by Amelia Wilde
I have to hide my shock at how well I just lied. How easy it came out. Desperation is an ugly thing.
Her distraught expression slowly fades, replaced with hesitant relief. Her lips stay parted as she lets my words sink in, slowly believing the little lies I’m feeding her.
And it fucking kills me. What I’m doing to her destroys everything in me.
“Come here,” I tell her as I tear my shirt off over my head and toss it carelessly on the floor. My three steps take up the entire space of the room as I go to her, wrapping her in my arms and kissing her temple. Her fingers wrap around my forearm and she looks up at me, eyes wide and wanting so badly to believe what I’m telling her.
“I’m sorry you got spooked, but it’s nothing. An accident.”
“Another coincidence?” she questions me, but her tone isn’t a question. My heart thrums and a chill spread over my body.
“It was an accident,” I repeat, making my tone a little harder and staring into her eyes until she believes me.
“I don’t know… that text and--“
I huff, cutting her off and staring past her. She squirms in my periphery and I’m a fucking asshole. I’m an asshole for making her think this is all in her head.
“This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go,” I say softly, thinking about last night and how easy it was to get lost in her. If I could live in that moment, I would.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles and her warm breath flows over my skin.
Glancing down at her, I feel like the prick I am. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper in her hair and then plant a small kiss on her crown. She’s so warm in my arms, so small and fragile in so many ways. “I get it, Chlo, but I promise you it’s nothing.”
She stares deeply into my eyes for what feels like forever and I whisper against her lips, “It’s all right, just have faith in me.”
She kisses me tenderly, softly, and slowly, even though the pain and worry are still etched in her eyes.
“Come on, let me tell you a story.” My hand splays on her back as I lean out into the hallway to turn off the light and then take her to bed.
She crawls in slowly, climbing on top of the sheets before pulling them back and sitting cross-legged where she slept last night.
“My grandmom used to do this thing late at night when she’d come home from work.” I latch onto the first story I can think of, so I can occupy her thoughts with something else.
She leans forward slightly, waiting for more and eager to hear what I have to tell her. The way she looks at me with her beautiful blue eyes does something to me and I have to look away.
“Back when I was real little,” I say and swallow the lump growing in my throat, “I still remember it.”
I settle into the sheets next to her, kicking off my jeans first and flicking on the lamp to cast some light onto her face. When I get into bed, I slip off my watch and it clinks as I set it on the nightstand.
“I never met her,” Chloe Rose whispers as she lies down like I’m doing, getting closer to me, and letting me put my arm around her so she can rest her cheek on my chest. Just knowing I have her like this, knowing I can ease her fears and she trusts me… it’s everything.
“She worked real late, at least it was late for me.”
“Where’d she work?” Chlo asks as I remember how I used to wait up every night for her, but sometimes I couldn’t do it.
“At the diner past Walnut. She was a waitress up till the day she died.”
Chloe nods and her hair tickles against my chest when she does, but I love it. It brings a comfort that rolls through my chest and I reach up to let my fingers slip through her hair.
“So, I’d wait up every night I could and if I did, she always had something for me. She always had a little gift.” My words make Chloe perk up to look at me.
“Like what kind of gift?” She seems far too interested in that detail and it makes me smirk down at her with a huff of humor slipping through my lips.
That bright blush I love to see colors her expression and she finally looks like she might be getting over the text messages, thank fuck. “Sorry, I was just thinking you know how I’d like to get you something for being so nice to me,” she confesses and then lets her finger trace up my chest. “I don’t know what you like though.”
My chest rises as I shrug and say, “You don’t have to get me anything.”
“I’m fully aware that I don’t have to. That doesn’t change the fact I want to get you something.” She gives me a soft smile as she adds, “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For this,” she tells me with that sadness and fear returning to her eyes. I can’t respond, knowing what I’m doing, but I don’t have to. She kisses my jaw and tells me, “Ignore me, keep going. I like hearing stories. Especially if they’re about you.”
“You sure you’re not going to interrupt as soon as I get going again?” I tease her and instantly feel her smile against my chest. That makes it all right. It makes it all right because she’s smiling now and that’s what matters.
“Time will tell,” is all she says, and I love it. I love all of her.
“So, my grandmom, she’d come home and put her purse down, and I’d get all excited.” I glance down at Chlo and get back to running my hand in her hair as I remember what it used to feel like. “I never slept in my room, always the living room so I could hear her when she got in.
“Every time she’d smile down at me, like me waiting up for her made her the happiest person in the world. And I really believed it too. She’d set everything down and come sit in the recliner, letting me sit on her lap and tell her everything that happened that day at school.”
It fucking hurts remembering the small pieces of it that come to me. Things I didn’t even know I remembered.
“She’d always have a candy for me. Always. Sometimes there’d be a toy too, something small. Like things you’d get in a piñata.”
Chloe hums a small acknowledgment and lifts her leg to lay over mine as she peeks up at me. I pull her in closer, loving that she’s letting me tell her this.
