Rising

by Laurelin Paige

  “It wasn’t said to make you feel bad. It was said to give you some perspective.”

  I tapped the unlit fag on my knee. “Should we talk about you now? I think that will be a lot more productive.”

  She sighed. Then she launched eagerly into telling me about the new man that she was seeing, and I lit the cigarette and listened and was happy for her, but also I thought about what she’d said, really thought about it, and by the time we hung up, I’d decided.

  It was time to go home.

  I found Celia bent over the desk in the living room, scrawling something onto a piece of hotel stationery. She must not have heard me come in because when she looked up, she startled.

  The flash of surprise on her face quickly vanished, though, and was replaced with a genuine smile. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Thank God.” She ran to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

  Without hesitation, I hugged her tightly, burying my head in her hair. There were so many ways she could have greeted me—with accusations or resentment or the silent treatment—and she’d chosen joy. I couldn’t have felt more cherished. I couldn’t have been more relieved.

  We held each other like that, neither of us willing to let go. I could have done without words for longer, content to be wrapped in Celia’s warmth, except that there was something missing. Someone missing. “Is Cleo sleeping?”

  I felt her head shake against my shoulder. She leaned back so she could look up at me. “She’s with Genevieve and Chandler. They picked her up a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see them in the hall.”

  “I didn’t. Are they sitting for us?”

  “I asked them to take her for the night.” Celia’s expression grew serious. “So I could go look for you. I was just writing you a note.”

  The mention of my disappearance brought our argument back into view. We couldn’t ignore the elephant. Might as well address it straight on.

  I pulled away, slowly. Reluctantly. “Probably wouldn’t have found me. I booked another room.”

  “You’ve been in the hotel all this time?” She tried to sound like it was funny but failed.

  “Most of it.” I took her hand in mine, running my thumb across the knuckle above her wedding ring. I’d never get tired of seeing it on her finger. “Can we talk?”

  “I’d like that.” She let me lead her to the sofa and set her down. As soon as I sat next to her, she turned her body toward mine. “I’m sure you have plenty to say, and I want to hear all of it, but I have something I need to say to you first.”

  Before I could respond, she’d moved to kneel on the floor at my feet.

  My suit suddenly felt too warm. “Well, this is an interesting way to open up a dialogue.”

  “Does it get your attention?” She waggled her eyebrows as she nudged my knees apart so she could crawl between my legs.

  “You definitely have my attention, though you had it when you were sitting at my side as well.”

  “Good.” She flattened her hands and ran them up my thighs.

  Naturally, my cock reacted. God, I loved her on her knees. I especially loved her on her knees for me.

  The timing, however, was not necessarily appropriate. “Conversation is becoming less and less appealing, bird. I’m not complaining, but I think you’ll agree that there is a lot that should be said between us, and my rehearsed script is suddenly leaving my mind.”

  “Then you can just listen because this has to be said before anything else.” With her hands still on my thighs, she sat back on her haunches and peered up at me. “I choose you, Edward.”

  I didn’t think I could breathe. I didn’t dare.

  Celia’s hands slid so they were closer to my knees. “Above everything, Edward, I choose you and Cleo and what the three of us have together. There isn’t anything else that matters. I trust you to love us and care for us. I trust you to keep us safe and protected. And I trust you to consult with and treat me as a partner on the matters that affect us all.

  “I’ve said most of this before, I know, and I meant it when I did. But I realize now that it wasn’t fair to say that and then keep parts of me from you. I’ve been entirely focused on what I needed—a say in the big decisions. But why should you give me what I need when I haven’t given you what you need? So here I am giving you what you need—trust and honesty. Take it from me. It’s yours. No strings. I know you’ll give me everything I need in return.”

  Something dislodged in my chest, a loosening of something I didn’t realize had been tight. Had I never believed that before? That she’d chosen me?

  I hadn’t believed it.

  I’d chosen her. I’d gone after her for my own reasons, and when I fell in love with her, it was me who decided I’d keep her. She was with me because I’d made her mine, the same way that Marion had been with me because I’d made her mine. And when I’d lost Marion it had been because I’d lost interest in keeping her. There had never been any need for or benefit to being chosen. I’d believed with all my heart it hadn’t mattered.

  Yet, hearing Celia declare it now, I realized how very wrong I’d been. Being chosen made all the difference. It mattered more than her love. More than her submission. It was the greatest gift anyone had ever given me, and while I’d never worried about my merit, I suddenly felt very unworthy.

  I cradled her face in my hand. She leaned into my touch, her gaze still on mine, her blue eyes intense as she waited for me to speak.

  But what could I say after that? Everything in my head felt small and banal. And what was in my heart couldn’t be expressed. There was no sequence of words that could relay the mass of emotions within me. I felt unleashed. Reborn. Aroused.

  I moved my hand from her cheek to the back of her neck where her blonde locks were gathered in a low bun. Gripping my fingers through the hair underneath, I tilted her head toward mine as I leaned in. “I hope you understand that I’m going to have to fuck you now.”

  “Do what you want with me,” she said just before my mouth crashed with hers. “I’m yours.”

