by S. L. Scott
Her hair hung down, darker because it was wet, soaked as if the umbrella hadn’t protected her. Her eyes were wide with innocence as she ate a candy bar like it was the best treat she’d ever tasted. Her skirt . . . damn that short skirt. I saw the man in the car next to me staring at her and I wanted to beat the shit out of him for looking at her like she could be his next tasty treat. That fucking pervert was around my dad’s age. Fucking asshole. She couldn’t be more than seventeen.
I was tempted to go over and cover her bare legs with my jacket. The girl was oblivious to the attention she attracted, and I almost felt I should become her protective knight in shining armor. I wanted to kick my own ass for that thought. So fucking lame. Until she looked my way. My throat went dry and my lips parted. The humid air wouldn’t save me. I was lost to this girl from that moment on.
She looked away, and the sweetest of pinks colored her cheeks. Damn. Her purity shined like a beacon. I’ve never been one with a need to take a V-card to feed some locker room pride. Nah, I didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, least of all some jock-asses who bragged about every girl they bagged. But when she dared to look my way again, a deep-seated desire stirred. I wanted her.
It was a carnal reaction I felt in my gut, but it had nothing to do with sex. Sure, sex crossed my mind, but its images were blurred like visions of déjà vu.
With no justifiable reason, right there at a busy intersection in the suburbs north of downtown, I became determined to be everything she would ever need. I would risk it all just to talk to her. If she’d never been kissed, I’d kiss her so she never desired to kiss another man. If she was still innocent in other ways, I would earn her trust and not just make love to her, but create it, a bond so strong she’d never need anyone else. I would be her first and last love. That day as the rain came down, I made sweet Sara Jane Grayson my mission. With nothing left to lose, I vowed to steal her heart and own her soul.
As I watch her moving on top of me, buried deep inside her, I hope I’ve changed her for the better. Three years ago, when our worlds collided, she changed me.
She collapses on my chest and I hold her tight as our bodies relax after the intense release. Fingertips tap across the tattoo that honors her, the one she hates. To be fair, she doesn’t want me to have any, but she calls this one an ugly bug. There’s nothing ugly about the firefly. Just like her, its strength is illuminated in the darkest of times.
Lifting up, she rests her chin on my chest, and asks, “What are you doing today?”
In any other room, in any other house, with any other couple, this question would be so easy to answer. But it’s not in another place and we’re not just any other couple. We’re complicated and my life is twisted. I try hard to spare her from getting caught up in my tornado. My self-destructive ways have become worse, but I don’t mention most of that to her anymore. Instead, I respond like we are one of those other couples, where answers are easy, and life is simple. “I’m going into the office, and have a meeting with my father. I’ll pick you up on campus later.”
Sitting up, she maneuvers away, but I’m quick and grab her wrist. When her sweet, soulful eyes—that melt me like butter—reach me, I add, “More.”
“More?”
“I love you more.”
A smile slips into place and she pokes me in the chest. “You’re not so tough, Mr. Kingwood.” It’s a game she likes to play, to pretend that some of my bad isn’t as bad as her mind imagines.
I play along because despite the light she brings into my world, I only bring darkness into hers. The smile she evokes from me comes naturally though. “Nah, I’m not so tough.”
Leaning back down, she kisses my cheek and then gets up to shower. I watch that ass I’m so fond of until she disappears into the bathroom. My phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s been going off for at least an hour. We both ignored it, but I can’t any longer. Reaching over, I grab it and glance at the messages.
The sigh is automatic as soon as I see the text.
Cruise: When are you coming in? Your dad is flipping out.
Me: I’ll be in shortly.
Cruise: Fucker.
Me: You know it, Sucker.
I toss the phone on the bed and head into the bathroom. I open the shower door and look in, eyeing her. “Perfect timing.”
Sara Jane laughs and her hands go up. “Oh no, you stay back. I can’t be late again or I’ll be counted absent.”
Taking the soap from her hands, I step in and run the bar over the silky skin of her breasts and down farther until the bar is dropped and my fingers are between her legs. “If that’s the worst that can happen . . .”
“Damn you.”
“You love it, baby. So much. Just like you love me.”
Her eyelids dip closed when her shoulder blades hit the white tile wall. I lean over her and kiss her breath away when my mouth covers that little O her lips are forming. Hands press against my chest then slide up to grab hold of my shoulders, pulling me closer.
Soap and sex covers her as I glide my tongue up until it’s discovering every curve and alcove of her mouth. I want to fuck her. Again. So fucking hard that she forgets she has classes altogether. She forgets the outside world. She forgets everything else, everything but me. Pressing my cock against her hip, I push as my fingers fuck her pussy. I’m trying to be good, trying to make it about her. Only about her, but she makes it damn hard when she grabs my cock with both hands and starts to get me off.
“I want to fuck you.” My words are minced under the water’s spray as I lean my head against the wall and take the shell of her ear between my teeth.
