After The Break

by Andrea Joan

  “Really? I thought Wonder Woman did. Didn’t she?” I ask, trying to think back on her wardrobe. I could have sworn she had a wand.

  “Those were cuffs.”

  “Oops. Wrong accessory.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I’ll take the compliment though, but instead of a wand maybe just get me The Rabbit. It’s like a wand, only for grownups,” she announces with a little too much excitement, as if the possibility of me getting her a vibrator is a real one.

  “Rest assured you’ll never be getting a vibrator from me as a gift. It would completely weird me out thinking you would be using a gift I bought you to get off.”

  “Skylar, my young, naïve little sex angel,” she sighs, shaking her head. “What do you think I’ve been doing with that thirty-setting luxury showerhead you got me last Christmas? There’s a reason they call it a showerhead.”

  I shove her shoulder. “Jesus, is that why you asked me for that? I thought you told me you needed a new one because your other one broke.” It’s not like I’m prude; far from it, I just don’t need to hear about what my friends are doing with their bathroom appliances. Bathroom appliances I bought.

  “It did. I wore it out,” she says with a sly smile. As if I should somehow be impressed she wore a showerhead out with multiple orgasms. Now I have that image in my head.

  “There is something seriously wrong with you. I can’t even look at you right now. Go home, you little nympho.”

  “Don’t hate, love. Not all of us have sex incarnate waiting with bated breath to knock, knock, knock, on heaven’s door.”

  “I think your euphemisms need work.” I shake my head at her and try to contain the pink I can already feel warming my cheeks.

  “Careful, Skylar. Your crush blush is showing,” she says. I’ve known Winter for so long it’s hard to hide anything from her. “Well, as much as I would love to stay here and swap sex toy success stories with you—”

  “We weren’t swapping stories. You were bombarding me with your shower antics against my will.”

  “If you say so. Anywho, I gotta get going. Have to go home and feed Kitty.” Three years and she still hasn’t picked out a real name for her cat. “I’m really hoping Amber has ushered her flavor of the day out of the house before I get there.”

  Amber. Just the mention of her name makes me feel all skeevy. I dislike her so much I’ve sworn off even wearing the color. Amber is a socialite succubus, and if she wasn’t Winter’s cousin, she and I would have zero contact with each other. I don’t care who she is related to or how much money she has. And it’s not that she’s just an epic bitch who constantly has strange men traipsing in and out of Winter’s house that annoys me. It’s the fact that she’s a user and a wannabe, and has been handed everything in life only to take it all for granted.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks. Oh, before I leave, how did your meeting go?”

  “As well as can be expected when you are meeting with an attorney to discuss a frivolous lawsuit from a former employee.”

  “I never liked Jeff. He was so sleazy.”

  She doesn’t even know the half of it. No one does.

  “Tell me about it. I’ll figure it all out. I usually do,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Well, your Jeff replacement happens to be down in the gym annihilating the heavy bag at the moment in case you were curious, which I already know you are so don’t even bother trying to deny it.” She’s waving her hand almost directly in my face to stop me from speaking. I wasn’t going to anyway.

  “I was half-tempted to go down there and check on him, but I could smell the testosterone and nakedness from here, so I figured it would be safer for him if I stayed upstairs.”

  “Would you just leave already?” I laugh, turning her around and walking her out the door. “Text me when you get home,” I say, giving her a final push.

  “You got it, love.” She starts to walk to her car but stops midway and turns to me. “You know what you’re doing here, right, Skylar? I mean with Liam. It’s one thing to hire the guy, but having him live in your house. Are you sure that’s a smart move?”

  “Technically it’s the pool house.”

  “Skylar, I’m being serious. I just want to make sure I’m not leaving you here with a complete psycho or something. What do you even know about him?”

  There is no way I can possibly explain this to her, not in a way she’ll understand because truthfully, I don’t fully understand, but I can tell her one thing for certain. “I know enough to tell you he is not a psycho. Does that help?”

