by Louise Bay
“Do you want it so bad it hurts yet?” His voice was deep and raw. “That’s what you do to me. I want you so bad right now it hurts.”
Before I had time to absorb what he was saying, he was inside me in one swift movement.
It was relief, pleasure, desire all mixed into one. And my knees buckled.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, holding me at the waist. Me impaled on him. “Is it too much?”
It was.
“Sam,” I said. I couldn’t think of the words in the right order. I couldn’t tell him how good it was.
He pulled out and guided me to the couch. I sat astride him. “We can take it at your pace. We can do it how you like it.”
I realized I had my eyes closed, lost in a trance. I opened them and he was looking at me. He had a slight sheen to his forehead and I reached out and stroked his hair. “I like it every way with you.”
He lifted my hips and pulled me on to him again. My body was still weak, but the couch and his hands supported me, and I placed my palms against his chest.
He blinked lazily as he kept his focus on my face and began to lift my hips, just slightly, and then pull me back onto him. I let him move me, watching his jaw clench when he hit the end of me. He was so deep and it was so good.
I concentrated on the press of his thumbs below my hips, the hard muscles under my palms. Anything to stop myself from coming because I wanted this to last forever.
His eyes flickered from my face to my chest and the sway of my breasts as they lifted with each thrust.
“You look so beautiful,” he said.
I shuddered and he groaned as I involuntarily squeezed him.
“Jesus, Grace.” He picked up his pace, lifting and pulling.
I bit down on my lip to stop myself from crying out, but it didn’t work and I screamed out a plea. For more. For Sam. For this moment to never end.
I began to move my hips a little more, increasing the push and the pull, speeding up the pleasure as it circled us both.
I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
I wanted this moment.
I clung to his chest, my fingernails digging into his skin, and he sat up, pulling us chest to chest, his mouth finding mine.
His kisses were jerky and staccato as if he were using any energy he had left to pour into me. His breathing was labored and he groaned. “I can feel you. So tight. You’re almost …” Before he had time to finish his sentence, I was spiraling into orgasm and he was following, pumping his hips from the sofa. His expression was equal parts tight and soft as we gazed into each other’s eyes through our climax.
I wanted for nothing with Sam Shaw in my world.
“They’re both great—the perfect combination of soft and firm,” I said, staring at Bergdorf’s ceiling as Sam wriggled next to me. We were furniture shopping—bed shopping more specifically—and we’d narrowed it down to two. “You should make the decision. It’s your bed.”
“You’ll be sleeping in it as much as I will,” Sam replied.
I turned to face him, making no effort to hide my grin. In the weeks since my birthday, there was no longer any discussion of whether we’d see each other that night. We were together every night, but he came to Brooklyn because I refused to sleep on his mattress. I might deny being a princess, but a mattress on the floor was just a step too far. “Well, why not buy both of them? You have four bedrooms to fill, after all.”
Other than not having a bed to sleep on, part of the reason we didn’t spend much time at his apartment was because it felt odd to be back there. Park Avenue was the symbol of everything I hadn’t wanted to become. I didn’t want to be a Park Avenue princess, didn’t want to marry a man I didn’t love because it was a so-called good match. I didn’t want to cheat on him to get an escape, but stay with him because I liked the trappings of my life. Trappings that just didn’t matter.
I didn’t want to turn into my mother.
In so many ways, 740 Park Avenue seemed like my past, not my future.
“My place is closer to work for both of us,” Sam said.
He’d never really brought up the fact that we always stayed at my place in Brooklyn, so I hadn’t realized it was a problem for him. “You’d prefer we stay at yours?”
He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the mattress and began bouncing up and down. “It makes sense. It’s closer.”
“I guess,” I said. “And we don’t have to spend every night together.” Things had moved quickly with Sam and me. It had been an intense couple of months and although everything seemed right—perfect even—it probably was a good thing to have a bit of space. I really liked him—like, lightning bolt out of the clear blue liked him—but I’d been let down enough to know I should be holding back a little. I was sure now that I’d suggested it, he’d jump at spending some time apart.
Sam stopped bouncing and turned to me with a frown. “You don’t want to stay at my place?”
I shrugged. “I like Brooklyn.”
“Because it’s your place, or for some other reason?” He held out his hand, offering to pull me up.
“Park Avenue isn’t really my thing anymore,” I replied, keeping my hands by my sides. “I’m not the princess you think I am.” Wasn’t he happy I wasn’t demanding to see him every night?
Sam stood and rounded the bed so he was standing over me. “I feel like I’m missing something.” He stared at me as if he were trying to soak up an explanation from just being near me.
“You’re not missing anything,” I said. “Don’t you want some time apart?”
He frowned. “I like things how they are.” My body sagged into the mattress. Why did he have to be so cute? Every time I gave him an opportunity to let me down, he doubled down and made me feel even more adored. This guy could really break my heart one day.
“It’s just easier for me to stay at my place. I have all my clothes in Brooklyn. Occasionally I even have food in the refrigerator and—”
“And we’re sleeping in a bed where other men have been before me.”
