by Piper Malone
“But—”
“It’s over.” My words cut through the room. Belching my fucked-up family tree is enough for one night. I can’t handle anything else.
“Okay.” She offers the acceptance, but it won’t hold. Okay is akin to fine. Fine is a landmine. One way or another, it’s going to blow up in my face.
“What, Sky?” I can see the wheels spinning in her mind. If she says her piece now, maybe we can move on. “Just say what you need to say.”
“I won’t make you talk about this if you can’t. I’m grateful you told me.”
“And . . .”
“Is she why you asked me why I left?”
My lungs seize. Thoughts about my mother randomly pass through my mind. Mother’s Day is a holiday I would gladly ignore if it weren’t plastered everywhere. No one considers the wounded, the children who will forever feel the sting of their mother’s absence or the heavy void left by the one person who was supposed to love them.
Sky left, and the memories of our mother’s words, her disregard for me and my brothers, and the unanswerable questions of why and how circulated around my brain more than I care to admit. Everything fucked with my mind and pulled apart the barrier I had constructed to quarantine the sick. Every day that passed felt devoid of her energy, her light. Every dismissal from Caleb created new questions. The blind acceptance of her absence by Ax and Blake made me insane. I couldn’t swim past the torrent of blame and self-hatred. It was my fault. My mother left the day after she pinned me to the floor. Skyler left weeks after the Midsummer Night party.
“I can’t—” Tremors of agitation force my limbs to jerk; my shoulders bunch and quake. “We’re done with this discussion,” I say through gritted teeth.
She flinches but watches me with rapt attention. “Okay, no more. No more.” She looks around the room. “Uh . . . want to play Chinese checkers again?”
“Fuck no, I don’t want to play again! You nearly drowned me in your sea of board game gloating. If you think we’re having a rematch, you’re nuts.”
She tries to hold back the laugh and fails, snorting instead. “I’m sorry.” She giggles into her hand. “I just wanted you to think about something other than being upset.”
I’ve never had anyone care for my emotions so openly. “Thank you, but I’m okay.”
“Yes, you are, Nick.” Skyler leans in and puts her head on my shoulder. “You are more than okay.”
Her hair smells too good. Her body is just a little too close to mine. Skyler’s presence, her calming energy, blankets me in comfort. The waves of agony from confessing part of my life fade into light ripples and dissipate. In their place, the burning desire to keep her close.
“Nick?” Her face tilts up toward mine. I feel the light wisp of her breath against my skin.
“Skyler.” It should have been a question, not a confession. Not a plea to wrap my arms around her and hold her close. So close that she can’t slip away.
“Yes.” The word comes in a rush a second before she straddles my lap and presses her mouth to mine.
Chapter 14
Skyler
A fireplace, the man you love, and his strenuous effort to expose a tendril of his past is a total aphrodisiac.
It is wrong to sit on his lap and think about soothing his insecurities with every inch of my body. Exposing a vulnerable nerve is difficult for anyone; for Nick it is almost impossible.
“Angel?” His voice cracks like stone against ice, pressed together by an enormous weight. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure,” I confess. “I just want to be close to you.”
“You’re sitting on me, Skyler. You can’t get much closer.” He looks away, shakes his head. “I told you . . . we can’t keep doing this.”
“What exactly is this, Nick? Why did you bring me here?” I search his face for any indication that he brought me here for some reason other than to prove a point or just pound his chest. My fingers brush the sharp stubble alone his jawline.
“I don’t know, angel.” He runs his hands through his hair, leaving messy, sexy swaths of deep-blond points sticking up. “I needed to talk to you, to see you. I had to be here, but I couldn’t leave you there.”
“I don’t understand that, Nick. I can be here, but only under glass? Why can’t we be with each other? Things—we—are different here. You talk to me, and it makes me think you want me closer. But I try to be closer, and you push.”
“I tell you things.”
