by Olivia Luck
Instantly, his hand falls to his side and he takes a step backward.
“I’m sorry, Blake,” I say quietly, my eyes falling to the ground. “I’m feeling helpless and taking it out on you. You don’t deserve my wrath.” I find the nerve to meet his gaze.
Something sparks.
His deep brown eyes shine as they pin me in place with steady concentration. His hand flexes at his side. What I would give to know what you’re thinking.
“Call me if…” I shake my head lamely. “If there’s anything that I should know or do. Please.”
Blake nods once, silently surveying me with his mask still carefully in place. I reach out to touch him because I don’t think it will impact him and I need the connection. Touching him is the last piece of solace left for me. I lift my knuckles to his cheek and graze the skin because his warm, golden smoothness draws me in effortlessly. I press the back of my hand against his cheek because even though he doesn’t reveal his emotions (like, ever), I know that he hurts, too.
As I begin to retract my hand from his face, long fingers clasp my wrist and he yanks me against his body. Hard. Like I’ve imagined so many times, Blake’s body is a wall of muscle. The shirt that he’s wearing does little to hide the ridges of his abdomen where my body presses against his. Blake’s free hand falls to my waist, his knee pressing between my thighs, sending tingles of awareness skittering down my legs, up through my torso, and nailing me in the heart.
“Tell me no,” he demands hoarsely. “If you don’t want this, say no. Now.”
There’s only one thing for me to say. “Yes.” It’s a husky murmur and a moment later, he’s lifting me off my feet and whirling my body toward the desk. Then I’m crashing down on his computer, the clamshell smacking shut underneath me and pinching my skin. I gasp in a quick breath of pain, and Blake glances at me sharply.
“All right?”
I nod automatically, forgetting about the pinch. This may be my only chance with Blake, and I’m not going to let a little discomfort get in the way.
From there, everything happens quickly.
Breaths, little gasps, and needy moans are the only sounds we make. Blake grabs the hem of my chunky sweater, tearing it off me and tossing it aside. His lips fuse to the side of my neck.
Teasing.
Licking.
Sucking.
It’s a heady combination and my legs instinctively cling to his lower back, urging him closer. His hands slap the desk on either side of my head as he pushes himself upward. I whimper at the loss of contact, my body trembling with need.
I’m drunk.
Off the wicked, hungry gleam in his eyes.
Off the ridge of his erection, straining at his pants.
Off the tingles that set my body ablaze.
I’m physically panting from where he’s spread me out on his desk, watching his movements with breathless anticipation. How long have I imagined this? How long have I dreamed of this intimacy with Blake?
Blake rips his eyes from mine and then the flurry begins again.
I hear the sound of a zipper, belatedly realizing that it’s mine when he lifts my hips from the wood, yanking my panties, denim, and socks off like a freaking magician.
How many times has he done this? I push the thought away forcefully when I watch his hands unlatch the brown leather belt around his waist.
Ding. Belt back smacks against metal zipper.
Zip. Teeth of the zipper open.
Rustle. Fabric pushing down the length of his hard legs.
Purposeful fingers dig into my hips as he jerks me forward, my bottom awkwardly on the desk while my lower back is pinned to the computer. My legs flail until he reaches back and yanks them around to the spot right on his lower back. With a fluid thrust, he’s inside me and I can’t hide my gasp. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s unnatural because… He distracts me. Once again, his lips find my neck—nipping, tugging, and lapping at the skin. I tilt my head backward and squeeze my eyes shut as he begins to move inside me.
God. It’s like coming home.
Our bodies fit together like they were designed for the sole purpose of joining this way. He surges forward, hands slipping around my back to yank me closer. His face, lips, nose, and shut eyes go flush against my clavicle. The rhythm is frenzied, each thrust more powerful, urgent, and pleading than the last. He groans against my skin, his breath leaving a hot trail on my vibrating body.
I’m close. Getting closer.
Blake grunts, a deep guttural sound, and then exhales a shuddering breath. He loses control, slamming into me as I whimper. And then…it’s over.
