Cold Hearted

by Winter Renshaw

  Reaching for the hem of his shirt, I pull it over his head, yearning for the feel of his skin against mine. Cristiano presses his body down against mine, his hips flush against mine until I feel every inch of his hardness. We’re separated by the fabric of his sweats and the endless, tortuous seconds that precede the inevitable.

  I help myself, guiding my hand down his sides, grazing his muscled torso until I find the band of his sweats and pushing them down the sides of his muscled, flexing ass. Slipping a hand beneath the silky fabric of his boxers, I wrap my palm around his rock-hard cock, my heart leaping in the process. The skin is hot, throbbing in my palms as I pump his length. Meeting his gaze, I bask in the seductive half-smile he gifts me.

  “Do you want this, Daphne?” his voice is a soft growl as he lowers himself, pressing kisses into the flesh above my collarbone.

  Pressing my lips together, I nod. “Mm hm.”

  Moving to the side, he grabs his wallet from the nightstand and retrieves a gold foil packet. Ripping it between his teeth, he shoves his boxers down and wastes no time sheathing his hardness and returning to his space between my spread thighs.

  A pulsing knot in my stomach makes its presence known in the seconds that lead up to his body pressing against mine all over again. His mouth finds mine in the dark as his hand grips the base of his cock, teasing my entrance with the tip before pushing his length inside me with one delicious thrust.

  He fills me, stretching me with a pain that hurts so good, but after several thrusts it washes over me, evaporating into sheer ecstasy. I want more. I want all of him inside all of me. Every inch of us connected. Every inch of us made for this moment. It hasn’t been but a minute, and already I’m burning with the kind of desire I’ve never known before. I don’t want this to end. Ever.

  Cristiano’s mouth descends on me again, his hand cupping my jaw and his fingers wrapping around the nape of my neck. His kisses linger, like he’s savoring every moment. Like he knows this isn’t just the first time . . . it’s also the last.

  After tomorrow, I’ll leave him in Scranton. He’ll go his way. I’ll go mine. And that’ll be it. There won’t be anything else.

  Just tonight.

  In this dreamily savage moment, I am his and he is mine. My soul melts with his kisses, my body melts with his touch.

  He brings his mouth on mine again, our tongues meeting as he thrusts himself faster inside me. His lips are warm and sweet, and I bring my hands to his face, cupping his chiseled jaw and feeling his dark hair beneath my fingertips.

  My body shivers.

  I can’t fight it anymore.

  I hold onto the wave, riding it out and letting it crash into me. Cristiano pumps harder, needier, bringing himself to a climax that elicits primal moans and stiffens his body from head to toe. His neck strains and his back arches as his cock pulses inside me.

  When he’s done, he kisses my mouth, resting on top of me, and then rolls off the bed and heads to the bathroom.

  I’m exhausted, basking in this post-coital stupor and barely capable of forming a fragment of a thought. All I know is my body feels like a million bucks, and at the same time, there’s a tinge of sadness washing over me because something like this will never happen again.

  And I kind of wish it could.

  Friday morning, I wake to the sound of the shower running. Sitting up, I blink a few times, adjusting to the glow of the small desktop lamp across the room. It’s still dark out, but the alarm beside me says it’s time to get up. We’ve got to hit the road by seven. It’s six hours to Pittsburgh and another two to Scranton. After that, I’ve got another two hours until Rixton Falls.

  Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I spot a missed call from Delilah’s husband, Zane.

  “Shit.” I dial him back as fast as my fingers will allow and pray to God he answers on the first ring.

  He answers on the fourth.

  “Hey,” he says, almost whispering.

  “Please tell me she hasn’t gone into labor yet.” I rise off the bed, spotting a covered dish on the table in the corner. Cristiano must’ve ordered breakfast for us. Not sure how I slept through room service, but after last night, I slept harder than I have in months.

