Chapter 27
W ith Crue out of sight, Edwin finally steps forward.
“Miss Munreaux, your father would like a word.”
“I’m busy,” I try halfheartedly.
“He insists.”
Doesn’t he always?
I follow the valet to my father’s office.
My father’s eyes don’t move from mine as I sit in front of his desk. He doesn’t speak right away either, choosing to swivel his head side to side, letting the unease build.
I try not to let it even though I am guilty of a lot of things, most of them enough to send my father into a rage. That’s part of the reason why I do them.
“Explain to me what happened last night.”
I figured it was only a matter of time before I’d be punished for that.
“I had a great time with Mallory. I feel I really got to know—”
“Why did you disappear so suddenly?”
“As I tried telling you last night, I didn’t feel well, and—”
“The executive protection agent accompanied you home?”
“Per your mandate, he accompanies me every—”
“How did he know you weren’t feeling well?”
Why does he keep asking me questions if he isn’t even going to let me answer?
“I informed my bodygu—”
“How? I sent him on a break.”
That is news to me considering he only left my side for…
That’s why he disappeared. Father made him. He didn’t willingly leave me at all.
“I texted him when it became clear I wouldn’t be able to continue the—”
“Why did Mr. Larson seem to think it was a matter of security?”
“I felt that was a much more appropriate excuse—”
“You should’ve had Mr. Larson take you home then. Did he offer to?”
“I can’t remember. I wasn’t—”
“Feeling well? Yes, you’ve stated that al—”
“I wasn’t interested in shitting myself in front of him,” I snap, sick to death of not only being interrogated but also talked over. Even if everything I’m saying is false, I still deserve the chance to speak uninterrupted. “I’m sure even you can agree that would’ve made a terrible first impression, no?”
Silent now, he resumes the scrutiny meant to intimidate me.
I hold his eyes, wondering how they can be so different from mine. Not just in color but in the way they view the world.
“Every time I’m around you, I lament the fact I didn’t make your mother abort you.”
“Oh.” I clutch my irreparably fissured heart. “Me, too, Father. Me, too.”
“Finally, we agree on something. Maybe there’s hope for us yet.”
A scoff leaves me involuntarily. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“I don’t.”
The deliberate hostility crumbles my resolve, forcing me to look away.
“Is that all?”
“No. Due to your disappearing act, Mr. Larson is requesting more time getting to know you.”
Mallory had the chance to get to know me. He chose to talk about himself. And feel me up.
“So, we’ll be hosting the Larsons for dinner.”
“Here? At the manor?”
“Yes. To make things more intimate .”
I exhale for so long it feels like my lungs have deflated entirely.
“When?”
“Wednesday.”
Hearing everything I need to, I push myself up from the chair and dash for the door, my insides in knots.
“And, Never?” my father calls to my back. “Wear red. It’s his favorite color.”
I leave the office on autopilot, somehow making it down to the gym, nothing registering along the way. If my father called off Crue for a few hours during last night’s gala, he’ll probably give my bodyguard the night off on Wednesday. I will be well and truly on my own, just like I always have been, just like I always will be.
Someone grabs my shoulder, making me jump.
“You ignoring me or something?” Crue asks.
“Always.”
His frown gets to me. His presence gets to me. Why does he have to be stuck to me now but won’t during Wednesday’s “intimate” dinner? That’s when I’ll need him.
Will I need him?
I’ll want him.
I always want him.
“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” I mutter.
Without answering, he asks, “What did your dad want?”
How did he know I was talking to him? Did I pass him on the way down here? Did he follow me?
“To know why I left the gala early.”
A hint of uncertainty crosses Crue’s features. “What did you tell him?”
“That I had an upset stomach. So if he asks, you should say the same.”
He steps closer. “You weren’t actually sick, were you?”
I only shrug. There was nausea at some points.
“You should’ve said something.”
“It doesn’t matter. It never fucking matters,” I blurt because I can’t hold it in anymore.
“What doesn’t?”
Me!
“Nothing. Let’s just—”
Crue grabs my arm. “What doesn’t matter?”
“My overall comfort.”
“Comfort? You have a butler, a professional chef, and a personal protection agent, all at your disposal day and night.”
The reminder of the chef slinking around outside my room last night tugs at the knot in my stomach. I would never ask for anything from Chef Ryan during the day, but especially not at night.
