by Chloe Blaque
“More,” I beg. In answer, he presses down on me, opening my sex and deepening his stroke.
I grip his butt and pull him into me, holding him in place so I can move with him. Groaning, he rises onto his forearms, pistoning his lower body against me, dragging his kiss from my nipples to my mouth and back again.
My muscles tighten and squeeze around him, and I feel him tremble and hiss as he arches in pleasure. He feels so good, curling his arms around me, moving in that fluid way that I like. Each hard stroke has my release driving closer, but I’m not done with him. I press my naked breasts to his chest and whisper into his ear, “I want on top.”
Evan pauses, blinking at me, trying to catch his breath. I give him a wicked smile and lick a warm path up his neck, loving his sweet, salty taste. His brows rise, a decision made. Effortlessly, he locks us together, lifts me against him, and rolls us around.
Evan positions himself half lounging on the pillows while my hands are on his shoulders and my knees dig into the bed. With Evan’s hands free to roam, my skin has become one big pleasure center. Evan’s palms glide around my waist and round over the soft curves of my ass. A powerful feeling washes over me when I rock in my new seat, testing my position. His eyes glaze as I surge up and then down on his rigid cock. He squeezes his eyes shut as I take him deeper.
I roll my hips, working forward and back, my breasts bouncing for his pleasure. I whimper when he snags a tight nipple and sucks it into his mouth, urging me on.
“Oh…that’s so good,” I purr.
His hands jam into my hair, and I meet his hot stare. “Look at you.” His voice is heady and deep. “You feel incredible.”
My heart hammers, and I can feel the tremors again. I’m close, so close. Evan cups my bottom, guiding me into his upward thrusts, my sensitive clit rubbing against his pelvis. Small sounds are tumbling from my throat. He kisses me, slipping his tongue fully into my mouth. I yelp as a bolt of pleasure shoots up my spine.
“That’s it, baby,” he bites out through clenched teeth. “Come for me again.”
I grab the headboard and whip my hips in his lap. Guttural sounds come from the back of his throat. He grits his teeth and tightens his arms around me.
“Lex, baby, I’m…” His voice is like gravel, but he sounds almost apologetic. I meet his gaze and grind down on him as he thrusts upward again, harder, and again as my body begins to tremble and clench around him. I’m speechless as the wave comes too soon. I cry out in soft yelps, milking him, mindlessly grinding against him. Evan hugs me and lets himself go, arching into my body with a loud grunt as he pumps into me over and over. Boneless, I sag on top of him as we both fight to catch our breath.
* * * *
I wake in Evan’s arms, my back tucked into his chest, his even breathing next to my ear. We are warm and naked. Fuzzy red numbers say 7:00 a.m. on the alarm clock. Oh my God, I’m tired, really tired, but staying up all night having sex was worth it. I just need some coffee, then I’ll be good to go for my meeting with Viper today… Oh fuck… OH FUCK!
Holding my breath, I slide out from under Evan’s heavy arm, careful not to wake him. The stubble on his jaw is a little thicker, and as much as I wanted to rub my lips over it, I have to focus. Phone in hand, I grab my robe from the floor and tiptoe into the bathroom.
I dial Randy and sigh when I hear his voice mail. “Randy!” I say in a loud whisper “It’s Lex. Cancel the story about Evan and Josie as soon as you can. I’d do it myself, but I can’t right now. Just do it when you get this and text me!” I text him the same thing I said on the phone and pray that he gets the message. Shit! How could I forget that? Evan showed up, that’s how. Maybe I can take it down without waking him.
Sneaking out of the bathroom, I tiptoe to my hibernating laptop and tap the keys. The screen flickers. Evan’s face is peaceful as I sign in to Fierce’ s webpage. I’m logging in when I hear the sheets shift.
“Babe, no work yet. It’s still playtime,” he says in that sexy gravel-filled voice. “Get back in here.”
“Umm…okay.” With a hard swallow, I click off the website and pray Randy gets my messages. When I return to bed, Evan’s face burrows into the open gap of my robe. He smells like warmth, sleep, and the ocean, and I let my concerns fall away as the blissful sensations overwhelm my body and my brain. There is time to fix this, I think. When he gets in the shower, I’ll make this right.
