by Lexie Ray
“Let me be the judge of that,” Nate said.
I trembled as he gently raised my dress to my waist. He kissed me before lifting it above my head and off. Not breaking his kiss, he reached around and unfastened my bra, taking his time with the process. My heart was beating fast—almost as fast as if I’d been new to this game.
I realized as Nate eased off my bra that I was new to this particular experience. All of my previous trysts had been just fucking—and for cash, to boot. Nate was right. This was going to be different. I’d never been intimate with anyone I loved before. Hell, I’d never even loved anyone before—not like I loved him. I might as well have been a shy virgin in his hands, even though I was far from it.
Nate gently removed my hands from my breasts, where the worst of the scarring from Jack remained as a testament to that period of my life. I cringed as he ran his fingers over them, afraid he was too disgusted to continue.
“You are beautiful,” he said, stroking my face. “You’re so beautiful, and you don’t even realize it.”
“I’m not, I’m damaged—”
“You’re not damaged,” Nate said, cutting me off. “Those are just marks. Look past them. I can see past them.”
He lowered his head and kissed each one, taking his time. There were so many, and he didn’t miss a single mark. By the time he finished, I was panting with desire.
“I love you,” I said, “but if you keep teasing me like this, I think I’m going to go crazy.”
“Your wish is my command,” Nate said. He peeled my panties from my body and rubbed my clitoris with his thumb. The flood of pleasure was immediate, unimaginable. I nearly sobbed with desire as he touched me, making my pussy good and slick.
I helped him unbutton his shirt, tracing my hands over every muscle revealed. The jeans came next, uncovering muscular thighs and a formidable erection.
“That’s been waiting for you for too long,” he said casually.
“Has it?”
I trailed my hand up and down his cloth-covered member, smiling as he hummed in pleasure. With a sudden, confusing rush, I was absurdly thankful for my time at Mama’s nightclub. At least I knew how to please a man—and I wanted so badly to please Nate.
Once he was completely naked, we pressed our bodies together. It felt so wonderful to be completely comfortable with another person. Still, I thought seriously about his well-being.
“I want to do this,” I whispered, holding him in my arms, “but I want you to use the condom.”
“All right,” he said, smiling.
I tore open the foil and removed the condom before rolling it over his hard cock. He leaned in to my touch, kissing on my neck, running his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin there.
Side by side, facing one another, holding each other in our arms, he entered me.
It wasn’t an invasion; it was a completion.
Our bodies fit together so perfectly. I was wet for him, he was hard for me. We were meant to be together like this.
“Perfect,” Nate gasped, echoing my thoughts.
“Can we stay together like this for the rest of our lives?” I panted, kissing his face repeatedly.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he joked.
We started to move against each other, to thrust, to parry. We separated into two beings then came together into one body, again and again, over and over. The firelight made the sweat on Nate’s body glisten. I glided my fingers over it, tracing designs on his skin as he made me see stars.
It had never been like this with anyone at Mama’s nightclub. Never. The emotional connection that Nate and I shared almost crackled in the air, hotter than the fire heating our bodies, more potent than the chemical cocktail of feelings coursing through our veins.
“I love you,” he whispered into my ear.
“I love you,” I answered, kissing the shell of his ear as I murmured the three most special words in my life.
Nate rolled me onto my back, both of us giggling as the plates and silverware clattered. I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, wanting him as deep as possible inside me. I wanted all of him. I wanted him to take me, to transport me away from everything.
He made me so happy. I wanted him to be as content as I was. With one swing of my leg, I was on top, running my hands over his solid pectorals, down his washboard stomach. It didn’t seem like there was an ounce of fat on him.
“Where do you get the time to work out?” I asked, rocking against him.
“I do exercises sometimes in the office when I have writer’s block,” he said, breathing hard and holding me on either side of my hips.
“I’m glad the muses ignored you so often,” I teased, squeezing a bicep experimentally.
Nate laughed and thrust upward into me, making me cry out thickly.
“Is that the spot?” he crooned.
I nodded shakily and didn’t stop as he continued to find the spot again and again. He kissed the palms of my hands, caressed my ass, held me as I trembled and shook, and drove me to the most mind-blowing orgasm I’d ever experienced. I sobbed out my climax, squeezing his hands as hard as I could as he twined his fingers with mine.
“I’m coming with you,” he gasped. Our mutual completion was the most satisfying experience of my existence. I kissed him fiercely as he reached orgasm, thrilling in the moment that I had helped deliver him to. Nate was right. Everything was different—infinitely sweeter—when you were making love with someone you truly cared about.
Even as we parted our bodies and lay panting on the rug, the fire still flickering inside the hearth, I kept my hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart, not wanting the experience of sharing the same body to end. I never wanted to let him go, even as I drifted into slumber.
* * * *
“You know, my schedule has suddenly freed up,” Nate said, drawing lazy circles with his fingers over my naked back as we lay in the bed. After finishing, we’d both fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. Nate had awoken and gotten us both to the bedroom so we’d sleep more comfortably.
