by J. Kenner
“I don’t blame you,” I say dryly, and beside me Cass grabs my hand under the table. She’s known part of my story for years, but it’s only been recently that I told her about my dad’s role in what happened to me as a teen. Ethan doesn’t know any of that, and I will go to my grave protecting that secret.
“Dad said he’s been calling you,” Ethan says. “I really think—” He cuts himself off. “You know what? Never mind. ”
I should just drop it, but I don’t. “You really think what?”
“I just think—you know. You should see what he has to say. ” He doesn’t look at me when he answers, and the tuna sits uncomfortably in my stomach. Because I have no interest in hearing what my dad has to say. And Ethan knows that.
Beside me, Cass winces, and I realize that I’ve been squeezing her hand so hard it’s a wonder the bones are still solid. I shoot her a silent apology and release her hand. As for Ethan, I just shake my head. “We don’t have anything to talk about. ”
“He pissed you off at dinner,” he says, referring to the dinner he, Jackson, and I shared with my parents the night Ethan got home from London. The night that Jackson—damn him—told my dad what Reed did to me. Page 46
“I get that,” Ethan continues. “But don’t you think—”
“No. ” I really was pissed as hell at Jackson, and we worked past it. But that doesn’t mean I want to get all warm and fuzzy with my father. That, in fact, is the last thing I want.
“Silly . . . ” He trails off, leaving my nickname hanging in the air.
I pull out my phone and check the time. “Listen, I have to go,” I lie. “I told Jackson I’d meet him after drinks. ”
“Shit, now you’re mad. ”
“I’m not,” I say. “Really. Just don’t push me on this, okay?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Don’t,” he adds, when I start to put cash on the table. “I’ve got it. ”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later, all right?” I lean over and give Cass a hug. She squeezes tight, whispering, “Are you okay?” I nod in reply, then give her another squeeze.
Ethan stands as I leave, and I hug him close. “I love you. But I can’t deal with—”
“Yeah,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor. “I know. ”
I’m still not sure what’s up with my brother. I mean, I get that he wishes we could be one big, happy family. I wish that, too. Or I used to, a long time ago. But I’ve made peace with the fact that my parents are not and never will be part of my inner circle. Or, frankly, my outer circle. And I wish that Ethan could make peace with that, too. Because if he’s going to keep pushing on the parental reunion thing every time we get together, that’s going to get ugly.
I want my brother, but I really, really don’t want the baggage.
I’m in the car and firing up the engine when I see Ethan sprinting toward me. I’d parked next to my parents’ silver Camry, but I don’t think Ethan is racing for his car. No, he’s making a beeline to me.
I roll down my window. “I don’t want to talk about it. ”
“I know. I get that. I’m sorry,” he says. “Listen, can I get in for just a sec?”
“I—okay. ” I adore my brother too much to deny him—or to stay mad at him. “Get in. ”
He does, and then he just sits there. His hands are in his lap, and he’s picking at his cuticles. It’s a habit that he broke when he was a freshman in college, and seeing him doing it now only reinforces what I’ve already figured out—whatever he has to tell me, it’s bad. And while I’d started out thinking that this was about me or our father, now I’m wondering if there’s something else on his mind.
“Are you in trouble?” I ask.
“No—no, I’m fine. Well,” he adds with an odd little shrug, “I’m not fine. But that’s not the point. Oh, hell. Listen, I want to say I’m sorry about that. About Jackson’s little girl, I mean. It’s just that you surprised me. And I was on edge after the stuff with Dad yesterday, and—shit. Dammit, I wasn’t going to say anything about that. Fuck. ”
“Is he sick? Come on, Ethan, you’re scaring me. ” I may not have the greatest relationship with my dad—hell, I may not have any relationship with my dad—but I don’t wish him ill. If for no other reason than I know that losing our father would hurt Ethan.
Beside me, my brother takes a deep breath. And then, very fast, he says, “He told me. ”
For a moment, I truly don’t have any idea what Ethan is talking about. But then the horror sets in. My stomach twists into a knot, and my hand slowly rises to my mouth. I want to cry out, to protest, but I can’t seem to form words.