  My teeth nipped on her upper lip, and she opened up to me, her mouth taking my tongue as it licked and stroked and tasted and devoured. Kissing her felt as intimate as fucking, and I kissed her for long, heavy minutes before the throbbing of my cock forced my attention elsewhere.

  “Take me out,” I said when I broke away. I bit the shell of her ear before leaning back to give her room. “Hurry up about it. My cock is lead.”

  I shimmied out of my jacket while she made quick work of my belt. Next it was the button, then the zipper. I was so hard that my crown popped over the band of my boxer briefs, red and leaking. I lifted my hips so she could pull my clothing down, but as soon as my erection sprung free, I sat back down.

  My hand returned to grip her neck, messing up what was left of her bun. “Do you choose me even like this?” I asked, pulling her face toward my aching cock.

  She couldn’t answer since, the moment she opened her mouth, I thrust inside.

  I plunged inside, over and over, deeper, until my head tickled the back of her throat and made her gag. When I pulled out, it was only meant to give her some air but she took the brief reprieve to cry out, “God, yes.”

  I’d made her choose like this before, but then I was asking her to choose the things I liked doing to her. It was so much different hearing her choose the man who did them.

  I pushed her head back over my cock and held her down, her nose pressed up against my skin so tight there was no way she could breathe. “Do you choose me, angry and possessive and mean? Do you still choose me?”

  This time when I let her up, she was gasping, tears running from the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she said, her voice raw. “I still choose you.”

  Her mouth was suddenly not enough.

  I stood, pulling her up roughly with me. After a vicious kiss, I tore open her blouse, sending buttons flying through the air. Then I took advantage of her nursing bra, pu
lling down one of the cups so I could fondle her breast with my bare hand.

  She whimpered when I squeezed her nipple, which only caused me to tighten my pinch. “And now? When I hurt you and make you cry, do you still choose me?”

  “Always. I choose you always.”

  My need was a living beast. With a roar, I swept the accessory tray off the ottoman and shoved her down in its place. I wasn’t gentle as I peeled down her knickers and trousers, grateful they were wide-leg so I didn’t have to remove her shoes to get them off of her. Just as roughly, I hitched one of her legs over my shoulder and stretched out over her, pushing her thigh flat against her chest so she was open wide.

  I grunted as I shoved inside her. “You choose me, good or bad, whatever I’ve done, whomever I’ve hurt. Whatever my sins, you choose me.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she panted in rhythm to my thrusts.

  Whether she was agreeing with me or begging for more, I didn’t know, but I chose to believe it was the former while also giving her the latter. I continued my assault with one driving effort—in, in, in, in, knocking against her clit with each thrust. In, in, in. As far inside her as I could go. As far inside her as I could be. Until we were no longer she and I, each with our own history and baggage, but one entity, our pasts both part of the same story, one with a complicated but very happy ending.

  She climaxed first, her cunt clenching tight like it didn’t bear to let me go. I pressed through her snug opening, meaning to just stay inside her while she came. But she felt too good, and she was too beautiful beneath me, all wrung out and tortured, and I came too, the pleasure starting at the base of my spine and igniting every neural pathway as fast as a lightning strike.

  I hovered over her, spent and unmoored. It felt like I’d released much more than my cum inside her. Like I’d been relieved of the weight of something much heavier and burdensome.

  Fuck. She wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  But she was, and I loved her, and I would do everything in my power to keep her mine. Even if it meant setting down my ego and trying something new. Like partnership. Without resentment. Without any barriers between us.

  I pushed off her, tucked myself away, then dropped onto the couch behind me and watched Celia’s chest rise and fall as her breaths slowed and she pulled herself together. When she was steady, she propped herself up on her elbows and looked at me.

  She was a mess—her hair all over the place, her mascara smudged, her lipstick smeared. She was gorgeous.

  “It wasn’t fair to expect your trust when I have betrayed it on more than one occasion.” I was the one wearing the most clothing, but I felt strangely the more naked of us both.

  She nodded once, taking it in. Accepting.

  Then she peeled herself off the ottoman and climbed on top of me, straddling my lap. “So now we try to do better,” she said. Plain and simple. So easy it would be impossible to screw up.

  I grabbed her face with both hands and pressed my mouth to hers. It wasn’t as erotic as our earlier kisses had been, but it was somehow just as intense.

  The sun was streaking its last rays across the sky when our lips finally parted. “You taste tobacco-y,” she said. “Have you been puffing cigars?”

  “I took up smoking, actually. Don’t worry, I’ve already quit.” I’d tossed the pack as soon as I’d hung up with Camilla.

  “Damn right you’ve already quit.”

  I smiled at her reprimand. “Oh, but I do happen to have two cigars in the inside pocket of my jacket for later. I bought some high-quality Cubans today thinking we might celebrate Ron’s sentencing. I should have been here when you got the news. Are you happy?”

  “Happy is a strange word for it.” She shifted from my lap to sit beside me, leaning back into my arms when I angled toward her. “I’m glad, yes, but I don’t know that his sentencing changes where I am with what he did to me. I’m only better because of you.”

