by Kacey Shea
Primal. Moans and groans that bounce off the walls in time with our pleasure. Wanton. She chants my name, a whisper on those gorgeous lips and I have to get closer. Ecstasy. My hand leaves her breast to grip her neck and I bring her down at the same time I push my shoulders off the bed so I can claim her lips. Our breaths mingle. She’s close and so am I, but I will not come until she does.
She rides me, harder still, and my fingers thread through the hair at her nape to pull it into a fist and tug.
“Come, Lexi. Fucking come for me,” I growl into her ear.
“I always do.” She pants. Her entire body slides up and down mine, her breasts pressing into my chest, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from exploding before she does.
That’s it.
Both of my hands grab her hips and she has to steady herself above me as I thrust up into her, giving her everything I am, as hard I can.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Her chanting increases to almost a shout and I feel the exact moment she reaches her release. Her wet pussy squeezes my cock, a demand for my come. That’s what sends me over the edge.
Our breathing is heavy and Lexi collapses onto my chest, my dick still inside her, and as we both struggle to find an even heartbeat, I can’t help but know this: Right here is exactly the place I am meant to be. Lexi’s my home and, no matter where we go, as long as we come together like this, my soul serves its intended purpose.
She picks up her head and settles her chin over my chest atop the backs of her hands, a playful grin on those lips. “That kind of undid my shower.”
A chuckle leaves my mouth and my hands stroke up and down her spine, delighting in the goosebumps that cover her flesh from the movement. “But totally worth it, right?”
“Meh.” She shrugs, that grin pulling wider.
“Meh?” I narrow my stare in mock irritation. “I know you came hard. I felt that pussy squeeze my dick.”
Her eyes darken at my words and when she speaks it comes out all husky. “You have such a dirty mouth, Trent Donavan. I like it.”
“I love your mouth too, sexy Lexi.” I flex my abs to sit up with our bodies connected. “Let’s try this shower thing again. I really do have somewhere to show you.” I stand and she squeals, grabbing my shoulders tightly as I walk us to the bathroom.
“Can’t wait,” she says. Her eyes hold my stare and I kiss her to return the sentiment. I really can’t wait for what the future holds, as long as I have this woman in my arms.
“Trent. This place is amazing.”
I glance across the table for two, my smile as big as hers as she takes in the view. This little rooftop sushi bar provides us with privacy and romance. The city lights play like a choreographed dance on one side and the waves roll in and out with a melodic crash at the other. It’s a soundtrack to the hustle and bustle of the ocean city, and the low hum of some indie rock station pipes through the restaurant speakers.
“It’s awesome, isn’t it. When you told me you liked sushi I knew I had to bring you here.”
“When did we talk about food?”
“Over pancakes in Charlotte.”
“Oh.” She glances down at the table, and reaches out to grip her glass of pinot noir. “That was before we were together.”
“I’ve wanted you since then, but I didn’t think I deserved you. No, that’s not true. I didn’t deserve you, but I’m trying to correct that. You’re too good for me, Lexi Marx, but I love you anyway.”
“I love you, too.” She finishes her second glass of wine, and I refill both our glasses. Our server is perched at the bar and leaving us alone now that we demolished our meal and the dinner crowd has thinned out. I’m sure they’re closing soon, but they recognize who I am, maybe Lexi too, and they’ll stay open for as long as we like.
“This was exactly what I needed.” A deep sigh leaves her lips and her gaze meets mine. “Thank you for today. I’m sorry about my mom.”
“You don’t need to apologize for her. She was horrible to you.”
“She was, but she lost the love of her life. She’s lashing out. My mother always put him first, or tried to until he wouldn’t let her. I don’t know. My family’s pretty fucked up.”
The music stretches between us, a background to the weight that settles over this moment. My gaze never leaves Lexi as she studies the skyline, blinking several times before one tear escapes down her cheek.
She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “I hate him. I hated him. So I don’t understand why it hurts so much.”
I reach across the table, taking her hand in my own. “It takes a lot of energy to hate someone like that, Lex.”
Her shoulders drop and she nods, meeting my stare. “It does. It’s weird, you know. I never expected anything. But knowing he was there . . . I don’t even know . . . Just now, knowing he’s not. It’s empty.”
She’s sharing openly tonight, and maybe it’s the wine talking, but I think back to my conversation with Iz and I have to know. “Did he rape you?”
She tries to tug back her hand but I don’t let her. “Who? What? You mean Eric?”
I lower my voice, even though no one is around to overhear us. “Not on the bus. When you were a kid. At your dad’s.”
She blinks, and her eyes widen. “How did you—?”
“Iz.”
“Fucking Iz.” She shakes her head, tilts her head to the sky and shuts her eyes against the night. Her face twists with pain and her next words escape as a whisper. “Does it even matter?”
My chair scrapes against the flooring as I scoot closer, claiming both of her hands in my grip until I regain her attention. “Don’t. Don’t push me away, okay? Of course it fucking matters. I never want anything or anyone to hurt you. I love you with everything I am. You’ve been hurt and I get that. I can’t change what happened to you before, but I care. It matters. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”
“What about you, Trent? Because you can hurt me, worse than anyone ever before. You have the power to ruin me.”
