by Logan Fox
I thought he’d pulled up his pants already, perhaps even turned for the door. But he’s still standing there, erect cock in hand and the most tormented expression on his face I think I’ve ever seen.
His eyes flick to mine, demanding answers that I can’t give him.
Not yet.
Releasing his dick, Kane opens the first two buttons on his shirt and pulls it over his head. His pants are next. Clover makes some nonsensical sound when he reaches down and grabs her hips. He drags her off the couch, and onto the long-haired rug spanning the generous distance between the couch and the coffee table.
Her tangled mess of hair spreads on that pale gray rug, the contrast vivid and so enticing. I swallow down the urge to sink down with them, perhaps at last shove Kane away and tell him to leave…
But I don’t.
I watch.
I watch as he fucks her hard enough to make her come, and then I stroke myself into climax when he does.
Clover flinches when my semen lands on her stomach and turns hooded eyes to me.
“Hunter.”
But her saying my name doesn’t have the same effect when another man’s cock is still buried deep inside her.
I reach down, smooth away a few strands of hair clinging to her neck, and murmur, “Again.”
Chapter Fourteen
Clover
Warm breath washes the back of my neck. I squirm into the arms wrapped over me and try sliding into my favorite flamingo-like sleeping position.
My knee hits something.
I groan. My head feels stuffed with cotton wool, and my eyes are grainy as fuck. But I force them open to a slit, anyway.
Zee’s wide blue eyes watch me, a strange, secret little smile on her mouth.
“Fuck!” I bolt up, blinking furiously. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Zee’s smile inches up, and she slowly pushes up onto her elbows. At least she’s wearing clothes, thank fuck.
I’m not. I scramble to bring the sheet over my breasts and glance behind me. Hunter’s fast asleep.
“Mercy, what’s with the fucking noise?”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I turn back and watch Kane rise from the bed beside Zee like a specter. His dark hair’s disheveled, his chest bare.
Hunter’s bed is big enough for the four of us, but barely. In fact, I’m not sure how I didn’t elbow or knee anyone to death during the night.
No, wait. During…the day?
My eyes flicker to the windows. It’s late afternoon. I have a vague memory of crawling into bed when dawn started painting pretty colors in the sky.
When I glance back at Kane, he’s watching me with an unreadable expression.
I blush crimson and scramble out of bed, taking the sheet with me. This leaves Hunter and Kane bare ass naked, and I feel like I’m going to explode in mortification. I grab my dressing gown from the back of the door, throw it over my naked body, and toss the sheet back on the bed.
Then I’m out of the door and down the stairs.
I run into the powder room and stand over the toilet bowl, so certain I’m going to puke that I even let out a theatrical gag.
But I’m not sick to my stomach. I’m embarrassed, and that’s it.
I close the lid and sit down in a rush. My face feels too hot, my skin too sensitive.
And my fucking pussy? I don’t know how whores do it, because I’m throbbing with wear and tear.
A sob wracks my shoulders, shocking me so much I don’t even think to clamp it down. Then another. Another.
Fuck. I didn’t come down here to puke.
I came here to cry.
And boy, do I fucking cry.
Part Two
Gestation
“Truth is not something outside to be discovered. It is something inside to be realized.”
Osho
Chapter Fifteen
Clover
I’ve simmered to a sniffling, shaking mess when there’s a knock at the powder room door. I instantly know it’s Hunter, and that forces another pair of fat tears from my eyes.
“You okay?”
I let out a strangled laugh. “No, you fuck. I’m not okay.”
There’s more, so much more, I want to say, but my throat’s too tight. I hold my breath, hoping that I’ll pass out before Hunter asks me to elaborate.
Instead, he leaves.
I was hoping everyone would be gone by the time I clawed myself together and made a somewhat half-decent exit from the bathroom. But, alas, Hunter’s breakfast nook is unusually crowded.
Everyone has a glass of orange juice beside them.
Zee sits hunched over something that sounds like cereal — a fact that instantly pisses me off because Hunter claims he doesn’t keep cereal in the house — and Kane is staring at his plate as if he isn’t quite sure if the frittata on it is edible or just decoration.
Yeah, that used to be me a few weeks ago. I think Hunter liked the various expressions I could work up whenever he put something new and exciting in front of me.
Most of it was good. Some of it was obviously too rich for my taste. I’m more a double syllable food kinda girl. Bur-ger. Piz-za. Ta-co.
His unpronounceable meals were never quite as satisfying.
I stand in the kitchen’s threshold, staring at the back of everyone’s heads, wondering how the fuck they’re managing to act normal.
“So, lemme guess,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall. “Zee took my place when I finally tapped out at dawn?”
The kitchen grows quiet. Zee glances at me over her shoulder at the sound of her name, and then at Kane.
Yeah, it’s a low blow, but fuck — I need answers.
Kane slings an arm around Zee’s shoulders. “She gets nightmares. Can’t sleep. Then she’ll climb in next to me.”
“Rather inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?” I say this through my teeth, because even looking in Kane’s direction makes my cheeks glow.
“Lot of inappropriate shit happened,” Kane mutters. “That wasn’t one of them.”