“You have a private movie theater, salon, and gym. You have a fucking butterfly conservatory. You have the most comfortable life imaginable. You—”
“Can you teach me how to wrestle?”
Crue appears bewildered momentarily. It seems out of nowhere for him, but it’s been a long time coming for me. They can make back handsprings during fight sequences look good in movies all they want, but they’re not realistic. I need to know how to defend myself properly.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“I didn’t want to teach you how to stunt but I did.”
“Is everything tit for tat with you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I ruin a pair of your shoes. You ruin a pair of mine.”
“I didn’t ruin them. If anything, I improved them.”
His eyes widen. “I guess that’s why they say art is subjective.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your design…”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“What was it supposed to be?”
“Bats. A reminder of your first night in the manor.”
“I thought they’d be better.”
What?
“I’d like to see you draw something better.”
“I’m just saying, they weren’t as good as the stuff I saw in your sketchbook.”
The sketchbook he was never supposed to see.
“I had better supplies, not to mention more time on the pieces in my sketchbook,” I huff out, annoyed. Annoyed he’s critiquing my art. Annoyed at my father. Annoyed I feel the need to protect myself in my own home. How is that living comfortably?
Crue lifts one shoulder. “If you say so.”
I do say so. I’ll prove it to him. Tonight.
“Whatever. Are you going to teach me how to wrestle or not?”
“I already told you. No.”
“Do you have something better to do?” I ask, knowing full well his schedule is my schedule. And would you look at that? It’s open today.
“I just thought you were gonna show me more stunts.”
“We did stunts yesterday.”
“Not all of them.”
“Even I don’t know all of them.”
“You don’t? The Queen of Cheer herself?”
I need praise like a fish needs water—no amount is too much—but flattery only works when it’s genuine.
“Do you know every wrestling move?” I counter.
“Probably not every move.”
“See.”
“But I haven’t wrestled in years. Shit changes all the time.”
Is he scared to wrestle again? Is that what’s holding him back?
“You’re right. It was a terrible idea asking you.”
His head dips in acceptance…of an apology I’m not giving.
“I’ll get someone else to teach me.”
When I try to swerve Crue, he catches me by my elbow and grits, “Over my dead. Fucking. Body.”
I blink up at him and say sweetly, “That can be arranged.”
He rolls his eyes as he drags me to the center of the mat. I have to capture my grin between my teeth.
“All right.” He scrubs his hands down his face. “Get on your hands and knees.”
The only thing on me that moves is my eyebrow rising ever so slowly.
“Why?”
“In wrestling, you either win with a pin or points. I’m gonna show you what a pin feels like.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense for me to pin you instead?”
He chuckles darkly. “If you can take me down.”
The second I reach my arms toward him, he smacks them both away.
My skin stinging, I snarl, “You didn’t even let me try.”
“Yeah, I did. Your ‘try’ was slow as fuck. Go again.”
I scan him for any weak spots, finding exactly zero. I mean, there is one. Every man assumes it’s a strength, when really, it’s a weakness. One tap and they’re on their knees, crying like helpless babies.
As if reading my thoughts, Crue covers his dick and warns, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”
I throw my hands up. “Well, I don’t know how else to pin you.”
“The first part’s called a takedown. And even if you did manage to take me down, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”
“Ask all the guys I’ve had under me if I knew what to do with them.”
A wildfire breaks out in my bodyguard’s gaze.
“Tell me who they are and I’ll go ask ’em right now.”
“I…” Feeling the heat myself, I study a cuticle. “Can’t remember. Too many to keep track of.” More like I didn’t bother trying.
“Then this should come naturally for you.” Crue points one long finger at the mat. “All fours. Now.”
And he wonders why I’m always wet around him.
“If I come naturally, why’d you make it look so difficult last night?”
“Jesus Christ, just get on your hands and knees before I change my mind.”
With a sigh, I lower to my knees, then hands.
“Am I at least getting a spanking?” It takes great effort to keep the hope out of my voice.
“Keep it up, and you just fucking might.”
Might is practically maybe, which everybody knows is technically no.
Why am I disappointed I’m not getting spanked?
Staring at the mat below me, I wait for Crue’s instructions but nothing comes.
I glance over my shoulder to find him not even looking at me, his body half-turned.
“Crue?”
“What?”
What does he mean “what?” Aren’t we in the middle of a lesson?