“No, the grand list of things you’ve told me prior to this trip includes ordering supplies and what we were doing for a demonstration. I had minimal information about your family. I never knew about making spoons or benches or community-revitalization projects. Do not get me started on the grilling, because you never helped me in the kitchen at Reign. Prior to us coming here, I think I’ve only ever seen you smile a handful of times.”
“I’m not a smiler, Sky,” he huffs.
“You were seconds from letting Miss Becky rub your tummy. You gobbled every ounce of her affection. You smile here, Nicholas. A lot. I have witnessed the miracle,” I retort.
He shifts, lifting his hips slightly to adjust for my weight. I take the opportunity, scooting a little closer.
Nick groans when the pressure of my body presses against his aroused flesh. I roll my hips ever so slightly and delight in the instantaneous rumble from his chest.
“Angel.” His voice sounds like a weak protest.
“Nick,” I say as I lean into him, my fingers playing with the buttons of his thermal Henley, “can we just be with each other? No script. No angry fucks. No one watching what we do. Can we just be?”
“I’m not good at that, Sky.”
“I never said you had to be.” I press my mouth against the thick column of his neck, my lips caressing to the vein pulsing under his skin. “Let us have each other, Nick. Do not deny you want me. I can feel you.” I shift, wiggling my hips against the heavy line of his cock straining against his tight jeans. “Please.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” he counters before dipping his head and nudging his mouth toward mine.
His kiss is gentle yet hungry. It’s carnal yet heavenly. Nick allows me to hover over him, grip his hair, and tilt his head back. He would never give me such freedom if we were demonstrating at Reign. In fact, I think Nick ties my hands for this specific reason. When I tug on his hair, he melts like a cat basking in the sun. I love that knowledge. I want more.
All the freedoms that I have never been given are mine in this moment. He lets me explore; he gives me license to touch and kiss and lick and nibble. His strong hands knead my rear end and massage my back. His fingers skate along my waist and inch up . . .
I pull back from devouring his lips. “Wait.” He’s so close to me, his fingers inches away from the scars. Moments from knowing the lies I’ve hidden.
He’s frozen in time. “What’s wrong?”
I wrestle with the moment, the opportunity to give him everything he has asked for. He could see me and know. He could touch and taste.
Or he could recoil, and I would be trapped in hell for days.
“Skyler.” His voice is clear, concerned. “Tell me.”
I don’t have the words, maybe even the strength, to tell him right now. The worries can stay hidden. I tuck them away before he has the opportunity to see too much.
“Can we feel good, just for a little while? I need to feel you.” I’m begging, and it’s something I’ve never done before, but damn, I want him. “I missed you so much.”
He grumbles; his chest broadens with a deep inhale. “In the bathroom, there are condoms.” Nick passes a look to me before mumbling, “We can’t take any more chances.”
I melt against him, pressing our bodies together and devouring his mouth. It’s the most freedom Nick has ever given to me, to us.
Sex.
Not him rubbing my clit or getting me off with a toy. Not me sucking his cock or wondering if he’s jacking
off in the shower. Not the angry, angst-filled fucking that has peppered the past five years, only to be ignored for what it really was: a way to soothe the desperate need for one another.
Real sex.
He grips my shoulders, pushing me backward. “Get the condom, now,” he commands.
I jump up, eager to keep this moment moving in the right direction. I feel him. I need him.
I scour the bathroom and find the condoms. He said one, but the optimist in me decides to bring the whole box.
Before I reenter the living room, I shimmy out of the loose flannel pants and bargain-basement undies.
In the flannel shirt, the hideous bra, and the cute pair of over-the-knee socks, I issue a prayer to the universe that Nick will stay focused on his favorite body parts, which I have lovingly exposed.
Nick glances over his shoulder as he begins to say something to the effect of wondering where I went and does a sharp double take.
He swallows hard. “Holy fuck, Skyler.”
I shake the box of condoms, his eyes bouncing from the space between my legs, just barely covered by the flannel top, to the latex rounds.
“Unzip, Harris. I know you are naked under those jeans.”
“Harris?” Nick quirks an eyebrow. “What’s with that?”
