by Leisa Rayven
“Uh . . . what?”
Avery grins at me. He’s up to no good. “You’ve had firsthand experience, right? Is Holt a good lover? Or is it all a big act? Come on, be honest. He couldn’t find your G-spot with both hands and a sat-nav, am I right?”
“Shut up, Jack,” Ethan says as his smile fades.
Avery laughs and slaps the table. “Aw, come on! You guys have been broken up for a million years. Surely we can talk about this stuff now without Holt’s head exploding. Give us the deets. Did he rock your world?”
Three months ago, this question would have made me apoplectic. Now I’m kind of tempted to answer it simply to see Ethan’s reaction.
But I don’t, and Jack gives up on me. “What about you, Holt? On a scale of one to ten, where do you put Taylor on the hotness meter?”
Ethan laughs and glances at me as he shakes his head. Crawling pinkness slides up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“Rate her!” Avery says, goading him. He starts up a chant. “Rate her! Rate her! Rate her!” Lucas and Zoe join him. So do Miranda and Aiyah. Random passersby, who have no idea what the hell we’re talking about, stop and clap.
“For fuck’s sake.” Ethan runs a hand through his hair. The chanting continues. “You’re a prick, Avery. Okay, okay!”
The clapping dies down and Ethan looks at me as he talks to Jack.
“You really want to know where Taylor sits on the hotness scale?”
“Hell, yes!” Jack is almost vibrating with excitement.
Ethan’s stare paints every inch of my skin with tiny shivers.
“On a scale of one to ten . . .”
“Yeah?”
Ethan licks his lips. I do the same. I think I stop breathing.
“She’s about a thirty-five.”
Everyone exhales, me included.
For a second, Avery’s lost for words. Then he says, “Jesus Ass-Slapping Christ. Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Ethan hasn’t stopped looking at me, and I don’t think I could look away if I tried.
“Taylor? Care to comment?” Jack asks.
“Not really.” I’m too busy swallowing excess saliva.
“Don’t make me chant again. Just give Holt a number out of ten.”
“For sex?”
“Yeah!”
Ethan raises one perfectly sexy eyebrow. I reward it with a smug smile.
“Ten.”
Avery’s jaw hits the floor. “Are you shitting me? Why does he get a ten?”
“Because that’s how many orgasms he gave me in one night.” The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to be embarrassed.
Avery laughs. “No, really.”
“Really.”
His face falls, and he looks between us and blinks. Everyone is very quiet. Zoe is staring at Ethan like he’s the incarnation of a mythical sex god.
“Well, fuck me. And you guys broke up WHY?!”
It’s a good question. Sitting here knowing the myriad things he seems to be thinking about doing to me, I have no good answer.
*
Before I even get to the party, I know he’s there. Every part of me is tingling in anticipation. I’ve waxed, shaved, and exfoliated so thoroughly, I feel frictionless. Like a shark ready for a victim.
Only one victim will do.
It’s going to be tonight. It has to be. I can’t take not having him anymore.
I’ve dressed the part in a skin-tight black sheath I’ve borrowed from Ruby, along with heeled boots. It’s a little more dressy than my usual jeans and T-shirt, but I need every advantage. If he’s going to try to resist, this dress will convince him.
As soon as I walk through the door, he’s staring at me. He’s trying to hide his desperation, but it’s written all over his face. I don’t let him see how he affects me. Showing him all my cards isn’t part of this game. I feign disinterest and graze his crotch with my butt as I pass him on the way to the kitchen.
Not playing fair but definitely playing to win.
He’s drinking beer. I grab one, too. Then I brush past him again on the way out. He makes a sound of frustration, but he doesn’t touch me.
He’s just delaying the inevitable.
Back in the living room, Avery is setting up shots of tequila. Holt and I share a look. It speaks volumes. Without talking, we line up for our turn. I grab his hand, lick it, then cover it in salt. Lick it again to make it perfectly clean. Graze it with my teeth. His expression is pure sex as I sip and suck. He uses my clavicle. Sprinkles me. Sucks me clean. Makes me feel dirty in a good way.
We line up again.
This time we use other people, because we don’t want our friends becoming suspicious. We watch each other, though.
The shots are an excuse, and we both know it. We want to lose control. We’re both strung so tight, the only choice is to snap.
Already, I can see layers of protection sliding away as the booze works on him.
It’s only a matter of time.
Three shots later, I can’t hide that I’m staring, while I imagine the parts I want to touch. I nurse a bottle of beer and suck on it suggestively. He’s trying to carry on a conversation with Lucas and failing, big time.
When someone cranks up the music, I dance. I close my eyes and sway to the beat. There are bodies all around me, but as soon as he’s there, I feel it in my belly. It’s a low, hungry burn that will only be soothed by him. I find him behind me without even opening my eyes. He sways against me, one arm around my waist. I wind my fingers through his hair and tug as his groan vibrates into my back. I wonder if people are gossiping about us yet. Even if they are, I’m beyond caring.
He drops his head to my shoulder, a supplicant in the making. I turn and whisper, “I can feel how hard you are.” He tightens his arm around my waist as he pulls me back against his erection.
