The Game That Breaks Us

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Bennett makes a sound in his throat that echoes his approval and then he braces his body weight on his arms above me and gazes down at me in a way that can only be described as worshipful. “I love you too. More than you know—more than I ever thought I was capable of.”

  I close my eyes as his fingers skim under my shirt and over my stomach. Being quiet will be hard, but I need this. I lift my arms so he can pull my shirt off and he rises up, gazing at me in my simple jog bra and pajama bottoms. It is arguably the most unsexy outfit ever, but he looks at me like I’m lying below him in the finest lingerie.

  When he continues to stare, I whisper, “You next,” and push at his chest.

  He smiles crookedly and reaches for the hem of his long-sleeve t-shirt and pulls it off. He holds it against his chest, hiding his body from me so that he can drive me nuts a few seconds longer. I rip the shirt from his hands and toss it over my head. Where it lands, I don’t know or care. I place my hands on his chest, palms flat, and move them over the smooth expanse of muscle. His skin is warm beneath my hands and I smile at the freckles dotting his shoulders. He breathes out slowly and I know he’s holding back, giving me this moment. It’s all too hard to get caught up in the frenzy of desire and rush things—like I wanted to do—but slow … slow is better. Taking your time gives you a chance to appreciate the other person in a way you normally can’t.

  He takes my hands in his then and holds them above my head. I squeak in surprise at the sudden movement and he silences me with his lips. His hips rock against mine, and it’s impossible to miss the hard press of his erection.

  I hold onto his sides, wrapping my legs around him, and kiss him back. I kiss him with everything I have in me. Each and every press of our lips conveying the love we feel—the love that is still so new and scary.

  His hand finds my right breast, and he rubs his finger over the fabric covering my nipple. I want to take off the bra, so I can feel the heat of his hand against my skin, but I remind myself slow.

  He moves and grabs me by the waist, turning me and placing my head on the pillow. His body covers mine once more and I feel like I’m shrouded in the warmest blanket.

  He skims his hands down the sides of my body and I shiver from the sensation of his light touch.

  “You like that?” He grins, his hazel eyes darker than normal, closer to brown.

  I nod as he brings his hands back up and I shiver again. He chuckles and drags his hands down, this time grabbing the tops of my pajama bottoms and slowly pulling them down my hips and legs. He drops them on the floor and covers my body with his. He kisses my mouth, my neck, over the small swell of my breasts straining against the bra, down my stomach and lower. He loops his fingers into the sides of my underwear and brings them down, letting them fall off my feet. I feel ready to burst as he stares at me and I’m scared I’ll go off the moment he touches me.

  Faster than I expect, he bends and pulls me forward lifting my bottom off the bed and positioning my legs over his strong shoulders.

  He gives me a wicked grin before his lips touch my pussy. It’s even better than the first time since I know what to expect.

  He moves his tongue in a circle around my clit and I claw at the sheets.

  He pulls away and says, “If you’re not quiet I’ll have to stop.”

  I press a fist to my mouth in answer and he chuckles. His laughter rumbles against my thigh and then he licks me again.

  I want to cry out, but I don’t.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  I chant in my head over and over again. The last thing I need is one of my parents—or brothers—coming to investigate the strange noises coming from my room.

  I’m suddenly thankful that our house is fairly large and the rooms are spaced out with thick walls.

  I bite my fist when I come, holding back my cry of pleasure, and for some reason, being forced to be silent makes me orgasm a thousand times stronger.

  Bennett lets my legs fall gently to the bed and stands so he can get rid of his jeans. I sit up and tug off my bra, dropping it onto the bed beside me.

  Bennett grabs a condom from his sweatpants and puts it on.

  I raise a brow. “Did you know this was going to happen?” I whisper as he climbs back on the bed.

  He chuckles. “Nah, I don’t see the future, Princess, but I did hope.”

  “Missed me, huh?” I ask, taking his face between my hands. The stubble on his cheeks scratches the palms of my hands but I don’t mind.

