by Reiss, CD
Done.
One stupid thing… maybe two, but done.
I was free to live in the world as I’d built it, which should have given me relief. Yet there was nothing in my heart but grief. I’d walked away again, more reluctantly than before and for a better reason, but I’d still walked away, and there was no going back.
Traffic was light, but I stayed in the right lane. I wasn’t in the mood to pass anyone, wasn’t feeling strategic or motivated. So, when the car behind me honked, I ignored it because I was already in the slow lane. And when it passed me, I almost didn’t glance at it, except that it was an impossible-to-ignore shade of daffodil yellow.
I rolled down my window, and Amanda opened hers on the passenger side.
“Pull over, you shit!” she screamed over the whoosh of the wind, leaning toward the center of the front seat so I could see her face as it went from the road to me and back again. “I’ll run you off the road.”
She was going to run herself off the road if she didn’t pay attention.
I told myself that was why I pulled over, but I didn’t believe it.
She blew past me and turned onto a private drive a few hundred feet away. Private driveways dotted the Cabrillo, set miles apart, each with a gate visible from the main strip. She couldn’t get far once she turned, so I followed at my own pace to give myself time to think.
Which I didn’t do at all.
Because if I’d been thinking, I would have kept on going, but I needed to tell myself I was a man who considered all the variables and known quantities before taking an action—not a man who’d follow a woman he’d just tried to beat up a refrigerator to protect and whom he had no future with inside the boundaries of Los Angeles.
Past the trees clustered around the spot where she’d turned, I found her standing in the shade. The buttercup Jaguar was parked against the white split-rail fence that bordered the entrance to the private road, and I parked perpendicular to it, blocking the sight of her from the highway. When I opened the door, I heard birds, crickets, and finally, when I got out, I caught the whoosh of a passing car.
When she spoke, her voice was low and certain. “You still owe me.”
“Are you serious?” I said as if she couldn’t be, but I was moving toward her with no intention of stopping.
What had she called me? Powerful but kind.
At that moment, I was neither. I was a weak man, enslaved by emotion and trapped inside biology. Even the mind I elevated wasn’t more than a lump of electrically conductive proteins trapped in my bowl of a skull, and every cell, every neuron, every atom, and every yawning space in between wanted her.
“Stop,” she said.
I drew up short before I laid a finger on her, grateful because once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. “Say it, Amanda.” We danced around each other like boxers. “Whatever it is.”
“We’re too complicated. Between Logan, my reputation, and the show you just put on? This is it. Once we’re in LA… if we run into each other somewhere, we’re cordial—friends.”
“If I run into you around the pool at Chateau Marmont and you have a cabana—”
Her smile was razor sharp. “I won’t even say hello.”
On the other side of my truck, a car zipped by on the freeway, then another, then nothing disturbed us but the crackle of the wind in the trees.
With my truck behind her, wearing my clothes with surrender in her eyes, she appeared fully assimilated to me, exactly where I wanted her.
“Don’t move,” I said, approaching her slowly, drawing out the sweet agony between us.
She tilted her head back and bared her throat but kept her hands on the fence. She’d learned so quickly to be obedient. I could only imagine what she’d do if I had more time. She’d learn to say yes in a hundred ways to a hundred different things she’d never thought possible.
Without touching her with my hands, I pressed my face to her neck and whispered, “My little fucking slut.”
She whimpered.
“Didn’t get enough the first time, did you? I told you you’d beg for my cock. I didn’t expect you to do it in public, but…” I slipped a hand into her hair and gave it a tug. “That’s how bad you need it.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
I waited.
“Yes, sir.”
I kissed her for that, long and slow and thorough. Her hips were already working against mine, seeking friction, so I pushed her against my truck with one hand and slid the other one into the crotch of the sweatpants I’d loaned her only to discover that there was nothing else between us, just her warm, bare skin.
“You fucking whore,” I murmured, sliding deeper to find her folds wet and ready. “Is this how bad you want cock?”
“Your cock.”
She was slick enough to take two fingers and gasp at the sudden intrusion, gripping around me as if she wanted to hold my hand there, but my cock hardened to bury itself in her center, pushing with the quivering rhythm of her pulse.
I slipped my fingers out and placed them on her lower lip. “Suck it off. Taste what a perfect little cunt you have.”
Thrusting my fingers along her tongue, I let her close her lips around them and suck, taking the opportunity to get my dick out. I could barely think straight; I needed to be inside her. If this was going to be the last time, she was getting every inch I had.
“Turn around,” I said, spinning her before I was even finished with the command. “Hands on the truck.”
She spun and gripped the hood as I yanked down the rolled-up sweatpants, exposing the sweet curve of her ass. I smacked it, and the sound got lost in the trees. When I spanked her again, she grunted from the sting.
“Hush now,” I said, sliding the head of my dick between her ass cheeks. “Be a good girl. Stay still when I take you.”