  “Not yet,” he says as I uncover my plate and take a seat. I’m famished, which is probably also a result of last night’s activities. “We went to the hospital around three o’clock this morning. We thought it was the real deal. Delilah was in a lot of pain, but she was still only dilated to a two. They sent us home. Said to monitor the contractions. I guess they weren’t close enough together or something. I don’t know how any of this works. Anyway, she’s sleeping now, but I wanted to let you know because she’d asked me to call you. The doctor thinks we’re getting close. Says the next time this happens it might be it.”

  My heart races.

  I’m so close.

  “I’ll be home tonight,” I say. “Tell her not to worry. We’re leaving Chicago in the next hour and hitting the road. How’s the weather, by the way?”

  “Storms have all passed. They’re just cleaning up now. I heard western Pennsylvania is okay but the farther east you get, the messier it is. Drive safe, Daphne.”

  “I will. Please tell my sister I’ll be there, and I can’t wait to see you guys.”

  “Will do.”

  My stomach rumbles when Zane ends the call, but now I’m too anxious to eat. The bacon and eggs and toast before me hold about as much appeal as a bowl of sawdust.

  “Hey.” The bathroom door flings open and Cristiano stands, fully dressed, hair damp, and smelling like a million bucks. “I was about to wake you up. We’ve got to hit the road.”

  “Yeah, I know. Delilah’s getting closer.”

  “You’ll be home tonight,” he says it like it’s a sure thing.

  But a lot can happen in six hundred miles.

  13

  Cristiano

  “Shouldn’t you be resting? Why are you drawing?” I glance at the passenger seat where Daphne sits, knees on the dash, sketching something on that chintzy little pad of hotel paper.

  “Not tired.”

  “Guess that’s not surprising considering you drank a venti double shot Frappuccino two hours ago. You’re going to be dragging by the time it’s your turn.”

  “I’ll deal.”

  Ever since she talked to her brother-in-law this morning, she’s been quieter than normal. For the last three days, this woman has chatted my ear off. She always has something to say. A question to ask. A statement to make.

  God, I hope this isn’t because of last night.

  Last night was fucking amazing.

  It’s a night I’ll never forget as long as I live. Her scent, her soft skin, the way her lashes fluttered as she bit her lip every time I thrust my cock inside her sweet, tight pussy. She offered herself to me, and I took it, and I loved every fucking minute of it. In fact, I couldn’t get enough. The second it was over, I wanted her again but I knew we had an early morning, and she was finally getting tired.

  There’s a tightness in my chest – a feeling I don’t recognize because it’s attached to a thought I’ve never felt before. At least a thought I’ve never felt about a woman I hardly know. Most of the time, I have my fun, call it an adventure of sorts, and go on my merry way, never seeing or hearing from them again. But the thought of walking away from Daphne several hours from now, never knowing what becomes of her or if anything would’ve become of . . . us . . . is almost sad.

  I don’t want this to be the end, and I’m not sure how to grapple with that notion. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, like a foreign language that is as difficult to speak as it is to comprehend. Twisting the volume on the radio, I turn up the music and decide to let these thoughts mellow for a bit. Maybe I’m still worked up over last night, still reveling in how fucking amazing it was.

  Definitely.

  That’s got to be what it is. It’s the only logical explanation. A few more hours, and I’ll be back to my old self.<
br />
  “What are you drawing?” I ask above the musical stylings of Steely Dan.

  “This bistro in Paris,” she says, head tilted as if she’s recalling a fond memory. “I used to grab breakfast there every day. They had the best chocolate croissants and espresso. I’d give anything to go back.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  She lifts a single shoulder, mouth bunched in one corner. “I don’t know. I’m sure I will. It’s just that if I get that job in California, teaching at that fine arts college . . .”

  “What teaching job?”

  “I was interviewing for a position at Seaview School of Fine Arts,” she says. “That’s why I was in California this week.”

  “Okay, so what about this job?”