  He grins and grabs my thighs, opening my legs and settling in-between them. “You have no fucking idea.” He pushes into me, and in anticipation of my cry, he kisses me. His tongue flicks against mine and my fingers tangle into his hair. He rocks against me and my hips lift to meet his. We fall into a rhythm that our bodies seem to instinctively know.

  He rubs my breast with his left hand and my body arches up to meet his palm. His lips move to my neck and he presses a soft bite to the area where my neck meets my shoulder.

  “I’m scared I’ll ruin this,” he whispers into my skin.

  I tug on his hair, forcing him to look at me. “You won’t,” I pant, my body straining.

  He looks … scared. “I really fucking hope not.”

  His lips crash to mine and he rolls so I’m on top. I roll my hips against his and close my eyes, forgetting his words, and getting lost in the moment.

  I blink awake and Grace’s darkened bedroom forms around me. I yawn and sit up, looking at the clock on her nightstand. It’s early, a little after six in the morning. She rolls toward my body and reaches with her arms for me, making the cutest fucking sound when she finds my arm. I lie back down and she scoots even closer, looping her leg over mine. She burrows her head against my chest and I rest my chin on top.

  “Merry Christmas, Grace,” I murmur.

  She stirs and lifts her head, blinking sleepy eyes at me. “Why are you up?” She asks, rubbing her hand over my chest.

  I smile crookedly. “It’s Christmas, sweetheart.”

  “Mmm,” she hums. “Right. Merry Christmas.”

  She lays her head back down and promptly falls back asleep. I run my fingers through her hair, rubbing her scalp, and chuckle when she purrs in her sleep. I need to slip out from under her, go back to my room, but I don’t want to. I want to take in every single second I have with her.

  I give myself another ten minutes before I slip out of bed and her room. Thankfully, no one is in the hall, but I can hear someone in the kitchen. I walk quietly down the hall to the bathroom across from the guestroom I’m using. I shower and change into a different pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Grace said her dad insists on them staying in their pajamas until at least noon—not unlike my own family.

  I grab my phone from my room and head downstairs, quietly so that I don’t wake everyone up.

  I find Trace in the kitchen and he pours a cup of coffee. “A package must’ve arrived yesterday for you.” He nods at a small cardboard box sitting on the island. “I didn’t see it until last night.”

  “Thanks.” I look at the address on the box and smile. “It’s from my mom.” I pick up the knife Trace already had sitting on the counter and use it to cut into the box. A card sits on top and I set it aside to see what sits inside. I move aside the tissue paper and then proceed to laugh my ass off. I reach in and pull out the pajamas. They’re footy pajamas with that damn creepy Elf on the Shelf dude on them.

  “That’s horrifying,” Trace comments.

  “You’re telling me.” I chuckle and stuff the pajamas back in the box.

  I pick up the card and open the envelope. My mom’s slanted cursive greets my eyes.

  Sabrina said you were worried about missing out on your pajamas. We could never forget you Bennett! We wish you were here! Don’t forget to call.

  —Mom

  I smile and put the card away. Trace stands across from me, slowly lifting his coffee mug to his lips.

  “Do you make i
t a habit of sleeping in my daughter’s bed?”

  I choke on my own saliva. “Um …”

  His shrewd eyes narrow. “Don’t even think about lying to me.”

  “How’d you know?” I ask.

  He shrugs innocently. “I looked in your room and you weren’t there and the bathroom door was open. It was pretty obvious where you were.” He lifts one brow. “Don’t worry, I didn’t open that door.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to tell him.

  He sets his mug down and it clanks against the stone top. He crosses his arms over his chest and clears his throat. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

  “What?” I ask, when it becomes obvious he’s waiting for me to speak.

