by Karr, Kim
My toes curled into the carpet at such an angle they were cramping. My hands gripped the edge of the table so hard that it was cutting into my skin. His fingers were pressed into my hip bones so deep I was certain I’d bruise.
I didn’t care about any of that.
This was the first time I’d ever let myself go. The first time in the twelve years since I’d lost my virginity that I’d even wanted to. That night was a night I’ll never forget, but it was anything but unforgettable. I had two months until high school graduation, until I was free of my father, and still I acted stupidly. I let all the strength I’d built up to guard myself crumble without a fight and gave in to his sadistic way of life.
My father was up to his typical fuckery, but that night the sounds were louder than usual. He was fucking some whore in our living room. He never took his women into his own room. No, they always stayed in the main parts of the house and it was always late at night. I didn’t understand it. We’d moved back to California by then and his room wasn’t the same room he’d shared with my mother. Maybe it was the bed, or the memories. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was used to the endless women, but since my mother’s death he hadn’t been overly vocal, and I’d grown used to that too.
That didn’t mean I didn’t know what he was doing. The occasional “Oh yes” was hard not to hear, and the “That’s it, don’t stop” told me more than I needed to know. Sure, I heard him often enough, but nothing like I’d endured during my childhood. And to be honest, I didn’t care about those women or what he did to them.
Up until that night, the very idea of having sex made me physically ill.
But that night, his grunts and groans turned me into someone else. He was calling this woman Susan. He was begging her to take her clothes off. It was his and my mother’s wedding anniversary and I thought he’d really lost it. What kind of game was he playing with this woman? Her name couldn’t possibly be Susan.
When he said, “But baby, I need to be inside you,” I lost it. I couldn’t take it anymore. Although I knew better than to leave my room, I did it anyway. I was seventeen now. What was he going to do? Whip me with his belt? I doubted it. Kick me out of the house? I could only be so lucky.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I stormed right out my door and right into the living room. I didn’t think about what I’d be walking into. Or maybe I didn’t care. Who knows?
My father was strewn on the sofa with his uniform pants at his ankles and those black tied shoes that echoed throughout the house whenever he walked were still on. A naked woman sat on top of him, facing those damn shiny shoes. He had a nearly empty whiskey bottle in one hand and the woman’s ponytail in the other.
The sight sickened me.
She was riding him but stopped when she saw me in the entryway. “You want to join us?” she purred.
My father jerked her ponytail. “Did I tell you to stop?”
“No, sir,” she answered. She was young, not much older than me.
“Did I tell you to talk?” he said, even harsher.
Had he been like that with my mother?
God, I hoped not.
The thought sickened me and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I dropped my gaze and looked away. Wanting to escape, I moved toward the front door on shaky legs. I had to get out of there.
I was almost free when he snapped, “Gabrielle.”
I froze. Even as a near graduate, he still frightened me.
“Don’t be so weak,” he muttered.
“I’m not weak,” I shot back.
He looked at me like he had when I was younger and disobeyed him, like when he’d whipped me with his belt—the same belt that was now at his ankles—and in that moment I was weak. However, his words were nothing like the “you will be obedient” speech I’d received with each lashing. No, his slurred words cut deeper than that belt ever had. “You might want to stay and watch to learn a few things from a pro. Being good at sex is the only thing you’re going to have to offer a man.”
Sex. His whole being seemed to be about sex. I hated him. I hated my sister for being weak and leaving me with him. And in that moment, I hated my mother for letting it go on so long. Why wasn’t she stronger?
And what was it about sex that turned him into the monster he was?
With nowhere to go, I ran to one of the gyms on base where I’d been training with a number of new recruits. In the years since my mother’s death, I was determined to be strong. Stronger than my sister or my mother ever were.
Strength wasn’t only physical—I knew that. But I also knew it would protect me. And I needed something to protect me.
The place was open twenty-four/seven and I knew someone would be there who’d want me. That night I picked a man and gave myself to him. It hurt, physically and emotionally, but it was quick. When it was done, I felt more lost than I had before—it meant nothing. I felt nothing. Sex really was meaningless.
Logan’s breath blew warm across my shoulder, and I made myself push that dark and tainted memory from my mind. With him everything felt different. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, sex could be meaningful. Maybe I had been going at it the wrong way this whole time. I had been looking for what it was that turned my father into the man he was instead of allowing myself to figure out what I needed from the act itself.
And with Logan I knew what it was. I wanted to give myself to him and in turn to feel what it was like for someone to give himself to me. We might have just met, we might only be fucking, but we were both pouring ourselves into what we were doing.
Together, we moved with wild abandon; we gave freely to each other. It was the give and take that mattered the most and I loved every minute of it.
Beating hearts with pulling and pushing bodies and ragged breathing was what we were, and I relished in it.
His desire-laced voice whispered, “Let go.”
