by Banks, R. R.
I roll over and find the other side of the bed empty. Sitting up, I look around for Brice, wondering where he went. As I sit there, over the thundering of the breakers, I hear the faint sound of the shower running in the bathroom.
Slipping out of bed, I walk across a bedroom that's bigger than my entire apartment, and quietly open the door. Clouds of steam billow through the open doorway, but through the glass doors of the shower, I see Brice. He has his back to me, allowing me to see more of the beautiful artwork adorning his back. His muscles ripple as he moves, seeming to put the pictures in motion.
Brice said his tattoos tell a story, and if that's true, it's not a very happy one. It makes my heart ache for him.
I step into the bathroom, and walk across the room, pulling the shower door open to step inside. The shower is large – it could easily hold four people. Maybe more. The water rains down from a showerhead that's mounted into the ceiling directly above us. It's like a gentle waterfall.
Standing behind him, I wrap my arms around his chest and place a soft kiss on his back. Brice leans back into me, then turns around, placing a gentle kiss on my lips.
“Good morning,” he says, his deep baritone sending shivers down my spine. “How did you sleep?”
“Oh my god, that bed is amazing,” I say. “I don't think I've slept better in my life.”
“Good,” he says, kissing my forehead. “You seemed like you were sleeping pretty peacefully, so I didn't want to wake you. I needed to get ready for work because I have a few meetings to get to.”
“Work, work, work,” I say. “All work and no play makes Brice a dull boy.”
He laughs and pulls me to him, wrapping me up in his big, strong arms. “That's not what you were saying last night.”
I giggle and slap him playfully on the chest. “You're terrible.”
“Yeah, but I think you kind of like it.”
“Mm, maybe,” I say, kissing his strong chest.
Taking his arm in mine, I trace my fingertips along the tattoo that had caught my attention the first time I saw it – the pill bottle on his forearm.
“Tell me about this,” I say.
He lets out a long breath, and I see a flash of sadness and pain in his eyes. He looks down at me, and I know he's debating with himself. It must be an intensely personal story– obviously, a painful one, too – but I want him to know he's safe talking to me. I want Brice to trust me.
Marina was right – once I managed to let go of the past, and all of those hurt feelings, once I let go of my childhood crush, I started to see Brice as the man he is today. Once I accepted that he's no longer the boy who abandoned my family and shattered my heart all those years ago and realized who he is now, it made all the difference in the world.
It's not easy, and there are times I still slip into that default setting, but I'm doing a much better job of seeing Brice for the man he is – and I can't help but feel attracted to him on a profound level. The man he is now – so unlike the boy he was in the past – is dangerous to me, only because I can already feel myself starting to fall for him. Hard.
There's something about Brice that lights something inside of me I thought had been burned out by life, and a string of failed and miserable relationships, long ago. Yeah, I can still see that cocky, arrogant asshole part of him – nothing compared to before – but as a whole, he is an incredible man.
If I’m not careful, I could see myself spending the rest of my life with this man.
Brice's gaze is intense and colored with sadness. But, I can also see a gritty resolve, a steadfast determination deep within. He says he's had to overcome a lot in his life – a notion I regularly scoffed at just because, unlike me, he came from a privileged background – but, right now, I can see the truth in it. I believe that he's struggled. That he's hit rock bottom and had to claw his way back to the top.
At that moment, I finally understand that just because Brice grew up with money doesn’t make him immune to pain or sadness. Growing up privileged doesn't mean that everything is champagne and roses all the time. The realization rocks me to my core, obliterating all the preconceived ideas I had about Brice.
The man standing before me is entirely human with faults and flaws just like the rest of us. And he's absolutely beautiful in his imperfections.
Brice nods to himself, and his lips compress into a tight line. I can see that he's come to a decision – to be honest with me.
“My last year in the league, my drug habit spiraled out of control. I was partying way too much,” he says. “I was addicted to painkillers like I told you before. Oxy and Fentanyl, mostly. But, there was a lot of other stuff. Harder drugs.”
He falls silent a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. I hold him, staring up into his rugged, handsome face as the warm water cascades down over us.
“Anyway, it was bad. I had to take pills to get up in the morning, pills when I wanted to go to sleep,” he says softly. “Eventually, it got to the point that I needed pills just to feel anything remotely resembling fucking normal.”
He turns his face up into the gentle fall of the water, perhaps hoping it would wash away the years of pain and regret he’s harbored. At that moment, more than anything, I wanted to take it all away for him. If I could have borne that pain for him, I would have. In a heartbeat.
“That – last game,” he says, his voice tight. “I guess I screwed up and it cost me everything. I screwed up bad. Anyway, before the game, I took some pills to get amped up for it. It was a big game, and I felt like I needed the extra boost, you know? But, because I was already high and not thinking straight, I took the wrong pills.”
“Oh, no,” I gasp. “But, I thought your knee –”
He flashes me a grim smile. “It was my knee. But, it was because I was so damn high out there, I wasn't thinking straight,” he says. “My reflexes, thought processes, and motor skills were all significantly impaired. I saw the guy coming but couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Didn't really care at the time. He hit me, crushed my knee, and that was it. Sometimes, I still remember the sound it made and...”