“Oh, has it?” I asked sleepily, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“That’s right,” Nate said. “I don’t think I’ll require the services of a housekeeper anymore.”
“No?” My eyes sank shut. I couldn’t resist the peaceful beckon of sleep.
“Nope,” Nate confirmed. “Can’t use one. I do, however, require the services of a live-in girlfriend.”
“I think I know someone for the job,” I murmured.
“Oh, good,” Nate said, cuddling up to me and kissing my hair. “Send her my way.”
“Done.”
Sleep claimed me as Nate melded his body to the shape of mine.
Chapter Nine
I awoke to the smell of frying bacon. I closed my eyes and inhaled. Was I dreaming?
Dressing myself in one of Nate’s button-down shirts from the closet, I padded out to investigate. Nate was tending several skillets on the stove, humming tunelessly under his breath, a towel thrown over his shoulder. I looked in the other room to see all of our dishes from the night before missing from where they’d been scattered across the floor. He could cook and clean up after himself, too? Was this the twilight zone or what?
“Caught in the act,” I said, grinning. He froze and turned around.
“Did I ever tell you I could cook?” he asked innocently.
“You’re going to be doing a lot more of it now, mister,” I said, putting my hands on my hips jokingly.
“Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll cook breakfast if you get us some tickets online to a movie this afternoon.”
“I think that’s a fair deal,” I said.
I skipped to the office, my stomach rumbling happily. Opening the laptop, I looked around the room at my organizational handiwork. I had always been driven to keep things neat since my tenure with Jack. I cocked my head at a thought which came unbidden out of nowhere. Last night I’d been th
ankful for Mama’s nightclub, and this morning I was thankful for Jack being such an obsessive creep? Maybe I was going insane. That was the only explanation I could come up with.
I looked at the laptop screen, poised to open Safari, and stopped. Safari was already open. I suddenly remembered yesterday afternoon, finding all the bottles of pills in the cabinet, searching the name of one of them, and slamming the laptop shut when Nate had arrived home suddenly.
What was it? What had the medication treated? “Actiq,” the search result read, “is a drug to manage pain from cancer.” Pain from cancer? That couldn’t be right. Shaking my head, I straightened up. I left the office and walked back out to the kitchen. Nate was pouring the orange juice.
“Why would you have cancer medications in your bathroom cabinet?” I asked, expecting a reasonable explanation.
Instead, he dropped the glass he had been holding. It shattered on impact, scattering glass shards and juice across the kitchen.
“Nate?” I prompted, feeling a sudden chill.
He looked at me, and I knew suddenly the reasonable explanation for the presence of cancer medication in the bathroom cabinet.
It was because he had cancer.
“I wanted to talk to you about it, but not like this,” he said. “I was going to talk to you about it.”
“We can talk now about it,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. Why were my teeth chattering?
“I have cancer. The outlook is not good, the doctors tell me. I’m not going to die tomorrow, but it is going to get me at some point down the road. Maybe one year from now. Maybe a few years from now. But I am not going to die an old man.”
He stood there among the glass shards and splattered juice, looking at me like he’d done something wrong. He most certainly had.
“We were going to talk about it?” I repeated. “When? When you were on your deathbed? Before you told me you loved me? Before I told you I loved you? Maybe never?”
“I just didn’t know how,” Nate said. “I’m sorry, Jasmine.”
“I don’t understand, I really don’t,” I raged. “I was honest with you from the beginning. I told you every horrible detail of my stupid life. Don’t you think the fact that you’re dying of cancer would be something I should know at some point?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Please forgive me. I just didn’t want you to think less of me. To pity me.”
The bacon was smoking. I picked my way across the mess on the kitchen floor and turned off the burner, removing the skillet from the heat. I squirmed away from Nate as he tried to take me in his arms.
“No,” I said. “You don’t get to do that anymore.”
Nate recoiled as if I’d slapped him. “Jasmine…?”
“It was so simple for you, wasn’t it?” I hissed, feeling both poisoned and poisonous.
“Simple for me when?” Nate asked, his face ashen.
“When you first saw me on that cliff,” I said. “I was about to throw myself over it, but you saw potential.”
“Of course I saw potential,” Nate tried to argue. “You couldn’t just throw your life away like that.”
“I know,” I said, my voice dangerously conversational. “Why let me do it when you could do it for me?”
Nate’s injured look made my heart hurt, but some invisible force egged me on. I couldn’t stop now even if I’d wanted to.
“I was at rock bottom and you knew it,” I said. “You knew it would be so easy to take me in so that you could just up and die whenever you wanted. I am fucking disposable to you. I am fucking trash.”
I stomped out of the kitchen, ripping his shirt off of my body as I rushed down the hall. I couldn’t stay here another moment. I couldn’t do it. Wiping the tears angrily from my cheeks, I pulled on some clothes.
“Where are you going?” Nate asked from the bedroom door.
“The fuck away of here,” I spat out.
“Don’t just leave like this, Jasmine,” he said, “not when you’re so angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I’m furious. You are like every other shitty thing that has ever happened to me. You are no better. No, Nate, you are even worse.”
