The Perfect Illusion

by Winter Renshaw

  “Don’t go.” I need the distraction. She grounds me.

  She stops shuffling about. “Maybe you should go home then. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be around each other today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you confuse me. And you’re making me nervous, which never happens.” She stands two feet in front of me, head cocked, studying me. “And I don’t trust myself.”

  “Don’t trust yourself?”

  “You’re clearly two seconds from doing something we’ll both regret,” she sighs. “And I’m two seconds from letting you.”

  Odessa’s hands lift to her face, tucking her hair back.

  “Which is absolutely ridiculous because hooking up with you is the last thing I should be doing right now, and I–”

  Without thinking, I rise and grab her by the wrists, backing her up against the wall.

  She doesn’t protest, she melts.

  I crush her mouth with mine, locked in a state of carnal survival. I don’t think. I just act.

  Odessa moans against my lips, and I let her arms drop. Her hands slink around my neck, her fingers twisting into the hair above the nape of my neck. Impatient seconds pass before my hands run down her sides, cupping her ass and scooping her up until her legs lock around mine.

  Thank God she wore a fucking skirt today.

  With lips locked and tongues fused, I run my hand along her inner thigh, finding wetness at her core that sends an aching throb to my cock. She fucking wants me, and there’s no better turn on.

  My kisses are generous, hungry, and desperate. I drown in the sweet cinnamon taste of her tongue as my finger slips under the crotch of her panties. Dragging a fingertip between her seam, I separate the folds and slide a finger inside her tightness. Her head falls back, leaving my lips. The soft flesh of her neck just above her collarbone welcomes me, and I reward her with teasing grazes.

  Odessa’s hips buck against my hand, my thumb circling her clit. Her lips tighten as she struggles to keep quiet. I pull my hand from the most exquisite pussy I’ve ever felt and drop to my knees. The taste of her sweet arousal on my tongue fills a craving that runs much deeper than it belongs.

  Yanking her panties to her ankles, she kicks them off and lifts the hem of her skirt to her waist. Hair falls in her face though I can still see the ‘o’ shape of her pretty lips as she loses herself with me at the helm.

  Gripping her thighs, I run my tongue along her seam before swirling it around her swollen nub. Her free hand grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it taut as she struggles to breathe.

  She tastes of Heaven and sin, and devouring her transports me to a world where nothing else matters. My tongue explores her delicious pussy, making no apologies or concessions for the enthusiastic vigor.

  “I’m getting close,” she breathes after a while. I’m not sure how long it’s been. My mind is colored with vivid urges that drown out all illusions of space and time. Her declaration brings me back to the moment, and I rise, licking her from my tongue. “Why’d you stop?”

  She brushes thick strands of hair from her flushed face, gasping for air.

  I press myself up against her, teasing her with my hardness. “You’re coming on my cock, not my tongue.”

  Unzipping my pants, I pull a condom from my wallet and sheath my swollen girth. Hoisting Odessa against the wall, she wraps her legs around me again, her heels digging desperately into my back.

  Readying myself at her entrance, I plunge myself into her as deep as I can go. Hands gripping the flesh of her curved hips, I bounce her up and down, thrusting harder and faster with each push. Her fingers press into my shoulders as her tongue runs the length of her bottom lip.

  I fuck Odessa Russo.

  I fuck her like my sanity depends on it because it absolutely does.

  I have no intentions of stopping until her pink lips are screaming my name and begging for the one thing only I can give her.

  Time doesn’t exist inside these four walls. The rest of the world can wait until we’re good and ready.

  Odessa’s warmth consumes me, fills me in and out. Her pussy clenches around my cock with each throbbing plunge. I’m deep inside her, yet I need more.

  In a moment of divine release, our gazes lock. We’re transported to a place outside of Manhattan and far away from the bullshit of our current situations.

  But it’s not a moment for satisfied smirks and victory laps.