“I always thought that she would go get something for me before coming home, you know?” I clear my throat, remembering how some nights if I wasn’t able to stay up, I actually felt bad. She’d gone through that trouble of getting me something, and I couldn’t even stay up for her. I remember wondering if that was why mom left. Because I didn’t stay up for her.
“I was six, I think when she died. And after the funeral, everyone came back to the house.” The depth of emotions that play in the soft blues of Chloe’s eyes force me to look at the ceiling rather than at her.
“And I didn’t know any of the people. I hardly recognized my own mother, because she’d been gone for years, but this one guy, an older guy with glasses, sat down in my grandmom’s recliner. And when he did, he pulled up a Zip-loc bag, and it had all the treats in it.”
I can feel Chloe’s eyes on me, but I can’t look down at her. It’s so stupid, but I can feel tears pricking my eyes.
“Grandmom had a stash I didn’t know about. She didn’t pick one out every night. It was right there all along.” I clear my throat and tell her, “I kicked him, Chlo. I kicked him hard and grabbed the bag from him. I grabbed it so hard that it tore, and the candy and little toys fell everywhere. They weren’t his though. They were Grandmom’s. It was her stash to give to me.”
I feel the tears on my chest at the same time as I hear Chloe sniffle.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I hold her closer to me.
“It’s all right, Chlo. Just a story I remembered.” I don’t tell her the rest. How my mom beat my ass in front of everyone and made me throw away all the candy. She struck me so hard I fell to the floor. I don’t tell her how I cried uncontrollably and my mother, who I hadn’t seen in years, held my face up for everyone to see that she was punishing her brat of a child who didn’t deserve any candy. And that was why she left. That’s what s
he told them. That she was cursed with a bad kid.
She was so proud that everyone got to see her being the mother she never was. And the only thing I had to hold on to, was that those tears weren’t for her. They were never for her.
“Your grandmother sounds like a wonderful person.”
“She was,” I tell her and we’re both quiet for a long time.
“Hey, if you could up and leave, where would you go?” I ask her even though I can see sleep taking her already. She’s going to pass out soon and then I need to take care of some shit. I’ll be careful; I won’t wake her up.
“Anywhere that would take me,” she says playfully.
“I’m serious. What would you do?” I ask her, wondering if she’s really thought about it. If she’d really run away one day. She props herself up on her elbow, still lying on her stomach and considers me.
“I think I could be a writer. Not like a reporter… but like my books. Fiction.”
“If you could do anything at all, you’d write?” It takes me a minute to visualize it. Her bundled up on a sofa, with a mug of tea beside her, jotting down notes or typing away. I could see it. She’d be good at it.
“I feel like that’s where I belong, you know? I can kind of be a little weird in person, but when I read or write, it’s so freeing.”
“I get that,” I tell her, feeling a knot growing in my throat. “You could do it, Chlo. You know?” I ask her even though everything in me is telling me not to put those thoughts in her head. I don’t want her to run away, I don’t want her to leave me.
She gives me a weak smile that mixes with her shyness as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before settling back down and yawning.
“And what would you do?” she asks as she nudges me, peeking up at me to add, “If you could do anything.”
I think about her question for a long time, long after I shrug and tell her to go to bed. Long after she nuzzles up next to me and falls asleep in my arms. The only answer I can think of is if I could do anything in the world, I’d run away with her.
The only place I want to be is with her.
“Chlo,” I whisper her name not long after sleep’s taken her from me. Her brow is pinched and the sweet expression on her beautiful face has been replaced by something else. Something that lingers in the place between fear and worry. A small whimper is all I get from her as her nails dig into my arm, holding on to me for dear life. Whatever’s got her mind now isn’t what I want her thinking about.
The only thing on her mind should be thoughts of us together. It would only be fair since she’s the only thing I can think about anymore.
With one hand on her shoulder, I give her a gentle shake to wake her, hard enough to know I’ll snap her out of her sleep. “Chloe Rose.” I keep my voice gentle and soothing as her wide doe eyes peer up at me, the traces of fear still dancing in her gaze.
Her chest rises and falls with a slow and steadying breath as she looks past me, at the room and then back to my gaze. “You’re with me, Chloe Rose.” My words are meant to be soothing, but the reaction I get from her is more powerful than I could ever imagine. She pulls herself closer to me, molding every inch of her soft body to mine, kissing my neck, my collar, my chest. Her hands roam down my stomach and then she slips her hand up my chest, letting her fingers play with the small smattering of hair that trails down to my lower half.
The next time I say her name, it’s merely a stifled groan. “Chlo.” My dick is harder than it’s ever been before.
She wants me. She fucking wants me.
“Sebastian,” she whispers my name with desperation, brushing her lips against my neck again and letting her kisses trail everywhere they can.
She’s in need and so am I.
I roll her over onto her back, and she lets out a small squeal of surprise. It’s short-lived as I climb on top of her, kicking off my pants while her fingers spear through my hair and her lips hungrily find mine.
Her tongue brushes against the seam of my lips as I push my fingers inside of her. I have to pull away from the kiss, groaning deep and low in my chest from how hot and wet she is for me already.
“I need you,” she whispers and rocks her cunt against my dick.
