Tempting Fate

by Amber Lin

  “Hey,” Drew said without heat. “I played volleyball all through college.”

  Philip snorted. “Harvard had a volleyball team?”

  Drew gave a small grin. “How else could I afford to go? That scholarship paid for the law degree you get so much mileage out of.”

  “Well, thank God for large, undeserved favors. You’ve kept the business from sinking so many times. What would I do without you?”

  “Bribe the judge?” Drew said blandly.

  “Now there’s an idea,” Philip said with equal languor. “Should I be writing this down?”

  “Only if you plan on firing me.”

  “Don’t count on it. You’re going to retire when you’re done working for me, and you’ll be a rich old man when you do.”

  “I’m counting on it. I’d hate to go back to getting my balls busted to make rent.”

  Feeling unsettled, I excused myself from the table. Drew’s gaze burned as I left the room, but I couldn’t meet his eyes, afraid of what I would see there. Afraid of what he’d see in me. Desire. Curiosity. Longing.

  I limped my way upstairs and took a hot shower, then reclined in the armchair. I’d wanted to peel back the layers, but I was finding more than skin and sex—there was a man underneath, his dreams and determination as attractive as his body.

  I knew Drew had gone to Harvard, but the image of him hustling on a volleyball court or struggling for a scholarship didn’t mesh with the crisp-linen, gleaming-edged man he was today. Had money and success changed him? It hadn’t seemed to make Philip happier. If anything, he was more paranoid, more worried it would all be taken away. Did Drew feel the same way?

  A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  Drew stepped inside, carrying an ice pack wrapped in paper towels. “I come bearing gifts.”

  The sight of him in my bedroom made my breath catch. He seemed to fill the room despite his casual stance and light tone.

  “More like instruments of torture.” Still, I accepted the cold compress and pressed it to my knee.

  “Leave it on for a few minutes.” He leaned against the bedpost and crossed his arms as if to wait. “Otherwise it’ll swell up, and Philip will never trust my doctoring skills again.”

  I slanted him a glance. “I’m surprised he let you up here.”

  “Sent me up here,” he corrected. “He had to take a call. I told him I could handle it. He’ll be busy a good thirty minutes.”

  He spoke casually, but my breath caught at the implicit offer. Time. We had time. “Yeah, well, he trusts you with a lot more important things than delivering an ice pack.”

  “Nothing is more important than you.” He added, “To Philip.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. “Right. So what happened last night was probably a bad idea.”

  “He would be pretty pissed.”

  “I notice you didn’t say whether you agree.”

  His shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “You tell me.”

  “And where does your will come into play?”

  “Are you asking if I would say no to you, Rose? I can’t imagine that. I can’t imagine what you could ask that I wouldn’t give you.”

  My throat felt thick and swollen as I swallowed.

  I was privileged. I knew that. My brother had money, influence, and everyone wanted to get close to him. I had been propositioned plenty of times with suave smiles and calculated remarks from guys who wanted to get to know me better. After all, getting to know me meant getting introduced to the family. It meant financial advantage in the form of my brother’s favor. I didn’t want to be used, didn’t even want serious. I just wanted sex.

  “You would say yes…for me? Or because you think Philip would like you better if we were an item.”

  He shook his head, not offended at my accusation. A simple refute: no, try again. “Philip would kick my ass if he knew, but aside from that, I don’t need your help to stay in his good graces. I’m as close to him as anyone, maybe more than you.”

  That was true, he didn’t need my help. Unlike any of the other men who had come on to me, he wouldn’t really gain more access to Philip with me than without.

  Was that what made him so attractive? Though attraction wasn’t really what I felt for him. He didn’t pull me to him with charm or seduction. His very presence flipped a switch inside me. I became alight with anticipation and arousal and other things I didn’t have the words for. I wanted to feel like this all the time. He’d said he wouldn’t deny me.

  I swallowed, wondering if I had the courage to ask for what I wanted.

