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“Yeah, because nobody does crisis like you. Most people get scared and worried. They lose all ability to think logically, but you…you get this look in your eyes like the whole world just caught fire, and you’ve been waiting your entire life to dance in flames.”
“That’s a lot of words just to say I like to help people.” “That’s an oversimplification of what you do, princess, and it doesn’t even begin to touch how happy it makes you.”
“For now.” I push off the door, moving toward her with slow, purposeful steps she has plenty of time to stop if she wants to. “But if you want me to switch it up, become the man who loves you madly, who’ll listen to all of your problems while he’s got his face buried between your legs, I’d be happy to make the adjustment.”
“Because I want one for every year we lost. One for every birthday you spent without me. One for every anniversary we didn’t get to celebrate. For every Christmas where the only gift I wanted was your laughter in my ears and your heart in my hands.”
“Ten chances for me to show you that I’m not the same man I was before, that we can build a real life together.” “And in between the dates? What would you want?” She hasn’t agreed yet, but her question still makes me want to grab both sides of her face and kiss her like she has. “Consistent communication. No more ignoring my calls or going weeks without answering a text. Of course, I would like to have all your time, but I know I haven’t earned that yet, so I’m willing to settle.”
As always, I’m prepared to beg, but she shakes her head, her expression brooking no argument. “If I say yes, that’s what I want, Chris. I want a guaranteed out. At the end of the ten dates, when nothing has changed, when the only thing we’ve done is ruin each other again, I want you to promise that you’ll walk away. That you’ll stop trying to rewrite history.” I step back from her, my skin alive with irritation and resistance. “No, I can’t do that.”
Of listening to the voice inside our head that tells us if a guy is being too friendly or if someone is following a little too close when we’re walking back to the car alone. That skill is invaluable, necessary to our survival, especially in a world that thinks every person with breasts and a vagina is a victim in waiting. Ready to be abused and mistreated whenever the whim strikes someone stronger, faster, more depraved than we could ever be.
“You’d have a team working under you,” she continues. “I’d let you handpick each one of them, give you full control over hiring and firing as long as it’s all in line with company policy. You’d have your own floor in the new Carter Investments building we just opened downtown, but of course, you can work from home if you want. Everything else can be negotiated prior to signing your contract.”
And when our mouths finally collide, it’s a slow unhurried union that turns the world upside down, oceans crashing into the clouds, wiping the sky clean.
There’s a bit of defensiveness coloring her response, and I close my eyes, forcing out several calming breaths because I know it’s not about me. Well, at least not all of it. She’s conflicted, caught between her loyalty to me and her hope for a healthy relationship with her father.
“No, Ter, I’m not mad at you.” But I am mad. At this fucked up world that gave us such a fucked up father. “I do want you to be careful, though. If you decide to let him in, don’t let him too close. Promise me that, okay?”
Her hands go to my back, resting against flexing muscles that are straining to be closer, and I relish the sensation of being held, cradled with care by hands that have always had the power to soothe my worries.
Emotions I can’t name swirl in her eyes. “You didn’t need to do that. You could have just ordered in.” “I could have, but I wanted the first meal you had here to be something warm and familiar, so you’d associate those feelings with this house. With me.”
I mean, obviously, we did things like this when we practically lived together in college, but that was just two kids who knew nothing about what the future would bring playing house. We never got to have this as adults, fully formed humans who showed up every day and chose each other. Who hid nothing and bared everything.
That familiar anger, for my father and for myself, tries to push its way to the surface, but I force it back. There’s no place for it here, in this new beginning with the woman I love who wants the simplicity of us and none of the complications.
Somehow, she manages to sound both excited and upset about the job Veronica wants to give her. And although everything in me wants to spring into action and do whatever I can to fix it for her, I focus on actively listening instead of problem-solving. We’re right outside our bedroom when Mallory notices I’m not offering her any solutions.
doing when we went on our second date this weekend. He picked me up on Saturday evening and took me to an adult skate lounge where they served alcohol slushies, and chicken and waffle sliders that Chris insisted on feeding me by hand. After we ate and shared a drink that had both of our mouths tasting like frozen cherries and sugar, we spent hours skating and talking. His hands on my waist.
“I think that within your family you’ve created a role for yourself as the caretaker, the protector, the martyr. And despite everything you know about your family and friends indicating otherwise, you’ve decided that the only thing you have to offer them of value is servitude they didn’t ask for and, probably on more than one occasion, have told you they don’t need. They love you, Mallory, not what you do for them, which means if you stop doing for them and live your life, that love will still be there. So the question you need to ask yourself is why do you think it won’t?”
