by Sunniva Dee
“I want to dance without you…
For once just let me lose myself.”
I open my eyes when firm hands slide around my middle and lock in the front. I don’t react—no, because I can’t disrupt this lull I’m in—this calm in the storm. I don’t want to feel the way I did before I got here.
I see Shannon’s jaw slacken at who’s behind me, but when her head starts moving from side to side, I scrunch my lids closed; I’m not willing to absorb this right now.
These hands anchor me, press me into a hard chest and we sway together, the rhythm perfect for the two of us. He’s above me, nose coasting down to my ear.
It’s not Dominic. I don’t want to look—to deal with any of this—I—am not me.
There’s a reason why Shannon doesn’t come to my rescue, why Christian turns his back to us. I know, and yet I can’t bring myself to care.
My dance partner slows my moves, makes me reach up behind me and lock around his neck. The alcohol might dull my senses, but this is innocent; there’s nothing wrong with holding each other on a dance floor.
I need my drink, I think, but by now his arms scissor across my chest, incarcerating me without asking permission, and I like—like—the sensation of not having a choice.
I surrender. Sigh and lean against him, because I have no reason not to. What am I supposed to do? Go home, be a good girl, wake up in the morning, and freaking try to be the star of the University of Deepsilver? Just because my parents—
The music merges into another song. He stops rocking against me, slows our joint movements with icy determination until we stand still in place. Around me, people dance at a respectable distance, and most avert their eyes from us. It’s weird, exhilarating… and it should be disconcerting.
When my partner swivels me to face him, I’m not surprised. Between Shannon’s reaction and Christian’s lack of one, the only stare I could meet is Leon’s.
Despite the glitter of interest in those sapphire eyes, he radiates control and a calm that’s second nature to him.
“I don’t know, Leon,” I say randomly when he stoops down and steadies my chin so I look at him. Part of me—most of me—tries to stay like this, not thinking.
“You’re flipping your lid,” he informs me. “Calm down, Pandora.”
I’m so unsure of what I want, of what to do. I feel lost, and he’s right, deep down I am freaking out. It strikes me that Leon has me figured out, and I think of how he twirls my name in his mouth. He toys with it, makes music out of it… “Calm down, Pandora.”
His stare bludgeons through me while I think about everything, until I sigh, yielding to his guidance like I did while we danced.
“You want a drink?” he asks.
“Got one—” I point in the general direction of Shannon, and he nods once, closes around my palm and muscles us through the crowd.
“Christian, freshen up what she’s having.” The way he says it is a quiet command from someone used to being obeyed.
“Should she have water instead?” Christian replies. Leon doesn’t answer. Some sort of non-verbal communication occurs until Christian shrugs, flips a new glass in the air, pouring Sprite over fresh ice and readying it for two shots of crème de menthe.
I sigh with relief when the cocktail’s in my hand. I needed something to hold on to. Sure, I’m already lit, but Leon’s full attention can sober anyone up.
“So.”
I flick him a side-glance. He half-sits on a barstool next to me in the rigid posture I’d recognize him by anywhere. His arms rest in his lap, but with a pinky linked with one of mine.
“What?” I reply, taking another long drag of my double-shooter crème de menthe savior of sanity.
“What’s driving you crazy, Pandora?”
Crazy. Yeah, that’s me right now. Getting drunk can numb my thoughts, but they can’t erase them. I’m still churning, seething, hating, and I want to break out of my body, not feel what I feel—not deal with the crap Dominic and Miss Bitch at the spa are up to. Then, there are my parents. My dad’s sure-to-come, obligatory visit, because I’m starting a new cycle of messing up again.
Leon scrutinizes me while I bottom up the cocktail in one long swig, triggering my gag reflex. His stare bores into me as I overcome my bodily response and chug every last drop.
“Another one.”
“Are you working on getting fucked up, Pandora?” His voice is smooth, so sensual, like he’s not saying what he’s saying.
“Yes,” I cough out. “Please.”
Later, much later, I think, I hear Leon argue with Shannon. Christian walks away, arms lifted, hands up in surrender.
