by Mj Fields
When my phone vibrates in my pocket, I realize it’s that time. I can’t ignore it without suffering the mental terrorism inflicted by an unanswered call from thirty-five inches of crazy.
I turn around, putting my back to Bella, pull out my phone, and answer with, “What color’s the sky?”
“Pink and yellow.”
“Pink and yellow, huh?”
“What color’s yours?” she asks.
I look up. “Just so happens to be the same. You know why that is, Luna?”
“Same sky.”
“Same sky,” I agree.
“Same sun?”
“Same sun.”
“And what about the moon?” she asks.
“You’re in charge of the moon, Luna. You tell me.”
“The moon’s tired.”
I laugh. “Then the moon should go to sleep.”
“You going to sleep?”
“I sure am.”
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, Luna. Give the old lady a hug goodnight.”
She giggles. God, I love her laugh.
“Face phone in the morning?”
“Every morning till I see you again.”
“I get a puppy when we win,” she whispers.
“Yeah, baby girl, you get a puppy when we win. Love you, Luna.”
“Love you, Daddy.”
I wait until she hangs up then turn around in time to stop Bella from closing the door behind her.
“Now, where were we?” I ask.
“I was about to shut the door and lock it, but I have a better idea.”
“Yeah?”
She takes my hands and walks me into her room.
“I like where this is leading. I like it a lot, sweets.”
Dropping one of my hands, she turns and continues walking.
My eyes are on her ass, willing to go wherever she leads me, until she opens the door leading to the hallway.
“You’re a married man, and I’m going to assume that call was your daughter. You’re leaving through a door, not putting your life in—”
I pull her back in the room and shut the door.
She shoves me, and I get that she’s pissed.
“Not a good idea to be seen leaving your room. What would the neighbors think?”
“They’d think I was serious about my job, and not a cheating whore.”
I see tears. I hate tears. Especially tears in the eyes of a female. Be it in sadness, pain, or about to flip shit, I hate them.
I hold my hands up and step back. “Okay.”
“Okay? Okay!” She steps forward and pushes me.
I nod. “Okay.”
She walks back to the door and opens it. “Now go.”
“Sweets …” I begin.
“Don’t call me that!”
“Fuck.” I hurry to the door, shut it, pick her up, and then set her on the bed.
“Don’t you—”
“I’m trusting you.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” She scurries back.
“I’m trusting you, and I expect—”
“Get OUT!”
“Mara, she’s my wife.”
Twelve
Real Talk
Bella
If ever there was a time that I wanted my daddy, it was right now. I feel sick to my stomach and truly fearful for probably the first time in my life.
Mara, aka Mayhem, the executive producer’s daughter, is the wife of the man I fucked. The man who tagged me.
When he sits on the edge of the hotel bed, all I can do is look at him.
“She isn’t going to try to hurt you or any shit like that because you and I are fucking.”
“No? Because, before she even knew I fucked her husband, she dumped me off a few miles away from here.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I shake my head back and forth.
He fills in the blanks. “But you need to.”
“I still don’t want to hear it.”
“Neo and I met in juvy. He was in for drugs. I was in for”—he smirks, and I want to kick him—“vandalism. When we got out, I didn’t have a home to go back to, and he didn’t have one he wanted to return to, so we became family.”
My skin crawls at the thought of that.
“We joined a gang. We met Mayhem at a rave. We were all fucked up; had a threesome. The next morning, we wake up in a fat pad, and Neo decided she was his. A few months later, she’s pregnant and it was too late to do anything about it. Neo ditched her, because the baby came out my color and not his. He took off. She insisted I marry her. A few months later, she was gone, and Luna, my daughter, and I were on our own.”
I want to scream, run, cry, hide … kick his ass, hug him, kick my own ass for wanting to hug him, but I say nothing.
“Mara’s been in and out of rehab for the past couple years. She hasn’t seen Luna since she left. She’s avoided being served. I hired a PI and found out about her father.”
“And now you know he has money and—”
“I don’t give a damn about money; I give a damn about my girl. I want a divorce so we can move on.”
We?
“Luna and I,” he answers my unspoken question. Then he pulls out his phone and turns it. The screensaver is of him and a little girl. “She just started asking about her mom this year—since she started preschool. Paula said—”
“Who’s Paula?” I’m holding his phone that I didn’t even realize I’d taken, scrolling through pictures. She’s beautiful.
“An older woman who took me, a nineteen-year-old, homeless gangbanger with an infant, into her home on a hunch. She took care of that baby when I turned myself in for my past mistakes, told me to learn a trade while I was in jail for a year, and didn’t ask for shit in return. A woman who had a job lined up for me when I was released from jail. A woman who gave me hope. I owe her for helping me remember why I need to be the best man, the best father I can be.”
The softness in his voice makes me look up.
“I’m going to pay her back for what she has given us.” His eyes search mine, and then he stands up off the bed. “She lost her two kids to gang violence yet still believes there’s good in the world. I’m gonna prove to her she’s right.”
