by Tracey Ward
It doesn’t sound like she’s enjoying it.
The toilet flushes. Water flows in the sink for a long time. She coughs gently once. Twice. I worry she’ll vomit again, but then the water shuts off and the door swings open slowly. She looks too little and pale to be real. Like a doll on a shelf that your grandma tells you not to touch.
She’s too delicate for you. You’ll only break her.
“I can’t believe I just christened your toilet for you,” she mutters, obviously embarrassed. And exhausted. She sways where she stands, her eyelids heavy.
“Don’t sweat it. If it wasn’t you, it was going to be me at some point on this trip.”
She tries to smile and fails. “I think our, um… our agreement is going to have to wait.”
“What agreement?” I ask just as realization hits me. “Oh, right. Yeah. Jesus, no. I’m not even thinking about that right now.”
“Really? Because that kiss—”
“Was before I knew how sick you are. I’m not a monster, Greer. I don’t want to have sex with you like this.”
“Right. Okay. Good.” She glances around the room vaguely. When she spots her bag, she gestures for it. “I’ll take it up to my room. I’m just on the next floor. I can make it.”
“You’re not going up there.”
“I’m not?”
I close in on her slowly. “Not tonight.”
She watches me carefully as I kneel down in front of her, taking her calf in my hand. I lift her leg so I can pull her shoe off with my other hand.
Her eyes tighten, turning worried. “We’re not having sex tonight,” she reminds me warily.
“I know we’re not.” I lift her other leg. Pull off her other shoe. When I stand, I’m taller than her by more than ever before. “Not a monster, remember?”
“I had suspicions.”
“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my rock star reputation.”
I take the hem of her sweatshirt and lift it over her head. Underneath she’s wearing nothing but a white camisole. No bra. It pushes at my restraint but I keep it firmly in check. I’m more concerned with the pain in her eyes than the cream of her skin. She’s hurting and I want to help her. More than I want anything else in the world right now.
“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” she whispers hesitantly.
I put my hand to the side of her sweet face, running my fingers into her hair behind her ear. I lean in to kiss the tip of her nose softly, watching as her eyes flutter closed, the crease in her brow disappearing.
“There’s nowhere else in the world you should be,” I promise her quietly.
I’m gentle as I lean down to lift her into my arms. She weighs next to nothing, and I could swing her onto the bed with no effort at all, but I take my time. I move her slowly, making sure I don’t jostle her already churning stomach. Her arms go around my neck and I can feel her eyes on my face as I walk her to the bed, but I don’t look down. I let her look at me, trying to figure me out, as I try to do the same.
The way I feel right now with her in my arms, it’s new for me. It’s not an old feeling I remember from before, one I lost along the way. It’s one I’ve never had. One I can’t name or describe other than to say it feels good. I feel solid right now, like I have a purpose. Like there’s a direction for me to go and I’m down to do it. I’m willing to walk this path even if I don’t see where it’s going.
I’m making a choice as I lay Greer down in my bed. I just don’t know what that choice is yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Greer
When I open my eyes in the morning, I have no idea where I am. My world makes no sense. It comes to me in parts. Things I see, not feel. That’s as deep as my understanding can go at the moment.
Stark white pillows. A cream comforter. The tanned, smooth skin of a man’s back. A mess of brown hair. The quiet light of dawn streaming in, casting shadows where I curl up and hide from the day. Where I furtively steal as many moments as I can to remember forever because in all this magnificent madness, there is one slice of sanity that cuts me again and again; this will not last. It can’t. But it’s beautiful while it’s here.
Last night Jace Ryker carried me to his bed. He pulled back the blankets, tucked me in, and brought me water. He brought me a bucket. He turned on a house renovation show and turned off all the lights. He went for ice and wrapped it in a towel that he put on my forehead. He brought me aspirin. He sat next to where I lay on the bed, his long legs stretched out next to my body, his heat against my back. His hand in my hair. We talked shit about the people rebuilding the house. He made me smile. I made him laugh. I fell asleep.
And now I’m waking up.
Now I have to remember where I am. Who I am and who he is. I have to remember to protect myself, because Jace Ryker is a dangerous man. Not on purpose, but after last night I see it more clearly than before. I feel more afraid of him than I ever have because he was sweeter than he’s ever been. More real, more attainable.
And still, as I lay here next to him, nothing but a whisper of morning light between us, I feel farther from him than ever before.
“Morning, sunshine,” he mumbles groggily, his back still to me.
I tense. “How did you know I was awake?”
“Your breathing changed.”
“You heard me breathing?”
“I’m a light sleeper.” He rolls over slowly, stretching his long arms up over his head. His hair is a mess in his eyes and on the pillow. I have to remind myself not to smooth it back so I can see his face. So I can touch him. “A flea could sneeze and I’d wake up.”
“That sucks.”
“It has its benefits.” Jace slides in close to me. His hand goes to my shoulder, pulling me in until our foreheads are almost touching. Until his eyes are all I can see. “It helps me catch skittish girls thinking about sneaking out while I’m still asleep.”
I smile reflexively. “I wasn’t thinking about sneaking out,” I lie.
