Tears stream down my face as my body swallows his. His breathing is rapid but he doesn’t rush. He stays completely still, letting my pliant flesh stretch around him. The water is shallow enough in this spot that it doesn’t wash away the remnants of my climax, letting it act as a natural lubricant. Plus with me tilted so only my shoulders touch the rock wall, beads of slick arousal roll down my seam, adding even more wetness.
He pushes in a little deeper, and my voice breaks in a sob. It hurts—my God, it hurts—but he knows well enough not to stop. He knows I can take the pain. He knows I crave the pain. And this is by far dancing the thin line of my threshold. Still, I won’t beg him to stop. Even if it rips me open, I will never let him go.
He pushes in farther still, and this time, it doesn’t burn as bad. Actually, it’s starting to feel ok. He holds me up with one arm wrapped around my waist and brings his other hand to stroke my clit. That, coupled with the intense pressure from behind, makes my whimpers turn to pants. He pinches my sensitive flesh between his fingers, pulling the hot, little button as he pushes in a little more, and I throw my head back. Oh God . . . OhGodOhGodOhGod.
He’s inside me to the root, fully immersed in the one place Tucker refused to explore. He always thought it would hurt me—that the scar tissue in that area would make things painful for me. So after he shot me down again and again, I stopped asking him to touch me there. Instead, I learned how to touch myself, and make it feel good.
This is so beyond what I had been doing. My thin, dainty fingertip was nothing compared to Ransom’s thick hardness inside me so deep, I can feel his sac against my ass cheeks. And nothing ever will compare for as long as I may live. There’s no way I could ever go back to what I had before. I’ve bitten the apple, I’ve sucked the seed, and now I want that sin to grow deep inside me.
He strokes me slow, knowing my body well enough that that’s all I can take. I hang on to his shoulders as he angles us in a way that keeps him thoroughly buried but also lets me taste his tongue. He makes those erotic, little noises again, those throaty rasps that he does on stage to make the girls wet their panties. I swallow every one, wanting every bit of him to live inside me. He smiles against my lips as if he knows exactly what I’m doing.
His tempo increases and he begins to throb within my tight walls, causing my own orgasm to build. This one is different though. This one won’t be like the others. It feels too strong, too uncontained. Like even if he stopped right now and pulled out of me, I’d still come so hard I’d faint.
I grasp his back and bury my head in the crook of his neck, trying desperately not to stop it, but slow it down. I’m not ready to let go. I’m not ready to surrender this feeling for anything.
Despite the madness of our bodies, Ransom’s lips are oddly soft and controlled as they caress the side of my face. He kisses my temple, the shell of my ear, my neck. And then he opens for me and bears his soul. He shows me the beauty in chaos, the grace in all this filth and sin.
He sings for me. He sings because of me. And it’s a song I’ve never heard.
Falling through the rabbit hole
Down down down I go
Let’s go mad together, babe
Nobody has to know
I’ll take you into my veins
Drink the elixir of your soul
You’re mine now little bunny
I’ll never let you go
We come together in a way that bonds us for life. No secrets lie between us—no denial, no regrets. Only sweat, water, and our release. I refuse to let him go for a long time, and it’s not until he slips out of me that I lift my head to look at him. His eyes are low, but unguarded. He’s still here with me, still all mine for the taking. I kiss him with all I have to give, hoping to convey everything I don’t have the courage to say. When he sets me on my feet, I have to steady myself against the wall until the blood returns to my extremities.
Something happened here. Something deeper than we intended. Something deeper than I’ve ever felt. And it wasn’t the sex. That would be too easy. We became kindred in a way that’s beyond the physical. And that scares me to the marrow of my bones.
I’m silent as I gather my bikini and he slips into his shorts. We don’t even speak as we leave the safety of our little cave dwelling. On some level, I don’t think we have to. Words are irrelevant to what’s transpired here. They would never be able to describe the sheer horror and savage beauty of the monster we’ve created.
I leave the lagoon area first to find that people are already lounging around the pool area. I smile and wave, going through the motions on autopilot. No one seems suspicious. No one notices the bright-red scratches on my back or the fingernail marks peeking out from the sides of my swim bottoms. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care.
The room is empty when I arrive, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I strip off my abused swimsuit like it’s on fire and turn the water in the shower to scalding hot. I’ve done something dirty, and while I don’t want to wash it away, I have to. I have to be clean for my husband again.
A door opens just as I step under the hot spray. The steam is so thick that I can’t even see the door to the bathroom and Tucker approach the glass shower partition. It’s not until he’s right in front of me that I see his naked frame, staring over my body with those shrewd, knowing eyes.
I look at him through tears, desperately trying to swallow my sobs. He says nothing as he steps closer. Nothing as he runs his thumb up and down the column of my throat. I’ve never felt threatened by my husband, never felt like he could hurt me. But right now, with him looking at me with the calmness of a serial killer, stroking the skin that Ransom had licked and sucked and bit just minutes before, I’ve never been so terrified in his presence.
He knows.
He knows.
He’s always known.
“Tuck . . .” I try to choke out, but it falls on deaf ears. He just keeps touching my kiss-burned skin, his fingers moving down to my shoulders. He moves in even closer and tastes my jaw with the barest brush of his tongue.
