by S. J. Tilly
“Change your mind?” Vincent asks.
He’s selecting a bottle from the cabinet above the refrigerator. Another sign that there’s a kid who lives here. No wine fridge or bar cart. All the alcohol is up high and out of reach.
He pulls down a bottle of brown liquid and I shake my head before bringing my attention back to the space. The walls that aren’t dominated with windows are full of framed artwork. I step closer to the wall nearest me and see that the mediums are all different. There’s a watercolor. A charcoal drawing. What looks like a field of wildflowers done in fingerpaint. A small gasp escapes my lips when I realize that these were all done by Annie.
My throat constricts and I have to blink against the emotions that flood through me. Vincent has more money than I even want to think about. His house could be filled with paintings from all the greatest artists. He could commission whomever he wanted. But instead, he chose to professionally frame and display pieces made by his daughter. It says a lot about him as a man, as a father, and it confuses me even more.
Staring at the painting in front of me, I try to reconcile the two sides of Vincent. One side is the Vincent that I know well. The Titan of business. Mr. Sin. The sexual being who knows how to set me on fire. Who pushes all my buttons, for better or worse. He’s demanding and unforgiving and sometimes harsh.
Then there’s the other Vincent. The father. The man who protects his child fiercely and without apology. The man who hugs his daughter in public and has a secret handshake with her. The man who frames crayon drawings. The man who seemingly raised his daughter on his own.
When I met him in that bar, I pictured him living a high-powered, high-speed life in a sleek bachelor pad. But each interaction with him peels back another layer of his personality, of his life. I’m beginning to think that I’ve had the wrong impression of him this whole time.
I sense him behind me, before his body presses against mine. Vincent wraps one arm around my upper chest, gently pulling me until my back rests against his front. I can hear the rattle of the ice in his glass as he takes a sip.
Settling into him, I try to ignore the fact that the position feels more intimate than it should.
We stand there for a moment, looking at the artwork.
“What are you thinking?” Vincent asks.
I rest my head back against his shoulder and exhale. “That I don’t really know you at all.”
I can feel the vibration in Vincent’s chest as he hums his disagreement. “That’s not true. You know me better than you think.”
“I doubt that.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You’ve seen my home. That’s more than most can say.” He pauses. “There are a lot of people out there that wish me and my family harm. Even if I had time for friendships, I wouldn’t bring them here. I don’t want people around Annie.”
I want to ask him why I’m here. Why he’d let me in? Does it make me special? Or is it just because Annie won’t be home tonight? Because this was the easiest way to get me into bed? But I don’t know how to ask any of that without sounding like some insecure woman desperate for him to love me.
“Tell me about your place.” Vincent’s question surprises me.
“My apartment?”
“Yeah, I’ve shown you mine," he says with a smirk in his voice.
“There’s not much to tell. I’m sure Angelo already told you everything about where I live. He probably told you a lot more about my life than I would normally tell a stranger.”
Vincent presses his nose into my hair. “I’m not a stranger.”
His voice is husky, sending a tingle down my spine.
I swallow. “I suppose not.” I think about my apartment and what he would see when he first walked in the door. “I have a cat. His name is Captain. He’s 8 years old. He’s gray and humongous and I love him to death.”
Vincent lowers his head, burying his face into the space between my neck and shoulder. “Captain. That’s an interesting name.”
Letting my eyes fall shut, I focus on producing words. “As soon as I saw him, I knew I’d let him run the ship. I’m not usually such a pushover, but with him I can’t help it.”
“Hmm. That’s cute.”
“Cute?” I almost laugh. That’s not a word I thought I’d ever hear out of his mouth.
“Yeah.” Vincent’s lips seal onto my neck.
I melt into the warmth of him. If Vincent stepped away, I would fall down.
“Ready to tour the rest of my place?”
I nod and gather my strength to hold up my own weight.
Vincent grabs my hand and leads me to a hall on the far side of the kitchen. I know where we’re going. There’s no tour involved.