  I lean in and deposit a punishing kiss, dragging her full bottom lip between my teeth. She deserves to be punished if only because she’s a smart woman who knew better than to let me fuck her all over again.

  She collapses against me, gasping for air, and I hold her in my arms until her thighs relax and slide down my hips. Propping her against he wall, I take her by the chin and taste her lips one more time.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I half-whisper.

  “What?” Odessa tugs her skirt down and finger-combs her wild hair all while wearing a delirious grin.

  “Let me fuck you again.”

  Chapter 20

  ODESSA

  I smell like him.

  Leather and reckless intentions.

  His taste still resides on my tongue hours after the fact.

  Spearmint and dangerous desires.

  Every inch of my body is alive. Reeling. Buzzing. Temporarily satisfied yet hardly satiated.

  Beckham made everything go away.

  An indulgent distraction.

  I slip my key into the lock at precisely five-thirty, and the key slips right in. A metallic scent lingers in the air as if it’s just been greased. The lock clicks, and I push the door wide, my heart pounding and rightfully so.

  “Hey,” I say, planted in the doorway.

  Jeremiah rises from the sofa, his lips curled enough to show off the deep dimples I used to kiss in better times.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” He drawls, placing his arms open wide. “What kind of question is that?”

  “I called you.” I take a step inside, resting my bag on a nearby console. “You didn’t call back. You didn’t text.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” He points to the kitchen table where a handful of paper bags rest. “Good eats. From the test kitchen. I made them bag it up so I could have dinner with my fiancé tonight.”

  His declaration sucks all the air from my lungs.

  Fiancé?

  Jeremiah’s eyes search mine, and I’m sure he’s wondering why the hell I’m not grinning ear to ear.

  I’m sort of wondering the same thing…

  “We’re engaged again?” My delivery is slow, enunciated, as if that could help me to understand what’s going on. “Did I miss something?”

  “Do you want to be?”

  I don’t know anymore.

  My hesitation must concern him, because before I realize what’s going on, he’s rushing across the room and falling to his knees.

  With my engagement ring delicately locked between his thumb and index finger and his blue eyes crinkling, he peers up at me. He must’ve found my ring by the bathroom sink, which makes me wonder how much of this was forethought and how much of it was a random-act-of-Jeremiah.

  “Samantha Odessa Russo, I am a foolish man. I am an idiot, and I don’t deserve you. I may have been absent the last three weeks, but my heart was right here, with you, the whole time. There’s no one else on God’s green earth better suited for me than you. I want you to be my wife, Samantha. I need you to be mine again. Will you please make me the luckiest dumb ass in all of Manhattan and agree to marry me again?”

  My throat swells shut, blocking words before they have a chance to be uttered. There’s a slack in my jaw and my stomach balls so tightly I’m certain I’m going to be sick.

  This is what I wanted.

  “Sam, you’re making me worried here,” Jeremiah drawls, his lips pulling into a half-cocked smirk. He’s extra tan today.

  I focus
on his radiant blue eyes, the only part of his exterior that’s remained the same in the last year.

  “You still love me, Sam, don’t you?” Jeremiah rises. “God, I can’t believe I’m asking this question.”

  “Of course.” I’m certain I do if only because love isn’t something you can shut off.

  He slips the ring into his pocket, before his hands glide into mine, and he threads our fingers together.

  “All this champagne and fancy food I’ve been eating lately must be going to my head,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “I don’t like me without you. That guy’s an asshole. That guy thinks he’s hot shit. I can’t do this whole fame thing without you by my side, Samantha. You keep me grounded. You keep me real.”

  “So you only want me back because of what I do for you?”

  “God, no. No.” Jeremiah takes my face in his hands, leaning down. For a moment, I hold my breath and purse my lips. My lips are still hot and flavored with Beckham’s kiss. He deposits a kiss on my forehead, and I exhale softly. “That came out all wrong, babe. I’m sorry.”