“You walk into this party looking like sex in woman form and expect me to be anything but hard? That’s fucking laughable.”
I grind into him. Make him exhale between his teeth. Then I move away and turn to look at him as I dance with others, trying to disguise how oblivious I am to anyone but him. Another arm winds around my waist and pulls me back to a firm chest. Shorter than Ethan. Smells good.
Connor.
“What the hell did you do to Holt?” he whispers as he spins me around to face him. “He looks like he wants to murder you.”
I turn to look at Ethan. Yeah, he looks murderous, but it isn’t aimed at me.
“Oh, you know,” I say as I take a step back. “He’s uptight, as usual.”
More than usual. Way more.
“You need me to protect you or whatever?”
I almost laugh. If anyone needs protection tonight, it’s Ethan. I’m the predator. He’s my well-endowed prey. “No, I’m good. Thanks for the offer though.” I hug him, short and perfunctory. By the time I turn around, I’ve forgotten he was even there.
Then I push through the crowd and head toward the bathroom. I brush past Ethan on the way and run my hand across the front of his pants. Squeeze. Keep going. Don’t look back.
I get inside the bathroom seconds before he’s there, pushing me backward and slamming the door behind us. He grabs me, equal parts angry and horny.
Before he has a chance to speak I push him against the wall and kiss him. At last I get to show him the full extent of my need. It only takes a second for him to kiss me back, then all bets are off. We’re rough and demanding, and even as he mutters that we shouldn’t, he knows very well we’re going to. Within three seconds, I have his jeans unbuttoned, and he’s in my hand. So hard and perfect.
I squeeze, then pump him gently. His head hits the wall. I kneel in front of him and look up. A single pleading moan signals his utter surrender.
“Fuck. Please, Cassie.” My ego explodes
. This is the man who said we couldn’t be friends. Who swore we shouldn’t be lovers. Who broke my heart by listening to his ridiculous paranoia. Now, he’s begging me to put my mouth on him. His noble intentions are forgotten in the face of the things he knows I can make him feel.
I smile up at him. Sex is power. Sex lets me have this part of him and believe it’s enough.
He begs me again, and I give in. His legs almost give out. I smile as I take him in farther. I’ll never not marvel over the texture of him. The taste. The tight noise he makes in the back of his throat every time I sweep my tongue over him.
Within a minute, I have him on the edge. I leave him there. Stand. Step back. He takes a moment to realize before he opens his eyes and delves into his jeans pocket. Then he rips the condom packet open with his teeth and rolls it on in record time.
Within seconds, he has my panties down and off. No foreplay needed. That’s what we’ve been doing for weeks now. He pushes me against the wall and pulls my leg up to his hip then kisses me hard. He’s rough, and I welcome it. I know he hates how much control I have when we’re like this. He wants to punish me. All he achieves is getting me more aroused.
Then he’s there, and pushing, and inside, and oh . . . oh . . . God, I needed this. Him. We both freeze, mid-kiss. I open my eyes and pull back a little. He’s looking at me, frowning and trying to stay detached. But how can he when we’re joined so completely?
He moves, slowly, sinuously. Takes his time and revels in my response. Nothing seems quite so black and white anymore. I cling to him as he enfolds me. We kiss and moan while we pant in time with the rhythm of our bodies. It all feels so good. Like we were born to be part of each other this way.
I shake my head to clear it of thoughts beyond this moment. Shut down and concentrate on the feeling of him thrusting. Where we’re joined, the physical pleasure screams almost loud enough to drown out everything else.
Almost.
Our pace becomes frantic. The rougher he is, the harder it is for me to stay quiet.
After being so strung out for so long, neither of us lasts very long. Certainly not long enough to purge all of our tension.
My orgasm is blinding. His seems to go on forever. I kiss him as he groans through it and let some of his essence bleed through a tiny chink in my armor. I hide it away and pretend it’s not the most precious thing I own.
When we’ve both recovered, he tries to stay inside of me, but I have to get out. I’ve had my fix, and that’s all I need.
Just sex.
I don’t need him.
I tidy myself up and leave without saying a word.
Just take my waning power and go.
EIGHTEEN
POWERPLAY
Present Day
New York City, New York
Graumann Theater
It’s our first day rehearsing on the main stage of the theater. As I step through the door, a thrill runs through me. There’s just something about the energy of it. The peeling walls and thick wool curtains. Memorabilia from decades of productions. Scrawled messages on the bricks backstage, cataloging the history and traditions of the theater.
Our production intern, Cody, meets me and hands me a cup of coffee before he shows me to my dressing room. Like most dressing rooms, it’s not glamorous, but it resonates with the vibrations of all the performers who’ve been there before. I take a minute to just sit in front of the mirrors and close my eyes to drink in the ambiance.
I haven’t spoken to Ethan since Sunday night, although I’ve thought of little else. I spent all of Monday and Tuesday reading his journals and alternating between wanting to smash him in the face and wanting to fuck him thoroughly.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at his journals from our senior year. Right now, I think it would do more harm than good.