“I won’t, Lexi.” It’s a promise—maybe the only one I’ll ever make of such magnitude—that I know without question I can uphold.
She bites her lip, then runs the tip of her tongue over it. “How can you be so sure?”
“I just am.”
Silence grows between us, but her gaze never leaves mine. It’s as if she’s looking for something, a crack in my armor or a mistruth in my promise. I squeeze her hands and don’t back down or waver from her scrutiny.
She astonishes me when she speaks, because her voice is strong and every bit the badass woman I’ve grown to love. “He didn’t rape me. But he would have. He touched me. And after that, my father was done with me. Done with my regular visits. Done with my mom.”
She pauses only to take a long sip from her drink. “But I was glad it happened, you know? Because if his friend hadn’t tried to rape me, someone else would have. Someone else would have hurt me. I wasn’t safe there. I never was. When he decided to be done with us I was so relieved. But I hated him too, because that was the day he broke something in my mom.
She’d always put him first and that didn’t change. She yelled, but not at him. She yelled at me. She was so damn disappointed . . . with me, because I fucked things up. Because I was the reason he didn’t visit or call her anymore. Because God forbid her only daughter be sexually assaulted in a house full of strangers.” She blinks, but the tears fall from her eyes anyway and roll down her cheeks. Some drop onto the table while others run over her lips. “What kind of mother does that?”
Her sadness and disappointment collide with my own as that same damn question rolls through my mind. I can’t imagine how anyone could do that to their own child. I know it happens, though. It’s clearer to me now more than ever that no one has ever looked out for Lexi. No one has taken care of her the way she should be. The way she deserves. That’s why she pushes so hard. Why she questions love. That ends with me. I will spend the rest of my life prov
ing she can’t push hard enough to make me leave.
“You were only a kid, Lex. You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m sorry that happened to you. So damn sorry.” I stand, no longer able to tolerate the separation caused by this table between us, and she does the same, accepting my embrace when I pull her into my arms.
“Thank you,” she murmurs into my chest, and I loosen my hold enough to catch her gaze.
“For what?”
“For this. For understanding. For everything.” She leans back into me, her arms squeeze even tighter than mine do, and she feels like home. Like the one I’ve always wanted, like the one I didn’t know I needed.
36
Lexi
“Today we bury one of this generation’s best musicians, a rock legend, and a beloved father.”
The dark tint of my sunglasses hides my eyes as I struggle to not roll them at the formalities of today. I made it through the services yesterday, an ostentatious public event full of overinflated tales of the late Richie Sands. Maybe they even held some truth, but I wasn’t able to discern it through his shortcomings as a father. It was much easier for him to go through life a wild partier and wealthy rock star than an attentive and present dad.
I was here for my mother, though. She had been a wreck ever since his loss. She was and forever would be under the impression he loved only her. Insisted she was his one true love, despite the glaring reality he’d slept with countless other women.
Today’s burial is private. As difficult as it is to stand next to my mother and a few close friends and pretend I’m sad, the man who holds my hand makes all of this bearable. He never lets me go, not once, and his strength, protectiveness, and understanding without judgment ensure me I’m not the worst daughter on earth.
I’m dealing with the guilt for not feeling more. For not behaving in a way expected of a girl who just lost her father.
My dad’s remains are interred into the ground, and I have to wrap my arm around my mom’s shoulders to keep her standing. Sobs shake her body, and her wails draw everyone’s stare. I hate that too, but I’m working on it. On acceptance and empathy. I may not understand how she could love someone who treated her so poorly, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel sorry for her. She’s always been this way. Bold, loud, and an oversharer. She has no inhibitions when it comes to sharing her grief with the world.
We stand there, the three of us, united until each of Dad’s close friends and business contacts offer their farewells and condolences—Trent at my side, and me at my mother’s. Once everyone is gone, my mom insists on staying until the workers return the dirt back to the Earth and cover the coffin. She’s completely drained, all her tears dried when they finally finish, and Trent takes her arm to help her into the waiting Town Car.
“Do you want me to ride with you?” I say.
“You’re leaving today?” she asks. I nod. “No, sweetheart. Doesn’t make sense when you’re heading to the airport. I have to get used to being alone, anyway.” Her lips tremble as they attempt a smile, and she holds her black clutch to her chest.
“Call me, though? I’ll visit when we get a break between shows.” I wrap my arms around her for a hug, and kiss her cheek before stepping back.
“Lexi. I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than you think. I’ve been doing this for years.” Her confidence surprises me after her nonstop crying today, but I guess she’s right. I underestimate her.
“Bye, Mrs. Mallory.” Trent hugs her next.
“Call me, Lori, remember. Take care of my girl on the road.” She pats his back before he steps out of her embrace.
“You have my word, Lori.”
Mom slides into the car and the driver shuts her door. We wave once more and turn away as the engine starts. The sound of the car window sliding open stops me, pulling my attention. Before Trent turns back to the car, Mom points at him and mouths the words, “Keep him.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head with a smile, actually grateful for her ridiculous infatuation with all front men with guitars. This is her normal Mom behavior. She’ll be okay without him.
