by Mia Asher
“I … I don’t know why I’m calling. I’m probably the last person you want to hear from …”
As her voice continues to surround us, our rhythm becomes more desperate. I grip her so hard I can see the indentations of my fingers on her white skin, and fuck harder into her.
“I guess … I just wanted to tell you that you meant a lot to me.”
As our bodies continue to crash as though we were the sea and rock, I rub her faster and faster, until she comes undone on my hand and on my cock.
“I miss you.”
Those last words and Blaire’s voice swim in my head. A scream is torn from my chest as I come inside another woman, thrusting one last time. I pull out, not bothering to remove the used condom, reach for her and wrap her in my arms, comforting her. I feel her trembling but it’s not until her voice breaks through the ringing in my ears that I realize it’s me who’s shaking.
I’m not comforting her.
She’s comforting me.
“Shhh … it’s all right,” she says soothingly, caressing my hair.
I wrap my arms tighter around her. “I’m—”
“Shhh … Don’t say anything. I’m here … I’m not going anywhere.”
The sound of the rain against the windowpane wakes me up. I feel hazy as I look around my room, noticing the empty pillow next to me. I reach out and touch the indentations her body has left behind. I lose myself in the sensation of the cool sheet under my palm, trying to discover a hint of her warmth, looking to find a small trace that she was here. But all that remains is a mountain of ice-cold sheets tangled at my feet.
She’s gone. Man, it seems like I’m on a hot streak lately. First it was Blaire, and now her, too. Well, good riddance. She saved us both from a very awkward morning after.
Looking to my left, my eyes land on the alarm clock sitting on my nightstand table. 05:13. The red neon numbers on the screen bleed their light into the bleak darkness of the room. Fuck, it’s early. I get out of bed and look out the windows facing the street while I put on a pair of mesh shorts, realizing why it’s so dark in here. Dense, menacing clouds hide the blue sky under a gunmetal grey blanket as it pours outside. I walk toward the window, pull the lock handle up, and push it out. Stretching my arms and back, I enjoy the smell of rain filling my nostrils.
After a few seconds pass, I head to my living room to make myself some coffee. I’m about to cross the threshold when I stop dead in my tracks. Surprised, I find the blonde woman, her hair up in a perfect ballerina bun, or whatever the fuck those are called, standing next to the coffee machine. Two coffee mugs sit on the countertop next to her.
Uncomfortable, I rub the front of my chest, taking in the familiar curves of her body clad in black silk. It’s hard to imagine that this poised woman who looks as though ice runs through her veins is the same uninhibited creature from last night.
“You’re still here.”
She crosses her arms, leaning her hip on the edge of the counter. “You noticed.” Our eyes connect, and I see a teasing gleam in hers. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of making some coffee.”
“No,” I clear my throat, “not at all. Thank you.”
“I don’t feel human until I’ve had my first cup of coffee,” she says.
She’s making small talk. “Yeah, same here.”
After an awkward silence, where we stare at each other, I decide to address the big elephant in the room. “About last night—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“It’s not that. I just wanted to apologize for the way I treated you. I was angry and took it out on you and you didn’t deserve any of that. Also,” I grimace, remembering Blaire’s call and what happened afterward. “Fuck, this is embarrassing, but—”
“Stop. Don’t say anything more. You were very clear with me from the very beginning about what you were looking for. I understood and came willingly. I’m a big girl.”
“Is this some sort of test when you say one thing but mean something completely different and I’m supposed to know it?”
She smiles. “Not at all. I promise that there’s no secret meaning behind my words.”
Is this woman for real? Where has she been all my life? “Fair enough.” As I walk toward her, I notice her checking me out. “Like what you see?”
She doesn’t look away. If anything, she slows down her perusal, taking her sweet ass time. “It’s not bad.”
Her words cut through an almost visible and very tangible tension, changing the chemistry of the air. Relaxing, I grin. Yeah, this woman has balls. But I shouldn’t be surprised, not after her behavior last night. When I’m standing in front of her, I place my hands on the countertop on either side of her body, crowding her. And the woman doesn’t budge one fucking inch.
“Careful there, beautiful.”
She licks her lips, and the sight of her tongue goes straight to my cock. “What if I don’t want to be?” She lowers her eyes to my naked chest and lifts a hand, the pads of her fingers gently caressing my tats—seemingly learning them. “Careful, that is.” Her light touch makes me want to close my eyes and enjoy the sensations running through me, but instead, I watch her tracing the ink decorating my flesh. “The Little Prince?” she asks, finally looking up.
I nod and step away from her. Her question floods me with memories of Blaire and of an idyllic afternoon spent together, and all of a sudden I’m drowning in them, in her, and in the past.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why can’t I get her out of my fucking mind?
“Did I say something wrong?” she asks, looking adorably confused.
“No, nothing wrong … “ I want to say her name, but that’s when I realize that I don’t know it. I turn to face the living room, reclining against the countertop next to her, the length of our arms touching. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What’s your name?”
She laughs, and I find myself wanting to smile, but I can’t. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?”
“Nope. Better late than never.”
