Unscripted (10 page)

“
I… I… don’t want to hurt you.”

This happens sometimes.
Guys begin to think I’m a china doll, fragile, ready to crack at any moment if they touch me intimately.

“
It’s okay Ronan you’re not the first man who thinks he needs to handle me with care,” I said reassuringly. “I know that there is this strange theory that once a woman has been raped sex is no longer a source of pleasure. The act of sex, fucking and screwing has been replaced with a boat load of emotions— pain, fear and sadness. Every victim’s story is different, but I need you to understand I am
not
sexually broken. I like sex. Rape is not a form or sex, rape is a crime— it’s assault. Sex is a wonderful and amazing experience— it feels good. Assault is traumatizing.”

“
I think I understand.”

Lucky for me, the first man I had sex with after I was raped was very kind and understanding. That relationship, although short, did me a world of good both emotionally and physically. Maggie once told me, “Your healing process is your own. You’re going to have good days and bad. Holliday, you’re allowed to trust again. You’re allowed to love sex— you won’t break. If you do, the right man will help you put the pieces back together.”

“
Ronan, I assure you I will not break if you fuck me. Did I break earlier?”

He shook his head and said, “Only when I made you come so hard you were weak in the knees.” A slow smile spread across his face.

“
Exactly
.” I smirked. “Now, do it again.
Fuck me
Ronan Connolly. I want to scream out your name in pleasure.”

“
Okay, my beauty. Just remember
you
asked for it,” he said, as a wicked grin crossed his lips.

Ronan Connolly looked positively gorgeous leaning back in a wooden chair as he read the morning paper in his York Hotel penthouse. His tight grey V-neck t-shirt hugged his well-trimmed upper body in all the right places. I watched him for a few moments in silence, drinking in the sight of him as he sipped his coffee and shuffled the paper. The early morning light poured through the sheer white curtains of the master suite as I lay there smiling and staring at the insanely sexy Irishman. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I noticed it was a little after seven a.m. For the first time in a year and a half I was going to be late to work. I had sent a text to Charlotte late last night telling her I’d be in the office at ten. She was fine with it, probably because she knew I’d spill all the dirty details of my sex-filled night with the dashing movie star as soon as I got to work. I tried to quietly sit up in the bed, but the sounds of my legs stirring under the covers attracted Ronan’s attention.

“
Good morning, beauty,” he greeted me while folding the paper in half.

“
Good morning,” I replied cheerfully.

“
Did you sleep well?”

Stretching my arms up over my head, I nodded. I loved the way he called me beauty. The only other person who had ever given me a nickname was my father, Jay, who called me Grace. I was terribly clumsy and awkward before I hit puberty. Lean and lanky, I was all long limbs with knobby knees coupled with a hideous unibrow and overbite. Thank God for waxing and braces correcting my beauty ailments. Roller-skating and swimming helped me to overcome my uncoordinated demeanor. I sometimes felt like I was an ugly duckling surrounded by nothing but gorgeous swans.

Once I turned fourteen, it was like I became a different person overnight. I began to develop my breasts and natural curves. By the time I was sixteen, well, let’s just say my step-father Perry nearly had a stroke every night when I left to go on a date with a guy. I would have thought he’d had plenty of practice with Charlotte, but I guess it’s never easy letting your daughters walk out of the house with good-looking hormone driven teenage boys.

Charlotte has always been worshiped by men. To me she was the most beautiful feminine creature. Slender and tall with golden blonde hair, like the warm California sun, and sapphire blue eyes that were both mysterious and sad. Only our mother, Helen, and I could see the sadness in her soul. I suppose we all had that same sadness in us. Even though we all looked completely different physically, with good reason since Charlotte and I were both adopted, we couldn’t have been more like-minded for any three people who didn’t possess the same DNA.

My mother, she’s equally as beautiful with shoulder length, raven hair that never seems to lose its luster, become frizzy or turn grey. She has perfect pink lips, long legs, and big brown eyes that warmed any man’s heart, causing them to trip over themselves to be in her company. And you’d never ever catch Helen Elizabeth Prescott Chambers dead in anything other than a designer label. Even if my mother had the flu she’d still put on a pair of YSL pumps.

Helen never seemed to age either. Well, maybe that’s because she has had a few surgeries to keep her body in top form. She was born dirt poor in a trailer park outside Tucson, and her only mission in life was to be an adored trophy wife. She was just that for a while until she found herself bored and Perry bought her a restaurant in Malibu to manage. Now she’s an adored entrepreneur, but still a trophy wife nonetheless, because Helen really only makes appearances. She lets her right hand, Andrea, do most of work. My mother’s posh five-star restaurant, Tradewinds, is always filled with celebrities, the extremely wealthy and tourists. The modern gourmet eatery has been featured in several TV shows and movies, which is always good for business. I suppose deep down my mother truly does have a strong will to work hard in her blood. It was her looks, attention to detail, determined attitude and charm that landed her the job at a financial firm as my dad’s secretary where they fell deeply in love and were married a year later.

My parent’s marriage survived eleven years after my adoption. Charlotte and I came home from school one day to find our father’s lifeless body slumped over the dining room table. Jay Christopher Prescott, Executive at Windsor Bradbury Trust, dead at forty-four years of age of a heart attack. My dad couldn’t handle being a father for two young girls, a doting husband and a successful financial business executive all at once.

