Reagan's Revenge and Ending Emily's Engagement (3 page)

He puts his hands on my hips and stops me from moving, his steely grip holding me tightly. “Will you still be able to do this when your belly is all full of my kid?” he asks quietly. His thumbs trace circles on my hips.

“You mean when I get really fat?” I ask. I laugh, and he winces when I squeeze him.

“Not fat, Em,” he says. He cups my breasts in his hands and squeezes tenderly. “Full of us,” he whispers.

“Easy,” I complain. “They’re sore.”

He looks up, his brow furrowing. “Really?” he asks, but he doesn’t stop his slow sweeps with his thumbs across the turgid peaks. “I’m sorry they hurt,” he says quietly.

He’s taking my body almost like it’s new to him. “Just be gentle,” I say.

He chuckles. “Oh, this from the woman who doesn’t like soft and slow. You really should make up your mind.”

I ride him quickly, my strokes long and true and fast, taking him deeper and deeper inside me with every surge. He reaches into my curls and does that little thing he’s so good at. He strokes my clit and finds a rhythm I like. My legs grow shaky
, and I have to brace myself with my palms flat on his chest. “Logan,” I cry.

“Now,” he says. “Please come. I can’t hold off much longer.”

He doesn’t break eye contact with me. Just like in everything else, he watches my body, taking cues from the vibration of my throat, the hitch in my breath, the shakiness of my thighs. “Now,” I say, and my back bows with the force of my feelings for him. I come while riding him, and he pulses beneath me at the same time, grunting loudly as he fills me up.

I collapse onto his chest. His hands stroke lazily across my back, up
and down and back and forth. Then he moves and rolls me beneath him. He lays his ear on my belly and looks up at me. “There’s part of us in there,” he says reverently.

I run my fingers through his hair and smile. “Yeah,
” I say. “I know.” I tug his hair so he’ll look up at me. “Are you happy?” I ask.

His blue eyes are so deep and so true that I don’t doubt his sincerity at all. “Couldn’t be happier,” he says. And I believe him. I’ve always believed him, even when he couldn’t believe me. “What are you going to do about school?” he asks.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “We always do.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and his eyes close, his ear pressed to my belly like he’s listening for the subtle clues that there’s life in there.

There’s life in there. Ours. Together. “Want to get married?” I blurt out.

He nods and comes up to kiss me. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. And I don’t doubt for a minute that he means it. 

Pete

Reagan is going to kill me when she gets home and sees all these kids here. I knew Gonzo was coming because he called and asked if he could spend the night. He does that sometimes. I genuinely like the kid, so having him over is not a problem. But he must have called his girlfriend, who just happens to be Edward’s younger sister, a boy I met when I was in prison, and they’re on their way over too. I am pretty sure that Reagan just wanted a quiet night at home, particularly since we have to spend pretty much the whole day with my family tomorrow.

I take some grapes out of the fridge and wash them off, because Gonzo eats like no one I have ever seen. The boy has a tape-worm, it seems at times. He’s sixteen now, and he’s finally hit his growth spurt.  He starts popping them into his mouth as soon as I set them on the counter.
Thanks
, he signs with a grin.

“How are things going with Susan?” I ask.

He blushes and swallows his grapes.

“That well, huh?” I tease. I chuck his shoulder.

She’s different
, he signs. He can’t speak because he has a tracheostomy tube from his MS. He’s in a wheelchair and has been for years, but there’s nothing at all slow about his mind. 

“Different is good,” I say. I raise my brow at him, waiting for him to confirm or deny. “You kissed her yet?” I ask. I pull up a barstool and get comfortable.

His face gets even rosier.

“You done more than kissing?” I ask. Gonzo’s dad isn’t in the picture, so he doesn’t have a man to talk to. I had my brothers. So, I try to be that for him.

He nods, avoiding my gaze.
Not much
, he signs. Then his eyes meet mine.
She’s got more experience than me
.

Susan was
sexually assaulted. We all know that. She was raped by her mother’s boyfriend and then she was abused in a foster home as well.  “Good experience or bad experience?” I ask.

Both
, he admits.
The rape was rape. The second guy, the father in the foster home, that was consensual. She wanted to please him. And she already felt dirty from what happened before and thought it would wash her clean if it was done on her terms.