I just stared at him. Sam was the least insecure man I’d ever met, but he didn’t like anything to do with my previous boyfriends. “Okay. So I’ll buy a new bed.” It wasn’t jealousy that made Sam see red, but the fact he didn’t think any of my exes had been good enough for me.
“You don’t think it’s easier to come to my place?”
Everything was easier on Park Avenue because no one could live there without a ton of money.
I wasn’t going to be taken in by all that. I wanted to like Sam because of the way he was so sincere about everything—the way he never seemed to hide any part of himself when he was with me. I didn’t want to be with him for his apartment or because it was close to my work.
“Okay, well we can keep sleeping in Brooklyn if that’s what makes you happy.”
Sam had changed my future. He’d shown me things could be different. He may have money, but it didn’t define him … and I shouldn’t let it define me.
“I think you and the apartment are just perfect. And I think I prefer this bed,” I said, sitting up.
Maybe being back at 740 Park Avenue might be more of a rebellion than a surrender to a life I didn’t want.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam
“You got along with Max, right?” Grace asked as we turned off I-95 toward Max and Harper’s house. The journey had been slow—first with traffic and then because the roads had grown icy as we’d gotten farther out of the city.
“Sure,” I replied, glancing across at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She’d never asked about my friends other than Angie and Chas, but I supposed as I never mentioned any, she knew there wasn’t anyone else in my life. Apart from her. Grace had unexpectedly changed things in small ways and big ways. I now had a bed and a sofa and I’d increased the number of people I cared about in the world by fifty percent.
“Should I buy a car?” I’d rented a Range Rover for the drive out to Conn
ecticut. “I have a parking space in the building.”
“Mr. No Possessions wants to buy something that won’t make him money? You’re becoming quite the shopper. I had a car I never used, so I sold it. You think you’ll use it?”
I liked the way this one drove, but I wasn’t really interested in buying a car. What I wanted was to take my mind off a weekend in the country. It hadn’t seemed significant when I’d agreed. I’d been content to make Grace happy, but as the city drifted away, the scenery became disturbingly reminiscent.
I’d never been back to my old neighborhood in New Jersey. Hightimes was thirty miles from the house I’d grown up in, and although Angie and I had travelled into the city, we never went back to my childhood home. As an adult, I never wanted to be reminded of my parents’ deaths. The good memories weren’t worth reliving the bad.
I put my hand on Grace’s knee. I was doing this for her and she was worth it. She slid her palm under mine and squeezed my fingers.
“This weekend is a lot of firsts for us,” she said. “First trip away together. First time I have to deal with your driving.” She laughed as I pulled a shocked face. “First time staying with friends. First evening with Max and Harper on our own. I mean, I have no idea who we are in public.” She seemed anxious, and as much as I was, too, her anxiety was more troubling to me than my own.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Well, are we one of those affectionate couples who can’t stop touching each other? Are we the type who bicker? Do we laugh at each other’s jokes even though we’ve heard them before? Who are we?”
“You’re crazy. Let’s just be who we are. You’re still you. I’m still me. Even in public.”
“You make it sound so easy.” She sighed. “I hope you’re right. You never know, I might not think you’re so hot in the Connecticut light.”
I started to chuckle. “You’re so funny. Let’s pull over and get naked so I can convince you that you’ll still think I’m hot.” I pulled over, then turned on the hazard lights.
She grabbed my forearm. “No, that’s their house on the corner. We’ve arrived already.”
“We can turn around. I want to be sure you still find me attractive.”
She shook her head in exasperation, so I pulled out and turned into the driveway.
A teenaged girl stood in the drive with a baby on her hip. She waved.
“That’s Max’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Amanda,” she said and I waved as well. “The baby is Amber. Lizzie, the youngest, is probably sleeping.”
That seemed like a lot of kids.
Harper came out to greet us as we got out of the car, her arms outstretched. “I’m so excited you’re here.” She pulled us both into a hug.
“Harper! I need your boob,” Max shouted from inside the house.
“If only that were true,” she muttered as she guided us in. “Oh, how I long for the days when Max was first in line for some boob action.”
“She’s breastfeeding,” Grace explained.
“Sometimes I feel like a cow,” Harper replied. “I just exist for my milk and wonder if I’ll get slaughtered when I dry up.”
Grace laughed at Harper’s dramatic drawl. “Welcome to Connecticut, Sam.”
Harper turned and grinned. “Yes, welcome. You’ll be happy to know you won’t be required to breastfeed during your stay.”
“I appreciate it,” I replied.
As soon as we got through the door, Max kissed Grace on the cheek and then handed the baby to Harper before shaking my hand.
“Let’s have a beer. I need to celebrate doubling the number of men in the house,” Max said as he dove into the fridge, bringing out a bottle of wine and two beers.
“I’ve been expressing milk all week so I can have a drink tonight,” Harper said. “Then we’re all happy, right?” she said, cooing to Lizzie. “You’re fed and I’m drunk. Perfect.”
I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to laugh about breast milk, so I tried to keep my face neutral.
“Can I have a drink, Dad?” Amanda asked. “In France, kids my age have wine with dinner, you know.”
“Well, we’re not in France,” Max replied.
