Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  He chuckles. “Nothing.” His smile nearly splits his face in half.

  I swallow. “Do I have something on my face?” I reach for my napkin, wiping at my chin, but Ezra shakes his head.

  He reaches over and tugs at my wrist, his touch warm and electric against my skin. “Stop,” he says, releasing my arm. “You’re beautiful.”

  Beautiful. He said I’m beautiful. He’s said it before. At least I think he has, but never this casually, like it's something commonplace, something he’s taken as fact. To him, I am beautiful. It’s as simple as that. Why is that such a turn on?

  I smile, heat flooding my cheeks. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes,” I tell him, my voice a little breathier than intended. I mean every word. Up close like this, it is hard to ignore the sharp cut of his jaw, the soft fullness of his lips, and those little lines at the corner of his eyes that only appear when he laughs, like he’s letting you in on a secret.

  He chuckles, his thumb brushing over the inside of my wrist.

  “I’m starving,” Hannah says, interrupting the moment. She snatches my wine glass and downs the whole thing in one gulp.

  Ezra swipes the bottle from the table and leans back in his chair. “There’s pasta in the kitchen.”

  She snorts in disdain. “Do you have any idea how many calories are in that?”

  He gestures toward the beach, just steps from where we are seated on the deck. “You’re welcome to try and rustle up some kelp.”

  I bite my lip to hold in my laughter and fail miserably as a giggle slips past. Hannah’s head whips toward me, and she fixes me with an evil glare.

  “Got a problem, Mariah?” I arch a brow. She knows my name. She taps her lip and looks up at the sky. “Remind me, did Ms. Carey’s career bounce back after that lip-sync scandal?”

  I drop my head and clench my teeth. If she keeps up this petty shit, I am going to have to cut a bitch.

  “Hannah,” Ezra sighs, “check the fridge. I’m sure there’s some kale bullshit or whatever the hell you eat in there.”

  She huffs and disappears into the kitchen. I watch her baby pink curls bob behind her as she vanishes into the house.

  “I don’t get it,” I remark, shaking my head.

  Ezra leans forward to refill my glass. “What?”

  “Why do you put up with that?”

  He looks back at the patio door and sets the bottle back on the table between us. “She wasn’t always like this.” He drops his head and fiddles with his fingers.

  I watch him in silence for a long time. “She really hurt you, didn’t she?”

  He looks out over the water and sits up, exhaling loudly. “It was a long time ago.” He takes a long drink from his glass and sets it back on the table. I let the subject drop. Prior to Hannah’s interruption, we were having such a nice time.

  Leaning in, I close some of the distance between us and make an attempt to change the mood. “Have you ever considered recording your own music?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not much of a performer.”

  I nod. “Can’t carry a tune in a bucket, huh?” I scrunch my nose, and he shakes his head.

  “Stay there.” He pushes up from his chair and disappears into the guest house. I glance up at the dark sky, then close my eyes and breathe in deep. Contentedness washes over me.

  “You ready?” He’s so close, his breath tickles the shell of my ear. My smile widens, and I open my eyes slowly to see he’s returned with an acoustic guitar. Shifting his chair closer, he strums the strings, then looks up at me with a grin.

  He strums the opening cords to Tom’s Petty’s “Free Fallin.” When he opens his mouth to sing, his voice is like dark chocolate, rich and deep, and velvety smooth. I’m entirely captivated as he sings about a good girl who loves Elvis. His voice rises with the chorus, and I can’t help but join him. Our voices blend in a natural harmony. A smile stretches wide across my face.

  When the song is over, we stare at each other, wearing matching megawatt grins. I shake my head, playfully shoving at his shoulder. “Why aren’t you on stage? Women would lose their minds over you. I mean, you’re gorgeous, obviously, but when you sing, it’s—well, let’s just say it’s a miracle I’m still wearing panties.”

  He laughs, absently strumming the guitar. His fingers pick out an unconscious melody I recognize as Creep from Radiohead. “You can keep your panties on. The stage isn’t for me.”

