In his bedroom he stripped her slowly, taking her clothes and paying her permission to touch the utmost respect. She trusted him and he wouldn’t let her down, and that was heady. There was guilt too, that he should be so turned-on by the way she’d responded. She became a trembling, sighing, excited firefly, buzzing where his hands stroked, rubbing against him, and racing her lips across his skin, in constant motion to match his own fervor.
He’d intended to be gentle, to give, not take, to make her pleasure his reason for being, but she wanted more, pushed him to feel his own need as acutely as he’d helped her quit her brain and live in her body.
On the bed, with her below him, he mouthed across her tattoo, tongue tracing the letters, teeth eating the sentiment. Flick had marked her body with her will to master her fate, and right now she’d put that fate in his hands; a lit torch, a sugary treat, a potent drug with the promise of everlasting life, that was his to devour. He could not have enough of her. The scent of her arousal, the sting of her nails on his shoulder, the rough, throaty moans he ripped from her chest and the muscle-twitching intensity he coached from her limbs.
“Oh, Tom. Oh, Tom.”
“What do you need?”
“More.”
Velvet and simmering heat. Fast thrusts into feeling so good he had trouble keeping his eyes open, and when watching her was as exciting as hearing her chase her peak, he had no intention of missing out on the show. Her writhing hips, the bounce of her tits, the ecstasy rippling across her face.
“Don’t stop.”
He had to slow, or he’d rocket past her. Short-circuit the ride and leave her stranded. “Feel this, Flick.” A hard thrust; held. “There’s always this pleasure.” Another. “It’s yours to take.” Another and another, and she cried out as his own tolerance got thready.
He stilled while she shuddered and then took her lips to seal the pleasure inside her. “Enough?”
The lust-dazed look in her eyes faded as she focused. “Almost.”
He got a hand to the hot skin of her ass and pinched, making her jump. “Almost—what’s that supposed to mean, brat?”
She yanked on his neck and spoke against his lips. “There’s more. There’s always more with you. Just when I think I’ve got you worked out, you go and surprise me by being more.”
It was supposed to be about her pleasure, her break from reality, and it became his too. The bed their world, the night their blanket, the heat of each other’s bodies their sustenance. Kisses for air, caresses for reason; heartbeat to heartbeat, the beloved music of a shared existence, separate from the world and time, and all the ways a person was meant to live, and skin to skin, cocooned and indestructibly, immortally, all too momentarily, entwined.
Chapter Fourteen
Reluctant Tom, the man Flick had first moved in with, closed up, got gruff and remote when he was anxious. Tom was anxious about his dad’s pending visit, but he didn’t try to hide it from her. Flick could fall in love with him for that alone.
If she wasn’t a little in love with him already.
Unfortunately, that was the demon shadow of her grief talking and she needed to remember that. Anyone would be moved by the way Tom cared for her. He’d made time to ease her loneliness, gave her space to break down, took her to bed and made the kind of love to her she hadn’t known existed.
She’d wanted to forget, to be reminded that the pain of Drew dying would be a part of her but not a constant. Tom had done something more than reroute her sorrow-stuck thoughts. He’d unearthed her and sent her floating and then brought her home safely, somehow stronger for having been pulled apart.
Again, the gremlin grief doing her thinking.
She needed to be smart and not read too much into that one intense encounter last night that began with tears and ended with the semblance of love. It was consolation, like all the meals Tom cooked and all the nights he’d slept beside her, but pushed to the extreme and bent into a shape that’d pleased them both, made Flick feel easier in her skin and Tom comfortable enough not to hide his apprehension.
From Flick’s point of view, this was easily solved. “I’ll move out for a few days when he gets here. I can couch surf or stay in a hotel. It’s no big deal. It’s a few nights.”
Tom paced between the refrigerator and the counter. “You’re not moving out.”
“It’s only fair.”
He opened the fridge and stared into it. “You live here.” He came back and slapped a packet of diced beef on the counter. “He’s passing through to do a surprise inspection.”
She didn’t know what to make of that. By all objective standards, Tom was a success. What could his father possibly find fault with? Unless it was his choice of roommate. “It shouldn’t be awkward between you and your dad because of me. And he needs a bed. I’ll move out.”
“Shit, Flick.” Tom banged a pan on the stove top. “That’s not the issue. He can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the sectional.”
“I’m over here on a stool at the counter in the good old USA and you’re way out on a space station where time has a different meaning and the oxygen is thin.”
He stopped fussing with the stove and looked over his shoulder at her with an exasperated expression. She made him frown harder when she said, “You’re also speaking in an alien language I can’t understand. He’s your dad. What’s the big deal here?”
“He will get in your face and grill you.” Tom came to the counter and put his hand down over hers. “He will judge and pick and deliberately try to upset you. It’s what he does.”
“I’m reading your signal.”
“You do not have to put up with that. Especially now. I told him I didn’t want him here, but the last time he listened to a request from me was when I was seventeen and asked to borrow the car.”
“He didn’t let you take it?”
