Illicit: A Novel

by Ava Harrison

  “Damn, girl. You have done a complete one eighty since you got in trouble. Before, you were cutting school. Now you’re what? A ‘tutor’?”

  “Shut it, ass.”

  Monday passes, then Tuesday. By the time Wednesday arrives, I’m a ball of nervous energy. I head to the grocery store and pick up all the essentials I need. I’m about to season the ham, but it dawns on me I’m not sure how I’ll get into his place.

  Me: Houston, we have a problem!

  Carson: And what, pray tell, is our problem?

  Me: Ham emergency.

  Carson: Ham emergency . . . Do I even want to know?

  Me: We need to marinate this bad boy and I can’t get into your house. Should we just do Christmas here?

  Carson: Is that smart?

  Me: My mom will never come home. She’s off gallivanting around the world.

  I leave it at that. He knows what it implies.

  Carson: Why don’t we stay at your place, then?

  Me: Okay, see you tomorrow @ noon?

  Carson: Can’t wait.

  As soon as I put the phone down, I start to prepare. I want to do as little cooking as I can tomorrow because I want to enjoy my time with Carson. It’s seldom we have more than a few minutes together, and I miss him. I marinate the ham and prepare the potatoes. The rest we can do together. Excitement courses through me. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

  I’ve spent the morning running around. I’m showered. I did my hair, fixed my makeup, and put on a simple yet sexy flowered dress. The ham is in the oven. The sweet potatoes, too. Everything is prepped and the table is set. All I have to do is light the candles. The candles. This very well might be my first “date” with Carson. How crazy is that? We spend most of our time together sneaking around, meeting in obscure places. This might even be our first real dinner together.

  Butterflies take flight in my belly. I check the clock again. He should be here in five minutes. Five minutes. I’m so excited and nervous, I swear I’m shaking. I wash my hands, check my face, and then I hear the knock on the door.

  Willing my breathing to calm, I swing it open.

  Wow.

  Just wow.

  Lord, this man is handsome.

  He’s wearing a navy blue sports coat and slacks with a blue pinstripe button-down, and he’s holding a beautiful bouquet of mixed flowers. His hair is still slightly damp. The idea of him just getting out of the shower has my knees going weak. His lips tip up to a sexy smirk as he takes in my appearance, his beautiful blue eyes sweeping over me.

  Still holding the flowers in one hand, he uses the other to pull me toward him. His lips find mine. His tongue delves into my mouth in firm and steady movements, taking possession of me, owning me, tantalizing me right then and there on the top step of my mother’s brownstone.

  There is no sense of secrecy here. No thoughts of impropriety. We are desperate for each other. He wants me, and I want him, and if there wasn’t a ham in the oven, I would spend the whole day letting him feast on me instead.

  Pulling away, his grin spreads and my lips move up of their own accord as well. “Is it time for dessert yet?” he drawls out and I swat at him lightly.

  “We haven’t even eaten dinner yet.”

  He pouts and looks nothing like he does at school. There’s no smolder. His eyes are still brilliant and piercing, but they are lighter. Full of a range of emotions that he only shows to me.

  “I’m only hungry for one thing . . .”

  “Seriously, I spent two days cooking. Get in here and keep your hands to yourself.” I laugh, and allow him to pass and enter.

  “Fine, fine. You’re no fun.” As we step into the kitchen, the aromas permeate the air. “Smells amazing.”

  “Thanks. I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

  “I’m sure it will. Do you have a vase?” I point to the cabinet that holds them. Carson fills one in the sink and then places the flowers in the water. He walks out of the room and into the dining room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. A few seconds later, I hear him come back in.

  “Wow, you really outdid yourself,” he says from behind me a moment later as he wraps his arms around my waist. His lips tickle my neck as he places small kisses down my skin. “What can I help you with?”

  “Nothing. Everything is already in the oven.” I look at him from over my shoulder and can’t help but marvel at how perfect this moment is. Carson and me together in my house, making Christmas Eve dinner. Three months ago, I would never have thought we’d be here doing this. Hell, one month ago this was completely outside the realm of possibility, but now . . . standing here . . . being with Carson . . . being domestic . . .

  It feels so good. Like I’m home.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask, pulling away from him. We walk back into the kitchen and I kneel down to check the timer on the oven.

  “No, it wouldn’t be—” I stop him by lifting my hand.

  “It’s okay if you do. I won’t have any.” I smile. There was a time a few weeks ago when I would have welcomed the numb feeling the alcohol would bring. But being here, being with Carson . . .

  I want to remember every smile, every breath. I don’t want to miss a moment of this perfect day.

  “So, tell me about school this week,” he says, taking a seat at the island. He leans forward, supporting his weight against the marble. A groan escapes me.

  “Do I have to?” I mutter.

  “No, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But I would like to know.”

  “Fine,” I huff, pretending to be mad, but he narrows his eyes at me, giving me his stern look, and I swear I go weak in the knees. “It’s hard. I try to keep busy. I try to pay attention, but I miss seeing you.”

  “I know. Only a few more months,” he says reassuringly, and I furrow my brow.