  “Why not?”

  His eyes move to the sliding glass door as Hannah heads up the stairs, and I follow his gaze as he says, “It changes you.”

  The music stops, and his jaw tightens. He hesitates, then sets the guitar on the deck, leaning it carefully against the table. “We should clean up,” he says. “It’s been a long day.”

  He clears our plates and heads for the kitchen, leaving me alone on the deck. I drop my head in my hands and curse myself. Jesus, I’m on a roll tonight, ruining what has been a fantastic night by drudging up his painful past. Not once, but twice.

  I rise, collecting our glasses and napkins.

  In the kitchen, his back is to me, the sound of rushing water from the sink echoing from the white subway tiles. I step behind him and set the glasses beside the sink, leaning against the counter. He’s quiet as he rinses the plates and places them carefully in the dishwasher.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s none of my business. I didn’t mean…”

  “I know.” He rinses a wine glass, swirling the water slowly in the bottom.

  I rest a hand on his forearm, and his eyes dart to where my fingers meet his skin. He takes a deep breath and exhales a deep sigh. His eyes meet mine, and the flirty playfulness from earlier is gone.

  My heart nearly cracks in two. Tears well in my eyes. I feel his pain as my own and wish I could do something to take it away. I rise on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. He tenses, muscles tight as I brush another gentle kiss along his jaw.

  His eyes are wide when I move back to meet his gaze. His lips part and my attention falls to those perfect lips.

  I’m not sure if he leans into me or if it’s the other way around, but his hand on my shoulder stops us cold before we collide.

  “I’m sorry, Orelia,” he says, “we can’t.” His chest heaves, his breathing staggered.

  “Why not?” I breathe.

  His eyes open and focus on mine. “Because I’ll ruin you.”

  With that, he turns his back on me and heads for the stairs, leaving me weak-kneed and clinging to the kitchen counter for support. He may not see it, but I’m already ruined.

  Chapter 15

  Ezra

  I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt her lips on my skin, and a raw, primal heat spread through my body as I stared up at the ceiling. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep myself from sprinting down the hall.

  Being trapped in this house with her is dangerous. Every smile, every touch, regardless of how innocent it may be, is charged with this intense magnetic energy that pulls me in her direction. I crave her warmth, her sweetness. My body reacts to her in ways I haven’t felt in a very long time. The need to have her is instinctual. Just being in her presence tests my will. I want her more than any other woman I’ve ever been with, including Hannah.

  Shit, Hannah. You would think the threat of my bitchy ex-girlfriend would be a deterrent, but when I’m with Orelia, everything else is just white noise.

  Creating music is intimate, sensual even, and when you devote your life to it like I have, the lines begin to blur, and it becomes easy to get caught up in the feelings and emotions you create, mistaking them for the real thing.

  Hindsight is a tricky bitch and looking back, it’s easy to see all the red flags that popped up when Hannah and I were together. She wasn’t the first woman I’d been with who chased the spotlight. Amanda had been just as ambitious, just as passionate, until she wasn’t anymore. Hannah was the same, always wanting more. More money, more fame, more idolatry, and I was never
enough.

  I refuse to let this industry devour Orelia like it did them. She will be different. I vow to keep her from selling her soul to the spotlight, even if it means breaking my own heart in the process.

  The sky outside begins to brighten as the sun rises to start the day. I climb out of bed, giving up hope that sleep will come, hoping a run will help to clear my head and wear me out enough to get some rest.

  Pulling on a pair of running shorts, I grab my phone and head downstairs. I round the corner to the kitchen, colliding with something soft and…sticky?

  “Oh, my God,” Orelia squeaks. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

  I glance at the empty glass in her hands, then down at the OJ dripping down my stomach and legs.

  “It’s fine,” I bite out, gesturing toward a roll of paper towels on the counter.

  She dives for them right away, tearing off a few sheets and pressing them into my abs. She wipes at my skin, and my cock immediately takes note of her closeness. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to realize as she frantically swipes at the mess.

