by Nyla K
“Yes, please,” I cry. “Do it. Please, Lazarus.” I have no idea what I’m saying, all I know is that I want him to destroy me. I want him to do whatever he wants.
I want so much more.
“Oh, I will, baby. Don’t you worry.” He plunges his fingers in and out of me, stroking his cock through the wall of my pussy until I’m about to burst. “I’m going to claim every part of you.”
He leans forward, covering my back with firm muscles, his lips meeting my ear as he whispers, “And you’re gonna do it to me, too.”
His tone, in that voice dripping smooth like caramel, mixed with whatever the hell he’s talking about, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear while he fills me so damn deep has me tumbling right over the edge of my climax.
My body unwinds and I break into a steady quiver, crying his name over and over into my pillow while he releases rushes of breath with one, two, three more thrusts before he tells me he’s coming in me deep.
It keeps my orgasm going on for much longer than it probably should.
A good five minutes of recovering later, during which Lazarus curls me up under my blanket, removes the condom and goes to the bathroom, I come to lying on my side, facing him while he holds me close. He sifts my hair gently through his fingers, before running them all over my slightly sticky skin, as if he can’t possibly stop touching me for even one second.
I know it’s late and we should get some rest, since he has work in the morning, but the mind-blowing sex seems to have energized me. That and I’m anticipating him sleeping over for a second night in a row. He just seems comfortable with me and it’s thrilling.
Boyfriend.
With an ecstatic grin, I roll on top of him and he chuckles, gripping my waist like I’m his; possessive and proud to have me.
I know it’s because we’re in the secret safety of my bedroom, but I still love it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I swipe my index finger down the point of his nose.
He grins and bites my fingertip, making me squeal. “Is it why you always call me Scary Spice?”
“No, I’m not telling you that yet,” I smirk. He lets out a teasing huff, but then he nestles himself into the mattress beneath me, hands running up my back.
“Okay, Trix. Tell me your secrets.”
“It’s not really a secret.” I look away from him reticently. “But it is.”
“Are you overly tired, baby?” He chuckles, caressing my skin with powerful hands. “Because you’re not really making any sense.”
A nervous giggle comes up. I’m not sure why I thought it was a good idea to tell him what I’m going to tell him. I mean, he probably already knows but still…
Lazarus tugs my chin so our eyes meet and I’m surprised to see how encouraging, and even anxious, he is for my words. “Tell me everything.”
Those words… They strike a chord in me. They sound familiar, like he’s said them to me before. In a dream.
I blink down at his beautiful face and take in a soft breath. Then I cuddle up on him so I can whisper by his ear, “I like you.”
His hands stop moving and he’s quiet for a moment, which has me terrified that I fucked up. I don’t know why I ever would have said anything. We just finally took a step forward, and my heart has to go and act crazy.
I inhale a whiff of his delicious smell, committing it to memory in case he gets up and dashes away from me as fast as possible. But much to my surprise, he doesn’t.
Instead he laughs softly, a grumbly little thing that sounds like a perfect symphony to my ears.
“Do you?” He sighs, fingers slinking around to my hip, which tickles, jolting me to flinch.
I grin and nod with certainty. “Yes. I know you probably already knew that…”
Lifting my face to look down at him, he blinks and cocks his head in that studious Lazarus way that makes him look young and perfect.
“I guess,” he starts and then stops, apparently trying to figure out how to voice what he wants to say. “I suppose I knew. But now I feel like an idiot. For not seeing you sooner.”
I swallow hard, watching him closely, his words burrowing into my brain, settling inside and making themselves comfortable.
“I understand why I didn’t. It was wrong before,” he goes on. “I mean, it still is. I’m glad it didn’t happen until now. But this -” He motions between us with his fingers, “It doesn’t feel wrong, Traci.”
My heart is skipping rope in my chest, while my fingers slink up into his hair. “No, it doesn’t.”
“It is, though,” his brows zip together as he gapes up at me, like he wants me to disagree; to provide hard evidence against what he’s saying. “Because of your dad.” I nod reluctantly. “And because of how much younger you are…”
“I don’t see how that matters,” I object to this part. “I’m eighteen.”
“Yea. Now.” He gives me a pointed look. “But I’ve known you since you were born. I’m not supposed to…” His voice trails again and this time he looks away, his mood visibly shifting.
“Anyone who says that doesn’t know how this feels,” I tell him and his eyes come back to mine. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see this as wrong, Lazarus. You’re a part of me. You always have been. And if that makes some people uncomfortable, then fuck them.”
His lips curl into a hesitant smile, shy and sweet and so fucking breathtaking to witness it physically steals my breath.
“I love how passionate you are,” he tugs my face to his so he can kiss my lips softly. I melt everywhere until he murmurs. “But baby, your father is like… He’s my whole world. You two are all I have. And I can’t lose him. I won’t.”
I nod, understanding what he’s saying fully, even though it twists at my gut because I know this means we can never truly be together. There’s no way it could work.
“I hate this,” I whimper, fighting sudden tears. “I don’t want to give this up.”
