by Kendall Ryan
“I want Presley braids!”
“Hey, you’re hurting Daddy’s feelings,” Presley chides gently.
“Sorry,” Lacey mutters, not very convincingly.
I chuckle. “Nah, it’s okay. I do both girls’ hair nearly every night. I can go clean up the bathroom instead.”
When I return from mopping up spilled water, setting out the toys to dry, and wiping crayon off porcelain, the sight of Presley stops me in my tracks. She’s working on the last few inches of Lacey’s braid with nimble fingers and a tender smile, humming under her breath. The scene is so cozy and serene. She looks . . . like home.
My chest aches, and my feet are stuck in their spot on the carpeting.
Presley glances up and smiles at me. “I’m almost done.”
“Take your time,” I manage to say, my voice tight with some unnamed emotion.
Maybe I’m only remembering what it felt like to have my own mother fuss over me—after the sun had gone down and I’d been scrubbed clean, lying on freshly laundered sheets while she combed her fingers through my hair and sang under her breath.
God, it was a lifetime ago. I’m a bit melancholy right now, thinking that the memories I have of being cared for by a mom won’t be memories that my own daughters will ever have, and that makes me incredibly sad.
I squat in front of the girls’ bookshelf, pondering, and take a deep breath. “What kind of story do you guys want tonight?”
“Make one up,” Emilia says.
“With space aliens,” Lacey adds.
“And princesses and magic.”
“And ducks!”
“Hmm . . .” I rub my chin. “That’s a lot of stuff. I’ll need some time to figure out how to put them together.” I come back to sit on the bed beside Presley and think.
In a couple of minutes, she’s finished their braids. Once we tuck the girls in, I begin.
“Once upon a time, Princess Honey had a pet duck named Sparkle . . . uh, Bob. One day, Sparkle Bob said—”
“No, together!” Lacey says, interrupting.
It takes a moment to figure out what she means. Then I’m wondering how we’re supposed to share a story and also make it up. I glance at Presley, smirking.
Her brow is furrowed. After a few moments, Presley says, “Sparkle Bob said, ‘Let’s go to outer space. I’ve always wanted to see the stars up close.’ Honey agreed this was a great idea, so she traded her crown with a witch for a flying spell.”
“Ducks fly,” Emilia points out.
“But then Honey would be left behind, and he’d be lonely. And he’d get too tired if he tried to fly that far without magic.”
I pick up the thread of the story before anyone can poke more holes in it. “They flew out into space, all the way to Neptune, and met the aliens that lived there. The aliens said, ‘Great timing, we were just planning a party. But we—’”
“What kind?” Lacey asks.
Presley rescues me. “Jellyfish. They’re giant purple jellyfish that float through the clouds like it’s the ocean.” She puts on a silly, squeaky falsetto. “And they talk like this.”
Doing my best to imitate her pretend voice, I continue. “‘But we don’t have any good party snacks. Can you get us some cupcakes?’ Honey and Sparkle Bob agreed to help. They flew back to Earth to make a thousand cupcakes, then returned to Neptune.”
“They invited the witch too, since they couldn’t have done it without her,” Presley adds.
“Right, of course. And they all had the best party ever. Many cupcakes were eaten. The end.”
Lacey and Emilia’s eyes have drifted closed and they’re wearing contented smiles. When we’re sure they’re asleep, Presley and I tiptoe out into the hall, turning off the bedroom light behind us and silently shutting the door.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her in a hushed tone, our faces close.
“So are you. But, um . . . what is ‘close face’?”
“Huh? Oh, that.” I chuckle. “A while ago, I accidentally said ‘close face’ instead of ‘close eyes,’ and they thought it was hysterical. So I’ve been saying it at bath time ever since.”
She stifles a giggle. “Aw, that’s so cute.”
I grin at her. “Seriously, though, you’re a natural with the girls. They’re crazy about you.”