  Drew opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to reconsider. “Well, I guess I should head downstairs. It will feel better if you leave the ice pack on.”

  He turned to leave, and I blurted out, “Would you do it for me?”

  A beat passed, then two.

  “Do what?”

  “What…what I did last night.” Strip. Masturbate. “Would you be willing to do it for me?”

  His body tightened. Even through the barrier of his shirt, I could see the muscles of his back go taut. His hands fisted in the air. “You want to see that?”

  I had dreamed of it last night. “I want to. I promise not to touch.”

  “Is this supposed to be convincing me?”

  A surprised laugh escaped. “I won’t touch…this first time.”

  “Ah,” he said quietly. “Then I suppose I don’t have a choice but to wait and see. How would you like me?”

  Well, that was a loaded question. Weighted down with other questions like how long until Philip comes looking for him? and where will we go from here? I don’t know, I don’t know.

  I stood and dimmed the light, leaving us bathed in soft yellow from my reading lamp. The same as last night, only closer and more intimate because he was here with me. I locked the door too, just in case we had less time than he thought.

  I turned to face him, leaning back against the wall. “Wherever you like.”

  He looked at the bed. He looked back at me.

  He sat down in the armchair by the corner. The message was clear and heartbreakingly thoughtful—no pressure to go further, like a bed might imply. And there was a sweet symmetry, in the place I had stripped myself and where he would do the same. Our reflections caught by the same window, faint impressions trapped in glass where only the two of us could see.

  But even while I appreciated the gesture, unease nudged at me. He seemed so alone in the corner, as if this were a perverted sort of punishment instead of my reward.

  He reached for his zipper, and my breath caught.

  “No,” I breathed.

  His hands froze. He raised his eyes to meet mine.

  “How can I make this…better for you?” Inwardly, I winced at my bumbling ignorance, but I held my ground. This was my room, my show. I could make of it what I wanted. And I never wanted him to hurt.

  “If you were here with me.” His voice roughened. “Near to me. I would come so hard.”

  I knelt on the floor at his feet. My knees cried out in pain, but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding of my pulse. It beat a rhythm of wanting and waiting, a tribal song I somehow knew by heart.

  “Your knees?” he asked.

  “Are fine.” A lie, but if I told him the truth, he would insist that I sit down, that I apply the ice pack with a detached solicitousness that I got from everyone else, all the time. I wanted the other part of him, dark and dirty. I wasn’t the first to be with him like this, but I was here now. And for now, that would be enough.

  He slid open the belt and unbuttoned his pants.

  I shook my head when his hand was halfway down the zipper. “Not yet. First I showed you my—” I looked down at the pale flesh peeking above the leotard I still wore. I had showed him my breasts.

  His gaze was a tender mix of appreciation and bemusement. “Which I appreciated immensely, but I don’t think I have the right anatomy for that.”

&nb
sp; “Show me anyway.” My voice lilted up at the end, turning into a question. Despite my demands, I wanted him to want this. This wasn’t a play at dominance; it was a different sort of game, one with points earned in longing and penalties for shyness. I had bared myself out of nothing more than desire, and I needed the same from him. “I want to see you, but only if you really want this.”

  He didn’t answer with words. Instead he unbuttoned his shirt with slow, lazy flicks of the wrist while his gaze remained locked with mine. He tugged the sides apart, revealing a soft crinkle of hair peeking over the rim of a white tank undershirt.

  After pulling that over his head, he leaned back—a pasha in a vintage chic armchair, casual and seductive and unafraid in the tower where I’d hidden for so long.

  “Do you touch yourself there?” I asked, inclining my head toward his chest. His nipples were brown circles nestled beneath dark brown hair. His skin bunched in ridges at the top of his stomach, then smoothed out into a hairless expanse around his belly button.

  “No.”

  “Just…lower.” Where the hair became thick, pointing down into the waistband of his briefs.

  “Yes, lower. Is that what you want to see? How I touch myself?”