She shakes her head and extends her hand in greeting. “My name is Rachel. Nice to meet you …?”
I take her hand in mine, but don’t move. “Ronan.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ronan. You have a lovely apartment.” She looks away, breaking the staring contest we have going on. She focuses on a replica of a famous black and white photograph of US troops running in the water heading toward the shore.
“You have good taste in art.”
“Do you know Robert Capa?” I ask, pleasantly surprised.
“Yes, I do. I’m a big fan of his work.” She walks toward the frame to take a better look at it. “I didn’t peg you for the kind of guy to be into photography.”
I chuckle and cross my arms, my hands under my armpits. “Really?” I say wryly.
“Yes, I mean, I’m well aware that I met you at an art exhibit—”
“Almost. As I recall, we never did make it inside,” I interrupt, teasing her.
She blushes. “Semantics. Anyway, just because you were going to an exhibit doesn’t mean that you—” Her attention is caught by something lying on the floor. My blood pumping, I watch her bend over and retrieve another framed photograph. Silently cursing Jackie and wishing her to hell for that, I watch as the blonde woman admires the object in her hands. Without looking at it, I know it’s a picture of a laughing Ollie, wild hair and all, being chased by a puppy at the park. I’m proud of that one because I was able to capture in that one frame the innocence and playfulness of his personality.
“This is beautiful. Who’s the artist? I don’t recognize the work.”
I rub the back of my neck uncomfortably, cursing Jackie once again. I remember the day I came home to find her here with a bunch of my work already framed. The walls of my apartment that had been covered in photographs from people I admired were bare.
“What’s going on here?” I a
sked.
Hammer and screws in hand, she turned to look at me. “Hey you! Well, I hate the fact that you hide your talent, so I’m literally taking the matter into my own hands.”
“By hanging photographs on my walls without my permission?”
“Your amazing photographs, and yeah, try stopping me if you dare. You might be at least eight inches taller than me and not a skinny ten-year-old boy anymore, but I’m sure I can still kick your ass,” Jackie said, her brown eyes sparkling.
I groaned, wanting to pull my hair out. “Why are older sisters so fucking pesky?”
She blew me a kiss and got down to work. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I took them down as soon as she left.
“Is this your work?” I hear Rachel ask.
I focus my attention on her once again. “Yeah, but don’t sound so surprised.”
She smiles, and I watch the way her smile transforms her cool beauty to one of warmth and sweetness. She puts down Ollie’s photograph and reaches for another, and another until she’s gone over at least five of them.
“You’re very talented.”
Shrugging, I walk toward her, grab the picture from her hands, placing it on the floor, and take her into my arms. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look when you smile?”
She begins to trace my features, slowly, gently. I feel the pads of her fingers traveling along the lines of my jaw. “You don’t like talking about your work, do you?”
“Not particularly.” I lean down and kiss her on the mouth.
When we pull apart, she smiles softly. “What a lovely way to change the subject.”
I grin. “That obvious?”
She nods, and I kiss her again, her arms going around my neck. Breaking apart, both of us breathing heavily, she lets me go and takes a step back, putting some space between us.
“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome and it’s time for me to go.” I’m about to tell her that she hasn’t when she adds, “And don’t say that I haven’t. We’ve been honest with each other up until now, so let’s not part with a lie.” She’s quiet for a moment, seemingly considering her next words. “Listen, I’m hosting a party next Thursday at my house, and I would love for you to come. I want to introduce you to someone who I think can do wonders for your career. And no, this isn’t a ploy to see you again. I sincerely think that—”
“That what? That you can help me? You don’t even know my work.”
“I’ve seen enough to know that you’re truly talented. I want to help you.”
I run my hands over my face, anger and frustration stirring inside of me. “Well, what if I don’t want to be helped? I don’t need your pity.” I’m aware that I’m being harsh, but why can’t she drop the fucking subject?
Irritated, she shakes her head as an angry blush coats her high cheekbones. “It’s not pity, Ronan.” She walks to my kitchen, grabs a pen sitting on the countertop next to the newspaper opened at the Sudoku page, and scribbles something on it. “Here’s my address, the date, and the time of the party. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I honestly think you should.”
“I’m not going to, Rachel.”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
“Because you think you can do it on your own?” She scans my apartment, stopping inside my small kitchen, the old carpet underneath the coffee table, and the furniture that has seen better days.
“No offense, kid, but I think you could use some help. You have talent, and it’s a crime for your work to be lying on the floor forgotten and accumulating dust. But if that’s what you want, so be it. I was obviously mistaken in my first impression of you, which is odd because I’m never wrong.”
“And what’s that?”
“Simple. I saw a man who wanted more.”
“You’re wrong. I want everything.”
“Then prove it, but not to me. Prove it to yourself.” She grabs her clutch and walks over to the entrance of my apartment. I follow and open the door for her. As she’s walking past me, she places her hand on my chest. “I’ll let the people at the door know to expect you.”
I remove her hand and hold it in my own. “I’m not a charity case.”
“I know you aren’t, you proud man.” She leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. When she steps outside my apartment, she adds, “Wear a tuxedo.”
