My Heart for Yours: A Standalone Forbidden Romance

by Ella James

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Gwenna

  December 31, 2015

  The weirdness of this night is a double-edged sword. One the one hand, it’s weird. Not cool weird—awkward weird. And no one likes awkward weird. On the other hand, it’s so weird, the weirdness occupies my mind, so I’m not thinking much about It.

  I’m thinking about Barrett. And wondering what’s up with him. Why he seems so miserable.

  I’m trying not to be, but I’m getting kind of worried.

  I know him so well now, I can just feel it. As we dance; he’s a good dancer, but it rolls off him in waves. When our fingers brush as he hands me a glass of wine, his curl away from mine. When I sit on this little couch-like thing to take a break from dancing, he sits by me, and he sits so close. His arm around me is so heavy. And when I look up at his face, at his eyes, gray-blue orbs that peer down at me from the center of the ovals cut into his mask, they look depthless—almost pained.

  At one point, as I elbow my way toward the bathroom—he’s behind me, our fingers intertwined—his hand feels so damp, so still and stiff, I whisper-hiss, “Do you feel bad?”

  When he doesn’t look at me, I say his name.

  “Hm?” His eyes find mine. They’re wide, slightly intense.

  We’re in a long, quiet hallway now. I nudge him against the wall, then wrap myself around him. I lift our joined hands to my mouth and kiss him on the inside of his wrist. Soft, tender skin. I bite it, and his hooded eyes lose focus.

  I lift my lips off his wrist, wrap my arms around his neck, and pull him down to kiss him. God, I need this. I just need to feel him right now.

  His kisses feel as desperate as mine do. His mouth is hard and punishing, soft and silky, gentle, frantic. His fingers thread through my hair, tugging as our tongues and lips dance, making my scalp ache. His breath is warm and wine-sweet, puffing into my mouth on low groans. His beard is short. It stings me. I don’t care.

  I rock myself against his thigh and rub him through his pants until he moans into my mouth. I nip along his upper lip, then capture it between my teeth and suck. I love it when he gets hard in my hand. I love to tease his head, to torture him through fabric.

  Every time my fingers trace his bulge, he breathes a little harder. His mouth on mine is ruthless. Finally he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me toward the nearest door. He opens it and we behold a bedroom, pearly from the moonlight streaming through two windows. He tosses me over his shoulder, smacks my ass, and shuts the door.

  “Gwen. I have to have you now.” His voice is hoarse, almost emotional. His body’s hard—as if we’re headed for a nameless fuck.

  I’m tossed on the bed. I land with my feet hanging off the side, my legs slightly spread, the pillows vibrating around me as the mattress springs settle. Barrett stands against bedside, his cock tenting the fabric of his pants. He pulls my black boots off and quickly rids me of my pants and panties.

  “Now,” he breathes, and takes his own pants down. I reach for his dick, my fingertips brushing it for a second before his hand captures my arms.

  His eyes are hot behind the mask. His tongue traces along his lower lip as he trails a finger through my slit.

  His head tips slightly back. “Oh, Piglet…”

  “Wet for you,” I murmur.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Don’t wait…”

  His eyes shut as he grabs me by the hips, positioning me at the bed’s edge. He wraps a hand around his cock and spreads my lips, rubbing his head in my slickness, making circles till I’m crying out, my clit throbbing, my thighs shaking.

  “Now,” I pant.

  He pushes gently at my entrance, stretching me just slightly.

  “God…”

  I wriggle up against him, desperate to take all of him. With a low chuckle, he plunges in. He’s so damn big, I cry out. He fills me so deeply, stretches me so perfectly, I can’t help thrusting my hips at him…taking him so deeply I lose track of everything but him in me.

  “Barrett…”

  “God, I love you… Love you, Gwen. I love you.”

  My throat is so tight, I can’t reply, so I look up at him and find his face is lifted to the ceiling. “Jesus.”

  He fucks me like our lives depend on it. He fucks me like he’s marked for death and my flesh is his last supper. He fucks me so I know I’m made for this, for him, I’m made to welcome him inside me, made to breathe with him and clench around him as I sigh and he groans.

