by Sylvia Day
“Don’t trip over your ego!” I yell after him.
Roxy puts a hand on my shoulder. “He’s too much.”
“Too confident.”
“So gorgeous.”
“Way too sexy,” I continue. “And stubborn as a mule.”
“Just what you need.”
“Ha! Thanks.” Shutting the door, I turn to find Roxy giving me a once-over.
“You look great,” she tells me. “I love that top.”
“Thank you. But since this is now a walk-of-shame outfit, I’m going to change real quick. Give me a minute.”
“I am so proud of you right now!” she calls after me. “No wonder he was looking so damn pleased with himself.”
“Don’t encourage him!” I tug off the top and wiggle out of the shorts, tossing them both in the hamper. I pull a pair of joggers off the shelf, a T-shirt off a hanger, and dress quickly.
When I walk back out to the living room, I find Roxy making herself a cup of coffee. She gazes down at the filling mug when she says, “I have to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
She looks over at me. “About Garrett.”
I nod. “That’s what I figured.”
“Did you?” She heaves a sigh, then turns to the fridge. She’s wearing navy capris today and a V-neck top with white and gray stripes. As usual, she’s accessorized beautifully with gold bangles on her wrists, large gold balls dangling from her ears, and pale-gold slip-ons.
“You haven’t reached out to him since he had you over for dinner,” I point out.
Turning away from the fridge with a container of half-and-half in her hand, Roxy looks crestfallen. “Did he say something?”
“No. I don’t think he actually noticed until I pointed it out, and even then, he wasn’t concerned. Maybe eventually it’ll bother him, if you don’t work it out.”
She sighs again.
“Right now, he’s okay,” I go on. “But I’m not.”
13
“Teagan. I’m sorry. I really am.”
Joining Roxy at the counter, I pull a mug out of the cabinet and make myself a cup of coffee, too. She puts away the half-and-half, then returns to me with the almond-milk creamer.
I no longer feel the anger and disappointment I felt yesterday. Today, I just feel resigned yet hopeful. It’s a brutally sad fact that a number of people simply disappear from your life when you’re broken and need them the most. I’m counting on Roxy to be one who hangs tough.
She takes a seat at the dining table. “I never realized I had it in me to be a coward, but thinking about what happened to Garrett breaks my heart. His pain makes me feel . . . uncomfortable. I mean, what if I try to say something and it’s the wrong thing to say?”
I search for advice, attempting to put into words what I wish more people had done for me when I began spiraling.
She waves her hand at the door. “I can’t believe I just asked him how he’s doing. What kind of question is that to ask someone going through what he is?”
I want to hug her for being that aware.
“He didn’t seem to mind at all,” I point out. “Everyone asks that question. It’s like talking about the weather. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“I have no point of reference for this,” Roxy says, her fingertips tracing the nautical design that wraps her mug. “I don’t have kids; I’ve never lost a pet. My parents, grandparents, siblings, and in-laws are all alive and kicking. What do I know about losing someone you love?”
“You know enough to be concerned and cautious.” And I’m so filled with relief, I feel light-headed. Knowing her heart is in the right place means everything to me. Sometimes people give what they can, and it’s important to acknowledge that, even if it’s not what you need.
“That’s not enough,” she gripes. “I mean, you’re dating the guy! And you’re my friend. I want to know the man in your life. I want us to all hang out together.”
“So let’s hang out together,” I say with a shrug. “I wasn’t there when you guys had wine together the other night, but you all seemed to really hit it off. Can’t you go back to that?”
She looks at me miserably. “How? Then, he was just the new hot, rich, famous guy in the neighborhood making moves on my friend. Now, he’s the tragic artist who lost his family. The look on his face when he talked about his son . . .” A shudder moves through her. “It was awful.”
I remember that haunted look well and how deeply it cut me, too. “I know.”
Her shoulders hunch. “Garrett’s wonderful. He really is. I like him a lot. I’ve got to get over myself and reach out to him somehow, before he thinks I don’t like him.”