“Me neither.” He hugs me tight into him, sniffing my hair and making me smile. It’s a sad smile, though, etched in the impending devastation we both know will destroy us if my father finds out what we’ve been doing.
“Don’t say goodbye,” I plead to him softly, and he shudders beneath me, tightening his grip. “Not yet.”
I feel him breathing, long breaths, remaining silent, deep in his thoughts. But eventually he nods with his face nuzzled in my neck. And I’m comforted, if only temporarily.
I curl up on him, Lazarus rocking me gently until I eventually fall into an uneasy sleep.
Dreaming of gray eyes and lots of tears.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lazarus
Joy has always led to pain in my life. I’m not sure why I thought this would be different.
This business, the empire I’ve built, it’s been blissfully mine for so long, I suppose I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d get to keep it.
I should’ve known better.
I don’t get good things. They’re always snatched away from me at some point, which is why I make it a habit of anticipating pain and doom. It makes it easier for my diseased heart to accept the inevitable trauma.
The only difference between what’s happening now and what happened to me in the past is that I’ve directly caused this. If and when this thing comes crashing down, it’ll all be fully my fault.
When I was younger, bouncing between One, Two, and Three, that I blamed myself. I was too young, too insecure and scared to see that all the bullshit happening around me was due to the sins of others. I thought it was me; that I was cursed, causing all this tragedy with the evil that lives in my heart.
I used to think Birdie was a witch who cast a spell on me before she lost me to the state. And after that, anyone who came into my life would either die, or try to kill me.
Fucked up way for a child to think? Most definitely.
But then I met Damien, and I grew up. I realized that those people were just fucked, and there was absolutely no way I would let the sins
of my birth mother drag me to hell.
Not me. Not with a name like mine.
Life is what you make it, and that’s what I did. I made it.
And now, decades later, it’s all about to come crumbling on top of me, burying me forever in the tomb from which I was risen. All because I fucked my best friend’s daughter.
Sitting in my office chair, staring lifelessly at my computer screen, I actually cringe. I can’t lose this life I’ve built, and more importantly, I can’t lose Damien.
But even with that as a known fact, I also can’t ignore the feelings growing around my heart like vines.
Sex with Traci wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t, and the more I fight against that truth, the stronger it seems to get. It meant something to me. For the first time in so fucking long, I wasn’t just fucking for the sake of feeling good.
When I look at her I feel… happy. I feel light; the same kind of light that Damien gives me. Maybe it’s because she’s his daughter, who knows. But either way, the girl has a hold on me that I still can’t really understand.
She makes me smile, just as much as Damien does, if not more. It’s fucking crazy. I don’t get it at all, but struggling to ignore it just doesn’t work anymore. I realized it over the past two weeks, when I would miss her every fucking night, and then even more when I drove her home, and she climbed on top of me in my car and kissed me until we were breathless.
And then it truly smacked me in the face when we spent the last twenty-four hours screwing like we were made to do it.
What does it say about me, an almost forty-year-old guy, getting swept up in a goddamned eighteen-year-old? Am I that fucked in the heart? Am I a soulless monster? A creep… A lover of all things brutally tormented?
I’ve fought against that shit my entire life, and now it’s back and I don’t know how to act.
I was all over the place this morning. Forgetting my Rolex at Traci’s, yelling at Lana for no reason. I mean, Jesus, I even completely spaced on the documents I was supposed to sign for one of our new contracts, and shit almost got real.
I haven’t been distracted like this since I was a fucking teenager. It’s complete nonsense.
Thank God Damien’s not coming in today, otherwise I would probably crumble and tell him all about the fucked up shit I’ve been doing with his daughter.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I squeeze my eyes shut tight. What am I doing? This can only end one way, we all know that.
I should break it off with Traci and make her promise never to tell a soul about what we did. But even the thought of doing that tightens my lungs. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt the girl. She’s been in love with me for years, apparently.
And the craziest, most agonizing part is that I like it. No, I fucking love it.
Traci looks at me like she’s never seen anything so fascinating before. Her gaze holds a world of appreciation for every single thing that’s me, and it’s enthralling. I’m not one to require people’s approval, but this little doe-eyed thing looking at me like I’m God’s gift to mankind makes me feel like a king. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted to see in someone’s eyes who looked at me.
I’ve gotten close with Day… But this is different. This girl wants every part of me. She needs them, flaws and all. She wants to swallow them up until she’s full. It’s such a spectacular thing to witness, I can feel a smile tugging at my lips now just remembering kissing her goodbye this morning.
The way she blinked up at me with those eyes, bluer than tropical ocean waters, and sighed on my mouth, holding the nape of my neck tight like she didn’t want me to go. I know she didn’t. I didn’t either.
And now that I’m sitting here contemplating the bleak state of my future, I really wish I’d just stayed in her warm bed. How fucked up is that? I’d rather be cuddled up in a small bed with a teenager, in a cramped, cheap apartment in Little Haiti than here in my lavish office at my billion-dollar company.
