“Not anymore. It’s too weird. I don’t like it.”
I love the way my breasts feel when I turn to him like this and how his hands move to touch me without thought, and the warm shivers go through me at his touch. It’s nice, living like this, having him, loving him. “Think of all those artists who would love to be in your shoes. Think of the people who gave you the grant in the first place. They saw your body of work and thought it was amazing and they awarded you this opportunity. You are legit. Roll with it.” I kiss his fingers with more affection than I’ve ever had for anyone.
“I don’t like it.”
I trace the muscle lines of his chest, running my fingers over him and he looks at me, distracted from his dark thoughts. He raises an eyebrow in expectation as his body awakens. I raise an eyebrow too. “Is that what that button does?” I move my hand down, down, down, stroking him softly.
“You don’t even know,” he whispers with dark, dark eyes. “I have three months to make up for. Plus, you started it.” He takes my other hand in his and runs his lips over it, closing his eyes and hardly breathing.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving again.” I sigh, turning to lie back on my back.
“I’m not going back. I hate art right now.” He follows me, elbows by my ears, and makes his way in, his beautiful, dark eyes looking deep inside me, transmitting his longing to me.
“Art just padded your bank account; you should be gracious. Do you think your dad enjoyed himself?” I kiss his lips and hold his hips as they roll into me. He takes my breath away.
“He bought two paintings. They were the ones I painted for him. So maybe he gets it. But does he get it and bought it because he knew what it was about and wants to know what to do to change, or did he take them because he knows and doesn’t want anyone else to see?”
“I think you should talk to him.” I keep thinking of the look in his father’s eyes. He wants to have a relationship with him. And Ares deserves to be free from the anger.
He nods. “Yeah. I figured when it was really time I would find my voice.” He sighs and looks at my boobs.
“Don’t wait until it’s too late to find it.”
“It hurts.” He has tears in his eyes, looking into mine.
“I know. I get it.” And I do. I really get it.
“I don’t want to talk about my dad right now.” He pulls me close, nuzzling me aggressively. “You smell good. I love the smell of your skin. That’s what I miss the most when I’m away,” he whispers. “I want you to come with me.”
I close my eyes, feeling so good and so bad at the same time. “No.”
“Dammit, Nikki, why not?” he growls against my neck, still kissing me possessively.
“I just got an apartment. I’m in a lease. I just started working at the firm.”
“I can buy you out of your lease. Or pay your rent until we get back. You don’t need to work.” He touches my face softly, pushing harder. “I can take care of you,” he whispers.
I glare, stiffening everywhere. “Don’t throw your money around at me. I am not Cinderella and you are not Prince Charming and I don’t want to go to New York.” I clench my teeth.
“You think I’m throwing money at you? I want to be with you. I don’t care what you do as long as it’s with me.” He frowns down at me.
“I like what I do. I like it here. I hate New York and I’m never going there again.”
“Not even for me?”
If there’s any way to salvage this relationship in the end I have to be autonomous and prove I’m not out to get him. I can’t be dependent on anyone. Nobody’s ever going to be able to say I used him or his family. He has to choose me because he wants me not because he has to take care of me. “No. You don’t even know if you want me.”
“Are you serious?” His eyes flash so much frustration it makes my stomach hurt. “After all this, everything I’ve said and we’ve gone through together, you would choose shaking your ass and working with Marc over me because you think I don’t know if I want you? You let men throw money at you every day and you don’t want mine?” His face is chiseled fire and his eyes are glaring, daring me to argue.
“You’re an asshole. Rot in hell.” I shove him, my hands pushing into the intoxicating warm fleshiness of his chest as I get away, fighting angry tears. I storm off to my shower, feeling more naked and crazy than I’ve ever felt.
He follows a little behind and I hear him come into my bathroom after I’m already under the hot running water.
“Nikki, I love you.” His voice is frustrated on the other side of the curtain.
“I know. I love you too.” I bite my arm to contain the hurt and fear and sobs of frustration and tears. There’s something wrong with me and I can’t fix it. “I want you to stay.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Your mom is gone and Dexter’s taken care of. What’s your excuse now?” he yells, so much angrier than he’s ever been at me.
I cover my face. My body is shaking.
He opens the shower curtain and looks at me, naked and fierce, his face incredibly sad. He sees me, broken and biting myself. He sees the pink scars on my thighs. Maybe he didn’t see them before because he didn’t know what he was looking at, but now he does. Now he knows I’m a broken person.
He nods, his eyes stormy and his eyebrows furrowed angrily.
He comes in, big and strong, and holds me while I cry.
When I’m done he kisses my hair. “My love for you will never change no matter how hard you push me away.”
I feel like throwing up. My heart is breaking. My stomach hurts. And she’s right. I’m crazy. Every thought I’ve thought is wrong and I would do anything to get him to stay so I don’t have to be alone. I was wrong. I have nothing otherwise by now there would be something and there’s nothing. I still feel hollow and alone.
“What’s going on in your head?” He’s exasperated with me. “Do you want me or not? Why can’t you trust me?”
