by Megyn Ward
“I never lied.” Her fingers curl inward, making a fist around mine. “I manipulated, but I never lied.”
“I fail to see the difference.” I turn her hand over. “I also fail to understand your reasoning. Why would you—”
“Would you’ve done… that if I told you who I was?” She talks over me, voice raised and insistent. “Would you have bent me over that desk if you’d known it was me?”
“No.” I tell her the truth, all my attention focused on getting my filth off her hand. Suddenly, I can’t scrub hard enough. Can’t get her clean enough.
“That’s why I lied.”
I hear something in her tone that jerks my gaze upward. Anger. Hurt. Acceptance. I look up to tell her how wrong she was. How stupid and reckless, but then she does it. That pink tongue of hers pushes between her lips to touch the spot on her upper lip where her freckle used to be.
My freckle.
My wayward cock responds immediately.
“I’m not doing this. I need you to leave.” I let go of her hand, all but tossing it back at her. “Right now.”
“Why?” Now she looks like she sounds. Wounded. Angry. For some reason, I think about the night I kissed her. The night she offered her virginity to me. She looked just like this when I told her no. How did I not recognize her last night?
Maybe you did. Maybe she’s not the only liar in this little equation, huh, fuckface? Maybe you knew exactly what you were doing and who you were doing it to.
“Leave.” I turn away from her, stuffing my bandana into my pocket as I walk away. Hell, let’s be honest, I’m not walking. I’m running.
“I was good enough to fuck last night,” she calls after me. “But now that you know it’s me, you can’t stand the thought?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Daisy,” I toss over my shoulder. “I forgot about it before it even happened.”
I know what I’m doing.
I’m protecting myself by hurting her. It’s a shitty, selfish thing to do but I’m protecting her too. She has no idea what she walked into with me. What she’s asking for.
“Then what are you objecting to, exactly? Rich girls?” she shouts. “Redheads?”
I finally turn, nailing her with a glare I hope to Christ will get my message across. “Repeats.”
She squares her shoulders and looks me dead in the eye, even though that ugly red flush is creeping up her neck. “What if I paid you?”
Twenty-six
Henley
Okay. That wasn’t something I’d planned on. The rest of it—yes.
I planned it.
I planned to arrive early.
I went to Gilroy’s last night, knowing he would be there.
When I was certain he didn’t recognize me, I offered him something I knew he wouldn’t pass up. Couldn’t say no to.
Anonymous sex with a total stranger.
But I never planned to ask for more. And I for sure never intended to offer to pay for it. Last night was supposed to be a one-off. Two birds with one stone. I’m a twenty-five-year-old virgin who’s about to marry her gay best friend so he won’t lose his trust fund.
Well, at least I was.
After last night, I’m not sure what I am anymore.
“What did you say?” He says it quietly, brow lowered over green eyes that look sharp enough to cut.
“I—” I feel my fingers tighten around my purse, my feet dig into the pavement through the soles of my shoes. “I would… pay you.”
“You want to pay me money to fuck you?” He says slowly, one corner of his mouth kicked higher than the other in a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“That’s a crude way to put it, but yes.” I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “That is what I’m proposing.”
“How many times we talkin’ here?” He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin. “Once? Twice—do I get paid by the hour or the orgasm?”
He’s angry. Being sarcastic. I touched a sore spot. But I push ahead with my spontaneous proposal anyway because at least he’s listening. At least he seems to have forgotten he was in the middle of kicking me out. “I’m serving a 10-week internship with the Boston City Library. I’d like to secure an ongoing arrangement.”
“Secure an ongoing arrangement?” He smirks at me, dropping his arms to cross the distance between us. “That doesn’t answer my question, does it, Daisy?” He stops in front of me, so close and so beautiful I can feel my heart stall in my chest. He leans in close I can smell him—axle grease and leather—feel the soft rasp of his unshaven jaw slide against my cheek as he whispers in my ear. “How many times do you want me to fuck you?”
I think about last night. The way he ordered me around. Jerked my skirt up over my hips. Shredded the lace of my panties like he couldn’t be bothered with the civility of simply moving them to the side.
“I don’t—” I shake my head, mouth suddenly dry. “I would be willing to allow you to set the terms of our agreement.”
“Is that so?” He pulls back just enough to nail me with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair warning—you leave that shit to me, you’re gonna go back to New York, bankrupt and bow-legged. You ready for that, Daisy?”
Oh, god.
Some distant part of me is warning me to get out.
Get out now.
I got what I wanted. I scratched lose virginity to Conner Gilroy off my bucket list. Those fifteen minutes are enough to last me the rest of my life. Certainly, the next five years. But I stay where I am. I stand my ground. Because I’m greedy. Now that I’ve had him, I want more. As much as he’ll give me. Any way I can have him. For as long as I’m able.
“Yes.”
He smirks again, his face calling me a liar. “What would your fiancé have to say about the fact that you’re playing Pretty Woman with some dirty mechanic in Boston?”
“Nothing. He knows exactly where I am,” I tell him, the first full truth I’ve uttered since I stepped off the train at Boston Station. “And exactly what I came here to do.”
Twenty-seven
Conner
Sirens are wailing. Bells are clanging. Horns areblaring. Warnings, all of them, and I don’t heed a single one.
