by T. K. Leigh
“So… What? You’ll ‘make love’ to me,” I taunt.
“No. What I plan to do to you is so much more than that.”
I swallow hard. “More?”
“Yes.” The heat of his breath on my neck causes my lips to part, making me shift as I clench my thighs together to dull the ache. “I will consume you. Hold your desires captive. Possess your every thought from this moment forward. I’ll bring you to the brink of utter bliss, only to pull back, drawing out your pleasure as long as possible. You’ll beg me to let you come, to make you experience the mind-altering orgasm you’ll now be convinced only I can provide for you. But I’ll make you wait a little longer. Because you wouldn’t have reached your breaking point. Not yet.”
His breathing grows heavier, the muscles in his face tightening as the distance between us becomes nearly nonexistent. “I’ll feast on your body, memorizing every dip and valley, taking my time to give every inch of you the attention it deserves. When you don’t think you can take any more, I’ll bring you to the bed. You’ll be blindfolded and restrained, completely at my mercy. Your orgasm completely at my mercy. Your legs will be spread wide so you can’t find any relief that way. You’ll need me.”
“I already need you,” I pant, my voice not sounding like my own.
I don’t even have to look at his lips to see his smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He abruptly pulls back and drains his scotch. Then he coolly slides a keycard my way, winking before turning from me, leaving me a bundle of sensations.
I watch as he disappears out of the lounge, exhaling to calm my overwrought nerves. My legs shaky, I’m careful as I step down from the barstool.
Lost in my thoughts of how Lincoln can affect me like this, considering we spend almost every night together, I jump when a hand grips my arm, my heart ricocheting to my throat. I snap my head to my right, gasping at Lincoln’s heated stare. Before I can utter a syllable, he yanks my body against his and kisses me as if it’s a regular occurrence for him to do this. It’s been so long since he’s kissed me in public. Most people wouldn’t think it a big deal. Before Lincoln, I never gave it much thought myself. But now I do. And I want nothing more than to keep kissing him.
There’s a hint of reluctance as he pulls away, and I search his eyes, unsure if this man kissing me is Lincoln or my mysterious stranger. The sparkle in his gaze as he smiles tells me it’s Lincoln.
He runs a soft finger along the contours of my face. “You are fucking incredible, Chloe.” He opens his mouth, then stops, as if struggling to find the words. He grips my cheeks, his expression filled with admiration, respect, and something else… Something I’ve seen for a while now but have been too scared to label. “I…”
“Yes?” I urge when he trails off.
A look of peace washes over him. “I love you.”
I blink repeatedly, my mouth falling open, my pulse increasing even more. A fluttering sensation builds in my stomach, making me feel lightheaded, but in the best way possible.
“I know it’s not the way most people declare their love,” he continues when I don’t say anything in response. “The one thing my father’s death taught me is to never wait to tell someone how you feel. There may never be a perfect time to say it, especially with us.” He cracks a small smile before his expression turns serious once more. “But I love you. You don’t have to say it back. I understand this is difficult for you. I just…” He licks his lips. “I just thought you should know.”
My head makes a slight motion, like a nod, but I’m not sure what that means. A gesture of acceptance? This is new territory for me. No one’s ever told me they loved me. Not like this. Sure, my one boyfriend in college said it, but I didn’t hear the meaning behind those words. Not like I do with Lincoln. When he says he loves me, I believe it with every fiber of my being.
“Just give me a few minutes to get ready for you.” He places a soft kiss on my nose, then turns from me. I can’t take my eyes off him as he walks through the crowded lounge and toward the bank of elevators, my heart fuller than I thought possible from his surprise declaration.
Months ago, I would have run far away if someone told me they loved me. But Lincoln’s love doesn’t scare me. Love doesn’t scare me, not like it once did.
Recovering my composure, I grab my purse and offer a nod of thanks to the bartender. Keycard in hand, I turn to make my way up to Lincoln’s room when I come to an abrupt stop at the intimidating figure hovering nearby.
You know those scenes in a movie where the main character’s worst fears are realized and the camera focuses on them while the background zooms out? That’s what this moment feels like. Like my world is giving out from beneath me.
“Hi, Dad.”
Chapter Forty
“What the hell are you thinking, Chloe?” Dad hisses, eyes wild, expression frantic. He grabs my arm and yanks me into a quiet corner of the lounge, offering us privacy.
Disoriented, I stare at him with my mouth agape, paralyzed, unable to form a coherent thought. What do I say? What does he know? What did he see?
“Are you trying to ruin his career?” he continues when I don’t respond. “His life? What is it?” He throws up his hands in exasperation. “You couldn’t pass the class on your own so you’re trying to figure out another way to get a good grade?”
I should be floored my father would even suggest that the only way I’d get a passing grade is by offering my body in exchange, but I’m not. He’s never understood me. It’s always been easier for him to write me off.
“It’s not like that,” I argue, my voice trembling.
“No? Then tell me what it’s like, because from where I’m standing, I can’t think of another reason he’d be here with you, other than that you offered him something he couldn’t turn down.”
