Authors: Kimber S. Dawn
Mind Fuck By Kimber S. Dawn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Kimber S. Dawn: 2016 [email protected]
Cover Designed by Raising Kane Photo Co.
by Silla Webb
Interior Design by
Alpha Queens Book Obsession
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head
And these are the years that we have spent
And this is what they represent
And this is how I feel
Do you know how I feel?
'Cause I don't think you know how I feel.
I love you, David. Always.
I was not the prettiest girl in school, nor was I ever the smartest, but in the eyes of Liam Dean, I was anything and everything more. I was his. I was Liam’s girl. And that was all that mattered. It didn’t matter that I was from the wrong side of the tracks. It didn’t matter that the only reason I was at Harvard-Westlake High School was because my schooling was bought and paid for by my mother’s recently deceased husband number four. None of it mattered, not as long as I had Liam by my side.
From the moment I first laid eyes on him my freshman year, his senior, he made everything bad and wrong in my life, finally, for the first time, go beautifully and perfectly still. And in less than five minutes of our eyes first meeting, he’d made it very clear to everyone standing around us, that I was Liam’s girl and Liam’s alone. And that was that.
Everything about Liam and I, our beginning, our blooming love that once was considered nothing more than a fling, or puppy love, our teenage years, our twenties, everything has always been easy with us. We hardly ever fight, and if we do, nine times out of ten all we need to do is work on our communication a bit here and there and it fixes itself. He doesn’t cheat. Hell, even now after five years of us being married, his friends still jerk his chain about it. About how Liam Dean was so pussy whipped, there was no other pussy but mine on the face of the planet.
And me? Well, I for damn sure don’t cheat. I know when I’ve got it good. And the first fifteen years of my life were utter and complete hell. Being dragged from between my mom’s boyfriend’s houses, or worse, between her husband’s houses, was not my idea of a preferred upbringing.
No, the first fifteen years of my life were not at all like my life was when I became Liam’s. No where near it. From the moment he made it known to his friends and family that I was his, from that day forward, if he could make it better, or easier, any of it, he did. Over and over.
And then, he went and made my happy ever after permanent. Three years after falling in love with Liam, he made me his wife in the grandest setting imaginable. The opulence of our wedding was utterly astounding. The pews were draped in candle colored satin, and the floors were adored with plush dark gray carpets and runners with silver, actual
threaded rope detailing the edges. My dress alone cost over ten thousand dollars. Yeah, ten grand.
However, for the love of my life, there had never been any expenses spared—no cost was ever too much or too frivolous where Liam was concerned, and those benefits were shared with me when I came into his life. Causing me to learn at quite an early age that money isn’t ever really
important…not unless you don’t have it, and then it becomes very fucking important.
“Baby girl—” I hear my husband’s voice as his knuckles rap against the bathroom door, “—so, are we? Are you?”
I’m pulled away from the memories that make us, and as I blink through my tears I note that no, we are not. Again.
No two lines. Just one. Staring back at me through my wet lashes. “No, I’m so sorry, Liam. We’re not.” The pain shreds my heart a little bit more than it did the last time I went through this pregnancy test thing.
I don’t know why I can’t get pregnant. It breaks my fucking heart every time I have to tell him no, that we’re not. I can’t stand to look in his eyes and see that same, sad pain again when I tell him.
The thought quickly crosses my mind, but I stop my mouth from speaking the words because I already know I will.
I hear the door ease open but I keep my eyes reverted down, watching as the toes of his Brooks Brother’s shoe steps across the threshold before his voice cuts back through the silence of the dark bathroom. “Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m here, baby girl.” His voice sooths away the ache of what never was and his arms slide around me, pulling me up from the floor and cradling me to his chest as he walks us from the master bathroom to our bedroom. “I gotcha, baby. It’s okay.” He mutters in a rough voice, “Maybe this is the Lord’s way of telling us it’s just not time yet.”
As he lays me down on our massive four-poster bed, I look up at him and wonder aloud, “After five years of marriage, Liam? I’m twenty-six years old. When
it be time? If not now, baby, when?” I ask him, pleading as the pain and loss of something that never existed overwhelms me.
He’s thirty. I’m twenty-six. Liam started trying for a baby
before I did. We’re talking high school, people,
senior year. I had plans to go to UCLA’s nursing school and then go on and get my Nurse Practitioner license after I graduated. But Liam had bigger, grander plans for me. These plans entailed no waiting. No waiting for me to become Liam’s wife, no waiting for our lives to really begin, no waiting for Liam to finally set into motion the cogs of our lives.