Then he stands, pushes away his plate. “Come, Zee.”
She gives him a mournful look, as if she can’t bear leaving behind whatever she was eating.
Hunter doesn’t say a word, but I feel his eyes on me. Pinning me — not unlike a certain someone who’s walking past me with his eyes down had me pinned.
I want to say something snarky to Kane, but my stomach’s twisting so tight I can barely breathe.
The front door opens. Closes. Kane’s Jeep revs and crunches away over the drive.
I plop down in Zee’s chair and inspect her bowl.
Cheerios.
Goddamn motherfucking Cheerios.
I point at them. “Strange. Am I imagining the cereal in—”
“I’m sorry, Clover.”
I press my lips together, pick up Zee’s spoon, and stir the rainbow her milk’s turned into. “What the fuck happened?” I look up, gesture with the spoon. “I mean, I know what happened, but…”
Hunter’s gaze is steady, fierce almost. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Anything’s better than nothing.” I wave the spoon. “Like, I dunno, what made you think I’d wanted to fuck your friend?”
Then he looks down, and that more than anything else makes my chest contract. He stands, heads out of the kitchen.
I laugh and grab his arm before he can walk past. “Nuh-uh. You don’t get to walk out of this conversation. I want to know what the fuck was going on in your disturbed mind when you—”
He tugs free, and for the longest second in the history of forever, I think he’s going to hit me. I can already see his arm swinging.
And I flinch.
I can’t help it, I just flinch.
His face drops, and he takes a hurried step back. Then he’s gone, a murmured, “I’ll be in my office,” is all he bothers with.
Zee’s spoon tinkles as I drop it back into the bowl.
It was soggy anyway.
I blink hard and use a knuckle to wipe a wayward tear from my cheek.
Well, fuck.
I guess this isn’t working out.
Chapter Sixteen
Hunter
I punch my fist into my office wall. It’s sturdy — I don’t even leave a dent and bruise my knuckles in the process. Then I do it again because I barely felt it the first time.
There’s a joint between my lips I don’t remember rolling. I sit, open my emails, read the new ones.
Nothing registers.
I feel sick to my stomach, and even when the joint’s finished, nothing’s different.
I doubt Kane will ever speak to me again. Clover’s probably already packing her things.
The question — the real fucking question — is whether I can even carry on with this charade. Because that’s what it is. This is so far out of my comfort zone, I need the fucking Hubble telescope to make it out.
I performed the hCG this morning. Everything’s on track, just like I knew it would be. Last night’s meltdown was unnecessary; I should stop doubting myself.
There’s no way I can stop now.
The damage has already been done; it can’t get much worse than this.
I laugh.
Then I can’t stop.
Tears run down my face, and all I can think is how I’ve never seen Clover’s face that swollen from tears; not even when she was detoxing from her five-year heroin addiction in my clinic.
I’ve already broken her so badly…
I’d be an idiot if I didn’t finish what I started.
Chapter Seventeen
Clover
“Clover, you have a phone call.”
I jerk, eyes flashing open from my impromptu nap. My mouth feels like a dirty duck wriggled around in it, and I’m still wiping at gummy lips when Hunter steps into the bedroom. His eyes are down as he hands the house phone to me.
Well, I say house phone, but it’s more like Hunter’s second phone. It’s certainly not available to anyone in the house to make a call from.
Not even pizza.
“Hello?” My voice is rough, and I clear it as I head to the bathroom for a drink from the tap. Something itches like hell on the back of my hand, and I rub it against my thigh. It doesn’t help.
“Clover! It’s Alexa!”
Good fucking God. I half choke on the cup of water I’m tossing down my throat.
“…all right?” I hear when I put the phone back to my ear.
“Yeah, sure. What up?” I squint out the bathroom window, scratching at my hand as I keep the phone wedged to my ear with a shoulder. Shit, did I sleep the whole night? I can’t make out if it’s twilight or dawn out there.
“I know it’s a bit sudden, but I’m soooo excited about the wedding. I’m going to pick you up tomorrow and we’ll go dress shopping, okay? Hunter already agreed.”
“Great,” I mutter. “I’ll be sure to thank him for giving me permission to leave the fucking house.”
Wetness makes me look down. Jesus, I’ve gone and dug blood from my fucking skin.
“Uh…sorry?”
“Nothing,” I snap.
The last thing I want to do is spend time with Hunter’s sister. She’s just too shrill for me. Too happy-go-lucky. But getting out of this house? Maybe never even coming back…that I can deal with.
I turn. Hunter’s standing in the doorway, motionless, listening.
With an effort, I force a smile onto my mouth. “Sounds fan-fucking-tastic, Lexi. What time?”
“Alexa’s here.”
I jerk awake. When I turn my head, Hunter’s no longer in the doorway.
“Fuck,” I mutter, glancing around as if an alarm clock would suddenly materialize on one of the nightstands.
If I was to judge from the slant of the light…
Well, I’m late either way, no sense wasting time whipping up a quick sundial.