We don’t need the permanence of vows or diamond rings—her soul and mine are wrapped around each other, inextricably linked, bound by a love that refuses to be undone no matter how much time passes—but I would love to have them. To have the chance to walk around with the same pride Nic has surging through him moving through me every second of every day. I’ve never considered myself a jealous person, but when it comes to securing a future similar to what Nic and Sloane are building, I’m downright covetous.
And this time, it’s even more ridiculous because it’s aimed at a thing instead of a person. I want to brush those pieces of hair out of the way to make room for curious fingers. A worshipful mouth and reverent lips. A hungry tongue that can only be sated by the taste of her skin.
It’s her. The woman I met outside of the steakhouse Nic was supposed to meet me at, who also happened to be at Cerros the night of his and Sloane’s engagement party. Quickly, because she’s moving toward me with a friendly smile pulling her red lips up, I run through all of the short conversations we’ve had, searching for her name.
His brows pull together in confusion that lingers in his gaze when it finally lands on me before it’s wiped away by love, lust, and wonder. I resist the urge to rise up on my tip toes and kiss him, to whisper that I love him too, that I want this, I want us, because the only thing scarier than realizing that Dr. Banks was right about me feeling like the love of my family is attached directly to what I can do for them, is realizing that Chris’ love isn’t.
He just wants me. At my best, at my worst, and everything in between. When I’m angry and mean, when I’m soft and open. When I’m running from him and when I’m still. It doesn’t matter. He always looks at me just like this, like I’m his and he’s mine, and nothing else in the world matters except those two facts.
“All night long, I’ve watched them watch you, watched people’s faces light up when they got the chance to talk to you or be on the receiving end of your smile.” Nothing he’s saying is suggestive or sexual, but for some reason, his already low tone has descended into the pits of hell, transforming into a growl I still associate with sweat-slick skin and lost inhibitions. Desire unfurls in the pit of my belly, and my pulse leaps as he continues.
“No,” I hiss, slipping down in my seat and parting my legs as wide as they will go. “No, I’m not good at all.” “What’s the matter, princess?” He asks the question so innocently, like he doesn’t know that his teasing touch is threatening to destroy me, and I gasp when his hand slips up even further, so now he really is touching me. Idle fingers resting against the lips of my pulsing sex.
“What are you doing, Mallory?” Oh, his voice is so deep, coated in filth and heat that makes me second guess my decision to replace his touch with my own. I close my eyes, refusing to answer because I know my intention is clear. With the pad of my index finger, I push the thin fabric of my thong to the side and apply firm pressure to my clit, relishing the fact that the engorged bundle of nerves is already slick with my arousal.
Chris glances between me and the road, his handsome face twisted up, caught between desire and misery. I use my fingers to glide through the folds of my sex, parting my lips and holding them open to reveal the berry-brown perfection of my pussy to him. He gazes heavenward, cursing when a drop of liquid arousal drips down my slit, disappearing between my ass cheeks.
“I’m glad you feel that way.” My head falls back, hitting the window with a soft thud. It doesn’t hurt, but even if it did, my brain wouldn’t register the pain because it’s overloaded with pleasure. I’m rubbing my clit with three fingers now. Slow, firm circles that send electricity skittering down my spine. “Because I am going to come.”
“Good because I want to see. And forget what I said about your juices being wasted on the seat. I don’t think any of it will make it past those thick ass thighs.” “What if it does?” I breathe, nearly incoherent, as the pressure in my core builds and builds. “What if I make a mess all over my seat?” “Then I’ll lick the fucking seat clean, princess,” he growls.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against my lips, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe that I’m real. “Absolutely perfect.”
I bring my hands up, intending to wrap them around his neck and hug him to me but only partially succeeding because he stops the ascent of the hand that was just between my legs with a graceful turn of his head and a decisive snap of his teeth. They come down gently, catching my soaked fingers, so he can suck them deep into his mouth and lick them clean.
“Chris.” His name is a whimper, a prayer, a quiet demand for more. More pleasure, more space, more of his skin bared for me, more of my heart open to him. He lifts up, allowing me to remove my fingers from his mouth. His eyes are wild but focused, aware, as always, of my possible triggers. “Are you okay?”
I agreed to come here, to be in this space with him, knowing we would end up here. Not just because he doesn’t have any damn furniture, which significantly limits our options for fucking anywhere else, but also because this is where I want the first meaningful sexual encounter I’ve had in years to happen. In a bed he sleeps in every night, wrapped in sheets that smell like him. And when we’re done, I want to lay my head on his chest and fall asleep listening to the sound of his heart beating.