“Tuck . . .” I whisper again, begging for him to hear the plea in my voice.
He doesn’t.
I’m spinning around in a blur of movement, my face and chest pressed into the cold, slick tile. I cry out with shock, but am unable to move with Tucker holding my wrists against the wall. I stop struggling and he lets them go, only to sink to his knees on the shower floor. He grasps my ass, which is still sore and raw, if not swollen. I want to stop him—I should stop him—but if I do, he’ll know for sure. He may already have a hunch, but he can’t know for certain exactly what went down.
He spreads me, revealing that puckered hole that was once unsullied. Tears stream down my face as my husband sees the proof of my indiscretion. As he bears witness to my filth and indignity.
I release a full sob when his tongue meets that ravaged skin. Not because he’s hurting me—it actually feels amazing despite my debilitating guilt—but because I know I’m hurting him. He’s kissing, licking, sucking the very place where Ransom was buried inside me. He’s not only tasting me; he’s tasting him too. And that makes me so utterly disgusted with myself that I can do nothing but press my face against the tile to hide the shame rolling down my face.
I cry against the shower wall, my howls a mix of torment and pure ecstasy. And when I come for the third time in the past hour, I nearly collapse on the floor.
Tucker lifts me into his arms and carries me out. He wraps a towel around my dripping wet body, all the while leaving his own naked frame cold and dripping. When I am securely tucked into the bed, he goes into the bathroom to towel off.
I turn on my side and curl into myself, trying to sift through the endless stream of doubt running laps inside my head. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I still have a chance to make this right. Maybe now that I’ve gotten Ransom out of my system, we can move on for good. I can’t lose him. I can’t give up on what we have, regardless of what I feel for someone else.
I’m so preoccupied with my own selfishness and deceit that I don’t even notice the pile dumped beside the door. And once I do, I know that worrying is futile. Agonizing over the inevitable is wasted. It’s over. It’s all over.
My husband is perfect in every way. Kind, generous, and considerate. So considerate, that he brought in my towel and the paperback book that I had forgotten at the lagoon. The towel and the paperback that I don’t remember seeing when I left.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I make up an excuse to leave the room, telling Tucker that I need to discuss a new press release for Oasis with Justice, and I throw on a cotton dress and slip into flat sandals. I don’t even bother drying my hair or doing my makeup. I just comb out the snags and smack on some mascara and lip gloss and race out of our shared space, far away from the truth that we now both know.
When I make it to Justice’s guesthouse, he’s already in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his face screwed in a scowl.
“You just can’t leave well enough alone,” he says, closing the door behind us. We’re alone, thank God. And while I’m sure there are no secrets between him and Ally, I couldn’t stand for her to see me like this.
“Justice . . . Justice, I think I made a big mistake.”
“You think! You didn’t make a mistake, Heidi. You fucked up. I told you to stay away from him; I told you it was a mistake to bring him into your marriage, but you took it a step further, didn’t you?”
I frown. Wait a minute . . . why is he so pissed? And what could he know about my fuck ups? He wasn’t even present for last night’s debauchery. Has Ransom been confiding in Justice?
Seeing the confusion flash across my face, Justice rolls his eyes and says, “I have surveillance cameras everywhere. It’s in the contracts. You think I would have a business this provocative and not have camera evidence to cover my ass? Come on, Heidi. You should know that. You’re slipping.”
I take the insult like a slap in the face. He’s right. I’ve been less than stellar when it comes to my role as a professional.
“You were spying on us? You . . . you saw us?”
“Hell no. At least not the shit you were doing in my pool. But I saw enough. Dammit. You’ve really fucked it up this time, haven’t you? I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt when I saw you go to his room. But this . . . this is just too obvious.”
I shake my head, refusing to believe what I can plainly see. Tucker knows it. Justice knows it. And soon, everyone else will know it too. I’m a cheater. I’ve cheated on my husband. And even though he helped open the door to it, it was still me who chose to keep this up with Ransom. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him forever. I knew sooner or later, our eggshell house would crack and shatter under our feet. And now . . . now it has.
“He knows,” I manage to whisper to Justice, who just stares at me in disappointment. Tucker isn’t the only person I’ve let down. Justice went out on a limb for me. He welcomed us into his home, counseled us, gave us an outlet to explore ourselves, and I still managed to do the one thing he requested I not do.
“I know he does. I saw him. He came to me . . . wanting to try again. Willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy because he loves you.”
I don’t even bother to dash away the tears in my eyes. The secret’s out. I’m a screwup. No need to pretend now. “What do I do, Justice? What am I going to do now? I can’t lose Tucker. He’s my whole life and I love him. But Ransom . . . oh my God. What if he thinks we’re together? What if he tells someone? Shit! What if he confronts Tuck?”
Justice takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly, a move he uses to calm himself. Ally’s been insisting on him joining the morning yoga classes. “Look. Go back to your room. Spend the rest of the day with your husband. Order up food, watch TV. Let this situation simmer for now. Then tomorrow night, we’re going back down to the playground—at Tucker’s request. I’d advise against it, but then it’d raise too many questions—questions you don’t want me to answer honestly. But after that, you’re going to break things off with Ransom—personally and professionally. Then you’re going to send him back to New York. Alone. We’ll figure out the rest once he’s gone.”
