She lay looking up at the net canopy above the bed. She couldn’t hear a sound in the apartment, but the rebound of her own fury sent her in search of Reid. She didn’t have to go far. He was stretched out on the sofa, an arm slung over his eyes. He wore the tee and boxer briefs he’d come to bed in.
And he wasn’t asleep.
He lifted his arm away when she stood over him. Dark smudges under his eyes. Had he slept at all? Why did she care?
“Tell me what to do, Zarley.” He sat and swung his feet to the floor. “Whatever you want from me.”
Like contrite was enough to cut it. Like his husky, hurting tone was supposed to fix things. If he’d understood the game he’d have organized breakfast, flowers, a freaking choir. But this was Reid who didn’t understand the playoffs in a relationship. This was Reid whose reactions were raw and untempered, who didn’t see the point in lying.
She stood in front of him, arms folded, trying not to give a fuck that he looked terrible. “What was with you last night?”
He looked up and locked on. “I lay awake for hours thinking about it. I don’t want to lose you, but I need to get a handle on how I feel about you, it’s not healthy.”
“That’s it then, you want to break up?” Oh, that made her heart pulse in her ears.
Both hands to his hair, already a tousled, spiked up mess. “Oh shit, no. No. I thought you did.”
Hell, no. She wasn’t finished with this man. She’d have been long gone from the apartment if she had.
“Last night,” he shifted, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “When you came inside, I waited on the street. Our neighbor,” his eyes went up to the window, “was out there smoking a cigar. The woman was his wife and they’ve been married years. He said he’d die for her.” Reid’s eyes found hers again. “That’s how I feel about you.”
How do you finish with a man who says something like that and hands you all the power?
“If you told me you wanted me to drown in the Seine I would. Leap off the Eiffel Tower, I’m there. But I get that’s not a smart way to feel and it’s more likely you’ll tell me to piss off, and the way I die is slowly in wretched pieces from being without you.”
She could make a crack about being arrested before he tried to leap of the Eiffel Tower but she had no breath to do that with.
“He said they hate each other and they love each other and it was the same thing.” Reid closed his eyes, visibly affected. “I can figure the most complicated algorithms but I’ve spent all night trying to understand that. For a while last night I hated you, even while I panicked about losing you.” Those blue-gray, orange-flecked eyes locked onto hers again. “I almost lost my best friends because I didn’t understand that you can love and hate at the same time. I don’t want to break up, but I think you do.”
“I said I’d teach you all the different ways to have sex. We’re not done yet.”
“You and me, we can’t be just about the sex.”
“Love and hate, sex and life. I never said one was without the other. What do you think we’ve been doing? Every time you pour yourself over me you show me your love.”
At that he sagged, his body going slack.
She climbed over his lap. “You fucked up.”
He brought his hands to her hips. “I’ll do it again, you know it.”
“You’ll learn not to. I’m still angry with you.” She leaned forward and caught his bottom lip in her teeth, clamped and pulled until he sensed danger and his eyes widened and his hands gripped. Then she soothed where she’d bitten with quick licks, while she dug her fingers into his shoulders. The kisses she gave him were interspersed with nips and a too hard hold on his hair. She wanted to shake him, make him see that hurt and care, love and pain went together. He took whatever she gave him without a sound, without a protest, accepting it as punishment.
It was forgiveness, the only way she could express it.
Hands to the neck of his old Plus shirt, she yanked to bring his mouth to hers and heard it tear, felt the shoulder seam give. It made him let go her lips and grunt in disbelief. She’d never been rough with him, he was unsure how to take it.
She pulled on the fabric and it ripped further, both of them watched as it exposed his chest, the wings and flowers, the heartbeat of his plus sign with the curling script. It’s your road and yours alone, others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.
She’d walk it with him.
“You’re confusing me.”
