Part of me knew I shouldn’t. That I should just let it be.
But sometimes that loneliness came on too fierce. When I could feel my spirit moaning from within, the worries growing more severe at night, in the moments when I felt utterly alone.
Or maybe I was already addicted to the way he made me feel. To the way I could feel those crazy-colored eyes raking over me, filled with the promise of the most decadent kind of sin.
It’d be a pleasure unlike anything I’d ever known. I knew it. I’d felt the promise of it radiating from his skin and vibrating from his body.
I could still feel that gaze touching me from across the space. Maybe the only reason I sent that text was because I wanted to experience it for a moment more.
Silly girl.
But sometimes, fantasy was the only thing that kept us moving.
I sat on the edge of my bed like a girl waiting to be asked out to prom, holding the phone as if I could will it to buzz.
Five minutes passed, and he hadn’t texted back.
Disappointment pooled in my spirit.
I tried to push it off. It was for the best, anyway.
Even harboring the idea of something happening with us was sheer recklessness.
I wasn’t the type of girl who threw caution to the wind.
Tossing my phone onto the nightstand, I flipped off the lamp and tugged the covers over my body.
My old room fell into darkness. Those sweet, innocent faces raced into my mind the second I pushed everything else out. I needed to regroup. Make a new plan of attack.
Figure out how I was going to get us out of this mess.
Maybe I’d messed up to begin with. Done everything wrong. But sometimes the only thing a mother could do was go with her gut, and I didn’t know how to regret that.
I guessed that, if I was looking at the situation, I was lucky to be here at all. Lying in this bed with my babies sleeping in the other room. The worst part was that he got to see them at all, that I’d been granted temporary custody, but he still got them two days a week.
As if he was even the one taking care of them. Wanting to see them.
But for the time being, they were mine. I just had to make sure they stayed that way. Could only pray that I was strong enough to see this through.
I jolted when my phone vibrated on the nightstand. A flash of light filtered into the room.
I reached over and flipped on the light switch, pushing up to sitting in my tiny bed as that ridiculous excitement I’d been feeling earlier sprang back to life. In a big, big way. Because there it was. A text from him.
Ian: It was my pleasure.
I could almost hear the scruff of his voice. As if he were whispering it in my ear. A rough caress. I felt it all the way down into my belly.
My phone buzzed again.
Ian: Actually, let me rephrase that. It should be me thanking you. That haircut was quite . . . memorable. You are good with your hands.
Oh, my goodness. That man went from zero to one hundred in a second flat.
Those hands he was speaking of started shaking, and I felt the flush race up my chest and hit my cheeks. Chewing at my bottom lip, my eyes darted around my room as if I’d just engaged in something illicit or illegal when the only thing we were doing was sharing a casual thank you.
But there wasn’t a single thing about that mesmerizing man that felt casual.
My fingers flew across the keyboard.
Me: Why am I certain that you’re good with yours, too?
Oh, what was I doing? What was I doing?
Begging for trouble, that was what.
I bit down hard on my bottom lip, trying to convince myself not to send it, that I was wading into dangerous, dangerous waters, playing this kind of game with a boy like him.
He’d chew me up and spit me out.
But I loved the way it felt, the erratic racing in my heart when I pushed send.
My racing heart skipped a beat when my phone buzzed again. Oh hell, who was I kidding? It skipped two.
Ian: You can rest assured that I am. Why don’t you let me prove it to you?
I felt those waters lapping up to my thighs.
Steam rising up.
Scalding hot.
It’d been a long, long time since someone talked to me that way.
Brazen and bold.
No restraint.
The man was so arrogant that somehow his words fit him perfectly. Confidence oozing from him like the slow drip of honey.
The more shocking part was what he was conjuring in me.
Desire.
It was almost an unfamiliar sensation that went slip-sliding through my body. That feeling that had been there since the first time I looked over and saw him sitting at the end of the bar.
Bigger and brighter than anything else. Yet, still so obscenely dark.
I guessed I’d taken too long to respond because another message came through while I was sitting there staring at my screen, held captive in some sort of lust-induced haze.
Ian: I can’t stop thinking about you. I have that number now. How about that drink?
Damn him, tempting me.
Me: I already told you that’s a bad idea.
Ian: I think you’re wrong. I think you’re just scared to take the chance. You’re afraid you won’t be the same after I’m finished with you.
My spirit trembled with trepidation, whipped up with need. It was a bitch wanting something when you knew it was going to be bad for you.
On top of that, I wasn’t even sure what it was I wanted. How far I was willing to let this go.