  “I’ve been like you. Maybe not quite as bad, but I’ve been there. The meaningless sex and living the ‘good life.’” He says good life with very obvious air quotes. “But let me tell you something, it’s not that good, and when you find someone who changes everything—shakes the very foundation that you’ve built everything you believe on, then you hold onto them and never let go.”

  “Did Grace’s mom do that for you?” I ask. “Shake your foundation?”

  “She demolished it,” he says stone-faced. He lowers his arms and places his hands flat on the counter, leaning toward me. “Grace is a good, sweet girl, and I’m not going to warn you away from her, I’m realizing there’s no point, but what I can say is if you hurt her I’ll make your life a living hell. I mean that whole-heartedly.” He clenches his jaw. “One day, when you have a daughter, it’ll change your foundation again and you’ll understand where I’m coming from.”

  “I won’t hurt her,” I promise.

  Grace means more to me than I ever thought possible and the thought of anything hurting her, especially me, kills me.

  Trace grows solemn. “I’m sure you mean that, but you will.”

  I physically rear back at his words. “Excuse me?”

  He shrugs and picks up his coffee mug once more. “It’s inevitable.”

  He stalks from the room, leaving me with those two words; words that bounce back and forth in my brain before settling my gut.

  Everyone’s awake by eight and gathered around the large tree in the family room. Trace’s mom joins us, as does Olivia’s mom and step-dad—who’s a hell of a lot younger than her mom, and looks hardly older than Olivia—and Olivia’s little sister, Abby, who isn’t much older than Dean.

  Presents are passed around and laughter is had. It’s nice, pleasant even, but I can’t shake my conversation with Trace this morning.

  Is it inevitable that I hurt Grace?

  My gaze falls to her face. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is pulled away from her face in a sloppy bun and she’s wearing the same pajamas from last night. The ones I ever-so-carefully removed from her body. She smiles and shakes the present she holds. She’s so happy, and it kills me to think of that smile disappearing because of me.

  She tears off the wrapping paper and reveals a brand new, shiny gold watch. “Thanks Mom and Dad.” She smiles at each of them and admires the gold band. She sets it aside and reaches for another present. I expect her to open it, but instead, she hands it to me.

  “For me?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Of course, silly. Did you think I would forget you?’

  I grin. “Of course not. I’m unforgettable.” I shove my hand into my pocket and hand her the small Tiffany blue box. She gasps and I can’t stop my grin. That was the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Bennett,” she breathes my name and takes the box from my hand. She undoes the ribbon and it falls into her lap. Taking her time, she lifts the lid of the box off and reveals the necklace inside. “Bennett,” she says again. She bites her lip and it looks like she’s holding back tears. “It’s beautiful,” she finally whispers. She lifts the dainty rose-gold—that’s what the salesperson called it, anyway—necklace out of the box and runs her finger over the small heart charm.

  “I know it’s pretty simple, but it reminded me of you, and I thought it would match that one watch you wear all the time.”

  She laughs and—yep those are definitely tears in her eyes—says, “You noticed my watch?”

  I grab a stray piece of hair that’s fallen loose from her bun and rub it between my fingers before tucking it behind her ear. “Of course. I notice everything about you.”

  “It’s funny you should say that.” She nods at the box in my lap. I’d forgotten it was even there. “Here, help me put this on first.” She hands me the necklace and turns with her back to me so I can slip it around her neck.

  I fumble a few times before I can finally get the tiny clasp to attach. When I do, she grabs the necklace between her fingers and holds onto it.

  “I love this, seriously.” She smiles at me and leans over to kiss me.

  I smile against her lips and murmur softly, “I love you.”

  She beams at my words and I hope, I really fucking hope that I continue to make her look that way.

  She claps her hands together and says, “You next.”

  I rip into the paper and it reveals a plain white box in my hands. I take off the top of the box and I’m greeted by an explosion of green and red tissue paper. I move it out of my way and begin to reveal the items inside. A pack of Sour Patch Kids, a notepad—like the ones I piled in the cart that day in Target—and other little mementos from our time together. Each and every item brings forth a memory and the time and energy she put into thinking of each thing is what means the most.