“What happens now?”
“Now I gotta pin you.”
But he doesn’t. He remains where he is.
“With telekinesis?”
“No, I…don’t want to do this. I told you I didn’t want to do this.”
I should’ve kept it up and earned myself a spanking. At least I’d be getting something out of being in this position.
“That’s it. I’m getting someone else to teach me.”
Approaching from the side, Crue shoots to a knee, and in one smooth motion I’m rolled to my back, the ceiling suddenly above me, Crue’s torso weighing down mine.
My chin on his lat, all I can do is gasp out the breath I had no idea got caught in my lungs.
“Nobody’s dick touches you but mine,” he says, sounding just as winded.
“Yours isn’t even touching me.”
“But anyone else pinning you would make sure theirs did.”
I don’t doubt that for a second. But also…
“And you won’t?”
“I’ll rub my cock all over every inch of you, Ever Munreaux…as soon as you can look me in the eyes while I do it.”
The visual of Crue holding his rigid shaft, dragging the tip along my body, causing moans and goose bumps and shivers, plays out like a movie in front of my eyes.
It’s impossible to get all of my swallow down on the first attempt. The second one isn’t much better, so I leave my throat partially clogged to ask, “What makes this a pin?” I don’t even know what happened really—it was so quick.
“You feel how both your shoulder blades are flat on the floor right now?”
“Yeah?” It’s kinda hard to notice anything other than Crue. And what he just threatened.
“Then that’s a pin.”
“How long do they need to touch the floor for?”
“In high school, it’s two seconds. College, it’s one.”
It’s been a lot longer than two seconds, but I don’t dare point that out and risk Crue getting up.
“It has to be done in this position?”
“What position?”
“Crucifix?” We definitely resemble a cross.
“This isn’t a crucifix. That’s something different. But no, you don’t have to be perpendicular to your opponent. You just have to get their shoulder blades to touch the floor for one to two seconds.”
“That’s not very long at all.”
“That’s why there’s constant movement in wrestling, not only to get your opponent’s shoulders down but to keep yours up.”
“How do you get out of this?”
“You don’t. You’re done. You already lost.”
“But say only one of my shoulders was touching…”
I lift up one shoulder as high as I can manage with a man on me, only to have that man instantly readjust to pin me all over again.
“Hypothetically…what if I wasn’t pinned yet? How would I get out of this?”
“From your back?”
“Yes.”
“This is literally the worst spot to be in, especially if the person on top weighs more than you.”
Exactly.
“But is there a way out?”
“If you work really fucking hard.”
Unable to speak, I nod. I already figured that.
“You basically have to forget about getting your own pin for a second and focus all your energy on getting me off as quickly as possible.”
When I turn my head to look toward his, my chin rubs along his shirt.
His face toward my legs, he says, “Getting me off you . I meant getting me off you as quickly as possible. You know what a bridge is, right?”
I roll my eyes and arch my butt and back up.
“No, hold on.” Crue drives me right back down. “It’s not the regular bridge. It’s the wrestling bridge where your head, elbows, and feet are the only things on the ground. You’re gonna do that while you turn away from me. Fast.”
Just as my middle lifts a quarter inch off the floor, Crue says, “Shit. Hold on. I forgot something. It’s been a while. You’re gonna do three things simultaneously. During all that, you gotta scissor your right leg under your left leg.”
“How do I scissor?”
“Sweep it underneath the other one to the other side.”
I do as he says, feeling an immense relief as Crue rolls off me.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long because his weight comes down on top of me all over again as he flattens me out on my stomach.
“Good girl,” he rasps in my ear. He has my wrists captured above my head and his front is draped along my entire backside.
“How is this good? I just made myself more vulnerable!” I yell, my breath disturbing the strands of hair stuck to my lips.
“You’re not more vulnerable. Trust me, you have a lot more options from this position.”
“It doesn’t feel like I have any options with all of your weight on me.”
“This isn’t all my weight. I’m only using one leg to hold you down right now.”
He is?
“One? You’re sure?”
“Positive. You couldn’t handle all of me.”
“Try me,” I say just like he did yesterday.
Crue’s voice is nearly unrecognizable when he says, “The second you promise to keep your eyes open and on me, I’ll give you every inch.”
Neither of us moves, both our breathing labored, his on the back of my neck, mine on the crook of his elbow.