  When we’re finished and he finally rises off me, his eyes glisten in the moonlight.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Niccolo

  December 31, 2015

  Jamie told me about the telescope at Barrett’s house. How much her friend Gwen likes it. So it’s not hard to get rid of them both. My girl is more than happy to take her bestie upstairs to the mini-planetarium Kim designed and had installed a year and a half ago: a way, she told my dad, to see her son. It cost a fortune, but he has that. If he hadn’t paid for it, I would have.

  I’ve known for two days now that my team has been spotted. Since then, I’ve been thinking. Planning.

  Until last year, I did a monthly write-up in the local rag. Hollywood insider type of shit. Fun for me, exciting for the people here, my way to give back to the community since I’m not willing to be a politician/whore like Dad.

  I paid a visit to the Gazette’s offices the day we arrived. I took Jamie with me. It was perfect. She yakked her head off while I went into the archive room to “make copies of my work.”

  “For old times’ sake,” I’d told the editor, a flighty little lady named Sue.

  Instead, I pulled an old New Year’s edition. The Gazette is an afternoon paper, so what I’m looking for is there. I’ve seen this edition many times before, have piles of it in the wine cellar below my parents’ place.

  I step out of the archives looking troubled, hands in pockets. The article of interest is crumped in my pocket.

  “Sue,” I say in a puzzled voice, “I can’t find something I’d like to copy.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  I explain, with Jamie’s help, her best friend’s situation. Jamie has been telling me about her friend. Gwen’s struggles. Her attack.

  “I wasn’t sure she even had a copy of the write-up.” I look wide-eyed down at Jamie. She nods, and I can see the gratitude in her eyes—appreciative that I care.

  “You know…” She taps her cheek. “I doubt she does. That’s actually a really good idea. Might give her some closure.”

  The three of us canvass the archive room. Sue is shaken when she discovers that the page is missing. Jamie is more shaken.

  “It could be him! The person who attacked Gwen. Him or…her, I guess. Who would take something like that? And why? I don’t get it.”

  I shake my head. I’m glad she doesn’t. Very, very glad my lover doesn’t get it.

  With Jamie and Gwen upstairs now, I find Barrett where I know I will: in John’s room. The dude is standing by my brother’s bookshelf with his arms crossed; really, wrapped around himself. I recognize his stance. In acting, it’s an advanced skill set: displaying pain, appearing vulnerable, while keeping the face blank. But Barrett has it down. Bear, John called him.

  I could pity him, but I don’t let myself. There’s no point.

  I hear him inhale as I step into the room. When he sees it’s me, he bows his head, biding his time to see what I will do. John told me some of this shit. Their secret agent mind-fuck shit. Not so much different than what Dad does, really. John was different. He was better than this manipulative shit. This guy is nothing like my brother. John died for him, and Barrett isn’t worthy.

  That helps.

  It helps with my conscience.

  “Bear,” I say. I let my knowledge resonate in my voice. “I thought you were familiar…”

  I’ve got to give it to him: He removes that stupid Zoro mask and looks me in the eye, and I can see he’s sorry. I can see h
e’s eaten up with guilt.

  “You’re my brother’s friend. The one…” I start.

  I struggle to keep my face neutral as his eyes glimmer. He nods, solemn. He seems penitent. I tell myself that’s good. He should be.

  “You were close to John,” I say. “He told me you were his best friend.”

  I watch his teeth come down on the inside of his cheek, his throat working to keep his emotions silenced.

  “He was mine,” he says hoarsely.

  I step closer to him. “It’s a shame what happened. No one’s fault,” I lie. I raise my eyebrows. “If nothing else, we can know that he died doing what he loved.”

  Barrett nods. His jaw is tight, though. He won’t look me in the eye.

  “So, how long you been with Gwen?”

  His eyes lift to mine. “Why?”

  I can see aggression push the sadness off his face.

  I hold my hands up. “Just asking.”

