Sarah fell asleep on the short drive home with her hand on my junk. The car was running a lot smoother now that she’d had it fixed. Waking her up proved to be more difficult than I’d expected, and I half-carried her up the stairs to her apartment.
She used me as a brace while she kicked off her shoes, face mashed into my chest. She bypassed the bathroom and stumbled her way to the bedroom. Too bad she wasn’t in any state to be doing something more than sleeping off her oncoming hangover.
Sarah struggled out of her clothes, leaving them strewn across the floor, until she was left in a pair of nude cotton panties and a matching bra. I followed behind, picking up articles as I went, pausing to watch as she did a little spin and flopped back on the comforter.
Sarah was difficult to resist at the best of times. Mostly undressed made it that much more of a challenge—unless she was so tired she couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish an entire sentence. Then she was amusing, but untouchable.
“C’mere.” Head lolling to the side, she extended a hand in invitation.
I went to her dresser first. Opening the second drawer, I rummaged around until I found a white camisole. When I turned around, she was spread out on the bed, arms wide open, legs hanging off the edge, eyes closed again.
I sat down beside her. “Sarah, baby, let’s get this on you.”
She batted my hands away and felt around on the comforter, close to my leg, like she was searching for something.
“You gonna help me out, sugar lips?”
She blew out an exasperated breath and pried her eyes open. “I’m trying, but you’re making it hard.”
Some parts of me sure were hard. “I should probably get you a glass of water.”
She arched her back and shoved her hands behind her, fighting with the clasp on her bra.
“I could help with that,” I offered.
“I got it.” Her tight, perky breasts appeared, with their sweet little nipples. “You should get me your dick.” It came out with a heavy slur.
I laughed, pushing her hair away from her face. Sarah wasn’t one to use crude language, so it was a bit of a shock to hear, and it made me harder than I already was, which was pretty damn hard. “What do you think you’re going to do with it?”
She looked up at me, her blond lashes fluttering as she tried to focus. “Sit on it.”
“You think so, huh?”
“I know so.” She rolled onto her stomach and put her head in my lap. With uncoordinated fingers, she fought with the button on my jeans. I let her have at it for a few seconds, entertained by her attempt at the impossible.
“Baby, you can’t even sit up, let alone sit on my dick. You’ll be lucky if you get in a cuddle tonight.”
She made a discontented noise and dropped her head on my thigh. Sliding forward, her cheek rested on the bulge straining against my fly.
“You’re prolly right.”
I let her stay there, smoothing her hair while she gave me cheek-dick snuggles through my pants. I’d have to whack it something fierce before I fell asleep, but there’d be other times to make good on her desire to get all up on that and ride.
Her hair was in her face again. I swept it back, stroking along the long column of her throat. She was flawlessly beautiful, even as messed up as she was right now. It terrified me that she worked in a place where someone could get her into this kind of state and take full advantage of it.
When her eyes stayed closed, I moved her off my lap. I hadn’t managed to get the cami on her, so I took the throw blanket folded at the end of the bed and laid it over her instead. Kissing her forehead, I left her sprawled out on top of the covers while I got her a glass of water and Tylenol. It took all of maybe two minutes, but her breathing was even by the time I got back. Getting her to sit up and drink the water took a lot of coaxing.
“You’re real tired, huh, sugar?” I rearranged her until she was under the comforter.
“Uh-huh.” She hugged her pillow, curling into a ball.
I kissed her temple and pushed up off the mattress, needing to take care of my problem before I joined her.
“Chris?” She grabbed my wrist, bleary eyes struggling to focus on me with something between sadness and panic.
“What’s up, baby? You need something else?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I dropped down on the edge of the bed.
“For drinking too much. I didn’t mean to.”
“You don’t have to apologize for having fun with your friends. It’s good for you to let loose. I don’t think you do it enough.” Although I wasn’t sure she’d be feeling all that awesome at work tomorrow, despite the water and Tylenol. I went to stand, but she tightened her hold on my wrist.
“Can you stay a while longer?” She pushed through the sheets until she could curl her body around me.
“I’m just gonna hit the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“You’re not leaving?” She seemed confused.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Okay. That’s good. I don’t want you to go, even if there’s not really anything for you to stay for.” She pressed her lips against the back of my hand. “I’ll make it up to you next time, okay? Just stay with me tonight.” Her eyes fluttered shut, and she settled back into the warmth of the bed.
It took me a few seconds to get what she was trying to say. “Sarah?”
She had to work hard to pry her eyes open. I touched her cheek and her lips parted on a sigh.
“I didn’t just come here for the sex. I came here for you.”
She smiled softly and mumbled, “I’ll still make it up to you.”
I waited until her breathing evened out again before I went to the bathroom. It bugged me that she’d think the only reason I wanted to sleep over was for sex, but then maybe I’d never given her a reason to believe otherwise. That was something I’d need to find a way to change.
My toothbrush was in the top drawer of the vanity. She hadn’t gotten rid of it while we were on our break, which made me feel better. I gave my mouth a quick brush, then took a few minutes to alleviate the hard-on that wouldn’t go away.