“God, Alexander.” Her body folds against mine, her orgasm close enough to feel her tightening around me. “Why do you do this to me?” Her question is loaded, and I’m not sure it only concerns our sexual deviancy.
“It’s what you do to me. Turn around.” I take her by the ribs and spin her toward the wall. Her hands go against the wall in front of her and she parts for me. Such a good girl.
My dick is big and she’s small, so I bend down until I feel her wet heat with my tip. I bite her shoulder lightly then thrust hard. Her cry echoes off the walls with her hands braced higher up. I take her hips and fuck, lost in her, lost in the sensations of her sweet little pussy.
My fingers dig deeper as our bodies gyrate together, slicker by the second. I close my eyes and let the water rain down over me as movements become erratic, compromised by the slipperiness. Close. So close. I will never have enough of her, never satisfy the heavier urges my heart craves. So I stake claims for her, but more for me. “You’re mine. You know that?”
“I always have been.” Her words are strained and then sucked back in as she takes another deep breath.
“Mine. Fucking mine. Always. Say it.”
“Always yours, Alexander.”
“King,” I demand, fucking her harder. She knows what I want. It’s something she only gives me when I’m at my best, in my opinion, worst in hers.
She won’t say it. I know her too well to know she won’t play into that game. And I’m coming too fast. “Fuck,” I shout and pull out, my cum covering her lower back and dripping lower. Backing away to the corner, my breathing is harsh as I stare at my painting with pride. I shrug. “What can I say? You feel too good.” She rinses her body and steps out of the shower without a word.
She’s pissed off.
I won’t make apologies just yet. She felt too good to be sorry. Lazily, I clean up and shut the water off. I step out and grab a towel from the rack. “Come on. Don’t be mad.”
“Easy for you to say. You came.”
Her feistiness is a turn-on. If I didn’t just fuck her, I’d try again. This time I’d fuck that damn sexy mouth of hers. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“I think you’ve done enough. Now I’m late for class and wound up.”
I take the ends of the towel wrapped around her and tug her to me. “Don’t be mad.” I kiss her on the head, and then give
her the smirk that will win her over, easing her irritation. “I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.”
“I have a group project to work on tonight. I’m going to stay on campus.” She backs away, not looking at me while running the towel over her hair.
My brow cinches as I watch her. “Hey, are you really upset?”
“I’m not happy.”
When she still doesn’t look at me, I nudge her. “Don’t be like that.”
That gets her attention. She stands straight up, throws her hand on her hip, and narrows her eyes. “Like what, Alexander? What am I being like?”
“I know where this is going, and I’m not doing it. Don’t start a fight where there is none.”
“I learned from the best. It’s what you do every day.”
“Not with you.” When she turns her back on me, I lose it. “I’m warning yo—”
Spinning on her heels, she points at me. “You’re warning me? I’m not one of your lackeys, Alexander. Stop trying to make King happen. I don’t call you King, and I never will. So don’t you dare warn me about anything.”
If she were one of my so-called lackeys, she’d be knocked right the fuck out for that. Seeing her with wet, messed-up hair, a towel wrapped around her, and her finger poking my chest, I stand down, deciding to give her the respect she demands. “Fuck, you’re scary, Firefly.”
Her hand falls to her side, and she rolls her eyes, but the smile I wanted to see is there and brings one to my mouth. When the tension in her muscles loses its momentum, she says, “You’re ridiculous. Get dressed. We’re both late.”
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Thirty minutes later, I kiss her before we open the door. I straighten the backpack on her shoulder and wrap my other arm around her. She whispers, “Be civil with your father.”
“It will be a struggle, but I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.” Stepping back, I hold a few fingers up pledge style, not sure if it’s supposed to be two or three. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” she corrects and laughs, stepping into the hall. “But try. Okay?”
After slapping her ass, I wink. “I always do.”
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READ THE PROLOGUE & CHAPTER 1 FREE - Turn the Page
We Were Once - Prologue
I’ve never died before, but I recognize the feeling.
We Were Once - Chapter 1
Chloe Fox
“Promise me you’ll protect Frankie with your life, Chloe.”
Glancing sideways, I find it hard to take this seriously. “Um . . .”
My mom hugs Frankie to her chest like the son she never had. “You’ll give him a good home, feed him, and nurture him?”
I think this is taking it a little too far. “It’s a plant, Mom, not a human.”
“It’s not just a plant. It’s a bonsai tree. They’re fickle creatures—”
“Technically, it’s not a creature. It’s a miniature tree.”
“Creature or not, promise me you’ll take care of it, Chloe. This isn’t just a plant. This little guy can provide harmony and calm to your place.”
“Mom, I got it.” I attempt to pry the potted plant from her, but when she resists, I ask, “Do you want to keep Frankie? He’d love New York City. You can take him to Central Park or a show on Broadway. A quick trip to MoMA or the Statue of Liberty—”
“Very funny.” She shoves him toward me. “Take him. I bought him for you.”