It’s not just him I do that with. I don’t even think I keep my eyes open during any form of intimacy. Either they’re shut or I’m looking around at stuff, wishing they were. It’s weird that Crue’s so obsessed with keeping eye contact.
Hot, but weird.
“How many inches are we talking?”
“Four?”
“ Four ?”
“Could be seven. Nine. I don’t know. I’ve never fucking measured.”
“Hmm.” I rub my lips together, picturing the difference between four and nine inches. I think the norm is three to eight. Judging by what I felt at Hide and Keep, I’d guess eight or nine—hard. There’s no way it’s bigger than that because how could he honestly come up with four if it was? Ten inches or more is crazy. That’s a golf club dangling between your legs. It’s not even carry-on, it’s checked baggage at that point. Having to stuff something that size into a pair of pants every day—even soft—you would know what you’re working with.
“Hmm what?”
“Oh, no, nothing. That’s just…a pretty big acorn.”
“It’s not a fucking acorn.”
“Hey, no judgement. I’m just glad I solved the mystery.”
“What mystery is that?”
“Why you’re always so grumpy.”
A burst of air pelts my neck and ear, causing a shiver.
“You’re why I’m always so grumpy. You and your little fucking attitude and your little fucking outfits.”
“You don’t like my outfits?”
The weight on me shifts, easing a bit.
“I didn’t say that.”
I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t.
Okay…
“So…is this another pin?”
“Are your shoulder blades touching the floor?”
“No?”
“They’re not,” he deadpans.
“I’m gonna get out of this?”
“Hopefully.”
“You said I could.”
“I said there are more ways to get out of this position…if you know how to execute them.”
My eyebrows almost crash into each other.
“Teach me how to execute them then.” Like, hello, that’s why we’re doing this.
“Since you asked so nicely…” He scoffs, and I shake my head using the extremely limited ability I do have. Even while we’re literally at each other’s throats we’re at each other’s throats.
“From here, you wanna get back up to base.”
“Like before?”
“No, instead of making a tabletop, you’re gonna keep your ass low, on your heels.”
I yank my arms with no success at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure Crue’s grip on them tightens.
“Why’d you do that?”
“To get to my base.” Ob-vi-ous-ly.
“You’ll gas out before you ever get there doing dumb shit like that. Just wait until I tell you what to do.”
I make my sigh three times longer than it needs to be.
After mumbling something about my attitude, he says, “I want you to pull your knee up, sliding it along the floor out to your side.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
When I do, he rewards me with another “Good girl,” this one making my pussy pulse now that freedom is on the horizon.
“You can either do the same thing with the other knee, or you can try to get up from here. Either way, you’ll want to get your ass on your heels while walking your arms back until they’re under you.”
“Won’t you still have my wrists though?”
“For now, yeah, but we’ll work on reversing wrist control once you’re off your belly.”
Because Crue is leaning on the same side as my straight leg, I decide to raise up from here, using only my one bent knee.
Following his directions exactly, I slowly make my way up to the base he described. Crue’s still plastered to my back, but I don’t feel nearly as defenseless.
Unable to keep ahold of my wrist during the transition, Crue relocates his right hand to my stomach. His thumb gives it a tap I swear I feel on my clit.
“Okay, next, you’re going to grab my right hand with yours and pull it away.”
I flex my abs automatically, which he must take as a precursor because he growls out, “Not yet.”
“I. Wasn’t.” With a swift jerk backward, I knock him with my shoulder, spurring more growling.
“Don’t wear yourself out.”
“I’m in better shape than you, remember?”
“You’re also a hell of a lot lighter, making it easier to overpower you. You gotta be smarter, more patient, and twice as explosive.”
I know I’m at a disadvantage. That’s common knowledge among women. We are almost always at a disadvantage regardless of height or size or athletic competency. I don’t need to be told that yet again. I need some skills that put me at less of a disadvantage.
“What do I do next?”
“At the same time you rip my right hand off you, you need to lift your left knee and left hand, breaking out of my hold to get up to your feet. You’ll probably go slow because it’s your first time, but usually it needs to be fast to catch your oppon—”
Using his directions, I break free of his hold as I stand, my movements definitely catching him off guard.
It worked. It worked! All Crue has me by is one wrist. That’s it. I got up. I got out of it.
I did it.
I twist to face my bodyguard, finding him wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
“Was that explosive enough for you?”