On the way back to her bedroom, I paused at the coffee table. Papers were strewn around in a disorganized mess. While Sarah wasn’t super tidy, her place wasn’t usually this bad. It looked as though she’d been searching for something, and maybe she’d been in a rush. The clutter would make Hayden go exorcist crazy.
Sarah’s résumé—the one for her internship—sat on top of the pile. Not surprisingly, neither The Dollhouse nor The Sanctuary was listed among her places of employment. According to her history, she’d done some temp work for a small marketing company—just secretarial and filing—about a year and a half ago, before she moved to Chicago.
There was a gap in her employment history after she moved here, but grad school could account for that. Her program was tough, and a lot of her peers didn’t take on jobs as well. If only Sarah could afford to do that.
Under the résumé was a copy of a project she’d been stressing about since before she called for the break. It was marked now. She’d gotten a ninety. I flipped through it, skimming the contents. She’d laid out an entire marketing plan for opening a small business. It was neatly organized in a clear portfolio with pie charts and graphs outlining projected start-up costs, and potential profit and losses. It was impressive. Beside that were her bank statements. Looking at them would be an invasion of privacy, but I did it anyway.
The statement was dated a week ago. Bi-weekly automatic deposits denoted the lame-ass paychecks from The Sanctuary, the hourly wage pitiful in comparison to the tips Sarah pulled every shift. There were additional weekly deposits of a couple hundred or so, but it didn’t come close to the cash I assumed she pulled in. I’d watched her count out the stack of bills at the end of a shift once she got home, double checking figures. Most nights she pulled in at least two bills for slinging drinks. Weekends she made a lot more
.
Under the bank statements was another official looking document detailing her student loans which totaled more than fifty grand. I’d never owed that amount of money in my life, or owned it, for that matter. I could and did make more than that in a year, but I would never be able to help Sarah pay off her debt. Not when I was passing over money to help out my mom on a regular basis.
As I looked over the statement, I understood exactly why she stayed at The Sanctuary, even though she hated it. I knew her home life growing up had been unstable, a lot like mine. It had just been her and her mom. That she’d managed to get through undergrad and move on to grad school facing that kind of uphill battle was impressive.
My guilt trips over her job probably made her feel worse. It was selfish insecurity on my part, borne out of fear that Sarah would take the same path Candy had, and not only ruin her potential, but erase my temporary blip of happiness before I was ready.
It would disappear, though. No one took on a school loan that size if the job they’d eventually be walking into was going to pay less than it had cost to get the degree. Soon Sarah would be fully immersed in one world, not two. There’d be no reason for her to stay at the bottom with me when she could climb to the top with someone better suited to the journey.
Beside the coffee table was a basket of clean laundry. I couldn’t help Sarah financially, but I could make life easier in other ways, make myself useful beyond the bedroom. I sat down next to the basket and smoothed out her panties the way I’d seen them in her drawer, arranged by style. Most were Hanes, with a few nicer ones thrown in, all in various pale shades. They came in two styles: bikini briefs and boy shorts. Halfway through the basket, I found one of her work outfits. The naughty nurse uniform was a one-piece zip up number.
I’d seen her in it a couple times when I used to go to The Dollhouse. It was low cut, her cleavage squeezed together with a white lace and satin push-up bra that made her boobs look way bigger than they were. The skirt barely covered her ass. She’d worn a pair of lacy shorts under it and white garters. A stethoscope drew more attention to her breasts. I’d tried real hard not to look at them when I ordered a drink. Or I’d tried not to let her catch me, anyway.
The outfits had never done it for me with Sarah. They’d never done it for me period. Strip clubs were like costume parties on Halloween—everyone dressed as the sluttiest version of themselves. Women in fetish outfits wasn’t what had drawn me to the club in the first place. It was that everyone there seemed the same as me. We were all damaged, and the girls who went to the private rooms and offered services were the most fragile of them all, even if they put on a good front.
I wasn’t a knight in shining armor coming to save them; I was a kinder, safer option than someone who would abuse them, because I knew what it was like. I wasn’t sure what kind of person that made me.
Sarah was different than those girls, and that had been clear from the beginning. I’d asked her out, fully expecting the no I got back. But I’d kept asking, and she’d kept saying no. And the more she said no, the more I wanted to make it happen.
I’d see her working the tables, smiling the way she was supposed to, shredding egos in that subtle way of hers where I couldn’t quite tell if she was joking or serious when she cut someone down. And when she thought no one was looking, I’d see that smile slip. Her sadness leached the warmth out of her gaze whenever she turned toward the stage to watch the girls strip down to thongs, offering the tiny straps for bills to be shoved in.
Her expression when she thought no one was watching made me re-evaluate my strategy. I wanted to understand why someone so well-spoken and gorgeous would choose to put herself in a position where she was regarded as a thing to be had and discarded.