She chased his mouth, spoke against his lips. “This is angry sex.” She tipped forward, getting her lips to his neck and sucking hard enough to leave a mark, using her teeth, making him jerk. “It’s a thing people do when they’re in love.” She twisted her fists in his shirt and leaned back as she pulled, knowing he had hold of her and she wouldn’t fall. The over-washed cotton disintegrated and the shirt tore all the way to the hem with a satisfying screech.
She sat back on his thighs and watched him take in the wreckage. He was catching on, erect now where he hadn’t been moments before.
“Do you love me?” A nasty tease of a question. She’d just ruined his favorite vintage Better Together Plus shirt.
“Yes.” The word punched out of him. He breathed erratically, his hands hovering, squeezing, letting go, skimming over her hips, not knowing how to handle her.
“Do you want me?”
He cursed. All caught up now, dragging her body hard against him with a grunt, anchoring her at the base of her spine and the nape of her neck. “Forever.”
There were violent lip crushing, teeth crashing, tongue biting, moan sharing kisses, bruising fingertips and pinched skin. There were shocked gasps and knocked heads, and in the middle of it, Reid took her face in his hands and laughed.
She rolled her hips and his eyes closed. “You like this.”
He stood abruptly and dropped her to her feet, yanked her shirt over her head, got rid of the tattered remains of his shirt and their underwear. “I get it.” Looping his arm around her neck, he ravaged her mouth. “I love you. I’m never going to be enough for you. I trust you.”
She climbed his body and he took her down to the floor, laying out on his back beneath her. Braced with palms to his shoulders on straightened arms, and the tips of her toes on outstretched legs, she balanced above him. Hands to her ass, he tried to pull her down on top of him but she resisted. He could force it, if she toyed with him too long he would.
This tension: his size, her strength, what they wanted from each other, what each of them was willing to give; this is where she ached to live, because if she had this chance with him, trying and failing and being uncertain were nothing to fear.
She arched her back and dipped her body, rolling her pussy and belly over his erection. He tried to chase her with his hips, groaning in frustration. “Keep doing that and—”
She did it again. She could almost take him inside this way. She wasn’t angry with him anymore. She trembled, but not from the strain of holding her position, from the way he caressed her, as much with his eyes, bright and intense, as his hands; from the way he waited, when he didn’t want to, for her to make the next move.
On another skating pass she bent her knees to the floor and they connected. She took him inside in halting increments, holding off that moment when they’d crash together, teaching him angry would never last if they could have this unwinding, unwrapping, full sensory stripping of everything but their most essential selves.
Reid shook beneath her, drawing her knees higher against his sides, his breathing short and hard, his head thrown back. Without warning he hauled her tight to his chest and flipped them. On his knees and one hand, keeping them joined, he held her body suspended off the ground while he eased out and thrust back in. Though she clung, she could’ve slid from his grasp, though she cried out, he knew what she wanted, more and more and more again, until everything inside her curled tight, primed and blasting wide, when she felt him shudder through his release. Only then did
he lay her down, snatching the pillow he’d used to the floor for their shoulders and heads, laying his body by her side, kissing her through the comedown, till his eyes closed and he slipped toward sleep.
That’s when she really played mean.
“No, you don’t.” She shoved at him. He’d imprisoned her with a heavy leg. “We have sights to see.” A new day to start to learn each other again.
He grunted and swiped at her with a lazy paw, trying to get her to stop wriggling about. “I’m trashed, Flygirl. Gotta give me five.”
“I’m starving, if you don’t let me up, our naked skeletal remains could be found by the next tenants.”
He laughed but draped his arm over her. “Five minutes.”
Could poke him. He was vulnerable around the ribcage. Could mess with his eyebrows, rub the fur the wrong way, or shout-whisper in his ear or, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him and his eyes snapped open—or that.
“Hi there,” she quipped.
“You want round two?”
“I’d like to get off the hard floor.”
“Anything else?”