Regardless, the man was decades older than her, so it never should have happened.

How do I know when she’s over the rape
? he asks.

“Oh, wow,” I breathe. I scratch my chin. “I don’t think
assault victims ever get over it,” I say. “But the mistake some men make is thinking of them as victims. Their experiences have been tainted when something that’s supposed to be beautiful is turned into something tragic, but tragic things happen every day. Will it affect her for the rest of her life? Yeah, probably. But does it have to stunt her growth in every area of her life? Definitely not.”

I don’t know how much I can tell him and not betray Reagan’s confidence.

Reagan told Susan about what happened to her
, he admits.

“But did she tell her how poorly I handled it after?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“I did. I was even more scared than she was. I wanted to show her how much I loved her that I held back. I couldn’t be myself. I wasn’t letting her be herself. I tried to keep everything soft and sweet and slow and calm. But it wasn’t what she needed. She needed for me to love her completely so she could love me completely
, too.” I tap my temple. “After I figured that out, we had it all straightened out. So, quit worrying if you’re doing anything wrong,” I say. “Ask her if you’re doing it wrong. Let her guide you. Don’t assume you know what she’s feeling. Ever.”

He smiles.
Okay
.

“And don’t rush it,” I warn, shaking my finger at him. “I remember being your age and wanting to get my rocks off. But it’s about more than that. And once you realize that, that’s when your life changes. That’s when it starts.
”

I squeeze his shoulder and he grins at me.

“And wait a few years.”

I’m not always sure I have a few years
, he tells me. My gut churns. I can’t imagine a world without this boy in it.

“Be careful,” I say instead. “Do you need condoms?” I can’t stop a teenage
d boy from doing anything he wants to do. But I can be sure he’s prepared.

He shakes his head.
Got it covered
.

“You better keep it covered,” I warn, pointing my finger at him.

He grins and throws up his hands like he’s surrendering.

A knock sounds on the door so I go and open it. Edward walks in
, and Susan is right behind him. Her face lights up when she sees Gonzo, and she goes to kiss him on the cheek. He pulls her to sit in his lap, and she lands there, giggling. Her brother snaps, “Find your own chair.”

She scowls, but she scampers off of Gonzo’s lap. Gonzo starts to sign to her. When they first met, he used a computer to talk to her, but she learned some basic signs and it grew from there. She can get what he’s saying. They go the living room and sit down side by side, with her in a chair and him
in his, and he takes her hand.

Edward follows me to the kitchen. He can still see
them, so he’s okay with moving across the room. He growls low under his breath.

“Quit your breathing fire,” I say. “He’s good to her.”

“She’s still my sister,” he grumbles.

“You can trust him,” I say. I’m not one hundred percent sure of that, but I’m close.

“I don’t trust anyone with her,” he says quietly.

“He won’t hurt her.”

“If he doesn’t hurt her, she can still hurt him,” he says.

Oh, he’s worried about Gonzo.

“What if she’s with him because he’s not threatening?” he asks me.

“What if she is?” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “What if he’s what she needs?”

He’s a sweet boy, he’s smart, he makes her laugh, and he doesn’t intimidate her. And she offers him unrestricted love, which is often difficult to find when you’re in a wheelchair.

“Let them work it out,” I suggest. “How are things going for you?” I ask.

He nods and smiles. “Good. School is going great.” Edward just started at the community college. He wants to be an automotive technician, and he’ll be really good at it.

“I’m really proud of you,” I tell him.

He blushes, much like Gonzo did a few minutes ago.

I hear the front door open and look up to find the woman I love walking into the house. 
She stops when she sees all the people who are here and raises her brow at me, but then she grins and shakes her head. “Hey, Gonzo,” she says.  She gives him a high five and leans down to hug Susan. Susan and Reagan share the memories of their violent encounters and it has made them pretty tight. I’m glad Susan has Reagan to be her role model, because I have never met a stronger woman than Reagan. And she’s mine.