Everything, and I mean everything Liam has ever set his sights on, he’s gotten. Any quest or stake of claim, has always been answered with nothing less than approval and nods by his parents’ and other elders.
My fucking self included. I was barely nineteen when Liam asked me to marry him. I was barely twenty when he gave me the keys to his family’s fortune and told me to plan the wedding of my dreams.
Who was I to remind him that I had other plans I wanted done before his? It was the wedding of my dreams and all Liam ever wanted. Who was I to take that away from him? No one. I was nothing without him. I knew it then, and I know it know.
Liam’s mother passed away when he was very young. In fact, he barely remembers his mother, and his father refused to remarry after her death. And sadly, for him to be so little and without a mother figure at such a young and impressionable age, any and all issues Liam had or has, I believe, roots there. Sure, there’d been a few girls worth mentioning before me in Liam’s life, but since his mother’s passing, there really hasn’t been a woman who has fit in the way I did. I fit right in to their father-son duo family. And it didn’t matter that it probably seemed awkward from the outside looking in, or from other people’s views. I didn’t care. I loved the feeling of belonging, almost as much as I loved being Liam Dean’s girl.
I’ll never forget the night Liam told me about his mother. Not for as long as I live. He smiled even though his dark hazel eyes watered with unshed tears, and he pulled me into her stale, cold room.
The doors creaking told me Liam hadn’t been inside her room for much longer than he’d probably like to admit at the time
“The depression was so bad at the end, that she kept all the shades drawn constantly in the last few months. I just remember her being cold and it being so damn dark in here.” He shuddered. “I don’t like it in here. I haven’t for as long as I can remember. Actually, I fucking hate it in here,” he whispered as I looked around at all of her things, still untouched after all these years. His mother’s bed was the most delicate bed— if a bed could be called delicate— that I’d ever seen. The wrought iron spindles were so thin at points it almost looked like a blade in places on the elaborate, intricately detailed head and footboard.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. It was, every thing was. The blurred cloudy painting of a woman in a dark red dress standing beside a melting, dark and bare tree was my particular favorite. The make-up, all of her intricate hair combs, and crystal perfume bottles filled with different colors and fragrances on her vanity, I guess it was the sight of all her things, but not her that caused me to pause as pain for the boy— the man, I love swelled inside my heart.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” I told him. And I meant it too. But Liam’s never been one for sympathy, he sees it as pity, and no self-respecting man has pity. Or so the Dean men believed.
I remember my heart breaking for him, over and over, a million times, but not being able to tell him. I remember my love growing so much for him, as we stood in his mother’s tomblike, cold room with all of her old dusty things around us, and vowing right then and there, no matter what Liam Dean ever needed or wanted, I would give it to him. Even if it was my very soul.
It’s so easy to give your heart to someone, it really is. It feels so right. It feels good. It’s as weightless as it is effortless when you hand over your heart to someone else. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says, falling in love is easy, it’s staying there in the face of hell that’s fucking hard.
His voice almost sounds hollow when he speaks, finally answering my question and I watch in amazement as his hazel eyes flash different contrasting colors as his face hardens and his brow furrows. “I don’t like it when you call me baby, baby girl. You know it. As for us ever bearing children, it will come. It will come when the time is right, period. There’s no need to rush anything.” As his hand clasps down around my thigh, he squeezes his hand before squatting in front of me, putting us eye to eye. “We’ll take another test next week. It may still be a bit too soon.”
His mask of stoic stone softens and when he smiles, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen and butterflies flutter through my belly. “I love you, baby girl. You know it?”
He’s always right. He always makes my dark, bright with light. And he always knows exactly what I need him to say. Always.
I barely nod and a moan escapes my lips as his fingertips lightly brush from my hairline down my face, over my lips, and past my chin before his grip circles my throat.
If any one, were to
ask me for marital advice, or perhaps what makes a good marriage, great, my answer would be this—him. Even when it was my very first time, Liam Dean has never been gentle during sex. Honestly, right now, in front of God, if I were to have to tell the truth, I can’t say I’ve ever even made love to my husband. Ever.
And as odd as that is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
However, in my defense, when I handed my body and soul over to Liam, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was broken and fucking angry as hell about it. I knew the devil I was handing my heart to. I knew his name, and I would have done it again a thousand and one times if needed. And when you hand yourself over to someone with so much anger pent up inside that it’s darkened his very soul, you have to be prepared for when his anger unleashes.
Liam unleashes his demons during sex.
It’s savage, it’s rough, it’s raw and unfiltered, but it’s him, it’s ours…and I love it.
I love him.