I feel someone behind me. When I turn I find him there, leaning against the doorframe and staring with an intensity that makes me look away.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
The weight of a million questions hangs in the air, but he doesn’t say anything. He wants to know what I think about what I’ve read. I’d tell him, but I have no clue. He wants to know if it’s making things better between us, if understanding equals absolution. It doesn’t, but it’s not by choice. If I were able to banish every ounce of mistrust in the blink of an eye, this whole situation would be resolved by now. I’d be healed, he’d be grateful, and we’d spend countless nights gasping our happiness into each other’s skin.
That would be nice, but I’m not there yet.
“You okay?” he says.
I stand and go to look through my costumes. It doesn’t take long. I only have three. Still, I graze my hands over all the seams, suddenly nervous. Some of it has to do with him and some with the realization that in three days we’ll be performing in front of a preview audience. Either way, I’m terrified of disappointing someone.
“I guess,” I say. “Feel a little bit like I’m going to vomit.”
“Me, too.”
“You’re hiding it better than I am.”
“I think I’m just more used to it by now. Want to snuggle?”
His question catches me off guard. My hand freezes on the sleeve of my dress.
“Uh . . .”
I feel him behind me before he runs his finger along my costume, just above my frozen hand. When he speaks, his breath is warm against my ear. “It used to help, remember? Both of us. Plus, I think I’ll go insane if I don’t touch you. Strictly platonically, of course.”
I can’t look up. Can’t even touch his finger.
“Cassie?” He touches my hair and smoothes it back over my shoulder. “I’m not asking you for sex. Or even a kiss. I just want to hold you.”
It’s not just holding. It never was. It’s intimate.
I’m saved from turning him down when Elissa appears at the door.
“Hey, you two. We’re about to start the tech run. Can I get you onstage in costume, please? Be prepared to be patient. Marco likes to take his runs nice and slow.”
She disappears and I step away from Ethan. He sighs and hands me my costume.
“This is what you’re wearing for Act One?”
I nod.
“No wonder I fall in love with you.”
He gives me a smile that’s part affection, part patience.
For some reason, it makes me bristle and feel way too vulnerable.
He leaves, and I try to shake off the negativity. I don’t need it today. I need to be focused and cool.
In control.
*
“Now, Cassie, unbutton his shirt. Good. And put your head where it would be if you were kissing his chest. Okay, great. And hold that.”
Ethan tightens and releases his hold on my hips as I keep my lips millimeters away from his chest. Marco’s muttering instructions to the lighting designer, complaining that the spotlight’s too shallow and the sidelights are too far forward. He wants the sex scene to be shadowy and moody, but apparently the only thing in the theater that’s moody right now is him.
I focus on the smattering of hair on Ethan’s chest and try to block out how much his scent is affecting me. It’s not easy. Right now, I’m wound tighter than a Swiss watch, and he’s trying so hard to respect my personal space I want to punch him.
“Cassie? I’m going to ask you something.”
I’m immediately wary and look up at him.
“Cassie! Put your head back down. Lance is focusing the specials. Don’t move!”
Ethan groans. “Fuck this fucking tech rehearsal.”
I dip my head. My lips accidentally graze skin. Ethan swears.
“What’s your question?” I ask.
“Did you happen to have a psychotic break recently and decide to slowly murder me? Because having your mouth ho
vering over my chest without actually kissing it is killing me.”
I laugh.
“Okay, Ethan, take off her shirt.”
He sighs. “And the torment keeps coming.”
He unbuttons my shirt and pushes it open. Then he closes his eyes and whispers, “Please, God, let Marco tell me to freeze with my hands on her boobs. Please.”
“That’s not in the blocking for this part.”
He glares down at me. “Quiet, woman. I’m conversing with a higher being. Don’t distract him with unhelpful logic.”
He’s raising his hands to my chest when Marco calls out, “Okay, Ethan, pick her up.”
“Goddammit.”
He wraps his arms around me and lifts me, and I lock my ankles behind his back. It feels weird doing this in disjointed sections. Also, without the kissing. He migrates his hands down to cup my ass cheeks. I raise an eyebrow.
“Just getting leverage,” he says, deadpan. “It has nothing to do with me wanting to grope your ass.”
“And yet, you are groping my ass.”
“Well, semi-groping. Please note my hands are over, not under, your skirt.”
Please note my body wants him to be under the skirt, fingering the elastic of my panties. Distracting me from all the conflicting emotions I’m too much of a coward to deal with.
The lights change again and Marco yells, “For the love of God, Lance! They look like a giant two-headed Quasimodo! Can I please get some blasted definition in the cross lighting? This is ridiculous!”
Lighting assistants rush around sidestage as Ethan lowers me until I’m settled fully onto his crotch. Once again, I give him the eyebrow.
“What?” His innocent act has gotten better over the years, but it doesn’t fool me. “It’s easier to hold you like this.”
“That’s because I’m resting on your erection.”
“I know. It’s like a shelf.”
I shake my head. “You have zero shame, you know that?”
“That’s not true. I have a great deal of shame. I’ve just given it the day off. I’ve been working it hard recently, and now it’s all exhausted and needs to recuperate.”
“Unlike your penis.”
“He rarely needs to recuperate. Not around you, anyway.”