  “Um, we have over half a school year left,” I say beneath my breath. The tightness of his jaw is not lost on me and I desperately plead with my eyes for us to change the conversation.

  “You’re right. Let’s talk about something else.” He lets out a sigh before continuing. “How much longer until the food is ready?”

  I chuckle and place a kiss on his cheek. “Any second now. It’s just heating up.” I pop open the oven one last time. “Actually, I think we can eat.”

  “Think?” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Will I die of food poisoning?” he chides and I glower at him.

  “Very funny.”

  “I think I’m pretty clever.” I like us like this. The playful banter, cooking dinner together. I can envision a future with him, and that future looks pretty damn perfect.

  With a smile on my face, I go to grab the food. Carson gets up as well, and together we lay out everything on the dining room table. As he leans across me to lower a dish, our hands brush one another. He smiles warmly, and I can sense a glimmer of something naughty there as well. My body shivers at the thought. It’s unnerving how my body needs his touch.

  But now is not the time.

  “Let’s eat.”

  The air around us is charged with sexual energy. Dinner is torture. Every look makes me desperate for him, and as I finally set the last dish in the sink he touches me. I look up at him, our eyes locking and conveying a million things.

  Need.

  Want.

  His lips find mine. They devour. They caress. They make sweet passionate love to me. Tell me about forevers, of futures to come. They speak of every promise. Every hope. Every dream. Our lips tell a tale; trace words onto paper. We pull away breathless, panting.

  Needy.

  Hungry.

  Primal hands pull off my skirt. A desperate touch lifts my blouse until I’m naked before him and he lifts me, placing me on the island and spreading my legs.

  His gaze sears me. His eyes make love to me. Electric currents tingle down my spine and I open to him. He settles between my parted thighs and slowly—painfully slow—pushes inside my heat.

  Spreading
me.

  Claiming me.

  Owning me.

  His movements are unhurried at first. They let me adjust, let me feel complete. But as our bodies come together we become more frenzied, we become a storm, and I welcome the fall into the abyss. I welcome the oblivion. I welcome being his. His body trembles within mine until he joins me.

  Our hearts beat in tandem.

  We whisper words of passion.

  His hands fan over my naked back and I shiver. Tiny feathers whisper against my skin as I come down from my high.

  “You’re cold.” He unbuttons his shirt, the one he hadn’t taken off during his hasty and desperate assault. “Here,” he says as he drapes it over my shoulders and buttons it. His fingers linger too long on my collarbone as he finishes the last closure. It makes me want more. It makes me want him to ravish me all over again. His lips tilt up.

  He knows my thoughts.

  Reads my mind.

  Pulling me toward him, he sweeps his tongue against the seam of my lips. Still seated on the island, I hear the door and scramble to move away. Carson pulls me into his body as his eyes widen. I hear the rasp of his zipper and the rustle of him quickly straightening his pants.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” her shriek reverberates through the room.

  My shoulders tense. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. Pulling away from the cocoon of warm arms surrounding me, I look over my shoulder and meet her eyes.

  “Mom. What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? This is my house. What the hell are you doing here? Naked. In my kitchen. With . . .” she pauses and takes in Carson’s appearance from across the kitchen island. His torso is uncovered and his pants hang low on his hips. “Why do you look familiar?” Her eyes narrow.

  And I pray.

  Pray that she doesn’t remember the time at school. Pray that she doesn’t put two and two together. Because I know what that would mean. That would be the end of us, and I can’t handle that thought right now. He’s all I have. I can’t lose him again.

  “Have we met before?” she asks, and Carson opens his mouth but I clench my arms around his waist and grip tightly to stop him from talking. He can’t say anything or we’ll both be screwed.

  “No. No, you haven’t, Mom.”

  She continues to stare. Waves of emotion pass over her pristine face, and fear passes through my blood. “This is unacceptable behavior.”

  “Why are you even home, Mom?” I ask again, and silence descends. The room is thick with tension. Finally, my mom tilts her face and opens her mouth.

  “This is my house. Where else should I be?”

  “Try St. Bart’s with . . . What was his name again? Oh, yes, Richard. Soon to be husband number four, right?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but we broke up. Actually it is your business,” she snarls at me. Her face becomes dark with hate. “I can’t wait until you go to college. You’re the reason I’m always alone. Even your dad left me because of you. You ruined my life.” She pulls her narrow gaze from mine and pins Carson’s with disdain.

  “I’m going to my bedroom to freshen up. As for your friend, he better be gone when I return.” She walks toward the door and then turns around. “This isn’t over, Gwendolyn. I’m back now, and things are going to change.”

  She walks away, and I let out the breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I don’t know what she means by her threat, but it has my whole body on edge. Every limb in my body shakes as the scene plays out for me again, all the hate in her eyes. Carson lifts my face, so our eyes meet. “Are you okay? She said some hurtful things.” His fingers work at my jaw until I unclench it.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Nothing she hasn’t said before. But fuck, that was close,” I say as I let out an audible sigh.

  “Too close,” Carson murmurs, and my gaze meets his. He squints at me through hardened eyes, and dread coils in my belly as I see the familiar look taking refuge inside. I wait for him to pull away. I can see it happening.

