Zeke kissed me, a gentle caress, in stark contrast to the fact that he held me tightly like he wanted to control me. But his actions didn’t follow the stance. Maybe he was just worried I was going to fall over in the shower. It was wet, after all.
I kissed him back. Amazing how easily we had fallen into this together. Yesterday, I would have balked at the idea that we could so casually be naked in the shower together. Now, it was like an exciting but perfectly acceptable thing we were doing together.
He pulled back to grab the soap. “Are you clean everywhere? Should I check?”
I grinned. “Maybe you’d better check.”
“That’s what I thought.” He rubbed the soap into his hand and then proceeded to soap me up everywhere, stopping to rinse me off periodically. I grabbed some and did the same to him. This was a chance to really feel Zeke and not have to worry that I was crossing some line. We were playing at this, and I was going to enjoy the moments.
When he would have touched my pussy, I stopped him. “Not with that soap. That won’t feel good.”
He nodded. “I had no idea. Makes sense. What do you use instead?”
I grabbed a bottle and handed it to him. “That’s safe.”
“Got it.” He squeezed some in his hand and washed me. I’d never had anyone do this before, and it should be awkward. But it wasn’t. When he finished, he turned the water toward me to make sure that I was rinsed off before he placed his finger back inside of me.
“Zeke.” I leaned against him. That was it. Just his name. I had nothing else to add to that one-word statement. I might never again. Who needed speech?
He leaned over to kiss my shoulder before he inserted a second finger. “I want to know your body. What you like. What you don’t like.”
Well, I really, really, really liked this. “I want to know you the same way.” I gasped as he found a spot deep inside of me that was hard to locate. I’d never managed it on my own.
“Ah, there it is. Yes, I was hoping to get there today.”
How could he be talking? My ears rang. My breath caught. I wasn’t sure I could actually breathe. Was I breathing? I didn’t know. Maybe I’d stopped. Maybe there was just this fucking pulsating need to reach completion at every stroke of his fingers. I held on to him. We were both wet. It was hard, but oh, I needed this.
He rubbed his fingers back and forth, side-to-side, before changing to a circular motion. I closed my eyes.
“That’s right, princess. Just feel it.” He increased the pressure, a lot, and although I wouldn’t have thought I’d like it, I really did. With a gasp, I came hard, all of my muscles clenching around his fingers.
He liked it, sucking in his breath in a pleasure-filled sound. My breasts ached, and I wanted more. But it was his turn, and I needed to give as good as I got.
“Any chance you’re rethinking the mouth thing?”
I raised my head to look at him, still breathing hard. “I was thinking that it was your turn.”
“Not yet.” He kissed my cheek. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Aw, but I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”
He kissed my other cheek. “You do.”
“Okay. We can try it, but I have to warn you that I don’t usually like it and that might be something that isn’t going to change.”
Zeke nodded. “That’s fine. Thanks for letting me try.”
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel that he wrapped around me and then another one for himself. We were both going to be wet despite what we did with the towel. He picked me up, and I noticed that one of my toes actually still had nail polish on it. I’d need to do something about the state of my feet soon.
But it was a fleeting thought.
Because the next thing I knew, I was on the end of my bed.
“Take my hand,” he informed me as he got on his knees, and I did. “Squeeze it if you don’t like something. Sometimes talking can be hard.”
“What if I squeeze it because I’m just not thinking and it’s all quite a lot, but I do like?”
He smiled at me, it was warm and wonderful. “Okay. So, don’t squeeze my hand if you don’t like it. Use your words.”
I nodded. “I’ll do that.”
It didn’t turn out to be a problem. The second his mouth was on me, I forgot that I really didn’t like this. Because I did. I wanted Zeke’s tongue to touch my clit, for him to suck hard on all the right places. To lick me just…there. Yes. I bucked beneath him and didn’t worry that I was too responsive. He moaned as he went, his hips hitting the bed like he was desperate to be inside of me, and it never occurred to me that I should worry about what I tasted like.
There was only what was happening, and for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to live in the moment. And what a moment it was. I couldn’t have said when or why or how it happened if I’d been pressed to do so under oath, but I came hard. Fast. And with tears in my eyes.
Eventually, Zeke lifted his head to regard me with heat in his gaze. “I think you liked that.”
I grinned at him, trying to catch my breath. “Fuck.”
“Yes, you liked it.” He got up and kissed my cheeks, one at a time. “You’re so damned cute right now.”
I sucked in air. “Give me a minute, and I’ll return the favor.”
“No.” He sat down next to me, pulling me against him. “I’ll gladly take it later. But I actually do have to work now. Get ready for some things today. Somehow take my mind off how sweet your pussy is.”
Was he serious? He was willing to wait. Most men I’d been with would have been late to their mother’s funeral to get another blowjob. I sighed. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” He winked at me. “See you later, princess.”
I rolled my eyes. I was so not a princess. But it was somehow not so bad when he said it. An endearment that could be a sneer. Or maybe it had started as an insult, and now he was using it kindlier.
As per usual, I was way overanalyzing Zeke. Of course, I was still spread eagle on the bed with his saliva inside of me. It might be normal to be so out of sync. I jumped up and went back to the bathroom to clean up again. When I came out, it was time to face my phone.