I felt a twisted sort of hateful victory as I took note of his red-rimmed eyes and red nose.
“How is that even remotely fair?” Nate asked. “I’ve never treated you like those other people.”
“Wrong,” I said. “You made me love you, and now you’re going to leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he started to say.
“Wrong again,” I interrupted. “You’re dying. You’re dying and you weren’t going to tell me until you knew you had the hook in good and tight. Then you were going to keep reeling me in until the day you kicked it and left me.”
“It’s not like that,” he insisted, rubbing one of his eyes. “It’s not like that, Jasmine, I swear to you.”
“It is like that,” I said, pushing past him and back down the hall. “You’re just too blind to see it.”
“Don’t go,” Nate said, taking my arm before I reached the door. “Please don’t.”
“You said you’d never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do,” I said, whirling on him and pushing him away from me. “Are you going to force me to stay here? I hate it here. I want to leave.”
A single, crystal tear fell down his cheek.
“If that’s how you feel about it, then go,” Nate said. “But take some money. There’s no reason for you to be wandering around the city without any.”
He went to the office and retrieved a lockbox from the desk. My eyes widened as he opened it. It was stuffed with bills.
“I always keep this for emergencies,” he said, sniffing. “It’s yours. Whatever you want.”
“I think this is very appropriate,” I sobbed, my body shaking. “Very appropriate, indeed.”
I approached the open box and took a handful of the bills.
“You know,” I said, the tears still flowing down my face in rivulets, “this isn’t quite as much as my usual rates at the nightclub, but at least you’re trying to pay me for my services last night. I’ll give you that.”
Nate turned quickly and grasped the desk, but not before I’d seen his face. I’d cut him deeply with that remark, which was my intent. Anything to hurt him as much as I was hurting in that moment.
“I hope I was worth it,” I tossed over my shoulder almost flippantly as I walked out the door, but the damage was already done.
I didn’t have to add anything at all.
Chapter Ten
I roamed the streets for hours, trying to find the pieces of my broken heart. Nate was dying and I loved him. No. Nate was dying and I hated him. No. I didn't know what I felt.
What I'd had with him was real for me, but now it seemed like just a relationship of convenience for him. If he'd known that he was dying, it made sense for him to try to coerce someone into living with him. That way, he could have a distraction until the end, and then a free caretaker to see him out. Someone he could use and then discard.
Me. I was good at getting thrown out like trash.
The wind dictated my direction down the streets. I found myself in Central Park, but the couples holding hands, the children shrieking and dashing around, the bright colors of the flowers were too much. I was too shattered inside to stomach much joy around me. Maybe I was destined to be alone and miserable.
I mulled the idea of being homeless again and it didn't sit well. I was older and wiser now, and understood the dangers much better than I did when I first ran away from Jack. Still, I wouldn't go to a shelter. I'd been there before and vowed never to go back.
Extremely aware of the wad of Nate's money in my purse, I did the most sensible thing I could do. I opened a bank account. Practical Brenda and Jeff would've been proud of me. A checkbook and debit card stuffed securely into my wallet, I stopped in a coffee shop for a break from my aimless walking. I needed a new place to live, I realized.
I sipped a latte and flipped through a free neighborhood publication that the coffee shop offered in one of several wire racks. I stared at the pictures of rock bands performing and scanned over the words in the stories. Nothing seemed to matter to me anymore, even though this morning I had been sure I was in love.
I perked up a bit when I turned the page to the classified section. Pulling a stub of a pencil from my purse, I began to circle promising employment opportunities. I paused when I reached the personals.
"Roommate wanted for furnished apartment," one of them read. "Must be female, neat, non-smoker, non-drinker, no drugs, quiet."
I circled the number several times and then the rent amount. Nate had given me a lot of money for my "services." If I made it stretch, I could pay rent for two months while still buying food. I couldn't get anything fancy, of course, but I knew I could be frugal enough to make it work. I finished the last of my latte and found a pay phone, dialing the number for the roommate wanted ad.
"Hello?" came a wary female voice.
"Yes, I'm calling in regards to a roommate wanted ad," I said politely.
"Fuck off," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, are you actually calling about the ad?" she asked, sounding chagrined. "People have been calling me all morning, telling me that I'm boring, I’m uptight, I'm anal, I'm blah blah blah. I'm sick of it. I'm getting them to remove the ad next week, roommate or no."
"So you still haven't found a roommate yet?" I asked hopefully.
"Nope."
"That's because you were waiting for me," I said, excitement filling my voice. "I'm everything you put in the ad. I can move in immediately. We could meet in person today, if you want."
"Is this some sort of joke?" she asked.
"No," I said, shaking my head emphatically even though she couldn’t see it. "My name is Jasmine. I’m neat, I’m quiet, I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs. I'm your new roommate."
And that's how I met Anne. She was a no-nonsense 30-year-old with close-cropped red hair and a serious collection of cats. There were no less than five in the apartment. A ginger one lounged on the back of a hair-covered couch while a tuxedo one scaled Anne’s denim-covered leg before settling on her shoulder, perched like a parrot. I stared into its green eyes, which were coolly assessing me.