  “When you’re alone. Yes.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t comment as he pushed down the blue fabric of his briefs and pulled himself out. It was thicker than I’d been expecting, more purple than regular flesh. He fisted himself and stroked once, twice, three times.

  When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “It’s fast when I do it. Fast and hard and not all that good, really. But with your eyes on me, I think it will be even faster.”

  I stared, fascinated, as he handled himself so roughly.

  “Unless you want me to slow it down, I’m going to come soon. Unless you want me to wait.”

  “Why?” I licked my lips, a motion he tracked closely with a gaze forged in iron. “Why would I want you to go slower?”

  “There’s power in denial.” He stared at me while his hand shuttled at his cock. “There’s pleasure in waiting. Delayed gratification.”

  “Oh. I wouldn’t know about all that.”

  His laugh was curt. “You know enough, Rose. Any more and you might just kill me.”

  Despite his assertion, it didn’t end fast. At least not like I’d assumed it would, based on his fierce pumping. He twisted his hand on each upstroke before settling down to a long, hard glide. Again and again, though still he didn’t finish. The mystery built in my mind—what would he look like?

  My lips parted as I leaned forward. His breath stuttered, and his hand faltered.

  “Rose,” he groaned.

  “Should I help?” I whispered.

  “Help how?”

  Touch you. Lick you. Impale myself on you so we can both get what we want. “I don’t know.”

  He shook his head, his hand resuming its slide. “You can’t have it both ways. It’s either tease or fulfill me, withhold or submit—there’s no in between.”

  With shaking hands, I pulled the tank top off me, baring myself to his hot gaze. “Then do it on me. It’s not really touching.”

  A strained smile touched his lips, but his hand sped up. His eyes were glued to my breasts.

  “Cup them again,” he said. “Like you did last night.”

  I held them, relishing in the weight on my palms, the piquant offering they made.

  He suddenly froze, his mouth falling open on a harsh exhalation. I tensed, waiting for the impact of his climax on my skin. Instead he shoved his hand in front of his cock, catching the ejaculate and blocking my view. He rocked into his hand in short, urgent bursts as his orgasm gripped his body.

  He slumped back in the chair with a satisfied sigh. It filled me with a pride I couldn’t disguise even as I complained with a small smile.

  “I thought you were going to do that on me.”

  A wry look transformed sated features. “The first part of me that touches you is not going to be my semen.”

  I felt a blush spread over my chest, painting the tops of my breasts with a rosy hue and heating my cheeks. A small grin curved his lips as he watched me.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re shy.”

  My heart squeezed at his baldly sweet words. “I thought you liked me aggressive.”

  “I like you every way. When you’re aggressive, I want to obey you. When you’re shy, I want to shock you.”

  I hadn’t guessed he could be this way—so honest, so expressive—but maybe that was the benefit of a man who made rhetoric his trade. I paused, licking my lips. His eyes tracked the movement. Be brave. “What does it make you when I’m horny?”

  He leaned forward and murmured, “Desperate.”

  Then he headed into the adjoining bathroom, and I heard the sound of running water. I was flushed all over from that one word, flattened by need and the total lack of time to fulfill it. My brother was waiting downstairs for Drew, and besides, the illusory debt had been fulfilled.

  Gingerly, I pushed myself into the chair, which was still warm from his body. Unbidden, I had performed for him, and he’d returned the favor. There was nothing more I could offer, nothing more to demand. If I wanted more of him, I would have to ask.

  He unlocked the door but waited.

  “Will you call me?”

  He smiled, a full and brilliant thing that sucked all the air from the room. There, it said, that’s what I was waiting for. An invitation, a request. A tug of the line toward me when I hadn’t even realized I’d hooked him—but I had.

  That much was clear from his easy acquiescence to my every request, to the heart-clenching words of compliment and kindness. He was interested in me for more than sex, and only as the knowledge clicked in my head did I realize how surprised I was. How little I expected that from anyone, least of all a sane and stable person like him.