All I knew was I couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. He’d invaded a secret place. A place I’d almost forgotten existed. I was terrified once he removed himself from my life, it was finally going to collapse.
Me: That’s exactly what I’m afraid of . . . that I won’t be the same after you’re finished with me. I’m not exactly one for casual flings. I don’t have any space to be hurt again.
I wasn’t sure why this guy compelled me to cut myself wide open. Why I’d give him anything at all. But I felt hinged, caught up on the intensity of his response when my phone blipped again.
Ian: Why does that make me want to hunt someone down? Makes me crazy . . . knowing that someone hurt you. That you might be hurting. How is that possible?
My chest tightened, desperate for that feeling. To care about someone and for them to care about me.
To give and take.
Rely and provide.
But that was just stupidity. I didn’t even know this guy.
I tapped out a quick reply, needing to get him off the phone. To end this before I said something that I’d regret.
Me: It’s not your problem. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.
I sat gaping at the string of responses that came blipping through, as if he were firing them off, not giving himself time to think his answers through.
Ian: It is a problem, Grace. It’s a fucking problem because I can’t get you off my mind.
Ian: It’s a problem that I met you once and you affected me the way that you did.
Ian: It’s a problem because the only thing I do is casual, and somehow, you have me wanting to say fuck it and see where this goes.
Ian: It’s a fucking problem.
Ian: Tell me what happened that night . . . when you took off.
I didn’t have time to answer before another message came through.
Ian: Actually, don’t answer that. I want you to tell me to my face.
Disappointment seeped into my bloodstream, a gushing river of despondency and discontent. Because I wanted to confess it all. Tell him what I was going through. Pray that he wouldn’t run.
But he would.
He should.
I couldn’t expect anything different.
He didn’t deserve to get mixed up in my mess. And there was no chance I could trust him around my kids.
Me: That’s not possible. You aren’t g
oing to see me again.
Ian: I think you’re wrong. I think you want to see me every bit as badly as I want to see you.
Ian: I want to touch you.
Ian: I’ve never wanted to touch a woman as desperately as I want to touch you.
Ian: Would you let me? Would you let me touch you, Grace? Touch you until you forget whatever it is you’re going through?
My chest stretched tight, body rigid with shock and that blistering attraction that burned like a firestorm.
I pressed my thighs together, that river of disappointment turning into rapids of desire, sending me plunging right over a cliff.
A waterfall.
Pounding and throbbing and crashing.
Deeper and deeper.
God, this man was too much. And I was shaking . . . shaking and shaking as I fumbled to form a response.
Me: I don’t want to forget. But if I didn’t have all of this going on in my life, you’d be the one I’d want. But it’s for the best if you let this go. I don’t want to hurt you.
Ian: Funny, I was just going to say the same thing to you.
I could almost hear the self-loathing in his words. A shock of angry laughter ricocheting through the air. Those eyes going dark and dim, flashing with something wicked.
Regret had me typing out my response.
Me: Then I guess we’re even.
Ian: Yeah. I guess we are. We’re the perfect match.
Air puffed through my nose. The man was nothing but ridiculous.
Me: I think I was right about you. You don’t like to be told no.
And I had this glowing problem between my thighs begging me to say yes.
To give in.
To let him tempt me and touch me and make me forget.
It would feel so nice to be held in those big, powerful hands. Hands that would chase away the emptiness. Fill my broken spirit that was littered with debris.
But there was no question that this man would break what was left of my fragile heart. Hell, he was already breaking it now. Making me crumble with every word.
Ian: I think the bigger issue is that you want to say yes. Tell me I’m wrong.
I couldn’t respond.
Ian: Don’t you? Are you touching yourself, Grace, just thinking about it?
On all things unholy.
I could feel sex dripping from his fingertips, and he wasn’t even there.
Want clamored through my senses, every nerve alive. I shifted on the bed, my body on fire, so needy I was close to panting.
So close to touching myself and telling him that’s what I was doing. That I was wishing it was him doing it to me.
I knew exactly how that would end.
I really had to put an end to this conversation. It was heading down a path of no return. One where the two of us were gonna collide, and the result of that was not going to be pretty.
He could so easily crush me.
Wind me up and leave me spinning.
Chasing after something that I could never have. But my heart had taken control, and my fingers were tapping out a reply.
Me: No. I’m not. But I wish you were.
It took a couple seconds before another text came through.
Ian: Is that an invitation? Because you know I am. My cock is so hard, I can barely see. You should feel it, Grace. What you do to me.
Me: I wish it was my hands.