I watch her get on the elevator before I close the door. Walking to my window, I see a black limousine waiting outside my building. Smiling, but it feels more like a sneer, I don’t have to guess who it’s waiting for. I see a man dressed in a uniform get out of the car and open the door for Rachel as soon as she steps out onto the street.
Well, isn’t life fucking funny?
Blaire
“WILL YOU NEED ME TONIGHT?” I ask Lawrence as I come to stand behind him, observing how he gets ready for the day. I place my arms on his wide shoulders and feel the way his muscles flex under the expensive material of his suit as he knots his tie, his Piaget watch glinting in the sunlight.
His green gaze meets mine in the mirror. I lean in and trace the outline of his ear with my lips. “Do you want me to fuck you again, Mr. Rothschild?” I ask, snaking my hand down until I reach the front of his pants and caress the outline of his cock, its heat burning my palm. What is it about Lawrence that makes me want him constantly? Whenever I’m with him, a visceral need takes over me, and nothing but his tongue on my skin and his cock moving inside of me will do.
I observe the mouth that tortured my body with anguishing pleasure and skill just a couple of hours ago curve in a way that I find both menacing and sinfully sexy. “Trying to lure me to my death with your siren song so early in the morning?”
“You know, some writers thought that Sirens were cannibals.”
Lawrence turns to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “How fitting, my beautiful man-eater. But as tempting as your song may be, I can’t. I have an important meeting this morning.”
I pout sadly, making him chuckle. “Brat,” he says.
“And of the worst kind, too.”
His eyes shine with amusement as they travel the length of my naked body. “I won’t need you tonight, but stay if you want. I’ll give you a call in the next few days.” He flicks the tip of my nose, smiling ruefully. “Until then, my wicked siren.”
After Lawrence walks out of the bedroom, I begin getting ready to meet the real estate agent to the stars and start the search of an apartment. I wasn’t sure that I was going to get him, and I said so to Lawrence. He laughed and told me to leave it up to him. Apparently, Lawrence’s assistant placed one call, and this man cleared up his schedule for the entire day and fit me in. I’m not surprised, though. Who could say no to Lawrence?
Putting my earrings on, I watch my reflection in the mirror. I notice the black bags under my eyes from a sleepless night and the tiny frown on my forehead. Great. Black bags and premature wrinkles. This is just what I need today. Frustrated, I lean forward until my breath fogs the mirror and try smoothing the lines marring my forehead. It doesn’t work. They are still there, taunting me with my imperfections, reminding me of the reason why they are there in the first place.
Why did I call him last night?
I know why. As I lay there after having sex with Lawrence, I was suddenly consumed by a drowning need to hear Ronan’s voice, to talk to him. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. All I knew was that I needed to hear his voice one last time. I’d grabbed my phone and walked to the bathroom. I looked behind me, focusing on the man sleeping on the bed, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. So I gave Ronan a call, half dreading he would answer, half dreading he wouldn’t.
He didn’t.
Enough. Get your act together, Blaire. Regrets are for the weak, and they have no room in my life—he has no room in my life. I give my head a tiny shake and finish getting ready. I leave Lawrence’s room once satisfied with my outfit that comprises of ripped jeans, a Marvel Superhero fitted tee, a
black blazer, and Oxfords.
As I climb down the stairs, I try to muster some kind of excitement about the fact that I’m going apartment shopping with Lawrence’s money, but my chest remains as calm as the sea on a summer night. I glare at an unlucky painting and wonder what’s wrong with me. I should be giddy with excitement at the prospect of finally owning an apartment without having to rely on a man to pay my rent. And, yes, I’m aware that Lawrence is still buying it for me, but it doesn’t take away the fact that it will be mine after he’s gone. Yet I feel nothing.
I must be more tired than I originally thought.
I walk out of Lawrence’s townhouse and see Ronan reclining against the car. He’s wearing a different black suit. This one fits better than the one from yesterday, molding perfectly to his lean body in a sinful way. With his Ray Bans on, a light scruff covering his jaw, he looks confident and cool and beyond untouchable. I sigh as I glance at the clear blue sky. It’s time to get this over with. We better get used to the fact that we’ll be stuck together for a while.
I’ve got this.
I won’t be tempted by Ronan, the forbidden fruit in my own twisted version of the Garden of Eden.
But it hurts. So fucking much.
The moment he sees me walking toward him, our eyes lock and he peels himself away from the car to open the passenger door. My heart is beating against my chest, but I disregard my body’s response to him, or the way my fingers itch to tame the familiar wild golden brown hair framing his boyishly handsome face like I’ve done before. Mind over matter, Blaire. Mind over matter. He’s part of the past. You can’t have him.
The cool air smells like autumn. Cold, I rub my arms chasing a shiver away, or maybe I’m just nervous of what’s to come. His unwavering gaze remains trained on me, holding me captive as I close the distance between us. I lift my chin and pick up the pace. I won’t cower in front of him, even when I’m quaking on the inside, even when his eyes roam my body slowly, unabashedly, making me feel exposed and dirty.
As I’m about to get in the car without acknowledging him, he drawls, “Nice to see you too, Blaire.”