by J. L. Mac
“Then why did you get mad?”
“I…I don’t like the idea of taking pain medication. I don’t like the way they make me feel. That’s all.”
“Lots of people don’t like pain medication because of how it makes them feel,” she whispered as she brought her palm to my cheek and brushed her soft warmth across my scruff. “You should have just told me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I kissed her forehead and inhaled the scent of her red-flecked brown hair. I swallowed hard, and like the coward that I was, I kept my eyes downcast. I was cowering.
“That’s not it, is it?” Her hand fell away from my face and I missed it the moment her warm touch had abandoned me.
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t deny it and I wasn’t brave enough to get it over with and just tell her the truth. I wasn’t ready to let her go. I’d only just found her. If I told her, we’d be over before we’d even begun, and that thought frightened me even more than the threat of relapsing did.
I kept my head down. My eyes shut. “Look at me,” she demanded firmly. I obliged her and met her intense, clear gray eyes head on and the woman left me bare, transparent and transfixed all at once. “That’s not it, is it?” she repeated, barely loud enough for me to hear and yet those words, the accusation in her melodic voice, speared me.
I shook my head so slightly that even I wondered if I had done it. She nodded but didn’t move away from me. “Tell me?”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I-I can’t. Both. I don’t know.” I ran my hands through my hair, wishing that it would somehow soothe the ache in my head.
“Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you? Is it something to do with your brother? I… What is it?”
“It’s nothing to do with you. I swear.”
Flor nodded. “I deserve to know, Graham.”
“Yes. You do.”
“So?”
“I’ll try. I’m trying. Give me some time to think about it, okay? It isn’t easy for me to open up. I know you can understand that. Please. Just a little time.”
“I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” I held her, memorizing the feel of her against me, the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body…
“But I have to know right now, whatever it is, is it the type of secret that is a deal-breaker?” She looked nervous and I hated that I was responsible for the flighty look in her eyes.
“No. It’s not.” I sounded firm and confident but I knew the moment the lie had tumbled from my lips, I had just sealed my fate. I was a liar and the worst kind of man. I couldn’t blame her for hating me once she knew just how fucked up I was.
“I would stay here if you asked me to. If you needed me. If you wanted…” I pulled away from her enough to search those gray eyes for sincerity. She bit the inside of her lip and I couldn’t help myself. I tilted her chin up and covered her mouth with mine. I nipped and kissed at her pouty lips and wanted nothing more than to keep her tucked away in my penthouse forever. This place felt…right with Flor here. These four walls felt less lonely. I felt strong here, with her. I knew right then that I was right in thinking that maybe Flor gave me what Tommy’s apartment gave me. Strength, courage, conviction. That realization made what was to come more unbearable than it already was. I needed this woman, but fate had seen fit to make sure that she’d never be mine. I was my own fault, I supposed. I was, after all, the dumb motherfucker who had no self control, no discipline.
If I would have never picked up a single drop…I might still have Tommy and Flor would have no reason to hate me. I’d have no reason to hate myself.
“So stay,” I murmured against her mouth. I was unsure how I felt about having a woman sharing my space, but I was sure that if there were ever any woman at all that was worth sharing my space with, it was Flor. The only evidence of my addiction lived in my pocket at all times. I was confident that she wouldn’t stumble upon something incriminating, and that thought made me feel terrible and felonious and like the biggest fucking fraud on the planet. It was wrong to keep this up. I knew that well and yet, once again, I was incapable of resisting.
“Graham, I can stay but I would have to go home every night.”
“Bring a bag. Stay.”
“Okay, but I’m pretty sure that fool around with the boss is not on my list.”
“I’m not your boss, baby.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m your man. I’m your Goliath and you—my beautiful Flor—you are mine in every sense of the word. You’re my woman.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Now, who is Frederick?”
“My fish. Con has been feeding him. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.” I took her through my home, showing her everything and both loving and hating the satisfied feeling in my chest that I had seeing her in my home. I loved it because Flor was with me, in my penthouse. I hated it because I knew it wasn’t going to last.
Flor
I’d Read Him Everyday
His home was beautiful and part of me gloried in being given the opportunity to see it, and another part of me felt very small and inadequate being in his over the top penthouse. I was perplexed too. It was as if the man, the successful entrepreneur who lived here in this lavish penthouse, was a completely different man from the one who dwelled in Tommy’s middle-of-the-road apartment with old vinyl albums and outdated furniture and a menagerie of odds and ends littering the small space. This man—the man who lived here—was sophisticated, successful, particular and very much master of his own world.
The man who lived at Tommy’s place seemed stuck somewhere in time, and hurt, and unsure, and unpredictable, and all the things that this man wasn’t. I was falling for both of them. I knew I was. I felt it spreading through me. It unfurled slowly and bloomed, its petals yawned lazily and splayed out, giving off the sweetest scent of new growth.