But that can only happen if I open the door. Chris waits patiently while I work up the nerve. His quiet, calm demeanor reassuring me even though my hesitance must be worrying him. He wants this just as badly as I do, maybe even more, but he cares too much to rush me. I could stand here all night, and he’d stand with me. Tireless, steadfast in his commitment to patience and restraint.
“Oh, God,” I cry out, arching off the mattress while Chris starts up a punishing rhythm that has my breasts bouncing, freeing them from the confines of the corset. My nipples harden almost instantly due to the cold air, but that isn’t what catches Chris’ attention.
“You pierced your nipples?” He asks, half groaning as he takes in the sight of the gold barbells resting against berry brown skin. “Fuck, princess, when did you do that?”
But I don’t care because the only thing on my mind is the storm of pleasure brewing deep inside me, sending tremors through me and Chris. His strokes turn jerky when my pussy starts contracting around him, squeezing his dick for dear life as my orgasm finally sweeps through me, knocking the air out of my lungs.
“Oh, fuck, Chris. I’m coming.” I shudder beneath him, moaning loudly while he continues to chase his release. It doesn’t evade him for long, and my chest swells with feminine pride as he curses, gushes of hot, wet, sticky desire flooding my core before he collapses on top of me.
It’s the hers in his and hers. Or, more specifically, mine. The word echoes in my mind, bouncing around my skull, only stopping when Chris opens the door and I follow him into the large space with warm cream walls and built-in shelving I’m stunned to see is far from empty. Every shelf, cubby, and hanger is full, occupied by expensive fabrics in the colors and styles I favor.
There was something special about those nights—the warmth of Margaret’s bed, the fresh, innocent smell of my baby sister’s skin—something peaceful and safe within the confines of those four walls that, even as a child, I knew was rare.
Everything was going so good this morning. Hell, it was better than good. I’d even venture to say it was perfection. The best morning I’ve had in that house since I bought it, and now the sweetness of it is tinged with bitter confusion and fear.
Every time we take a step forward, Mallory laces up her running shoes and sprints a mile back. Of course, I’ll always chase her. Not doing so isn’t an option, and it never will be, but God, do I wish she’d stay still for once, that she’d stand in the discomfort of her fear and let me hold her hand as she finds her way out.
Ugh yes!!!! This is all we be wanting fr
After what we shared last night, I expected things to be up in the air between us for a while. Mallory gets scared whenever I get too close because it means that she let me in. But it still hurts to be standing in it, in the swirl of her uncertainty, in the middle of the storm of mixed emotions I’m afraid she’ll always associate with me.
“Leaving your mark on everything,” she whispers. “It’s already hard enough with your fingerprints all over me, every loop and ridge tattooed on my skin, a constant in my life even when you’re not, but now you’re just making it unbearable, Chris. The next time you leave, I won’t—” Her bottom lip quivers and every tremor of her flesh is like the crack of a whip. Lashings that are all the more painful because of their biting accuracy tear my skin open, so I’m bleeding right along with her. “All I’ll have are the things you gave me and the ruined memories. A sad collection of reminders of you.”
“Princess,” I start, but I don’t know what to say. Her fears aren’t unfounded. Her worry isn’t unjustified. I’ve left her twice. No matter the circumstances, no matter the reasoning, the outcome was always the same: a hole in her heart shaped like me.
Not even thirty minutes after I left Veronica’s office, I got a notification from my bank about a deposit from Carter Investments. When I went to the app to see what it was about, my mouth dropped open, and it stayed open long after I ended the phone call to Veronica, where she explained to me that a six-figure sign-on bonus was standard practice in the industry. I couldn’t believe it was real.
Damnnnnnnn sis!
Whenever I’m in that house, everything feels too real, too permanent, too close to what he said he came back to give me. Security, certainty, hope. And it all just stands in direct contradiction to what I know to be true: Chris leaves, and when he does, I’m devastated.
This moment is so light, so perfect, I can’t bring myself to mess it up by telling her that she’s the only person who gets this side of me. The man who speaks in corny riddles and jokes that are always half-truths just to see her smile.
She smiles against my lips, “Do I taste good, Chris?” I break the kiss with a growl. “Princess. You’re the best thing I’ve ever put in my fucking mouth.”
My eyes try to roll into the back of my skull, but I force them to focus, to stay locked in on Mallory while I tell her something she already knows. “This is your dick, princess. It was made for your perfect little pussy.”