“No! She’s got class tomorrow—I’m taking her home.”
“She threw up, Shannon. She can sleep on my couch—she won’t make the car ride without getting sick again.”
Shannon squeals with persistence, which causes me to snort with laughter. They’re too wrapped up in their showdown to pay attention to me, so I shrug and decide I’m only mildly interested in who wins anyway.
Smother has emptied of patrons as I zigzag to the ladies’ room. A minute later, Shannon has followed me in. “Pan?” she calls over the stall. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“Shore! Whoever wins the cockfight gets me,” I manage, waggling my brows even though she can’t see me.
“Pan, he’s not safe. Who knows what’ll happen if you stay here. I’ll stay too, then,” she informs me.
“Ha, you lost! Iz okay.” I lumber past her and swing the door out to the hallway beyond. “Leon. What time…?” I slur, unable to finish the sentence.
“Three-thirty.” He’s right outside. Leon swipes my feet out under me, catching me when I fall, and I laugh an airy, lazy laughter at that.
“Good thing you got me. Where’re we going?”
“To my place.”
“Where—” I hiccup, “’s that?”
He inhales my scent. Sweat, more than likely, after all the crumping. We’re moving, but I don’t bother looking because my eyes swim—even my brain does! “I live upstairs.”
“What? Above Smother?”
“Above Smother.”
The words jumble out of me half-finished. “Omigod, wow, I’ve been here tons of times, and I’ve totally been partying right below your bedroom the entire time.”
I sound like my fourteen-year-old self, but judging by his low chuckle, I’m entertaining to him.
“Pandora!” Shannon’s voice fades as Leon climbs the stairs with me over his shoulder, and Christian mutters something in a soothing tone—to Shannon, I’m sure. Considering how Christian has warned me against being alone with Leon, it’s hilarious that he’s holding her back. The whole keeping-his-job thingy must be more important than not pissing off his girlfriend.
“Yeah, well—now you get to see it,” Leon murmurs.
“What, your bedroom?” I should be worried. Very worried. Then again, I’m having a total déjà vu of the first time I went to Dominic’s house. Geez, I’m turning into the one-night-stand queen. Does that make me a slut? Or perhaps hussy’s a better expression.
I blink, exhausted, as he carries me into his bedroom. He lowers me down at the center of the bed, his eyes flowing over me without a word.
I breathe in relaxed, sleepy lungfuls. I don’t know what’s expected or if I care to be concerned about expectations, but the vibe in the room is changing.
He wants me.
Leon climbs in after me, not kicking his shoes off, not undressing. He prowls up over me slowly, locking my eyes with his, not letting me go. Once he’s on all sides of me, crowding me, his gaze trails down my face until it finds my mouth.
He doesn’t ask permission. Instead, he leans in without touching me and presses his mouth against mine. When he kisses me, I taste him back. It’s a warm, disrupted sort of caress I’ve never experienced before, because even though he’s over me, framing me entirely, our only point of contact is the kiss.
“Shit,” he
rumbles, sucking on my lips. “You’re too drunk.”
I giggle and nod against him. “Wasted.”
“I’d get you taken care of, Pandora. I’d straighten you out.”
I wonder what he means, but I don’t ask. My humble guess is “take care of” as in “screw my brains out” and “straighten out” as in “getting my life on track.”
My brain is molasses, though, because it raises a weak finger for one short moment to point out how off my logic is: this is the guy who very recently scoffed at the mere notion of “perfect.” “Fuck perfect,” he’d said.
Leon licks my lips, and I open my mouth, accepting his tongue, but as hot as the kiss is, he never once sinks on top of me. With arms in a half push-up and knees brazed against the mattress and straddling my thighs, he’s so close his skin radiates heat.
Finally, he sits up over me. I’m panting, and I can’t help checking out the bulge in his pants. Clearly, our odd embrace affects him too.
“Lift your arms,” he commands, and something in his voice makes me listen.