  “If I get this job, I’ll be in California. They want to fill the position as soon as possible. I’d be starting spring semester. Apparently the drawing instructor they had decided to have a fling with a student – a high school student – and has been placed on unpaid leave pending the investigation.”

  “It wasn’t that same guy, was it? The one you . . .”

  “Oh, god, no. I don’t think so? Guess I didn’t ask his name. That’d be pretty meta though, wouldn’t it?”

  “Okay, so if you get the job in California, you can maybe go to Paris this summer, right? And if you don’t get the job, you can go whenever you want.”

  Daphne snorts through her nose. “Not everyone’s made of money, Jax Diesel. I can’t just pick up and fly to Paris because the mood strikes me.”

  “What if I took you?” I make an offer I’ve never made anyone ever before . . .

  . . . and I’m met with silence that sucks the air from both our lungs.

  “I couldn’t let you do that,” she says.

  “Why not? We obviously travel well enough together. We could go. As friends. It’d be a great time. I have friends in Paris, believe it or not. We could crash at their place. Or get a hotel. Whatever you want. I’ve been meaning to go back.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slide it out. Fabrizio’s name flashes on the caller ID.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Just checking on you,” he says. “Everyone’s asking about you. Wedding’s tomorrow, so we’re all just getting kind of nervous. Joey especially.”

  “Tell Joey I won’t miss it for the world. I’ll be there soon. Another four hours and I’ll be in Pennsylvania. I’ll call you when I get close to Scranton. You’re going to have to pick me up. Bring some fresh clothes for me, will you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Fab says. “Just get your pretty boy ass home. And watch the roads. Eastern PA is still a frickin’ mess.”

  Snowflakes fall on the windshield, giant flakes that dance in the wind and melt the second they hit the glass. I glance at Daphne, intending to point them out, but she’s curled in a ball, her legs on the seat and her head resting on pillow wedged between her neck and the passenger door.

  She’s out cold.

  14

  Daphne

  My body wakes with a snort, and I spring up in my seat. The remnants of dried drool stick to the corner of my mouth, and the reality that I woke myself up by snoring hits me square in the ego. Leaning forward, I squint toward the mid-day sun, searching for an interstate sign to orient me.

  Snow.

  Nothing but undriven, alabaster snow in the meadows we pass.

  But the roads are clear, thank God.

  “We’re in eastern Ohio,” he says.

  “Oh, shoot. We were supposed to switch in Toledo,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. You needed the sleep.”

  “Pull off at the next rest stop, and I’ll get behind the wheel.” I grab my phone, checking to make sure I haven’t had any missed calls. The screen is empty, but I decide to call Delilah anyway. I’m sure she’d appreciate an update. Lifting my phone to my ear, I nibble on my thumbnail and silently count the rings.

  One . . . two . . . three . . .

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Delilah’s voice is groggy, and she breathes hard into the phone, like she’s sitting up in bed. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. You just get up?”

  “No, I’ve been up for hours,” she says. “I’m trying to make my way from the living room to the bathroom before my bladder explodes. Sure would be nice if someone could roll me there.”

  “Where’s Zane? Make him help you.”

  “He’s outside with Weston. They’re shoveling the driveway.”

  My heart lurches into my throat, depositing a hard lump I can’t seem to swallow away. “Weston’s there?”

  “Yep,” Delilah says. “He flew in last night. Zane wants him here for the birth, you know, since he’s the closest thing Zane has to family, really. They’re like brothers. I told him he has to wait in the waiting room though, and he was fine with it.” She chuckles. “Anyway, he was asking about you this morning.”

  “What? What did he say?” I chide myself for wanting to know, but alas, I’m the curious type. It’s my fatal flaw.

  “What you were up to . . . where you were living . . . if you were seeing anyone . . .”

  My heart rate kicks up a notch.

  “He still cares about you,” Delilah says. “I get the impression he wants to be with you again. Or he wants to try.”

  “What about Elle?”