“When he’s standing in front of you, I don’t think it’ll be as hard as you think. He’s very charming.”
“He is.” Roxy takes a sip of her coffee, then puts the mug back down. “Do you ever feel awkward about it?”
I hesitate. Then, “No. Although I understand why you’d feel that way. Grief is such a personal thing, isn’t it? And once you know that someone’s suffering all the time, it’s always in the back of your mind when you talk to them.”
“Which means it’s got to be on his mind, too.”
“I’m sure it’s something he lives with every day.” I look out the windows at the Sound. “I can see it in his eyes when he’s thinking about it.”
“How can you stand it?”
“Because I’m beginning to realize that being with him is a lot better than being without him.” I lean heavily into the seat back and get to the point. “I need you to be his friend, Roxy. It’s important to me.”
“I want to be. I just feel so . . . helpless.” Wrapping her hands around her mug, she blows a quick breath through the steam. “How do you handle it when he talks about it?”
“We haven’t.”
Her eyes widen. “At all?”
“No. We’re just . . . I don’t know. Being very cautious.” I look out the windows again. “The sexual attraction took us both by surprise, I think. Me more so than him, maybe. The minute he understood it was mutual, he was ready to jump in. I was warier. I don’t have a great track record with relationships, as you’ve mentioned before.”
She smiles then. “He told us you ding-dong ditched him and left a basket of goodies.”
“I did.” I return her smile. “I pictured him living on Cup Noodles and wading through boxes. Boy, was I wrong.”
“Yeah. It looks like he’s been living there for years, not weeks. The man does have it together, doesn’t he?”
“Exactly. Which is why he’s not going to break down on you. He gets quiet sometimes when he comes over for coffee, and he had a rough moment when he and I were downtown, but he copes and moves forward.”
“Maybe you’re helping with that,” she suggests gently.
I sigh. “I wish I could, but we’re two very different people that way. I’m far more private. I compartmentalize well—I’ve been told too well—and he . . . connects. He shares. He talks. I see those differences becoming a problem eventually. He thinks we’ll work it out.”
“I hope you do.” She straightens in her seat. “I’m going to order some books, I think. Someone’s got to have written something about helping friends grieve.”
“Roxanne.” I swallow back tears, but they still fill my eyes. “You’re an amazing woman.”
“Don’t go all watery on me. You know how I get.”
Her mock-stern tone makes me smile. “We’re going to Salty’s for dinner. You and Mike are welcome to join us.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude on your date.”
“You wouldn’t be. Besides, you know you want that seafood chowder.”
Her eyes light up. “With a splash of cream sherry and fresh cracked black pepper. Lord, is that good.”
“Especially when you dip that fresh hot buttered bread into it . . .”
“Okay, fine. We’ll come.” Reaching over, she grips my hand. “Thank you.”
�
��For what? I haven’t even gotten to the part where I invite you to come with me when Eva Cross visits Seattle.”
“Wait. What?” Roxy’s on her feet, gaping down at me. “Are you kidding?”
“I wouldn’t dare. You’d kill me.”
She nearly bounces on her feet. “Is she really coming here?”
“Yes. They’re rolling out ECRA+ skin care through the spas in Cross hotels. She’s got press interviews scheduled to promote the planned pop-up at Cross Towers here in Seattle, and while they’re at it, they want to get new photos of me for their promotional materials.”
Dropping back into her seat, she leans forward. “Okay. Give me all the details so I can figure out what to wear. Date. Time. What everyone else will be wearing.” She mulls it over. “I’ll have to buy something new.”
I take a sip of my coffee and hide a smile behind the rim of my mug. There are many obstacles ahead, so I’m going to enjoy smooth sailing while it lasts.
“God, Teagan.” Garrett’s hands pull on my hair. “Your mouth . . .”
I grip his cock in both hands, stroking up from the root to where my lips are wrapped around the wide crest. Hollowing my cheeks, I suck hard, then flutter my tongue over the tip.