The dim light in his bedroom reveals a flash of excitement passing through his gaze as it flicks up my arms to my hands.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because,” he begins. Slowly, his fingers tighten around both of my wrists. He moves them backward, over my head, toward the wall so they meet the headboard behind us.
Leon spreads my arms into a V-shape. He doesn’t stop until the back of my fingers connect with the cold surface. “Because I wanted to see how good you’d look.”
My heart has time to bounce once in trepidation before he continues. “Yes. You’d be beautiful tied up.”
“Yeah?” I say. “And you’d be pretty gagged.”
Leon’s expression is priceless. Snow leopard blue eyes widen fractionally, warring with his composure, then they twinkle with hilarity. “You want to gag me, Pandora?”
My stomach flutters at the intimacy of his tone—either out of fear or attraction. I shake my head “no” against the pillow, and he studies my expression, my hair disheveling under me.
Leon gagged, I think. How incredibly wrong that would be on him of all people. The only person I can picture controlling Leon is… Leon.
I flash him a lazy smile. He hasn’t dropped my arms yet, and I’m not going to struggle to break free. If I start, I’ll panic. My brain will fire off impulses, alert my body to bolt from the restraint of his grip on me. Rationally, I know he’s just playing games. He needs to stop, though, and fast. My pulse is speeding up.
“Done yet?” I ask, and as I say it, my nerve endings register how worried I am. I manage to keep my voice steady. My chest heaves with the mounting anxiety, though, and Leon notices. He peers down at me, intrigued.
Reluctantly, he lets go of my hands. He’s still sitting on me and trying to read my thoughts, staring through the shield I’ve got up. Even in my near-panic state, he’s gorgeous—sexy as fuck. It does nothing to slow the rhythm of my heart, and the warnings whimpering in my head increase to sirens.
“Yeah.” His voice breaks with something. Desire or the effort of harnessing himself, but I’m beyond caring. All I want is him. Off. Me.
The pressure lightens from my hips. “I’ll get you some Advil,” he husks out. Then, he leaves the room.
The morning after is—the morning after. I’m sick as a dog, and I’d rather be dead. Last night, I set my phone to vibrate, because now I have more people I don’t want to respond to. Mom, Dad… Dominic. From here on, I’ll simply leave the damn thing at home.
It’s eleven a.m., and Leon is still asleep next to me. Due to his schedule at the bar, he probably always sleeps in. Clearly, neither of us occupied the couch last night. I guess that makes sense, since his bed’s king-sized. I was alert enough to my surroundings to know we never went further than kissing—besides that scary little game he played with me for a minute there. My stomach clenches in a disturbing mixture of fear and lust.
In sleep, he’s on his back, face tilted toward me, and it hits me how unguarded his expression is. He’s relaxed, showing a side I’ve never seen of him, the corners of his mouth angled the tiniest bit upward. Leon hasn’t removed his black T-shirt. Sheets cover him up to his stomach, and his arms lie flat next to his body. Wow. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, this could have been a scene from a wake. A wake where the deceased was informally dressed. I laugh inwardly.
As I watch, Leon’s eyelids raise, and shocking blue eyes stare right at me. “Still sick?” he asks, and his voice isn’t even morning-groggy.
“Eh. I’ve been better, but I’m not about to throw up at least.”
“You got rid of the liquor a couple of hours ago,” he says, lifting up on his elbows.
I don’t recall it. “God, I’m so sorry, Leon—really, I should’ve gone home with Shannon.”
He turns on his side, supporting his cheek in a cupped palm to study me closer. I think he’s on the verge of smirking. “No, it was time I got to know you.”
“Geez, well—you picked a bad day for that. I wasn’t myself.”
“No?” He’s definitely holding back amusement. It’s unsettling. I have no idea how to define Leon, except—Christian and Shannon must be wrong. What did they say again? “He likes them broken.” Last night, he could have done whatever he wanted with me. We could have slept together. Hell, he could have tied me up if he so wished. He’s strong and I was drunk and at his mercy, but he didn’t take advantage of me. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even told him to let go of me. He dropped his hold on me on his own.