“Oh, god, Syl. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. ” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands. He’s breathing hard. He may be crying.
“Why?” My whispered word is muffled behind my hand, and I’m surprised I can even force it out. I’m no longer real. I’m ice. I’m frozen. Trapped someplace harsh and unfair. Someplace where secrets are revealed and nightmares are relived and it never, ever stops no matter how much you think you’ve gotten past it all.
That one word keeps running through my head—why why why why why—and there’s nothing else. Just darkness and betrayal and the haunting pull of my nightmares.
It’s not until I feel Ethan’s hands on my shoulders and hear him saying, “Syl? Dammit, Syl—oh, hell, oh, shit,” that I realize I’ve gone away. And although I don’t want to, I know I have to come back. Because this is Ethan and I love him, and I never wanted him to know how much I suffered. But now he knows, because his words have kicked me under. Page 47
Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.
“Syl. ” He puts his hand on my shoulder, then leans over so his whole arm can go around me. “It’s okay. It’s okay. And I’m so sorry you went through that, and I’m so sorry it was because of me, and—”
“No. ” The word bursts out of me from the dark place, so forcefully that my throat hurts from the effort of it, and I sit up straight. “No, don’t you dare feel guilty. Dammit, Ethan, I didn’t want you to ever know. Why did he tell you? Why would he put that on you?”
“He—he said he didn’t really understand what was happening—”
“Bullshit. ”
“He said that now you were being blackmailed. That Jackson told him. Is that true?”
I nod.
“He said I needed to know—”
“No! I never wanted you to know!”
“He said I needed to know in case it came out,” he continues, his voice soothing. “He said it might because it was Reed who took the pictures, and with the murder the police or the press might find out. And if it goes public you’d need me. ”
“That’s bullshit,” I say. “He doesn’t care about what I need. He never did. He’s protecting himself. Making sure you learn the truth about the money from him and not from the tabloids. ”
“Syl, no. He’s really sorry. He wants—”
“No. ” I scream the word then slap my hands over my ears. “I don’t care what he wants. ”
Beside me, Ethan sags. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, then pulls me awkwardly to him again. He rocks me gently. “I’m so, so sorry. ”
I let him hold me for a few minutes, because I love him and I know that he’s hurting, too. But I need to be alone.
I pull out of his embrace, then blink at him through my tears. “Ethan, I—”
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he says, and I am grateful that at least I do not have to explain that I need him gone.
“I’ll be okay. I just need—I just need to sit here for a bit. Please, Ethan? I’ll be okay. ” I’m not actually sure that I will. I’m holding on by a thread, but the last thing that I want is for him to see me snap and fall. “Please,” I repeat.
He looks at me, as if trying to assess how serious I am. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay. ” His voice is soft, and a little too careful.
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Yes. Thanks. ” And then, because I know that he is hurting, too, I grab for his hand, catching him just as he has pushed open the door. “It wasn’t your fault, Ethan. You know that, right? It wasn’t your fault. ”
He looks at me, his eyes full of sadness. “I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. ” He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “We’ll be okay, you and me. ”
“Promise?” I can’t bear the thought of losing my brother, and the fact that my father has so blithely risked everything the two of us have built over the years only fuels my anger.
“Cross my heart. ”
He slips out quietly, then shuts the door. I watch as he climbs into the car parked next to me, then I tilt my head back and force myself to breathe. My instinct is to call Jackson, but I tell myself not to reach for my phone. I’m still too unsettled from our parting. I want him—god knows I want him—but I need to get my shit together first.
I hug myself and breathe deep, then jump at the sound of an engine firing. I’ve been so lost in my own world that I didn’t realize that Ethan has been sitting in the Toyota beside me all this time.
He turns my way, and his parting smile is both sweet and sad. I smile back, then blink away tears when he blows me a kiss before pulling out of the space. As soon as he disappears from sight I lean back again and focus on breathing. On trying to calm down. To quell this rising fear.
And even as I’m fighting, I think how much has changed. Before, I would be jamming the key into the ignition and driving blindly to someplace like Avalon, with cheap drinks, dim lights, and a pounding beat. I’d be finding a guy. Taking him. Fucking him. But with me in control. Me, proving to myself that I can keep it together. Me, saying fuck you to the world.