A ping noise brings me out of my confused self-loathing, and I glance up at my computer screen to see a new email that just came in. Usually Lana fields my emails, but this one was sent directly to me, from Ted Jennings.
Fucking asshole.
Just seeing his name on the screen reminds me of how out of line he was at the party the other night. I almost murdered him for touching Traci then, and that was before she told me he propositions her at the club all the time. Now I really want to strangle him to death and throw him into the Everglades to be gobbled up by gators.
The email has no subject, so I click on it, and the moment I do, I feel the color drain from my face.
It’s a news article. One I recognize well.
From the Post, twenty-seven years ago, written about a man who murdered his pregnant wife. Smothered her to death with a pillow while she slept. When he realized what he’d done, he tried to flee the scene, but the police were called by the teenage boy they were fostering…
According to the police report, the boy, thirteen, name omitted, states that he woke up to the sound of things crashing in the house. He discovered Helena Turner dead, and John Turner frantically packing a bag, mumbling to himself about it being “an accident”. The boy immediately called the police, while attempting to keep John Turner in the house.
Upon police arrival, Turner tried to escape through the basement crawl space, but was apprehended. Initially Turner claimed that his foster son was the one who killed his wife, but lab results showed no evidence to substantiate his claims.
John Turner went on to plead insanity, but was sentenced to life in prison...
The words blur together as I swallow and swallow over bile trying to rise in my throat.
Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I shake my head to erase the images flashing through my mind.
Helena, Foster Mom Three, the only one of my Four who ever truly loved me, lying in bed. Eyes wide open. Her pregnant belly…
I whimper and yank my hair hard at the roots.
Young me, stuttering on the phone with the police station. I don’t remember what I said; it was so long ago, and so much adrenaline was coursing through me. But the words I do remember echo in my brain…
“She’s pregnant, please come fast! Please save the baby…”
Tears push against my eye sockets, and I cover my head with my arms.
“It was him! He did it!” John yells from underneath the police who are holding him down, cuffing him as he struggles. “He killed my wife, that little psycho!”
No no no no no…
I didn’t. It wasn’t me.
I loved her. She wanted to be my mom.
I would’ve had a brother or sister…
Roaring out loud, I lift my head fast and look at the email once more.
Underneath the article, Ted wrote:
Was this you, Lazarus Weston? Did you kill your foster mother?
“Fucking piece of garbage,” I growl to myself.
My mind is racing.
Why would he send this to me? What does he want?
Obviously he’s just trying to fuck with me. There was no evidence that I had anything to do with Helena’s murder, and John was convicted. He’s been locked away since that night, so anyone trying to indicate otherwise is a fucking idiot.
Still, what is Ted’s motivation for this bullshit? Just because I made him look stupid at the party? Is he that fucking vindictive?
I work for that motherfucker.
My stomach rolls, and I feel sick. I want to tell Damien that we need to drop Cartwell & Jennings right away. He wanted to after Evangeline split on our wedding, but I talked him out of it. I didn’t think it was necessary then, plus it would’ve just made me look bitter and spiteful, which I definitely wasn’t.
But now I’m fucking pissed. This asshole crossed a line, drudging up shit from my past like he has the slightest clue what the fuck he’s talking about. It’s not like he could ruin my career over this. It’s pubic information. Sure, I don’t broadcast it, but if people
really wanted to find out about my life, it’s not hidden.
He’s doing this for a reason, just to fuck with me. But why?
My heart seizes for a moment. Traci.
Does he know something? About us?
I wrack my brain for anything that could link us together, other than the party. We’ve never done anything out in the open, even at Boom Boom. Sure I’ve been there to pick her up, but I’ve always made sure no one I know is around. I would never even have known he goes there if it weren’t for Traci telling me.
This is all very strange. If he knew something about Traci and me, why would he send me an article from my past? It has nothing to do with her.
I’m sure he’s just trying to start shit, and I’m fucking fuming so hard I’m seeing red. I pick up my desk phone fast and start dialing the number to the Cartwell & Jennings office. But then I pause and hang up.
This is exactly what he wants out of me; a reaction. And I refuse to give into whatever he’s playing at.
I block his email address from my direct contacts, then email Lana instructing her to forward any emails from Ted Jennings to our company server directly to me. After that, I pick up my cell, and text Traci.
Me: If you see that asshole Ted don’t speak with him and let me know immediately, understand?
Her reply comes in less than a minute.
Tracien: Of course
I can’t even help the warmth that buzzes through me over those two words.
She doesn’t question me at all. She just does whatever I ask of her, with full trust. Just Traci being perfect.
I can only hope that whatever this scumbag is trying to pull has nothing to do with trying to hurt her. Because if it does, he’s finished.
I’m not a murderer, but if Theodore Jennings III wants to push me, I’ll have no problem changing that.
Many more distracted hours later, I’m ready to leave the office because I just can’t focus.
It’s been an off day to begin with, and after getting that ridiculous email from Ted, I’m feeling far too paranoid and edgy to work anymore.