“So who are you, then, Pandora, if this isn’t you?” he breaks into my thoughts. I meet his stare, and suddenly I feel stripped bare. I grimace at my shortcomings, every mistake I’ve made parading through my mind.
“Bah, who cares,” I say, and a low chuckle escapes him. With his free hand, he caresses my cheek and trails down to rest on my neck. He holds it lightly as if he’s about to guide me somewhere even though we’re still in bed.
Leon’s eyes glitter as they move over his own fingers and the way they tighten on my flesh. Then, he exhales. “You’re so fucking hot.”
Alan surprises me. He comes by more often than I thought. Grandma wakes up early, so at six-thirty a.m., when my uncle shows up for a pre-work coffee, we’re already up.
Yeah, I can’t risk staying in bed after she’s up. Today is a good day, but it’s been hit and miss since I arrived. Some mornings, her eyes cloud over with confusion, and I can’t predict what’s next on her random agenda.
But today, she calls for me while I’m getting dressed. “Dominic, sweetie? Would you like some Sunny-Eggs?”
I smile, because it’s how I referred to eggs served sunny side up when I was little. I used to hate them, but as a teenager they became my favorite.
Cracking the door, I reply, “Sure, I’ll have two.”
“I’m making you three because you’re skinny,” she promptly answers. Who am I to complain? The little lady’s being bossy, which is a great sign. Relieved, I finish up in the bathroom. Instead of sticking to coffee, Alan joins us for breakfast since Grandma pushes his healthy favorite, poached eggs, up under his nose.
“You checked with Melissa yet?” Alan uses a toothpick to get rid of something between his teeth. I busy myself filling coffee.
I think about how I’d finally hunted Melissa down and made her promise to meet up at Starbucks yesterday. Only she never showed up and didn’t pick up my call. “Nah. I’ll try again.”
“She’s bringing one of the patients from the nursing home over this afternoon.” He sucks air in through his tooth gap, a hissing sound filling the air.
“As in, to your office?”
Alan nods. “Yeah, she’s usually the one bringing them anyway.”
Right, the nursing home sends their patients to my uncle’s. Some of the old folks are, as he puts it, “all knotted up.”
“Okay, cool. I’ll ambush Melissa at your office, then.”
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“Should be interesting,” Alan comments. I wonder if he recalls the time he accidentally ate the yoghurt she’d prepared for me—with laxatives. Melissa’s retaliations really were all about liquids. And liquefiers.
“Yeah, well. We both agree I’m supposed to try, right?”
“Of course, just wondering how receptive she is.”
“She’s a good girl, Dominic,” Grandma chimes in.
“Yep, we grew apart—”
“And then you broke up with her by leaving a note in her locker, and her friends found it before she did,” Grandma reminds me. Again.
I don’t recall a single incident when Alan laughing didn’t make me groan. He really only laughs when it’s wrong or plain awkward. Of course, now he laughs.
“Yeah, let’s delve into that story again, shall we?” I say. “I was eighteen, dumb, and all I could think of was leaving for college. I had no idea how else to break up with her. I’d been wanting to for the last three months and finally managed, two weeks before graduation.”
“Sweetheart,” Grandma begins. As much as I’d love not to be on the receiving end of the lesson she’s gearing up for, I’m relieved that she remembers, that she’s being herself. She shows no sign of senility this morning.
“No one had any idea how you felt. Melissa dreamed of a life with you, of getting married and becoming Mrs. Davide, and you destroyed her dreams with a letter, Dominic.”
She’s right, and I was an idiot. All these years later, I still feel like a total douche. “I have apologized a million times,” I remind her, grimacing at how fruitless the conversation is. As fruitless as my apologies. Talk about stone-ground and deaf ears.
“Sweetie, yes, but you were about to do the same thing the other night about what’s going on in Deepsilver.”
I’m lost, and Grandma sends me one of her wise looks and sighs. “You were going to bottle things up again and not talk about your problems. And back in high school, if you had told me you wanted to break up with Melissa, I could have given you advice.”