  He surprises me by stepping closer to me. “No, you’re not.”

  I laugh, as if he’s crazy, still holding my hands up.

  “You think I didn’t notice how you followed us around all night?”

  “Is that a crime?”

  His jaw clenches. He shakes his head. I watch his nostrils flare as he exhales. “I’m sorry.” He shuts his eyes, rubbing his temples. Opens his eyes and holds my gaze. He looks exhausted. “What can I do for you, Nic?”

  “I was watching you,” I murmur.

  His eyes sharpen. “Why?”

  “John told me something. About you. And Gwen. He was always asking about her.” I lower my voice. “He told me, Barrett. John told me.”

  I feel a bubble of satisfaction as the blood drains from his face.

  “What do you mean?” he rasps.

  “I think you know what I mean. Don’t worry, Bear. I won’t tell.”

  I can see it on his face: the distrust. He doesn’t believe me. And that’s exactly what I want.

  Gwenna

  December 31, 2015

  Our rental car is a Ford Explorer: midnight blue, according to the small bottle of touch-up paint inside the glove box. Fitting, I think, as I watch pearly moonlight pool atop the hood. Snowflakes swirl in front of us, flying up over the windshield as Bear drives toward the general store.

  The drive’s not far—somewhere between a mile and half a mile, I know by now—but Barrett’s going slow. We’re supposed to get some crazy snow tonight, and he probably figures, rightly, that I’m already on edge.

  Every few minutes, I feel his eyes on me. When our eyes meet, his mouth curves gently. I love you. I see it in his eyes, despite the darkness that’s been in them since we got to Colorado.

  At least I know the “why” on that now. After we came back downstairs, Jamie and I tracked Bear and Nic to a bedroom in Nic’s parents’ place. When they saw us, Nic went right into the hall with Jam, while Barrett stayed inside. I stepped in, and before I noticed all the military stuff, I noticed Bear: so still and tense and…shell-shocked.

  He told me John—Nic’s brother John, the dead brother—was his friend, Breck. He stretched out on John’s bed, put his hands over his face, and just kept shaking his head.

  “I fucked up, Gwen. I fucked up…I’m fucked up. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I love you. You’re not fucked up.”

  I tried to soothe him with my hands and words. He put his face against my neck, and I just held him for the longest time. Even now, with him beside me, dry-eyed and seemingly okay, my heart still feels a little bruised.

  “Remember what I said,” I tell him as we near the store.

  His eyes slide to me, then back to the road.

  “We can’t be who we used to be. You’re someone new. I’m someone new. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if it matters that I know what happened to me here. I’m here with you. I met you, and if you think about it, that’s amazing. That it even happens. Two people who are right for each other meet up, in a world with billions of people. How unlikely is that? I just want to park in front of the store and go inside and then walk to the spot, and when we get back in the car, I think this will be over for me. Really. I’m going to leave it here. In Breckenridge. And when we leave, we won’t come back again on New Year’s.”

  His hand finds mine and squeezes—hard.

  “I love you,” he rasps.

  “I love you.”

  The parking lot is dimly lit. The air is thick with falling snow. The place is quiet: only four cars, and all parked near the back of the small lot. Employees.

  “Care to go inside with me?”

  He nods, and kisses my cheek. I decide when we get back into the car, I’ll do one final thing before I put all this behind me: I will tell him every detail of that night.

  In fact, maybe I’ll start my story when we reach the point of impact.

  It can only be a good thing. Good and healing.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Barrett

  December 31, 2015

  The night is dark. The road is white. The snow-caked trees that crowd the shoulder dangle icicles that click as wind dives down the famous ski slopes, somewhere in the pinkish clouds above us.

  The weather radio said the snow will keep on through tomorrow night. A New Year’s blizzard, maybe twenty inches. This is Breckenridge in winter. Frozen to a crackle. Cloaked in white.

