Gravity (Wilde Boys, #1)

by Sara Cate

think back to that day and try to remember the last thing my son ever said to me. It’s all such a blur. The accident eclipsed everything else, and just remembering that day, the very moment my world tilted off its axis, hollows out my chest even more.

But there is a vague memory of that morning. Just after Preston and Emma took off, bound for the mainland when I remember Nash coming out of the pool. He glared at me with such anger that I was struck by it. We were always easy on each other. I didn’t want to be the strict, uncaring father mine was, but seeing that expression on his face brought out my g...

How can she care so much about me or Nash when it was her own sister who died in that crash? I almost wish she’d hate me as much as my son does. I wish she’d spew repulsion at me for putting her sister on that flight in the first place.

“I honestly don’t know why Nash stopped talking to me, but I assume it’s because I grieved his brother’s death differently than he did. Nash responded in anger, and I guess I never really responded at all.” “Just because you didn’t show it, doesn’t mean you didn’t feel it,”

“Does he talk about me?” I ask, clearing my throat. She pulls her hand away, leaving the warmth of her touch there, a burn marked on my skin. Her mouth twists like she’s hiding something. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“He doesn’t like me talking to you,” she says before biting her lip, staring down at her now empty glass.

I need to stop this right now. Just as I’m about to tell her this, that we can’t be alone anymore, she looks at me and shatters my will again. “But I can be stubborn too, so he’ll just have to get over it.”

“I thought I told you not to let me catch you talking to him again.” His voice is menacing, and it sends a chill down my spine. “He practically dragged me into that helicopter. He wants me to get over my fear.” I know my mistake the moment his head snaps up, staring at me with anger. “I told you I wanted to take you flying. You won’t fly with me, but you’ll fly with him?”

“We didn’t fly. We just sat in the seats,” I snap back at him with attitude. He stands and stalks toward me so fast, I flinch. With a snarl, he backs me against the wall. “You’re mine, Zara. He bought you for me.”

“I don’t belong to either of you,” I argue. A hand drifts up to my throat, like he’s testing how I’ll react. I don’t stop him. “What are you doing to me?” he breathes. “Why do I feel like I’m losing control every time I’m around you? Because you want me to, don’t you?”

“Suck it, Zara.” Why the fuck does that make my toes curl? Why does being so controlled make me want to do everything I can to please him? I can feel the moisture pooling in my panties.

“Swallow it,” he grunts breathlessly, and I obey. Suddenly, I’m on my back, and his body is covering mine. His hands are pulling my clothes off and my mind is still reeling as his hands reach my soaked panties, pulling them aside roughly. “Who do you belong to, Zara?”

“Whose cum is in your belly right now, Zara? It’s not his.”

“Answer me, Zara. Tell me who you belong to.” His mouth circles my pussy, kissing my inner thigh before finally covering my clit and sucking on it so intensely I let out a scream. His teeth take a bite, and I twist up in a mix of pleasure and pain. “I’m not letting you come until you answer me.”

“Yours, Nash! I’m yours.” “Good girl,” he growls before he devours me.

I feel as if I’m drowning in something I don't understand. The way I feel being punished by Nash scares me, and I think it scares him too. As if we’re punishing ourselves by punishing each other. And our only real crime is being the one who survived.

Instead of going back to bed, I get in the shower, turning the water on as hot as I can get it. I can still hear their laughter coming from that helicopter. When I came outside after the day on the jet-skis, I felt good about Zara. Things felt different, like I could actually share a connection with another human being, the first one in a long time.

Then I saw her with him. He thinks I’m an idiot. I saw the way he looked at her every time she came out before Preston died. I know he’s fucking obsessed with her. It’s the only reason I had to find her at that strip club that night. I needed to witness the ruin of something he loved. But as she danced up on that stage with her new black look, she didn’t look fucking ruined to me. She looked liberated, like she was finally free, and you know what...I was fucking jealous.