He runs his hand down my back, tripping his fingers and up and down in a soothing, mesmerizing pattern. “You’re ready to run.”
“I’m not running.”
“You’re always running.”
My heart trips in my chest. I blink hard, telling myself to retreat. To save myself. “I should go brush my teeth. Dog shit, remember?”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He lifts his head above mine, tucking me into the crook under his neck. “You’re a flight risk.”
“Am I, officer?” I laugh.
“I like this whole cop/convict thing we’re building. I’m looking forward to the frisking.”
“You frisked me pretty thoroughly at the studio.”
“You’re in my hotel room. I’m vulnerable. I should give you a full cavity search, for my own safety.”
“You’re twice my size. I think you’re safe from me.”
He kisses the top of my head gently. “Size doesn’t have anything to do with the way you’re dangerous.”
I breathe deeply, fighting for air. For clarity. It’s hard to find curled up inside his body this way. He has me cocooned, warm and safe against the beat of his heart. The rumble of his voice inside his throat.
“You were really sweet about the sickness thing,” I whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I have my moments.”
“It was a good one. You knew exactly what to do.”
He pauses, his breathing taking a break for a second. When it picks up again, it’s deep and slow but his heart is hammering against my cheek.
“My mom was really sick for a long time,” he explains quietly. “The chemo fucked her up. My dad and I got good at taking care of her. Ice chips, cold rags, dark rooms, dry toast. But the thing she needed the most was company. When you feel like you’re dying…” He swallows hard, clearing his throat, “When you’re feeling the worst, you don’t want to be alone. That’s why I didn’t want you to go. I didn’t want you to be alone like that.”
/> My eyes sting with tears I refuse to shed. It feels wrong, like it’s not my place. Not my sorrow. I remember reading about his mom as she fought cancer. I remember seeing the final article when she lost that fight. And that’s when the world started to lose Jace Ryker too. He was suddenly drinking, doing drugs, partying all night. His newest album was pushed back. Then pushed back again. And again. He went into a holding pattern, one that only broke recently when he hit rock bottom and his girlfriend violated him in front of everyone. And still, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about much of anything except the memory of his mom. And, as he made brilliantly clear last night, about me.
I don’t know how to process that. I have no idea how to handle the idea that I as a person mean something to him. He’s so much; so deeply, inherently somebody, and I’m just not. I’m nobody. I never have been.
But I’ve never felt more like I could be than I do right now, lying in his arms with his body calm against mine, a placid peace between us that speaks silent volumes of intimacy and trust. Of something painfully similar to love.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His hot breath tickles my hair. “You’re welcome.”
We lay like that for a long time. So long I wonder if he’s fallen asleep again, but then his hand is moving on my arm. Up and down lazily. His fingertips run from my shoulder to my wrist, then back up again. They drift along the back of my neck, into my hair where it tickles through my blood. The hair on my arms stands up. My nipples peak. I feel a shiver run through me, from my head to my toes, and I burrow deeper into him. He moans happily, his hand finding the small of my back. The top of my ass. I press my lips to his neck, kissing it warmly. Wetly.
He tenses, his hands on my body tightening. Becoming more possessive than playful. I kiss him again, licking lightly at his skin that tastes like salt and smells like soap. Like cologne and man. His grip on my ass tightens as my lips and my tongue explore higher, drifting to his jaw. To his ear. His breathing changes. It’s shallow and quick. Eager as I lick a line around his lobe. Stopping altogether when I slide my tongue inside.
He grunts as he grabs my face, bringing it roughly to his.
He kisses me deeply. His hand on my back presses me against him. He’s hard, his mouth moving over mine with patient determination. My hands are on his shoulders, in his hair, my leg wrapping around his hip to line him up exactly where I need him. Where I want him so badly.
I whimper when his lips leave mine, his head rising up off the pillow to look over me. He curses when he sees the clock.
“I have to get going,” he complains. “I have to leave for breakfast with the Mayor in fifteen minutes. Grant will be knocking on my door in five to make sure I’m ready.”
“Five minutes? You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
I smile at him, my stomach turning excitedly. I push back against his shoulders, swinging my leg over him until I’m straddling him.
He looks up at me in surprise. “Greer, five minutes isn’t long enough. I’m taking my time with you.”
“We’re not having sex.”
He frowns. “You always say that. That and ‘holy shit’ are your favorite things to say to me.”
“You wanna hear something new?”
He grins as he smooths his palms up my thighs. “What have you got?”
I shuffle backwards until I’m sitting on his thighs. He’s wearing athletic shorts. They’re cold and slick under my body, like satin. They’re easy to tug down. To expose him to me privately the way he was exposed to the world. I feel nervous doing it. Like I’m making him relive something horrible.
But I’m more concerned about ‘the incident’ than he is. He doesn’t look worried staring at me hovering over him. He looks excited. And just a little unsure.
“Greer?” he asks cautiously. “Don’t start something we can’t finish.”
“I can do a lot with five minutes, Jace,” I promise him sweetly. I gently wrap my hand around him. We gasp together; him from the pressure, me from the impossibly hard, hot feel of him.