“I care about him. A lot.” I should keep my mouth shut, but I’m tired of my father thinking so little of me that I’d stoop to that level. I’ve put those days behind me. “I want to be with him. And he wants to be with me.”
My father looks at me as if I just told him zombies had overtaken the streets or aliens had invaded the country. Then he paces, running his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. When he stops, he shoves a finger in my face. I stiffen, backing up.
“You cannot do this. That man has worked his tail off, has made a name for himself in this field. I will not let him throw it all away for someone who will never appreciate it. For someone who will toss him aside when something better, someone with a bigger bank account comes along. His father’s legacy deserves better than this. Lincoln deserves better than this.”
“I won’t toss him aside,” I argue, but he won’t hear it. He has this idea in his head of who I am and nothing I say or do will convince him otherwise. Which is why I don’t remind him that it takes two to tango. That we both accepted this risk together.
Even if Lincoln were here trying to accept full responsibility, my father would still find me at fault, insist I’ve been around my mother too long and learned everything I needed in order to persuade someone to make a decision they normally wouldn’t. She was once a powerhouse in politics, after all. She’s mastered the art of persuasion. As have I…according to him.
“You go through life thinking people are disposable, just like your mother. You use people, get what you want, then walk away, leaving them to clean up the mess.”
I shake my head, my teeth biting into my lower lip, doing everything to reel in my temper, every word he spews like another knife against my flesh. I don’t want him to see how much his words hurt. But I’ve spent too many years pretending his indifference toward me doesn’t affect me.
“You flash a smile, bat your lashes just enough to get them into bed. And that’s all they are to you, isn’t it? Just a bit of fun. That’s how it’s always been with you. And that’s how it will always be. Hell, that’s what got you your promotion. Now it can help you get your degree. Is that right?”
With each word, my rage increases
until it bubbles over. Fists clenched, blood pressure rising, I bellow, “I love him!” My chest heaves as my voice rings out, everything going still.
His jaw snaps shut, his body paralyzed by my admission. “What did you say?”
Exhaling, I lower my voice, my expression relaxing as a small smile builds on my mouth. “I love him.”
“You—”
“I know what you’re thinking. I never thought I’d be the type of person to fall in love, either, but I love him. I love how excited he gets when talking about some hard-fought victory at the paper. I love the look that comes over his expression when he’s deep in thought, about to figure something out. And I love how he makes me feel more loved than anyone else in my life ever has. I have no way of knowing whether this will work, whether we’ll survive. But I want the chance to find out.”
Dad rakes a hand over his face, his shoulders falling as he realizes this is more than a passing fling. “You really love him?” He lifts his eyes to mine, searching for any hint of deception. But there isn’t any. This is my truth. Lincoln is my truth.
“More than anything.”
In a flash, the compassion disappears, the stern, controlling man returning. “Then you’ll walk away.” He steps back, adjusting his tie.
“Wha—”
“Dean Morrison is in there.” He points in the direction of the restaurant just past the lounge. “I’m having dinner with him and a few other colleagues. It’s lucky I was the one who noticed you two, considering they’re all professors at the university.”
Nausea bubbles in the pit of my stomach, my pulse increasing at the idea that we very well could have been exposed by someone other than my father, who I hope will keep this to himself.
“Do you want to be the reason Lincoln loses everything he’s worked so hard for? The reason he tarnishes his father’s legacy?”
I want to say that Lincoln doesn’t see it that way, tell him all the times he’s reminded me I’m worth the risk. But this brings to the forefront all the internal debates I’ve had over the past several weeks…hell, months. Can I really ask him to sacrifice nearly twenty years of hard work for me? Will I be able to live with the guilt that will inevitably consume me when I’m forced to watch Lincoln try to find something else he’s passionate about? And Lincoln loves his job, loves his career. Am I worth it? Are we worth it?
“Listen, Chloe…” Dad licks his lips, lowering his voice. There’s a hint of sympathy and compassion about him. “I’ll keep this quiet. For now. But it will get out. Hell, a few months ago, John Morrison brought up the two of you during a dinner meeting. Asked if I was aware of any other kind of relationship between you. I denied it, said it was ridiculous. At the time, I thought it was ridiculous. But it goes to show you that people are watching.
“The semester may be ending soon, you may be a few days away from graduating, but that won’t matter. You will still be considered his student. And in a profession such as ours where we need to adhere to the highest standard of ethics, this can destroy any chance he has at teaching. Maybe even practicing law. Just…” He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Think about whether it’s worth it.” He holds my gaze for another moment, then turns.
I watch as he retreats toward the restaurant. He doesn’t need to come right out and say what he really means — whether I’m worth it.
This is a man who’s always chosen his work over everything else. Over my mother. Over me. Hell, even over his new family. Work has always been his life. His career has always been his life, his one true love. When I was little, I often snuck down the hallway toward his office and would listen to him argue certain issues with whomever he was speaking to on the phone. I’d never seen such passion, such fervor, such intensity.
Until I walked into that classroom and observed Lincoln.
He had that same wild, untamed look in his eyes as my father did.
I instantly know the answer, although I fear I’ve known it all along but didn’t want to admit it.
