by Vivian Wood
He brushes my clit, the sensation like a live wire. I suddenly feel electrified, moaning and clutching at his shoulders.
“Fuck!” I cry. “Calum… jesus!”
He rams his cock home, punctuating each thrust by stroking my clit.
“You like this, beauty?” he whispers. “Show me how much of a good girl you can be. Come for me, right now.”
“Calum… I…”
Suddenly, I’m falling down a deep, dark crevasse, seizing up, my whole body shaking and clamping down. Feeling a million tiny jolts of sensation overwhelming my entire system, all at once. My pussy convulses, spasming around his cock.
I lose track of time and space for nearly a minutes, When I come back down to reality, I open my eyes and keep my hips moving, trying desperately to breathe. He hammers his cock home at a blistering pace, his movements freezes as he approaches his own peak.
“Yes. Look at me!” he demands.
Mouth open, eyes glued to his, I can only try to drag in each breath.
“Tell me who you belong to, Kaia!” Calum roars, thrusting into me.
I barely have the breath to answer. “You, Calum. I belong to you. Always and only you.”
“Fuck!” he cries out. “You’re making me come…”
He thrusts unbelievably hard a half dozen times. I feel him coming, feel his cock twitching. The look on his face is one of equal torment and bliss, lasting for half a minute at least. I can only turn my lips up to his once more.
Calum leans down and cups my jaw, kissing me slowly, tenderly. We both struggle for breath as we come down together.
11
I stand in the bedroom of Callum's luxury apartment, my mouth twisting with disappointment. I try to pull my jeans a little tighter, practically cutting off my circulation to button them. I manage to do up the button but they are so tight that I feel like I have a little gut. Making a frustrated sound, I walk into the bathroom and pull up my shirt, checking myself out in the full-length mirror.
Yup. That's it. I have a gut.
“What the fuck?” I wonder aloud.
I've never had a gut. And suddenly I have a little pooch right here. I push my stomach out and make my gut exaggerated. Not that it really needs it…
“It's gotta be the fucking bagels,” I mutter.
Unbuttoning my jeans, I strip them off and replace them with my friendly black cotton leggings, as stretchy as you please. Then I storm into the kitchen, rip open the freezer, and pull out the bag of leftover bagels. This is the only thing that I can think of that has changed recently.
I've been sneaking a little piece of bagel and a little bit of cream cheese every now and then ever since Calum brought them home. But no more. I toss the bag in the trash and then toss the trash bag into the wall chute in the laundry room where the trash usually goes.
I didn't think that I was doing so much damage to my petite figure by eating a bagel every once in a while. But it's apparent that I have.
I head to the ballet shortly after that, still steaming over my weight. Add in the fact that Ella still isn't there during my rehearsal and it all adds up to a pretty crummy day all around. I work out hard but when I am done, I’m so ravenous that I stop at the kebab cart outside of the NYB.
Not the healthiest choice, certainly. But a fresh piping hot chicken kebab really hits the spot on my ride back from work.
When I get home, I find Calum sipping his whiskey in his office. I avoid him entirely because I'm in such a bad mood. There's nothing that Calum could do or say to lighten it.
Except he sees me and follows me into the bedroom. He seems oblivious to my mood which is lucky for him. When I am changing, he slips in the walk in closet door behind me and ogles me. I shoot a glare at him.
“I’m warning you,” I say. “I had the worst day. So I am not responsible for my actions if I chew you out.”
Calum’s lips twitch. He doesn't listen, of course. Instead he corners me, holding his big arms out until I back up against the wall. He is just shy of pressing his whole body up against mine, the barest inch from full body contact. He cocks an eyebrow and I wrinkle my nose.
“Must you?” I ask. “I still haven’t even showered.”
He looks at me with the same humor reflected in his eyes as in his facial expression. “Now that you said so, I think I must.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. He takes that for a sign of my giving in and presses his hard body up against my small, soft one. He cups my cheek and turns my face up to him, where his lips are waiting for mine. I sigh into the kiss but my body does relax into his. It's more of a reflex than anything else but I'm glad of it.
He molds his hands over my torso and sighs.
“Have I told you lately that I like the shape of you? I just love this…”
He draws his hands down my arms and rib cage to my hips, indicating my body.
My cheeks instantly flood with heat. “My shape? If anything, I am getting fat. Don't encourage me.”
His mouth twitches with humor. “Whatever you're doing, I like it. You seem a little less like you're going to blow away if a strong breeze starts to blow.”
My expression contorts and I pull out of his arms, hurt by his words. “I just have to eat better. Work out a little more. Then I'll be back in fighting shape.”
“Are you even listening to me right now? Listen, you know that I am all for the athlete body. You know that I know that ballerinas run thinner than most people. I would say that I am pretty much an expert, wouldn’t you?”
Feeling insecure, I pull on a dark oversized coat. “I think you are a little biased. I think you have let love blind you to the truth. And the truth is, I’m fat.”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You are tougher on yourself than you need to be. This career lends itself to disordered eating…”
“I can only be a ballerina for a few short years. And that's if I don't get hurt. I have worked all my life to get to this very point. And I'm not about to let a few bagels stand between me and being successful.”