  Gwenna’s breath and mine plume silver in the velvet dark that hangs like a stage curtain over the curved road. Snow is falling fast now, caking our jacket hoods and freezing in a sheen of sparkles. Her coat is the color of a plum—or blood. The thick down softens her form. She reminds me of an animal: one sweet and small, in need of shelter.

  I must be more head-fucked than I thought, because she turns around, her cheeks red, her lashes wet with snowflakes, and I realize she’s about twenty feet ahead of me.

  “Bear?”

  Her large brown eyes are widened slightly—in affection or alarm? Her mouth twitches, then presses into a small, red line. She doesn’t speak, and there’s no need. I know her so well. I can see the worry on her face, the burden of her fear and grief a notch between her brows.

  “Come walk by me and hold my hand.” She pulls her left glove off and reaches for me.

  I oblige her. Anything she wants. With two long strides, I’ve closed the space between us. My hands are ungloved. I told her I forgot my gloves, but that’s a lie. I need to feel the sting.

  Her hand folds around mine and Gwen gasps.

  “Barrett! Brr, I need to warm you up…” She pulls my hand into her jacket sleeve, gripping it tightly. “Crazy man.”

  She laughs, despite the somberness of our affair. Her eyes, wet ink in the moonlight, shine with love—for me.

  “Hang on.” With her right hand, she unzips her jacket. “Come here…”

  She takes my hands and pulls them into her jacket, pressing them atop her sweater, underneath which I can feel her heart beat.

  Her face tilts up to mine, despite the driving snow. “You can’t be leaving gloves at home. It’s so cold. You’ll get frostbite.” Behind her words, there is a smile—a small, lopsided smile she gives me almost all the time. A dreamy smile I love more than life.

  I try my best to return it.

  Her boots shuffle in the snow as she tries to step closer to me. “It’s so freaking cold. Even with a-all these layers.” She shivers, and I pull a hand out of her coat, tucking her close to me and rubbing my hand over her back.

  “Better?”

  “Yes!” Her voice trembles with cold.

  I press her hood over her head and rub behind her neck, down to her shoulder blades, right where she likes.

  “I love you.” Her eyes peek out from behind the faux-fur lining her big hood. I see them crinkle with another smile.

  “I love you too.” I pull her close again, and God, I’d like to keep her here forever, locked against me like a splint.

  “My Bear,” she whispers.

  I sw
allow. We’re not there yet, but I’m starting to feel frozen—on the inside. A deep breath does nothing to thaw me. She rubs my arms through my jacket and smiles at me again. This smile is curious. Perhaps concerned.

  “Your nose is red,” she croons.

  Her sweet voice doesn’t thaw me either, but I still smile. “Yours too.” I hug her close once more, but even that can’t pierce the ice that’s thick inside me.

  We walk on, along the road’s edge, through a deep snowdrift I worry will spill into her boots.

  Somewhere miles away, I hear a lone firework.

  She takes my hand again, searches my face as we walk slowly. “I’m glad you came with me. I’m feeling better than I ever have before. Just knowing that I’m not alone, you know? Jamie used to come with me, but you’re different. I feel…healed or something.”

  My jaw clenches. I force my lips to curve up at the corners. “Good.” I know my eyes on hers are earnest. “That’s good,” I murmur.

  She comes closer to me. We are leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder. I’m walking off the road, so she seems as tall as I am.

  “Bear?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink. “Of course.” I stroke her hand. “I’m supposed to ask you that.”

  She smiles a little, tight and sad. “I am.”

  We’re almost to the bend where the road curves into a copse of trees when pops like mortar sound above us. The clouds are too thick to see the fireworks. They glow faintly—green, pink, gold, purple, blue.

  Gwen’s face looks delicate and beautiful in the changing light. Her eyes hold mine, and she smiles.

  “This is kind of nice.”

  I nod. Her gaze shifts upward, and I struggle to swallow.

  Fuck.

  I shut my eyes. I think about her under me tonight, about the way she leaned up when we both finished and wrapped her arms around me, bringing me down on her.

  “Sweet Bear. Something’s bugging you. I’m going to find out. Unless you decide to tell me. Hmm?”