“Lexi, one more thing.” My mom purses her lips together, and her stare darts between me and Trent, and finally rests on me. “There’s money.”
“I don’t want it.” The words fly from my mouth.
Her brows pull into a scowl. “Honey, it’s not up to you.”
“Mom, I don’t want it. Keep it. Give it away. I don’t care.” Because I don’t need it and I sure as hell don’t want anything else from him.
She pulls her lips into a tight line and I can tell she’s not gonna let this go. “Lexi, it’s not that easy. There’s a will. Lawyers.”
“Then I’ll deal with it later.”
She raises her brow and tilts her head. “Don’t you want to know how much?”
“No. I don’t.” I blow out a breath and strain for a smile, though I’m not quite sure it reaches my face. “I love you, Mom. Good-bye.”
Her eyes cloud with disappointment. Even in death she wants me to give him more than he ever deserved. “Bye, Lexi.”
I grip Trent’s hand and he weaves my fingers through his much larger ones. I relax into the strength he provides and exhale the anxiety I didn’t realize I was holding onto as the Town Car retreats.
Trent’s lips find the top of my head and he rests them there for a long moment. The cemetery is peaceful, beautiful in an unconventional way. A few people mill about, stopping at headstones or lost in reflection on one of the wooden benches. The solitude here is as warm as the sun beating through the clouds, and when Trent squeezes my hand I’m settled with the feeling that everything will be okay.
“You ready?” He tips his chin to where the car is parked.
“Yeah. What time does our flight leave?” I study the tips of my shoes as they traverse the gravel path.
“Not for another six hours.”
The label has been incredibly supportive, delaying the tour a week and rescheduling four shows. Now that the cat’s out of the bag that Richie Sands’ long-lost daughter is none other than up and coming rock sensation Lexi Marx, they’re getting a pretty good deal. Within hours, the final shows of the tour sold out and now they’re looking at extending it internationally. I should be ecstatic. It’s what every artist hopes for. Sold out shows and the promise of recognition, but I’m not. I wanted to do this on my own, and somehow this feels as if I’m cheating. As though I didn’t earn it. Everything from here on out will be tainted by my association to my father.
We reach our rental car and Trent reaches out to open my door but pauses, his gaze trained behind us where we lowered my father into his grave. “Do you know her?” He tilts his chin in the same direction and I follow his gaze.
The woman standing near the edge of the gravesite wears a simple fifties style knee-length dress with flat sandals. She wouldn’t stand out as much if it weren’t for the long, loose auburn curls flowing down her back as she holds perfectly still. I wonder who she is, how she knew my dad, and why she’s showing up a good hour after the service.
“I don’t.” I should probably leave. Get in the car with Trent and enjoy a leisurely meal before we catch our flight to meet up with the band in Florida. But something pulls me toward the woman. My feet tread through the rows of headstones and then I recognize her as the woman I spoke to after my show, weeks ago. “Opal?”
She jumps at my voice and her hand goes to her throat with a gasp.
“Opal,” I say again, my smile pulling wide at her familiar brown eyes, and I shake my head. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . Um . . . I . . . Well, I just—” Her chest heaves with each word, and if possible, her eyes grow wider by the second.
“Breathe.” I reach out, and my hand steadies her arm in an attempt to ease her nerves. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze darts over my shoulder and she takes a step back as Trent’s arms snake around my waist. She holds her arms across her stomach, and her lips rub together before she
takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” She turns to leave, but curiosity nags at my brain.
“Opal, wait!” I shout and she stops to turn, her face so full of worry, it appears she might break. “Are you okay?”
At my question she bursts into tears. Her hands cover her face as sobs escape and her shoulders shake with each suck of oxygen.
Trent looks between the two of us. A puzzled frown knits his brow, and I’m sure he’s wondering who she is. I’m thinking those exact thoughts. Even though she’s not my problem, my concern grows with each sob. I step closer until I can wrap an arm around her shoulder. She’s younger than me, I’d guess, but taller by a few inches. As soon as she feels my touch, her hands leave her face to wrap around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she croaks between sobs. I pat her back to console this near stranger the best I can. She’s apologizing for something, though to whom or for what I have no idea.
Trent meets my gaze and mouths, “Who is she?”
I just shake my head because I still don’t know. “Opal. Opal, calm down. Tell me what’s going on and I’ll help you figure it out.” I rub her arms until she steps back and wipes the tears from her face.
She meets my gaze even though her chin trembles when she speaks. “I don’t think you can.”
“Try me. I’m tougher than I look.” I smile, hoping to earn a smile or laugh from her, but my words seem to upset her even more as her eyes fill with tears.
“I’m sorry.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean for you to see me. I didn’t mean for anyone to. I waited, but I should have stayed back longer. I was so stupid.”
“Opal, just tell me.” I interrupt because she’s not making any sense.
“I . . . I’m your sister,” she stutters and my whole world tilts.
“Pardon?” I heard the words; I just don’t understand.
“We’re half-sisters. Richie Sands is—or no, was—my father.” She meets my gaze, her eyes wide and so damn innocent. But still . . .
