Page 41 of First Time

Twice more that week, I drove from the office to get coffee from a shop a half hour farther northeast than the Dunks a quarter mile down the street. Both times, I caught her eye, shared a smile and a few quick words.

She assured me that Stephen was doing well. Had spoken with a therapist and was starting to attend AA meetings. Our interactions were better than nothing, especially since the final time earned me the knowledge of when she got to go on break.

The following week, I showed up five minutes before that time, ordered my coffee, and sat in one of the leather chairs by the gas fireplace rather than going back to the office. She passed me on the way to the bathroom, but I waved her over when she came out.

“Are you allowed to take your break out here?” I asked, motioning toward the empty chair beside me.

“I could.” Lower lip between her teeth, she checked out the patrons lingering around the shop.

“Afraid Stephen will find out?” I asked, recognizing the hitch of her shoulders.

Her dark eyes peered into mine as though trying to figure out what I was up to. She eventually nodded.

“He doesn’t like you having friends,” I stated what I expected to be true.

“Not of the male variety, no,” Becky replied, her voice low. “Especially one who…well...” Her cheeks turned a deep pink. “You know.”

I raised a brow along with a corner of my mouth. Yeah, I knew all right. The memory of her cries while climaxing still haunted my dreams—day and night alike. I longed to hear them again, but with my cock buried deep inside of her lush body. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, needing to adjust my swelling dick. “Understandable.”

Her blush darkened, and she wrung her hands at her waist. “Why are you here, Master Cooney?”

Fuck.

I bit back a groan. That title on her lips made me hard as fuck. I glanced around as well before returning my attention to her face. “Call me Daniel.”

“Daniel.” She smiled, my name escaping her mouth with breathlessness even worse. “Okay.”

“Save Master and Sir for when we’re sceneing.”

Her smile faded, her pupils dilated, and her pouty lips parted.

So much for keeping things friendly. I stood and moved into her personal space so she had to tip her head or move away. She chose the first. Allowing my desire for her to show in my gaze, I peered down at her, my fingers itching to touch. “I can’t wait to hear you call me both again someday.”

“I-I’m with Stephen,” she whispered, taking that step back I’d expected.

“You deserve so much more, Becky,” I said, my voice low. “Someone who will care for you. Love you in the way you deserve.”

“W-What are you saying?” Her voice escaped breathless with desire.

“I’m telling you that I could be that man—if you’d let me.” I pulled a business card from my pocket with my cell and address written on the back. “If you ever need anything—anything at all, day or night—call me. Please.”

Becky accepted my card with a shaky hand and glanced down at it. “Thank you.” Tears glistened in her eyes when she lifted her gaze, her dark eyes riotous with conflicting emotions.

I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and assure her that I could protect her from everyone and everything. “Even if you decide to stay with Stephen,” I murmured, “I’ll always be here for you, Becky. I’ll be your friend, just a phone call away. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I-I won’t.”

I turned and strode out of the shop before I did something I regretted like haul her into my arms without consent and kiss her senseless.

While I doubted she would ever just up and leave Stephen because some other man claimed to want her, I hoped like hell it wouldn’t take something drastic to make up her mind. No new bruises tinged her visible skin, but that only made me fear what lay beneath her clothing.

Too often, Dad had made sure Mom’s pretty face remained unmarred so as not to attract attention. But I had paid attention. The lifting of arms had pulled up Mom’s shirt, revealing an inch or two of discoloration. Winces lined her face whenever she’d bent to retrieve whatever shit she’d needed. Pain had etched her forehead when she would gingerly sit on the wooden chairs at suppertime.

The vivid and haunting memories stayed with me for the next couple of hours, and I found myself leaving the office early and driving back to the coffee shop. I parked in the gas station lot across the street a few minutes before Becky left.

She exited the building and climbed into a beat-up, old Chevrolet without glancing in my direction. I followed her at a safe distance and ten minutes later studied the shack-like house she disappeared into.

A broken concrete slab acted as a stoop, chipped white-and-yellow paint peeled from the curled wooden siding. A sagging roofline suggested major structural issues, and plywood covered a few of the windows. The house should have been condemned.

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