Presley turns her head slightly as if to hide the soft look in her eyes. “I’m glad—they’re so much fun.” Then, almost shyly, she steps closer to me. “We make a good team.”
How true that is. It feels so natural to take care of the household together. And watching her with the girls . . . it’s like there’s been a Presley-shaped hole in our family all along, and I just never knew until she stepped into it. Francine is great, but maybe the girls have been needing a woman in their life who’s more like a mother than a nanny.
And right now, I can’t deny that I’m in need too.
“Come here,” I murmur, my voice husky.
Taking her face in my hands, I lean in for a thorough, smoldering kiss, rubbing my thumbs over her beautiful high cheekbones. With a moaning sigh, she presses close, wrapping her arms around my lower back. I indulge in our kiss for another minute before leading her down the hall to my room.
We draw together, all mouths and hands and desire, our clothes scattering over the floor. I sit back against the headboard, pulling her atop me to straddle my lap. This is only the third time I’ve had Presley in my bed. Once right before she hurt me, once after . . . but tonight is different. And any pain or doubt I felt before is gone.
“Are you okay with this?” I ask, wrapping her in my arms. I recall Presley’s drunk declaration that she couldn’t have sex with me because it only confused things between us. At the time, I kind of agreed, but now, I feel anything but confused.
“I want this,” she says, circling her hips as she teases me.
I grab a condom and roll it on as our mouths stay fused together in a hot kiss.
As soon as I’m ready, she sinks down onto me and we moan together. The feel of skin against hot, sensitive skin is overwhelming, and I hold her close while she finds her rhythm.
She rides me, slow yet so intense. I kiss her mouth and breasts, suck her nipples, nip her delicate earlobes, earning a beautiful gasp with each touch. I bury my face in the curve of her neck to leave gentle bites and feel her pulse racing under my lips and tongue. Presley’s warmth and softness and sweet scent envelop me until nothing else exists. Until she’s my whole world.
Deep within me, I know we’re not fucking, but making love. I know we’ve gone far beyond anything I ever expected to exist between us. I know it means I’m weak. And foolish and completely out of line.
I just can’t bring myself to care.
Chapter Eighteen
Presley
I could kiss Dominic’s neck all night. My tongue trails across the thick line of muscle, finding the vein that quivers when I nip on it . . . and from the sounds he’s making, I think he’d let me kiss his neck all week. As we rock against each other with our limbs entwined, our lovemaking has elevated from awkward and ungraceful to positively divine.
Lovemaking. That’s what this feels like.
His eyes are searing deep into mine, no longer a power play or a challenge to see who will look away first. Now our gaze feels like balance. It’s like he’s finally seeing something in me . . . something that he wants in his life.
Is that even possible? My heart surges with the idea.
He groans again and kisses me hard on the mouth, and my mind goes blank. Now experienced lovers, we coax each other over the edge of pleasure. There are no more games or teasing. We help each other get there with the assurance that there will be time later for games.
I shudder when I come, feeling my inner walls wrap and pull against him buried deep within me. I bite my lip, trying to hold back the scream that’s perched on my tongue. It starts to escape as the orgasm intensifies.
“Shh, shh, shh.”
He covers my mouth
with his, and I moan loudly into his kiss, trembling.
His cock twitches inside me, making me quiver and arch my back. The clenching of my body is enough for him to lose control. I’ve grown greedy for the look on his face when he falls apart. His dark blue eyes sink closed, his brow furrows, and his full lips part.
“Fuck,” he says on a breath.
The exhale after his orgasm is always shaky and hot against my neck. He lifts his head to meet my eyes and licks his lips. I smile down at him. He smiles back.
“What?”
“I’m just looking at you,” I say, pushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead.
“Hmm.” He hums, tucking my hair behind my ears. “And for how long are you going to look at me?”
“For as long as you’ll let me.”