And then, goddammit, I’d go to Cass and have her ink that fungible man’s name on my thigh, just one more toss-away man I cared nothing for, who only served to prove that I could keep my shit together. That I wouldn’t lose control. That I could keep the nightmares at bay.
Now, I don’t want to keep control. Now, I want to let go.
Now, I want Jackson.
I want to surrender to him. To let him hold me, to let him help me. Page 48
Want, yes. But more than that, I need it.
Need it so badly in fact that it scares me, because how would I get through this without Jackson? How will I manage if I lose him? If he’s behind bars.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, because I can’t think about that. Not now. Not when I’m so damn raw.
And despite my lecture to myself about waiting until I got my shit together, I grab my phone from my purse. Fuck waiting; right now, I need the man I love.
I am about to dial when the phone vibrates in my hand—Jackson.
“I’m on my way,” he says, the moment the call connects, and it is only when my body sags with relief that I realize just how tense I have been.
Ethan, I think as I clutch the phone tight like a lifeline. Thank god for Ethan.
“Don’t hang up,” I beg. “Stay with me. ”
“I’m right by your side, baby,” he says. “I’m always by your side. ”
thirteen
“That son of a bitch,” Jackson says as he pulls me from my car and holds me tight. There is a wild tension to his body, as if he is being held together by some invisible force field that is now cracking under the strain of his effort, and the power that he is giving off warms me. But it does not calm me, and my nightmares are still reaching for me out of the shadows that surround our cars.
Nightmares of my father. Of Reed. And of my fear that things have shifted between Jackson and me.
I shift, moving out of his arms.
“Jackson. ” His name is tight. A plea. A protest. “Are we okay?”
“Oh, baby. ” Something like regret washes across his face, and he presses his palm to my cheek. “I’m not sure if I’m the most selfish man on the planet or the luckiest. But yes, of course we’re fine. How could we be anything else?”
I blink, and as I do, warm tears trickle down my cheeks. “I thought—I wasn’t sure. It felt like we were miles apart. ”
“No,” he says as he pulls me close to him again. “Not miles. Not even inches. I’m right here. ”
I nod, because he is—thank god he is. But I don’t need to be held. Not tonight. Not now.
I know what I do need—Jackson is the one who taught me. I used to think that to fight my nightmares I had to take control. Had to fuck my way out of danger, taking what I wanted from men and keeping my own emotions at bay. Cool. Controlled. Like a shark trolling waters full of men.
But what I actually need is to surrender. And I need it desperately right now. Because the dark has cold fingers and they are starting to grab me.
“Come on,” he says, gripping my arm and firmly steering me toward the Porsche. “I’m taking you home. ”
“No. ” I swallow. I can’t say more. Can’t put into words what I need. Because part of what I need is for him to understand.
For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression hard, wary.
Then he pulls me to him, and bends to whisper in my ear. “You don’t get to say no, sweetheart. You say ‘yes, sir,’ or you say nothing at all. ”
Immediately the tension leaves my body. He gets it. Thank god, he gets it. And more, I think, he needs it, too.
“Yes, sir,” I say, as my body tingles and I feel an intense pressure in my core. The need to be taken. Penetrated.
He steps toward me, closing the distance between us. It’s dark in this corner of the lot, and his face is hardened by shadows. But his eyes blaze. “You want to be fucked?”
I swear I almost whimper. “Yes. ”
“You want it rough?”
“Yes. ”
He strokes my cheek, sliding his hand back until he has taken a handful of hair. “Yes what?”
“Yes, sir. ” I’m breathing hard, both excited and apprehensive. This is different than what we’ve done before. He’s different. And though I trust him—though I will always trust him—I do not know what to expect.
And oh, dear god, that excites me.
“You want me to spread you wide and fuck you hard?”
“Yes, please, sir. ”
“Then you need to be a good girl. ”
As he speaks, he’s pushing me to my knees, his fist in my hair guiding me. I descend willingly. Enthusiastically. I can think of nothing but this moment; everything before is gone. Ethan. My dad. My fears.
