by M. C. Cerny
“Candles, James?” Lifting my eyebrow, I remark about them, and his face falls.
“Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Are they okay? I can get rid of them if they bother you. Damn it, I’m an idiot.” He reaches to hold me in his arms, and I realize I’m very okay as long as James is holding me here like this.
“Stop.” My voice is so hoarse I have to clutch my throat to make sure it’s still a part of me. His fingers trace the column of skin and I try to swallow some moisture down. James turns away for a moment to run the sink. He hands me a glass of water and I swallow what I can to clear my throat before speaking. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” Nodding, I smile, and James nods back understanding.
“They smell nice.” Vanilla permeates the bathroom which looks more like a spa.
He lifts up my top, leaving my breasts bare to the steamy air, my skin pebbling. He pulls the elastic band of the pants down, taking the cotton underwear with them. He’s excruciatingly gentle, and I feel like a treasured piece of glass.
“In you go.” James holds my hand and helps me lift my tired legs over the lip of the tub. I sink down into sweet-smelling water and bubbles. “Before I forget; lift your arm up.” James holds out a clear plastic bag and some medical tape, which he puts over my injured hand. He wraps it carefully so as not to get it wet and rests it on a folded hand towel on the side of the tub. It’s sweet and caring, and tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
“Thank you.” Muttering seems like all I can manage right now, overwhelmed as the events of the day weigh heavily on my mind.
“You need to rest those pipes of yours.” I shrug and let the water calm my racing heart. He grips my chin firmly to look into my eyes. “Oh, I’m far from done with you. Scoot forward.”
And just like that, James makes every past boyfriend look like a completely useless asshole. He removes his jeans and shirt and slides in behind me on the seat inside the tub, cradling me back against his chest. Hot muscles and warm water take the chill away, and he rests his chin on my shoulder. “I hope this is okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I know today has been trying, to say the least.” I nod, and he kisses my neck before reaching for a washcloth.
“That was probably one of the worst scares of my life, getting your call this morning and having no idea what to expect.” Keeping silent, I squeeze his free hand with my good one, and he seems to understand.
“As much as I don’t want to admit it, Devin did a brave thing by getting you out of there. I owe him for being there when I wasn’t.”
Hearing James acquiesce makes me snort because it’s so unlike him.
“Hush, Casey.”
James tortures me by dragging the subtly abrasive cotton cloth over my chest, down my stomach, and between my legs. I think about scrubbing my kitchen counter with the rough sponge, and the coarse cloth rubs my breasts, stimulating the peaks into hard nubs that jut at the water’s surface. It doesn’t have to be sexual, and yet I can’t help myself from going there. His cock pushes up between us and rests against my back. He presses his hips flush to me, and the hard length makes me want every piece of him I can get with a newfound desperation. Gasping, he kisses my cheek tenderly, and I let my eyes slide closed. It’s just the two of us in our safe little cocoon on the thirtieth floor. We’ve nowhere to go, nothing to do.
“I like having you like this—captive to my touch.” He slides his fingers south, slipping them between my thighs easily, his fingertip pressing gently on my clit. Energy hums through me while he plays, sliding slick fingers up and down my folds. “You are the softest thing I’ve ever touched and the only thing I want.”
He slips further down, spreading my legs wider in the tub, and I lean back, opening to him. He plays—pressing lightly but not penetrating me. James has this intuition, knowing when to push forward and when to retreat. A finger circles lower to the forbidden ring, teasing and testing. “Someday, all of this will be mine. But not today.” On a growl, he pushes the tip in, grazing me, and I realize how much I want it to happen. How much I would let it happen.
“P-please.” I’m so close to an orgasm, and he knows it.
“Relax, Casey, and let me worry about everything.” His hand makes calming strokes under the water while that fingertip rubs over me and inside, just a little deeper each time. One little push, a suck on my neck, and a pinch of my nipple sends me spiraling down into pleasure so unexpected it bends me forward, clutching the tub with my good hand.
Chest heaving and riding the waves of my orgasm, I can’t wait to pay him back when I’m feeling better. Right now, I just feel happy and grateful to be alive.
30
James
She sleeps undisturbed, and I sit in the chair next to my bed, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically. I have phone calls and emails to return, my tablet resting in my lap untouched because I don’t want to work right now, especially if it takes time away from her.
She’s propped up on pillows to help with her breathing. The medication seems to be helping, but she sounds god-awful to listen to. The wheezing rattle has kept me awake and watchful the past few hours; I’m petrified she might stop breathing even though logic tells me differently.
My phone chirps with an incoming call from Eli Bennett. I instructed him to call me at any hour, day or night, with information. I get up from my vigil and head for the living room to answer the call.
“Bennett, I’ve been expecting your call.” We’re all business, hashing out details on how to proceed further. Between Casey and my company, somebody is barking up the wrong tree fucking with my most precious assets.
“I know… DC held me up, but I’m working on getting all the video feed in the neighborhood. You know traffic cameras can be very useful even after their pilot programs have run out of funding.”
“If this is from that Homeland Security business, I don’t need to know the specifics.”