That’s when it hit her. She’d never loved a man enough to hate him so much. With Dalton, it never turned to hate because life got hateful around them. They’d held each up until even that was destructive. With every man between Dalton and Reid, she never waited around long enough to feel anything worth fighting for.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
She burrowed into Reid’s arms, clutching him, tucking her face into his neck. “I’m going to need you to keep needing me.”
He rolled her, bringing her body over his. “I need you more ways than I can count. Thought that would make me weak. Makes me see how closed off I was, what a narrow life I lived before you. Don’t want you to leave me when we go home. Move in with me, Flygirl?”
Her first thought was yes. Yes, that’s what she wanted. Her second was Cara.
“Cara can take over the spare room. I don’t mind. Not like I’m starved for space. She can park her sewing machine beside my desk. Would that work for you?”
It would work if Cara wanted it to, but it worked on Zarley’s softened emotions like a scalpel, carving Reid’s initials on her heart. She nodded into his neck, fingers caressing his hairline.
“Is that a yes, you’ll move in?”
It was a yes kissed to his jaw, a yes kissed to his cheekbone, a yes to the middle of his forehead and an absolutely, yes, yes, yes, kissed wet to his mouth.
There was a quite a bit more fooling around before they got off the floor, showered, ate, dressed, talked over her performance last night and got moving. They walked along the Seine, content to hold hands and peer into the little stalls selling books and postcards and tourist tack. Lunchtime saw them at the Eiffel Tower.
She made him promise not to jump. He made them take the elevator instead of the stairs to the top deck, pleading lack of sleep and hunger, and hunted out a corner of relative privacy where he could kiss her till her head spun.
After that it was food and window shopping and being grateful they’d come through the awfulness of last night.
Early evening footsore, they staggered into a bistro for dinner. They drank white wine, ate beef, and Zarley ate clafouti for dessert. Everything about being in Paris made her hungry, but if they stayed too long it was possible she’d put on weight for the first time in her life.
“Would you still love me if I was fat?”
“The question is do I love you after you destroyed my shirt?” He studied her as if considering new information. “There were only four of those in the world. Dev sacrificed his to a small kitchen fire. Sarina refused to wear hers because we only had one size made and it was basically a dress on her.” He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Her brother mows the lawn in it. Owen has the last remaining original Plus Better Together t-shirt in captivity.”
“Did you just invalidate my question by asking me another one?”
“Why, yes, I believe you caught me out there.” He held his wine glass up to her and she clinked it. He took a sip. “Hard to imagine you fat.”
She kicked him under the table. “That’s not an answer.”
“Yeah, it is. I don’t think of you as skinny. You’re my Flygirl. You’d be my Flygirl if you had one leg, a patch over your eye and scissors for hands.”
“How come you can imagine me with a peg leg but not fat?”
“Give me a minute.” He rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes.
A grin tickled the corners of his mouth until it was all teeth. “Yeah, I got it. Soft round belly on you.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Tits heavy in my hands, ass I can pump, hips and thighs I can get a good hold on.” It was dimly lit in here but he still saw her blush. His grin got bigger. “Yeah, Flygirl, I’d still love you if you were fat.”
She stared at him, as he signaled the waiter for their check, as he stood and reached for her hand. “But try not to go bald before I do.”
She laughed, he had such thick hair it was hard to imagine him bald. She ignored his waiting hand, but felt it tap her ass as she skipped past him. “And no destroying any more of my favorite clothes.” On the pavement outside the bistro, he caught her around the waist and growled in her ear, “Unless you want to.”
They strolled back to the apartment, stopping frequently so she could make herself fat on Reid’s kisses, tug on his hair and imagine him bald. Halfway home he pulled her into one of those gated parks and down on a shadowy bench where they gorged themselves on each other as if they hadn’t spent the morning doing exactly that. But this was slow and easy with muffled laughter and half-started conversations that were dumped for a maddening caress, or the teasing of one of those spots in her neck that spider web connected to other places where pleasure bloomed.
