by R. K. Lilley
I made my face stay bland and neutral and just kept meeting her eyes, but it was no use.
She was onto me, and I couldn't have said if I was more acutely relieved, or utterly horrified by that.
"You don't know how much I know," she accused correctly. "You have no idea how to handle me because, for once, you're more in the dark than I am. How does it feel, lover?"
"Wretched." I gave her that one bitterly honest piece, because God, she deserved it. "As wretched as you could hope. Care to clue me in?"
"Of course not. You can guess, and worry, and stress your deceitful black heart out. And while you're doing that, you can make me a drink. I assume you have a bottle of superior scotch around here somewhere."
I decided to take the order seriously, leading her from the kitchen to an adjoining sitting room. As she'd correctly guessed, I did have a fully stocked bar.
I fixed us both a drink. I didn't have to ask her what she wanted or how she wanted it. It was all too familiar to me.
"What are you planning to do?" I asked her, handing her a glass of scotch, straight up. "Are you going to confront anyone?"
She laughed, a sound of pure delight that reverberated through me, making my heart pound, reminding me that it was still a slave to her whims, damn her. "Who would I confront? And about what? What do I know, do you suppose? If I say I know everything, will you slip and tell me even more?"
I took strong exception to how much she was enjoying this. "This isn't a game."
Her smile died a short death, leaving behind the quiet rage that had never really left. "You think I don't know that?" Her voice was so full of icy bitterness that I could taste it in my own mouth. She could flay me alive with that tone, strip the skin from my bones. "You think this was ever fun for me? Being lied to? Being manipulated? But I won't be answering your questions anymore. You'll be answering mine."
I didn't argue with her. Instead, I toasted the air and finished my drink.
I think I'd have agreed to anything just then if it kept her from leaving.
If it meant she would keep coming back.
I'd reached my threshold on living without her. As dangerous as it was, as much as it made my chest cold with fear, I was done staying away from her.
And, God help me, I didn't have the will to live with the lies anymore.
"So if I agree to answer your questions," I began, sometime later, charging bravely through the pregnant silence, determined to negotiate with her.
Compromising had always, ironically, been one of our strengths.
Ironic because two more prideful, stubborn souls had never walked the earth.
I think, and had always assumed, that it only worked because we were so devoted to each other.
We'd grown up as godless, savage creatures, believing in nothing so much as each other, and somehow it had always been enough. When you can't imagine living without a person, of course you'll do what's necessary, concede when you have to, to keep the peace.
"You'll stay with me," I forged ahead. "We'll be together."
She didn't answer for a long time, instead just looking at me, her eyes hard and unyielding.
I studied her back, taking in her dear face like I could never have enough.
Because I never could.
I was always obsessed with her. It was one of the defining, consistent characteristics of my life. Obsessed not just with her perfections, but also with her flaws. Her stubborn pride even held a special place in my heart. It had ruined me as a person in so many ways, but God did it get to me. She took it to a level where, even when it was to your detriment, you almost had to admire it.
But I had reached my limit. She would be compromising today.
We had lapsed into a staring contest, one I was determined to win.
I would have this from her.
And so I did. She broke first, her hard eyes wavering, lids trembling for a heart-turning moment before they watered and she looked away.
"We've been at war for so long. How do we just let that go?" Her voice was tremulous from her loss. It wasn't easy for her to concede defeat. It never had been.
"We've been at war alright, but you just didn't see that we weren't supposed to be fighting each other. It was wrong, but it's over now. I'm not asking for everything at once. I understand the damage that's been done here more than anyone. I'm just asking you to try. Give me your time, every spare moment of it, and I'll give you some answers.
I had her. I saw it. In her clenched fists and quivering lips, I saw it.
I moved a step closer.
She braced but didn't move away.
I took another step. She closed her eyes as my fingers traced over her brow. Feather light, I stroked her temples, sliding my hands back to cup her head.
I gripped her hair with both hands and touched our foreheads together. "You'll stay with me," I repeated. "We'll be together."
I needed this to be very clear; a verbal confirmation. There could be no miscommunications. We'd had enough of those.
"And you'll tell me the truth?" she said in a vulnerable voice that gutted me far quicker than a razor sharp one could have.
"Yes. Yes. I'll answer your questions. Your turn."
"I can't just let these things go. I can't just forgive. Not you, not me."
"I'm not asking you to," I explained. My tone was calm and reasonable, my heart pounding like a stampede. "I'm not that greedy or that delusional. I asked you to be with me. The rest can come later."
Her voice was barely audible in the quiet room, but piercing all the same. "Yes. I'll be with you." She sounded uncertain and dismayed, but I'd take it.
My eyes shut tight in acute relief, and I held her like that for a time, our foreheads touching, my fingers gently rubbing her scalp.
I felt I could have stayed that way indefinitely, I was so grateful for the connection.
But then she touched me, her hands reaching up, stroking lightly from my wrists down to my elbows and back again.
And that was it. Sweetness turned base.
Blood rushed through my body, my stomach clenching as lust kicked in, too overwhelming to deny.