Charlotte and I went to the best private school in Southern California. My sister took dance and piano while I went to swim camp and took tennis lessons at the club with a private instructor. To keep up with the Joneses, dad made several financial investments during their marriage. Unfortunately most of those were bad decisions. He never told my mom that he had lost nearly all their money. She found that out after the funeral— we were devastated, nearly broke and my dad was gone. Dad never told her that she couldn’t have anything, and my mother never thought to ask about the status of their bank accounts or credit.

My mother was pretty demanding as a wife. Dad did everything humanly possible to keep her suited in Chanel and drenched in Cartier. Hosting various charity events, attending glamorous dinner parties that entertained clients, she kept up her duties as the prominent executive’s wife, including spending money faster than my dad could replenish it. Spontaneous shopping sprees, days spent at the spa and lavish trips to Europe and the Caribbean where no expense was spared were often taken, keeping my mother overjoyed. Happy wife, seemingly happy life was the motto my father lived by.

No one realized how much my father was suffering from carrying the stress of providing for his family and keeping secrets, yet never having an outlet for to release his bottled up emotions and frustrations. He turned to drugs and the bottle for the release, but that ultimately took its toll on his mind and body. We never knew he had a problem until his toxicology report proved otherwise. Then there was the stash of pills, booze and cocaine we found in the garage and the unannounced visit we received from his dealer one afternoon trying to collect payment. My dad owed this guy nearly $3,000. That was an interesting afternoon— my mother interviewing my dead father’s drug dealer while they sat sipping black coffee one Saturday in March. I guess she charmed him well enough because he said he was sorry for her loss and not to worry about the payment. In fact, he handed her all the cash he had on him and told her to use it to take care of those two sweet girls.

My mother quickly fell into a deep depression after my dad died, but just as quickly, after only two weeks of mourning, she snapped out of it. Men all over from Los Angeles County to Orange County and beyond had stopped by to see if the widowed Helen Prescott was doing okay. Once my mother realized she was being pursued by some of the wealthiest, well connected and successful men in Southern California she dried her eyes and went to work on finding her second husband. This time around Helen Elizabeth Prescott was going to marry for money not love.

Love. I’d never been in love. I thought I was once with my first college boyfriend and maybe Shia LaBeouf, but if anyone ever told me I’d be in the throes of passion with a real life movie star like Ronan, I’d have scoffed at the not-in-a-million-years fantasy notion.

“
Would you like some coffee Holliday?” Ronan’s sexy throaty Irish accent grabbed my attention, sweeping me back to reality.

I shook my head and said, “No, I’d like something else first, please.” I fluttered my long lashes at him, cocking my head to the side, letting the covers fall to reveal a better view of my body.

Ronan made his way towards me, taking his sweet ass time. I’m pretty sure he was doing everything in slow motion, driving me insane on purpose, waiting for him to touch me. He pulled his grey shirt over his head, tossing it across the room where it hit the back of the couch. I felt my pulse quicken as he entered the master suite through the open French doors, locking his eyes with mine. My skin began to tingle. His intense smoldering gaze was burning into me like the fire of a thousand suns. My blood was swirling in the bottom of my stomach. I drew up my knees to my chest, biting my lower lip as I watched him taking slow strides, inching closer towards the bed. Ronan Connolly had seduced me, and I was under his sexual spell. I was drunk with desire from his intoxicating scent, hot as hell body and charming personality.

Finally, Ronan was on top of me and kissing me forcefully, deeply engulfing my mouth with the soft strength of his firm lips. When he kissed me I felt like a storm was rising beneath my skin. His pull on me was magnetic, like the force the moon has on the ocean, natural and instinctual. His hands eagerly explored my body as his tongue twisted feverishly with mine, and then he pulled back, caressing my tongue with long delectable strokes. I thought I might come at any second just from kissing this delicious man. Our bodies were so in tune with each other, every look, touch and sound prompted a reaction.

Ronan ran his hands over my abs and then hungrily shoved my knees apart, running his finger over my pulsing clit. He tugged at my nipples with his teeth through the silk fabric of my chemise, teasing me. I gasped at the pain of my sensitive body. I was still sore from the marathon fuck fest we had only a few short hours ago.

I ran my hands over his broad shoulders and down his back, digging my nails into his firm ass. He growled in my mouth, and that made me giggle. My hands flew to his pajama bottoms, pulling them quickly from his hips. I couldn’t seem to get them down fast enough. My body was building for him, craving for Ronan to be inside me, deep inside me. Pushing his tongue further into my mouth, I took his long thick shaft in my hands, working my grip slowly up and down, feeling every inch of him become hardened at my touch.

“
Ronan,” I panted breathlessly.

Ronan slid two of his long skilled fingers inside me, working my body over with slow strokes. Completely turned on, I was so ready to be fucked.

“
I love how greedy you are for me, Holliday.
Always
wet.”

I pulled him closer to me, sliding my tongue into his mouth, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his fingers and tongue inside my body. Our kisses grew long and deep, repeatedly licking, sucking and tasting.

“
Ronan, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” I hissed. I’d never felt so alive in my entire life. I was lost to everything except him.

“
You’re so… so… completely luscious.” Moaning softly, Ronan continued to stroke in between my soft wet folds slowly, teasing me, making me eager for him. I moved my hips to meet each motion, my pussy rippling on the brink of orgasm.