With the head of my cock at her dry ass, she was still and silent.
This was trust. This was control.
This was all I needed. Moving my head down to her wet cunt, I slid inside it, fucking her deep in one long, clean thrust.
“Touch yourself,” I demanded. “Use your left hand.”
She took her left hand off the fence and dropped it between her legs.
“When you get back, you’ll fuck yourself with your left hand when you think of me. Because no one else”—I thrust into her so hard she whimpered again—“is going to fuck you like this.”
She rubbed furiously at her clit while I pinched her nipples and fucked her harder with every stroke, trying to maintain control as she fell apart around me. Her orgasm left her clinging to me, limp and exhausted, and I held her tightly, pushing deep until I couldn’t bear another second.
I pulled out and came on her ass, marking it as mine, as if my promise that this was our last time meant nothing at all. I pressed my face to her neck and let myself imagine, for one brief moment, that she was something I could allow myself to keep.
I got a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the sticky come off her, reaching between her legs to massage her clit a little. She tried to pull away from the contact.
“Too sensitive?” I asked. “You sure you can’t come again?”
“I can’t.”
“Are you sure, Mandy?”
We both froze as if time had stopped. I’d learned long ago not to take anything said during sex too seriously, but somehow, this was a massive slipup.
Mandy.
The word echoed between us, drowning out the birds and the wind in the trees.
She turned to face me, and I held my hands up like a man who’d said “I love you” on the third date.
In this case, I could hardly apologize or say I didn’t mean it.
“I can’t,” she said again, a little more firmly.
Pocketing the handkerchief, I tucked my dick back into my pants. She bent forward to pull up my sweats, rolling them up as she avoided eye contact.
“Thanks for that.” She sounded as distant and professional as if we’
d just closed a business deal.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“Glad we got that out of our systems.” She glanced at her car as if calculating how many steps she’d have to take to get inside it and away from me.
“I’ll see you in LA,” I suggested.
The world pressed in. On the other side of my truck, the frequency of whooshing cars seemed to double.
“Yeah.” She stepped away. “Maybe lunch at Mantillini.”
Like a newcomer to Los Angeles without a clue how things were done, I almost thought we’d actually meet for lunch at Kate Mantillini, on Wilshire, and walk a few blocks for an afternoon fuck at the Sixty Hotel, or even the Four Seasons if we had time.
But before I opened my mouth, I remembered that Kate Mantillini had closed years ago, and in LA, you said you’d meet for lunch but never did, and also that I was a sad, sorry excuse for a man.
And then, for what I promised her was the last time, I watched her leave, and I smiled to myself because she didn’t know something I did.
I was going to see her again.
Chapter 27
MANDY
Good. Fine. Great.
That was how I felt on the way out of Harmony. I put music on. Everything was cool. I was going back to Los Angeles. I loved my city, and no matter where I was coming from, I was usually relieved to be home.
But this time as I dropped out of the Angeles National Forest, the metropolis spread before me looked tired and dry. I navigated the bumper-kissing traffic and tried to be sorry about taking the time to fuck Dante in that driveway—getting caught in rush-hour was an amateur mistake—and couldn’t. He’d said my name right, and that single victory made it all worth it.
A lone paparazzo waited outside my house, and the sight of him snapped my spine straight. I couldn’t idle in memories of the past when there was a threat right in front of me.
I parked in my driveway, and he waved as I got out of the car.
“Hey, Mandy,” he called as his camera clicked. “Love the outfit.” He sounded like a store clerk whose manager was hovering nearby, listening to make sure he gave the corporate-mandated greeting. “Did you wash that man right out of your hair?”
The tabloids loved this—as soon as they couldn’t sell the story of a woman’s villainy anymore, they’d turn around and make her into a saint. Apparently, this week I could be a bravely rebounded go-girl heroine instead of their tacky whore.
And you know what?
I was strong enough to play that game.
“Right out,” I said, talking about Renaldo while wrapped in Dante’s clothes, surrounded by his smell, with the taste of his pussy-soaked fingers still on my tongue.
Now I would look great on page twenty-three.
* * *
The security guard Logan and Ella had hired to watch over the house recognized me. I thanked her and let her know I was taken care of. I could watch the place on my own now.
My phone had buzzed and dinged all the way home, and I continued to ignore it. Once I checked my notifications, the Cambria experience would be really and truly over.
I dropped my bag in my room, stuffing everything that had been in it into a sack for my laundry service to take care of, then I took a long shower, scrubbing off the physical evidence of memories I’d never shake. Dante’s hand connecting with my ass for the first time. Coming with his tongue on the dinner table. The sweet desperation of his side-of-the-road fuck when we both knew it was over for us. I cleaned my sore pussy and remembered him there.
You’ll fuck yourself with your left hand when you think of me.
I took my hand away and stared at my wet palm as if I’d never seen it before in my life.
Without thinking, I’d been using the nondominant left.