My entire morning has been spent thinking of him this way, my mind wandering from the emails I need to answer to thoughts of Garrett at work in his studio. I pictured him in his jeans and bare feet, imagined going to him, opening his fly, and taking his cock in my mouth.
In the past week since we first made our new relationship sexual, we’d done a lot of things to each other, but giving him a happy ending blow job hadn’t happened yet. Finally, I just couldn’t wait anymore. I came to his house, climbed the stairs, and took what I hungered for.
Garrett’s hands fall to either side of his hips, fisting the drop cloth beneath him. “Oh fuck, that’s good.”
My tongue circles the flared head, my eyes on him as he writhes with pleasure. I’m so turned on by the sight of his big body straining beneath my touch, every muscle hard and flexing under damp skin. Kneeling between his spread thighs, I feel the slick heat of arousal coating my sex.
White-knuckled, Garrett holds on as I tuck him against the roof of my mouth and suck rhythmically. He’s so close, I can taste it, his cock head creamy with excitement. I cup his tightened scrotum in one hand, feeling how firm his testicles are, how high they’ve drawn in anticipation of orgasm.
I release the pressure, sliding my lips up and off so I can lick down the length of the rigid shaft, tracing the thick prominent veins that lay sinuously between the wide base and broad crown. His hips lift beneath me, the instinct to thrust too strong for him to deny.
“Suck me,” he growls. “Put that hot mouth on my dick and suck me ’til I come.”
The words are harsh, as is his voice, but his hands remain where they are, the lust violent but the man still gentle. Warmth suffuses my chest, my heart aching with emotions I never thought I’d feel again.
Licking the taste of him off my lips, I pull him into my mouth again. I suck in earnest, my head bobbing, my hands milking the cum from his heavy sac.
“It’s so fucking good.” His hand returns to my hair, holding me still. His hips rise from the floor, pumping his cock through my lips.
Palms down on the drop cloth, I hold myself steady as he begins to fuck my mouth with steady, shallow upward drives.
“I’m going to come,” he bites out. “I’m going to come so fucking hard.”
Garrett’s back stiffens, his cock jerking before a burst of semen spurts on my tongue. With his hips raised high and his body shuddering, he climaxes for long moments, filling my mouth as I work to swallow.
Gasping, he finally sinks to the floor, tremors racking his body. I pull air into my lungs in deep gulps, settling back on my heels with my hands on my thighs.
“Teagan.” Garrett’s growl of my name is the only warning I have before he rises, catching me up and rolling me to the floor on my back.
He shoves my legs to my chest, yanks the waistband of my joggers and underwear up to my knees and out of the way, then thrusts his still-hard cock inside me. I cry out, startled and so turned on by his forcefulness, I’m a stroke or two away from coming.
Bent in half, my knees by my ear, my legs restrained by my pants, I have no leverage to participate. I can only lie there as Garrett rides me hard, thrusting his big penis into my desperately slick sex. Tension builds in my core, my breaths coming in sharp pants of pleasure. When the orgasm hits, it’s like a rolling wave, breaking in a rush, then lapping against my senses in a series of deep, slow pulses.
He waits until the last tremor is a memory, then withdraws wetly, sliding free in a heavy glide. I roll to my side, feeling as if all my muscles have weakened, my pants and underwear still tangled around my calves. Garrett collapses on the floor beside me, curling into my back and tossing an arm around my waist. His chest expands and contracts against me like a bellows, his breathing harsh but slowing.
“That one’s going in the hall of fame,” he says hoarsely. “I think I may actually have died when you sucked me off, and the rest was part of my afterlife.”
I laugh; I can’t help it.
He lifts his head and plants a firm, quick kiss on my cheek. “I need to know what set you off so I can make it happen again.”
Reaching down, I attempt to tug on my clothes. It strikes me then that he was naked when he fucked me, but I’m still mostly dressed. I find that very erotic.
“It just seemed like a good idea,” I tell him, rolling to my back and hoisting my hips to wriggle into my pants.