He collapses on top of me, sucking in heavy breaths while I lay beneath him. Waiting.
Ten seconds pass.
Sixty seconds pass.
One hundred and twenty seconds pass.
I count. Each second he doesn’t say my name. Each second he doesn’t kiss me. Each second he stays silent. Each second he proves to be a selfish lover.
“Fuck,” he hisses. He pushes up on his forearms, staring down at me like he didn’t realize that I was the woman underneath him. Another fluid motion, this time him jerking out of me and yanking his pants and boxers back into place.
He didn’t undress, never bothered to take off his pants, whereas I lay one peach-colored bra away from naked strewn across his desk. He doesn’t cast me a second glance when he strides out the room, slamming the door behind him loudly.
I’m left more heartbroken than when I came to him. Blake is only the second man I’ve ever made love with. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t care about my pleasure. He hardly looked at me. He may have even pretended that I was someone else.
The realization shatters me.
To Blake, I was a warm body. One that he didn’t bother asking about contraception. He didn’t use protection. Thank God, I’m on the pill. With shaking hands, I push up and wiggle down the desk so I can press my feet into the area rug.
What have I done? First comes the resounding heartache, like a knife pierces straight through the muscle thumping in my chest. It’s not working properly anymore, I can tell. The guy who I convinced myself that I loved used my body as if I were a concubine.
Kneeling down, I gather my clothes from where he tossed them carelessly to the ground. I ignore the dampness between my legs, a vulgar reminder slithering down my thigh. My nose stings with emotion, throat tightening in shame and mortification. I never wanted to be that friend to Zoe, using her to get closer to her brother. At least now she wants nothing to do with me, I scoff silently.
Once dressed, I turn from the desk, body trembling badly enough to make me pause and clutch the corner to balance myself. Nausea rolls through my stomach, making the room sway.
Inhale. Exhale. I breathe quivering breaths.
This is what it feels like to have a dream of six years crushed. Utter devastation.
The house remains dark when I trek through to the foyer. There are no sounds of life, no Zoe or Blake to speak of.
Get home, get home, then you can break down, I promise myself silently. Somehow, through the fog of betrayal and heartache, I clumsily close my jacket and slip into my heavy winter boots. There’s nothing left for me to do but flee. Zoe won’t come looking for me, and Blake clearly doesn’t care about my wellbeing.
I dash out the front door, before I even remember to put my gloves on.
Blake
Apparently transforming into the world’s biggest asshole dulls my senses because when I stride across the garage and climb into the Cayenne, I don’t notice that I’m barefoot. It’s not until my foot connects with the cool brake pedal do I realize that I stormed out of the house without shoes like some testosterone-filled moron.
That’s what I am, though, the definition of a moron.
Disgust fills every cell in my body. Self-loathing torments me as I maneuver the SUV south on Ogden. At first, I force my mind to blank, watching the streetlights glimmer as the car rolls past them. It’s not until I mer
ge onto I-290 that the emotion overtakes me.
“Fuck!” I growl. The moment the word is out into the cabin of the car, I remember that was the only thing I said to Stella after I fucked her on my desk. Not made love to her like she deserves. Tenderness escaped the intimate moment we shared completely. The scene flashes before me in short, stabbing spurts. She touched my cheek and I was lost to her innocent, delightful spell. Passion buried logic with one gentle whisper of skin against skin. I was uninhibited, raw, animalistic, and the epitome of a scumbag to a woman who deserved so much more.
Ever since a man broke into Clarkes Elementary and pulled a gun on my sister, threatening to kill her and whoever else came in his way, I haven’t been myself. In fact, the man who stares back at me in the mirror at times is unrecognizable. Weakness, a trait I’m not familiar with, lurks around every corner. So when Stella appeared, like a fucking ethereal angel at the mouth of my office, weakness won over. I wanted to take comfort in her, indulge in the woman who I’ve lusted after for years. After many nights imagining the taste of her flesh and taking care of business myself, I snapped.
