Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  “Missed you,” he says into my hair.

  I dig my nose into his chest. He smells like laundry, smoke, deodorant, and something uniquely him. In his warmth, I calm down, reminding myself that Slade isn’t long-term. He’s just for now. In this moment, things are fine. I want to enjoy it. I smile up at him, wanting to be enough for this man. Wanting to heal him. Wanting him to talk to me about last night and this morning and to tell me I’m just overreacting. He’s nothing like these disturbed men I’ve been hearing about. He made a mistake, letting me sit alone in a shady parking lot. I surprised him by waking him up, and he sleeps armed because that’s how he’s been trained. He doesn’t realize it yet, but I know how much he cares about me. I can feel it. Am I making excuses? Yes. But they are all valid.

  His eyes are still tinged with red. He looks so broken that I can’t bear to ask. I can’t afford to lose him or to cross some line that would have him turning from me. Not when we only have a week left. The clock ticks with my impending departure. I thought that an end date on this relationship would mean I could feel free to do as I pleased or to say what I wanted, but now, with the way I feel about him, what started out as a selfish affair has turned into so much more. I want him, but he’s so damaged that I don’t know what he’s capable of. Hurting me? Loving me? Which is it?

  He opens the car door, and I step inside.

  A few minutes into our drive, he asks, “You okay?” His eyes move between me and the road. “You’re quiet.”

  “Yeah. Just met this woman today, and it shook me up.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  I shrug. “She came in near hysteria. Her husband is this guy, Lion. He’s the president of a motorcycle club.”

  His eyes show nothing, but a small tremor moves through his neck. Are these men connected somehow?

  “I don’t want you anywhere near that woman.” His voice is hard and worried.

  “Why?” I poke. “That’s the work Eve does. She helps women like her.” I need to know if there’s something between these men. I see their parallels, but what if it’s more than that?

  Abruptly, Slade pulls the car over. “I said, stay away from her, do you hear me? I know that guy. He’s fucked in the head. Did he threaten to find her?” His brows lower, breaths shortening.

  I nod, staying silent. He’s … anxious for me.

  He curses. “I’m going to add some of my guys to do rounds in the area at night and during the day. You call me right away if you ever feel off.”

  “You’re worried?” My voice comes out breathy and confused.

  “Of course I’m worried. I care about you, Lauren. More than you know. I realize you’re helping these women, and they’ve got bad lives. But I happen to know that Lion is worse than most. Promise me you’ll call if you even feel the air change. Always trust your instincts, okay?”

  I stay silent, watching his anxiety ride over my safety. Holding my hand, he gets back on the road. I feel satisfied that the parallels between Lion and Slade start and end with the fact that they’re both veterans. Slade would never harm me the way Lion harms Alicia.

  I’m sure of it.

  We pull up in front of the Milestone.

  With a chaste kiss, he tells me, “I’ll see you later.”

  After I get out of the truck, he speeds off.

  Getting back to my room, I decide I’m going to stop stressing and take a load off. My mind has been moving so quickly between Slade and work that I feel exhausted.

  I order a spread from room service, strip off my clothes, and put on one of the hotel’s soft terry-cloth robes. It feels heavenly against my skin. When the food comes, I eat the roasted chicken with grilled vegetables and a hummus plate with pita chips while watching back-to-back episodes of Real Housewives. It’s as though all my years of borderline starvation have caught up to me. Maybe it’s the fresh mountain air or all of the incredible sex. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s the stress of Slade that’s gotten me so turned inside out. Nothing but food will settle me.

  Whatever.

  I’m absolutely famished and enjoying every single morsel entering my mouth—guilt, calorie count, and stress be damned. Meanwhile, the show has me simultaneously laughing and yelling at the TV. It’s keeping my mind occupied on nonsense instead of focusing on reality.

  Two hours later, I’m plucked, shaved, and completely made up. My hair is ironed sleek and straight, and my outfit is a simple, short black dress and strappy Manolo heels. I didn’t bring any fancy outfits other than this one. Even without any options, I feel confident with my look.

