To the Fall

by Prescott Lane

  Unfortunately, there’s also another woman in my life demanding my time.

  Dr. Lorraine takes a sip from her mug. “You seem different this morning.”

  “A man having sex is different than a man who’s not getting any,” I say, laughing.

  She shakes her head at me. “You forget. I’ve seen you after you’ve had sex before. You weren’t like this.”

  “Things are just really good right now.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “I’m not giving you details on sex with Sutton.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” she says. “But I am curious about something. You don’t need to give me details, but I’m wondering if you can remember sex with her?”

  Before I respond, I close my eyes, and every sense of Sutton fills my body—her sweet smell, the way her skin feels, the light in her blue eyes, the way she sounds when she moans, the taste of her lips. “Every second.”

  She nods, smiling. “So we talked a little bit about your mother. I’d like to hear about your life with your dad and stepmom.”

  There goes my post-sex high. My peaceful heart starts to pound. My relaxed muscles immediately tighten. I have to avoid this no matter the cost. “I’d like to talk about when you’re freeing me from therapy.”

  She smiles broadly. “You think your work is done?”

  “Did the diet. Found the woman. Yeah, I think I’m good.”

  She closes my file. “Okay.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll send word to the court today.”

  “Perfect,” I say, getting to my feet, a bit surprised I’m getting out of this unscathed.

  “When I see you again, I want it to be because you’re ready, not because someone forced you.” She gets to her feet, holding out her hand. “And Mr. Kingston, I will see you again.”

  *

  I should be happy to be done with Dr. Lorraine and her sex diet tricks, but instead I’m on edge. The whole drive over to my hotel after my appointment, I was unable to shake it. Maybe it’s her prediction that I’ll be back, or maybe it’s that my psyche can predict something’s coming.

  Walking into the lobby of The Kingston, Albert gives me a smile, pointing to a few guests admiring my hotel’s most popular new attraction—a lovable stray dog who’s made my lobby his home, complete with a huge dog bed and marble dog bowl to match the decor of the hotel.

  I reach behind the bellman’s desk and grab a dog treat, tossing it to my namesake as Albert chuckles. Old man’s got my number, and he knows it. Then I head to my office, pulling out my keys.

  My chest feels heavy. I could go months and not use my office keys because Annie was always here, but now I use them every day. I’ve still been unable to find a replacement, perhaps because I don’t really want one. No one could replace Annie, and replacing her feels final, like I’m accepting she’s gone.

  I round the corner to my office, and my mood changes. Sutton is leaning up against my door in a pair of red stilettos.

  “I know how much you like red,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me.

  Unlocking the door, I grab her hand and pull her inside, her giggle filling the room. “You have perfect timing,” I say, walking us into my office. “I need you.”

  She starts removing my tie and coat, unzipping my pants. Placing her hand on my chest, she pushes me to the sofa and asks, “What do you need?” I pull her to a straddle over me. She sits up on her knees and whispers my name.

  Her fingers tilt my chin up. One look into my eyes, and she knows I’m starving for her, my month-long diet having made her my only craving. She slowly peels her dress over her head, taunting me.

  Grabbing her ass, I pull her to me, but she pushes away, teasing me. Her hand slips through my hair, tugging it slightly. Okay, I’ll play. I try again to lick her, but again she pulls back. The third time she does it, I’m actually considering begging.

  Still in her sexy heels, she hikes one leg up on the back of the sofa, and I look up at her, asking permission. She flashes me a wicked smile, falls to her knees, and devours me. There’s just no other way to describe it. I’m at the back of her throat as she licks and sucks. I look down, watching my dick slip between her full, pink lips. Her blue eyes look up at me, and even though her mouth is full, I can still see a little smile. She slips her hand between her legs, knowing exactly what’s she’s doing to me.

  “That’s my job,” I growl, pulling back, picking her up, and carrying her over to my desk.

  “Get to work,” she says, kicking off her heels.