By the time those two words traveled and his breath blew hot against my skin as his mouth sought out my ear, I was already tipping, ready to free-fall into the pleasure that was building within me. My pulse pounded. My heart beat rapidly. His words pushed me over the edge rather than forcing me to retreat. I even had to bite my lip to stop the passionate cry I felt in my throat.
In an unexpected move, his bare chest met my bare back and he reached for my hands, intertwining our fingers and pulling our connected hands toward our connected bodies. The tenderness of the moment was too much and I couldn’t stop the strangled cry I’d been holding back.
With my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my body took over and I could do nothing but feel. With all thoughts destroyed, I absorbed the delicious fullness of having him inside me. Without warning, an unexpected sensation overtook me. And it didn’t pass. Each joyous beat of my climax drove that glorious feeling of having him inside me higher and higher until I was soaring in ecstasy.
Logan’s thrusts slowed as soon as my pussy began to tighten around his cock. His fingers squeezed mine when his body stilled. His grunting sigh echoed beautifully in my ear as he, too, experienced what we both obviously needed—a release.
He dropped his head into the crook of my neck and for a few minutes, we stayed that way—me cocooned in his warm body bent over the table. I wasn’t sure what would happen when I turned around. Would he run like he had last night?
Once I caught my breath and my legs stopped shaking, I shifted my stance. I didn’t want this moment to end, but I knew it had to. Logan pulled out of me and I turned around. Perhaps conveniently, perhaps not, he twisted to take care of the condom.
I leaned against the table and watched him. I thought about gathering my clothes. I should have been embarrassed standing there naked, but I wasn’t.
He wrapped the very used condom in a napkin and tossed it in the trash can near the bar. Focusing on the task at hand, he slipped into his boxers and started to gather the rest of our clothes. I should have helped him, but something kept me glued to where I stood. I thought now that the act of intima
cy was complete and the tension between us eased, he’d just toss me mine.
Imagine my surprise when he crossed the room. That tension that I thought was gone was stronger than ever. We both felt it. I know we did. The draw to touch other, the need to feel each other, to somehow know each other, was stronger than ever. Denying it would be futile.
With the same tenderness I’d felt from him earlier, Logan tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and then shocked me by looking into my eyes. I didn’t know what I saw in this, but I wanted to know.
I opened my mouth to say something. What, I had no idea. Before I could, he broke our intense connection by lowering his lips to mine in a soft kiss. His lips lightly moved against mine. There was no tongue, no clashing of teeth, and still it made me shudder.
When he broke away, he handed me my clothes and started dressing himself. “I need to get to the boutique. I don’t want you to leave and go to O’Shea’s until I’m back. Okay?”
The room smelled of sex; we smelled of sex. We weren’t even fully dressed and he was leaving? I wasn’t needy by any means, but I felt a little disappointed. I stared at him as he shoved his legs through his pant legs. “Yes, of course. We’ll wait for you to get back.”
Pulling his shirt over his head, he paused before tugging it all the way down. “Are you all right?”
I snapped out of my daze and started dressing. Not really. I didn’t know what I was, but what else could I say? “Yes. I just feel ridiculous about this whole missing-garage-door-opener thing. I doubt it’s in my other purse. You’re probably wasting your time.”
He zipped up his sweatshirt and picked up his keys and mine. I thought he’d head toward the door, but instead he strode over to me. When he was standing right in front of me he said, “No, I’m not. Just because a few hours quietly passed doesn’t mean anything has changed. O’Shea is in a load of shit and there will be consequences if things don’t go the way Patrick wants them to go. That’s why we need to get ahead of this.” He put his hands on my upper arms. “You need to find out what O’Shea has promised to deliver.”
I nodded. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”
Seemingly satisfied with my response, his expression changed. Logan was now looking at me in a new and different way. It was that way men look at women when they know they have a hold on them—half boyish charm, half devilish mischief. “Then we’ll talk even later tonight.”
I got the look then.
And I was more than up to a late-night “chat.”
“I’d better go,” he said.
I nodded. “Wait,” I called.
He froze at the door.
Not certain what he thought I wanted, I tossed out, “Don’t you want your hat and sunglasses?”
“No, I’m good.”
And then he was gone—out the door without a single glance back.
Again, I felt disappointed.
What did I want from him?
Nothing, I told myself.
But I knew it was a lie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LOGAN
I was like a junkie.
I knew I should stop, but I just couldn’t seem to get enough. She was a drug and I was hooked. Withdrawal was going to be a bitch when this was over. She’d gotten under my skin. In my head. It was a fact I couldn’t ignore. It was a fact I needed to be mindful of.
I sniffed and cleared my mind of all thoughts of her—for now.
Pulling out my phone, I looked at the three missed calls and called my father.
“Logan?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“I’ve been calling you.”
“Sorry. I was kind of tied up.”
“We need to talk.”
“I know. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”
There was a closing of a door. “Don’t worry about it. Listen, I just got back from Brighton Place. Killian was a little wound up.”
I held my breath, hoping my father hadn’t told him what we discussed. “Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. He seemed restless. The nurses said he’d been put on a new medication and that could be why.”
