Everything was too much and not enough. The way the soft felt of the pool table rubbed against my ass and back, mirroring the friction of Mark’s skin on my belly. The smell of orange oil on dark wood. The dim light streaming in through the stained glass window. Mark’s stubble scratching my collarbone as he sucked at the skin on my neck.
I came so hard and fast it took my breath away and I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until my lungs started burning and I gasped air into them and moaned out his name.
I felt him come then, and he stayed inside me, cock twitching, eyes drinking in the lines of my face like he was trying to memorize them.
Maybe he had been.
I smile at Sloane, though I know the smile isn’t reaching my eyes. “Only a few months later he left and I made some poor choices for myself.” And even worse judgments about the wrong person, and it took me lower emotionally than I ever thought it was possible to go.
“And after that, I found Reiley Gunn—or rather, he found me—and I found a place at his club with some of the best people who have ever existed. Some became my mentors. Darko taught me the power of pleasure. Of giving it, prolonging it, denying it. Watch a man who’s been edged for hours and just denied completion for the fourth or eighteenth time.”
Sloane shivers. “Oh, yeah, I know all about that.”
I smile, sharing the Dom’s side of that scene. “No one’s ever stared at you so intently, so hungrily, so honestly. All he wants is one thing, and you’re his world right then because you can give him the only thing he needs with every cell in his body. Being able to grant that to someone is the closest you’ll ever come to knowing how it feels to be a god. When you finally let them come, for that moment, nothing else exists in their world. You’re erasing every bad thing they’ve ever encountered. You’re giving them the gift of obliteration through orgasm. They forget everything else. You forget everything else.”
“Are you trying to forget a lot of things, Tessa?”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Darko helped me work through a lot of things. Forgetting is only temporary at best as solutions go.”
Sure, it’s temporary. But it’s a hell of a way to burn the minutes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mark
I idly glance at my online contacts while checking my emails. There’s a name with a little green dot beside it, indicating my old commanding officer Dennis Christopher is online.
It’s been almost a year since we last spoke at his retirement party. He’s one of the best people I ever took orders from, but the party had a strange atmosphere. Too many familiar faces missing.
I click on his name, and type inside the pop-up chat window: ‘Hey, Sir, it’s me, Mark James.’
A ringing sound startles me, and I turn my speaker down and accept the voice chat Dennis has invited me to join. “Mark?”
“Hello, Sir. How are you?”
“Less of the Sir now. I’m not quite so formal these days.”
I somehow doubt that. His moustache could have been cut with a laser it was so neatly groomed. “Sorry, S...sorry. Saw your name and thought I’d say hello.”
“What have you been up to since I last saw you, son?”
My mind goes blank. Jesus, what have I been up to? Surviving. But telling him that makes me feel like I’d be letting him down. And talking to him has let the guilt creep back in, stronger than ever. “I’m working a job right now for some bigshot and his family.” Makes it sound like a cushy gig, but even if I tried to explain what it is, I don’t even know how to start. “What about you?” I change the subject. “How’s retirement treating you?”
He laughs. “I moved to Brazil.”
He was basically a walking ‘Move to New Orleans’ advertisement. I must have heard wrong. “What? You moved there?”
“Sure did. And married a leggy dance instructor.”
I laugh. “You did not. There’s no way someone pried you out of Louisiana for keeps.”
“I pried myself out. Needed a change of scenery and met this little lady when I came here. Made me want to put down some new roots.”
Wow. “I don’t know what to say. I think I’m in shock. What are you up to in Brazil?”
“Oh, I’ve been keeping busy, believe you me. Magdalena wouldn’t let me get away with having idle hands. Heading out in a few to a dance class.”
“You dance?” Who is this guy? It’s only been a year since I saw him.
“You bet your ass I dance. I’m taking a class. Magdalena teaches it. It’s called...hang on. Maggie, what are we doing? Zumba? Salsa?”
“Kizomba,” a heavily accented woman’s voice says in the background.
“Kizomba!” he exclaims. “It’s murder on the hips, but worth it. Good cardio and the scenery isn’t terrible as workouts go, is all I’m saying.”
I’m here feeling guilty and he’s been out dancing every night with a leggy dance instructor? I need what he’s got. “Sir, how are you able to...” How do I put this diplomatically?
“Move on like I didn’t see the worst humanity had to offer?”
I take a relieved breath at him naming exactly what I need to hear. “Yes.”
“It’s easy but it’s a constant effort. I have to remind myself all the time, I’m not going to lie and say it’s not continual, but the good things take work. You need to let things go. You need to remember that you’re still here and others aren’t, and you owe it to them and yourself to make every breath count. The shit we saw—and some of the things we did—can steal our lives away if we let them. But living in the past is a waste and the opposite of what we fought for. Find what makes you happy. Find someone who makes you happy. And with every breath you take, suck as much out of life as you can. It doesn’t owe us anything, Mark. The world doesn’t owe us, even though it will take everything from us all, in the end. It’s up to us to take in as much as we can and live as large as possible.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’ll get there. If you can’t find the thing that makes you happy, find the person who does and discover the thing together. Doing nothing is fucking glorious when you’re doing it with the right person.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe I’ve already found her. But even...even if I have, there’s no guarantee I won’t screw that up. She deserves better than me.”