I don’t want him to hate me. That’s the thing. “I’m losing my mind.”
He’s focused on me, his body at attention. His black eyes are looking into me, trying to pick through the mess.
He’s tired.
Tired of the effort it takes to be with me.
I don’t blame him.
I can’t do this. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone. Don’t leave me.” I fold in half in his arms and I’m so numb I can’t even feel them. I cover my mouth to keep from screaming.
He holds me up. “You’re not your mom. You’re Nikki. You’re the girl with the pink cowboy boots. You’re the girl who never let her spirit die. Don’t let it die now when it’s over. Please, Nikki. Your mom is gone. You’re free. You can’t do this to yourself. Let’s tell everyone. My mom will take care of you.”
I look into his eyes, blubbering.
He touches me, slipping his fingers over my slippery, sensitive skin and my body comes to him, languid and ruined with pleasure.
“I have always loved you. I’ll love you until the day I die, but I know you’re strong and I know you’re okay and I need to finish what I started. For me, for you, for us. I want you. All of you.”
“I have a lot to figure out right now.”
“Does that mean you have to figure out if you want to be with me?”
“I want you.” I can’t even look at him. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”
“Tonight, all I want is all of you. Can I have it?” He looks into my face and continues drawing circles on me, making it hard not to shiver, raptured.
I want to die.
He kisses me, slipping his fingers in and out.
I breathe quickly as he rubs himself on me, slipping in and out.
“It’s because your father’s there, huh?” he whispers.
“Maybe. I don’t want to talk about it,” I breathe.
“I’m going to find him.”
I shake my head, closi
ng my eyes. “I can tell you exactly where he lives; you don’t have to look for him.”
“I’ll let him know exactly what I think of him.” He kisses my neck. “I want to finish what I started because I know you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay.”
His hair hangs and his eyes are black fire. “I want every piece of you.”
“I’m not on birth control.” I squeeze my eyes closed tight.
He stops, his body rigid. “What?” he breathes, more confused than angry at this point. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t get it when I went to the clinic because I was stupid and I miscalculated and I know you trusted me and I messed up and I’m so sorry.” I just want him to stay. What if I did it on purpose? “I had to take a pregnancy test.” I let out a shaky breath.
He touches my hair and I look at him. He’s frowning deeply at me and I want to cut myself. I want to bleed. I want to see my red blood dripping on the porcelain of my white bathtub.
“I told you I wasn’t ready. Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” He’s not even mad yet, just shocked at how crazy I must be.
I close my eyes again, waiting for him to get up and leave me, empty and alone. “I’m not ready either.” I breathe shallow breaths. “I believe they say it could take up to ten months to be able to get pregnant. I couldn’t be.” I couldn’t.
He lays me down in the tub, his knees under my thighs. He hovers over me, one muscular arm holding his weight on the edge of the tub. I want more, but it’s all in slow motion: his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and the way his hair falls in front of his face, looking at me with intensity and innocence and fire.
I take over and listen to his sudden intake of breath. He shivers and his face drops down close to mine, letting me see his lips parted sweetly and his eyes black pools of urgency and sincerity. He lifts his head and groans, making water fall on me and I’m breathless.
He turns off the water and takes me into my room, grabbing an extra blanket and spreading it on my bed to lay me down. He climbs on top of me, kissing me, suckling and licking in the best combinations until he stops and sinks down beside me, pulling my thigh to his hip and watching his fingers pet me.
I frown. “What happened?”
He looks at me. “You know, this means we’re married.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What means we’re married?”
He runs a finger between my legs. “Real sex.”
I shiver, forcing myself to look into his dark, dark eyes.
“In my heart, I am yours and you are mine. I’m not done with my own stuff yet. I’m not ready to think about our super future, but I want you. I don’t want you to say anything about anything,” he tells me, quiet. “I’m putting my stick on your shoulder. Are you going to dance with it on or throw it away? I want to know.”
My heart is racing.
I feel like I’m high and this is one of those conversations that make no sense but I totally get it. I have to make a decision. I may be young but if I don’t choose him now, someone else will get his goodness easy. I won’t find someone I love more. And I know he might forget this night or maybe look back on it with shame, but I know I won’t forget. I’ll treasure this moment forever.
“I’ll dance,” I whisper.
His eyes get darker and his face gets serious. “Are you sure? Because I’m serious.”
“How sure can I be?”
He covers my mouth. “I said no talking.” He pushes my hair back with his hand. “Will you be my wife for tonight? Will you trust me and know that I want you? Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
He gets on his knees between my legs, pulling my hips and running his hands down my thighs. His fingers slide through the slickness.
I arch, grabbing his arms. I groan, close to the end.
He circles, circles, circles with his fingers. He breathes and pushes himself into me, circling, pulling out and pushing in.
I’m there already.
“Tell me so I can come with you. Tell me, Nikki.” He slows. “Nikki.” He circles faster and harder and I have to take over.