  I give her hair a gentle tug, her eyes lock on mine, and I settle my dick between her legs, his new home. The only home he’ll ever have, ever need. I know she is the last woman, the only woman I’ll ever be like this with. “Only you,” I groan, pounding into her.

  “Only you,” she cries out as her orgasm tears through her, ripping mine from me.

  *

  Sutton’s in my lap, her arms around my neck, playing with my hair. We’ve been sitting like this in my desk chair for God knows how long, neither one of us anxious to do any actual work. We’re dressed except Sutton still hasn’t put her heels back on, but that’s as far as we’ve gotten to starting our days.

  “Seemed like you were having a bad day earlier,” she whispers. “What was wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, nuzzling her neck. “All better now.”

  “I should go,” she says, cuddling deeper into my chest.

  I tighten my hold on her. “Or we could both sell our hotels and spend our days like this.”

  She giggles and pulls me into a kiss. “That sounds . . .”

  A voice calls out, “Hello? Pierce?”

  Fuck, the door! I never locked it and look up, finding my stepmother standing in my doorway, a look of complete shock on her face. Sutton leaps off my lap, fiddling with her hair.

  “The door was unlocked,” Vicki says, extending her hand to Sutton. “I’m Vicki, Pierce’s stepmother.”

  “Sutton Presley,” she says, shaking her hand.

  “Of course,” Vicki says. “Tawny’s mentioned you. Thank you for having her play at your hotel.”

  “My pleasure. She’s a very talented young lady.”

  Fuck all the pleasantries. “Vicki, you should’ve called. What do you want?” I ask.

  “You know Tawny will be home soon. I was thinking we should have a little party and celebrate.”

  “You know how I feel about your parties.”

  Vicki’s eyes dart to Sutton, and then Sutton’s eyes flash to me, a look of concern embedded in them. I hate Vicki, but I need to be careful with my tone here.

  “Teenage girls love surprise parties,” Sutton says, taking my hand. “Tawny would love it.”

  Dear God in heaven, she thinks she’s mending some broken family fences or some shit. “You know I’ll do anything for Tawny,” I relent.

  “I do,” Vicki says. “I was thinking you could pick her up from the airport and bring her home, where everyone will be waiting.”

  She continues to yammer on for a few minutes about details, and with each passing second, my blood pressure is getting higher and higher. Having Sutton and her in the same room isn’t sitting well with me.

  Once she’s finally done, I say, “Just text me.”

  Vicki gets the message, says her goodbyes, and saunters out, leaving Sutton there staring at me. “Well, a party could be fun,” she says. “What should I get for Tawny?”

  “I’m not taking you to Vicki’s house.”

  “You don’t want me to come?” she asks, the hurt apparent in her voice.

  “You will never step foot in that house.”

  “What?”

  “I hate her.”

  “Got that much. Why?”

  “I’ve got my reasons.”

  “And you’re not going to share them with me?”

  “I’m not.”

  The finality in my voice makes her eyes water. She blinks a few times, forcing her hurt bac
k inside. “Well,” she says, “I better get to work.”

  She picks up her shoes and heads for the door. I watched Annie walk out that door upset not long ago and haven’t spoken to her since, and for the exact same reason, Sutton is walking out—because I refuse to talk. But the thing is . . .

  The longer you keep a secret from someone, the harder it is to tell the truth.

  “Sutton,” I say, taking hold of her waist. “I’m sorry. Please, baby, I really am sorry. Living there, with her and my dad, that was a really bad time in my life. I don’t talk about it.”

  Dear God, please let that be enough for her. Slowly she turns to me, the expression on her face letting me know that’s not going to cut it. She asks, “Did you talk to Dr. Lorraine about it?”

  “No.”

  “Annie?” she asks.

  My eyes close, and she pulls away from me. She’s never acted jealous of my relationship with Annie, but I feel it from her now. “Sutton,” I say, hugging her. “Annie only knows because she was there. I don’t talk about it with her, either. It’s a part of my life I prefer to forget. Please don’t make me relive it.”