He doesn't finish his thought, but he doesn't need to. I lay my head against his chest, and he starts to gently stroke my hair.
“As far as anybody knows, it is what it is – I took a bad shot from a big guy, end of story,” he says. “They all saw it on live TV, but nobody really knows what actually happened. Most think it was just a fluke football play. It happens. I mean, there are whispers and rumors about the truth of it, but they can’t confirm anything. No one knows for certain that I was high out there on the field. So, I just ignore the gossip and let people think what they want.”
“Why haven't you told anybody about it?”
I feel him breathe in deeply. His heart is thumping a hard, steady rhythm in his chest that I find oddly comforting.
“Because I'm ashamed,” he says. “I've never been so ashamed of anything in my life. I realized after the fact how much I loved the game. Having it taken from me – I honestly thought that some days, I'd rather not be alive. I took it for granted, and then it was taken from me. Because I'm an idiot. Or, as you like to say, an entitled, arrogant prick.”
I laugh softly and reach down, take his hand, and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Anyway, the other side of not speaking out about it is purely selfish,” he continues. “I founded CEM and it started to take off, partly because I was still a household name. Despite what happened – or what everybody believes happened – my name still carried weight back then. So, as time went on, and I got my life right, it no longer mattered to me. It was just another story from my past that I'd rather see dead and buried.”
“Yeah, but you're not allowing yourself to bury it,” I say and put my hand on that tattoo. “You're keeping the memory alive and tormenting yourself.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I'm keeping it alive as a reminder,” he says. “A reminder of how quickly life can change for you. A reminder to take nothing
for granted, and to always keep my head straight, because I can lose everything in the blink of an eye if I start making poor decisions.”
I look up at him again and give him a gentle smile. “I think my dad would be proud of you.”
“Maybe,” he says. “After he kicked my ass for fucking it up in the first place.”
I can't stop the burst of laughter that escapes me, and Brice just smiles. I take his face in my hands and pull him down into a kiss that starts off slow and sweet, but pressed so close to his body, I can't help but feel his cock stiffen against me, and I instantly become wet and warm.
“You're going to make me late,” he says.
“Then we better be fast, huh?”
I reach down and take his cock in my hand, squeezing and stroking it. Brice steps forward, pushing me against the wall, trapping me between it and his hard, toned body. He pulls back and gives me a roguish grin. Stepping out of the shower, he rummages around in a cabinet drawer, coming back with a condom that he's already unrolling down the length of his cock.
Suddenly, he's pressed up against me again. Brice picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He slides his hands under my ass to hold me up against the wall, and slides his cock into me.
I press my head back against the tile of the shower wall, my body exploding with sensation as he moves his cock inside of me. His mouth pressed to mine, our tongues dancing together in his mouth, Brice pumps his hips in a slow, gentle rhythm.
“Yes, Brice, yes,” I groan.
Unlike the other times we've been together, his movements today are slower. Gentler. And as he looks deeply into my eyes, I see that they're suddenly filled with not only lust and desire, but something more. Something deeper. Affection? Love?
He thrusts himself inside of me, plunging deep into my hot core. I lock my hands behind his neck as he moves within me.
This isn't just fucking this time. No, this is making love.
My body suddenly seizes up, and I draw in a long, shuddering breath. A cry of pleasure erupts from my throat before I have a chance to bite it back, and it echoes loudly around the bathroom. Brice smiles as he watches me orgasm with his cock deep inside of me.
The fires in me are burning bright and hot, and I can't get enough of his glorious cock. The way he makes me feel – whether he's fucking me or making love to me – is something I've never experienced before, and I find that I'm insatiable. That even when I'm not with him, I crave him.
“Put me down,” I say softly.
Brice does as I ask, and I reach down, taking his cock in my hand. I lick my lips suggestively, drawing a smile from him. I put my hand on his chest and make him take a couple of steps backward. The back of his knees hit the small bench that juts out of the wall, forcing him to sit down. Turning around, I grip his stiff cock, and lower myself down onto him.
The head of his dick parts my swollen, wet lips, and I take him into me inch by inch. Leaning my back against his broad, strong chest, he kisses my neck, giving me a sensual little bite. When he's fully sheathed inside of me, I moan and softly call his name before starting to move up and down on his hard, thick shaft.
“Yes, Emma,” he growls. “Just like that, baby.”
I tighten my pussy around his shaft and start to ride him harder and faster. I hear his breath growing ragged, and feel his body growing tighter beneath me. He's pulling harder at my hair, and the noises coming from his mouth are frantic, almost desperate, begging for release.
“Fuck,” he finally manages to mutter. “I'm going to come.”
I keep up the pace of riding his dick, wanting to bring him to that edge, and then push him over it. That tipping point comes soon enough.
“Fuck, yes,” he growls, his booming voice filling the air around us.