Reagan kisses Edward on the cheek
, and he blushes a little. I love that she treats him the way she does. When I met him, I called him Tic-Tac in my head because he needed a lot of dental work and had really bad breath. I had no idea what kind of childhood he’d had or that he was in prison for killing the man who had repeatedly raped his little sister. He said something to me once. He said something like, “I feel like he stole who she could have been.”  But I don’t think that’s true. She has Edward to guide and protect her, and she’s willing to accept love and give love in return. Yes, she has a long road to go, but she’ll get there.

Reagan
looks at me and says, “What’s for dinner?” as she rummages around in the fridge for a bottle of water.

I shrug my shoulders and grin at her.

“Why don’t I call for a pizza or two,” she says, “while you take the boys and go get some snacks at the corner market?” She makes a motion between herself and Susan. “We need a little girl time, anyway.” She winks at Susan, and the girl grins.

“Looks like we’re going for snacks, boys,” I call as Reagan picks up the phone and starts to order the pizzas. I can hear her ask who the delivery driver is. When the person on the other end of line answers, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
What’s that about?”

I kiss her quickly.

“Are you okay?” I ask. She’s suddenly avoiding my gaze. That’s not like her.

She nods. “I’m fine. Get some sour cream and onion chips, will you?” She pats my arm absently. But I know her well enough to know that something is going on. 

I rush the boys out into the hallway and into the elevator. They’re bullshitting with one another the whole way, so they take my mind off Reagan a little. What can go wrong in the thirty minutes it takes me to get snacks?

Reagan

I only have about thirty minutes before Pete and the boys get back. The pizza is guaranteed to be here in ten, though, so it should be enough time. A week ago when we ordered pizza, I immediately knew that the man who delivered it was the man who
had raped me. He made the mistake of looking into my eyes when he delivered the pizza. When he did it, he jerked his eyes away, but I don’t even think it was because he knew me. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t remember who he pushed to the floor that night. Who he pushed himself inside and violated. He probably sees me as a nameless, faceless victim. But I’m not. I’m a person and I needed to know, so I did my research.

Ben is his name. The man at the pizza place told me his first and last name, so I spent hours googling him. He has been arrested for assault before, but was released with not enough DNA evidence. I’m sure there are others. And I want him to know that I won’t rest until I take him down. I probably should have gone straight to my father with his, who is a c
riminal attorney, but he would have stopped me.

Susan looks at me like she’s worried when I begin to pace. I have been quiet since the boys left. I don’t want to tell her what’s going on. I want her to be innocent of this. I need for her to not be involved. I should have sent her with the boys, but it’s too late now.

A knock sounds on the door and I jerk. I can’t help it. “Susan,” I say quietly. “I need for you to go into the bedroom and call 9-1-1. Keep the door closed. Don’t come out, no matter what. You may hear some things that frighten you, but don’t come out. Do you understand?”

“Why?” she whispers.

“Susan,” I say. “The man who raped me is on the other side of that door.”

She nods and goes into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I hear the thumb lock click behind her. Good girl.

I go to the door and open it. The man’s nametag says Ben. I know his last name, but all I can think is that he’s now Ben Skrewd. In an even worse way than I was.

I smell him immediately, and I nearly gag. 
It’s the same cologne he wore the night he attacked me. The night he ripped my clothes off in the main bathroom of a frat house. The night he tried to ruin my life. We started out kissing, but when I asked him to stop, he didn’t. And that was the end of my life as I knew it.

I motion Ben into the apartment. I lock the deadbolt behind him and slide the chain into the lock. He looks at it like he’s confused and sets my pizzas on the counter. “That’ll be $28.50,” he says.

I smile at him. “You don’t remember me, do you?” I say quietly.

“I was just here last week,” he reminds me.

“No,” I say. “From before that.”

His head tilts to the side. He’s bigger than I remember him being. But that’s okay. I’m stronger than he remembers me being
, too. Besides, I don’t plan to hurt him. I just need to keep him here until the police arrive. “I’m sorry, but no,” he says.

But now his eyes are jumping from place to place. He knows something is up, but he doesn’t know what.

“Almost three years ago,” I say. I go to the fridge and get another bottle of water. I offer him one and he takes it from me. His hand shakes as he pulls it from my grasp. “We were at a frat house.  We were kissing. I thought you were really cute.”

