"Tell me the truth, did you propose because my brother left town and you felt sorry for me?"
I was lying on my stomach, barely able to move from the three hours of sex we'd just had. I could see the red digits on the alarm clock as they revealed we had entered a new year ten minutes ago. Not much else was functioning in my brain. Except a little paranoia.
Malcolm smacked my ass so hard I squealed. "No, I did not."
"Good."
"If you must know," he said as he slid two fingers into my mouth, and I licked them, "I had to get our dinner tickets several months in advance."
I whimpered as those same two fingers pressed into my pussy from behind. He'd been very methodical with his lovemaking tonight. Not at all rough or quick. It had been exactly what I had needed. But while I wasn't necessarily sore, I was overly sensitive. In some areas more than others. The lightest touch seemed to make my whole body tremble.
His fingers pressed in further, this thumb grazing over my clit. "I've had the ring since early summer."
I cringed but still lifted my ass to give him more room. To feel his touch. I would never get tired of that.
"I was just waiting for the perfect moment."
"Uh huh," I mumbled against the pillow. His hand stopped moving, and I whimpered.
"You know, speaking of 'uh huh,' I never heard a proper answer to my question. You were adamant that I do it properly. I think it's only fair that I require the same. Therefore, I shall take my ring back."
I almost died when I felt his hand withdrawing. My lips were so dry, as was my mouth. It was a struggle to swallow, but I succeeded. "Yes!"
His hand withdrew a little more. "Yes, what?"
"Yes! I'll marry you!"
"Wonderful!" He slowly slid his fingers slid back in. "Now, where was I?"
After that, I was babbling like a baby.
###
With the new year came new changes. Malcolm went back to work teaching. So I was home alone after we had our breakfast. Alone for the first time in six months. It wasn't an easy routine to get used to.
I had every intention of working on my chapters as soon as he left that first morning. I just wanted to tidy up the kitchen first. But when I couldn't find a clean towel, I went upstairs to get one from the laundry room. Which is where I found a full hamper and decided to do a load of laundry. Then I figured I should check the bedroom first for any stray dirty clothes.
Not surprisingly, my clothes from New Year's Eve were still in a pile beside the bed. I had squatted to retrieve a shoe that was peeking out from under the bed when my hand bumped into something else. Down on my hands and knees, I fished the item out of the dust bunnies. As soon as I saw it, I lost my breath and fell to my ass.
I held the picture of my brother and I that used to be on the dresser. I remembered tossing it in the garbage the week before Christmas. I guess I missed and one of us had knocked it under the bed in the weeks since.
I started out just sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my oldest brother. But as the tears formed in my eyes, I laid down. And pulled the covers over me, tucking them under my chin.
I didn't fall asleep but pondered what my life had been like three years ago. Back when I was just a seasoned writer who had taken a five-year hiatus to write under a pseudonym just for the heck of it. When being dominated in the bedroom was merely a fleeting thought as I wrote soft-porn sex scenes. There were too many nights where I'd stayed awake contemplating that my characters got laid more than I did.
I'd never imagined I'd be where I was today. What I would experience. What I would conquer.
I fought between being proud of my accomplishments and being depressed that my life was no longer normal. I wondered what the past years would have been like if I'd said no to lunch with Brian Hughes. If I'd just stayed in my shell of that hotel room, pampering myself like a good girl. A vanilla girl.
Would I have continued to write under the name Drake Alexander? Developed a new set of books? Embraced my inner desires? Or ever discovered the truth about my brother?
I tried not to think about the negative connotations of Drake's name now. That was a different time in my life. A good time. And I would not let his recent decisions triumph over my success.
Yet, he was part of the problem. Despite what he'd done, Drake was still my brother. He'd always been in my life. I'd never imagined him not being around. And then suddenly he was. It felt like someone had ripped out a part of me.
As I lay there, I thought about the times in the past weeks where I had just wanted to call him up and say hello or bounce an idea off him. Then I'd remember why he wasn't here, and I'd cursed him under my breath. Mostly, though, I'd wished he would see the error of his ways and apologized to me. I think I would have handled the whole thing a lot better if he'd just said he was sorry.
Some time later, I managed to get up and do the laundry. And clean the kitchen as well as tidy up the rest of the house. But I was sluggish and no longer felt compelled to work on my chapters. There was always tomorrow.
I tossed and turned that night during some weird dream that I really couldn't remember other than I was falling before I woke up. I couldn't go back to sleep afterwards. Come morning, I was too tired to get up and I told Malcolm to eat breakfast without me. He kissed me goodbye, then I rolled over to snuggle back under the covers.
On the third day of school, I did get up but I couldn't concentrate on writing. I sat staring out the window of my office instead. After an hour, I went back to bed and cried my eyes out. What was wrong with me?
After still feeling depressed on the fourth day, I approached Malcolm when he came home. We both agreed it might help if I sought out some local counseling. It had worked out on the East Coast, why not here in the heart of the Midwest? Malcolm made a couple of calls and was able to get me an appointment the following Monday.
I was extremely nervous at first, but Dr. Pritchard, a female head-doctor, encouraged me to not fear being honest. We couldn't start working on how to fix the problem until she knew what the problem was. She seemed friendly enough, and I felt more comfortable by the end of the session. We set up a time to meet every day for the next two weeks and we'd see where it went from there.
Day two was my breakthrough day. I shared that I liked to be submissive—and sometimes bound—while having sex. That an ex-lover had kidnapped me and repeatedly raped me using those same techniques. And that the closer of my two brothers had turned out to be a stranger in an even stranger world in which I'd only just begun to skim the surface.
That night, I slept better than I had in weeks. My head had never felt so clear. Malcolm even mentioned that I seemed more chipper.
I was leaving the appointment on the third day when Dr. Pritchard handed me a folded sheet of paper.
"Rebecca," she said with one hand on my shoulder, the other on the closed door, "based on what you've told me of your experiences and your preferences in the bedroom, I think you need this."