  “Creative,” I tell her with a grin. “You did good.”

  This time, I’m the one leaning over to kiss her.

  The rest of the presents are opened and then Olivia dismisses us all to shower and change before we have a late lunch.

  The day passes quickly, and I’m surprised by how much fun I have. I wasn’t expecting today to actually be enjoyable—I know that’s not very nice of me, but after how things have been with Trace, it was a legitimate assumption.

  I can’t help but think that I might actually miss these people. I’m sure I’ll see them again, though, because despite what Trace said, I won’t ruin this with Grace.

  I won’t.

  I swear it.

  Break is going to be over before I know it. It’s already New Year’s Eve—the day of our annual party—and I only have a week of freedom left after that.

  Bennett and I drove over to the Wentworth Mansion earlier in the afternoon so I could start getting ready and he was blown away by it. I’m used to it, so I forget how big it actually is. Bennett couldn’t believe my dad and his brother grew up in the mansion. Sometimes, I can’t believe it, either, for the fact that they’re both so normal.

  I have a room in the mansion—all of us kids do, and there are plenty more to spare—and that’s where I’ve been since I arrived while a team of hair and makeup artists tends to me. I guess to some people that would be weird, but it’s something we’ve always done for this night. It’s the one night out of the whole year where I don’t feel normal and I instead feel like royalty. I’m sure the parties were even more glamorous when my grandma had more control over it. My dad and uncle have definitely toned down the event some—but not much. It’s still black tie: women wear ball gowns and men wear tuxes, but instead of the classical band my grandma prefers, there’s always a more current band that you hear their music on the radio, and the food is more normal instead of fancy French dishes or something like that.

  The hair stylist curls and twists my hair around. She pokes bobby pins into it and uses enough hair spray to kill the ozone layer above my head.

  I asked the makeup artist for a soft pink and gold look to match my dress and hopefully she knows how to do soft. I’m going to be pissed if I come out looking like a clown. Now that I know what I’m doing, having someone else do my makeup is akin to torture.

  “What time is it?” I ask and wait for one of them to reply.

>   The makeup artist looks at the clock on the TV. “After seven.”

  The party’s already begun, so hopefully I’ll be fashionably late and not obnoxiously late.

  They finish and the hair stylist hands me a mirror. My eyes sparkle with a shimmery golden color and the winged eyeliner makes it pop even more. My lips shine with a shimmery pink gloss and my face glows. I turn my head, admiring my hair. She’s curled it and pinned it all on one side so it cascades down my shoulder. Shorter pieces in the front are pinned back, making my hair look thicker than it is. It’s an elegant look and I know it’ll compliment my dress.

  “Thank you, ladies,” I say and stand. My dress is hanging in the bathroom.

  They nod and begin to pack up their things.

  I shut myself in the bathroom and remove my robe. I lift the dress off the hanger and slip into it, wiggling it up my hips. It’s a fairly simple dress, compared to what I’ve worn in previous years, but I feel like it suits the woman I’ve become.

  I slip my arms through the top of the dress just as there’s a knock on the door.

  “Grace, are you ready?”

  My heart accelerates at the sound of Bennett’s voice. As stupid as it sounds, I’ve missed him, and it’s only been a few hours since I last saw him.

  “Hang on,” I say and flick the button on the door to unlock it. “You can come in.”

  He eases the door open and hisses between his teeth. “Damn, Grace, you look … you look … Fuck.”

  “I look fuck?” I suppress a laugh and turn around with my back to him. “Zip me up, please?”

  He chuckles. “You definitely look fuckable, but that wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

  “It wasn’t? Should I be hurt?” I smile at him over my shoulder.

  He steps forward and grazes his fingers along my bare back. I shiver and my body tightens all over. I want to grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him and then maybe fuck him right here in this bathroom, but I have to be good tonight. At least, until I’m seen at the party.