Evan’s phone on the nightstand starts buzzing, but he waves it away and kisses his way down my stomach. Seconds later, it goes off again, but his mouth is busy trailing my inner thighs. The third time it goes off, he comes up with a concerned look and reaches for the nightstand. His lips tighten when he sees who it is.
“Josie? Jos, calm down. What?” I can hear her small, hysterical voice coming from the receiver. “Yeah. I said yes, Josie,” he says in a direct voice. “Good-bye.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask. Rolling away from me, he scrolls though his phone and pulls up what he’s been looking for. From beside him, I see my story about Evan and Josie pop up on the screen. My stomach drops out.
“No, Lex. It’s not,” he says with angry eyes and holds up the picture I took at the club. “You fucking lied to me.”
“I didn’t mean to… I mean… I can explain.” I’m stuttering, and my voice is rising as he jumps out of bed naked and starts thrusting his legs in his jeans.
“You told me you weren’t looking for a story!”
“I squashed the story. I promise I did. But last night I thought you played me, and I got angry. I’m sorry. I can take this down right now. That’s what I was trying to do this morning… Wait, don’t leave yet.”
He is already dressed and at the door, his shirt unbuttoned and flailing with his jerky movements. “I told you what would happen, Lex. Do you have any idea what this could do to Paint the Town? Kids organizations and porn don’t usually mix.”
I blanch. I didn’t even think about that. Oh my God, what have I done? “Evan, I’m sorry. I can fix this.”
“It’s too late. Everyone on the East Coast has already seen it, I’m sure.” He opens the door to leave, then turns back. “I trusted you, Lex. I told you everything. And you lied to me. I was right the first time; you are a gossipmonger.”
I cringe when the door slams and stare into the darkness of our broken love nest. The alarm clock glows on the bedside table, but I refuse to start this day. I want to sit with the drapes closed forever. I can only hope to shrivel up and die in this bed. Evan’s right; I’ve become a gossipmonger, and I’m already ruining the lives of others. Not to mention my own. By the look in his eyes when he called me a liar, there is no way Evan will ever look at me again. And I’ll never forgive myself if those kids get hurt by my story. My eyes well up with tears.
The silence of the room is broken by my buzzing phone. I jump for it in the impossible chance that it is Evan.
It’s Lou.
“Hi,” I say, thinking I’d rather speak to Hitler.
“Your page views are off the charts.” His voice is disgustingly cheerful. “I still think you should have gone with the football player, but this is good. Nice work. Get yourself in here so we can precelebrate. Viper is sending the contract over, and we have a two p.m. conference call. Lex, Mr. Khan is very happy.”
Well, I’m glad someone is.
Chapter Thirteen
I imagine Mr. Khan’s waxy smile as he praises me for a job well done through the speakerphone. Lou and I are in the fishbowl again on a conference call. This time we are joined by our legal team. I fiddle with the contract as Lou and Mr. Khan talk about the bullet points in each fucking section of the ten-page document. We are on page two. It’s mind-numbing, especially since I can’t get Evan calling me a liar out of my head.
Evan won’t take my calls and hasn’t answered a text. Since I am resigned to write a story about Josie, I guess I knew this could happen, but it wasn’t supposed to feel this bad. Fucking gossip! I don’t want to do this…
/> “Mr. Khan,” I say, interrupting Lou waxing poetic about the advertising budget. “I’m really glad you liked the piece, but I have an idea to increase our human-interest stories. I’ve come across an organization that gets kids off the streets by allowing them to participate in free after-school art programs, either as teachers or students. I’d like to write about these kids. We can find different urban programs in other cities and feature them all once a month. We could—”
“Lex, let’s leave the human-interest stories for the mommy blogs. You doubled your page clicks in one day. I think the numbers prove where your audience really wants to go,” says Khan.
A protest bubbles in my mouth, but Lou glares at me, as does the legal team. I push the contract away from me and lean back in the chair.