Phew. I took the turn a little too fast and had to lay on the brakes. “Are you going to be in the office in the morning?”
I could hear the sound of bags rustling through the line. “Yes, I have a nine A.M. meeting.”
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I just went grocery shopping. I figured you’d be in town all week and hoped you’d come for dinner a few of the nights. How about we start with tomorrow night.”
Guilt nagged me. I shouldn’t have taken off on him yesterday. “I’ll try, but listen, we need to discuss O’Shea. I’ll be by in the morning after your appointment.”
“Okay, Logan, but nothing has changed.”
Traffic was light and I got to Charles Street fast. “Let’s talk then. ’Bye, Pop.”
“Goodbye, son.” He sounded worried. I hated that he did, but I also knew it wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon.
What we had to do wasn’t going to be easy.
Most shops at this end of Charles Street were closed on Sunday, so the area was pretty deserted. As soon as I put the SUV in park and glanced up, I saw movement inside Elle’s boutique.
Gun ready, I crept down the empty street until I got to the window where a sign read, closed. Peering in, I rolled my eyes and relaxed. Peyton was hunched over the counter, staring into a box.
Relieved, I tucked my gun back inside my waistband and rapped on the door. She didn’t look up and I noticed a pair of earphones in her ears. The door was unlocked, so I walked in.
“Peyton,” I called casually. I didn’t want to frighten her, but she was so absorbed in her work, she still hadn’t looked my way.
She had a yellow pad of paper to her side and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She glanced up and practically jumped. Realizing it was me, she pulled her earphones from her ears and placed a hand over her heart. “Logan, you scared the living shit out of me.”
Feeling bad, I raised my hands to ease her fears. “Sorry about that. I knocked.”
She took off her red-framed glasses and set them down. “What are you doing here?”
“Elle asked me to stop by and grab her purse. She left it here and needed something from it.”
Peyton pulled her lip into her mouth and mischief glimmered in her eyes. “Did she now?”
The diamond chip in her nose sparkled. I had to give it to her—she was a spunky little thing. She couldn’t be any taller than five foot three nor could she weigh more than a hundred pounds, but her presence wasn’t one anyone would look past. With a grin, I answered. “Yes, she did.”
She raised her brows suggestively, practically wiggling them in a way that let me know she was assuming that we’d got it on and was happy about it.
I wasn’t a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, so I gave her nothing more.
Still, she waited until it was clear there would be no further information, then sighed and circled the counter to open a drawer. Setting the black bag in front of her, she smirked. “Look at that—it appears she did leave it here.”
Feeling validated that she believed me, I walked toward her.
The pencil that was behind her ear was now tapping the counter. “Since you’re here, could you help me with something before you leave?”
With a slight hesitation, I answered, “I can try.”
An elastic band was around her wrist and she snapped it off to pull her curly dark hair back, revealing a rainbow of colors at her nape I hadn’t noticed.
She was bit of a wild child.
Giving direction, she bobbed her head toward a couple of large boxes over on the floor near the stairs. “Those boxes were delivered here yesterday by mistake. They’re for the coffee shop just down the street. Do you mind helping me take them there? I’m pretty sure they’re open until four.”
I glanced at my watch and then inside
a fairly large open box to see dozens and dozens of sugar packets. They were probably too heavy for her to carry. “Sure, lead the way,” I said, stacking one on top of the other and hoisting them both.
“I can get one,” she laughed.
I threw over my shoulder, “I got them.”
“I really appreciate this. I’m a little OCD and can’t stand to have things lying around unnecessarily.”
I tried not to laugh at her. “No problem, Peyton.”
“And besides, they might need them,” she rationalized.
I shook my head. “You never know.”
She grabbed Elle’s red hat and put it on her head.
I gave her a sideways look.
“What? My hair’s a mess.”
Soon, we were walking on the sidewalk, heading north, up the hill. We crossed the first block, then the second, then the third. We passed store after store. We passed bikers and joggers, most of whom were headed toward the bottom of the hill, not up it.
Peyton was the chatty type. “How long have you lived in Boston?” she asked.
“On and off my whole life,” I answered. “You?” I added, feeling like I should return the question.
She gave me a quick glance. “We moved to Somerville when I was ten for my father’s job. He’s a Harvard professor.”
Raising a brow, I said, “Impressive.”
The sky had turned overcast, but every now and then the sun peeked through. She wrapped her arms around herself and I thought she was cold until she said, “Not really. He’s an ass.”
Not knowing how to respond to that I said, “Yeah, sometimes family sucks.”
“He fell in love with one of his students the first year we moved here and left my mother and me.”
“Like I said, sometimes family sucks.”
Wasn’t it the truth?
We paused at the corner to wait for the light. I was carrying around forty pounds, so it wasn’t that the boxes were heavy, but seeing over them wasn’t easy. I had to peer around the sides, and there were more and more people on the sidewalk the farther north we went. I turned my head. “I thought you said it was right up the street.”