Calum sighs. “I don't like it when you start getting bony. I worry about you.”
“And I worry about being judged by my looks. It's not just a given that I will excel at this job. It’s especially not obvious that I am just so talented that critics will overlook my physical flaws. Quite the opposite, actually.”
He lifts single shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just saying that it's not all about your weight. You have a lot more to offer than being thin as a rail.”
“Yes, well. You should really save this conversation for years from now. When I am getting really fat.”
His lips twitch. “Are you planning on getting pregnant and popping out half a dozen babies or something?”
I give him a sharp glare. “You make it sound like pregnancy is bad.”
Calum spreads his hands wide and makes a funny expression with his face. “It’s not good. Not if you don't want kids. Children are great for other people, but not a part of my life plan.”
I heave a frustrated sigh. “I can't have this argument with you right now. Honestly.”
He takes the last couple of steps between us, his gaze heavy upon mine. I bring up my hands to push at his chest but he traps them and pulls me against him. I can feel the hard ridges of his body as he dominates me with his size.
“Calum… I'm really not in the mood…”
He bends his head down, his lips parting. Those soft lips find the pulse point at my neck and touch it gently. My eyes start to close and I exhale softly. He sucks at that pulse point and my heart starts racing. It may be against my will, but my body has a different opinion.
Even as he turns my lips up to his and kisses me, his words reverberate in my head. I kiss him back, but I'm distracted. And Calum is attuned enough to me to be able to tell.
“What?” he murmurs.
I pull back, looking up at his gorgeous face. “What if I decide that I want to have children? Your children.”
He squ
ints at me. “We don't have to decide today. You have at least ten years before you have to make a decision like that.”
My mouth pulls down into a frown. I can't help but feel as if Calum is pushing off this conversation, already assured that I won't be upset when he finally tells me no. I take my time and figure out exactly what it is I'm trying to say.
“That may be years from now. But we don't know what's going happen. We’re not psychic. Things could change. I just… I want to know that there is a possibility sometime in the future.”
He grabs my hand where it lies on his chest and pulls it up to his mouth, kissing my palm. “There is no point in talking about it now. As you say, we don't have the ability to see the future. If the time comes that we have to have this conversation again, will have it. Right now, all I want is to bend you over this bed and fuck you like there is no tomorrow. That's all I can think about.”
He turns me around and walks me backwards towards the bed. I look up at him, my arms going around his neck. When he kisses me and pushes me back onto the bed, I am more than willing. But that doesn't stop my mind from going a million miles an hour, over and over the same track.
He doesn't want kids. In my heart of hearts, I know that I will want them eventually.
What does that spell for us and our relationship in the future?
I wish I had a better idea.
12
On the ride upstairs to Lucas’s Midtown apartment, I glower at the smooth white elevator doors. I don't want to be here. In fact, I want nothing to do with Anita ever again. And yet here I am.
I fidget and jump a little when the elevator dings, arriving at the floor that I selected. My heart is hammering inside my chest even though I know that I'm perfectly safe. But there is still a thirteen year old boy inside of me… And every step closer I take down the hall toward the apartment doors, he only gets louder in the back of my head.
Run away.
I take a deep breath as I knock on the door. Almost immediately, it's opened by a petite nurse wearing pale gray hospital scrubs.
“Hi,” I say. I feel like this person is standing between me and Anita, acting as Anita’s last defense.
My anger has been simmering on the back burner for so long that it's now at a full boil. I cast my gaze around the room. The nurse doesn't say a word to me. She just backs away from the door with a tiny bow.
I open my mouth as I enter the apartment, about to ask where Anita is.
But she's only thirty feet from me, her hospital bed and a dozen beeping machines all set up in what would be the living room. Her eyes are closed. She looks so small in the hospital bed, wrapped up in a pile of blankets. Even in her sleep, she isn't peaceful. She looks like she is running to somewhere, her arms and legs splayed out across the bed, her face a serious as she ever looks.
When the nurse shuts the door behind me, I jump out of my skin. She says sorry in a hushed voice and I just wave her off.
“Leave us.”
She bows her head. “I’ll just be in the next room,” she says.
Straightening my cufflinks, I smooth my Brioni jacket out as I slowly pace across the room to the bed. Anita stirs in her sleep but doesn't wake. This is good actually because it gives me some time to digest everything, to think of exactly what I want to say to her.
I drop my hands by my sides as I walk around the bed, my eyes traveling to Anita's face. She looks old and worn, her skin a strange combination of leathery and pale. My fists clench without any particular thought or feeling. It just makes me angry that she should still be here, still be in my life all these years later.
What gives her the right to die in peace? And why does she need to do it with my brother Lucas so close at hand?
I stalk around her bed for a moment. It seems suddenly as if there is not enough air in the room. I am feeling jittery, feel the anger roiling in my gut. Usually I would vent a little, find a way to let some of this steam escape. But now I don't have that option.