I was jealous of him for moving on after my brother’s death. I was jealous of her for moving on after her sister’s death. Why was everyone acting like everything was okay? No, not just okay. Th...

I sure as shit didn’t expect him to bring her to Del Rey. I could have probably moved on, but with her in the house, I was sucked right back into this sick cycle. Fuck with her to fuck with him, and she has no fucking clue.

Still, my mind won’t stop replaying the scene tonight. Last time I forced myself on her, I needed three days to get that shit out of my head. I don’t want to hurt her, but I certainly don’t want to be catching any fucking feelings either.

Every time I visit a club he loved or get really drunk, it’s like I can feel him there. He’s still around, and I’m not so goddamn alone.

The last time Nash and I hooked up, he retreated, quarantining himself like being with me was some kind of sickness. And now he’s left me altogether.

Things got a little intense last night—okay, a lot intense. But it was all consensual. I would have told him if I wasn’t okay. Is he really beating himself up about it?

“I was a trained dancer. Ballet since I was five. I loved it so much.” Silence fills the room while I wait for him to ask what happened or what that has to do with the strip club, but he doesn’t. He waits for me to continue. “I had an opportunity to join a dance company during college, and I passed it up.” His stirring hand freezes as he stares at me. “Why?” “Have you ever loved something so much you were afraid of failing at it?”

“Sure,” he replies. “I loved to dance, but I was terrified I wasn’t good enough. That I would only fail, and they would criticize me, and ruin this thing I loved so much. My sister was furious,”

“I bet she was,” he says. “I would be too.” “But she couldn’t understand. She was twice as good at ballet as I was, and she quit too. So what’s the difference?” I argue. “Did she love it the way you did?” he asks, and I go back to chewing on my lip. Not even close. “Why does that matter?” “Watching someone quit something they’re so good at is hard. When you know they love it, it’s even harder. I see the same thing with Nash.”

“But that doesn’t answer my question,” he adds. “How did you end up at the club?” I scoff. “I waited tables for a while, and the pay was okay, but I missed dancing, and I figured...if I could make some money dancing, then I wasn’t really quitting it. Plus...no one criticizes your dancing when you do it naked.” I laugh, but he doesn’t.

“I’m not ashamed of what I do. I like the way it makes me feel.” “How does it make you feel?” he asks. His voice is quieter, more even-toned and careful. Careful is good. We’re treading into forbidden territory because I have a feeling he knows exactly how dancing naked for men makes me feel, but he’s asking it anyway.

“It makes me feel sexy. Powerful. When I dance, it’s like people actually see me. Like I have control. I’m a more confident version of myself.”

“I know you think I ‘weasel money out of men’, but what I do is no worse than what you do. It’s about power, and it just so happens my body is my power.”

“I have to tell myself you're Nash’s. Do you understand? I’m not trying to scare you, Zara, but I’m giving you a lot of money to do everything you can to bring him around. I know he’s rough with you. I know he’s struggling with those feelings, and I know on the other side of that struggle, he’ll be a stronger man. I see what you awaken in him because it’s the same thing in me. My son needs you, but I don’t.”

“I know you’re angry, but I chose you because you can handle it. You can handle him and me because you know the same pain we do. It was never about you using your body to lure him in, Zara. It was about you and that steel fucking heart of yours.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” “I’m yours, remember?” I look back up at him. “Couldn’t stay with him all night—alone. I was afraid of what you’d do to me if I did.” I shoot him a playful pout, and his eyes narrow. A hand lands on my hip, and he pulls me closer. “You might be mine, Zara, but I’m not yours, and you’re really cramping my style.”

“I’m not doing anything to you, Nash.” “You keep pushing me, Zara. You tell me I can’t fuck you, and I think you want me to fight for it. I think you like that idea, but I’m not that kind of guy, Zara. It’s like you want me to be a monster.”