  She drops to her knees, and the sight is too much for me to bear. I snatch the towels from her eager fingers. “I got it.”

  She blinks up at me and nibbles nervously at her bottom lip. I could lean down and taste that lip for myself, scoop her into my arms and pin her to the fridge. It wouldn’t take much, just a few quick moves, and….

  “Fuck,” I groan, stepping back. I drop the wad of paper towels to the floor, using my foot to soak up the rest of the spill, then toss the sodden mess into the trash.

  My legs are sticky, the dark hair clumpy and matted to my thighs, and my shorts are soaked.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t see you.” The hurt in her voice halts me.

  “It’s okay, really,” I say, trying to reassure her. “I was just heading out for a run.”

  “Oh.” She glances toward the sliding glass door and the beach beyond. “Well, I have some lyrics to work on and wanted to get an early start.”

  “Great idea.” I tuck an earbud into my ear, hoping she takes the hint. She ducks her head and moves around me without another word. Defeat and embarrassment color her cheeks as she heads for the stairs.

  I’m acting like a dick, which she doesn’t deserve, and it’s maddening. I can’t keep myself in check when I’m around her. I want what I can’t have, which frustrates me to no end, and like a goddamned fool, I lash out at her.

  “Wait,” I call back to her. She pauses on the first step and glances over at me. “When I get back, maybe you can show me what you’ve been working on.”

  She nods and gives me a sad smile. “I’d like that.”

  Five miles later, my body is exhausted, but my mind is still reeling with thoughts of Orelia. Her smile, her laugh, the sweetness in her voice. My head is constantly flooded with images of her that no matter how much I try to flush them out, they refuse to budge.

  When I reach the deck, the sliding glass doors are open, sheer white curtains billowing in the breeze. A hypnotizing guitar rift floats toward me as I make my way inside. Her back is toward me as I enter the kitchen, the smell of frying bacon filling the room. My stomach rumbles with hunger as the grease sizzles and pops on the stove, but it’s the sight of her standing at the counter that does me in. Her hips sway to the beat of the song as she softly hums a melody I don’t recognize.

  I want nothing more than to move behind her, to pull her body into mine and bury my face in her hair. She turns, holding a glass bowl full of an egg mixture, and her smile brightens when she finds me watching. I smile and set my phone on the counter.

  “Morning,” she says, pouring the egg mixture into the waiting pan.

  “Morning.” I step beside her and steal a piece of bacon from the plate on the counter. “What’s all this?”

  “Breakfast,” she teases.

  I chuckle and lean back against the island counter.

  She focuses her eyes on the pan in front of her, stirring the eggs as they cook. “Hungry?”

  I nod toward the stairs. “Yeah, just let me clean up.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I head into the guest bathroom since Hannah confiscated the master. I turn on the hot spray, strip out of my shorts, shoes, and socks, then step inside.

  Steam fogs up the glass as the hot water pounds the tension from my shoulders. As I lather my chest and thighs, I open my eyes and spot a bottle of her conditioner sitting on the ledge. I reach for it, lifting it my nose and inhaling the scent of lavender and honey. Images of her grooving to the music as she stirs a bowl of eggs fill my brain. When I close my eyes, she’s on her knees, looking up at me beneath those thick dark lashes.

  I press my hands against the cool tile, my cock thickening as I fight to push her from my mind. No baseball stats or grandmas in their underwear can clear that shy smile or the way she sucks on her bottom lips when she’s nervous or thinking.

  It’s like she’s here with me, running her lips along my jaw as I grind myself against her slick center. I grip my cock, giving it a hard squeeze as I imagine pressing her into the tile, fingering that tight little cunt until she writhes against me.

  I can practically feel her hands on me. My eyes snap open as soft hands slide over my stomach. I can feel the hard press of her nipples against my back as the hands travel south.

  “Need some help?” a familiar voice croons. I whirl to face a smug Hannah, ripping her hands from my body.