  “I’m not taking all of that credit. It was you, too.” I stroked my hand up and down her bare arm, enjoying the weight of her at my side so much that I hesitated before bringing up the delicate subject. “How did today go? With the journals.”

  She tensed, sitting up more. “It went okay. It was probably best you weren’t around, even though I could have used your support.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “You are, and I have to ask…You knew I would eventually.”

  “What am I going to do about Pierce?” I was sure that was the question without confirming, but I needed her to know I was on the same page.

  Being on the same page didn’t make the question any easier to answer. I felt oddly less concerned with Hudson Pierce than I had in days, but he was still there at the back of my mind, waiting to be dealt with.

  Right now, though, I was still more concerned about Celia’s part in the equation. “Well,” I removed my arm from around her. “Since we’re trying to be better about discussing these things, what are you afraid that I’ll do?”

  I studied her profile as she took a deep breath in, then let it out. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at me as she spoke. “You could try to ruin his business, which scares me because of what he might do to you in return. Or you could try to go after his family, and that scares me for the same reasons. But also it scares me because I don’t want you to be the type of man who would do that. I’m afraid you already have done that.”

  I reached out and turned her face toward me so she could see my eyes. “I’m not the person who’s terrorizing the Pierces. I promise on Cleo’s life.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t.” I shook my head, not wanting her to feel guilty no matter how much the accusation stung. “I hate that you had to ask. But I also understand why you did.”

  “That makes me feel a lot better.”

  “Good.” I swept my thumb across her bottom lip before I let her face go. “Do you believe me?”

  “I do.” And I believed her. She kept her gaze on mine. “I’m also scared of what you might do to Hudson personally.”

  “You mean you’re worried I might hurt him physically.”

  Her nod was barely perceptible. “You told me you had those men beat up, the ones who scammed Hagan when he was a teenager.”

  “I did do that. That was a unique situation.” Violence was generally not my preferred method. It was too easy. Over too quickly. It didn’t hurt the way real ruin did.

  “Okay,” she said, and I could feel her gathering courage, could see the steely resolve in her eyes when she finally had as much as she needed. “But you killed Camilla’s husband. Didn’t you?”

  We were in this now, both of us, honest and open and trusting, no more secrets, no more lies.

  So I answered with the truth. “Yes. I did.”

  Sixteen

  Celia

  I tried to swallow and couldn’t.

  I tried again as I wiped my clammy hands on my open shirt. “Okay,” I finally managed to say.

  And then nothing because what was there to say after that? I was still grappling with what to feel. On the one hand, Edward had shared something with me that I thought he never would share. On the other hand, what he’d shared wasn’t something I necessarily wanted to know.

  But I wanted to know all of Edward, didn’t I?

  Then why did I have the sudden urge to run? It warred with my instinct to stay.

  “Hey,” he said, taking my hand in his. I watched as he ran his thumb over my knuckles, his touch both warm and heavy despite the light strokes. If he knew the battle going on in my head, he didn’t address it. “If I’m going to tell you this—and I am—we’re going to need a drink.”

  “Like a session, but for you? That’s serious.” As if the fact he’d murdered his brother-in-law wasn’t serious enough.

  “More like it’s a story that’s hard to tell and alcohol makes things easier.”

  “Exactly. A session.”

  He stood, and somehow I stood wit
h him. My legs still worked even though they felt numb. I was able to walk, one step in front of the other, like I always did, but I didn’t follow him to the minibar. Instead I went to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I washed quickly at the sink then threw the tattered blouse in the trash, took off my bra, and put on a robe. Routine, normal things. Everything was good. Everything was fine.

  In the bedroom, I paused to catch my breath.

  My husband was about to tell me how he killed a man. A terrible man, perhaps, but did that justify murder?

  This wasn’t exactly new information. I’d guessed that Edward had a hand in Frank’s death before now, but not knowing the details, I’d been able to push it away and ignore it. Once he told me this story, I wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore. I’d have to decide if it mattered. I’d chosen Edward, but I’d have to choose again. Could I stand behind a cold-blooded killer?

  I shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “Am I pouring you a glass?” Edward called from the other room.

  Too late for regrets. For better or worse, I needed to know. Edward needed to tell me. And I needed to be there for him as he did, the same way he’d been by me when I’d confessed my worst sins.

  Besides, against all reason, I wasn’t really all that worried about it. Whatever he said, it wasn’t going to change who he was, and I already knew who that was. I already loved him.

  Nevertheless, wine would help.

  “Sure,” I said, meeting him in the dining room. “I have to pump later anyway since Cleo isn’t here. I’ll just throw it out instead of storing it.”

  He handed me a glass filled with some dark red with a bitter bouquet. Fitting. “The cabernet franc,” I said, after I tasted it. “You’d bought that for a special occasion.”

  “Special doesn’t always mean celebratory.” He took a sip from his own glass, his mouth puckering as the flavor hit his tongue. “I think this will do just fine. Shall we?”

  I walked with him back to the living room and took a place on the couch, curling my feet up under me. Edward looked from the chair to the bench. It was our pattern to sit apart during sessions, and I was sure he was deciding which he would find most comfortable.