  “How could you possibly know that after a few days?”

  I look her directly in the eyes before I tell her the truth. “Because I’ve known enough psychos in my day to recognize the symptoms.”

  Winter gives me a sad smile that makes me wish I had not been so forthcoming. I hate to darken the mood. Now I just want her to make another inappropriate comment about what she uses her neck massager for or something.

  “Fair enough, love. Enjoy your night, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That doesn’t exclude much, Winter,” I call out after her.

  “Oh, I know. See you later.” Winter blows me a kiss as I shut the front door.

  Immediately I find my way to the stairs that will take me down to the gym, as if my feet have just been aching for the chance to get me closer to Liam. The further down the steps I go, the quicker my heart beats as if it’s purposely trying to match the sound of his fists thumping against the bag. I hit the second to last step and freeze. He is turned away from me as he continues to hit the bag, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts, his perfectly defined muscles constricting as he punches with a focused precision. I’m stunned by the tattoo that adorns his back. It’s some sort of demon in black with the wings of an angel.

  The demon covers his entire back, and the wings spread out to his shoulders, appearing to wrap around his front, the demon’s face darkened so you can barely make out the features. That itself would be eye-catching enough, but the true artistry and frightening realism lies in the blazing hellfire erupting behind it. Colors of red and orange and black illuminate the dark angel with such vibrancy it’s hard not to be in awe of this piece of art. It’s dark and remarkable and frighteningly beautiful. It truly encompasses all that is Liam O’Connor.

  “Wow.”

  Liam stops hitting the bag and whips his head around. Crap. I must have said that out loud.

  For a moment I think I see a look of relief flash in his eyes as his gaze slowly works its way over my body, not in a sexual way but in a concerned way. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he may have been worried about me. I’m so accustomed to Carl’s behavior at this point, and Noah and Winter are used to seeing his temper tantrums that I just assumed Liam would have let it go the minute I left. But the look of relief on his face says he did anything but, and his obvious concern causes my heart to jump.

  As his eyes make their way back to mine, a gorgeous smile replaces his previous frown as he takes me in. Again. Okay, now it’s sexual.

  “You’re back,” he says, holding the bag against his stomach to steady it, his breathing harsh from his workout.

  “Yeah.” I practically croak my response. “Just got here. Sorry for spying. I mean, I-I wasn’t spying, I just didn’t want to interrupt your workout. I was really into it.”

  His eyebrows shoot up as he bites that full lower lip, trying to contain his laughter.

  “I mean, you looked really into it!”

  I said that way too fast to sound convincing. He’s actually laughing at me now and I cover my eyes with my uninjured hand, well aware of the injured one still hiding in the pocket of my shorts. If that hand wasn’t bloody, I know I would be using it to cover the total embarrassment that I’m sure is clearly written all over my face.

  “Just shut up. It’s been a long day,” I mumble through my hand as I back up a step and lean back against the wall, ho
ping that maybe if I lean back far enough the wall will just suck me in and I can disappear.

  Is Narnia wardrobe specific or can I find that entrance anywhere?

  Even though I can’t see him I know he’s near because I sense the heat of his body closing in on me, smell the scent of his sweat and leftover cologne. Warm fingers wrap around my wrist, the tape on his palms scratching lightly against my skin as he pulls my hand away from my face. I have to bend my neck back slightly just to look into those wickedly piercing steely eyes, the ones that are currently staring directly into mine. He leans close, trapping me in between him and this stupid wall as he brings his lips to my ear.

  “Feel free to spy on me anytime you want, sweetheart. It just makes me want to pound it that much harder.” His warm breath on my ear causes a shiver to invade my body, and I gulp. I gulp so loud there’s probably one of those animated bubbles above my head right now like in the comic books where gulp is actually spelled out. One of his hands is resting on my hip, his breath caressing the shell of my ear. I feel like I might combust. Death by sexual tension.

  “Um…well it’s top of the line so I think it can take it,” I practically whisper because I can’t seem to suck enough air into my lungs to say words at a normal volume.