“You’re right. If I told you, I’d probably have to eliminate you.” Eli Bennett laughs like his joke holds some other meaning, and I brush the dark humor back. I don’t pay him for his sarcastic humor and currently this situation has been nothing but a stalemate.
“Did anything come up so far?”
“I’m trying to rule out the neighbor.”
“Devin? The gamer nerd?” That guy did not strike me as anything more than an annoyance. “He saved her from the fire.” I later learned he rode in the front seat of the ambulance while she was in the back with the paramedic. He found me in the hospital when I was a raving lunatic to get to her.
“That would be the one. In his statement, he told the police he was playing Halo, but so far I haven’t been able to find his call sign logged in online anywhere to verify that’s what he was actually doing.”
I wasn’t going to ask how one hacked into an online server to learn those details.
“Shit.”
“Look, I’m not saying he had anything to do with it so calm down. I don’t need you going around halfcocked. However, I don’t totally buy his story, either. Dumb kid was probably smoking up and high for all we know accidentally setting the fire and too scared to admit it. I’m also going to download his phone records so I’m covering all the bases.”
“Right, okay.”
“I plan to stop by and talk to Casey later and also make sure your penthouse has an updated security system. At this point, we might as well break out all the bells and whistles, just in case.” Eli ends the call, and I’m left overthinking the just in case memo he’s left me to ponder.
I go back to the bedroom, tossing my phone on the nightstand, and sleepy eyes open. Casey greets me with a small smile. “You should be sleeping.” I sit next to her on the bed, raising my brow. She points to the clock that reads 6:47 p.m. “Hungry, then?” A mischievous look crosses her face, making me laugh. “For food?” I clarify the statement, gesturing uncertainly. “I’ll grab some menus and we can order.” I rise from the bed, and her hand catches mine.
&nb
sp; “T-thank you.” The words are a whispered garble, and her voice sounds worse than before. I wonder how much damage the fire did to her vocal cords, but we still have days to wait before we find that out.
“For you, babe, anything.” I lean down to kiss her and go back to the kitchen, hunting for food.
I’m paging through menus because I can’t cook for shit, I never had to think about cooking for myself or anyone else before Casey. A knock at the door surprises me. I’m not expecting Eli to come by yet—we just got off the phone. I open the door, and it’s one of the concierge staff with a delivery. The guy’s face is covered by the balloons and flowers he’s holding.
“Delivery for Miss Cole, sir.” I take the vase of flowers and balloons hesitantly and pull money from my wallet to give him a tip. They appear harmless, the guys downstairs are supposed to vet all deliveries anyway.
“Any idea who sent them?” Shrugging, he nods no and leaves. I shut the door and place the flowers on the dining room table not giving them a second thought. “Casey, babe, delivery for you.” Preoccupied, I go back to searching for a selection of take-out menus and watch her hobble out of the bedroom from the corner of my eye. Part of me wants to rush over and carry her to wherever she would like to go, but I know she’d balk and fight me the entire time. At least this way we can both have what we want. I get her in my apartment, safe and under the illusion of complete independence. I’m not a total jerk but I’m determined to get my way.
“J-James!” Casey’s voice screeches my name, and I rush over, dropping menus all over the floor.
“Sit, tell me.” She slides the card across the glass tabletop toward me, and I pick it up, dreading whatever this is.
It’s a note. But not just any note, one that dredges up the past, when Casey first started doing the radio show and adapted it to Casey’s Confessions. The stalker issue I’d dealt with… or so I thought.
My Night Owl,
I’ve missed your show, could it be after one too many
rejections your wings have been clipped?
Regards,
Your Most Devoted Fan
“Fuck. I need to make a call.” On shaky legs I stand up and reach for my phone. “Eli, this is worse than we thought.”
Eli comes over right away and explores the apartment, making phone calls and assurances that his people will update some of the existing security in the building and specifically for the apartment. Cameras will record the comings and goings, and updated security clearance will be needed for those living and visiting the building especially anyone coming to the penthouse floor.
I’m mollified for the moment because the man standing in my home has experience killing hostiles. It’s not that I’m squeamish, far from it. I’m filled with rage, and I don’t think I can trust myself to not go apeshit on the wrong person right now. My temper is something that Casey can’t stand, and I’m motivated to change that. Eli can focus my rage into something useful while doing the dirty work for me.
“Tell me about the delivery.” Eli examines the vase. It’s nondescript clear glass from any run-of-the-mill florist shop in Philadelphia. The flowers are soft, pink, with delicate petals, and cheap. The balloons are mini boom boxes and music notes attached with black ribbon. The note is plain card stock and handwritten. It never occurred to me to connect the separate events. The mysterious admirer seemed to have stopped on his own months ago, and I never wanted Casey to be troubled with the deliveries of fan mail or inappropriate gifts zealous admirers would send her on occasion.
“It was a guy from the staff at the downstairs desk who brought it up. I know I’ve seen him working here before. I tipped him twenty bucks and sent him on his way. I didn’t really look at him or question him further, and I should have. The whole thing feels weird, and I’m second-guessing myself.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself; it doesn’t mean he was the guy. I’ll have to track him down and check which florist was used to see if we can get any other answers.” He makes notes on a tablet and calls one of his guys, someone he calls the Preacher, to run some background information for him. The wait makes me anxious, but there’s nothing I can do, and I fucking hate it.