  He pulls me in, his fingers tangled in my hair. With my cheek against his chest, I hesitate before wrapping my arms around him. He feels smaller than I remember, and I don’t recognize his new cologne.

  “I let my head get a little big,” he said. “That’s all. Forgot my roots for a sec. Had a talk with Mama, and she put things into perspective for me.”

  “What’d she say?” I always did like Susannah Crawford. The mother of four boys, she treated me like the cherished daughter she never had.

  “She told me I was a damn fool for letting you go, and that if I wasn’t careful, someone else would come along and snatch you right out from under me.” He kisses the top of my head. “It was the thought of you with another man, Sam. It hurt in ways I never could’ve imagined. Probably ‘cause I’d never thought like that before.”

  There’s a weight on my chest. I draw in a deep breath but feel no air. My entire body constricts.

  “I slept with someone,” I blurt, squeezing my eyes tight. “Twice.”

  Jeremiah doesn’t move despite the fact that I fully expect him to push me away. It’s only after a minute that I realize I’m snug in his arms. His desperate squeeze sends an ache to my chest no amount of words can rectify.

  We stand in silence. A minute passes. And another. I breathe him in, attempting to wrap myself in his energy, his warm embrace, his familiarity.

  I feel nothing.

  His hold loosens after a bit, and he sucks in a ragged breath. His eyes are glassy, and he wears the expression of a man falling apart at the seams and trying desperately not to let it show.

  Crawford men are raised not to cry.

  “It’s okay, Sam.” He pulls his shoulders back. “We weren’t together. It wasn’t cheating. You had every right to do whatever you wanted to do. I’m not going to judge you for anything.”

  Really?

  Well in that case, I may as well come completely clean. “The last time was a few hours ago.”

  I expect him to pull away, like I’m tainted, but he stands firm, his hands capturing mine.

  “Who was it?” He breathes harder. “I have to know, Sam.”

  “Just some guy I met at a bar last week.”

  “That you reconvened with a second time?”

  “I’m also working for him. It’s a three week contract.” I wince, though I don’t know why. I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t cheat. And we’re not back together yet, so it doesn’t matter that I’m still working for Beckham. Jeremiah’s jaw tenses. All of this is so unlike him, and I can’t resist the urge to throw another tack-strip down in the road. “I’m going to Vermont with him next week for a few days. It’s a work trip.”

  His eyes shut, and his tongue drags forcefully across the inside of his mouth.

  “Babe, this was all my fault. All of it.” He looks at me again, his hands sliding up my hips and resting at the curve of my waist. “I sent you running into the arms of another man. I left you all alone. I blame no one but myself.”

  “You’re particularly gallant today.” I trace the buttons of his shirt and offer a smile to lighten the mood. The unsettled pit in my stomach is difficult to ignore. This isn’t like him. At all.

  The Jeremiah standing before me is an imposter.

  “Shouldn’t you be throwing chairs and shouting?” I tease. Kind of. Back in college, he suspected me of giving my number to another guy at a party once. I’d never seen a real life Hulk until that night. Needless to say we were permanently banned from the Kappa Theta Phi house due to his destructive outburst.

  He shakes his head, his fingers digging into my hips. “From now on, I’m going to be the man you deserve. The man who makes the others pale in comparison.”

  He might have that one nailed already. Literally.

  “I want us back,” he continues, his eyes closing. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Just tell me I haven’t lost you, Sam.”

  Chapter 21

  BECKHAM

  “One sixty-two Clinton Street. Apartment four.” I verify Eva’s address to the nanny agency first thing Saturday morning. “They’re discharging tomorrow. You’ll send someone as soon as I call, correct?”

  The agency director confirms my request, promises she’ll send her best available nanny, guarantees full discretion and privacy, and promises to email me the paperwork the second we hang up.

  “Perfect. Thank you.” I end the call and toss my phone on the foot of my unmade bed, holding my head in my hands. My fingertips trace across my brows, pushing hard, and slide toward my pulsing temples to relieve the headache that’s going on day two.