I glance into the rooms as we pass them. A bathroom. Annie’s room. An office.
At the end of the hall, we step through a set of double doors into the large master bedroom. With the soft grey walls, Scandinavian style furniture, and navy cotton bedding, this is much more along the lines of what I pictured for Vincent. Only I would have pegged him for black everything, with silk sheets.
Stopping at the foot of the bed, I suddenly feel nervous. Like I’m out of my element. We aren’t on an even playing field here. Being here shouldn’t make me feel any more off-balance than I do at the office, but it does.
I take the glass from Vincent’s hand. Keeping eye contact, I tip the drink back and swallow what was left. He smirks, probably knowing how much that burned going down. But it was exactly what I needed to make me feel just a little bolder.
Handing the glass back, I reach up and drag my fingers down his chest. I don’t stop as I travel lower. I let my palm drag over the front of his pants, applying pressure against his growing erection. Vincent groans, leaning into the touch. But I pull away, trailing my hands back up. I use the movement to tug his shirt free from his pants.
I take my time undoing his buttons, slowly revealing more and more of his dream-worthy body. This feels like the first time that we don’t have a deadline looming over us. We don’t need to hurry. There’s no chance of getting caught. We aren’t in a distant city getting our first taste of each other. No, tonight we can enjoy ourselves for as long as we want.
With all the buttons open, I step closer to reach up and push the shirt off his large shoulders. His chest inches away, I lean in and lick over one of his nipples. I feel his growl on my tongue and do it again. While his hands are busy pulling the sleeves off his arms, I move my hands to his belt. I let his belt drag his pants down his long muscular legs. But I leave his boxer briefs on. I’m feeling brave, but not that brave. Not yet.
Kicking his pants off, Vincent takes a step back. He brings up the empty glass and lets one of the ice cubes fall into his mouth. Setting the glass down, he twirls his finger. I turn, giving him my back, and the zipper on my dress.
His large hands pull my hair over one shoulder, revealing the other. I feel the zipper start to slowly lower, just before his lips meet that spot right behind my ear. His freezing cold lips create a shiver that rolls through my entire body. I feel the ice cube as it brushes over my skin before he pulls away.
Clearly losing patience with going slow, Vincent tugs the zipper all the way down and pushes the dress off my body. Using his hands on my shoulders, Vincent turns me back to face him. He’s in nothing but tented black briefs while I stand before him in lacy pink boy shorts and a matching bra. I’m past being self-conscious in front of him. The look in his eyes is nothing but lust.
He walks me back a step, then pushes me so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Vincent doesn’t speak, but a small smile pulls at the edges of his mouth. His warm hands travel down over my clavicles, pausing to tease my breasts, then down my sides, over my hips, stopping on my thighs. Keeping his eyes on mine, Vincent pulls my legs apart as he slowly lowers to his knees in front of me.
My breath catches as I realize what he’s about to do. And his smile grows.
Then his mouth is closing over my panties. The cold, along
with the sensation of pressure, has my hips trying to lift off the bed. But he holds me down.
I watch from above as he places open-mouthed kisses against my core. I fight between tipping my head back in ecstasy and keeping my eyes on Vincent as he literally makes out with my pussy. The lace between us somehow adding to the feeling rather than taking away.
His tongue presses against my clit. The friction building. His lips sucking against me.
His hands don’t stay idle. They reach up and pull my bra cups down, releasing my breasts. They pinch my nipples. They stroke my sides. But it’s when they reach around and grip my ass, pulling me harder against his face that I lose it.
Crying out, I grip his hair, holding his face in my lap as my head falls back.
Vincent hums through my orgasm, sending vibrations up my spine, stretching out my pleasure. When my body finally settles, and he pulls away, the look on Vincent’s face is one I’ve never seen before. And my heart clutches. He looks… happy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
VINCENT
“W
hat the fuck do you mean she’s not here!” My voice booms down the hallway.