“I just wanted to get your attention.”
“Trust me. You have it.” He gestures for me to come closer. Under his breath he mumbles, “You’ve always had it.”
In this place—his home—Nick is free in thought and being. It’s as if the remoteness of the land centers him and gives him room to breathe.
I have always loved him. The brutal beast that lumbered the halls of Reign had me in his clutches from our earliest days together. I tried to resist and recoil against the feelings of affection, but they were always stronger than I was. Falling in love with Nicholas William Harris was easy, but now it’s a slick slope I cannot resist. Now he smiles, and he is free with his words, and I see the reflection of his soul in everything he does. My terrible, greedy heart absorbs his carnal looks, hoping this image of Nick’s desire for me doesn’t become a memory when this is over.
“Show me,” he says, oblivious to the swelling of my damaged heart.
“How much?” I know this game; we’ve played it before.
His gaze is hooded, a little drunk with endorphins. “All of it.”
I lift the front of the shirt, giving him a glimpse of my sex, slick and wet at the thought of him. Turning ever so slightly, I pick up the hem, to flash him the crease of my rear end meeting my thigh.
“More,” he says.
Starting at the bottom, I unbutton the shirt, revealing my hips and belly. The fabric falls loose against by body, hiding the small scars on my abdomen even in the dim light of the fire-lit room. His stare is telling enough. When my fingers brush the smooth skin of my sex, he nearly devours me whole.
“Fuck,” he growls, wrapping a hand around my thigh and pulling me closer.
Still sitting on the floor, he positions me to stand over him, my thighs inches from his face.
Nick’s fingers play at the crease of my knees and touch the edges of the soft cotton socks. Feather-light kisses brush the inside of my legs. His touch inches upward, strong hands squeezing the fleshy part my rear end, and his nose presses deep in the folds of my body. I laugh when he inhales, shuddering and growling.
“What’s funny?” he asks, face still firmly planted between my legs.
It takes me a minute to answer, his tongue sweeping across my sensitive skin, stealing my ability to speak.
“What’s that now?” he asks in response to my guttural moan.
“That,” I moan. “I love it.”
“Thank god someone does.”
Still standing over him, I run my fingers through his hair, eager to touch him. “I think by now you know that I’m always game for your perversions.”
His teeth sink into the fleshy part of my pussy. “I thought I chased you away,” he murmurs into my skin.
The pain is exquisite. His admission is a killer. “Never,” I moan as his tongue paints wild streaks of heat across my pussy. Nick’s lips focus on my clit, his thick fingers pressing into my core. My grip tightens on his hair, making him growl and attack my flesh with a ferocity I have never felt from him before.
“I’m going to come all over your face, Nick. Please,” I beg. “I want you inside me.”
He pulls away from me with a curse. “You can’t say shit like that. I can’t take it.”
I step back, still standing over him, and watch him push out of his jeans. His cock is gorgeous, strong, and fierce . . . just like him. He grabs the box of condoms, ripping it open and handing me a square.
“Are you sure you’re hard enough?” It’s fun to tease him.
He could chop wood with the hard-on he’s sporting right now, but I also know what to say to get him to do what I want.
Nick grips his turgid flesh, jacking himself under my watchful eye. Deep within me, I feel the clench and throb of my own needs. A look of satisfaction bleeds across his face. He knows what he does to me.
“If you wanted me to jerk my cock, all you had to do was ask. I’ll let you watch.”
“I want that, but later,” I say before settling the condom in place. “I want you like this tonight.”
Nick nods before holding out his hand to steady my descent on his cock, which he has gripped by the base. When I am fully seated, we both exhale. Nick leans back, his upper arms resting on the cushions of the couch. He seems to stretch out, taking in the view of me, sitting on his cock as if he’s the king of a one-woman harem.
“Lean back a bit, angel.”
I arch my back, my hips tipping slightly, and watch Nick’s eyes lock on the space where our bodies connect. With sharp focus, Nick watches his dick move in and out of my body as he pumps his hips.