  With scattered thoughts, I hit the shower, cranking the water as hot as I can stand it. My phone rings a minute after I step out. With a towel snug around my waist, I grab the phone off the bed.

  “Beckham King.”

  “Mr. King, this is Anita. I’m a nurse at New York General.” Her words make my heart stop cold. “Everything’s okay, but Ms. Delgado is refusing to cooperate with staff until you sign the birth certificate, and also the baby can’t leave the hospital without a name. It’s hospital policy.”

  I know Eva, and she’s not going to leave the hospital without that baby. She’ll have to name her eventually.

  “Ms. Delgado is well aware of my stipulations. It’s not going to happen. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  My thumb hovers over the ‘end call’ button until I hear her say, “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  She sighs into the phone. I can only imagine the unflattering thoughts running through her head. Perhaps she assumes I’m some deadbeat father. An irresponsible philanderer. A loser.

  “Will someone be picking her up tomorrow? She discharges at eleven, and because of the C-section she can’t leave without another adult present to assist her.” Her once cordial tone has become unmistakably flat.

  “I’m sending a nanny and a cab. I’ll call later with her name, so you can put it in Ms. Delgado’s file. She and the baby will have around the clock care for the next thirty days.”

  Primarily to ensure the safety of the baby who may or may not be mine…

  I should feel bad about leaving them with a difficult patient, one childishly refusing to name her own baby, but Eva is a grown woman. I won’t be strong-armed into Eva’s manipulative tactic.

  “Anita?” I say. “Please remind Ms. Delgado that she is not allowed to contact me again, per the terms of the restraining order.”

  Anita is silent.

  “Let her know that the nanny I’ve hired will contact me if there is an emergency concerning the baby,” I add. “I’m willing to communicate directly with Eva if – and only if – she will agree to immediate paternity testing.”

  The nurse clears her throat. I can almost see her rolling her eyes and slamming her pen down at her station. “Um. O-okay then.”

  With that, I end her call. I don’t expect her to understand the circumstan
ces of my decisions nor do I need her pity. Ninety-nine percent of the people I’ve met in my time are assholes hiding behind judgmental eyes, good deeds, and artificial smiles.

  I don’t need them.

  I don’t need anyone.

  I’ll do what I always do: figure this out on my own. The number of people I care about in this world, I can count on one hand. Everyone else can fuck off.

  Chapter 22

  ODESSA

  “I emailed you the itinerary for our Vermont trip. I had Julie book us on a commercial flight.” They’re the first words I’ve spoken to him since Friday, when he took me against the wall of my office and then chided me for going there with him.

  Like I had a choice.

  Something came over me that day. Maybe it was seeing this powerful playboy in a weak moment, sensing ripe vulnerability, and craving a closeness more than words could say.

  “Commercial?” He peers across his desk at me, an eyebrow cocked.

  Good. He’s going to pretend like it didn’t happen too.

  “I thought it might look bad if we flew in to their tiny little airport in a twenty-three million dollar private jet.” I fold my arms, suddenly defensive of my decision. “The last thing we want to do is fly into their quaint little town like a bunch of flashy high-rollers.”

  He rises, slipping his hands casually into his pockets and chiding me with his signature smirk. “Well, Odessa, since you took the time to research the cost of the company’s private jet, you surely took the time to research the fuel-efficiency of a Cessna Citation X?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The residents of Charity Falls will see it as Mr. Monopoly Moneybags rolling into town and forget the rest.”

  “Flying commercial is actually more cost prohibitive, especially for our purposes. My jet can get to Vermont in under an hour. The hourly cost to operate our Cessna is actually half the cost of two commercial airfares,” he says. “On top of all that, we’re going to lose a full day of work traveling commercial. I wish you’d have consulted with me before making arrangements. And really, Julie should’ve known better.”