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t remember. You know how frat parties are.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “We were in the bathroom, and you turned me toward the mirror. I think you thought that was sexy.” I laugh again. “But then you grabbed my hair.” I run my hand up the back of my head and grab a hunk of it, jerking hard. I bring tears to my own eyes, but I don’t stop. “Then you slammed my head into the counter.”

He starts for the door, but I step between him and it.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I say.

“Like hell, I’m not,” he grunts out. He grabs for my shirt, but I spin out of his reach, staying between him and the door. “Get out of my way,” he says. Spittle flies from his lips.

“Do you know what happened next?” I ask. “Do you remember?”

“No,” he bites out.

“You changed my life.”

“You fucking wanted it,” he says. His words ring like
peals of laughter around the room.

My heart thuds.

Thud
.

Thud
.

Thud
.

But I’m alive, so I welcome it.

“I wanted you to violate my body?” I ask quietly. His face scrunches up. “When I was begging
stop, stop, stop,
that made you think I wanted it?”

Suddenly, he jumps forward and g
rabs my shirt. He twists his fist in it and jerks me against him. He’s hard against my hip. He’s turned on? Of course, he is. He reaches for my hair and grabs it. Why is it that men like him go for the hair? Because they can, I guess. I freeze and let him snarl into my face.

“You fucking wanted it because you’re a little whore just like the rest of them,” he snarls, his face so close that his spit hits my cheek like raindrops. He lifts his hand to backhand me. I almost find myself flinching, but then I do what comes naturally
. I block his blow. He startles and yelps when I spin him around and pin him with his arm behind his back.

“How does it feel?” I ask quietly beside his ear. “To be overpowered.”

I set him free with a shove. He rubs his shoulder, his face a snarly mass of hatred. He reaches for me again, and I block him and then hit him in the nose with the heel of my hand. Blood spurts from his nostrils and rolls down over his shirt. He raises his hands like he’s going to try to grab me again, but I knee him in the nuts. He goes down holding his gonads. I crouch beside him and look into his face.

“How’s it feel?” I ask again.

He starts to get up, but I’m not going to allow that. I kick him in the side of his face with my tennis shoe and he falls heavily against the floor on his stomach. A bubble of spit rises from his lips, and he spits it out. I see a speck of white and look closely.
Crap. He just spit out a tooth. Didn’t mean to do that.
A laugh rises within me, but I bite it back. I still have things to do to finish this.

I put my knee in the center of his back and reach for the lamp on the end table. I drag it onto the floor and it breaks into shards
, but all I want is the cord. He grunts as I dig my knee into his back and bring his hands up behind him. I wrap the cord tightly around his wrists and ankles and bind him up into a crooked bow, his legs taut. He lost his shoe in the scuffle, so I pull his sock off and shove it into his mouth. Then I call out. “Susan!” I say.

She opens the
bedroom door, and her eyes grow wide. They’re rimmed in red and I feel really bad for what I just made her listen to.

“Would you unlock the door?” I ask her. I jerk my thumb toward it. “The front door.”

Just as she opens it, the police rush into the room. They take me in, and stop. Pete rushes in right behind them. “What the fuck?” he asks.

But I’m calm. I smile up at him. “This is him, Pete,” I say.

“Who?” he asks. He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“The man who raped me,” I admit. And finally a sob rolls off my chest. “It’s him.” I point toward the lump on the floor.

Rage immediately takes over Pete’s face. He advances toward Ben, and I feel like I have to get between them, even though the police are now in charge. Pete shoves me to the side, and I can’t stop him by pulling on his arm so I throw myself onto his front and wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him like a koala. He seethes with rage. But I can’t let him ruin his life. I can’t let him hurt that bastard, no matter how much I’d like to see it happen.

“What the fuck, Reagan?” he breathes, taking my face into his hands so he can look into my eyes.

I lay my head on his shoulder and hold him tightly, finally allowing the emotion to hit me. I sob into his Pete’s neck until he drops into a chair and just holds me straddling his lap. The police ask questions and he answers them. Edward and Susan stand arm in arm, and Susan tells them everything she heard.

I hear the words “DNA” and “evidence collection” and “this might be enough.”

I lift my head and look into Pete’s face as they usher Ben out into the hallway in handcuffs. “I did it,” I say. I sniffle, but a chuckle falls over my lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you to kill him,” I admit.