Yeah, the gossip piece got a lot of clicks, but barely anyone left a comment. It’s like they came, they saw, they left. My readers usually comment, which tells me they left the site with a shrug. When Randy posted an article about the stereotypes assigned to being black and gay, it got 500 comments. The article meant something to them.
As Lou drones on, I glance at the clock. Quarter to three. School will be getting out soon, which means after-school programs will be starting. I dig in my bag and find Tone’s business card.
* * * *
An hour later, I’m sitting in on one of Tone’s art classes. The small room is as run-down as the school but comfortably fits the thirty or so teenagers of all sizes and colors that are filing in. Jeans, sneakers, and hoodies seem to be the public school uniform for both boys and girls.
From a tiny plastic chair I’ve taken in the back corner, I watch them toss their brick-filled book bags to the side and gather their easels and canvases from a storage bin against the wall. They greet one another with fist pounds, sharp nods, hugs, and a few choice swear words. It’s a little like the movie Dangerous Minds, except it’s an art class.
I’m glad Tone let me sit in. I told Lou I had an emergency and had to leave, which was fine since the contract won’t be fine-tuned until tomorrow. My chest constricts, thinking that in less than twenty-four hours I’ll be signing my site over to Viper.
Thoughts of Evan intrude, and I attempt to push them away. Ultimately they fill my entire consciousness with a movie reel of what he looked like this morning in my bed, my fingers twisting in his hair, and his sleepy, lopsided smile that turned into a hard line as he walked out the door. With a heavy sigh I realize how much I like him, want him even, regardless that there is little hope for a real relationship between us. Hurting him was not on my agenda. I just need him to know.
The way he looked at me with disgust gets me the most. And he walked out on me without looking back. I’ll probably never see him again, and my chest aches with the thought of it. Grasping my phone, I scroll my thumb over his name, wanting to execute the thousandth unanswered phone call I’ve dialed today. Don’t be a fool.
I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. When I open them, a few of the kids are staring at me as if I’m an intruder. I smile, but they turn right back to their works. I’m wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a white blazer—they must think I’m a teacher and instantly hate me. Tone greets the class and gets a resounding holla back. He’s not much older than them, but they respect him.
After Tone gives a short instructional lecture, he switches to personal critiques, moving from canvas to canvas, giving tips and encouragement. From my vantage point, I can see all the unfinished artwork and am impressed by some of the talent in the class. One of the kids hooks up his phone to a little speaker, and there is a lot of dancing and laughter.
My notepad is full of notes, and I get more and more ideas as I watch. My head is down and my pen is in motion when I hear the heavy security door open and close. Evan enters with a box in his hand and gets a warm greeting from the kids. With a huge smile, he greets them back, reaches into the box, and holds up an iPad mini in each hand. The class roars.
My heart is pounding. Seeing him feels like the sun has broken through my cloudy day. I keep very still as Evan hands out a mini to each kid and checks out their work. He’s wearing a cream sweater, jeans, and camouflage sneakers. Why does he have to look so delicious all the time? Any moment he is going to see me. I bite my lip, trying to think of something to say.
I’m spotted. Evan stops midstep, then continues on. He turns away from me, but we lock gazes when he looks over his shoulder in my direction.
“Yo, man! I heard you are doing a porn star,” one of the kids says, holding up his hand for a fist bump.
“Don’t read those stupid sites. It’s not true,” Evan throws out. I pray a bullet hits me.
When Evan is finished handing out minis, he stands in front of me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. He looks so mad at me.
“Learning to draw,” I say in a weak voice. Evan starts walking away. I jump out of my seat after him. “I’m sorry,” I call out. “That’s not why. Evan, please listen.” Evan shoves through the security door, and I follow him onto the blacktop outside. He whips around and stands with arms crossed, his gaze angry.
My mouth just starts going. “I’m here because I want to write about Tone and this program. I want to fix any damage I’ve done to you and Josie. I took the piece down. I’m hoping my boss doesn’t notice.”
Evan’s eyes are stone-cold as he nods and turns to walk away.
“Wait! Please let me explain.”
He sighs, turning back to me. “Fine. Explain.”