It was an effort not to drag her down to the floor, or hell, push her to her knees.
I straightened instead, pulling away from her, and she opened her eyes. They flitted from my face down to my bare chest. I dragged a hand through my hair and watched the way every movement of my body caught her attention.
She licked her lips, and I twitched so hard that her gaze caught the movement darting farther down. She sucked in a deep breath that made her breasts shift, which caught my gaze. Her nipples were hard under her tight white cotton shirt. Without even willing it, my hand moved to her, thumb tracing over one of the hard little nubs.
She sent me one long, sultry look, and lowered to her knees.
"Jesus," I said. I steepled my hands at the crown of my head, eyes glued to her as she shrugged off her shirt, unclasped her bra, and slid it smoothly off.
She rubbed her face against me like a cat, using her nose to play with me through the sweats. It was adorable and one of the most arousing things I'd ever witnessed.
My stomach clenched as she opened my sweatpants, dragging them down, freeing my heavy length to bob against her lush pink lips.
Jesus.
She'd just sucked my tip into her mouth when I snapped out of my trance.
I tried twice before I found my voice. "Wait. Stop."
Me turning down head from Scarlett.
That had to be a first.
But I needed something else just then, and the urge was so realized, so complete that I never even considered denying it. When I spoke, my voice was hoarse with all the words I couldn't find for a need so powerful it left me shaken. "I need to be inside of you."
She laid her cheek against me, rolling her eyes up to look at mine.
"Let's go to the bedroom," I said thickly.
She didn't agree or disagree, so I pulled her up, lifting her under th
e arms and propping her on her feet. I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I palmed her breasts and watched her jaw go slack.
Fuck. I let her go, taking a step away as I pushed my stiff length back into my pants. "Bedroom. I want you in the bedroom."
I turned, heading down the hallway, through the entryway, and up the double staircase. I headed for the east wing of the house, aware every step that a topless Scarlett followed.
"This place is bigger than I thought," she observed, her tone neutral.
"Do you like it?" I hoped so. I'd purchased it with her personal preferences in mind. Because it was for her.
"Sure."
At least it wasn't a no.
My mouth twisted wryly as I showed her our bedroom. The house was for her. The bedroom for me.
"Subtle," she said wryly. The ceiling over the bed and every wall that wasn't a window was mirrored.
What can I say? I like to watch.
"It's the first time we've had a house to ourselves. I might have gone a little overboard." Proving my own point, my eyes were on her in the mirror as I spoke.
She met my gaze, hers enigmatic. "You planned this all along."
I shrugged. It was too complicated to explain, the efforts I had gone to based on the most meager thread of hope. And I was not in the mood to talk.
We were of a like mind, apparently, because she started peeling off her jeans without another word.
I shoved out of my sweats, my eyes glued to her, raking over her, devouring every inch of skin she bared.
When she was bare, I was on her, pushing her to the bed, straddling her, pressing my chest to hers, our warm flesh rubbing together, creating more friction than I needed to ignite.
I cupped her face in both hands and kissed her, shifting on top of her, wedging myself between her legs. I pulled back to watch her face as I breached her, near mindless with need.
Abruptly and unexpectedly, she began to struggle, pushing me off her. I moved back with a jerk, too stunned to protest.
"Not like that," she said, flushing. She sat up, not looking me in the eye. "Not face to face. Not right now."
It stung, but I told myself it was fine. She had given me so much in such a short time. It was a miracle that she was even here.
Clearly, more time was needed for certain intimacies. But if I worked on her long enough, she wouldn't hold back. It was inevitable. Left to our own devices, we would give each other everything, because that was the order of the universe.
I truly believed that.
I brushed off the sting and accommodated her. I was too far gone to split hairs, my mind in a dark and primitive place that didn't particularly care about anything except getting balls deep inside of her and rutting like an animal.
She showed me just what she wanted by moving to a large chaise lounge that dominated the corner of the room closest to the shoe closet I hadn't yet shown her. She climbed onto the cream-colored piece of furniture, getting on hands and knees, positioned right on the edge.
I didn't need to be told twice. I was covering her back, arms reaching around to palm her breasts, my tip butting up against her entrance between one thumping heartbeat and the next.
I shut my eyes with that first drugging thrust. She was wet, pliant, so I didn't hold back, jamming in to the hilt without preamble. The noise that escaped me right as her wet heat covered the base of my shaft was more animal than human. I was not a thinking being in that moment.
I was mindless. Her slave.
I watched us in the mirrors, watched myself going in and out of her, watched my cock squeezing in and dragging out slowly, then faster, frenzied. As soon as she began to get loud, close to her release, I slowed the rhythm again.
She was braced on all fours, her back arched, but her head was turned with mine, watching our bodies, never meeting my eyes no matter how long I stared at hers, trying to catch her gaze.
Again, it stung, but it was a battle for another day.
I watched her face while my body pumped into hers, watched her watching where we joined, and that did it. I'd wanted to last longer, wanted to savor more, but it was hopeless. I should have been amazed with myself for lasting as long as I had. The first touch of her nose nuzzling my shaft back in the living room had nearly had me coming in my pants.