  She tilts my chin up, I lower my forehead to hers, and softly she asks, “One day?”

  Nodding, I tell her the second big lie of our relationship.

  *

  Reaching into my pocket, I grip the key Annie gave me. I still haven’t made the time to go see her paintings. I just can’t seem to accept that she’s not coming back, even for Tawny, who had no idea that she was walking into a surprise party tonight. I tried dozens of times a day to call Annie, to try to get her to come back home for this, but she never picked up, and without Sutton here, I could use Annie by my side tonight.

  Tawny waves at me from across the backyard. She’s come so far this summer, confidently playing a few of her new songs for her guests tonight. I smile back then Vicki steps to her side, hugging her. I’ve managed to avoid Vicki all night and am not going to get sucked in now. I pull out my phone—no messages from Annie and none from Sutton, either.

  I know deep inside, she’s hurt I didn’t bring her. I know she was hoping I’d change my mind, but I meant what I said. She will never step foot in this house. I type her a text letting her know I won’t be late and wait for a reply. None comes. Not even a fucking heart emoji.

  Glancing up to the window over the attached garage, the darkness draws me in. It always does. Why can’t I be drawn to the light? Why is it blinding? Most people are scared of the dark, of what they can’t see. I prefer not to see, not to remember.

  Making my way past the guests and through the house, I look up the stairs that lead to my old room. The only room accessible from this staircase. When I moved in after my mom died, Vicki said this room would give me privacy, that every teenage boy needs that.

  The stairs creak as I walk up, my hand on the wall for support. Behind that door is where my life changed course. Behind that door is what made me who I am. Who would I have been if I’d never lived here, if my mother had lived a longer life?

  The boy who walked into that room that night wasn’t there the next morning, and neither was the girl I walked in there with. Annie was never the same after that night. I push on the door, half-expecting to see us as teenagers on the other side.

  “Shit!” a young male voice cries out.

  Two pairs of unknown teenage eyes squint at me. Apparently, my old room has become the hook-up spot. I wonder if this happens often. The boy blocks the girl as she adjusts her shirt. Shaking my head, I motion with my hand for them to return to the party.

  I have to chuckle as they scurry around me, looking scared to death. Much worse things than being caught fooling around happened in that room. I look around, but I don’t step inside. I haven’t been inside in years. I can’t avoid the house altogether, but I can avoid this room.

  My old bed still sits in the same spot, but the rest of my things are long gone. Still, a piece of me feels like it will always be trapped within those four walls. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I shake my head. I won’t get sucked back in.

  There aren’t any old ghosts in the room. They only live in my head, and I’ve gotten really good at avoiding them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I lay back on the bed smiling, listening to Sutton talk about her plans for the day. She’s lounging on her stomach in her bra and panties, scrolling through some work on her phone. I’m one lucky son of a bitch. I’ve never been so happy in my whole life as I have been the past few weeks.

  You ever have that time when things are just going your way? That’s me right now. I’m seriously in the zone. Sutton and I are having hot, amazing, mind-blowing sex every chance we get. Both our hotels are doing great. Even the fucking weather is perfect. To top it all off, no more visits to Dr. Lorraine’s prison. I’m a free man. Everything is going my way. And tomorrow is our night in the luxury suite. Things couldn’t be better.

  Leaning over, I place a kiss on the small of her back. She arches, her tight ass pushing up. Letting my hand wander her curves, she flashes me a look over her shoulder. “I need to get ready for work.”

  I groan and pull her on top of me. “It’s not even seven.”

  “I know, but I want to meet with the pool designer before they get started today. I was thinking of changing . . .”

  “Babe, you didn’t get home until after midnight last night.” Then we had some record-breaking sex, so she’s functioning on three hours of sleep max. She’s been doing it for days and days. She’s the only person I know that works more than me, but I remember what it was like when I was first starting out. “You’re working too hard.”

