Overworked and Worked Over Ch. 04

"Can I go home? Can you take the statement there?" she asked, tears filling her eyes.

"Of course, ma'am," one of the officers assured her and walked her out to their car. During the ride home, she knew she should call Malcolm. He'd be livid if she didn't tell him what happened. It was his baby inside her too. She'd make her statement and then call him. He could come back over and hold her before he left.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. "This is Malcolm Grayson. Leave a message and I'll get back with you as soon as possible." Lara had left three messages and sent two texts. She didn't leave any of the details, just told him to call her ASAP.

He never did. Lara curled up into a ball, shoulder throbbing, hand on her stomach, and prayed for sleep.

Malcolm awoke to the blaring radio alarm and winced from the noise and light. He had a nasty hangover. He somehow made it out of bed and to the kitchen for coffee. After downing a cup, he felt a bit better and hurried to get ready—he had a long drive ahead of him. He found his phone in the pocket of the jeans he had on last night—dead as a doornail. He'd charge it on the way to Cincinnati. He threw his bag in the trunk, plugged the phone up, and hopped on I-71. A few hours later, he was in downtown Cincinnati and was rushing to make it to the sports bar where he was meeting the man he thought to be Samantha's lover and father of her child—DeVonte McLaughlin. He needed to call to tell him he was a few minutes late. He turned on his cell phone and saw the voicemails and text messages from Lara. They didn't seem to be overly important—just said to call her. He would, just as soon as this meeting was over.

The weekend had gone better than Malcolm could've dreamed. He'd even had to stay another day so he could file a couple of petitions on Monday. He'd called Lara several times on Sunday to let her know he'd be a day later than he said. He hadn't been able to get in contact with her all weekend. When he got to the office Monday afternoon, she wasn't there. He was worried now. He tried to hurry through the piles of paperwork that had built up on his desk that morning, but he was only focused on one thing—Lara.

At 5pm, he rushed out of the building and drove to her house—only to find his sister's car in her driveway. He was even more worried and completely confused now.

He rang the bell and knocked—Misha answered the door with the security chain still attached.

"What the fuck, Misha? Let me in!"

"Lara doesn't feel well and doesn't really want company right now. She said she'll call you."

Malcolm seethed, gritting his teeth.

"Misha. Let me in. I don't want to break the door down."

"She said she'll call you, Malcolm. Now go!" Misha's eyes narrowed. She was pissed too. What had he done to piss off both Lara and Misha?

He shoved a foot inside the door to keep her from closing it.

"Misha, I swear to God, if you don't tell me what's going on, you're gonna regret it."

"Where were you Friday night?" she asked, hand on her hip.

"I was here. Then I went home to sleep before my trip on Saturday. Well, I went to the bar Friday night."

"And what were you so busy doing that you couldn't answer your phone?"

"It died," he said curtly, "What the fuck is going on?"

Lara entered his line of vision then—he could see her standing in PJs and a robe. Why was she holding her arm like that?

"It's ok, Misha. I'll tell him what happened. Then he's leaving."

She looked down at his foot in the doorway and then back up at his face. His mouth was fixed in a grim line, but his eyes revealed his worry.

"I waited too late to take my walk Friday night and it was getting dark. Seth attacked me in the park. I pepper sprayed him, but he jerked me down and I fell on my shoulder."

Malcolm's eyes filled with rage but she didn't pause to let him say anything.

"The police came, I was taken to the ER; my shoulder is fine, just sprained. And Seth was arrested. He was bailed out this morning, which is why Misha is here with me. I didn't want to be alone in case he came back."

His eyes were panicky and he reached inside to touch her, grabbing her robe, "The baby?" he choked out, "You fell? What did they say?"

"The baby is fine, Malcolm," she said, squeezing the hand that gripped her robe. He let out an audible sigh.

"Did he touch you, Lara? I swear to God I'll kill him!"

"He just pushed me down. That was it," she explained, seeing the darkness in his eyes.

"I'll still kill him."

She needed to change the subject. "So you went to the bar Friday night?" she asked, accusingly.

"Just because I was so bored without you—I couldn't sleep either. And then my phone died."

"Why didn't you come back here?"

"You told me to leave, Lara."

"Why the fuck did you listen to me?" she challenged him in a loud whisper.

He stopped, unable to say anything.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Misha sitting in the living room, within earshot.

"Move your foot, Malcolm." He looked at her strangely, but obliged. She pushed the door closed, slid the chain, and reopened it enough to slide out. It was cold outside, but she led Malcolm around the porch to the side farthest from the living room and pushed him against the railing, her body pressed against his.

"I love you Malcolm. I love your kindness, your goodness, how gentle you are with me—I love you with my whole heart," Lara said, stopping Malcolm from responding with love declarations of his own.

"But what first attracted me to you, was that dominant, take-no-shit attitude you had with me. I've come to love—and expect—that from you too. When I told you to leave Friday, I wanted you to mock me, drag me to the bedroom, or the couch, or outside, and fuck me until I shut the fuck up."

Malcolm's eyes were wide. And his dick was rock hard. She shouldn't have had to declare her submission to him. But she did. And he was glad. He was an idiot.

But he didn't have to be told twice.

He dug through his pockets and found his SUV keys.

"Get in the truck, start it up, and get it warmed up."

"But Misha—" Lara protested.