  Only then did I see the netted cage of my past surrounding me. A high school relationship. How could it still bother me? A dad who talked with his fists. Well, whose hadn’t? Easy to dismiss in theory, harder in practice.

  I pretended to be healed, but the truth was, I had been paralyzed, struck with the teeth of teenage cruelty and poisoned by memories. But the recognition of that taint only spurred me on. The fear could only contain me if I let it.

  The hurt could only catch me if I stood still.

  He handed me his phone, and I keyed in my number. Both of us could have gotten each other’s number through slightly sneaky means, but it was sweeter this way, like passing notes in class. Do you like me? This was the grown-up version, a contact listed in his mobile phone—check yes or no.

  He took it back. “We’ll probably be working all night. Tomorrow.”

  I couldn’t hide the smile that lifted my lips, a reflection of his. “Tomorrow.”

  Footsteps from the hallway alerted us to a new arrival, and I jumped back, smoothing my palms over my stomach.

  Philip peeked in. “Are you okay?”

  “What? Of course.” Don’t blush. Don’t blush.

  Damn it.

  He frowned. “Drew was taking so long. I worried you were more hurt than you let on.”

  “My knee is feeling great,” I said honestly. “Barely feel a thing.”

  Which was true. Vicarious orgasms had that effect, I learned.

  Drew picked up the ice pack from the bed where I must have set it down. Like he didn’t have a care in the world, he was casual, tossing the blue plastic compress and catching it in his palm. “Works like a charm.”

  Though the expression on his face said he wasn’t talking about ice packs at all. He winked at me as he shut the door behind him, and their muted words turned to work.

  Arrogant man. No, that wasn’t right. Confident, charming man who found a friend in everyone he met, who smoothed over feathers that Philip was forever ruffling. If I pursued a relationship, even a purely physical one, I would fall for him.

  Hell, I already had.<
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  Which wasn’t a good thing. When our brother Colin had fallen for a girl, Philip had almost gotten her killed. If I cared about Drew, I would leave him alone.

  And yet, I couldn’t resist. I may have lived with luxury and excess for over a decade, but the years before that had been barren. For those few years in a group home before Philip had gotten me free, I had learned to take what I was given and steal what wasn’t.

  Drew was a banquet when I hadn’t eaten all day. I was a poor girl who didn’t have the will to pass him by, even knowing he wasn’t for me.

  Chapter Three

  The next day after practice, I followed Lindsey out to the space to let. We parked on a sunny street lined with thick, evenly spaced trees and red brick townhomes. As a large truck pulled away from the meters, we nabbed parking spots one behind the other.

  “No parking lot,” I commented as we crossed the street.

  She snorted. “In this neighborhood? You’ll be lucky to get a few parking spaces in the garage out back.”

  “Yeah, but parents need to drop off their kids.”

  “And they can,” she said, gesturing to the fire zone in front of a courtyard area. “This is what everyone else in the city has to do.”

  Resigned, I pushed through the throng of people in front of the coffee shop we passed. They had figured out a way to get there, and of course my customers would too. We crossed the courtyard, which, I had to admit, would be a lovely space for the girls to wait to be picked up. And after Lindsey unlocked the door and let us inside, all my worries faded.

  Just as Lindsey had said, the place had been a yoga studio at the height of Chicago’s minitech boom but had lain dormant ever since. A beautiful wooden floor would need to be refinished and then covered with more knee-friendly material. I would install barres, which probably meant redoing the wall of windows. But it was perfect. Any place would need some renovations, and besides, something about this place just felt right. Warm and hopeful…or maybe I was projecting. I didn’t want to jinx it, but I had a feeling good things would happen here.

  And the apartment above the studio was icing on the cake. It had been some sort of lounge, complete with beanbags and hanging beads in the doorway, but it had all the right parts for a living space, as Lindsey had said, and that was exactly how I planned to use it.