I take a minute to pull myself together, trying to find comfort in the fact my father didn’t threaten to out us to the dean. Maybe it would have been better if he had. Then I wouldn’t have to be the bad guy. But I knew from the beginning this was how it would end.
Fairy tales aren’t real.
I’ve been fooling myself to think I could have my handsome prince and not suffer the dragon’s wrath.
On timid steps, I walk through the lounge, the chairs where I’d sat with Lincoln now occupied by another couple who are free to share intimate moments. A brush of a hand. A stolen kiss. A heated stare. But not us. That would never have been us. And I can’t ask Lincoln to give up his passion so I can have that.
Instead, I give up my passion in order for him to hold onto his. It’s not the first time I’ve had to sacrifice what I want for someone else. And it won’t be the last.
Chapter Forty-One
By the time I round the corner onto my street, my feet scream for relief. But I welcome the pain, need it to dull how much it hurt to walk away from Lincoln.
I spent the past several hours roaming the streets of Manhattan, wondering if I did the right thing, if I made the right decision. I couldn’t even bring myself to read any of his texts or answer any of his calls, worried I’d crack and allow his assurances to convince me that we can have a future.
When my building comes into view, I quicken my steps, wanting to curl up in bed and tune out the world for a minute. But the instant my gaze falls on my front stoop, my heart plummets to my stomach. Lincoln sits on the top step, shoulders slumped, hair disheveled, forearms resting dejectedly on his thighs. It’s nearly three in the morning. How long has he been here? I thought by now, it would be safe to come home. I guess I was wrong. What else have I been wrong about tonight?
I consider retreating on the off chance he hasn’t noticed me. Then he lifts his weary, tired eyes, as if he has some sixth sense where I’m concerned. I’ve never seen him so distraught, so uncertain, so…lost.
My lips part. I want nothing more than to apologize, offer him the comfort he deserves. Maybe if I hadn’t been so greedy, been more understanding of our predicament, he wouldn’t have felt the need to take me out somewhere we could be spotted.
“Lincoln, I—”
“Was it too soon?” he interrupts.
I furrow my brow. “What do you—”
“It was too soon, wasn’t it?” He bites his lower lip, a pained expression on his face as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I knew it was. That’s why I didn’t tell you weeks ago. I wanted to tell you the night I found you struggling with your mother. Because I knew back then how I felt. Probably before. I just… There never seemed to be a good time, so I figured fuck it. I’ll just tell her. But, apparently, you weren’t ready to hear those words.”
I blink repeatedly, trying to piece everything together. He thinks I ran out on him because he told me he loved me?
Of course… He has no idea my father saw us.
All night, I’d toiled over what to say to convince him this is the way it needs to be. If he learned my father knew about us, that the dean was suspicious, he’d quit tomorrow. He said himself it’ll take a lot more than the risk to his career for him to walk away.
I suppose that’s what I need to give him.
Holding my head high, I cross my arms in front of my chest, rebuilding the wall around my heart, brick by brick. “This was never supposed to turn into…this.” I gesture between our bodies.
His eyes narrow into slits, anger seeping into his expression. “What are you saying, Chloe?”
I shrug nonchalantly, acting as if my heart isn’t bleeding on this very sidewalk, each word I speak another set of feet stomping all over it. “I’m not really a ‘fall-in-love’ kind of girl.” I sidestep him, walking up the stairs so he can’t see the truth in my eyes.
“Says who?” He jumps to his feet, his fingers wrapping around my bicep, forcing me to face him. “Your father? Your mother?” The
hurt in his words is all-consuming, but I can’t let that get to me.
“Me! That’s who!” I answer with ice in my voice, giving the performance of a lifetime. “You’re a smart guy. You should have figured out by now that I’m incapable of loving anyone.”
All I want to do is wrap my arms around him and tell him I don’t mean any of this, that I do love him. But love is never enough. I’ve had a lifetime reminder of that. Love wasn’t enough to keep my dad at home. Love wasn’t enough to prevent my mom from drinking. And love wasn’t enough to keep her clean.
“No, you’re not. I see you’re not.” His voice turns pleading as he loosens his harsh grip on me. “You’re just scared. I get that. I’m scared of these feelings I have for you, too. But I’m not enough of a coward to lie about them, to say I don’t feel this way about you.”
“I’m not a coward.” I push out of his hold. “And I’m not lying. I feel nothing for you.”
“So you say, but your actions these past few months indicate otherwise.”
I shrug. “I’ve just mastered the art of figuring out what men want and giving them that so I can get what I need in return.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow, his lip twitching. “And what did you need from me?” he asks, although I can sense his reluctance.
“What do you think?” I retort, passing him a demure look. “Do you know how many classes I’ve had to withdraw from because of my mother? I figured I could use a little insurance that, even if I missed too many classes, I’d still pass. That’s all you were. An insurance policy.”
“You…” He shakes his head, struggling to form any words.
“And now that you’ve turned in my final grade, I don’t need you anymore.” I jut out my chin, shoulders back, neck exposed, doing my best not to show a single hint of weakness, of vulnerability, of the lump growing in my throat, the words difficult to say. But this is the only way. I need him to hate me. Need him to forget about me.