The teacher in front of me is pale and shaking. I’m scaring her, just like I’m scaring the kids that hurry past, but I don’t care.
“Sir.” The principal’s voice sounds behind me and I spin around.
“Where is she?!”
“Her uncle picked her up," the principal says, causing my world to halt.
My blood runs cold as my tone goes sharp. “What the fuck did you do? Me, Angelo, and my mother are the only people allowed to pick her up.”
Angelo is next to me and he’s already on his phone.
The principal tries to control her features. “I know that, sir. But he said he was approved and asked me to look. When I double checked in the system, his name was there.”
I don’t need to ask for the name. “How long ago?”
“Minutes.” She says, holding up her hands in defeat. “It’s only been minutes.”
Hearing enough, I sprint out the front door of the preschool.
“Annie!” I shout her name.
There’s no reply, only a sea of faces that turn in my direction.
Darting between bodies, I call her name. Shouting it, over and over. A few parents start to approach me, but I ignore them. I don’t have time to explain.
“I’ll go this way.” Angelo barks as he runs off to the right.
Turning left, I push myself to move faster as I tear down the side street.
“Annie!” My voice cracks on her name.
That fucking asshole has my baby and the fear clawing at my throat is nearly crippling. But I can’t think about it. If I think about it, I’ll collapse. If I collapse, he gets away and I’ll never see her again.
“Annie!” I yell even louder.
A squeak of a sound, barely audible, has me skidding to a stop. My head turns towards the large parking lot across the street. Nearly every spot is filled. I don’t see any people. I don’t see…
There. Movement.
Rage swiftly fills every pore in my body. Without looking for traffic, I race across the street as fast as I can.
My feet pound across the cracked blacktop of the parking lot.
I’m closing in on them.
Seeing his disgusting thin fingers wrapped around her wrist has her name coming out of me in a roar. “Annie!”
At my shout, they both look back. Randal’s face shows manic anger mixed with shock. I’m only 50 feet away now. I’ll be on him in seconds. And I’ll fucking kill him. And he knows it.
I sense it a moment before he acts.
He’s a piece of shit, but he’s not dumb. He knows the only thing that will stop me from ripping him apart is saving Annie. With no way to stop him, I watch in horror as he lifts her 4-year-old body and tosses her.
“No!”
Blackness fills the edge of my vision until all I can see is Annie. I push myself faster. The sound of my girl’s scream nearly stops my heart, only to be cut off when she hits the trunk of a car with a thump.
Time slows when her body starts sliding down, off the car, toward the pavement.
“Annie!” I call out one last time before pushing off the ground, diving towards her.
Catching her in my arms, I pull her into my body and twist, taking the impact on my back.
Sobs wrack her body, but the movement tells me that she’s alive.
“Annie. Princess. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
My words are hardly audible. I’m crying nearly as hard as she is. Too close. That was too close.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SASHA
I ’m not sure how long I’ve been lying here, with my head on Vincent’s shoulder, arm across his stomach, staring at his chin. I didn’t mean to sleep over. I don’t think either us intended to nod off, but after the second round of sex it just sort of happened. That’s what has me wide awake. Memories from last night. After going down on me like a goddamn pro, Vincent took his time removing the rest of my clothing. Kissing every inch of my skin as he did. Worshipping my body. Making love to me. And that’s the kicker. It didn’t feel like fucking. Didn’t feel like a casual thing. It felt like relationship sex. The sort of sex you have with someone you have feelings for. Not the sex you have when sex is all you have to give.
I wonder if he felt it too. And what he thinks about it. What he plans to do about it. I know I agreed to casual, saying that I’d never date an asshole like him. But I may have lied.
I let out a quiet groan at my own stupidity. I shouldn’t be here. Not just this morning, I shouldn’t have come here last night. This man has given me nothing but confusion since our Minnesotan reunion. Since he kissed me with passion in the elevator before dismissing me freshly fucked in his office. I should probably hate him. Or at the very least I shouldn’t like him. But unfortunately for me, my heart and my vagina don’t seem to be listening to my head.