  At nine o’clock sharp, the bell to my room rings. I slowly open it, only to see Slade’s mouth dropping as he takes me in from my heels to my eyes. He’s wearing a black suit and white shirt, which is what I assume is his work uniform for events like these. Slade is typically so casual that seeing him all dressed like this turns my insides to fire. He stands there, still, without saying a word or taking his eyes off me.

  Finally, he says, “Lauren.” My name rolls off his breath. “You ready?”

  I nod, clutching my black purse to my side.

  “Do you have a shawl or jacket or something? Eve was complaining that it’s chilly in the restaurant.”

  I turn back and take out a folded black pashmina scarf from one of the cabinet drawers. It’s not what I would choose if I had my full wardrobe in front of me, but it’ll do.

  He takes my hand as we walk into the elevator. The ride downstairs is quiet and warm as his thumb rubs up and down over my knuckles.

  “You look incredible. I had to physically restrain myself from stripping you in your room.”

  “Is that right?” Beneath my question is a dare and request. My insides clench.

  “Yes. But I know all about you and your fancy dresses …” His voice trails off as he checks me out.

  I laugh because my wardrobe isn’t the easiest to put on or take off, and no one knows it better than Slade.

  “Well, for your information”—the elevator door opens, and we step out—“there are no buttons on this one, not even a zipper.”

  “Easy access, eh?”

  “Maybe … for the right man,” I sass.

  He laughs again. “Baby, I’m the only man.”

  I raise my eyebrows, but he ignores my attitude laced in question, holding my hand harder to his. We walk through the gorgeous, serene lobby to see a long red carpet outside of the entrance to the restaurant.

  Slade clears his throat. “I’ll be working at the party. But you’ll enjoy yourself. Some big celebrities and fashion people are here.”

  His demeanor shifts as we get closer to the restaurant but not in a bad way. His chest inflates, and his stride quickens. This is Slade in his element, focused and razor sharp. He cracks his knuckles, and my insides clench. He’s so hot; I can barely stand it.

  He bends down to kiss my lips, and I lean up into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His warm tongue is slow, deep, and delicious in my mouth, full of promise for more later. I should be afraid, but with the way he’s treating me now with so much kindness and love, it isn’t hard to tell myself that this morning wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  I’m glassy-eyed when he lets me go, moving his lips to my ear. “Only man,” he says protectively.

  Chills slide over my arms.

  When he leaves, I’m breathless with need. But then, like an unannounced rainstorm, my internal alarm shrieks in warning. I have to figure out what’s going on with him. It’s as though all of the events of this morning have been erased from his memory and mine. It wasn’t my imagination; what I saw was real. He’s acting like all is well, and nothing is off. I know in my gut that this issue with him is only growing by the day.

  No, I won’t let myself freak out. I want to enjoy the evening. It’s been ages since I actually had fun somewhere. I’ll have a few cocktails with Eve and let loose. Tomorrow though, I’ll deal with Slade.

  I open my bag and check the time on my phone. I’ll get a
drink at the bar and hopefully bump into Eve, who should be inside. There’s no way they’re on the carpet, posing for any photos. As much as Vincent is famous in name, he’s very careful to not show his face anywhere on the internet or on social media in particular. Eve mentioned how Vincent already paid off the photographers to exclude him in every single photo.

  I enter without nerves, feeling back in my element. In LA, club and restaurant openings are part of my social calendar. After years of being in the scene, my friends and I know all of the big restaurateurs, who love to have hot, single women frequenting their parties. Even while engaged, Sanam still ditches Reza to be at the big parties.

  “Once you leave the circuit, there might not be a spot for you again,” she once cautioned.

  Hook, the newest addition to the Milestone’s restaurant list, is already full of people standing and mingling while waiters walk around with trays of delicious hors-d’oeuvres. I’m offered a miniature lettuce wrap filled with vegetable squab, and I take it. It melts in my mouth, but I resist the temptation to call the waiter back for more. Other than that yoga class, I haven’t been exercising at all. I’m sure I’ll pay for these calories in pounds. Whatever. I’ll just add it to my list of things I’m ignoring right now.