I grin, then attack him with quick kisses, one on his nose, and one on each of his cheeks, his forehead, and his chin. He laughs as I turn his head this way and that to get the right angle.
Suddenly, he takes control, pulling us back onto the cool sheets. His arms are tight around me, his legs rubbing against mine. This time, we’re most definitely cuddling. I whine when he moves away.
“I’ll be back,” he says with a laugh. “I just need to clean up.”
He gestures to his dick, still sheathed in a condom and my slickness, and I blush. I never knew sex was so messy. Seeing my shyness, he leans in with a growl and bites me softly on the neck until I dissolve into laughter. When he comes back from the bathroom, he wraps me in his arms like he’d never left at all.
I would forsake all the pillows in the world if I could sleep on Dominic’s chest every night.
Would it really be every night, though?
I’m too overcome with sleep to doubt myself further. With the scent of him all around me, and the feel of his strong arms holding me close, I drift off.
• • •
Thump, thump, thump, thump!
I wake with a start.
Thump, thump, thump, thump!
“What is that?” I ask, my eyes wide with panic.
Dominic is already out of bed, throwing on a shirt and pair of sweats. “Someone is knocking on my front door. Stay here.”
Dread sinks into my skin like a cold rain. Who could be here at this hour? It’s not even five o’clock in the morning. Fran would know better than to knock so loudly and wake the girls. I peek my head into the hall and hear murmuring voices.
What’s going on?
I throw on one of Dominic’s shirts, doing up the buttons as fast as my fingers will let me. I tiptoe into the hallway, past the girls’ room, closing their door on the way, amazed that they must have slept through the pounding. Thank God.
When I get to the end of the hall and peek around the corner, I’m relieved to see Oliver.
“What’s happening?” Dominic says in a stern voice.
Whatever this is, it seems serious. I should respect his privacy . . . but I need to know. I lean against the wall, just out of sight. Listening.
“You weren’t answering your phone. I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“Know what?”
“It’s a media circus,” Oliver says in a concerned tone I’ve never heard him use before. Usually, his voice is playful, or at least cheerful. “You have to turn on the news.”
I hear the shuffling of feet and a soft click as Dom turns on the television. I peek my head around the corner, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the TV in the darkness of the room.
“Which channel?” he asks.
“All of them,” Oliver says solemnly.
Dominic turns back to the screen. I squint to read the words, and my heart falls right out of my chest. The headline panning underneath the anchor’s austere expression reads:
breaking news: ceo pays for sex. escort reveals all.
Oh my God.
“Presley,” Oliver says.
I’m standing in clear view now, my eyes glued to the television. I don’t even know when my feet carried me into the room, but Oliver’s spotted me.
“Why are you . . .”
But I can’t hear him. The anchors casually toss grenades back and forth with their words—phrases like “outed by an anonymous source” and “public shame” and “reputation on the line.” I can barely make sense of it.
Dominic’s face is angled away from me, and I look at him imploringly, unable to read him. I just want to know what terrible thoughts are running through his head right now. His body is pulled tight like a string, like he’s about to snap.
Oliver sighs, pulling me out of my tunnel vision. When we make eye contact, he lets loose a strangled sort of laugh. “Well . . . this is awkward. Are you guys together?”
Dominic says, “No,” at the same moment I say, “Yes.”
My face flushes hot with emotion. Well, that’s humiliating.
Oliver takes that as his cue to leave.
“I’ll see you both at work.” Before he closes the door behind him, he pauses. “Just let me know if I can help you, man.”
The door clicks shut.
I take a shaky breath, processing everything that’s just happened.
Help Dominic? The idea that Dominic would let anyone help him almost makes me laugh. If he could, Dominic would do everything himself. I don’t know how he’s going to get out of this shit show without the help of Oliver, his PR team, me . . .
“No.”
The memory of Dominic’s hollow answer to Oliver’s question about us resounds through me. Staring at the stony wall of his back, I finally comprehend the bitter reality of his feelings for me.