“I don’t really work for Viper yet. My parent company is trying to sell Fierce to them, and if I don’t get their contract, I lose everything—I have to start over. Before committing to a contract, they wanted to test my audience, and me, I guess, to see how the site would do if it added celebrity gossip. Viper wanted me to write about Josie and Jared having an affair. That’s why I was sent to Muse—to pump you for info.”
Evan is looking at me like he is sick. Since he already hates me, I figure I might as well just get it all out.
“When I told them Jared and Josie weren’t together, they still pressured me to write it. Before last night, I was going to write about Josie being with a mystery lover. When I thought you had lied to me, I posted it as you. It was horrible, and I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about these kids.” I gesture behind me. “And I want to make up for it.”
“Lex, my reputation aside, I’m angry because I trusted you. And you lied to me. Now I find out this whole thing was concocted to implicate Jared and Josie in an affair?”
I close my eyes against the pain of the truth.
“I really like you, Lex. But I can’t trust you. There is nowhere for us to go from here.” Evan gets into his car and drives away. I stand defeated, knowing he is right. There is nowhere for us. I chose my path, and it leads toward Fierce.
* * * *
Back at the hotel, I write for hours. My fingers fly over the keys as I take my notes from Paint the Town and structure it into a two-page feature about Tone and the kids. I even throw a few paragraphs in there about Evan and his love of art. I read it again and again, making sure it represents everything the real Fierce, my Fierce, would be proud to post. I have a feeling it will be the last original idea I’ll be allowed for a very long time.
I attach it in an e-mail and send it to my copy editor. Then I send it to Tone. I’d like his approval before I post it tomorrow. Transparency is my new thing.
Closing my laptop, I swivel in my chair and am met with a very large, quiet room. Now what? I check my phone to see if I have any messages. Zero. My thumb rolls over my last text to Evan, which is unanswered. God, he looked gorgeous today. He has every right to be mad, but I wish he wasn’t. I wish he was naked in my bed again, and we were cuddling instead of fighting. Things happen for a reason, right?
I start to text Randy and stop with a sigh. He’s on a date with some guy he met while hanging out in the lobby. Maybe I should go to the lobby? I could get cute and have dinner…by
myself. No. Searching the minikitchen, I dig into a bag of chips, open a miniwine, grab the remote, and plop onto the couch. The TV flickers on. Housewives…no…sci-fi…ugh…Anna Karenina, which I love, but I’m depressed enough. I turn off the TV.
Maybe I should meditate, get some balance back into my life.
Maybe I’ll start that book about vulnerability.
Maybe I’ll go to the gym.
Naaah.
There must be some e-mails I have to respond to. With a heavy sigh, I flip up my laptop and scan a sea of bold e-mail subjects. I click on a response from Tone. It says: Dope. Let me know when it goes live.
I guess this means he liked it. There is another e-mail with a forward indicator, but I don’t recognize the handle. I frown and click. It says: You’re a good writer. The lone “E” at the end makes my chest hurt. I reach for my phone, but I pull away. I couldn’t handle it if I text again, and he didn’t respond. Instead I hit Reply and write: I’m really sorry.
Like a crazy person, I stare at the screen…and wait…and stare…and wait…and nothing comes back. Closing my laptop, I grab the bag of chips and tip them into my mouth. The crunch of my comfort carbs are the only sound in the room until my phone starts ringing. OMG. Evan’s name shines at me on the screen. I swallow hard and run into the kitchen for a sip of water. Deep breath, blow it out.
“Hello?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“I liked your article.”
“Thank you.” I pause. “Those kids really inspired me.” I bite my lip.
“Yeah…um… I appreciate you writing about them.”
“Evan, I meant what I said. I’m sorry. I broke your trust, and I hope you’ll let me try to earn it back.”
His heavy sigh comes through the phone. “This is our first fight,” he says, and I thank God when I hear a smile in his voice.
“Hmmmm… I think it’s the second. We fought a little the first night we met.”
“Then we are overdue for a make-up. Have you had dinner?”
I glance at the crumpled chip bag in the trash. “Nope.”