  A line of chefs works behind a beautiful wooden sushi bar, slicing fish and putting together small plates. As the newest restaurant at the Mile, the entire event is full-on glamour. I recognize some famous faces, including the newest Victoria’s Secret model. The crowd is New York and LA’s finest, complete with A-list celebrities, just as Slade promised.

  I order a dirty martini with Grey Goose vodka when Eve comes up next to me. We hug, and she looks absolutely gorgeous.

  “Lauren,” she starts, “Slade is seriously doing well for your complexion. I mean, you’re glowing.”

  “He is amazing in bed. Like, off the charts,” I brag, making the conscious choice to let tonight be about enjoyment and not hysteria.

  Eve is so proud of her man. There is no way I’m taking any of that happiness away with my personal drama.

  “Let’s toast to that!”

  She raises her flirty-looking pink martini, and I do the same. We clink our glasses and take our sips when I feel a body behind mine. Thinking it’s Slade, I do an about-face with a huge smile. Who I see is super hot but not the man I was expecting.

  Tall, dark, and sexy doesn’t seem to mind my overly happy greeting. “Hey there, beautiful.”

  The way he’s staring at me has my stomach fluttering.

  I pause, mouth agape before I erupt in laughter. “Sorry for that wide-eyed hello. I thought you were someone else for a minute there.”

  He puts out his hand, brown eyes twinkling. “Alexander.” His hand is soft, but his grip is warm.

  “I’m Lauren.”

  “What brings you here to the opening?” He leans casually against the bar, raising a scruffy chin to the bartender before moving his gaze back to mine.

  Dark, wavy hair, slightly too long, brushes against his forehead. I have the urge to put my fingers through the soft strands and push it back away from his face. He’s handsome. More than that, he’s a type I know well.

  “I’m actually visiting a friend of mine who lives here.” I turn to Eve and wink. “And you?”

  “This is my restaurant.” He turns to the eager bartender. “Macallan, rocks, please.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Alexander looks back to me, and I can’t stop the gush of, “Oh my God, really? It’s beautiful! And the food is amazing.” It seems that old habits die hard. “Have you been in this business a while?” My eyes widen, as they’ve done countless times before. A nagging voice tells me this is wrong, but I swat it away. My feelings for Slade are so strong, but Slade’s not—

  Eve whispers in my ear, “I’m going to check on Vincent. Have fun!” She gives me a dorky thumbs-up before stepping away.

  I know how much she loves Slade, but we both know he’s unavailable. Unfortunately, she has no idea just how unavailable he really is. My heart is at war.

  Alexander continues, “This is actually the second Hook I’ve opened. First is in the Meatpacking District in New York City. But I’m planning on opening another in London within the next sixth months. Have you been to Lao?”

  “Of course! I was just there last week in Vegas, and I love the one in LA.”

  “Those are mine, too.” He gets slightly closer.

  I can smell his expensive cologne, which is nothing like Slade, who’s all tobacco and fresh laundry. Slade, who washes me and feeds me and—

  “So, where do you live?” he asks, inching closer again.

  “I’m in LA.” I move an errant hair behind my ear, feeling almost nervous to have his attention. Even though I have nothing to feel bad about, in my gut, I know it’s wrong.

  Slade’s words, “Only man,” echo around my mind.

  “I’m from New York, but I spend lots of time out in California, too.”

  “Is that right?” My voice comes out shaky, the excited confidence from before dwindling.

  He continues to talk, selling himself to me in all the ways he thinks will impress me. He mentions boating in the South of France this past summer, and I think about Slade shirtless on Lake Powell. He drops a line about visiting a new resort out in Cabo for Christmas and the New Year. My chest sinks. Where will I be during that time? Alone, back in LA. I suddenly feel like sick. I want to leave.