“You kicked his ass, princess,” he says, and he suddenly grins.

“Yeah, I kind of did, didn’t I?” I say, and I start to laugh. I can’t help it. I’m sure there are others, and I just made sure that the rapist will pay, at least for my crime and possibly for others as well.

Pete gives Edward a wad of cash and tells him to take Susan and Gonzo to the arcade. They leave, still excited about what happened.

I lay on Pete’s lap until I think his legs will probably fall asleep. But he doesn’t move me. He just talks quietly into my ear about how amazing we are. How wonderful we are together. How proud he is of me. How scared he was when he saw the police coming through the door.

“He touched me, Pete,” I say.

He stands up, his hands clutching my bottom, and he carries me into our bathroom. He sets me down carefully, unwinding my legs from around his waist. He undresses me slowly and turns the water on.

He comes into the shower with me and soaps me gently and slowly, washing my hair with tender fingers. “He grabbed my hair,” I say.

Pete rinses me and washes my hair again. “I’ll wash it all away,” he says.

He uses a puffy sponge to clean my body, dragging it slowly over my breasts and hips. Then he lifts one leg to the side of the tub and spreads me open, his hands slick and soapy. “I’m not dirty there,” I say.

“You were never dirty there,” he says. He looks up at me. “But I plan to lick it, so I want to clean it. Sue me.”

He spreads me open with his fingertips and I lean back against the shower wall, letting him take me with him into a world of pleasure. He’s my Pete
, and he’s always known what I need. He parts my lower lips with his fingers, slides a digit inside me. Pete used to be afraid to love me, but now he plays my body like he owns it, because he does. If I don’t want what he wants, he’ll stop, and I know that. It took him a while to learn that, but he got it. He’s what I need in every way.

His lips find my clit and he latches onto it
, suckling gently in time with sudden, fierce strokes inside me. My knees will barely hold me up, but I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want to go to the bed, because this is good. It’s so good. He sucks my clit and adds another finger inside me. His eyes are closed because the water from the shower is pounding over his head. I turn the nozzle to the left, and his eyes open. I can feel his smile against me, but he doesn’t let up.

Suddenly, an orgasm crashes over me and I can’t hold back my scream. I thread my fingers into his wet hair and hold him in place. “Don’t stop,” I say as I ride out the pleasure. My body quivers and shakes and I let him take me all the way, until his ministrations grow painful. I jerk his hair and he lets up, licking slowly until I stop coming on his face. My God. He can undo me.

He stands up and hitches my legs around his waist again, pushing me against the shower wall. He’s usually not this forceful. “I love you so fucking much,” he says, as he pushes into me.

I slide down his hard, long pole, slick and wet
, and he doesn’t stop the impalement until I’ve taken all of him. I’m full and so damn happy to have him inside me that I don’t care what position we’re in. “I can’t last long,” he says.

“Don’t,” I urge. I look into his face, cupping his cheeks in my hands as he pushes into me and pulls out, lifting and lowering me on him. He strokes so slowly into me, trying to hold off, to wait for me. “Faster,” I say.

He’s holding all of my weight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Suddenly, he grunts and spends himself inside me. I squeeze him to me, my arms around his neck. He props me against the wall and leans both of us so that we’re still standing, but just barely. “If you ever fucking do anything like that to me again, I’m going to paddle your ass.” He chuckles. But he shivers at the same time. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?” He lets my legs drop and we both wash off again and then get out. He wraps a towel around me and one around himself. I follow him from the bathroom. “How could you scare me like that?” he asks.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But if I’d told you, or even told my dad, one you would have tried to kill him. This way was better.”

“You’re right,” he says. “Not about this way being better, but I would have killed him. Or made him wish he was dead.”

He drops his towel and starts to get dressed.

“You should call my dad and tell him what happened,” I suggest.

He scoffs. “Do I look stupid?” He points at me. “You did this. You tell him.” He comes and kisses me quickly. “I’m really proud of you,” he says against my lips.

Then he goes out into the kitchen and picks up his cell phone. I assume he’s calling his brothers. They’ll need to know, too. Just like my dad. I call my dad, and he tries to ream me a new one about putting myself in danger, but I can hear my mom cheering in the background, and she’s teary when I talk to her.