I’d never hated it the way I did these days. I’d been constantly on it. But now it was like a leash. I wanted to talk to my sisters but tell the rest of the world—namely, Kit and Justin—to fuck off. Maybe I wasn’t being fair to Kit. I’d hurt him, and he was as much of an addict as my brother. I had to somehow remember that.
I lay down on my bed, itching to draw, but there were things to do first and that just sucked. Real life was constantly in the way of me pretending my problems didn’t exist. Too bad denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt. I was queen of the bad jokes. Great at them. Maybe I could make them for a living.
I scanned through my texts. Some of my so-called friends were starting to inch out of the woodwork. I must be getting great social media exposure with Zeke, or they wouldn’t bother. Besides, I had no idea when I was coming back to New York, so I couldn’t make plans anyway.
Finally, I saw Hope. She had a bunch of questions that were easier to do on the phone and it was too early to call. I texted both she and Bridget that I’d call later and looked to where Kit had sent me another nude photo giving me the finger.
I had to answer him and Justin. It was time to put on my big girl panties and face this.
Kit, I’m sorry I hurt you. I truly am. But you and I are not meant to be together in any world. I see you’re enjoying your freedom, and for the sake of my mental health, I’m going to block you on here and all social media. Good luck in the future.
I didn’t say the things I wanted to. That his parents were crooks, probably laundering money for some criminal organization, and he and I had been pawns in a big game that linked our families for reasons other than love. I said none of that. Kit wouldn’t care. He might even know. I completely understood he was sick, but I was tired of be
ing his kicking post. I’d let him vent for days. Enough was enough.
Next up was my brother. That was more complicated. He was my brother. What was I supposed to do with him?
His texts were a diatribe of hate followed by his begging me for forgiveness. Worry pressed down on my shoulders. As cutthroat as it was, it wasn’t hard for me to make Kit someone else’s problem. He had a big, rich family that would rescue him. Justin had us. My father, who was a hands-off parent to say the least, and my sisters plus me. We were quite the dysfunctional group.
I scanned through the texts over and over, looking for a direction, but none was there. I didn’t even know where Justin was. Had he gone with Kit to Bali? Was he still with them?
I sighed. Justin, I love you.
I hit send and hoped that was the right thing to do. I could be totally off base, but maybe his guilt about what he’d done to me had sent him into some kind of tailspin. Maybe I could alleviate that part of it. I couldn’t cure his drug addiction over text. Truth was, I had no idea whatsoever to do for him. Had Justin ever been to rehab?
I saw an artist the other day who knew Mom. She got really excited that I was her daughter. I sometimes forget that she existed and that she was so talented.
I closed off that text and sent off another one. This one to Michael Li. He might be totally the wrong person, but for goodness’ sake, the company didn’t employ a drug addiction specialist. Maybe they should.
Hi, it’s Layla. He might know. But I’d never texted him before. It seemed polite. My brother is in trouble. He’s losing it over text. If someone is with him, they should get him some help. If no one is, maybe get someone to him. Thanks.
Michael was quiet but always there and nice to us when he did speak. I wondered if he had secrets. How did you become security like him?
I clicked on the email app on my phone and read through what the publisher wanted. They’d sent some suggestions the ghostwriter and I could work on.
My take on fashion through various women of various ages. I rolled my eyes. Such an outdated idea. Women could wear whatever they wanted and at any age. Seriously, if it made them happy, it was their choice. Bikinis, fine. Short shorts, fine. If a woman my age wanted to wear prairie dresses and hiking boots, check, check. Sounded good. No. I mentally crossed off that choice. I was not going to degrade women by telling them there was a time limit on their fashion choices.
The next one was worse. Dressing for the life they wanted. No. No. No.
I threw myself down on the bed. I was already feeling compelled to redress strangers in the bathrooms of clubs. I didn’t want to stand outside of divorce attorney offices and wait to try to fix very real problems by suggesting a different set of pantyhose.
Fashion didn’t fix everything. I was dumb, but not that much of simpleton. None of the others were much better. Well this sucked. If I was supposed to support myself like this, it was going to be a pretty miserable life.
But maybe no one promised me happiness. Did I know anyone who was happy? I thought about that for a bit. Zeke maybe, but I wasn’t convinced he was actually happy. There were too many shadows, too many ways he was fooling himself, and when he opened up, he was clear about that, too.
No. I didn’t know anyone who was really happy.
We all carried ghosts. If I was supposed to live by telling people what to wear, then so be it. I would hate it. If it paid the bills, I’d just be another in a long line of the walking unhappy. Blah. What a thought. I grabbed my sketchbook. There were things that needed to be drawn, and I had to do them.
Had my mother felt this way? Was that why she killed herself? I closed my eyes. Yes, she’d done that. Time for some real truth. I’d start with that.
Chapter Eighteen
Paris was beautiful, always, but somehow, it was even more alive and vibrant when seeing it with an enthusiastic, engaged Zeke Scott. He’d surprised me that afternoon by wanting to take me out.