I don’t make her wait, I push myself inside of her, getting harder from the sweet, tortured sounds she gives me in return. She’s still so tight, so fucking hot and wet too. It takes me far too long to be buried deep inside of her and when I finally am, giving her a moment to acclimate to my size, her heels dig into my ass, her nails at my back and she begs, fucking begs me, to take her hard.
I give her everything she wants. With one slam of my hips, she screams out my name. Another thrust and she’s biting her lip and muffling her cries, but her gaze stays on mine. Those beautiful hues of baby blue swirling with desire, and something else. Something deeper. Something that stirs the beast inside of me to do anything for her, give her anything she ever needs. And to make her mine.
All mine.
Rutting between her legs, I piston my hips, feeling the cold sweat spread along my skin as I hold back my need to cum.
“Bastian,” she moans my name as her pussy tightens and her back bows under me.
“Cum for me,” I command her in a voice I don’t recognize. One desperate and breathless. One that’s just for her.
And she does. She obeys me, instantly spasming on my cock. Her head falls back and her lips part as her orgasm rocks through her.
I don’t stop. The second her gaze is off mine, I fuck her harder, ruthlessly, riding through her orgasm and prolonging every bit of it that I can. Dragging it out of her.
She writhes under me and her head thrashes.
My heart beats hard against my chest, feeling hers in time with me.
She’s mine. All of her is mine. For always.
Fuck Romano; fuck this city.
I pound into her harder, wanting her to feel every emotion that’s raging through me. I’m staying with her.
Her gasp is followed with a strangled moan that fuels me to grip her hips harder, giving her every bit of me.
Nothing’s going to keep me from her.
Nothing.
19
Chloe
Sebastian’s phone keeps going off. I thought it was in my dream at first.
My mother was hissing something. I still hear her words as my eyes flutter open. She said, He’s lying to you. Her voice keeps me frozen under the warm sheets as the bed dips and Sebastian sits up to grab his phone.
I’m motionless as he moves. She was right here. I can still feel her. She was here.
His voice is groggy as I try to breathe and shake off the eerie feeling that my mother still haunts me in my sleep, even if I can’t remember what the dream was.
He’s lying to you.
“Yeah, what is it?” Sebastian’s voice sounds off. The worry that lingers in his tone grabs my full attention, leaving the thoughts of my mother and whatever had come to me in my sleep where it belongs, in the past. In my unconscious.
“No, no…” He rubs his brow and turns away from me as whoever it is who’s called him talks loud enough that I can almost hear the replies on the other end. “I’m sorry,” he says with a pained voice, “Yeah, yeah. Are you okay?”
The dread grows as I watch him, how he looks so hurt sitting on the edge of the bed and listening to whoever it is on the other line.
He swallows thickly before saying goodbye and tossing the phone on his nightstand. With his head hung low, I can hear him swallow.
“Who was it?” I dare to ask in a whisper as if speaking too loudly would cause the pain he’s feeling to cut even deeper.
I scoot closer to him, but slowly as he lifts his head to answer, “Carter.”
My stomach twists into a knot, just like the one in my heart as Bastian adds, “His mom died.”
My throat is tight as the swell of sadness rises. I didn’t know her at all, but I knew the end had to be closer after she was moved into their house
for hospice.
It’s devastating to lose your mother, whether you know it’s coming or not.
“So much death.” The words escape me slowly as I tally up the number of gravestones.
“I care more about him than any of those assholes.” Bastian’s tone is harsh and unforgiving. I peek over at him as he rubs the sleep from his eyes angrily, his feet on the floor while he still sits on the bed. I’ve never seen him look so tired, so ragged from everything and the pain of it all forces me to move closer to him, pushing the sheets and covers away to just hold him. I rest my cheek to his back and wrap my arms around him from behind.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his back and then lift myself up, so I can plant a small kiss on his neck. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him again.
I don’t know how close he was with Carter’s mom, but it doesn’t matter. He’s hurting. Lacing his fingers through mine, he kisses my inner wrist. “Are you okay?” he asks me, turning his head so he can look me in the eyes. Of all the things to ask, he wants to know if I’m all right.
His eyes are red with lack of sleep, his stubble is too long, and there are dark bags under his eyes as well. I have to slip my hand from his to cup his cheek and sit up to kiss him on his lips. A chaste, sweet kiss. My heart flutters every time I kiss him. It’s an odd feeling, like a magnetic pull to him.
I brush his lips with the pad of my thumb and whisper to him, “It’s not always about me, Bastian.” With his name on my lips, I look him in the eyes and say, “I’ll be okay.”
“You’re wrong,” he tells me, shifting to sit so he’s facing me. “It is always about you.”
His answer steals my breath, numbing me as he kisses my wrist again.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.” I can’t help but tell him as the words come to me.
His steely blue eyes catch me off guard; they pierce into me and hold me hostage as he asks, “And why is that?”
“You make me feel like I’m more to you than I am.” The words come unbidden, his simple question enough to draw the raw truth from me. I lick my lips as I blink away the haze of the spell he casts over me. Bringing my knees into my chest, I scoot away from him and wish I could take those words back.