  “Who said I was talking about the heavy bag?” I can feel him smiling into the crook of my neck, almost as a private joke to himself because he can probably tell by my tensely trembling body that he’s affecting me. His smugness pisses me off. I refuse to be the only one practically panting for some kind of release here.

  “Who said I was talking about the heavy bag?” I say, mirroring his arrogance and daring to place my hand on his chest. Not hard to drive him away, but lightly to see if he will push into my touch. To find out if he’s aching for skin-on-skin contact as much as I am because I truly don’t know if he’s attracted to me or if this is just Liam’s way; a perpetual flirt that enjoys feeding his ego by playing a risky game of sexual chicken.

  My answer comes the second he groans while moving into my hand. I absorb the heat as I slowly move my hand down, his breath against my neck picking up speed when my hand travels across the first ridge of his abs. His hold on my hips tightens as he presses into me, willing me to move further. So I do, wanting to touch him entirely, but not too fast. I want to tempt him, torture him, make him beg for me, because if there is one thing I am certain of, it’s that Liam O’Connor has never begged a woman in his life. I would really love to be the first. I graze my fingers over the second ridge of muscles and they constrict under my fingers, and I feel…I feel…

  “Liam,” I whisper shakily under my breath. His entire body stills.

  “Fuck.” He pushes away from me and turns quickly, stalking to the weight bench where his discarded shirt lays, mumbling something under his breath as he picks it up. I call his name again but he refuses to turn and look at me, the dark angel on his back now taunting me with its owner’s silence.

  I rush over before he has a chance to pull his shirt on, snatching it from his hands. I don’t even know what propels me to do that except I know what I felt and I have to see it with my own eyes. It kills me to think he may be too embarrassed or ashamed to show this to me.

  “Skylar,” he growls, grabbing my wrists, his shirt still clutched tightly in my hands, as he looks at me pleadingly, silently begging me not to make him show me.

  “Please. It’s okay. I just want to see,” I assure him with a small smile.

  Taking a deep breath, his hands drop in defeat. I take one step back so I can see his body clearly.

  “Oh god,” I choke out.

  My mouth hangs slack. In shock, in awe, in horror, unwilling to close because I want to be able to say something, the right thing. But as I take in the sight before me I realize there will never be a right thing to say. Circular burn marks are peppered over his chest and stomach, marks similar to those on his arms that are covered by his tattoos. There are two long scars across his lower stomach; they’re raised so I know the cut had to have been deep, much like the one on his neck. That alone would cause anyone to drown in empathy, but that isn’t even the worst thing. Starting from his lower left abdominal muscle and reaching to the top of his stomach is the number 187 cut—no not cut—carved into him. The top edge of the seven is what my hand had touched.

  I remain completely silent. There is nothing to say right now. I just reach up tentatively and begin to trace my fingers over each burn mark, every scar, even daring to ghost my fingers fully over the individual numbers.

  It’s as if I’m reading him like braille. Liam doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound as I continue to discover the scars that mar an otherwise perfect canvas. When I’ve finally finished exploring, I take a small step back, still holding on to his shirt like it’s my lifeline. This here, this is real pain, pain I could never imagine or even begin to quantify.

  “Wh-what happened to you, Liam?” I ask, trying to hide the slight tremble in my voice because I know he won’t want me to pity him, and I don’t, but I can’t help the fact that my heart broke a little at seeing something so vicious done to someone so strong and so good.

  “I was attacked one night after a match in Atlanta,” he says robotically as if he has told this story a hundred times before and now is just numb to it all.

  “Attacked? By who? Why?”

  “Some gang members. As far as all the gory fucking details, I—shit,” he curses, running a hand roughly through his hair. “I just can’t fucking talk about it. Not right now. Not with you.”

  Not with me?

  I quickly shake off the insecurities that suddenly plague me with his comment because this is about him, not me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I say, stepping back a little. Reaching out, he gently brushes his thumb across my cheek, catching a tear and wiping it away.