  But, of course, I do no such thing. I smile and nod, acting like I’m listening when, really, I’m waiting for an appropriate moment to excuse myself. And, with that thought, a chill roves up and down my arms; it feels as though I’m being watched. I turn left and right, but nothing seems out of the ordinary, and no one is looking at me. I wish I were wearing higher heels, so I could at least have a better view.

  “You all right?” he asks, concerned, turning around for a moment as though to make sure nothing’s wrong.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Sure. Hopefully, I’ll see you back here.”

  I strut off without a word, searching for the nearest restroom. The entire place feels too full. I can’t be in a crowd like this. I’ve got to get out of here. Panic blooms in my stomach.

  What starts out as a polite, “Excuse me,” as I shuffle through the crowd becomes pushes. I can’t stand here another second. The exit? It’s no longer in my sight. I’m in the middle of champagne smiles and diamond stud earrings, and my eyes begin to water.

  Someone takes my hand, but before I can see his face, he pivots and pulls me away. His grip isn’t soft. It’s rough and callous and heavy. I look up and see the back of a buzzed head. It’s Slade. He briskly walks me straight through the employee exit until we’re face-to-face in the dark night.

  “Who the fuck was that guy back there?”

  His interrogation has me shaking my head in confusion.

  “Who?” I ask, breathless.

  “That prissy fuck!” he yells.

  “I walked away from him. And are you kidding me right now?” Anger takes the place of anxiety as I practically stand on my tiptoes to get closer to his face. “You have no right, Slade. I’m leaving in days. And you won’t talk to me. You won’t give me what I’m asking for.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  He lifts me up, pressing my back against the wall. It feels like concrete, scraping the back of my shoulder blades. I’m too riled up to tell him to put me down. To tell him that it hurts. I don’t want to admit how soft I am or how fragile I feel.

  “Last I checked, I’ve given you exactly what you asked for,” he growls, putting his nose on my neck and breathing in, scenting me up and down my neck and down between my breasts, palming my ass and spreading me open.

  Oh God. I can feel myself dripping. Angry, confused sex is a very bad idea. I’m mad but so turned on; my entire brain moves to static. I grip the back of his neck, shivering with want.

  He takes
one hand to unbutton his own pants before tearing the bottom of my dress.

  “You’re bare,” he whispers, licking the tops of my breasts.

  “Underwear lines.”

  Chuckling, he pulls down on my neckline, tonguing the lace over my nipples. Without any preamble, he slams into me. My mouth drops open in shock as he starts fucking me in earnest. I want it, but I’m also caught off guard. My back painfully rubs against the wall. I want to tell him to wait a second because all of this is happening almost too quickly, but my body has its own thought process. My insides are clenching with his rhythm, and I’m sure he can feel my body eagerly taking him in. My body betrays me because she loves it. His huge length hits every spot so deeply; it’s only minutes before I’m shuddering with release.

  He finishes right after me, zipping himself back up. My dress is tattered, and I already know, without looking, that my back is bloody. The burn makes itself known in every move I make. He didn’t use a condom. Luckily, I’m on the pill.

  I’m shaking when he says, “I’ll take you back to my place.”

  I nod, unable to speak. I can’t go back inside with a torn dress and bloody back, can I? I swallow down an awkward laugh. Of course not. The guests would likely call security, assuming I crashed the party. He takes my hand, and I wince with my first step.

  He seems to notice my agony when he says, “Oh shit. Turn around.”

  Slade takes out his phone, flipping on the flashlight to check my back. He curses before calling someone. “I’ve got a personal thing. Can you cover me for an hour?” Pause. “Yeah.” Pause. “Thanks.”

  Without words, he gently helps me into his truck. As he drives, our hands are threaded together. He lifts them up, kissing my knuckles and apologizing under his breath for hurting me. Mumbling, “I didn’t mean it.” And, “So fucking sorry.”

  Alicia’s words bounce through my head. “He wasn’t always like this.”