Giving It Up

by Amber Lin

  Besides, violence had already been discussed once tonight. I didn’t want Jacob hurt, though I wouldn’t let myself think too hard on that. And I certainly didn’t want Colin picking a fight, possibly injuring himself, possibly in trouble with the law. Hurting himself in the process because he thought he needed to fight to keep the people he cared about near him.

  “No,” I said.

  And then stronger, turning to look at Colin. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

  The lie was a small stab to my stomach, which was good. I deserved no less for deceiving Colin, even if it was for his own good. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie, if I thought of all my date nights. Asking for sex, for pain, in a sick bid for control, but that was an illusion. I’d never had control, and this farce of a consultation only underscored it. Those men hadn’t hurt me, Jacob hadn’t hurt me, not nearly so much as I’d hurt myself.

  * * * *

  Colin’s house was quiet. After I shut the door behind a groggy Shelly, Colin reached back behind my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. He backed me up right there, the cool wall against my shoulders a contrast from his hot hands gripping my hips and his tongue invading my mouth.

  My mind reeled from the earlier conversation. Like the flashing pictures in a slot machine, my emotions ran from guilt to fear to anger. And then frustration with myself. I was getting what I wanted; I should be happy. He pressed his mouth down the side of my neck. Should be happy.

  “God,” he muttered. “This dress.”

  Pride sparked in me, a welcomed respite. His arousal was thick, insistent. I struggled to catch up as we all but mated in the hallway, minus the intercourse.

  Colin’s hand parted my legs and stroked me.

  I shut my eyes tight as if I could lock out my thoughts and just feel. His fingers were thick at my entrance, the calluses providing a delicious friction. His body loomed large around me, shielding me from the outside world. His lips on mine were hot and hungry.

  I slickened below, just a bit. Thank God. I could do this.

  I wasn’t quite ready. Not physically. I was barely wet; nothing close to what Colin could bring me to, drenched and supple. Not mentally. My mind was still running replays from earlier. I wasn’t in the mood right now, and my body had only begun to recognize what Colin wanted.

  Colin shook with his arousal. He intimidated me with it, looking angry and intense, though I knew by now that was eagerness. I tugged him up the stairs, past the room where Bailey slept, and into his bedroom—our bedroom—and shut the door. I slipped off my panties and kicked them aside, then bent over the bed and looked back. He understood. With quick, jerky movements, he lifted my skirt and entered me.

  I gasped as his cock stretched me. He paused. I wanted to do this for him. I needed to. I tilted my hips back to allow him deeper access, accepting the sharp pain without further sound.

  He pulled out, almost completely, and then rammed back in. My teeth gritted together and my fingers whitened on the bedspread, but I would take it. He grabbed my shoulders and set up a rhythm of deep, punishing thrusts. He seemed lost in his pleasure, unable to notice my confusion, which I was grateful for. The air was too thick to breathe. My thoughts too murky to pierce. I didn’t think I could talk—or orgasm, for that matter—if he had wanted something more than my compliance.

  Colin flipped me over. I spread my legs wide, and he entered me again with deep, rooting thrusts. He slammed into me, pushing me up the bed. His wrists were beside my shoulders, and I reached up to grasp them, to anchor myself.

  The pillow smashed between my head and the headboard. It was just a pillow. A soft pressure, especially considering the force of Colin’s thrusts. But it triggered something in me, something hard.

  Cold washed over my body. My skin prickled into goose bumps. My nipples were oversensitive, abraded against his chest. My cunt felt sore, like pulverized meat. My clit felt smashed under the thrusts of his pubic bone.

  I made no move to stop the sex. This was just a way for my body to service his. My discomfort was small and well earned.

  He noticed, though, and reached down to touch my clit. I jumped. “No. Don’t,” slipped out.

  His hand stilled, and he slowed his hips to a gentle rocking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just keep going.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just…just finish.”