I watch him pace back and forth at the end of my bed, then he stops and pins me with an intense stare before smiling. “And I’m gonna prove to you that what I put on your back was the truth because, Isabella Steel, the moment I saw you, I knew it to be true. That kind of connection doesn’t happen every day—never in my lifetime—and I know damn well you feel the same.”
I open my mouth to deny the statement, but nothing comes out. I consider the possibility that the reason I’m unable to reply is that I know what I would say isn’t the truth. But the things he’s saying about us aren’t real, are they? I mean, they sound real, feel real, and I want to kick my own ass because I want them to be real, but … really?
I don’t know why I close my eyes—possibly in hopes to see the truth—but all I see is the dozen or so happy couples I’ve been surrounded by most of my life. None of them had a well-executed plan on how to fall in love, none of them in the best places in their lives; it just happened.
Like this is, a voice inside of me whispers.
But he crossed a line. I should be so pissed at him.
Yet here you are.
When I open my eyes, I know he sees me—my wants, my desires, my confusion, the incredible respect I already have for him, or how astoundingly smitten I am with him.
“I’d rather be inside you than on the other side of that wall. I’ll wait for you to accept it. But, for every night I’m wishing I was inside of you, you’ll get two nights where you’ll beg for me.” He exits the room the way he came in, and I fight the urge to go after him.
It’s easy to do, because I’m not sure if I want to tell him how delusional he is … and possibly me, too, or do what feels good—him.
<
br /> Sleep doesn’t come easy as I lie here, thinking about the little girl, Luna, and the similarities between her and me. No, my mom didn’t leave me in the same way that Luna was left, but she was left just the same. Her father wasn’t forbidden then court-ordered to stay away from her, but the way he spoke of her and the … nauseating similarities between him and my father and uncles is apparent.
He would prove her right. He wanted better for his girl. And the statement about Neo: we became family …
Fuck!
I sigh as I roll over onto my stomach and bury my head in the pillows that smell like her.
I jump up and pull the blankets off the bed, dragging them to the door so that maid service would take them away. Then I walk over to the glass doors to shut them and see my phone sitting on the table. When I walk out, the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with the smell of the Atlantic Ocean lingers in the humid, evening air.
I look over as he looks up. In the moonlight, I can still see his eyes. The initial confusion morphs into lust.
“I forgot my phone.” I walk over and grab for it as he stands, butts out his cigarette, and then walks over to the railing.
“I’m sorry you haven’t had it easy.”
“I’m not,” he says with conviction.
My hand still on the phone, I lift my chin. “How does a man like David, with all the resources he has at his disposal, allow his daughter—”
“He doesn’t know about me or Luna.”
“Impossible.”
“I know for sure he doesn’t know about Luna.”
“Why would you keep her away from her family?”
He lifts a shoulder.
I pick up my phone and start to walk back in then stop. “If he’s a good man, it isn’t fair to either of them, Tags, or whatever your name is.”
“Carter. And tell me, Isabella, what kind of father allows his teenage daughter to live the life she has? If he gave a fuck, she wouldn’t have been eighteen with a million-dollar penthouse in New York City.”
“I know nothing about her, except she’s a bitch who has a beautiful little girl she has nothing to do with.”
“So many people think they need to force a relationship between kids and their biological family, thinking any type of relationship with them is beneficial. That’s like saying if you’re in Flint and have nothing to drink but poisonous water, it’s better to do that than die of thirst. I’m not of the mindset that biology means shit. She has a mother figure—better one than I was birthed from—and she has me.”
“But …” I begin then stop because but nothing. He’s right.
“But?”
I shake my head.
“But what?”
“Goodnight, Carter.”
“People I like a hell of a lot less than the woman who gave me that name call me Tags, Isabella. I’d prefer that.”
I turn back and look at him. “Was she,” meaning Mara, “one of them?”
He nods.
“Goodnight, John Boy.”
He laughs as I walk back into my room and close the door behind me.
After plugging my phone into the charging station, I go brush my teeth. When I walk out, I expect to see him standing in my room.
He’s not.
I walk over to lock the door that I had consciously left unlocked then decide against it. I like him. I like the way he looks at me. I like the way he talks to me. I like the way he feels inside of me. And although I will never admit it and will get the damn thing fixed, I like that he likes me enough to “tag” me. And yes, that all pisses me off.
When I lie down and smell her perfume again, I’m further irritated.
After stripping the bed, I open the door to the balcony and peek out.
When my eyes meet his, they narrow.
“Can’t sleep?”
“The room smells like bad mom.”
He smirks and shakes his head. “Mine smells like me.”
“How did you get a single room?”
“I’m one hell of a negotiator and an even better artist.” He walks over to the balcony and leans forward. “Do you trust me, sweets?”
Not yet, I think. Quickly, I say, “I’m not fucking you.”
His eyes dance in amusement as he replies, “That’s good, because you denied me, so all you’ll get, if you’re lucky, is a big spoon.”
I look at him then over the edge and back up at him.