  “I’m fine,” she says, popping to her feet.

  “Please be home early tonight,” I say and take her hand. “I worry about you.”

  She laughs. “You’re worried about me being too tired for tomorrow night in the suite.”

  “That, too,” I say, grinning at her. She kisses me again and is dressed and out the door in ten minutes.

  Lately, that woman only knows two speeds. She’s either full throttle or asleep. Maybe I should plan a little something? Steal her away for a few nights, some place secluded. My mind spinning with the possibility of having her all to myself for a few days, I hop up and head to the shower. Sutton and I have gotten into the habit of showering or bathing together at night. It’s where we share about our days. Sometimes it includes dinner, and sometimes it doesn’t.

  I may have to start bathing with her in the morning to make sure she eats breakfast. I don’t care what she says, a piece of fruit does not constitute breakfast, and I’m not sure she’s even having that this morning. One breakfast surprise, coming right up.

  *

  Breakfast in hand and vacation planning in progress, I look up at the gray sky as I walk toward Sutton’s hotel, a humid breeze swirling in the streets, whipping up the smell of Cajun spice and the long nights of Bourbon Street.

  I hear a siren, and my eyes dart toward The Brittany, an ambulance parked right out front. You don’t run a hotel without having to occasionally call 911. I hope Sutton isn’t stressing too badly over it. I quicken my steps when I see Dylan coming out onto the sidewalk. Her eyes catch mine, and something in me snaps. Dropping the breakfast sack to the ground, I take off in a full-on run.

  Dylan holds up her hands. “I was just about to call you.”

  “Where’s Sutton?”

  “I’m fine,” I hear Sutton say from a stretcher rolling out in front of me. “This is so unnecessary.”

  “Sutton?” I pick up her hand and kiss the back of it. She looks fine, no blood, no bruises.

  “She fell,” Dylan says.

  “And not the good kind of falling,” Sutton jokes, but I don’t find it funny.

  “One minute she was fine, and the next minute she just passed out,” Dylan says.

  “I missed breakfast,” Sutton says. “I’m fine.” The EMT’s lift her into the ambulance, and I step inside. “I feel so s
illy. I just need to eat something.”

  *

  “Where is the damn doctor?” I bark.

  Sutton rolls her eyes and takes another huge bite. I’d asked Dylan to bring her a burger, fries, and a shake. You might think that would be hard to find at this early morning hour, but this is New Orleans, and people need their hangover food, and I wasn’t about to leave Sutton’s side. Probably shouldn’t have that kind of food in the emergency room, but I don’t care. We’ve been here what feels like forever already. They seem to be in no hurry, or Sutton just isn’t a priority. She’s seen the nurse, had blood drawn, vitals taken, but that was a while ago. What could be taking so long?

  “Sit down,” Sutton says. “You’re making me crazy.”

  I sit down on the bed beside her and stroke her hand. I hate emergency rooms. There is absolutely no privacy. Since we’ve been here, I’ve heard about someone’s bowel issues, another’s rash, and some kid sticking something up his nose.

  “I told you that you were working too hard. I want you to take some time off.”

  “That might be a good idea,” a middle-aged male doctor says, moving the curtain aside.

  “Why? Is she alright?”

  “She’s perfectly healthy,” the doctor says. “And very newly pregnant.”

  “You’re in the wrong room,” I say. “There’s no way . . .”

  “Right,” Sutton says and looks at the doctor.

  He flips through the chart. “Sutton Presley?” She nods. “You are definitely pregnant. Can’t be more than a few weeks. The test is accurate.”

  “It’s fine,” Sutton says, patting my hand. “There’s some mistake.”

  “We ran the test twice,” the doctor says.

  Sutton’s hand softly slides to her belly, and I see it happen. It’s just that quick. Anyone who doesn’t believe in love at first sight hasn’t ever seen a woman find out she’s pregnant. She’s in love with that baby already. She reaches for my hand, tears in her eyes.