“My business with your father is ending. I don’t want to raise him any more money. The best I can do is take a little vacation. Few days with you. Come on. Let’s go out on my bike.”
He took me sightseeing. The two of us on his motorcycle. The security Michael had sent in a car discreetly behind us. The poor man had arrived and been immediately put to work. His name was Heathrow, like the airport, and he had a great British accent. When I asked if he was too tired, he’d scoffed at me like the idea was ridiculous, and I’d decided to take him at his word.
I took a selfie with a view of the Eiffel Tower behind us, not for public consumption, just for us. We didn’t need to get to my dad anymore. That ship had sailed. We drove on. Every sight, every view, we stopped and smiled. He was a good sport about my need to document things, and I thought he was pretty much just happy to be out on his bike in the middle of the day.
Ants crawled on the back of my neck the whole day. It must be the security trailing us. I could feel his eyes on me.
We ate dinner at home that night, and he taught me new things I could do with my vibrator. Things I hadn’t imagined doing with it before. It had been a tool to get off fast, not to play with for hours. And he’d finally let me give him a blow job. The taste of his hard, thick cock in my mouth had made me wet and ready. When we’d made love, it had been almost dawn. What was the difference? We weren’t getting up with an alarm.
I woke up, with his arms around me and the sun streaming in the room. I’d never felt better.
That was until we started to run again. I knew I would eventually get stronger. It was the eventually that was the problem. I made it about as far as I had the time before. The mural had changed, and I stopped to stare at it. There was my mother reading a book on the wall. My mouth fell open. This woman had really captured her. It was a magazine image. I’d seen it on the wall in one of our rental houses, framed. But I had no idea what had happened to it since. A capture of it was right there.
I stared at it, tears coming to my eyes. She’d been about my age there. Happy. No worries. Hitting it big in a career few ever would. What had happened? Well, other than the obvious that her children had happened. Had she somehow foreseen the future? Known what fucked up individuals we would prove to be?
Sure, I idolized my sisters, but they were deeply troubled. Hope with her need to please, and Bridget with the fear that if she didn’t win, it meant loss. Fuck. Where had this clarity come from? The running?
We’d been playing phone tag. I needed to hear their voices.
It was disloyal to think those things. What was wrong with me?
“She’s not as pretty as you.” Zeke stood next to me. When had he turned around? How long had I been standing here?
“Prettier.” I had to disagree with him. It simply wasn’t true. “Because she knew herself. Or at least, she did there.”
“You know yourself. Stop pretending you don’t.”
I ignored him and crossed the street to be closer. It wasn’t like my mother was really there, but I had a visceral need to touch her image. I didn’t care to question why.
A man strode past us, stopping abruptly when he saw me, and I saw Heathrow appear seemingly out of nowhere. I was impressed. It was hard to be invisible until needed.
He didn’t approach yet. Wait and see seemed to be the game.
“You are the redhead.”
I smiled. “Oh, I’m hardly the redhead. There are lots of redheads—”
“Yes,” Zeke interrupted me. “The only redhead. She is it. You’re right. Any other redhead is pale next to her. You’ve spotted her. Now move on.”
My mouth fell open as the man scampered away. I didn’t know if I should be in with love what he just did or horrified.
“You can’t talk to people like that about me. There will be bad press.”
“And? Would that be the worst thing in the world? You don’t have to be the kindest person everyone ever met every second of the day. You’re busy right now. He spotted you. He has a story. Dude can tell everyone he saw you on
the street. Let’s finish our run.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. One more mile, then we’ll turn. You need to do better this time. Small increments. It’s good for the soul.”
I sighed. He was right, and I knew it. “Fine. But if I can’t walk tomorrow, you’re carrying me around.”
His smile was slow and ridiculously full of promise. “Maybe I won’t let you get out of bed.”
I caught my breath. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Only if you make the mile.”
When had he decided to be my trainer? I hadn’t agreed to this, but it was happening. I might as well make the best of it. Was he right? Did I not have to be the nicest person in every room, every day?
That was something to think about as I huffed and puffed down another Paris street.
I could walk, which was a good thing because I was just about to call my sister back for the third round of phone tag, when Zeke came into my room. “Put on something slightly fancy. Not club fancy. Restaurant quality nice. We have something to do tonight.”
“Sure.” I nodded. I’d been spending all my time in my newly acquired jeans and T-shirts, except when I was running, for which I pulled out the yoga clothes.
I had a closet full of things he’d bought me, none of which I’d glanced at in a week. A week? Had it been that long?
“When do you want me ready?”
He stared at me from the doorframe, where he hadn’t moved. “What? Dinner is at eight, but we have something to do first. So be ready for six. What are you working on?”
I glanced down at my paper. “You know me and my little sketches.”
“Hmm.”
I wasn’t sure what that sound meant, but it was all he gave me before he exited. It was three. I had a little time to finish what I was working on, which actually was for him, before I had to be ready. Also, I really needed to call back Hope. She’d be the easier of the two to talk to. Bridget was going to want details I didn’t know because I didn’t have enough knowledge to know what questions to ask. I supposed I could direct her to Zeke.
Redhead On The Run (RedHeads Book 1) Page 20