After nearly two months of persistence, Sarah finally agreed to meet me at a juice bar. She’d driven herself and had been determined to hate me. I’d been determined to change her mind. I wanted to be someone better than I was. I hadn’t even tried to kiss her at the end. She’d been the one to lay one on me, and she’d looked pretty pissed about it. I’d called her an hour later and left a message asking to see her again. It took her two days to get back to me, but she’d agreed. That time she let me take her to dinner.
She’d been guarded at first, which was understandable. Her walls were like mine, which was another part of the allure. I understood walls. They’d kept me safe from people most of my life. Only my Inked Armor crew got past them, and even then, I only let them into the rooms I wanted to. There were locked closets no one but me could enter. But by keeping my walls in place with Sarah, I’d created a distance I didn’t know how to cross any more.
Part of me wanted to let her in, tell her all about my shitty childhood and the way I struggled with how to help my sister and mother with the poverty they couldn’t escape. I thought she’d understand, and maybe she’d empathize, and maybe she’d even give me some piece of her in return, but it was a dangerous slope. And it might tangle me deeper in something I wanted but couldn’t have. Not with any real permanence.
I finished folding the laundry, stuffing the nurse outfit under everything else. Then I went around turning off the lights. I stripped out of my shirt and pants, but left my boxers on.
Sarah was starfished on the bed. Most nights she’d roll over and give me space, not that her double bed had much to give. Tonight she burrowed through the covers, grumbling in her sleep. She did that sometimes when she was stressed. Xander’s name came up often. Tonight it was mine as she shimmied in closer.
“I’m glad you decided to stay,” she breathed. Her arm came around my waist, and she smoothed a hand up my chest, stopping on my left pec. I covered it with my own.
“I told you I would.”
“I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”
“Not a chance. I thought you were asleep.”
“I am.”
I smiled against her hair.
“I had to change the sheets today,” she muttered.
Now I knew she was only half awake. “Oh, yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t want to, but they’d lost your smell. Now I’ll get it back.”
“My smell?”
“Mmmm.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Safe.”
I let the word sit, like oil floating on top of water; it didn’t mix with the answer I’d expected.
“I like that I can feel your heart,” Sarah whispered, her sleep-fuzzed mind drifting again.
She wasn’t really present in the moment. I knew that. So I said the thing I wanted to, but couldn’t when she was truly listening.
“It’s all yours, baby. All you have to do is want it enough to take it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Chris
I woke up to an empty bed. Sunshine streamed in a muted haze through the gauzy curtains, the sound of traffic on the street below buffered by the fan running in the corner of the room. I had a vague recollection of Sarah kissing me goodbye this morning, but it must have been at some god-awful hour.
I stretched out, my back aching from her hard mattress. That was part of the reason we preferred staying at my place; my mattress was a pillow-top. There were few things I spent good money on. Nice sheets and a good mattress were right up there with a comfy couch and my ride.
I checked her closet, hoping I’d left one of my T-shirts behind the last time I slept over. I could go to work in the one I wore yesterday, but I doubted I’d feel very fresh by closing. The other option was to ride home and get changed. It wouldn’t take that long, but the convenience factor of staying over would be lost if I had to make the trip.
Sarah’s closet had two distinct sections. One side held a selection of dress pants, blazers, and skirts in dark colors, as well as mostly white blouses. The other side was comprised of summer dresses, old jeans, and shirts. On the far right was one of my Inked Armor T-shirts, huge beside her clothes.
I took it with me into the bathroom. Sarah’s shower was weak compare
d to mine, the spray more light rainfall than thunderstorm. I took my time anyway, using her soap to take care of the morning wood and wishing there’d been time to get in some action before she left for work. I knew it was unlikely, but I’d still kind of hoped she would’ve woken me in her special way after we had to take a pass last night. Regardless, it had been good to see her let loose.
I couldn’t recall any other time where I’d spent the night with Sarah without the expectation of getting busy under the sheets. Maybe there had been a night or two during the trial when we’d ended up in bed without the intention of nakedness, but it had usually happened anyway—more as a distraction and a comfort than a means to get off.
Sitting through the trial had been a real mind fuck. All the memories I’d left behind when H and I broke free from Art Addicts became new again. We all had shadows in our pasts. But I had a lot more demons than I wanted to acknowledge. Hayden was much the same for very different reasons.
Pushing aside the black thoughts, I finished my shower and got dressed. I went commando rather than recycle my boxers. It took me a while to find Sarah’s hair products. She didn’t usually put anything in her hair unless she was working. Sometimes she’d do this updo thing when she dressed like a fifties pinup girl. It was the only outfit I actually liked.
I searched the vanity for gel or mousse—anything that would keep me from having to wear a hat all day. When I was done, I cleaned up and put everything away. I even took the time to make her bed. The living room had been tidied; the papers on the coffee table had disappeared, including the bank information.
My stomach growled, so I hit the fridge, hoping to find something to take the edge off. I’d stop at the café downstairs before heading over to Inked Armor, but even a glass of juice was better than nothing. I found a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet.
Fractures in Ink Page 10
