a pillow and ottoman. I wasn't happy with him having to keep the cast on, either, but we had to deal with it.

"Yes, I think you enjoy it immensely." Malcolm made some kind of grunting sound as I stepped between him and the TV one more time, clearing away his dishes from dinner. He swatted at me with the rolled up newspaper.

I squealed as it connected with my ass, and I hurried from the room to clean up the kitchen.

I finished and dried my hands before making sure the house was locked up. Then I went upstairs to carry out a plan I'd concocted while loading the dishwasher. I'd unknowingly set it in motion the day before. Sue had insisted we browse the wedding decorations at a party store after our lunch, although I'd told her we weren't going to be decorating anything. I'd spotted something in the costume area instead and bought it with the thought that I'd use it for the Halloween party at the club later this year.

Now, I thought that maybe it would help Malcolm with the bout of getting frustrated with every little thing. I had noticed it more within the last week, and it had only deepened since the doctor's visit. He had been sitting around with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed while he watched TV. Or at least stared at the screen. Then there was the increased swearing when he was trying to do something but had to do it slower due to the crutches...or not at all because of the cast.

I knew that his job played a factor, too. Out of the past school year, he'd barely worked three full months. And most of the time off was because of me. He was tenured, so he couldn't be fired, but that didn't mean it didn't bother him. He loved his work, so being unable to get back there quickly had to be eating him up inside. He hid it pretty well, but I knew him. Adding onto that the delay with removing his cast, I decided he needed some cheering up.

His recovery had taken its toll on me as well. Not to mention, I was fucking horny after having to use my hand and toys lately. At first, I wasn't going to mention my private sessions. I'd been embarrassed that I couldn't control myself. But once I had told him, he'd not only encouraged it, he'd admitted—a little sheepishly—that he had succombed to lust a couple of times as well after seeing me around him so much. He'd promised that he'd been careful, and I held no more guilt that I'd found release on my own.

I replayed Dr. Runyon's words from this afternoon in my head: we could have sex as long as Malcolm was careful not to overexert himself. While his ribs were healed, his body wasn't used to rigorous activity. We'd have to build up to that slowly. But the doctor was confident that eventually, we'd be able to return to having rough sex. I hadn't elaborated any more than that when I'd asked the question, and she hadn't pressed. Thank God.

I'd not mentioned the news to Malcolm lest I give him false hope. I'd have hated to be too tired after he anticipated sex all day. Of vise versa. I'd even thought of putting it off until tomorrow. But my intuition told me we both needed it tonight.

A few minutes later, I sauntered down the stairs and into the living room.

"Can I get you anything else, Mr. McClaren, before I prepare your bed?"

"Nope, I'm good." Malcolm didn't even take his eyes off the TV, although the game he'd been watching had gone to a commercial break.

I stepped between him and the TV. "Are you sure, Mr. McClaren?"

"Holy shit!" He fumbled with the remote. A moment later, the room went silent and the TV screen dark.

I propped one hand on my hip, and I twirled the end of the plastic stethoscope with my other hand.

"Um, another pillow maybe?" He pointed to the pile he'd haphazardly created this morning when he had gotten up.

I turned and bent down at the waist, letting the edge of the white mini-dress ride up to show I wasn't wearing any panties...just a garter belt and stockings.

He whistled long and low behind me.

I fluffed up the pillow and placed it behind his head. I made sure I leaned over far enough that my breasts—which were already falling out of the top of the fake nurse's uniform—were close to his face. I felt his hot breath against them as I stood up. "Anything else, Sir?"

His Adam's apple bounced noticeably as he swallowed. "What do you recommend, doctor?"

"Oh, I'm just a nurse," I smiled coyly. "But Dr. Runyon said you're clear for extracurricular activities as long as you're careful. I'm just here to do some routine tests so you can be discharged."

He seemed to be holding his breath as I put the earbuds of the stethoscope into my ears and placed the small disc end to his chest beneath the robe he'd thrown on over his T-shirt once we'd gotten home.

"Take a couple of deep breaths, please." It was so hard to say it without laughing. He'd just done this earlier with Dr. Runyon. I'm sure that whatever was going through his mind right now wasn't even a figment of his imagination a few hours ago.

He complied with my request.

It may have been a toy, but the plastic thing sure let me know his heart was racing as I moved it around. That could have been because his face was eye-level with my breasts, as well. I smiled and stood upright. This was going to be so much fun.

"Your heartbeat is a little rapid, Mr. McClaren. Is something making you anxious?"

"Well, ma'am," he said, pausing to gulp again, "I do get a little nervous around doctors. And nurses."

"There's nothing to be nervous about, Sir."

His eyes flashed at that last word. I prayed he wouldn't ruin this by usurping control. Thankfully, he remained silent.

"I should check your temperature. You look a little flushed." I proceeded to lean down again and lightly pressed my lips to his.

He flinched at the sudden, intimate gesture. As he recovered and tried to deepen the kiss, I pulled back.