No doubt, I wanted her, finally giving into the temptation that has nipped at my heels for six agonizing years. No other woman could distract. No amount of work could smother my feelings. No matter what I tried, the same result.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing could stop me from wanting Stella. Then I allowed the lesser of my two heads to make a choice that could never be undone. If a guy had treated Zoe the way that I treated Stella, I would have gladly beaten the shit out of him.
“Fuck!” I hiss again, abruptly swerving into the exit lane of the next stop that I see. I jerk the car to an uneven stop in a gas station. Reaching up, I bash a closed fist into the steering wheel, releasing another round of expletives.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do next. For the first time in my life, I literally ran from a problem that I created of my own volition. For the first time in my life, I want to take comfort in a woman, and I doubt that she’ll ever speak to me again after the way I behaved.
Buzzing from the center console on my phone startles me out of my thoughts. Zoe calling…
My plan forms instantaneously. First and foremost, I must take care of my sister in her time of need. Once the dust settles, I’ll apologize to Stella. I have no time for a relationship anyway.
Right, keep telling yourself you don’t want to see her, buddy.
Stella
A blur of yellow passes in front of my bleary eyes. I let out a strangled yelp and clamber into the backseat when the taxi halts a few feet ahead of me. The driver grunts his acknowledgment after I rattle off my address, not too far from the city mansion full of bitter memories. Fumbling through my purse with cold-tipped fingers, I dig out my phone and thumb a text to Violet, asking what she’s doing. Max has a shift at the station, leaving her home alone.
As the cab idles outside the condominium building, my cell phone vibrates with an incoming call from Violet. I hand the driver cash, muttering for him to keep the change as I wedge the device under my ear.
“Hi.” I’m hoarse, a subdued version of myself under the weight of heartache.
“Can I safely assume it didn’t go well at Zoe’s?”
I shoulder into the building, climbing docilely up the stairs to my second story place.
“Worse than I could have imagined,” I mumble into the phone as I shoulder my way inside my home. The mellow blue-green walls do nothing to calm me. Shrugging off my coat, I notice a tightness in my chest that was not there this morning.
“Putting my jacket on now, grabbing a bottle of wine, and I’ll be over. Order some takeout,” Violet commands and clicks off the line before I have time to argue. Despite my stunted synapses, I manage to use my computer to get us pizza, though the rock lodged in my gut will probably prevent me from ever desiring food again.
I rip my sweater over my head, swivel out of the jeans, and toss my underwear into the hamper. The temperature of the shower water reaches scalding before I step behind the curtain. I wrench a bar of soap across my body, scrubbing away the remnants of Blake.
In all my fantasies about Blake, I never imagined that after we made love I’d want him off me. In my mind, I saw myself calm, sated, and sprawled against his broad chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles on my back. The reality of the situation is ugly, demeaning, and almost too painful to recount. I scrub and scrub until my skin is an angry, puckering pink. Maybe if I wash hard enough, this nightmare will fade away.
I wish.
Wrapped in a calf-length terrycloth robe, I putter into the living-slash-kitchen-slash-dining room where Violet and Felix stand working a corkscrew in a bottle of Montepulciano. She has a key, and when Max and Felix aren’t working at the fire station together, my friend spends most of her time with the model-gorgeous dark blond. They’ve grown tight, probably because they come from similar rural Midwestern towns. The minute Violet shoots me a sympathetic smile, tears start leaking out of my eyes.
“Stop being nice to me, please,” I whimper.
Felix walks across the room and gives me a squeeze. Despite his hulking size, the guy holds me carefully as if I’m a delicate piece of glass. Violet understands my need to be handled without kid gloves. Her look of concern morphs into a gently mocking grin. “Toughen up, chickie, and have a glass of wine. When you’re good and drunk, you can tell us what on this glorious December evening has brought you to tears.” Then she extends a wine glass in my direction. I take a hearty chug then wipe the droplets of liquid resting on my upper lip with the sleeve of my robe.