“Coming!” I yell, desperately trying to untangle myself from the sheets. I obviously slept alone — the sheets are never this chaotic if Hunter’s beside me. I don’t know if he makes the bed in the middle of the night or something, but I never seem to have an issue with strangling myself in Egyptian cotton on any given evening.
He must have slept in his office.
Which is good, because I’m fucking pissed off at him. And worried. And I can’t get over the sure knowledge that I’ve made a huge fucking mistake.
That damn MDMA did a number on my brain. I wanted to go shout at Hunter through his office door last night, but I couldn’t whip up enough empathy to do more than shower and climb into bed.
I throw on a pair of jeans and a top, grab a pair of sling-back sandals, and thump down the stairs two at a time. We should have had the fight already. Should already be basking in the afterglow of our make-up sex. If, in fact, there is anything to salvage from our shattered relationship.
But every time I muster up just enough courage to go up to Hunter, I don’t get past, “We need to talk.”
Because right around then, my brain obviously goes into self-defense mode and shuts the fuck down — no matter how many speeches I’ve memorized in my head beforehand. Guess it knows there’s no outcome except me crashing and burning…so it shuts down and I’m left there gaping like a fish until Hunter says something soothing like, “All in good time,” or “It’s over now.”
Alexa’s standing in the living room, a huge-ass smile on her face and her pink hair up in an elaborate braid. She throws her arms out, but I run straight past and hobble painfully over the gravel toward her car.
“You’re in a rush!”
“Hungry as fuck,” I manage, gesturing for her to hurry.
Her car doors unlock and I slide into the passenger seat, slipping on my sandals and running both hands through my hair.
Alexa gets in, her smile a little crooked now. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I twirl my finger. “Let’s get going.”
“Where’s your handbag?”
“Don’t need one.”
She looks mystified at this confession but puts her car in reverse and backs out of Hunter’s drive.
Only when the property’s ornate gates are closing behind us, can I exhale. The car’s air is perfectly tempered, and I hit it deep and hard so it will expel the stifling air of the cabin from my lungs.
“I don’t want to pry, but—”
“Then don’t.” I put my elbow up on the window sill and press my knuckles against my mouth. My heart’s taking its sweet time calming down from its gallop. “Sorry,” I murmur. “I overslept, haven’t woken up yet.”
“Wanna get some coffee?”
I glance over at her. For some reason, I keep thinking she’s younger than me, but she can’t be. Hunter’s got a good seven or eight years on me, and I think he mentioned she’s four years younger.
Maybe it’s the hair. And the massive amounts of makeup she wears, I don’t know.
“Coffee sounds good.”
“And maybe a piece of pie.” Alexa squirms around in her seat. “There’s this little coffee shop just off—”
“Okay, I’m going to level with you,” I cut in. “I don’t want to be friends or some shit. I just wanted to get out of the house. Can we—” I wave a hand between us. “Can we not do this?”
Alexa’s mouth closes. Her throat moves as she swallows. “O-kay,” she says carefully. There’s a bend in the road, and her eyes flicker to me as she takes it. “Does that mean the wedding’s off?”
I flick my hand and blink back furious tears.
This is fucking bullshit. I’ve never bawled this much in my entire life. And for what?
He put the engagement ring back on my finger yesterday morning, just before he carried me to bed. And I let him because my mind was done trying to figure anything out.
I look at it now — that huge-ass rock on its slender black-gold circlet — and I can’t think why I haven’t taken it off yet.
“I don’t know,” I say qui
etly. Then I glare at Alexa. “And I’m not talking about it.”
She shrugs. “You still want that coffee?”
“God, yes.”
I run hands through my hair again and spot a hair elastic in her car’s console. “Can I?”
“Only friends get to use my stuff,” she says. But when I throw her an incredulous look, there’s a faint smile on her mouth.
“Bitch,” I mutter, snatching the hair band and using it to tame my hair into a messy bun on top of my head.
The pie was everything Alexa said it would be and more. I gorge myself on three slices — cherry, banana cream, and apple — and reluctantly refuse a fourth. It’s overcast, so we were sitting inside in a booth at the back of the little cafe just off Mallhaven’s main road.
Alexa, surprisingly, hasn’t said a word about the wedding.
Instead, she told me all about herself. It was more than I ever wanted to know, but it meant I didn’t have to contribute small talk of any kind, and for that I’m grateful.
When my belly’s full of pie and I’ve finished my third cup of coffee, I push away a plate practically licked clean, and let out a sigh.
“It’s sweet of you to want to go shopping and shit with me, but… I think it’s a bit early for that.”
Alexa looks up from her phone and blinks as if she’s hurriedly recalling what I just said.
“Okay.” She slips her phone into her pocket. “Rain check?”
“Maybe.” I give a half shrug and then pin her with a glare. “Your brother’s not right in the head.”
Alexa laughs, but the sound tapers off when I don’t join in.
“Uh…what do you mean?”
I lean forward, lacing my fingertips and gripping hard as I slide my meshed fists over the table toward her. “You’ve gotta know he’s a little psycho, right?”
Alexa shifts, eyes darting left and right before settling back on me. “We’re all a little fucked up,” she says.