Oh my God. “Go,” I moan as he fucks me so good and I stop circling so the wave can come from within.
“I’m coming,” he says softly.
I can’t say anything because I am too but I push it along with my fingers until it rolls through me and I arch and grab the solid fleshiness of his chest and I feel him throbbing in me, pumping into me like a severed artery.
He kisses my face and my neck, my clavicles, until my breasts know he’s neglecting them on purpose, and now he gives them what they want and we stay in bed, not talking, until he has to go, leaving me so his parents can say goodbye and take him to the airport.
Chapter Fifty-three
Nikki
I’m working on a mural with five other guys and they irritate the hell out of me. I think they hate me. Two of them are from Canada and speak French and the other three smoke a lot. I hate them. I want to come home. I am working all day on this thing and I have to work on my two huge pieces. Tell me to come home, Ares texts.
I already did and u left anyway, I text back. I’m lying on my sofa eating Cheetos straight out of the bag, watching reruns. Chrystal is supposed to be coming over soon to choreograph but I’m exhausted and my feet hurt.
Do u hate me?
I never hated u. I roll my eyes and get up. My back is killing me. I tried to pay my rent last month and they said it had already been paid for three months. I was pissed at first that he didn’t listen but then I was exhausted by working so many nights and then working in the morning and I thought being able to cut back to two days a week and sleeping would help.
But I don’t really think it’s going to get better until time runs out.
I’m really scared that there’s something wrong with me.
Well, u have sad eyes whenever u look at me so I thought u might want to break up with me for real, you’re just waiting for me to come home, he texts.
Is that y ur paintings of me all have sad eyes? I don’t know how u’ll feel about me when u’re home for real. I stretch, trying to pop my back or something. I take my bag of Cheetos to my kitchen and put them on top of the refrigerator.
I’ll cook for u if u tell me to come home. If u want me to live with u.
I don’t need u to cook for me. Ur mom’s teaching me how to cook and bought me cookbooks. You should be enticing me with sex instead.
Shit.
LOL. I smile and look out my kitchen window as I wash dishes. There are three deer taking turns drinking from the stream. I’m so glad I chose this place.
I dry my hands and pick up my phone as it chirps.
When are we getting married for real?
What? I frown at him from a million miles away.
My mom’s going to ask. She’ll want the dress and flowers and paperwork.
OMG. So that’s how you’re proposing to me? Telling me your mother will expect it? I glare at my phone.
No. But I don’t want you to be blindsided.
You guys put so much pressure on me. I don’t want to talk about this right now.
You don’t want to marry me for real?
I look at the deer. I’m just so scared of his feelings for me. I know he thinks he wants to be with me and I want to be with him, but I’m so messed up I can’t even think. I’m going crazy and slipping away and I can feel it. I want to be okay, there’s just this schism. One half of my brain knows she’s right and I know why I feel this way and I just want to curl up in my closet and sleep until it’s over, and the other half thinks that part is completely insane and is trying so hard to hide it that I’m exhausted. I don’t know which half is really the crazy one and that’s what scares me the most.
You’re not home yet, I text him. And this is all hypothetical. You don’t know how your mom will react. She might be so pissed she never wants to see my face. Persephone will be even worse. U might decide I’m not worth the drama. Why worry abou
t things that haven’t happened yet? Goodnight Ares.
I guess goodnight too, Nikki.
There’s a knock at the door. I take a deep breath and take one last look at my deer before answering it. I let Chrystal in.
She takes off her gloves and jacket and looks around as I close the door. “You have a nice little place. I like it.”
I smile and take her coat. “Thanks. It’s mine so that’s all I really care about.”
She nods. “I get that. My first apartment was the size of a closet but I loved it. How are you doing? You look like shit.”
I sit with her on the couch and breathe for a second. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I bite my lip.
“What’s going on? Spill.”
It’s been so long since I had a friend. I don’t know how to act or what to say. I haven’t really even had a friend besides Persephone and she never asked questions. “My mom messed me up.” I look at her eyes. They are no-nonsense and understanding. “And she stabbed herself in the throat with a piece of my mirror about five months ago. And I feel like I’m crazy like her.” I blurt.
I can’t believe I said that.
But I’m relieved. It feels good to tell a stranger.
“I’m sorry about your mom.” She pulls me in for a quick acknowledging hug and sits back. “Girl, we can talk about and compare crazy mamas all night. Where’s your wine?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Why?”
My heart stops. “I’m underage.”
She raises her eyebrow. “Mmhm.” She looks me over. “That’s what I said with my first two. Do you wanna hear about the man my mom was with for a while that liked to watch me and my little sister wash our armpits getting ready for bed?”
Chapter Fifty-four
Nikki
I’m sitting on the back porch with Natalie, watching Dexter play with the dogs. I readjust for the millionth time. I’m so uncomfortable no matter how I sit. We’re bundled up in scarves and sweaters, drinking coffee and eating banana bread. It’s still pretty frosty outside but it seems like Dexter’s caught spring fever already. Natalie’s been photographing him running around.
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