  Damned if the man wasn’t as contrary as I was. He froze, still inside.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “It’s nothing.” As if we could have an actual conversation while his stiff cock was still lodged deep inside me. “Just do it.” I put a challenge in my voice and my eyes. “Fuck me.”

  I knew he wanted to by the way his hips rocked forward as if testing the waters. Coming up dry, he pulled out and sprawled across the bed, catching his breath.

  I felt hot and cold at the same time. And raw. As if the physical barricades had been burned away, leaving me exposed. Helpless. All I could think about was ending this night so we could get back to normal—at least our version of normalcy.

  The room was silent except for our breathing, and I had the inappropriate urge to giggle. I managed to restrain myself. All I needed was another bout of hysteria for him to peg me as crazy, not that he’d be wrong.

  Colin broke the silence. “Was I too rough?”

  “No.” And before he could ask anything else, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  For the second time in our relationship, I retreated to the bathroom after sex. I slammed the door to let him know he wasn’t invited this time. To ask him to follow me again.

  From on top of the toilet seat, I watched the doorknob. My ears perked for footsteps or the turn of the knob, but none came.

  I should be grateful that he’d listened to me. After feeling invisible at Philip’s, after raging for control over my body for years, the fact that he’d granted my request should be bliss.

  For the first time since I’d met him, I felt truly alone.

  Chapter Eight

  “Do you want pancakes?” I asked Colin, imploring him with my eyes. Let’s be normal. Just pretend.

  His eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

  Thank you.

  I couldn’t talk about what had happened last night, not when it was so fresh. More than that, I wasn’t even sure what had happened.

  I’d gone cold during sex before. In fact, I’d been cold during every sexual encounter I’d ever had, except with Colin. Never with Colin, until last night.

  I piled three pancakes, the top one fresh off the skillet, onto a plate and carried it into the dining room. Colin sat, not at the head of the table, but near the foot, next to Bailey. Right in the syrup splash zone.

  “Waka!” said Bailey. She was coated in syrup and pancake crumbs, from the tips of her sticky hair to her grubby, outstretched fingers.

  “Good morning,” Colin replied to her, with the same gravity with which he’d accepted my offer of pancakes and peace. Satisfied, Bailey returned to sculpting her soggy pile of pancake. I set the plate down in front of Colin.

  “Coffee?” I offered.

  “Please,” he answered.

  I returned to the kitchen, which I already knew like my own, and brewed the coffee. More baby talk trilled from the dining room, but I figured I’d best let them get on without me. I would try my hardest to keep Bailey in line, but if Colin was truly averse to the mess or the noise of a child, then this wasn’t going to work.

  A string of warbled sounds. Low tones. The bang of tiny fists on the high chair tray punctuated with a shriek.

  I rushed into the dining room, prepared for the worst. Bailey fussing or throwing a tantrum. Colin angry and splashed with syrup.

  What I found was Colin sliding a handful of pancake squares onto Bailey’s tray. A slice of the pancakes from his plate was missing, now replaced with Bailey’s pancake lump.

  He turned to look at me, all seriousness. “She wanted to
trade.”

  Bailey giggled.

  How in the hell he’d understood that from her garbled syllables, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Bailey was happy. Colin seemed happy enough. And, dammit, if I could just figure out the trick, surely I could be happy too.

  After breakfast Colin headed out to run some “errands.” His restaurant had a general manager, but Colin still checked in, preferably around peak mealtimes. He also spent a fair amount of time at home with me and Bailey, but the rest of his time was unaccounted for. He went out, and I wouldn’t be the nagging woman to demand to know where he was going and when he’d return.

  We both knew that at least some of his time was spent working for his brother, but we didn’t talk about it. Avoidance may not be a psychotherapist-certified coping technique, but it worked for me. I wasn’t trying to get fancy. This wasn’t about true love. I didn’t need Colin to complete me. I just wanted some security, and he was it.

  An hour later Bailey and I were rescuing the doll princess from the foam block castle. The doorbell rang. I’d told Shelly to just come around back. I stood and opened the door, but it wasn’t her.