Amanda rolled her eyes and handed Amber to Grace, who puckered her lips. Amber kissed her. They were clearly comfortable with each other. This was a side of Grace I’d not seen before.
“Down,” Amber said, wriggling in Grace’s arms. Grace bent and put her on the floor.
She glanced up at me. “What are you thinking?” she asked, slipping her arm around my waist.
“He’s thinking this seems a lot like a zoo,” Harper said.
Not exactly, but it was noisy and chaotic and the relaxed, family atmosphere stirred something hidden deep within me.
“Why don’t you start on dinner?” Max suggested. “Amanda’s making lasagna.”
“But you’re going to help, right?” Amanda asked, turning back to her dad.
“I’m going to be here, but you can do this. You’ve watched me make it a thousand times. You’re going to college in a couple of years. You need to learn how to cook. I spoil you.”
I remembered my dad cooking on the weekends. He would run my mom a bath and then prepare dinner, standing me on a stool next to him until I was big enough to reach the counter on my own and we’d talk about school and I’d stir things and shred cheese and generally think I was helping. Amanda was a few years older than I had been the last time I’d cooked with my father.
“You mean I need to learn how to cook because I’m a girl.”
“No, you need to learn because you should be able to feed yourself decent meals. Stop being a pain.” Max sat on one of the bar stools opposite the counter. “We’ll sit here and watch,” he said as Amanda tied an apron to her waist.
Had my father had the same kind of love for me I saw in Max’s eyes?
I knew the answer. I recognized the expression Max wore as one I’d seen on my father’s face every time he looked at me.
“Get everything you’ll need out on the counter,” Max said, then turned to me. “How’s business?”
Grateful for the distraction from the whirring inside my head, I said, “Good actually.” Grace and I took seats next to Max. “The market is tough at the moment, but I think that’s an opportunity. It stops people from playing the real estate market like it’s a game of blackjack, which can’t be a bad thing.” I took a swig of beer.
“I saw you’re developing that site by Battery Park.”
“Yeah. It’s such a great location. It’s underutilized at the moment.”
For a very long time my social interaction had comprised of Angie and Chas. I wasn’t used to new people and I wasn’t used to being with so many voices in a non-work environment. The memories of my own childhood were growing stronger. I tried to convince myself that Connecticut with Max and Harper wasn’t anything like my childhood home because I’d never had any brothers and sisters. All the noise—babies crying, people laughing—and the child paraphernalia littering every room in the house were all alien.
But there were too many similarities for me not to remember my parents.
I’d forgotten the sense of family, of love. I’d buried the memories of times with my parents and stomped on the ground so they never surfaced. For nearly fifteen years they’d remained there, still and unmoving. But now the earth had cracked and the ground was shaking.
I was trying like hell to hold it together.
“Grace, is Sam better than your other boyfriends?” Amanda asked as we watched her prepare supper. “Harper said you date losers.”
“Harper!” Grace called over to the couch. Max rolled his eyes and I smiled because I knew he expected me to.
“What?” Harper asked as she placed a sleeping baby Lizzie into the crib at the end of the couch.
“You said I date losers?” Grace asked.
Harper came into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. “You can’t deny it’
s true.” Harper looked up at me as she filled a fresh glass. “You’re the first decent guy she’s ever dated. Don’t fuck this up.”
“Harper,” Grace protested.
But Harper was right. I had to get this right and I wasn’t sure I knew how. I’d spent every day since my parents died deliberately trying not to want anything—Grace had been right. I didn’t want to lose anything important to me again. It had been hard, at first, difficult to stop coveting things. And even now, it was almost impossible not to be jealous of those with loved ones, but it had become easier. It hadn’t happened overnight, but slowly, a hardened shell had grown around me and become my armor. After that, every day was easier.
“What? It’s true,” Harper said.
I’d realized pretty early on that her previous boyfriends weren’t worthy of her. I was no angel, but it was no effort for me to put Grace first, where she deserved to be. But could I do that forever? Grace looked comfortable here, happy amid the family and the love. And she should have that for herself. I just wasn’t sure I could give it to her. I’d shut down my emotions a long time ago—ruled out the possibility of this kind of future for myself. For the first time in a long time I’d allowed myself to covet someone. I’d had no choice. Grace had broken through my armor and not given me a say in the matter. But a family? A home? I couldn’t risk that.
I took a swig of my beer, trying to swallow down the anxiety threatening to drown me.
“Your problem,” Harper told Grace, “is that you’re a fixer.”
Grace snapped her head around and caught me forcing down a chuckle. It was one of the many things I loved about Grace, and it was exactly how I’d described her in one of our first encounters. She scowled and placed her hand over my mouth. I grabbed her wrist, kissed her palm and twined her fingers in mine. “I didn’t say a word, Princess.”
“She’s always taken men on like projects. Guys that need fixing, or nurturing,” Harper said.
“Harper,” Grace complained. I knew she didn’t like hearing herself described like that.
“You give and give and give,” Harper continued, ignoring Grace, “until you’re bled dry. It’s like you’re permanently breastfeeding these losers! You’ve been dating children.”