  “I think—” he starts to say, but I lift my hand.

  “Do not say anything. I can’t go back to before.” He blinks at my words and then nods. With a deep breath, his hands bracket my shoulders.

  “I wasn’t going to say that. Come here.” He pulls me toward him.

  His lips find mine and press against them in possession. “I won’t let you go again. It’s you and me. We just might have to find a better place to meet . . . Try my place,” he whispers against my lips. I relax into his embrace. We stay like this for only a second longer before he pulls away.

  “I should go.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”

  “I know, and you’re right. She could come out soon and if you’re still here . . . Well, we can’t risk that.”

  “No, I won’t risk that.”

  “When will I see you again?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s best if you give your mom some time to cool down, but I am here for you if you need me. Day or night, you call me.”

  The authoritative nature of his voice has me bobbing my head in agreement. As much as it pains me to agree that we can’t see each other, he’s right. My mom is a loose cannon who just got dumped. Flaunting our relationship is bad enough, but due to the illicit nature of it, it would be downright stupid to allow her any more details. Including and not limited to Carson’s profession.

  I walk him out and peek into my mom’s room before heading back to mine. Out cold. At least I won’t have to see her for the rest of the night. But then a distressing thought hits me. There are still two more weeks until break is over and I’m back in school.

  I wonder how bad it will be?

  BAD.

  That’s how the rest of the weekend went.

  Really bad. We didn’t even celebrate Christmas Day or my birthday. My ninetieth birthday came and went without any fanfare other than flowers from an anonymous source—Carson—and endless texts from Bridget to come over and celebrate with her. I declined. I didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted to wallow in my own self-pity.

  Mom was in rare form. Hateful words laced with jealousy poured out of her mouth like poisonous venom.

  I hid. I only left my room when I needed to, and I hoped and prayed I wouldn’t bump into her. Alas, my prayers were not answered as every turn I took, every place I was in our brownstone, she was there with malice in her eyes.

  It was almost worse when she didn’t speak. When she was silent I didn’t know what she was thinking, and the idea that maybe she found out about Carson was too much to bear. The thought that I couldn’t live here anymore replayed over and over again until I finally snapped this afternoon as she glared at me one more time and slammed the door to her room.

  As Mom sleeps, I find myself quietly opening the door and sneaking out of the place. It isn’t late. The slow glimmer of sun still ducks and dances along the skyline. She must have taken something, but it doesn’t matter. I won’t be there when she wakes. I refuse to be.

  I pull out my phone and dial.

  “Hello?” His voice is distant, as if wondering what I would want now. And even though he was cold the last time I texted him, I’m desperate, and I need somewhere to go. I might have Carson, but I can’t actually be with him.

  “Dad.”

  “Lynn. Merry Christmas. I meant to call you but . . .” He pauses.

  He sounds sad. His voice is hesitant, as though he wants to say more but can’t. I’m not sure what that’s about but I need to talk to him. I need to see him. I need to try to have a family. To have more than what she gives me. I can’t stop the tears in my eyes. I can’t silence the sob I have buried in my throat. It comes pouring out in deep breaths and strangled weeping.

  “I need to see you, Dad.”

  “Okay.”

  “Right now.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Really?” I sound pathetic. Desperate. It makes me feel weak, but I
am weak right now.

  “Of course . . .” He pauses and my chest tightens with fear he’ll change his mind. “I’ll let the doorman know you’re coming.”

  “Thank you,” I say on a sigh, relieved he’s letting me come. Maybe everything will be all right after all.

  An hour later and shaking from the cold, I enter his building. I could have taken a cab. I didn’t need to brave the bitter winter air, but I walk when I need to think, so I walked the forty blocks to his apartment on the Upper West Side.

  By the time I get in the elevator, I’m defrosting, but one glance in the mirrored wall of the car and it’s obvious I’m far from thawed. My nose is red, my eyes glassy from the wind. I look weathered and beaten.

  I pound on his door. The sound is jarring to my ears as I wait to speak my piece, beg and plead, and see what my fate might be. The door swings open just as my hand meets the surface.

  “Lynn,” he says, but he makes no effort to comfort me, console me, or even greet me. I don’t know why he has so much disdain for me, so much indifference, but this is the better option. He is the better option.

  “Hey, Dad,” I mutter, and I see his back tense at my words. He moves aside and I walk past him into the living room.

  “Take a seat. Can I get you something? A drink of water maybe?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  He nods as if he understands, and he might. Being with Mom is hard. Dealing with her is harder. If anyone understands, it’s him.

  “Where’s your mom?” he asks.

  “In bed.” I lift an eyebrow, and he gives a knowing nod. “Her fiancé dumped her. She thought . . .” I trail off, looking at him, hoping he understands.

  “She finally found happiness. That it would all work out for her.” He does.

  “Yeah, but well, apparently, that wasn’t in the cards. She blames me.”

  “Why would she blame you?” He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and looks at me.

  “I got in some trouble first semester at school. I got suspended and she couldn’t travel like she planned. I think she thinks that’s why he dumped her. Because of me. She thinks it was too much for him to handle.”