I feel his cock pulse, then start to throb. A moment later, I feel him shooting his warm, sticky load into the condom. I hold him there, gripping the base of his dick good and hard as he comes, as he fills me with his warm, wet seed.
I smile and climb off him as he sits back on the bench, a look of utter amazement on his face. He gives me a contented smile and a long, lingering look.
“I could get used to that in the morning,” he says.
“Well, I could get used to sleeping in a bed like that every night,” I say and laugh.
He laughs, but his gaze is penetrating and direct. “That can be arranged, you know.”
His tone is light and amused, but there's a seriousness in his face that's undeniable. Is he really asking me to move in with him? That can't possibly be it. No way.
“One thing at a time,” I say. “Let's see if we can co-exist at the office first.”
He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. “So, that means you're coming back?”
I give him a small smile. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Good,” he says. “It makes me happy to hear that.”
“You know, it makes me happy to say.”
“I think this could be the start of something great for you,” he says.
“Hopefully not too quickly though,” I laugh. “If the New York Times comes calling, I'll need to update my wardrobe.”
It's meant as a joke, but Brice cocks his head and looks at me thoughtfully.
“What?” I ask.
“Why don't you go shopping today?” he says.
“Because I don't have thousands of dollars lying around to go shopping with?” I say and chuckle. “This is one of those times where you need to check your reality against what most of us experience.”
He stands up, an enigmatic grin on his face. “Be ready in about an hour or so.”
“Ready for what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Just get dressed and ready.”
And with that, he steps out of the shower. I watch him towel off and then walk out, his eyes bright and a smile on his face the whole time. Not knowing what that was about, I wash myself up, relishing the gentle waterfall effect of his shower and think once again, that I could get used to living somewhere as nice as this.
One step at a time, though. My perception of him has changed, sure, but the last thing I want to do is jump the gun and do something stupid and life-altering – no matter how big, nice, and comfy the bed is.
But, oh, that bed makes it super tempting.
* * *
Almost four hours, about a hundred shops, who knows how many thousands of dollars, and a whole new wardrobe later, I discovered what Brice wanted me to get ready for.
“I still can't even wrap my head around the idea of a personal shopper,” I say with a laugh.
The idea of paying somebody to go shop for you – it's mind-boggling in its decadence to me. I've always had to be very thrifty and spend my dollars – when I had them – carefully. I can't conceive of handing somebody my credit card and telling them to buy me something nice.
The woman seated across the table from me – Monica Suarez – laughs. She's a beautiful woman. Tall, leggy, with dark hair, hazel eyes, flawless, olive-colored skin, and a body to die for, she seems like she belongs on a runway in Paris instead of cruising malls in Southern California.
“You didn’t really think Brice picked out all of those nice clothes on his own, did you?” Monica asks. “That boy couldn't dress himself without my help.”
I laugh and shake my head. I guess I hadn't really thought about it before. Brice is always well dressed and tailored – thanks to Monica. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined shopping in some of the high-end stores and boutiques – let alone coming out with an entirely new wardrobe.
“I have to be honest,” I say. “I don't know that I'm really comfortable with how much money he spent on me today.”
Monica shrugs. “It's not like he can't afford it,” she says. “Besides, I think he's kind of sweet on you. He told me the sky is the limit, and to make sure you left happy.”
I feel heat flare in my cheeks, and I look down at the iced coffee in front of me. We're sitting in the food court, giving o
ur feet a rest before we head back to the car. I still can't believe the amount of clothing Monica purchased for me today. Even when I objected to something – usually, after seeing the price tag – she picked it up anyway.
This whole expedition has been mind-boggling to me. Not that I'm not grateful – I really am. I mean, to have clothes this nice? And so many of them? For free? Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd have a closet stuffed full of beautiful, designer clothing. Yet, now I do.
“How long have you two been seeing each other?”
I laugh. “I don't know that we are, honestly. I mean, there's definitely something there between us, but...”
My voice trails off. I don't know how to describe us. Not yet.
“That Brice is a hard man to pin down,” she finishes for me.
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“He's complicated.”
I nod. “That he is.”
There's a wistfulness in her eyes, and I can tell that she has a crush on him. Why wouldn't she?
“I've been working for Brice for many years now,” she explains. “I started when I was eighteen or nineteen. And believe me, I've never seen him like this before.”
“Like what?”
“So – smitten,” she says, and I can see a momentary flash of jealousy in her eyes.
“Smitten?”
She nods. “I think I know him pretty well. And I can tell that he's really into you, Emma. I can see why. You're an amazing catch.”
I scoff. “Hardly,” I say. “Frankly, I would have thought you were more his type. I mean, you are gorgeous. Smart. Funny – you're the whole package.”
“Believe me, I tried to snag him,” she says. “There's a depth to him you don't see in most men.”
I nod.
“But, for all the years I've known him, he's always had a wall around his heart. He never let anybody in,” she sighs. “Not until you.”
My heart stutters drunkenly as she speaks. I'm really not sure how to respond to that. I mean, it makes me profoundly happy on the one hand. And terrified on the other.
“Well, we're taking things slow,” I say.