I kissed her nape while I emptied inside of her, savoring with complete pleasure that moment of total abandon where I lost myself in her, my mind blown to bits.
I was still coming, spurting after-effects deep in her womb, when I lifted my head to watch her slack-jawed release, caught the way her eyes glazed over as the skin-tingling rush of her orgasm overtook her.
It was breathtaking. A heaven worth going through hell for. I'd never thought otherwise.
And the best part of all. I got to have her again. And again.
And I did. I was greedy with it. Insatiable. Voracious.
She brought me to life. I had her as many times as I could before she cried uncle.
There was never an end to this need she created inside of me. This endless chasm of want in my blood for her. Never had been. Never would be.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
"I wanted the whole world or nothing."
~Charles Bukowski
PAST
SCARLETT
Gram was not happy about my decision to get a job.
Dante less so. He was irate, predictably belligerent about it. He threw such a fit initially that Gram ordered him to go for a run.
When we were alone, she tried several different tactics to get me to change my mind. She was a formidable woman, not used to hearing no. And when she did hear the word, she didn't even consider accepting it. It was nothing but a challenge to her.
It was the closest we'd come to really butting heads. That alone almost made me cave.
"Darling," she said with her most charming smile. "We only just got you here. I was looking forward to your company."
It was the principle of the thing. I would not, could not, end up like my parents, like my grandmother.
"I've made up my mind," I told her stubbornly. "It's not a big deal. Just a few hours on school nights, a few more on weekends. Now that I've quit drama, I have plenty of free time."
She tried a different tactic. I knew she would. "I wouldn't get your hopes up. It's the wrong season for part-time jobs. I guarantee no one is hiring."
I swallowed hard. "I already have one. The manager of the 5 and Diner hired me on the spot. I start on Monday."
Her eyes narrowed on me. "It's quite unnecessary. Why on earth would you need a job? Any need you have, I'm happy to provide for. Just tell me what it is you're earning money for. I'll buy it for you, darling!"
I gave her brutal honesty. Not because I wanted to and not because I wasn't grateful. It was a matter of self-worth. If I was ever going to get some, I knew I had to earn it. "I can't be a Durant charity case, not more than I can help. At least if I get a job I'm trying to take care of myself."
She gave me the coldest look I'd ever seen her aim my way. It made me shiver and instantly want to take back whatever I'd said that put that look on her face.
She was a force of nature like that. What she felt, you felt. If she was happy, the world knew joy. When she was angry . . . yeah, you felt that too.
And when she was disappointed in you, you felt like absolute shit.
"I'm sorry that you thought this was charity," she said with haughty chill. "You thought I felt some sense of duty toward you? And here I thought I was doing it out of love. Silly me." Her tone was scathing. A vacuum of disdain, it sucked all warmth from the room. Took my stubborn pride and left me feeling ashamed and alone.
I was out of my league. A trashcan girl could not hope to go head to head against a queen.
I shook it off, shed the feeling. I would not back down on this, not even against Gram. "I-I-I-I'm s-s-s-s-sorry it c-c-c-came out that that way. I'm not u-u-u-ungrateful. B-b-b-but I'm k-k-k-keeping the j-job."
The
stutter did her in. Her hard expression went soft, and she let out a soft, "Oh, my darling girl. Oh, I'm sorry. I lost my temper. You see now where Dante gets it. I won't stop you from having this job, if you really think it will make you happier. I just worry about you."
I wasn't sure if I was relieved or completely humiliated that I'd won because of pity.
But I took it all the same.
Gram was one obstacle, Dante another.
Over the years, we'd learned to pick our battles with each other. What that meant was basically whoever cared more won, whoever cared less compromised.
I just assumed I'd be winning this one. I didn't count on him freaking out, his hellish temper coming out to play.
"No," he said to me first thing as he came back from his run. He was sweaty and agitated. He looked good enough to eat.
But it was the wrong approach.
"I already have the job. I was hired to wait tables. You're just going to have to get used the idea."
"No. I'm putting my foot down about this one."
A fight it was. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Hello, temper. It's me, Scarlett. What are we going to do about this bossy son of a bitch?
Likely nothing productive. Still, we'd try.
"What the hell is your problem? And when did you get the idea you could tell me what to do?"
"Why the hell do you want a job? If you need something, just tell Gram."
I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw it. "Spoken like a true trust fund baby. I need to start making my own money."
"Why?"
"Why do you care?"
He was right in my face, leaning down to me.
I met him glare for glare.
"Why do you always have to push it? I don't sleep at night, worrying about you since the attack. And now you want to go off on your own, for hours a day, and for what?"
That softened me a bit. "He's dead, Dante. He can't bother me or anyone else ever again."
"And what about that fucking cop? If he gets wind of you working as a waitress, he'll bother you every day."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Now there he had a point. "I'm sorry you're worried, but I'm not quitting. I can't live my life in fear of what ifs, and I can't be a Durant charity case for the rest of it either. I need to be more independent."