“It was an excellent idea.” He pushes up onto one elbow and rests his head in his hand. The other comes to rest on my tummy. “Let’s do it again. In New York.”
My head turns toward him. “What?”
“I’ve got an exhibition next week. I left a lot of pieces in the city when I moved here, and we’re working on selling them off.” He runs the tip of his finger down the bridge of my nose. “I want you with me.”
I release my breath slowly, considering the request. It would be a big change for us if I accompanied him, and I worry about making any drastic shifts in our budding relationship. Still, the thought of days without seeing him makes me anxious. “When do you have to go?”
“I’m thinking I’ll fly out Tuesday, meet with the gallery owner on Wednesday. The opening is Thursday. There will be an after-party, but from then on, we can do whatever we want. We can spend the weekend in the city and fly back Monday.”
My brows lift. “This coming Tuesday?”
“Yeah. My agent’s been after me for weeks to get out there, but you and I were just getting started, and that was my priority. Most everything was easily handled with video and email anyway, and my social media team has been handling the promotion side of things, so it’s all good.”
With that admission, how can I say no? But I have to. “I wish I could, Garrett. I really do. And normally, I’d be able to. But I’ve already agreed to appear at an ECRA+ promotion in Seattle this Thursday, and I promised Roxy I would introduce her to Eva Cross—she’s a huge fan. Mike says she’s been driving him nuts getting ready for it.”
He frowns. I can hear him thinking.
“Okay . . .” Rubbing his jaw with one hand, he says, “I’ll switch it to a video appearance at the gallery. I’ve done it before; it’s easy.”
“Absolutely not. It’s a big deal—I know that. Even if you’ve done dozens of openings and exhibitions, every one of them is a big deal, and you should be there. I’m not holding you back.”
His jaw sets stubbornly. “We already talked about this. My priorities are different now.”
I sit up and cross my legs. “I get that. And I appreciate it—I really do. But I shouldn’t come first all the time. Just most of the time.”
I try to make that into a joke with a bright smile, but Garrett is scowling when he sits up, brazenly naked.
“I’m not screwing this
up,” he says tightly. “You and me. Us.”
“You will, though, if you don’t go to New York.”
The scowl turns into a glare. “How so?”
“Because shorting your career for me will never work in the long run, Garrett.”
“One time won’t hurt anything,” he protests.
“That’s how it starts.”
Garrett’s eyes take on a stubborn glint. “You’re the most important thing in my life. I don’t want to do anything that makes you doubt it.”
The relationship battle scars he bears are suddenly glaringly obvious. My failed relationships left me scarred, as well, including the unhealed wound of feeling like work was the real love of my husband’s life.
“I’ll tell you when I’m feeling neglected,” I promise him. “And you’ll drop everything for me then.”
He lets that set in, visibly relaxing. Finally, he nods. “I’ll fly out early Wednesday, then take a red-eye back Thursday night.”
“Overnight flights are hell. Just plan on getting back here in the evening instead. I’ll pick you up at the airport, and we can have dinner out.”
“Then I’m looking at three days without you.” He rubs his thumb over my lower lip. “And this amazing mouth.”
“Do you ever not think about sex?”
Garrett grins. “Excuse me, but I was busy working when you marched up here and ripped my clothes off.”
I wave that away. “You’ll be gone two nights.”
“Fine. But next time, you’re coming with me.”
“Next time, give me more notice.”
“Deal.”
I push to my feet. “Now put some clothes on.”
“Think of all we can do with them off.” He waggles his brows at me.
“You need help, Frost.”
I listen with half an ear to him getting dressed while I stand and brush off my pants. Then I stop.
For the first time, I look at his work in progress. I go still.
His new canvas, resting on an easel, is considerably smaller than the previous one, which suits its more intimate tone. It is a searing, frenetic blend of crimson, orange, and yellow, with the faintest accents of aqua, green, and white. I am immediately reminded of a supernova—a brilliant burst of energy and power—and yet the shape is far earthier. And unquestionably more erotic.