"Get in the fucking truck, Lara!" he whispered as loudly as he could, without alerting Misha. Lara froze, took the keys, and headed to his SUV, parked behind Misha.

Malcolm heard it start as he headed back inside the house.

"Look, Misha, we talked it out. She wants me to stay with her, but we're going for a drive first. Can you lock up the house?"

"Wait a minute, where is she at?" Misha asked, concerned.

"Misha, I love her. You don't have to worry about her when she's with me."

She paused, grabbed her purse and nodded, "I know Baby Bro. You scared her. She was alone, injured, and pregnant. Don't do that again."

He nodded curtly, "I won't."

He walked out the door and hurried to the truck.

"So why did you go to Cincinnati, Malcolm?" she said, challenging him again.

"You'll find out soon enough," he said, just to appease her curiosity. But to put her back in her submissive zone, he barked, "Don't question me Lara. Do you understand?"

Lara sat in the passenger seat and nodded, meekly waiting for her next instruction. His dick swelled in his jeans. He pulled out of her driveway and headed down the street. It was dark by the time they got to the park. He got out and walked around to the back of his truck. When he opened her door for her, she saw he had a couple of blankets, a flashlight, and a gun. Her heart thundered in her chest.

"Why do you have a gun, Malcolm?"

"Didn't I tell you not to question me?" he growled at her again, before explaining, "I just want to be prepared if that little pussy piece of shit shows his face anywhere near you again. He won't get another opportunity to be bailed out."

He held out the flashlight and tucked the gun in the back of his jeans. "Now, show me where he attacked you."

She didn't question him, just took the flashlight and started walking. She could feel him walking only a step behind her. When they came to the edge of the woods where the path cut through, he swore. She led him along the path until it was at the deepest point and stopped. There was a break in the trees that would've been the exact spot Seth planned to attack, subdue, and rape her. Malcolm took a few deep breaths—it would never happen. Seth would never touch her again.

He spread out the blankets in the clearing and motioned for her to stand in front of him. He pushed the robe off, careful of her injured shoulder. The cotton tank did nothing to hide her swollen breasts and aroused nipples—they pressed against the thin cotton, begging to be touched. It covered her slightly rounded belly where their unborn child slept, protected. He dropped to his knees and framed the small mound their child made with his hands, sliding the tank up—he kissed her belly, stroked her back, and moved his hands up to her breasts. She moaned when he grasped each breast firmly and nearly swooned when he pinched the tips jutting forward. He slid his hands down again, pulling her panties off with the flannel pajama pants she wore. He balled them up and tossed them on the blanket. He helped her kneel and then positioned her on her back.

"Tell me you love me, Lara."

"I love you, Malcolm," she sighed.

"Tell me you forgive me for being stupid."

"There's nothing to forgive—I"

"Tell me you forgive me, damnit!"

"I forgive you for being stupid, Malcolm," she said, grinning.

He smiled in return. "Now say, eat my pink pussy."

She blushed. "Eat my pink pussy, please."

He knelt down between her legs and licked her up and down. She shuddered.

"Whose pussy is this?" he asked, sucking on her clit for a second before delving between her pink pussy lips again, "Hmm? Whose pussy is this?"

"It's yours, Malcolm. It's your pussy," she sighed.

He buried his face in her pussy, licking and sucking, penetrating her gently with his fingers. After only a few minutes, he brought her to orgasm and felt her liquid wash over his lips and chin. As she settled down, he planted a sloppy kiss on her clit before readying himself to fuck her.

He was on his knees, dick hard and in position to penetrate her. She was so fucking beautiful, spread open before him, in the moonlight and trees in a place where a few days before, she'd been assaulted. She was so brave and strong. But she also wanted to be dominated and he loved it.

"Rub your clit."

She licked her fingers and placed them over her clit, slowly making circles. Her hips moved along with her hand.

"Now tell me how you want to be fucked."

"Anyway you want it, Malcolm," she whispered, looking up at me.

Malcolm put the head of his dick against her pussy and barely pressed. It slid in.

"You want it slow?" he said, stroking in and out with intentional sluggishness.

"Yessssss...." She hissed, feeling his dick against her G-spot.

"Or you want it fast?" he said, speeding up causing her back to arch.

"Maybe soft." He said, barely plunging before taking his dick back out again.

"Or hard?" he said through gritted teeth, pounding against her.

She opened her eyes and nodded at him before her body shook and her head thrashed from side to side.

"Can't decide?" he asked, leaning over her, kissing her hotly before placing his hand around her throat. He started fucking her slow and hard and putting just a tiny amount of pressure on her throat and then letting go.

"Yeah, that's my favorite. Get to watch this big black dick slide in and out of your soft little white pussy—but pounding at the end. It's good to you, isn't it? Isn't it!" he demanded.

She was desperately thrusting her hips back up to him and moaned out a long, "Yeeeesssss!"

"Cum on this dick, baby, cum on this dick," he said, taking over for her at her clit. "Let me rub this for you, I want you to pinch those nipples. Pull them up and let them go so I can watch your tits bounce."

She did as he asked and within seconds, she let out a string of babble, high pitched and squealing. Her pussy clamped onto his dick she squirted around him. At the same time, he let loose inside her. As they lay there, recovering in the cool January night, Malcolm realized something—there was no other feeling like nutting in the woman you love. No other feeling like it in the world.