“That’s sort of better,” I admit.
“Sort of?” Felix asks.
“Let me get dressed,” I call over my shoulder, “then we can talk.” In a protective armor of baggy gray sweatpants and a red hoodie, I find my way back to where Violet and Felix sit on my overstuffed couch. She sprinkles red pepper on a square of pizza and he offers me a slice.
“No malarkey about not being hungry. If your mom were here, she’d insist you eat. In her absence, I will fulfill that role. Get your pizza on,” Felix says.
I fall onto the sofa next to Violet and take another swallow of the dark cherry liquid. “Wine is good, but not a liquid dinner.” She swipes the stem from my hand and places it on my coffee table.
I eye her warily, still not ready to divulge what happened. Shame colors my thoughts. Don’t I value myself more than to be another fling to Blake Campbell?
Felix shoves a plate into my hands and I numbly chew, the cheese tasting like hot, melted plastic in my mouth. The three of us sit there silently. My gaze fixes on the glass-topped coffee table. Behind me, I can practically feel the heavy eye contact Violet and Felix share. They have that silent conversation thing down to an art. Kind of like Zoe and I used to. What was left of my appetite shrivels, and I drop the plate on the table with a clatter.
“Max and I want a small wedding.” Violet fills the emptiness of the living room with her words. “We were thinking just the family and maybe a rooftop in the summer. But nothing wild.”
I find my voice because the decision surprises me immensely. “You’re a party planner and you want a small, nondescript wedding?”
“Co-signed,” Felix chimes in.
Violet offers a sheepish shrug. “There’s no family on my side to attend a wedding. Dad won’t walk me down the aisle; Mom won’t be there to help with dress shopping. I don’t want all of that pomp and circumstance. At the end of all the hoopla, it’s about Max and me. I want to make the day about the man I love, not the reminders of a past that doesn’t care about my future.”
“Oh, V.” My worries fly out the window and I toss my arms around her slim shoulders, pulling her to me. “Your family may have unrealistic beliefs about who you should be, but the Baccinos don’t. Violet belongs in our clan. Always.”
“What about the big dude sitting to your left?” Felix as
ks incredulously. “I’m as much your family as you are mine. Last time I checked, you are the platonic yin to my yang. Forget those religious zealots. We love you without condition.”
Violet gives me a squeeze of her own and settles back into the couch, shooting a loving expression at us both. “I know, believe me, I know. And I’m thankful for you all, more than you’ll ever know. But, really, truly, this is what Max and I want. Each other in a quiet ceremony.”
“That’s what we’ll give you.” Sure, I would love to have the whole shebang for my closest cousin and my loving friend, but I leave the decision to her. There’s time for a massive party at my wedding. The thought sends me sour almost instantly. If I ever get married.
“Did wedding talk distract you long enough?” Violet asks.
I cram another square of pizza into my mouth, though it tastes like chalk in my dry mouth. “I slept with Blake tonight,” I say once I’ve stopped chewing. Unfortunately for me, Violet was in the middle of a sip of wine and droplets sail across the couch and ping me in the face when she spits out the liquid. Felix squawks and falls back against the couch in surprise. Both of them know that I’ve harbored a crush on him for years.
“What?” Violet shrieks incredulously. I toss a napkin at her and she cleans the dribble off her chin. I use my own hand to wipe the dots off my cheeks.
“Explain,” Felix demands.
Frowning, I cross my arms over my chest and think about how foolish I was. Meanwhile, Felix grabs me by the shoulders and shifts me into the arm of the couch. Now that we’ve switched places, I face both of them.
“I thought I was in love with him. The man could do no wrong in my eyes. Then tonight, he dashed all of my dreams in about two minutes.”
“Two minutes?” she scoffs. “Thought he could at least last for ten.” At that, a tiny giggle escapes my lips. One trickle turns into peals of laughter and soon I’m laughing hard enough for tears to build behind my eyes. Meanwhile, Violet and Felix watch me carefully.