“He made me repeat myself, and then he laughed so hard, in front of my terrified date; she dumped me before we got out the front door, and it wasn’t because we had to walk.”
“Sick burn.”
He blinked, then laughed at himself. “We’re never more than five thought tangents away from being that kid who got slapped down by a parent, no matter how old we get.” He groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Or is that just me?”
He was too delicious not to mess with. “It’s just you.”
He scrubbed his face and made a growly sound. “You’re not hungry, I see.”
“You’ve met me, you’ve bedded me. You know I’m hungry. You also know I’m stubborn, but in this instance, I’m also confused. The easiest thing here is that I move out, temporarily, but that’s not what you want. Also, that pan is smoking.”
He swore and took the pan off the heat. “You’ve had a bad week. I don’t want you to have to think about this, but I needed to warn you he might make things uncomfortable.”
“You don’t have to tell him anything about us. I’m just the temporary roommate.” Unless she stayed, and then what would she and Tom become? If there was no grief gremlin, if there was no feeling of obligation on his side. She liked him too much not to want to speculate about a future where they weren’t temporary.
“He knows we’re roommates. I want to move you into my bed and punch his lights out if he so much as raises an eyebrow in judgment at you.”
“Oh.” Well then. That.
“But that’s not fair to you and it’s not like you’d ordinarily need me to go all white-knight for you, but his timing fucking sucks.”
“What if we do a radical thing?” That got him to quirk his head and close one eye. “We let me decide what to do?”
He put his back to her and banged the pan on the stove again, this time deliberately, which made her laugh. He wasn’t angry, he was frustrated and had a bad case of parent blindness. Flick knew it well. She’d never introduced a date to her pa
rents because the memory of how they’d reacted to Drew—as if he was a deviant and deserved the problem that was their rebel daughter—didn’t leave room to imagine a better outcome.
“And what would that decision be?” He came back to the counter and leaned on it so they were eye-level.
Easy. “I’m your roommate. I live here.”
He smiled. Straight shot of lust to the loins with a ricochet to all her erogenous zones. There was the width of the counter between them. She closed some of it by leaning on her elbows too. There was nothing but kindness in his eyes. If you’d asked her two months ago if she wanted to kiss Tom O’Connell, she’d have suggested it would be cruel and unusual punishment for something she’d not yet done. A preventative for regret. Now, now her lips tingled thinking about it.
“My dad is a charming snake, with special-issue stealth-attack fangs. He lets you think he’s sleeping, strikes quickly and leaves puncture wounds that sting for days—” he shook his head “—years. It’s why we get on better when we live on opposite sides of the country.”
“Does he like younger women? I should introduce him to Elsie.”
Good line, but it didn’t get her kissed. Tom’s laugh was joined by the sizzle of the beef. He cooked up a casserole and Flick ate for the sheer enjoyment of the meal instead of to please Tom, for the first time since she’d spoken to Drew. That was cause for another wave of uncertainty to crash over her. She was allowed to eat and laugh and love Tom’s arms around her and the thrill and comfort of his kisses, just like she had before she’d gotten Drew’s news, but it all felt wrong, like she was wearing something frivolous and cheap to the most important meeting of her life.
They messed about after dinner, Tom in the kitchen, Flick on her social feed, avoiding the question of who slept where for so long it got awkward and Flick spoke up on her way to bed. “I’ll be fine on my own tonight.”
That was supposed to be the truth, but the words were stale and thick in her mouth and they made her feel like a liar. And she wasn’t fine. She got into an argument with a troll on Twitter about the societal value of universal healthcare that she knew better than to start, but it stopped her getting up and wandering around the apartment because it would be unforgivable if she woke Tom again. The thing she most wanted to do was crawl into his bed and fall asleep to the rhythm of his inevitable steady breathing and the knowledge that the wall of him was at her back.
She was awake and eating cornflakes when the door buzzer rang at five. Sun wasn’t fully up yet and Tom wouldn’t surface for another hour. She pressed the intercom for the door. “Apartment fifteen.”
“Is it?”
Cheeky at this time of the morning. “Who’s asking?”
“Nicholas O’Connell. Apartment fifteen is where my son lives.” His son and his roommate, which Nicholas O’Connell knew full well.
“He’s asleep right now.”
“Be a good girl and wake him up then.” As if she was the maid, or the inconsequential girlfriend.
She didn’t need to deal with it because Tom appeared in the hallway, rubbing his face. He was spectacularly rumpled, as though he hadn’t slept much either. “Is that my goddamn father?”
She nodded. “Do I let him up?”
“Goddamn.” He reached over her and pressed the intercom. “Dad. There’s an early opener on the corner. Sunshine Bakery. Come back in an hour.” He disconnected the intercom and dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Should’ve figured he’d do this. Stealth fangs. I’m sorry he woke you.”
She gestured to the cereal box and her bowl on the counter. “I was up.”
He ducked his head to look at her more closely. “Did you sleep at all?”