“We can set up a visitation schedule if you’d like?”
That earns me an eye roll that’s punctuated with laughter. “You might think I’m being dramatic, but I can already tell this is what your apartment is missing. I wish you’d let me decorate it more. So, mock me if you must, but that little guy is going to bring balance to your life.”
“It’s a lot of pressure to put on a plant, don’t you think?”
“Little tree,” she corrects stubbornly as if I’ve insulted the thing. Crossing her arms over her chest, she raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You want to be a doctor, Chloe. Treat it like a patient. Water, attention, and care. The basics.”
Holding the plant in front of me, I admire the pretty curve to the trunk and branches. It’s easy to see why my mom picked this one. “I’ll try not to kill it like the plant you gave me last year.” I set the plastic pot down on top of a stack of textbooks on the coffee table. “But you have to admit that I gave that ivy a great send-off.”
“You did. Right down the trash shoot.” She laughs again, but I hear the sadness trickling in.
“Why are you getting upset?”
The green of my mom’s eyes matches the rich color of the leaves when she cries, just like mine. “I think the bonsai has had enough water for one day. Don’t you think?” I ask teasingly to hide how much I hate the impending goodbye.
She laughs, caressing my cheek. The support she’s always shown me is felt in her touch. “I’ve had the best time with you over the past few weeks. I’m going to miss you, honey.”
Leaning into it, I say, “If everything goes to plan, I’ll be in the city next year, and we can see each all the time.”
“You’ve worked hard. Now it’s time to enjoy your senior year.” Her departure pending, we embrace.
“I enjoy working hard, and my grades still matter this year if I want to get into med school.”
A sympathetic smile creases her lips when she steps back. “I’m sorry you feel you have to be perfect all the time or that you feel medical school is the only option for you. It’s not. You can do—”
“It’s what I want.” This subject was the final blow to her marriage to my dad. They disagreed about a lot, but my schooling and future were the sticking points. I don’t want to relive it.
Moving to the couch, she fluffs a pillow, but I have a feeling it’s only out of habit. “Seeking perfection is the easiest way to find disappointment.” She eyes the pillow, satisfaction never reaching her eyes. Standing back, she swings her gaze my way. “Happiness is a much nobler mission.”
After she divorced my father, she put it into practice. After leaving Newport for Manhattan two years ago, she’s happier than ever. “I know you have big plans, Chloe, but you’re only young once. Go out with Ruby. Have fun. Kiss boys. You’re allowed to do what you want instead of what others want for you. You’re allowed to be you.”
Be me? The words strike me oddly. “Who am I?”
“Ah, sweet girl, whoever you want to be. New experiences will allow you to see yourself through a new lens.”
I sit on the couch, blocking her view of the pillow she just fixed. “Is that why you left Newport?”
“Yes, I wanted to discover me again. In Manhattan, I’m not Norman’s wife or the chair of the preservation society. I’m not running an eight-thousand-square-foot house or hosting garden parties. In New York, I get to be Cat Fox and Chloe’s mother. Those are my favorite roles I’ve ever had.”
Working with my father might have been great for my résumé, but back home, I’ll always be compared to the great Norman Fox. I’ll live in his shadow if I return to Rhode Island and won’t ever stand on my own accomplishments. So I understand what she means a little too well. She seems to think she was saved.
Is it too late for me?
“Do you know who you are?”
“I’m learning every day. All I’m saying is life is happening all around you. Look up from the books every now and then.”
Turning around, she takes one last glance around the apartment. “You need a pop of color in here. I can send sofa pillows.”
I get what she’s saying. She’s the queen of décor and has strong opinions regarding my life. She’d love to not only throw some pillows on my couch but also put a man in my life.
She never understood that good grades are much more rewarding than spending time with boys who want nothing more than a one-night stand. “Don’t send pillows,” I say, grinning.
A sly grin rolls across her face. “You can snuggle with them, or a guy—”
“You want me to date.” I sigh. “I get it.”
“College guys aren’t the same as high school boys.” She takes her purse from the couch and situates it on her shoulder as she moves to the door.
I roll my eyes. “Could have fooled me.”
“You just haven’t met someone who makes your heart flutter.”
“You’re such a romantic.”
Kissing my cheek, she opens the door, and says, “Take care of yourself, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I close the door and rest against the back of it, exhaling. After two months of working at my father’s clinic and then staying with her in the city for the past two weeks, I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have time to myself and silence. Pure, unadulterated—
Knock. Knock.
I jump, startled from the banging against my back. Spinning around, I squint to look through the peephole, and my chin jerks back.
A guy holding a bag outside my door says, “Food delivery.”
“I didn’t order food,” I say, palms pressed to the door as I spy on him.
A smirk plays on his lips. Yup, he flat-out stares into the peephole with a smug grin on his face. Plucking the receipt from the bag, he adds, “Chloe?” The e is drawn out in his dulcet tone as if it’s possible to make such a common name sound special. He managed it.