“Whoa, there. Sounds like you’re trying to make someone else’s mind up for them. Bad move, never works especially when women are involved. Don’t get bogged down with who deserves what. Let yourself be happy, son. Punishing yourself out of guilt or whatever won’t bring people back. It does no one any good and ruins another life when you throw yours away feeling guilty for still being here. Let the sun in.”
“Thanks.” My voice is thick with emotion, but I don’t feel self-conscious with Dennis. He gets it.
We say goodbye, and he goes to his dance class while I sit on my couch and fold my hands behind my head, letting his words sink in. If only it could be as easy as letting ourselves be together. Nothing about us was conventional or standard. Not even our first kiss.
I’d been monitoring security cameras that night when Tessa, always pushing boundaries, crept in the room, closing the door behind her.
I stood when I saw it was her. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“You shouldn’t tell me where I can and can’t go in my own house.” She challenged me with her gaze and I looked away first, pretending to check out something on one of the monitors.
She took a step closer, and I turned back, unable to look at anything but her. She stopped in front of me and kissed the tip of her finger, then pressed that idea of a kiss to my lips. I didn’t stop her because it was the cutest fucking thing I’d ever seen, and her touch paralyzed me with the force of my restraint battling with the need for her.
Her eyes melted me in place. She made me feel protective, and that was all I should have felt, but I hadn’t realized she was interested in me—not like that. Not for real, mostly
because I spent too much time trying not to let my thoughts go down that path. Her kiss pressed to my lips filled up that empty place in my gut that I’d never been able to fill.
Her breath hitched when I kissed the fingertip still touching my lip.
So fucking responsive. What would she do if I ran my hands over her hips, and pulled her to me, spreading her legs with my thighs?
If anyone walked in...
I caressed her face, cupping her cheek with my hand, and she leaned into my touch like a cat, eyes slightly closing, lips parting. Her skin was silkier than I’d imagined. “You’re so fucking soft.” I trailed my thumb over her lips, pulling away as the tip of her tongue appeared.
She grinned. “Thank you. I hope to God you’re not.”
Funny how the things about Tessa that captivated me the most weren’t visible, weren’t her looks. Her intelligence, passion, and drive. Her fierceness and sharp wit. I wanted to kiss the smart mouth that drove me crazy. I dropped my hands and she let out a little whimper of disappointment that changed to a happy sigh when I smoothed her skirt on the way up, catching the hem, to graze her thighs, tracing the edges of her panties with the tips of my thumbs.
I wasn’t expecting her to bite my lip, hard, and draw back.
My cock was rock hard.
It shouldn’t have been.
I pulled her closer, grinding my hips into hers a couple times to see what sounds she’d make, how she’d react.
She moaned and smiled. Her hands were strong enough to hurt mine when she slid her hand down my shoulder and clasped my hand. I squeezed hers back. I should have stopped, should have pulled back, but I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, suddenly ravenous for her mouth.
I’d never been so affected by a kiss. Our tongues stroked each other’s, lips danced and claimed and gave and took, and soon it was like I’d never lived a life that hadn’t involved kissing this woman.
She reached down and slipped a hand inside my boxers. Always wanting to take a mile when given an inch. We were in the midst of our first kiss, and she had my cock in her hand, stroking me from balls to tip.
“Tessa,” I breathed in warning.
“Mark,” she replied, mocking me.
“Slow down.”
“Catch up,” she fired back.
“What’s your rush?”
Her lips parted and there was a knock at the door.
No, we weren’t caught that time. But we couldn’t keep our attraction a secret forever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tessa
I slide my key into the lock and close my door behind me as I kick my boots off, careful not to tip the piece of cake off the plate Sloane sent home with me. Darko’s baking is ridiculous. I wonder if we could open an Underground bakery—we’d certainly make a killing on sales. We’d call it, Darko’s Delicious...something starting with D for alliteration’s sake.
I snort. Darko’s Delicious D.
I’m sure Sloane would love that.
“You need better security.”
I yelp, spinning toward the voice coming from the dark as the plate shatters on the floor. “How the fuck did you get into my apartment?”
Mark flicks on the lamp next to the couch and focuses on the shattered mess of porcelain and cake at me feet. “Don’t move. Where’s your broom?”
I’d almost rather walk over broken glass to get away from him, but I seethe and point to the hallway closet. What an absolute asshole. In what world is this acceptable?
He carefully sweeps up every shard, smearing cake all over, but at least there’s a path for me to walk on without cutting my feet. I carefully pick my way to the living room, waiting for him to follow. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“We needed to talk.”
“Send an email!”
He leans the broom up against the wall and faces me. “Would you have answered it?”
“No! And that’s my right to ignore your ass! Do you have any idea how creepy this is?”