  Two men stood on the porch, dressed in identical brown suits. Cops. I knew this from years of avoiding them, not because I was a consummate lawbreaker, but because it was a well-known fact, in my neighborhood, at least, that cops only brought trouble. They’d brought a whole lot of nothing back when I’d needed them, but I suspected this was trouble.

  I tightened my fingers on the door and hugged it close to my body.

  “Allison Winters?” His face had the look of an overweight person, though he wasn’t really, and it was mottled red. It took me a second to place it—the look of an alcoholic. “We’re with the Chicago Police Department. I’m Detective Shaw, and this is Detective Cameron. We’d like to have a word with you.”

  How the hell did they know who I was? Or where to find me? “What is this about?”

  “It’ll be best if we come inside.”

  I glanced back at Bailey on the floor. I hated the thought of these men, with their weapons and condescension, being around her. My long-practiced avoidance demanded I slam the door on whatever bad news they brought, but it seemed that lately the cockroaches crawled out into the sunlight. There was nowhere to go. No place was safe.

  The cops accepted my deliberation without surprise. The second cop, with a surprisingly respectful demeanor and startling blue eyes, offered his badge and prodded, “Ma’am.”

  “Yes. Come in.” I opened the door wide and allowed them into the living room.

  How would someone act if she’d done nothing wrong? That’s the part I had to play. I hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but that didn’t seem to matter when my heart was hammering in my chest. Keeping secrets had turned me into a skittish creature.

  I gestured them to the couch away from where Bailey sat on the rug. She regarded them with a serenity I envied. I tried to don the confidence of my slut persona, but the props and setting were all wrong.

  “How can I help you?” I asked, a touch too loud. Damn.

  “You’ve been seeing Colin Murphy,” Blue Eyes said, more a statement than question.

  I snorted. “I’m living in his house. Yeah, we may have run into each other a time or two.”

  A slight smile tugged at his mouth—gone just as quickly. “Mr. Murphy is a person of interest in a number of ongoing investigations with the CPD.”

  My heart beat faster, mostly with worry for Colin and whatever trouble he may be in, but, to my shame, there were other emotions too. Relief that they weren’t here about Jacob. And, because I guess I’d always been selfish, fear of what this would mean for me and Bailey.

  “He’s not here,” I hedged.

  A note of smugness marred the other one’s face. “We know that.”

  I affected an amused look, as if I’d thought of something naughty. “Were you watching us?”

  Blue Eyes remained impassive. What was his name? Detective Cameron. “We know his schedule.”

  “He’s not usually out of the house by now.” I clamped my mouth shut. Could not believe I’d just said that. Even if it was something they could easily find out, I didn’t have to help them.

  Shaw’s eyes glittered with triumph at the slip. He knew he could play me now. This Detective Shaw was stockier than the other guy, coarser, and an asshole besides. Like the kind of guy I’d pick at the club if he wasn’t hiding behind a badge. Cameron was leaner, quieter, with those watchful blue eyes. Both dangerous in their own ways.

  Detective Cameron leaned forward, just a smidge, but immediately Shaw subsided. So, we had a leader. And it wasn’t the mouthy one either. Interesting.

  “Are you aware of what he does for a living?” Cameron asked.

  “He owns a restaurant.”

  “He does own a restaurant,” he agreed. “It’s a very nice restaurant that he spends a few hours a week on. What does he do the rest of the time?”

  “Knitting?” I suggested.

  “You think this is funny,” Shaw snapped.

  Dick. “No, I don’t think it’s funny that you’re in his house and making accusations.”

  “We haven’t made any accusations,” Cameron said. Crystal blue eyes scanned me, cataloging my words, my reactions. I straightened.

  “Where does Colin go out at night?” Shaw asked.

  “He’s with me.”

  “Every night?” he prodded.

  “Pretty much. Is this some sort of interrogation technique? Divide and conquer. It won’t work.”