“I’ve got a file at the office with some of the other letters Casey received at work. They’re similar to this one, but it stopped months ago.” Eli nods and lets me know he’ll stop by to pick them up tomorrow.
“Look, this could be some random thing—a copycat, if you will—or all connected. I’m going to get some answers and we’re going to get this guy. I just need the two of you to remain calm and stick to your regular routine.” We look at each other, puzzled. None of this runs in our regular routine. “Or… just do what new couples do.” He shakes his head, muttering about relationships being a pain in the ass, and goes back to making notes on his tablet.
He speaks to Casey, asking simple questions she can answer with a nod or a shake, and I’m grateful he doesn’t push her. He seems satisfied with her answers and promises to be in touch tomorrow with another update. We’re all baffled by what is happening. The short list of suspects doesn’t help, and it’s not narrowing down productively.
31
Casey
It’s a week and two days later—the following Friday, to be exact—and the day of my dreaded follow-up doctor appointment has arrived. Nerves reverberate through my body, followed by chills of uncertainty. James and I have been living in our ivory tower, protected and secluded from the outside world. He’s been working from his home office, giving some lame excuse that he wants to keep me company during my recovery. He’s forbidden me from doing anything. I am more than recovered and going looney tunes being cooped up.
I tried to clean, and he removed all the cleaning supplies after the bathtub cleanser irritated my burn. I tried filing his papers from the office but managed to mess up his PA’s system and misplaced an important contract. I swear that woman Michelle hates me. She hissed at me grabbing files when she stopped by to check in with James over a coming meeting he planned to skype from his home office. Her innuendo was hard to miss that I was only good for the bedroom and not the radio.
I tried arranging his clothes in the closet by color and season, so he tied me to the bed and practiced his ice-cream-cone-licking technique until I cried uncle and promised not to touch another thing in the apartment. It was awful, I swear… Okay, so that one wasn’t so bad, but still…
My recovery consists of boring hours spent sitting on his luxurious couch with the remote for reality television, and take-out food since James doesn’t cook and I’m not much of one, either. I wanted to take a walk on his treadmill and he removed the plug adapter for the outlet. My hand is burned, with cuts all over it, but I only need one hand to change the channel on his sixty-inch screen TV. He’s a tad bit overprotective. I’ve used my voice as sparingly as possible, and the little I have varies between “soundless hot mess” and “party girl smoker after a hard night.” Radio as a career is clearly out as far as I can tell, and an unexpected depression settles heavy over my heart. It’s terrible; I fear whatever career I might have had left doing voice-overs or audible books is over, too.
We sit inside his car in front of the doctor’s office, waiting. “Whatever the doctor says, I want you to remain hopeful.” James hasn’t let go of the steering wheel. Instead, he’s gripping it, white-knuckled, like a lifeline, and his energy isn’t helping the nerves in my stomach. I wonder who needs to be calm and hopeful, me or him?
“I know… but…”
James is shaking his head and looking at me, concerned.
“Babe, we will get through this.” He reaches for me, our mouths just barely touching, and our eyes connect. He doesn’t have to say anything else as he grips the back of my neck pulling me in closer and kissing me hard. His fingers tangle in my hair and the strength of his grip is reassuring. I wonder how we’ll get through this. Some crazed stalker fan who’s sent me gifts in the past is conceivably the creep who got into the radio station, saw
us together, made an audio sex tape of us, and aired it. Maybe they set my apartment building on fire, maybe not, and then sent flowers to James’ apartment.
Eli Bennett, the security expert James hired, is still looking things over but has no leads yet. The flowers had been purchased a block away with a prepaid gift card and the call from the shop also came from a prepaid cell phone, the number already disconnected. The past two weeks have been one huge question-filled nightmare.
We enter the office through a back door in the parking lot. I fill out a ton of paper work, and James takes it up to the receptionist. He opens his wallet, and a silver card flashes as he hands it to the woman behind the glass. I hate that he’s paying for this, but I’m too upset to stop him.
“Miss Cole?” A nurse directs me to an exam room, and James follows closely behind.
James brushes my hair off my shoulder to speak softly against my neck, his lips grazing the skin. “I’ve always wondered what making out in a doctor’s office would be like.”
Turning my head, I put my hands on my hips and glare at him over my shoulder.
“Ah… Too soon?” The snarky smile I’ve grown accustomed to turns into a kiss on my cheek, and he steps back.
“Pervert.” I force the hoarse whisper out, and James nods. No matter how crazy things have been, he’s been supportive and caring through it all. I’ll be happy to have some answers about my voice today. I sit on the exam table, and James stands against the wall in the corner, casually observing.
“Hello, hello. I’m Doctor Lewis. I understand you experienced some smoke inhalation early last week in a fire and…” He looks down at my chart. “You work on the radio, correct?” He’s a jovial sort of doctor, which could grate on your nerves, but since I’m trying to remain hopeful about my voice, I nod and wait for him to continue.