His eyes are hooded as he looks up at me, whispering, “Fuck.”
I smile as I lower myself over him. I let my hair fall around my face, tickling his stomach as I lick a line along his tip. I watch his stomach tense, the ridges of his six pack cut into his skin. I watch his control slip as I take him in completely, my tongue swirling around his head. His body jerking, his breath hiccupping. I feel my own control kick in when he moans. When he curses breathlessly, his back arcing up off the bed.
I’m in charge now. I make the calls. I choose when this stops, when he comes, when he goes. I have the power now, and it feels like lightning in my veins.
“Goddamn, Greer,” he groans. His hand touches the back of my head, caressing my hair. Tangling his fingers in it until he’s pulling.
I suck hard, taking him in all the way, farther than I thought I’d be able to. Surprising us both. I go back and forth between gentle strokes and rapid pumps, licking softly and sucking hard. He calms and then rises, cursing me and pleading with me as our time slips quickly by. I give him one last gentle kiss on his head before I suck his tip hard, working him aggressively.
“Fucking shit!” Jace cries.
His hand pulls hard at my hair, hurting me, but I don’t complain. I keep at him, sending him far over the edge until his big body is quaking under me. His stomach flutters with his gasping breaths, his body rigid as a board.
“I’m gonna come,” he warns me desperately. He pulls at my hair with purpose, trying to push my mouth off of him. “I’m too close, baby. I’m gonna come.”
I nod my head but I don’t leave him. I let him lose himself inside me. I let him hold onto me hard as he falls apart, shards of himself exploding in my mouth, trickling down the back of my throat. He doesn’t have words at that point. His voice is rough, strained, and it’s so perfect I wish I could record it because I did that. I wrecked him. Teeny, tiny, me broke Jace Ryker down to a shivering, quivering nothing. This superstar, this man who burns brighter than the sun, is totally under my control.
He releases my hair, bringing his hands to his face. He laughs roughly when he sees them. “I’m fucking shaking. I can’t remember the last time—” He stops himself, shaking his head and exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, baby. My whole body is numb.”
I smile down at him as he stares up at me with rummy eyes and a lopsided grin, his body completely out of his control.
And I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.
***
When Grant comes to check on Jace, I hide in the bathroom.
My idea, not Jace’s.
Ten minutes later and I’m in the lobby with him heading to breakfast with the friggin’ Mayor.
Jace’s idea, not mine.
Whatever part of him felt like he needed to hide us in any way, apparently didn’t make it to Washington. Or it disappeared after he took care of me last night. Or with the blowjob this morning. In the lobby, Grant gives me a strange look that I can’t read, but then he opens the door for me, ushering me to the waiting car with a warm hand on my back.
I sit in the silent car next to Jace, Grant and the driver in the front seats. The little town slips by us in patches of warehouses, compact homes, and old fashioned storefronts. It looks like something out of a movie. Like we’re driving through the set of Mayberry. I imagine each house filled with families where the dad goes to work at the mill every morning and the mom stays home taking care of the kids. Two of them. A boy and a girl. They have a cat who prowls the neighborhood every day and curls up next to the dog in front of the fire every night. The entire house eats meals together. They take care of each other. They love each other.
I know it’s a ridiculous fantasy. More than likely, half these houses are filled with broken families. Divorce, death, and my personal favorite, abandonment. But I want to believe in something better, so I do.
My phone beeps in my pocket. I have a message, and I immediately
know who it’s from.
Are you dead? Cam demands.
I smile, typing quickly. I’m alive. I’m with Jace. We’re going to breakfast with the mayor.
WTF?
I know. Any tips?
Waffles?
Not about what to eat. About meeting a mayor.
Why would I know shit about meeting a mayor?
I don’t know! Your family is rich. I assumed you met one. Or ten.
You assumed wrong. Never happened. I’ve met a President, but not until he was out of office.
Which one?
The oval one.
Asshole. Which President?
What do you care? You didn’t vote for the guy.
I glare at my phone. You suck.
I do.
Tips!
Don’t fart at the breakfast table. Keep spinach out of your teeth.
Worthless.
Don’t try to talk politics with him. You don’t know shit about it. You’ll just get flustered. Talk to him like a real person because he is. He’s the mayor of Emerson. He’s not Gandhi. Meeting Jace is probably the most excitement he’s seen since judging the pigs at the county fair.
“Why pigs?” I whisper at my phone.
Jace smirks at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I darken my phone, storing it in my pocket. My jeans feel too tight. Am I dressed right for this? I should have worn a skirt. I should have bought a skirt. I should figure out how the hell to be a girl.
“Cam?” Jace guesses.
“Yeah. He was wondering—” I stop myself short, realizing I can’t say he didn’t know where I was last night. Not in front of Grant. “Um, if the Mayor of Emerson judges pigs at the county fair.”
“That’s a weird question.”
“Cam’s a weird guy.”
“The Mayor is a huge fan of theater,” Grant tells me amiably. “He bragged to me that he’s seen Wicked eight times. He’ll ask you if you’ve seen it. Probably if you’ve been in it.”