As much as he cares for me, for my body, or for my popularity with his daughters . . . he will never make room for me in his life. He has told me in so many different ways, so many different times over the past couple of months. Every time we had the chance to grow closer or shut the door on our issues, he chose to shut me out. I romanticized our relationship in my head, but the truth is, he neglected or completely ignored me more times than I can count.
Latent rage bubbles like lava beneath the surface of my calm, and my eyes flood with angry tears. You tried so hard, Presley. You’ve done everything you can for him. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want you. Are you going to go down with him too?
“Presley,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, and I brace myself. “I—”
“TV?”
We both whip around to see Lacey rubbing her eyes sleepily. Over the sound of blood rushing in my ears, I didn’t hear her tiny feet approaching.
My heart softens. She looks like a little angel in her white pajamas and beautiful bedhead of messy curls. She yawns and scrunches her eyes closed, giving Dominic enough time to shut the TV off. It would be horrible for the girls to see their father like this, even though we both know they could neither read nor understand what’s on the screen.
“No TV. Let’s go back to bed,” he says firmly. His voice is clear and calm, like he wasn’t just about to break my heart into a million ugly pieces.
I can imagine exactly what he’d say. I can’t have more complications. And he would be right. He has two daughters and an entire company to look out for in the wake of this tabloid drama.
He takes Lacey’s little hand in his and turns her back toward her room.
“Emilia had bad dream,” she tells him. “Booming. Was monster?”
Oh, so they did hear the door.
“No monsters out here. We should go check on your sister, hmm?”
Dom doesn’t spare me a second glance as he lifts Lacey into his strong arms, his bare feet padding down the hall.
With every second I stand alone in his living room, I feel pieces of myself disappear. I could very well be a ghost, haunting a future I’ll never have.
I finally understand my place here—it isn’t my place at all.
I walk down the hall, slipping past the family that will never be mine, and into his room. With shaking hands, I undo each button of the shirt I’m wearing, fold it
carefully, and ceremoniously place it on the covers. I mentally say good-bye to the bed where I lost my virginity. When I take my things, there will be no trace of me left here.
I yank on the clothes I first dressed in thirty-six hours ago, grab my bag, and head for the door. As I pass the girls’ room, I can hear Dominic’s low voice promising them that he’ll scare away all the monsters.
I don’t even check to see if he looks through the doorway to catch me before I leave. I couldn’t say no to him if he asked me to stay. Or worse, I couldn’t handle it if he said nothing to me at all.
So I won’t give him the chance.
Chapter Nineteen
Presley
From the window next to this café table, the sky looks heavy with unfallen rain.
I pick at the torn edge of the menu as I wait for Michael to show up. He texted me that he’ll be a few minutes late, so I probably should have taken my time coming here. I could have taken the scenic route from Bianca’s apartment by the pond . . . no. I would just see the ducks and think about the girls. And him. And I desperately don’t want to think about him.
I don’t want to think about how Dominic’s eyes light up when he looks at me, or his laugh when his girls do something silly, or the way he squeezes me tight against his chest when we’re tangled in his bed. I especially don’t want to think about my last memory of him: the cold silhouette of his back against the TV newscast that froze out any chance of our relationship amounting to something.
Did you really think that would happen? I scoff loud enough that a barista at the counter turns to look at me with an odd expression.
I dip my head down, pretending to clear my throat. So much for making this café my usual haunt. I’m practically one step away from talking to myself.
As I sip my coffee, it occurs to me that this is the very same café where I first met Austin. It was when Michael had asked me for more money and we sat across the room in the armchairs. I can even see the case where they keep the banana bread where we struck up our first conversation.
As for Austin . . . what a colossal disaster that turned out to be. My heart aches at the memory of Dominic’s face when he found the Genesis folder in my bag. It was so hurtful that he thought so little of me, that he thought I would betray him and risk everything to help a presumptuous stranger.