I felt panicked and so very sated at once. Something told me to run and something told me to stay for as long as I could. I had told Graham that he was the Jekyll and Hyde type, but now I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I was too. Burgeoning epiphany after self-examination had me lost in thought as I continued to look around his penthouse.
The furniture looked like something Liza would choose, high end, modern, expensive. The colors were all muted earth tones working together to create a comfortable space. The lighting, the art, even the scent…his penthouse even smelled amazing. Clean and lightly soapy with something sweet underscoring it all.
“So, will you? Stay?” Graham brushed his hand across my cheek and I wanted to melt into his touch
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Stay with me.”
“Okay. I’ll stay. But…I want to know that this—what we’re doing—I need to know that this isn’t just a fling for you. I need to know that I mean something to you because you mean something to me, and if I am just something new and fun, let me know now because I couldn’t handle it if you—”
“You want to know what I think about you—us?”
“I do,” I admitted wondering, hoping that I wouldn’t regret what I’d just asked of him.
“You, Florence Randall, are my sun. You are at the center of my galaxy, and I find myself blissfully trapped in your light.”
“Graham, you confuse me.” I swallowed and shook my head. “I feel lost and also found when I’m with you. It’s like the man at the gallery and the man at the club and the man at Tommy’s and the man here,” I waved my arm out. “they’re all different in their own way and I don’t know up from down. I don’t know who you are from one moment to the next.”
“I don’t know who I am from one moment to the next, either.” He rubbed the nape of his neck like tension had suddenly sprung up in his muscles. “What I do know is that you’re very important to me, and I don’t deserve a moment of your time, but I want every second of it all the same.”
“What are we doing?
” I muttered both to him and to myself. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I looked to the side, absently admiring the spectacular view that his penthouse offered.
“Whatever we want. Is it a label you want?” He nudged my chin with his index finger, forcing me to look at him. I shook my head, not really feeling certain of what I wanted.
“I’m not trying to pressure you to do that, or to commit to me in any way, I just… I want some type of reassurance. I want to know what I’m doing here, with you.”
“Labels don’t scare me. If I had to put one on this—on us—I’d say you’re my girlfriend, exclusively, and I’d hope that would please you.”
“It does. It also scares me,” I admitted.
“It scares me too.” His whispered confession feathered lightly across my cheek and I closed my eyes taking in all of this man, my Goliath, the boy next door, Graham Stone.
That sense of burgeoning epiphany rushed in full force as I looked at the curious man in front of me.
I found that, for me, Graham was a book, one with many chapters. One that I had never read before. One that I had never even held in my hands.
I had never turned him over and allowed the synopsis to work its magic on me. I’d never fanned his pages in front of my nose and breathed in the essence of him until it took up residence in the depths of my lungs where I’d absorb him so he’d course through my veins.
And yet, with no shortage of alarm and absolute revelation, looking into those dark eyes that seemed to hold so very much, I found that I wanted nothing more than to pick him up, read his synopsis. I wanted to open him to me, breaking his seams, fan his pages and breathe him in until he was in my blood.
I wanted to memorize the scent of the refined paper, glue and ink that his book was composed of.
I wanted to run my fingers over his creases, dog-ear my favorite passages, love to hate his worst parts, and wholly consume every word, every line, every page, and every chapter of him until his story was mine and one that I’d recite on days when there was no other company I’d rather have.
I’d read him every day.
Confusion notwithstanding, I wanted to read his words. I wanted to know his story. I wanted to fully envelope myself in his pages. I wanted to focus on the entirety of his book and hope that with time, perhaps I’d understand him more—that time would do what it so often does and that was deliver me a day, a page at a time to enlightenment, and make me wiser.
I leaned into him and pressed my lips at the hollow of his neck. His hands ran up my back, coming to a stop at my neck. He held my jaw in his hands and tilted my face upward. I searched his eyes. For what? I didn’t know.
“I want you very much, Florence Randall,” he murmured with his forehead resting against mine.
“I want you very much, Graham Stone,” I whispered in return.
Graham shifted and maneuvered himself back to his chair then reached forward and grabbed my hand. He tugged me forward, forcing me into his lap. He said nothing as he wheeled us out of the room and down a corridor I hadn’t explored yet.
He made a right turn through a wide set of French doors into what I had to assume was his bedroom. I looked around us. The furniture, the paint, the décor, it all fell instep with the rest of the house that I had already seen.
A huge low profile bed was situated in the center of the far wall. Windows lined the adjacent wall, letting in plenty of light. Graham wheeled us forward to his bed. Even in a wheelchair, his strong arms slipped beneath me and scooped me up. He leaned forward and sat me on his bed.
He moved back a few inches, locked the brakes on his chair and stood on his good leg. I held my breath as he pulled his shirt over his head, tugged his cotton sweat pants down his legs. It took him a moment to maneuver the fabric around the metal fixator on his lower leg but he did it and turned, sitting back on the bed. The sweats fell to the floor as he lifted his legs. He was completely bare and completely beautiful.