Zarley wore a dress, and this was almost a landmark and they hadn’t done landmark sex, but heck the whole city was a landmark. She shifted from sitting sidesaddle on Reid’s lap to straddling him. It’s not like he stopped her. City of Love and all that. Whole bridges buried by love locks that were going to disappear into the Seine devoted to the concept. Who was going to care about one overexcited foreigner and her not doing a thing to be more sensible beau?
“If I get arrested,” she said, hand on his belt buckle.
“I’ll bail you out.”
The buckle unbuckled; the zipper unzipped. Reid’s mouth was the air she needed to breathe.
“Like this dress,” he said, hands under it, lips to her neck. She twitched when he got a finger inside her panties, curled it around the fabric and dragged the triangle aside. “Feel you, so wet.”
“Feel you, so hard.”
“Your fault. Lasted a long time without fighting a permanent hard-on, till you.”
She would’ve laughed but he chose that moment to hitch her closer, so she got that hardness almost, almost where she wanted it. She groaned and he cut it off with a kiss. She put her knees to the bench so she had leverage and eased herself down on him. His turn to vocalize, he tried to bury it in her throat, but no one who came past would be under any illusion what they were doing.
He rocked her slow, flexing his hips to push into her, hands on her ass to make it deep. She folded forward, her arms around his neck, biting on his earlobe. He hissed, stopped moving, muscles going rigid and his hand coming up to hold her face to his shoulder, in a protective way.
“We have company.”
“Oh my God.”
“Keep walking, pal.”
She held still, waited for shame, fear, any emotion other than what she did feel to flood her system. They didn’t come. Thrill beat a tempo in her blood faster than her pulse. This was like the window except more. She turned her face and saw the other man. Jeans and t-shirt, hair falling to his shoulders, a piercing in his brow and an intricate tattoo making a sleeve to his wrist. He was young and handsome, maybe a student like her.
“Keep walking,” Reid repeated.
“Sh
e’s beautiful.”
He wasn’t French.
“Fuck off.”
“I don’t mean any harm. Please, I want to watch. My name is Ancel, I’m French Canadian, I’m studying here.”
“Fuck—”
Zarley brought Reid’s face to hers, she was panting, trembling, wanted to move on him so badly.
“You want him to watch?”
“Yes. Ah-hah.” She almost came from saying it; from the shock of wanting it.
“You’re sure?”
She pressed her forearms to Reid’s chest and moved on him.
“God, Flygirl.” He met her glide with a thrust.
She set a ragged rhythm with Reid’s hands to support her. She looked for Ancel.
“Thank you,” he said. His eyes were all over her.
She shouldn’t like it, but it was night and Paris and Ancel’s eyes and Reid’s voice in her ear saying he loved her, asking if she wanted more.
“More.”
“Do you want him to touch you?”
“No. No.” The right thing to say; the wrong thing to feel. “Yes.”
Reid gave the instructions. Ancel stood behind Zarley. His hand went to her shoulder, trailing down her arm, then brushing hair from her face, cradling her skull. He wasn’t to kiss her. But he could smooth his hand down her dress over her right breast, while Reid did the same to her left. He could circle a finger around her nipple and when she pressed into his hand, he could squeeze.
“You with me, Flygirl?”
“Ye-es.”
They played a mirror reverse game of follow the leader on her body. Where Reid touched her on one side from in front, Ancel’s hand would follow on the other from behind. Reid watched her face and had her mouth, but his words were for Ancel.
“Easy.” Oh, easy was standing on the edge of a great chasm.
“Slower.” Slower was destruction.
“Harder.” The pleasure was frighteningly intense. It made her senses rattle.
“Put your hand under the dress, play with her nipple.”
Ancel’s hand, hot and smaller than Reid’s, slipped over her breast. Reid pulled the other side of the dress down till her nipple was bare and tongued it. Her bones turned to mush. Her head dropped back against Ancel’s stomach. He touched her cheek gently, “Magnifique,” then his hair brushed her face as he leaned over her and took her nipple in his mouth.
Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) Page 29