  “There’s been an increase in illegal trafficking the last couple of months,” Cameron said, interrupting Shaw’s words. “Shipments at night, that sort of thing.”

  “Then Colin’s not your guy.” I let suggestiveness color my next words. “He’s with me all night.”

  Shaw opened his mouth, but Cameron cleared his throat.

  “Why don’t you leave your cards? I’ll let him know you stopped by.” I gave them my best smile, otherwise known as a baring of teeth. I may not like what Colin did for Philip, but let there be no confusion about whose side I was on. If they came here looking for an in, a mole, thinking because I was new here, I wouldn’t know what was up, then they were shit out of luck.

  Shaw sneered, but Cameron stood. I stood myself, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably as they paraded out the front door to the porch.

  The quiet one turned back, a card between his forefingers. “I’ll be around if you ever want to talk.” He glanced past me toward Bailey. “You may not be safe here.”

  A shiver wormed through me, and I took the card.

  “Nice cat,” I heard just as I slammed the door shut.

  What cat?

  I glanced back at Bailey, whose fingers were clamped around the tail of a big orange cat. Must’ve slipped in when those idiots had taken forever to leave.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Sit,” said Bailey.

  Double shit. I stomped around toward Bailey, and the cat darted away. Apparently Bailey had chosen that moment to let go. Of course she’d side with the litter pooper.

  I tiptoed into the kitchen where the big cat was licking a sticky spot of syrup on the counter that had escaped my morning cleanup.

  “Bad cat,” I said. Which turned out to be stupid, because the cat leaped off the counter—with surprising grace for his size—and ran back into the living room.

  “Sit!” cried Bailey as I made a wide dash around her toys to follow the cat up the stairs.

  Fifteen minutes later, panting and sneezing, I tumbled the cat out of my arms and onto the front porch.

  “This isn’t a shelter,” I told those big, glassy eyes.

  I shut the door.

  That wasn’t quite true. It was a shelter, but it was full. No vacancies.

  I turned around and shrieked. “What are you doing here?”

  Shelly pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against. “You said to go around back.”


  “I know. I meant how long have you been there. You could have helped.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t do cats.”

  I rolled my eyes—and shuddered a bit myself—at her double entendre. “Yeah, well. Neither do I.” I shook my hands free of the imaginary cat hair. “What’s up?”

  Shelly lifted Bailey and gurgled on her belly. “Just checking on the happy couple. You looked kinda freaked out last night.”

  For a second I thought she’d meant at night, when I had indeed freaked out. Right in the middle of Colin fucking me. But then I realized she meant after the ballet. Yup, still freaked out. I made a habit of it, apparently.

  “Never mind that,” I said. “Did you see who just stopped by for a chat?”

  “Rick?” she asked.

  “What? No. It was cops.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Shit.”

  “Sit,” said Bailey.

  Shelly met my eyes. Double shit.

  “What did they want?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story,” I sighed. “So I don’t think I ever told you, but…Colin’s brother is…I’m not sure.”

  She raised her eyebrow.

  “A criminal,” I said.

  She thought for a second, unfazed. “Like, what? A thief?”

  “Maybe.”

  “A drug dealer.”

  “Probably.”

  “Worse?” Now she was interested.

  “I think yes.”

  “And the cops were looking for him?”

  “No, they were looking for Colin. Actually they came to talk to me. Because Colin is involved in the whole thing. And that means…”

  “Bad shi— stuff,” she finished.

  I nodded.

  “Do they have anything?” she asked.

  “Hell if I know.” I glanced at Bailey as if that absolved me of my swearing sins.

  “How bad are we talking?”

  “Don’t know that either. Colin was pretty vague. He made it sound like some sort of business. Crime business. What the hell is that? Anyways, Philip looked like the—”

  “Wait. Philip? Philip Murphy?”

  Oh, no. No no no. The only thing that could possibly make this bad situation worse was if Shelly were involved.