I feel the heat of his gaze, the warmth of the fire, the rush of arousal from his deeply erotic wants and needs.
Sitting up, I plaster my mouth to his and ride him with wild abandon. He absorbs every ounce of passion I pour over him, a beast feasting after painful famine. My teeth graze his earlobe, and his frame quakes beneath me. His ravenous groan pulls me deeper, giving me the key to his fortress and access to his kingdom.
His kisses are deep, as are the bites on my neck and shoulder. Every press of his teeth, grip of his hand, and tug on my hair takes me higher. Everything he murmurs—yes, angel; you feel so good; fuck me harder—knits our world together. Rhythm settles in; our tongues tangle; we press into that moment when everything aligns.
Nick must feel the flutter of my cresting orgasm around his cock, because he pinches my rear end. It’s our signal for me to look at him. Even after a year, I know he wants to watch me come. Nick needs to know that my pleasure is his. I surface from the depth of our pleasure, wrenching my eyes open to meet his mossy gaze watching me unravel.
Nick’s rapt attention, the melding of our bodies, and the familiar flow of his gritty voice rumbling his praise consume me.
“Yours,” I whisper under a wave of crushing pleasure sparked by Nicholas William Harris.
Chapter 15
Nick
People lose massive chunks of flesh because they don’t pay attention to the lathe in their hand. Perfect curls of heavy wood fall around my feet like snowflakes. The natural scent of a freshly cut birch fills the air of the barn.
The rhythmic movement of the tool across the smooth plane reminds me of Skyler’s silky body against mine. Her perfection is more beautiful than all the memories I recalled during her absence.
Her presence soothes the grizzly parts of me, easing the ache that has nagged for years.
The nasty thoughts swirling in my mind, reminding me that I kidnapped a woman for that emotional freedom, are pushed away with the tiny curls of wood sacrificed for the design. Standing back to admire the work, I finally feel happy with the final piece for the park. The swing needed detailing. I knew what had
to be done. I just couldn’t bring myself to feel the creative energy. The solid-wood swing was functional, not decorative or ornate. When Skyler and I sat on it a few nights ago, I finally felt ideas flow with the easy glide of our momentum on the swing.
The artistic space in my mind has been blocked for months, closed from creating the intricate carvings that had been so natural my entire life. Bringing chunks of wood to life as finely detailed birds or tools was my main source of income in high school. Carving decoys for hunters and collectors allowed me the opportunity to experiment with different types of wood and blades. It was good cash, and I earned a reputation as someone with skill. The more I carved, the more people I met who carved. I apprenticed with master woodworkers after school and during summers. Chisels and saws were gifted to me with trade advice from seasoned professionals. Then I started thinking this could be something that might sustain me financially. Something that would save this outdoorsman from being trapped in an office.
In the center of my plot of land, I’m surrounded by nature. High trees. Clean air. Silence. The city is manageable in small amounts. I can handle it for a few months at a time, but my work always suffers. If a deadline is creeping up while I’m in Boston, I skip the occasional night’s sleep, hunkered down in my makeshift workshop. It’s never the same, like a bargain-basement replica. Fake and shoddy. On a few occasions, I’ve made the midnight run to Maine to ease the tension and settle a project on my home territory.
The morning light bursting through the windows is amplified by the heavy blanket of snow on the ground, making the world brighter than normal this early in the morning. The brilliance of the sunrise woke me from the bed Skyler and I made on the floor. She curled into me and fell asleep after our evening of uncomfortable conversations and pouring our souls into one another. This morning, I woke up and felt free. Making the decision to leave her was a chore, but after getting up to restock the fireplace, I left for the barn.
In just a few hours, the flat, dull swing has bloomed with vivid detailing. As I stand back from it, a familiar comfort fills my chest, and I know I have taken the project to the next level. This is what I envisioned for the park. A rebirthing of the place where we played as children into a new space for our community to gather and create happy memories. Admiring the work is short-lived; the rumbling of a rough engine grows louder from the east side of our family compound.