Graham braced his arms at his sides and slid himself up the bed until his back rested against his headboard.
I licked my lips and feasted on the vision in front of me. He was incredible. His desire stood at attention and seemed to pulse against his belly. His legs were defined and thick. His arms, his chest, his shoulders, all of him was defined and sinewy.
“Take it off,” he ordered quietly in a husky voice.
I tore my eyes from his physique long enough to get to my feet. I watched his eyes follow the line of my body from head to toe. I slipped the buttons through the fabric of my shirt, revealing myself to him one button at a time. I stepped out of my shoes and nudged them aside. Hooking my fingers into the waist of my jeans, I dragged them down my legs, slowly. I could see his pulse thrumming in the thick vein in his neck.
I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. My straps slipped down my shoulders and my bra joined the rest of my clothes on the floor. Graham’s hands dug into the comforter on his bed.
“Baby,” he warned and pleaded at the same time.
I tugged my lace panties down and stepped out of them. Graham hummed his approval and gave me that look. The one that says “get over here.”
I knelt on his bed and crawled up to him. His bare skin was warm against mine and I wanted to curl up against him for the rest of the day and night.
Forever.
He rolled up on his side, bending his broken leg enough to keep safely away from us. He silently guided me onto my side and pulled my hips back until my bare ass was pressed against his cock. He ground his hips into my ass, making me tingle with heat and need.
One heavy arm snaked across my waist. His hand drifted lightly, lazily over my stomach and down to my scorching center. My muscles clenched with need, seeming to know that my Goliath would have me writhing in bliss soon. Not soon enough.
Graham’s fingers worked through my slick center coaxing a moan from me. My hips undulated, meeting his hand, silently pleading for more. Warm, breathy kisses rained down on my neck as he continued his ministrations.
The pads of his masterful fingers slipped in small circles over my flesh and tension built, coiling tightly in my belly. His lips sealed over my ear lobe, his breathing tickling my nose as his teeth grazed over my tender skin.
I felt pressurized, ready to burst. Goosebumps raced across my body, a subcutaneous heat wave raged beneath my skin, making me feel flush and out of breath.
Graham’s fingers slowed and stalled just as my release came into sight. I gasped and turned to face him.
What the hell is he doing?
I watched as he brought his index finger to his lips. He slipped his finger into his mouth and tasted my arousal. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever experienced. He hummed his approval and licked his lips, savoring the taste of me on his tongue.
“Passionate and turned on is my favorite look on you, baby,” he murmured in a deep voice. Before I could manage another thought, Goliath rolled me back to my side and dragged my hips back to his pulsing cock. I tilted my hips back toward him on instinct. He pressed the tip of his cock at my opening, gripped my hips hard and rammed home, successfully stealing my breath.
My mouth popped open, my eyes watered at the twinge of pain that mingled with absolute pleasure he’d elicited in me.
“So tight. So wet. So perfect,” he growled into my ear, sending his breath skating across my cheek. Graham thrust hard and fast and deep. It was all I could do just to breathe in and out. His voice, the scent of him, the sensation of him filling me so fully.
My muscles tensed, pins and needles sped through my veins and detonated violently. I gasped and seized in his arms with my eyes squeezed shut, every sense became hyperaware. My orgasm was painfully exquisite and unmatched by anything else I had ever experienced. Graham slowed his pace, allowing me a short reprieve to recover from my release. My endorphin-soaked mind began to clear and pure and absolute lust consumed me. I tugged my fingers into his defined bicep, encouraging him to do his worst.
“Fuck me, Graham,” I w
hispered. His chest vibrated against my back as he growled a guttural, wild sound that only served to further turn me on. Graham’s hand curled around my jaw. He held me captive there and brought his lips to the rim of my ear.
“Say it again,” he ordered in a deep voice that I hardly recognized as his.
“Fuck me, Graham,” I obeyed. Graham nipped at my ear and railed against me. He thrusted in and out of me mercilessly and holy hell it was remarkable how this man played my body like an instrument he knew well.
“Fuck, baby,” he said in a strangled voice. He slammed his cock home once more and held me in a vice-like grip as he poured himself out. His body quaked and trembled against mine and though we hadn’t even pulled away from each other, I already wanted more. He panted, working to catch his breath and there was no help for the stupid, lazy grin that crept across my lips. I didn’t want help for it anyway. I loved how I felt in that moment. I loved how he had driven me mad and hurled me into ecstasy. I loved how he’d responded to my demands. I loved how I’d responded to his. We fit together flawlessly. I hoped he felt the same.
Graham withdrew from me and rolled onto his back, tugging me with him. I tucked into his side like a tailored fit and sighed. His heart was still pounding and mine was too.
“You’re so much trouble for me.”
“You’re probably right about that.” His voice was resigned and it caught my attention. I got up on one elbow and studied his face.
“Goliath, why do I have the distinct feeling that I’m barely scratching the surface with you?”