Ian: Let’s forget these wishes and make it a reality. I want inside of you. I bet your pussy is just as perfect as the rest of you.
Oh goodness.
There was nothing I could do. I was touching myself. Imagining exactly that. That gorgeous man crawling over me. Pushing deep. Taking me.
Three texts blipped through, I had no idea how much time in between, my mind lost to the vision of what that would be like.
Letting myself go in a way that was so out of character for me.
I shattered. Body jerking as I bit my lip to keep myself from calling out his name. I was panting by the time I made it back to the waiting messages.
Ian: You are, aren’t you?
Ian: Touching yourself?
Ian: Fuck. That’s so hot. I want to see it. Your fingers dipping inside your body while I watch. What could one night hurt, Grace?
Reality slowly seeped back into my consciousness, and I struggled with what to say. How to end this when really, I wanted everything the man was offering, even when I knew it was going to hurt me in the end.
Me: I’m not much of a one-night kind of girl. I’m afraid it might hurt a lot.
Ian: I’d tell you that you shouldn’t be afraid, but that would be a lie.
I hesitated, contemplating how to answer, wishing there was a way when it was clear we’d hit a dead end.
Me: Then I think this should be goodbye.
Ian: I guess it is midnight. You’d better run, Cinderella. It seems to be what you do best.
Nine
Ian
Groaning, I peeled my eyes open to the blaring alarm. Darkness still permeated my bedroom, just the barest hint of the approaching morning hinting at the edges of the window. I slapped at my phone to silence it, feeling totally wrung out and off.
Not sure what the fuck I’d been thinking last night.
Pressing that girl the way that I had. Needing something I had no right to go after and wanting to pursue it, anyway.
Seriously. What the hell was wrong with me?
Grace had thrown up so many red flags that I should have been out of the game.
Whistle blown.
But it had started feeling like something that wasn’t close to being only a distraction or a diversion. Didn’t feel like amusement or entertainment.
It’d grown into something bigger. Something that, for the first time in my life, had me wanting to step out and take a chance. Ask for more. Even when I knew I had so little to give. So little to offer.
God, I was fucked up in the head because I didn’t know this girl, and she sure as shit wouldn’t want to know me.
She didn’t know my true nature.
The demon inside. The monster that raged.
Didn’t matter anyway, though, did it?
I’d pushed her, and she’d pushed right back.
Shutting it down.
What I should have done the second she had that foreign feeling rising up and taking hold. The compulsion to possess and protect.
Flopping over onto my back in the middle of my enormous bed, I scrubbed my palms over my face and prayed it might break me out of this fuckery, bring me to my senses, knock me back into reality.
I blew out a strained breath toward the ceiling, dick still goddamned hard from just the few minutes I’d spent talking to her last night. Me picturing her in her bed. Probably surrounded by some Pinterest shit. Chic and modern and pretty.
Just like the girl.
I’d officially become a pussy. A pussy who was picturing a girl’s fucking bedroom.
I needed to get laid, and I needed to do it fast so I could scrape this girl from my mind.
Forcing myself to sit up on the side of my bed, I sighed and grabbed my phone so I could check my emails.
It was routine.
What I always did to prep for the day.
Peoples’ emergencies always seemed to spike in the middle of the night.
Annoying but true.
My life centered around other peoples’ drama. Their heartache. The goal pretty much to turn around and cause more.
Payback and revenge in the form of dollars and wealth. It was always what it amounted to.
Money.
Greed.
I guessed I’d landed myself in the right industry, after all.
A breath left me on a gush when I saw I had a shit-ton of unread texts. Heart rate kicking, hammering like a beast.
The messages had come in about two hours earlier. Probably right after I’d finally drifted into a restless sleep after spending hours aching in my bed. Dying to get lost in that body and thos
e legs and that mind I could feel sucking me inside.
I quickly read through them.
Grace: You’re right. The real problem is that I want to say yes.
Grace: But I also wasn’t lying when I said I have too much going on in my life.
Grace: The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared of losing anything else. I’m scared of being hurt. I’m scared of putting myself in danger. I’m scared that, once you know me, you’ll walk away.
Grace: But I need you to know something. I might be beaten down. Crippled and fractured, but that doesn’t mean I’m broken or crushed. That has never been me. Someone who is too timid to live her life. Someone who is too terrified to step out and take a chance.
Grace: But sometimes taking those chances might be risking too much.
Grace: I just want you to know . . . someday . . . someday . . . I will get the chance to live again.
My chest tightened.
Painfully.
And I wondered what that might be like.
To live again.
To fully breathe.
All of Me: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel Page 10