Dante Crowne wasn’t just in my head—he was in my muscles. He was controlling me through time and space, and I’d worked too hard to be my own woman.
He’d called me Mandy. Not amea. Not Amanda.
Mandy.
I got out, dried myself, threw a nightgown over my head, and texted Ella.
—I’m back—
—You’re back!—
I’d left her only a few hours before, but a lifetime had passed.
Yes, I was back, and bone tired.
—We were supposed to meet for
dinner tonight, but I’m so tired.
ZZZZZ—
—Go to bed. When do I see you?—
—You’re busy with the WearHaus
thing. So, maybe after that?—
Ella’s company was sponsoring a red-carpet event showcasing young fashion students from backgrounds that—because of limited opportunities—didn’t usually produce high-end designers.
—Girl, spa with me tomorrow.
I need it—
Eight words was all it took to show me a friend who was thrilled I was home safe, in my own bed.
—Loft Club?—
—I’ll book. Yay!—
She’d be so disappointed if she found out I’d submitted my body to her brother-in-law, and even more if she saw my newfound confidence was sewn together with the thread of his dominance. And when she noticed my sadness that he and I were only ever temporary, she’d write me off as a failure.
Ella would never.
She could have left me behind a million times, and she never did.
But fear had slipped through from somewhere, like stuffing through a weak seam.
I flopped on the couch and checked my notifications for a distraction. Making a concerted effort to not care that Dante hadn’t called or texted, I listened to the voicemail.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s your mother.”
She often thought I’d forget her voice.
“I know you’re out in the boonies, but when you get this, give me a call. Ella invited me to the WearHaus party, and I don’t want to go alone. Hint, hint. I love you. Bye.”
I called her, and she rang back on a video call, her mud-masked face smiling from under the crack in the glass.
“Mandy!” She adjusted the towel on her head and took me on a walk out of the bathroom. “How was your trip?”
Of everyone in the world, my mother would have been thrilled at the slightest possibility of me in a relationship with Dante Crowne. He was rich, single, handsome, and stable. Then she’d find out our relationship—if you could even call it that—was a temporary thing, and she’d spend the next decade trying to turn it permanent. So, I spared her the truth.
“Exactly what I needed.”
“Good! Did you get my message?”
“I’m meeting Aileen and Millie. You can join.”
“Fantastic.” She propped the phone on the coffee table and sat on the couch. “Do you know who’s going to be there?”
She wasn’t asking—she was leading into a relay of information, and my first thought was, Dante, but my next reaction was to soothe myself with the knowledge that she didn’t know about him. Then I thought she meant Renaldo, but her tone was laced with gleeful anticipation, not worry or disgust.
“Here’s a hint.” She pantomimed fishing, reeling in the big one, then collapsing into a sad frown face.
The big one got away.
“Caleb Hawkins,” I guessed. His name had new connotations, and like everything else now, they were tied to Dante.
“I saw his stepmother at Amelia’s. He’s single, but not for long.”
“He probably wants to be single.”
“You can strike while the iron’s hot.”
“Stitch in time,” I added absently.
“Exactly! So, I told her to have him call you!”
I rolled my eyes. Caleb had dumped me years ago. He wasn’t calling me for any reason, much less because he was conveniently single, but I had to give my mother credit for using sunny optimism and constant interference to secure her ambitions for me.
Now if only I could do the same for myself.
Chapter 28
MANDY
O
ne of the blessings of the Loft Club was that everyone there had been the subject of the paparazzi’s interest at least once in their lives, so no one gave me a second glance as Ella and I strode through the spa’s public lounge to our private room, where we wound up belly-down, draped in warm towels, bathed in sunlight from the wide-open doors to a private courtyard while hot rocks cooled on our backs.
“Thank you for thinking of this,” I said with my face squished.
“Mm,” Ella said as a “you’re welcome.”
“You must have the WearHaus thing under control.”
“More or less. How’s your back after that fall?” Ella asked.
My back was fine. It was my arms that were sore—from holding myself up against Dante’s truck as he’d fucked me.
“My mother’s trying to set me up with Caleb again,” I said as the masseur’s hands firmly stroked the muscles of my back. It felt good, but not as good as it would have felt if Dante—
No. Not Dante.
“She’s persistent.”
“She says he broke up with… I forget her name. The head of that preschool Beyoncé sent her kids to—”
“The Center.”
“You had that on the tip of your tongue.”
Pause. Did she fall asleep?
“Ella?”
“You haven’t told me anything about Cambria.”
“It rained a lot,” I said. That was true. “Dante and I argued.” Also true. “It was good to get some time away from the city though, just to clear my head.”
“I hope the arguing wasn’t too serious,” she said.
There was a long, loaded pause, and I knew she hadn’t fallen asleep. She was waiting for me to fill in the blanks, but Ella would tell Logan, and Logan would drag it back to Dante.