“It’s eighteen inches, only a little bit bigger than my dick, and you didn’t flinch at that.”
I step back and scowl at him. “I’m still mad at you about the tattoo.”
“Impulse control.”
“Shitty excuse.”
“The real one makes you act all kinds of crazy.”
She is mine, I wonder if that’s what he means.
“I’ve dealt with crazy, Isabella, and I definitely prefer your brand over that of an abusive mother and ex—”
“Oh my God, shut up please.”
He smiles, knowing he’s gotten under my skin. “Wait until I show you all the scars from my days in the Marines.”
“You were in the military?”
He laughs as he shakes his head. “I was living in abandoned warehouses by the river, fighting a little war called survival.” He stops when I step onto the chair.
“The tattoo shop was a fluke. You gained my respect because of your daughter and the fact you’re not cheating on your wife. Well, not really.”
“Never wanted to be that man, Isabella. My word was all I had to offer back then. It’s the most important thing I have to offer now and forever.”
Looking down, my stomach does summersaults, and not just because I hate heights but because he is so hot. “You don’t get my trust because of your sad story. We all have one of those.”
“I can’t wait to lick away all your pain.”
I fight back a smile. “This is me seeing if I can actually trust you.”
He smirks and looks down. “Let’s hope I don’t drop you. You’d survive that, and I’m sure you’re the kind of girl who would never forget it.”
I laugh nervously. “How the hell would I survive it?”
“Because, Isabella Steel, if I’m asking you to trust me, it means I will do anything to make sure you don’t question it, and it would take a hell of a lot longer than I plan to take gaining your trust when we’re lying in hospital beds.”
“We?” I huff.
“Simple law of gravity. I weigh more. When I jump after you, I’d hit the ground first and cushion your fall.”
I give him the same look I have gotten all my life when being taught something important. “That’s not true; free falling objects fall at the same rate of acceleration.”
“My bad. That wasn’t covered in the GED classes I took.”
“I’m trusting you.”
“I’ll make sure you never regret it.”
I nod, take a deep breath, and then I jump.
“Oh my God!” I laugh as my heart beats wildly inside my chest. “Feel this.” I take his hand and hold it to my chest. “Do you feel that?” I look up at him as I try to control my heartbeat.
His eyes are black, and I have never wanted to run into the dark more than I do right now.
“A little lower and to the left, and I’d be feeling a hell of a lot more.”
My nipples tighten immediately, and everything inside of me begins to pulse.
“Kiss me.” My voice is husky, unrecognizable even to me.
“I’m gonna do a hell of a lot more than kiss you, Isabella Steel.” Pulling me tightly against his insanely hot, hard, inked body, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me up so we are eye to eye. “I’m gonna lick all your past pains away and have you looking forward to a tomorrow full of”—when he stops, I smile, waiting for something profound—“palm trees and a pleasant breeze.”
Well, it wasn’t all that profound, but it works.
When his lips scorch mine, I realize I don’t give a damn if this man
isn’t a poet, I don’t give a damn that he’s married—sort of—and I don’t give a damn that he feels like home, knowing it’s because he looks and acts like a lot of those from home …
“What?” he asks, laying me on a bed that smells just like him.
“Don’t ask.” I sit back up, grab his face, and kiss him … hard.
When he moves his fingers from my “heartbeat” and finds his way between my legs, I cry out when he pushes two inside me and releases a guttural growl.
Bowing his head, he pushes his tee-shirt that I’m wearing to the side and sucks my nipple into his mouth, biting down on it. My head falls back as pulsing changes to thrumping.
Is thrumping even a thing? I ask myself as he pushes me back, thrusting fingers in a frenzy as he nearly eats my tit … one then the other.
When he rips my pajama shorts down and kisses his way down my belly, I thrust my hips upward. He stalls, and I look down.
“What?” I gasp.
“How badly do you want me to eat your pussy right now, sweet treat?” The look in his eyes is menacing, taunting. He’s daring me to answer with the truth.
I manage to keep my voice almost level when I answer, “I could take it or leave it.”
He smiles almost sadistically as he pulls my legs apart and begins to lick me roughly while fucking me with his fingers.
Lips, tongue, teeth … “Oh God!”
I reach between my legs and fist his hair, grinding against his face with no shame.
He pulls his fingers out of me.
“What?”
With the back of his hand, he wipes remnants of my “almost pleasure” from his lips. “How fucking bad, sweets?”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m good.”
Laughing, he stands, the head of his cock fully visible, peeking out from under his waistband.
I push up on my elbows, eyeballing his perfection. “And how are you doing?”
He squeezes his eyes shut and, through clenched teeth, replies, “Big spoon.”
When he starts to turn away from me, I scurry to the end of the bed like a hungry little whore and grab the waistband of his shorts, pulling him back. As he turns toward me, with his fists balled at his sides, I look at his body, taking in the art. His broad, sexy chest is heaving, his Adam’s apple bobs, his jaw is tense, and when my eyes meet his, I know he’s just as high on lust as I am.