  “They broke it off last year. You didn’t want me to tell you anything about Weston after you ended things, remember?”

  “Can we not have this conversation?” I glance at Cristiano through the corner of my eye. He’s steering us toward an exit ramp toward a rest stop, and it’ll be my turn to drive soon. I don’t want a heavy heart or a heavy mind when I’m supposed to be focusing on the road. Talk about impaired driving.

  “Of course,” Delilah says. “I just think maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to write him off. And I wanted you to know he’s here. Didn’t want you to be blindsided when you walk in tonight and he’s standing there looking like he’s two seconds from falling in love with you all over again.”

  “Anyway, I’ll see you soon. We just passed Canton, so I should be home in about seven hours. Maybe eight.” I’m anxious to wrap up the conversation as the car crawls to a stop in a narrow parking spot in front of a brick rest stop. “Call you when I get closer.”

  “Okay. Love you.” Delilah hangs up, and I slip my phone back into my bag, pushing a long, slow breath past my lips.

  “Everything okay?” Cristiano asks.

  I turn to him, studying the concern washing over his face.

  “Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

  Yanking on the door handle, I step out and stretch my legs. Swirling snowflakes dance around me, and my shoes crunch in a light dusting of snow on the pavement that can’t decide if it wants to stick or melt.

  Cristiano comes around the front of the car, stopping in front of me. “You sure you’re okay to drive? You seem . . . out of it.”

  I wave my hand in front of my face. “I’m fine.”

  Stepping around him, I make my way to the driver’s seat, slide in, shut the door, and adjust my backrest. Cristiano’s messing around in the trunk, pulling something small from his bag and tucking it under his arm before he takes his seat.

  Within a minute, we’re back on the interstate, heading east and music piping lightly through the speakers.

  “My ex,” I say, chest so tight I can hardly breathe. The rest of the words get caught.

  “What?”

  “My ex is back home,” I blurt. It feels good to get it out. I don’t think I could possibly contain this for the next however-many-hundreds-of-miles. “I haven’t seen him in over a year, and he’s going to be there, and I’m kind of freaking out.”

  Cristiano settles back in his seat, lifting his hand to his jaw and staring straight ahead. When he exhales, I can’t tell whether he’s deep in thought or annoyed that we’re about to have this conversation abou
t some guy he knows nothing about.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “We don’t have to talk about him. I just . . . I just feel like I was blindsided by this. I mean, I knew Weston was going to be around in some capacity. He’s Zane’s best friend. I just didn’t know he was coming to Rixton Falls. I figured he’d visit them in Chicago or something. I . . .”

  “You thought you could avoid him,” Cristiano finishes my thought. “Yeah, well, sounds like you can’t, so you better figure out a way to be okay seeing him.”

  “Honestly, seeing him is the least of my worries.”

  “Then what’s the issue?”

  “Delilah thinks he still has feelings for me.” I swallow the hard ball lodged in my throat. My mouth is dry. “And I’ve spent the better part of the last year trying to get over him.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “I think so. Everything happened so fast, but yeah. I think I did because it wouldn’t have hurt so bad if I didn’t, right?”

  “Do you still love him?”

  I let his question marinate, my hands gripped at ten and two as I forge ahead. Snowflakes dust the hood of the car, and the ones that land on the windshield thaw on impact. I flick on the wipers, but the liquefied flakes smear across the glass, temporarily blurring my vision.

  “Are you thinking about your answers or are you avoiding the question?” he asks.

  “Do you still love that girl? The one that broke your heart?”

  “Isn’t that how it works when someone you love breaks your heart? You always kind of love them? Maybe not as much as you once did.” He shifts in his seat and clears his throat. “I don’t think those feelings ever completely subside. At least not until you find someone else. Someone to love harder. Someone to love you better than they ever could.”

  Inhaling, I switch lanes. “I don’t know if I still love him. I just know I feel . . . something . . . and I have no idea what that something is. And that makes it really hard to want to see him right now.”