  “What the fuck? Get out.”

  Her eyes fall to my still erect cock, and a smirk tugs at her lips. “Your lips say no, but your body—” She arches her back, her hips moving against me.

  I growl, quickly turning off the tap and reaching for a towel. I wrap it tightly around my waist and toss another at her naked chest. “Get dressed.”

  “Baby,” she coos, “come on.” She bats her eyes at me, dropping the towel and pressing her naked body against me. She kisses my chest, then my neck, causing my body to go to war with my mind.

  “Fuck me, Ezra,” she whispers against my jaw. “I know you want to.”

  Anger pulses through me, giving me the final push I need to separate from her. “No,” I roar.

  She scrunches her nose. “Excuse me?”

  “I said no,” I tell her, moving past her, down the hall and into my room.

  She storms in behind me, not even bothering to cover up. She props a hand on her hip, her lips a hard line as she stares me down with narrowed eyes. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

  Reaching into my bag for some clothes, I pull a clean pair of shorts up under the towel then tug a T-shirt over my head. “This has nothing to do with Orelia,” I say, shaking my head.

  She laughs. “Funny how you immediately knew who I was referring to.”

  I flinch. “Just stop, okay? I’ve had enough of your shit. Tell yourself whatever lies that allow you to sleep at night. Blame me for all of it. I don’t fucking care, just stop.”

  I push past her and make my way down the stairs.

  Orelia is right where I left her, looking absolutely adorable in a pair of cut off shorts, her thin white T-shirt loose and hanging off one shoulder. I want to taste that little peek of flesh. I close my eyes. I need to work off some of this energy before I do something really stupid, like tie her to my bed and fuck her until her voice goes hoarse from screaming my name.

  She turns to me and smiles. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I respond, clearing my throat.

  “Coffee?”

  I shake my head and take a seat at the bar.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry about last night,” she pauses, “and this morning.”

  I hold up a hand to stop her. “No. I was a dick.”

  She glances at me over her shoulder with a sly grin. “Maybe a little.”

  I nod, my lips curling in a smirk.

  “Anyway, I figure since we’re holed up here for a while that we should call a truce.” She scrapes the eggs onto two plates.

  “Were we at war?�
� I tease, pulling open the silverware drawer and grabbing some utensils.

  She tips her head from side to side. “Not war exactly, but things have been a little tense, don’t you think?”

  I freeze, unsure of how to answer. I hate that I’ve been making her uncomfortable while trying to seem indifferent.

  “Look,” she says, setting the plates filled with eggs, bacon, and toast on the island and looking me in the eye, “I overstepped. I obviously made you uncomfortable with the whole almost kiss thing.” I raise a brow, and she waves it off. “Anyway, I’m just going to say this, and then we’re going to move on.” She exhales a long breath and lays her hands flat against the granite. “I—”

  “Good morning,” Hannah strolls in, wearing a beaming smile and my T-shirt. Her long tan legs are bare, and her hair is still damp.

  Orelia stares at her, mouth gaping.

  Hannah pours herself a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter, grinning at me.

  “What are you wearing?” I ask her.

  She cocks her head to the side. “You told me to get dressed, silly.”

  Orelia turns to me, her face a little shocked, a little hurt. “It’s not,” I start, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

  “You know what? It’s none of my business.”

  “But—”

  She slides off the stool and scrapes her food into the trash. Hannah watches with a smirk as she rinses off her plate and places it in the dishwasher, then heads for the stairs.

  I glare at Hannah as she takes another sip from her mug. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

  She purses her lips and blows me a kiss.

  “Okay, let’s run through that last part one more time,” I say, leaning into the talk back.

  “Can’t you take a break?” Hannah whines. “We’ve been cooped up in here all day.”

  “We’re working,” I spit at her over my shoulder.

  Orelia nods, signaling she’s ready. She nails the next verse, and I give her the thumbs up that we got it. Her eyes dart to Hannah at my side then to me as she sets her headphones on the stand.