“It’s not like that. I just wanted to talk.”
“Maybe I don’t care about what you want, Mark. Ever think about that? This is such an invasion.” My heart pounds with outrage and anger that he thinks he can barge—no, that he thinks he can sneak in here like a thief in the night the same way he snuck out of my life years ago and I’d be happy to see him? “This is just you all over, isn’t it? Not bothering to come at me directly—or respect my non-answer. Well, you snuck in here, you can sneak right back out on your goddamn tippy-toes. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Please, I need to know you’re okay.”
“I was until you snuck in here like a creepy asshole. I had cake. You wrecked that too.” Asshole.
He shakes his head, eyes filling with sorrow. “I’m so sorry for everything, Tessa. I did this to you.”
“Did what?” What the hell is he talking about? “I was perfectly fine until you let yourself come in here without permission.”
“I saw...I...” He grabs his head and swallows hard. “I saw pictures of you cut...after you tried to...after you...I know what you did.”
Five words. Five syllables that echo through my mind, seeking memories of an action that could paint such horror and sorrow on his face. But I never did him wrong, so I’m left confused. “I haven’t done anything.”
He shakes his head. “Not now. Then.”
Oh.
He rushes over and grabs my wrists, flipping them over and tracing the silvery scars that are only barely visible now from certain angles.
I tear my hands away a second too late—my skin’s already betraying me by wanting his hands to slide up my arms and find other places on my body.
But he’s got no right. “Stop it. What I’ve done or didn’t do has nothing to do with you, and you have no right to,” my throat closes, but I swallow the emotions. “You have no right to demand information about my past as though you earned any right to be a part of it.”
“I am a part of it. I...I was a part of it. Don’t act like we never meant anything to each other. Don’t you fucking dare act like I don’t get to have feelings about this. I heard and my heart—”
“Broke? Shattered?” I poke a finger into his chest. “Get over yourself. It was years ago and I’m more than fine now. We were a tiny flash in each other’s lives, that’s it. A spark, not a flame.”
“The scars on your arms—”
“You want to talk to me about scars, Mark? You think my arms are anything compared to the ones you left inside me? The emotional ones you carved into me? Scars don’t heal! They just fade until other people can’t see them anymore, but you know they’re there because the skin feels different. They’re tougher than the rest of you, change who you are even when no one else can tell the difference.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Tessa. I wanted to call you, reach out—”
“But you didn’t. And hell, maybe you shouldn’t have. I mean, my god, you give yourself so much credit, but listen to the language we were. Breaking into each other’s rooms—each other’s lives—to steal moments to be together. Breaking, stealing, nothing but forbidden moments we had to snatch and hide from the world. That was no way to live.” I open the door and nod towards the hallway.
He stops beside me, reaching out to lay his hand on mine, and I jerk it from the doorknob. He sighs. “You stole my soul.”
“And in exchange, you broke my heart.”
“If it’s any consolation, I broke mine too.”
The soft click of the door has more impact on me than if he’d slammed it shut. My heart clenches and I want to run after him almost as much as I want him to turn around and run back to me, but that feels pathetic, so I open the door and slam it myself instead.
It doesn’t make me feel any better, but I’d rather be angry than cry one more goddamn tear over that man.
I lean against the door and slide down to the floor, hugging my knees.
After Mark left, I was devastated, hav
ing lost my man, but also my heart. For a while before that, I’d been dealing with things. Or rather, dealing badly with them.
Mark had been the one good thing in my life, but he wasn’t mine yet and I’d still wanted to escape. I still developed coping mechanisms for the way we had to live that weren’t healthy. For the first time, it was like someone saw through my bullshit and called me on it. He stopped me from harming via my rigid diet, but until one night when he came into my bathroom without knocking—I hadn’t been answering the intercom or my cell—he had no idea the other things I’d done.
I’d hidden the evidence from him for months.
His eyes widened and he stepped into the room. “Hurt me instead.”
“What?” I tried to hide the razor blade, but his strong fingers pried mine open and took it away.
“Hurting yourself won’t help.” His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion like he was trying not to rage in my face.
He had no idea what made me feel better. “It helps.” For a while...
“Momentarily.”
Get out of my head.
He kissed the scabs on my wrist. “Cutting again when the last round hasn’t even healed yet? Tell me again how it helps.” His lips on my skin dissolved my lies. “Please don’t do this anymore, Tessa.”
So easy for him to ask, so hard for me to agree to. “I don’t know what else to do.”
His blue eyes seared into me. “You call me. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, or the end of the world. You call for me or phone me if I’m gone and I will get here. I’ll be right here as soon as I can.”
“And what, sit with me until it passes? Because Sloane tried that. The feeling doesn’t go away just because someone’s sitting beside me holding my hand, taking the knife away. You can take away the blade, but I’ve still got my mind.” The deadliest weapon of all to hurt myself with. “You can’t make this better, Mark.” The soft words escaped on a sigh.
Take Me (The Submission Games Book 2) Page 8