This is just me and Jackson and pleasure and submission. Letting him take me there. And letting him take control. Jackson, who needs this as much as I do.
“Go ahead,” he says, and I reach out and press my hand flat over his erection, now struggling behind the pressed cotton of his slacks.
I am eager, but I force myself to slowly draw down his zipper. I slip my hand in and free his cock, so hard that I imagine he must be close to exploding. Page 49
His fingers are still twined in my hair, and when I tease the tip of his cock with my tongue he tightens his grip. “No. ”
I can’t tilt my head up, so I can see him only by lifting my eyes skyward, making me feel like even more of a supplicant. “I want that pretty mouth of yours,” he says, and then, instead of me sucking him off, he holds my head in place and actually fucks my mouth.
It isn’t easy—he’s thrusting hard and hitting the back of my throat, and I’m trying to find a rhythm and fight a gag reflex. But at the same time, I like it. For the first time, he’s using me—truly using me—just as I’ve wanted him to do every time he was gunning for a fight. And I know that’s part of it. Because he needs this as much as I do. Needs to take control hard and fast and completely.
This is about his pleasure, not mine, and that simple fact excites me, twisting it around and making it about me, too, because there is pleasure in knowing that we satisfy each
other. That like a lock and a key, we fit and make each other whole.
Though we are in the dark, hidden by the shadows and the cars, I think for a moment that anyone could see us, me on my knees on the asphalt and Jackson fucking my mouth hard.
The thought makes me moan, and I’m so damn wet now, the evidence of my excitement creaming my thighs. As Jackson had ordered, I’m not wearing underwear, and I’m tempted, so tempted, to slip my hand under my skirt. But that, I think, is against the rules.
“Christ, Syl, that mouth of yours. ” The tightness in his voice tells me how close he is, but just when I think that he is going to explode, he pulls out and hauls me to my feet. He yanks up my blouse, then unfastens the front clasp of my bra before bending me over the hood of my car.
The metal is cool against my skin, and my nipples tighten almost painfully.
“Tell me you liked that,” he says as one hand strokes my back and the other one slides up my thigh. “Tell me you liked my cock in your mouth. ”
“Yes,” I say. “Oh, god, yes. ”
He slides his hand between my legs and groans softly. “Oh, yes, baby. That’s how I like you. Wet and ready for me. ” He hikes my skirt up around my waist so that I am completely bare from the waist down, with the exception of my shoes.
“Spread your legs, baby. I’m going to fuck you hard. ” I do, and true to his word, he spreads me wide and shoves his cock hard inside me, his powerful thrusts making me slide across the top of the car, giving me small friction burns on my breasts and belly.
I feel the buildup to his orgasm, and my body responds, claiming him, clenching hard against him, until finally, he explodes inside me, his low groan of pleasure echoing in the dark.
He doesn’t pull out, though. Instead, he holds my hip with one hand and uses the other to reach around our joined bodies and find my clit. I’m so turned on already that it takes very little, and soon the wild tremors of my release cut through me and my cunt clenches tight around him as he continues to tease and play me, not relenting until my knees are weak and it is only his hand and the car that are keeping me from collapsing.
When he has cleaned me up and fixed my clothes, he takes my hand and eases us both to the ground on the darker side of the car. I am limp with satisfaction as I curl up against him by the tires. His arm is around me, and I snuggle close, wanting there to be no distance between us at all. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Sir. ”
He chuckles, but then says seriously, “I needed it, too,” revealing what I already knew. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I feel a low buzz of pleasure from that simple touch. “I was so goddamn angry at your father. ” He meets my eyes. “And at myself. ”
I look away. I was furious when he told my father flat out what Reed had done to me. When he revealed that Reed was still tormenting me, this time by blackmailing me. And he made it damn clear that Jackson and I both know that my father knew all along that Reed wasn’t just taking innocent advertising shots of me.
I’ve gotten over the fury, but that doesn’t mean I want to relive the moment. But it does mean that I understand what Jackson is talking about when he says he needed it, too. He was angry. At my father. At himself.