  “You didn’t. I’m fine, Sky, really. No more fucking tears, okay?” he says, pushing some loose strands of hair behind my ears. “Would it help put a smile back on that gorgeous face if I went back to beating the shit out of that bag so you could enjoy watching some more?”

  “Oh my god, you are so unbelievably arrogant,” I say, shoving him with my hands. “Ouch! Dammit!” I forgot about my hand, and the pain of my skin tearing open just a little more is making me remember all too well.

  “What’s wrong, Sky?” Liam grabs my wrist, pulling his shirt out of my hand, and immediately sees the damage I tried so hard to hide. “Shit. What the fuck happened to your hand?”

  Liam actually appears worried as he studies my bloodied bandage, but I refuse to read too much into his behavior.

  “Sky?”

  “What?”

  “Your hand. What the fuck happened?”

  “Oh right. It was stupid. I accidentally smacked it against the car, and I think the wound may have opened.” Not a total lie and not even close to the complete truth, but it’s the only thing I can manage to say especially after seeing his scars. My pain, my darkness is nowhere even in the vicinity of his, and I refuse to cheapen his hurt with my petty family drama.

  Liam is silent for a second as he looks at my hand and then at me, his brow furrowing, and I try and paste an I’m so clumsy apologetic smile on my face so he can’t see through my fib. A great liar breeds an even better actress, and I can act and lie with the best of them.

  After what seems like an eternity of silent convincing on my part, he looks at me and sighs. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

  “First-aid kit? Um, I think I remember Winter telling me where she put it when she helped me move in here.” I nervously tap my fingers against my lower lip, thinking.

  “Sky, baby, you’re fucking killing me,” Liam groans, and his grasp on my wrist tightens slightly with his impatience. “We need to get this patched up before you bleed out in front of me.” He releases my wrist and starts to pull the tape off his hands, loosening the edge with his teeth, then unwrapping the rest with his free hand. The whole process is strangely erotic. “Earth
to Skylar,” he says.

  “What? Right, the first-aid kit. I remember she wanted to put it in a place I was most likely to get hurt. Oh! The kitchen! Under the sink!”

  “Why would Winter assume that the kitchen is the place you would most likely get hu—you know what? Never mind. We’ll cover that later. Hop up here,” he says, turning his back to me and lowering into a squat.

  What the hell is he doing? Does he want me to leap frog over him or something? “You want me to do what now?”

  “Get your cute ass up here and wrap your legs around me. I’m taking you to the kitchen,” he announces, jerking his head toward the stairs.

  “Liam, my hand is hurt, not my leg. I can walk to the kitchen.”

  “Nope. Apparently I can’t trust that you won’t fucking flail your hands everywhere and get hurt again.”

  “I do not flail!”

  “Woman, stop arguing and mount me. I need to get you cleaned up,” he demands with a wink.

  Trying to contain my giddy smile, I close the distance between us, cautiously wrapping my arms around his neck. As he moves to stand, his arms go under my knees and I instinctively wrap my legs tightly around his waist. Between his sweat slowly seeping through my tank top and the friction he’s unintentionally causing when his back rubs against the seam of my shorts, I’m getting a little too turned on for comfort. Thankfully Liam makes it to the kitchen and sets me down on top of the counter by the sink just in time, because I was probably one more step away from moaning accidentally, making a total fool out of myself and furthering the growth of his already monstrous ego.

  Liam takes his t-shirt and drapes it around my neck then bends down to grab the first-aid kit from under the sink, giving me the perfect chance to stare at his toned ass. He opens the kit and starts taking out items, placing them uniformly beside me on the counter. He seems to be concentrating so intently that I’m able to steal even more glances at his body. Earlier I was so distracted with the tattoo and the scars that I never really had a chance to silently drool all over his perfectly sculpted form. Abs I could wash my clothes on, check. Obliques, check. Biceps, triceps, whatever the hell that sexy V is that leads me right to what I’m hoping is a large—