The arm that’s around my back starts to twitch. I almost smile but then his arm jerks and a low moan slips from his lips. It’s not a sexy moan, it’s a pained moan. He’s dreaming and it’s not good.
Just as I open my mouth to say his name, I hear the telltale sound of a door closing somewhere in the apartment. Followed by voices.
Shit.
“Vincent. Vincent, wake up.” I sit up and shake his shoulder.
Aware that I’m stark naked, I do my best to hold the blanket around me.
“Vincent.” I hiss his name louder.
One moment he’s sleeping and dreaming. The next he’s sitting bolt upright, eyes wide open. He looks wild. And haunted.
“Vincent.” I whisper.
His guarded gaze shoots to me, and suddenly I feel very exposed.
I gently place my hand on his arm. “I think someone is here.”
“What?” His voice is all gravel.
Before I can respond we both hear the voices. They’re far away, probably in the kitchen, but I can tell they’re female.
“Fuck!” Vincent jumps out of bed and starts pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “Goddamnit.”
There’s no mistaking the anger in his voice and I’m abruptly feeling very unwelcome. Unsure what to do, I start to slide out of bed to find my clothes.
“No! You stay here until I get Annie to her room.” Vincent snaps at me, halting my rise from the bed. “I never let her see the women I’m fucking.”
He yanks a t-shirt over his head, cursing under his breath before he storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
I’m so shaken. The distraught expression on his face when he first woke up had startled me. But it’s his words that have me trembling. I’d like to pretend my shaking is due to anger. Anger at Vincent for being a piece of shit asshole. But honestly, it’s from hurt.
Here I was, laying naked in his bed, wondering if he felt the same connection that I had last night. Such a foolish thought since it’s now crystal clea
r that he didn’t share my feelings. In actuality, he couldn’t have felt more differently than I did. Vincent looked literally disgusted at the idea of his family finding me here.
I brush a traitorous tear away. Then another. God damn him! He never asked me to leave. He didn’t tell me anything! He fell asleep, just like I did.
He’s the one who dragged me to his car last night, telling me that I looked sad. The dickhead told me he’d make me feel better. He acted like he actually fucking cared. And like a total idiot, I believed him.
I bite down on the sound that’s trying to work its way up my throat.
The women I’m fucking. I’d scoff if I weren’t so upset. Earlier this week he lost his mind at the mere idea of me sleeping with other guys. He threatened to confront the alleged men himself to stake his claim. Then he callously throws the women he’s fucking in my face. Implying that he’s still sleeping with whoever he wants. Brushing off what we did last night as just fucking.
Taking a deep breath, I will my eyes to dry. At this point I don’t even know if I should believe his bullshit about never bringing women to his apartment. Vincent probably doesn’t even know his own truth half the time.
Looking over at the bedside clock I see that it’s barely 6:30 in the morning. I can’t imagine this is the normal time that his mom brings Annie home. Maybe they had plans he forgot about. Or maybe something happened. I push that thought away, refusing to feel even a scrap of worry on Vincent’s behalf.
Wedging myself into my bra, I search for my underwear but can’t find them. Fuck it. I’m sure they’re ruined anyways. I carry my dress into the bathroom and five minutes later, knowing full well that I look like I’ve been crying, I crack open the bedroom door.
My purse and shoes are up front for all to see, so I’m not sure what exactly he hopes to accomplish with this sneaking around crap. Plus, how am I supposed to know when the coast is clear. Am I supposed to sit here until I hear a special bird call?
Not hearing voices, I stick my head out the door. Thinking back to which room was Annie’s I crane my neck until I can see her door. It’s shut. It was open when we walked past last night so that must mean he has her in there. Schooling my features as best as possible, I hurry down the hall. Careful to tread softly.