I nod, fully accepting his advice. I need to drop Ransom for good. I need to cut him loose. I’ll never give my marriage a fair try with him here.
In a move that surprises us both, I go to wrap my arms around Justice in a warm embrace. He stiffens for at least five seconds before he exhales and begrudgingly hugs me back.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, meaning it. To him, to Tucker, hell, even to Ransom.
“I know. And you’re going to be sorry for a very long time. But not forever. Remember, I’ve fixed worse.”
I leave his home and do exactly what he says. I don’t pass Go. I don’t collect $200. I go straight to my husband. When I reach the door that says Reflection, I find that he isn’t there. Normally it wouldn’t surprise me—it’s still early and the compound is huge—but every fear I’ve ever harbored comes bubbling to the surface. What if he’s talking to Ransom right now? What if they’re fighting? Or what if Tucker decided to do exactly what I have been doing to him? What if he’s screwing another woman right now?
I make a mad dash for the spa, sweeping the area for any signs of my husband. The lower private level doesn’t open until after noon, so I don’t have to worry about him going for a romp in there, thank God. I check the instruction room, the theater, even the library that I never even knew existed. As I leave, I hear the sounds of piano close by, originating from an area I’ve never seen before. It’s open like a ballroom but much smaller. And it’s unfurnished, save for a single baby grand piano in the middle of the room, being played by none other than Ransom Reed.
He’s freshly showered, dressed in his signature frayed jeans and white V neck tee. He almost looks like the Ransom I’d seen on TV. The Ransom I was secretly infatuated with. And now that I know him, in every way that a woman can know a man, I feel more intimidated by him than I ever have before.
He looks at me through hazy eyes and smiles. There’s something in that smile that alarms me, something familiar that I just can’t put my finger on. It’s enough to draw me closer to try to figure it out.
I don’t say anything at first. Just sit beside him and listen to him play. I know the music, but I can’t remember the name. It’s not until he starts to sing that I understand—that I get it. The song. Him. Us. Why we were destined to be, yet doomed to coexist.
People like me and Ransom Reed, and even Justice, were always meant to be a little wrong. Without us, those perpetually good, righteous souls would have no one to save. They would have no purpose. Ally would have never met Justice and showed him what it was like to be loved and accepted, despite his background. Tucker would have never found me, and taught me how to live again, and accept love. And Ransom . . . see, that’s the problem. He thinks I’m his person. He thinks I’m the one who’s supposed to fix him. When we both know that two wrongs don’t make a right.
He flows into the chorus of “A Song For You” by Donny Hathaway, his voice wrapping around the melody like a warm, electric blanket. He’s always had a rich timbre to his voice, as if he could have been a soul singer in a past life. Considering his family was heavily religious and he grew up in the church, I’d imagine he spent many a Sunday singing hymns and gospel songs. And even though he’s excommunicated himself from the church and his family, he can’t deny that his upbringing helped shape the musician that he is today.
When the song ends, we sit there for a while, savoring the silence. We both have so much to say—how can we not?—but no one’s ready to take that step.
After several minutes, I suck in a breath, I tell him what I should have told him a long time ago. What I should have said the very first night we met. “I can’t do this, Ransom.”
He smiles but his eyes stay fixed on the keys. “We’re not doing anything right now.”
“You know what I mean. I can’t . . . be with you anymore. And I can’t represent you. I’m sorry. It’s highly unethical of me, and it could damage both our reputations. Not to mention, I’m married and I love my husband. I need to do this for all of us. And you and I having any type of interaction just isn’t healthy.”
“Healthy,” he snorts. “How do you know what’s healthy for me, huh? Maybe it’s you that I need to make me better.”
I turn to him and frown. “No, Ransom. I’m not. This isn’t right. We’re hurting him when we both know he doesn’t deserve it.”
“What do you know about what he deserves?” he sneers, his voice suddenly icy cold. “He had it all, yet he wanted more. What makes you think he’s hurting? What about me? What about my pain?”
I start to reach out to comfort him, his vulnerability catching me off guard, but I stop myself before I make contact, hoping to soothe him with my words instead. “I’m sorry we dragged you into all this. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I didn’t mean to . . . to . . .”
“To fall in love with me?” He looks at me then, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
“I never said that, Ransom.”
“But you are in love with me, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. “I love my husband. I want to make things work with him.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Ransom . . .” I stand up then, realizing what a mistake it was to try to talk to him. “Tucker is a good man, and a good husband. I need to be with him.”
In a flash of red rage, Ransom pounds against the keys, creating a disjointed song of fury and pain. “Fuck him! What kind of husband has another man fuck his wife? Huh? What kind of man would manipulate someone’s weakness for his own agenda?” he yells, spewing contempt from his lips.
Startled, I take a step back, putting myself at a safe distance just in case he decides to lunge at me. Hours ago, I relished his violence. Now, it terrifies me in all the wrong ways.
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