She wanted to run her fingers over his stubble, press into him and feel his strength. She made do with putting her palms on his chest. “What’s the game plan?”
“I’m guessing he already made you feel like you were some dispensable one-night stand. Take no shit from him.”
“I can do that.”
He put his arms around her and drew her close. Put his lips to her forehead. She knew if she lifted her face they’d kiss. She wanted that. He wanted that. Forget grief and consolation, forget expectation and obligation. They’d become something to each other independent of those things. Roommates with benefits and a shelf life. Occasional lovers. Friends.
She’d talked of staying, but they both knew she wouldn’t. Now that the shock had worn off some, she knew the way to honor Drew was to make her way forward. She’d started briefing her replacement yesterday, so the time to say, hey, can I keep this job? had passed and she didn’t mourn it.
Tom was a most worthy man, but he lived in the wrong city and she’d met him at a complicated time. It would be unfair to muddle it further.
“Your dad will be back in an hour.” And they both had to get to work.
Fourteen hours later she met Nick O’Connell face-to-face at a restaurant Tom had picked because he said it would be better to break the ice over bread. She sat across from father and son with the menu, tossing up pasta against risotto and trying not to be obvious about checking Nick over.
He’d politely shaken her hand and then pulled out her chair, pushed it in as she sat and proceeded to say nothing while he studied the menu too. Flick couldn’t identify what he was doing to make Tom tense, but Tom was like a massive iceberg on the other side of her. As still and silent as his father.
“Tom said this was a surprise visit. What brings you to the city?” she said.
Nick spared her the briefest glance. “It’s Tom’s birthday in a month. It was more convenient to visit now.”
She looked at Tom, who looked at his place setting. She’d need to do something about that and about opening the conversation up again. “What are your plans for being here?”
“No specific plans.”
Open questions, closed answers. Tom said meeting in public would be easier. “This is my chance to get all the stories about Tom as a kid.”
The waiter arrived to effectively stifle that ambitious conversational thread. They all ordered pasta. Once he’d left she tried again with something less challenging. “You’re a builder, Nick. What made you want to build houses?”
“What made you want to be a lobbyist?” he said.
So that’s how it was going to go. “Influence makes the world go around. I wanted to learn how to use it to do good for people who don’t have a voice of their own.”
This was usually where the other more reluctant party shared. She got snake fangs. “You’re a meddler.”
“I believe the whole of society wins when its population is healthy and has opportunity.”
“Damn lobbyists with their bankrolls interfere in things they know nothing about.”
“That’s not—”
“It’s legitimized corruption.”
“Dad,” Tom said in warning.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. What I do and what Tom does are not worlds apart. He helps sell products and I help sell ideas.”
“Tom had the choice to do something more meaningful.”
Tom breathed out heavily. “I am a disappointment, according to Dad.”
Nick wasn’t finished. “I’m assuming you had a choice too.”
She had the value of it tattooed on her skin. Her choices all the way. “Since I think fighting for the rights of people less fortunate is the best thing I can do with my time, I’m going to disagree with you. I’m one of the good guys,” she said, trying to keep it light.
“See that you are.” Nick O’Connell poured himself a fresh glass of water. After the chair act, which demonstrated he had excellent manners when he wanted to use them, it was a deliberate slight not to also top her glass or Tom’s. He really didn’t like lobbyists and he had no respect for his son.
He was a handsome man, weathered from working outdoor
s, and Tom’s height and build. Where Tom could look grumpy, Nick wore a permanent look of displeasure. If he was like this when Tom was a kid, he’d have been a challenging parent.
When their meals arrived, both men focused on eating. “I get it—strong, silent types.” They made her want to scream.
“We talked earlier,” Tom said, like they had a quota of words and had used them all and there were penalties for going over. She grimaced at him, but he missed it because his eyes stayed down on his penne alla cardinale. The artichokes in it must’ve been acting the part, choking off his civility, because that’s all he said.
It was the most staggeringly uncomfortable social event Flick could remember attending, and her own family had manufactured some humdingers. There was often shouting and name-calling and a walkout wasn’t unexpected, but it wasn’t this silent, judgmental horror show. Nick was detached, cold and remote, and Tom was reduced, resentful and shut-down.
She excused herself early and went home so she could be in her room when they got back. The plan was to avoid Nick for the three nights he was spending in the apartment, and with early starts and eating her meals out, that wouldn’t be difficult.
It was tempting to run her vibrator at high speed just to pester Nick in Tom’s room, but she figured that would only make it more awkward for Tom, so she refrained from that particular naughtiness.
At 2 a.m. she woke and couldn’t go back to sleep. She went to the kitchen for a drink, and almost woke the neighborhood. The figure on the sectional was Tom, but she’d forgotten he was going to be there and let out a yip that had him sit upright.
“What?”
“Oh, God. Sorry. I forgot you were there.”
Tom groaned and lay back down. “You didn’t get up in the middle of the night when I slept with you.”
True. She’d been exhausted; sleep had been easier to get a good grip on. “Go back to sleep.”
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