“Maybe I do want you to be a monster because then at least you’ll stop being a loser who hangs out with celebrities and throws his life away for cheap pussy.”

“You’re not going to change me, Zara. I know he wants you to, and I’ll admit, I’m enjoying having you around more than I thought I would, but I’m not changing shit for you or him.” “You think I give a shit, Nash? I get my million either way. But you’re crazy if you think I’m not going to try and squeeze a few more months and another million out of your old man, so be as stubborn as you want. You don’t hold as much power as you think.”

“You really think this is all about me? Don’t you see the way he looks at you? You want to squeeze a few more million out of him, Zara, you’re spending your night with the wrong Wilde. So go back to Del Rey and leave me the fuck alone.”

His jaw is clenched. His eyes are shrouded in pain and laced with anger. I can’t help but reach up and touch his jaw, gliding along the smooth skin of his chin and back to his hair. Then I see what’s really going on. He’s insecure, and he’s lashing out to protect himself. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. I don’t understand why you’re attacking me,” I say. Without relaxing his chin or shoulders, he argues. “I am happy to see you, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re caught between us, Zara. You’ve landed right in the crossfire, and you should be very careful about who you fuck with because neither of us play nice.” “I’m not afraid of either of you,” I answer, looking up at him. As he leans his mouth closer to mine, he whispers, “I wish you were.”

“I told you, Zara. I don’t want to be that guy.” There is pain on his face with his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. All I can think is that I need him to release whatever he is holding onto. The pain, the anger, the regret, the guilt. And I realize that I can recognize these things in him because I feel them in myself too.

“Nash,” I whisper, avoiding that intense gaze of his. “The pain you feel is the same pain I feel.” “You have no idea, Zara.” Looking up at him, the air between us grows thick. For the first time, he acknowledges the thing he’s feeling, and I’m hungry for it. Ravenous. I need it all. I need to heal every ounce of his pain. “Yes, I do. I know it’s not just grief. I know it’s the guilt eating you up. Guilt for surviving. For outliving them. For feeling like they took the wrong one.”

“I know it’s anger too. Helplessness. And rage because life robbed you and there is nothing you can do to change it. You can’t make anyone pay for what’s been taken.”

“It’s been bottled up and boiling over, and the thought of going on with your old life seems fucking unbearable because of how unfair it is. So you numb everything. Your pain, your happiness, your entire life. Get drunk, get high, turn up the music, and escape it all.”

“Take it out on me, Nash.” A deep, rumbling growl echoes through the room as his eyelids lower, his gaze full of lust. Still, he’s hesitating. I know he wants this, but he still thinks he’s protecting me. “I want you to.” Pulling his hand up slowly, I place it against the base of my throat, and I hold back all of the emotion bubbling in my chest. “I need you to.”

I can’t take my eyes off of him, desperate to memorize this version of him, unhinged and free. He’s fucking me like he has a score to settle, like he needs it to survive, and maybe he does.

“My dad and I have always been alike, like so similar it felt like I was just another version of him. The next Alistair Wilde, everyone called me. And I was proud of that, but then...” he says, stopping to take a deep breath and swallow down his emotions. “Then, I saw a different side of him. Something...that made me realize I didn’t want to be like him anymore.” “What was it?”

“I don’t want to say, but the point is...my dad takes what he wants. I used to admire that. Until he crossed a line. I didn’t know what he was capable of.” “So, don’t be like him” I reply, touching his lips. “But I wish you’d tell me—” “There are things I have to leave out, Zara. But all that matters is I don’t want to be like him anymore. So when Preston died, I decided I couldn’t be Nash anymore.”

“You know what’s weird, though? I think you’re helping him as much as you’re helping me, and he doesn’t even know it. Having someone to teach how to fly again, having someone at the house balance out all the anger between us.” He presses a kiss to my forehead before he settles his head on the pillow, pulling me to his chest. “And I honestly wonder which of us needs you more.”

The Wilde men do not like being told no.