I look around the room, anywhere but at Anita herself. My hands are clammy as I pull a chair up to her bedside.
As I am taking a seat beside her bed, Anita stirs. She opens her eyes a little bit and sees me sitting there. I must have an intense expression on my face because she looks a little taken aback by my presence.
“Calum?” she gasps. She reaches for an oxygen mask that lies around her neck and presses it to her face for a long moment, sucking in a deep breath. When she speaks again, she sounds strangled. “I didn't think you would come.”
Just hearing her say my name is disagreeable to me. I clench my jaw.
“Well, here I am. You told Lucas to fetch me. So? What you have to say to me?”
She tries to sit up, pushing herself out of her bed by her elbows. But it seems that she lacks any real strength. She clears her throat, embarrassed at her body’s failure.
“Yes, I wanted to talk to you. I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye…”
I snort, interrupting her. “No, we have not. We haven't even been looking at the same screen since I was a teenager.”
Her mouth turns down in a gentle frown. “Is there something that you need to get off your chest, Cal?”
I shake my head at her, unable to believe her audacity.
“You…” I trail off, working up the nerve to confront her. My fists bunch. “I was just a kid. You know that? Just a kid. And you took advantage of me. You took advantage of my mom's death.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Me? I took you in. I took you and Lucas in. Not only that, but I also made you what you are. Without me, there would've been no ballet academy. No career as dancers. No successful adulthood. You owe everything to me.”
I hiss at her. “No one said that you had to take us in. Lucas and I would've found our way just fine without you. But you wanted something. You wanted sex. You wanted companionship. It's just it's disgusting, what you did.”
“We. What we did.” She lifts her chin.
“I didn't have a choice. I was thirteen, for God's sake. I didn't want you. I didn't even know what sex was, not really anyway.” I pause, trying to control myself. “You took something from me. Something that I can't get back. And I will hate you with every fiber of my being for the rest of my fucking life.”
Anita's eyes widen. “You can't hate me. I saved you.”
“I can do whatever I want, Anita. I will tell you that starting my new life, with no mother at my side and a little brother to look out for… Starting my new life and being used by you… It did give me something. An edge, maybe.”
Shaking my head, I give a humorless chuckle.
Her eyes narrow on my face.
“You were lucky to have me. You are lucky to touch me, to taste me.”
I rise from my chair, zooming in toward her face, my temper almost getting the best of me.
“Look at me! Look at how fucking young I am. At least compared with you. If you thought that our age difference wasn't that great, even back then, you can't think so now. I think anyone with their wits about them would say that our relationship was inappropriate at best.”
“So what?” she asks. “What is the worst thing they would call a beautiful woman like me deflowering a clumsy, inadequate virgin?”
“They would call it child endangerment. Or maybe sex with a minor. Some would even call it…”
I stop, unable to bring myself to say the word rape.
“Whatever the term, it wasn't my idea. I didn't like it. And I still can't stand to look at you.”
Anita sneers. “You just wanted to get lucky.”
“No.” I shake my head. My hands are clenched by my side. “You can say that however many times you want, but it doesn't make it true. I was a kid. You are an adult. You were promising to take care of me. And you didn’t.”
“Yes I did. I took care of you better than anybody ever will.”
I blow out a breath and take a step back. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to hurt her, to take advantage of her the
way that she took advantage of me so many years ago. But I can't do that.
I lift my chin and stare her right in the eyes. “You're lucky that I have more to live for than making you pay. I know that I can't do anything right now to make you more miserable, but I can control me. I can decide that I'm done.”
She tries to sit up again but can't manage to make her muscles lift her. “That's it, you're done?”
I take a second to glance at her, to really take in her shrunken frame and her pallor. In the hospital bed just now, she looks so powerless. I half expect her to start screaming as I turn and walk toward the door. I definitely don't expect what she says.
Her frail voice reaches my ears just as I am about to exit the room. “Cal? Wait.”
God help me, I stop in the doorway. I don't turn around but I do hesitate. She must see the way that I am pausing, because she continues.
“I hope you have a good life.”
I turn my head and look at her, my fist clenching. She isn't angry. She is that depressed. She just seems passive and resigned. A first for her, surely.
“Goodbye, Anita,” I tell her in a quiet voice. Then I stalk out of the room, a strange kind of fury simmering in my veins.
As I walk to the elevator, my head and my heart are so full of confusing feelings that I don't know whether I'm going to tear up or punch the wall. But either way, I have said my goodbyes.
13
I stand outside the Queens townhouse, looking at the address for the fifth time. 2622 Fisher Lane. The house number is printed in gold letters just above the front door of the two story beige row house. I look around the street, expecting to see my mother's silver Mercedes or my sisters black Porsche. But I see nothing of the kind, nothing except for rows of beat up Toyotas and thirdhand American-made vans.
Pushing out a breath, I climb the rickety staircase that leads up to the plain beige front door. My mom gave me this address no less than three times, so I really hope that this is the right address. I ring the bell, my heart thudding slowly in my chest. I pull out my cell phone and check to see if I've missed a text from Calum. But there is nothing.