I shut down the part of me that is outraged. The part of me who still likes to believe that I’m a halfway decent person when it comes to the way I treat women. I mean, I’m up-front. I don’t make promises I know I won’t keep. I practice safe sex. I give as good as I get. Most times, better.
Usually, that matters to me. Makes me feel better about the way I live my life.
Right now, all I can think is that Henley just offered to pay me to fuck her. Because obviously, she thinks I’m the kind of guy who would accept an offer like that.
Knowing that hurts so much I’m having a hard time breathing.
I let my gaze roam her face, looking for something to anchor it to. Something recognizable that I can cling to. Use to ground myself. Remind myself that this is Henley.
This is Henley, and I absolutely cannot do what I want to do.
Not to her.
“He knows you’re here, asking your ex-boyfriend to fuck you for money?” I’m trying to shock her, pull her out of whatever downward spiral she’s in that brought her here. If I can right her, I can send her on her way, and I can get busy pretending this never happened.
“He knows I’m here.” She says it softly, nodding her head. “It was his idea.”
I made an odd noise in the back of my throat—half laugh, half snarl. “I bet it was—in my experience, old money types love their kink.” Taking a step toward her, it pushes her back, and she retreats until her shoulders are pressed against the wheel well of the Chevy. Her gaze drifts up to my chin, and that blush of hers spills down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of pearls around her throat. “As tempting as your offer sounds, I’m not into cuckolding. I don’t do other men’s—”
“I know what it means, Conner.” She forces herself to
look me in the eye. “And that’s not what this is.” She swallows hard, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “We don’t—Jeremy and I aren’t...” She’s flustered again, her explanation getting tangled and she loses her nerve, breaking eye contact.
“Aren’t what?” I say, letting my gaze rake across her breasts, her tight nipples pushed against the pale pink of her blouse. “Exclusive?” Thinking about her with that Jeremy asshole was bad enough. Thinking about her with multiple men…
Instead of doing the smart thing, keeping my distance and demanding an explanation, I make the mistake of stepping closer. She’s always done that to me. Made it impossible for me to think clearly.
I can feel her breath, warm and uneven, against my neck. The push of her breasts, nipples stiff against my chest.
She puts a hand up placing it on my chest like she’s trying to keep me at bay. “Intimate,” she says softly, her gaze creeping up my neck to settle on my mouth. “Jeremy and I don’t have a physical relationship. We’re friends. Nothing more.” She shakes her head, catching her lip between her teeth, brow furrowed. “That’s why I’m here. Why I wanted—”
Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around hers. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying,” I tell her, my fingers shifting across hers to wrap around her wrist, guiding it downward, a slow trail over my pecs and abs. “And I’m fairly certain you have no idea what you want.” I turn her hand and press the palm of it against the hard length of my cock while my other hand reaches past her to grip the side of the truck I’ve got her pinned against. “I think as soon as this Girls Gone Wild phase of yours wears off—” I whisper in her ear as I stroke myself with her hand, and I have to clamp my teeth together to keep myself from groaning out loud. “—you’re going to regret coming here. Because what happened last night—me bending you over that desk. Ripping off your panties. Fucking you from behind. Making you come until you could barely stand—that was me on an off night. You start this thing with me, I’m going to do things to you, Daisy. Filthy, bad things that you’re not ready for.”
I’m trying to scare her. Get her to save us both and run before I do something I can’t take back.
Too late.
And since when do I care?
Since you screwed up and fucked the one girl on the planet, you should’ve never been allowed to have.
She doesn’t scare, and she doesn’t run. I forgot how stubborn she is. How determined she can be when it comes to getting what she wants.
“I wanted it to be you, Conner,” she says, tilting her head to press her lips against my jaw. “I always wanted it to be you. I never stopped wanting it to be you.” Her fingers wrap around the shaft of my cock and that groan I had on lockdown breaks free. “I planned it.” She strokes me again, her thumb brushing across the head of my cock while the other one pushes itself under my shirt to skate its fingers along my stomach. “I knew exactly what I was doing when I went looking for you last night…” Even through my jeans, the combination of her confession and the feel of her hands on me is enough to push me to the verge of coming. “I wanted it to happen. I made it happen.”
I jerk her hands away a second before both of mine dart under her skirt to streak up the length of her bare thighs. I feel her panties, the wide band of lace slung around her hips. The thinner one, snug against her wet pussy. I remember how flimsy they are. How easily they came apart in my hands. How easy it would be for me to have her, right here against the side of this truck.
Gripping her lace-covered ass, I lift her, hooking my hands into the crook of her knees while spreading her thighs, so I can grind my cock into the cleft of them. I hear her thousand-dollar pumps hit my grease-stained garage floor a moment before her ankles lock around my hips, her bare heels digging into my denim-covered ass, “I want to come for you, Conner,” she whispers, in my ear. Urging me to keep cock-stroking her, tilting her hips so that my hard-on hits her clit just right. “Make me come for you.”
I lower my head, groaning against her neck, my hips pistoning against her, my rigid cock straining against the zipper of my jeans. She threads her fingers through my hair, lifting her jaw to offer me her throat. Her legs tighten around my waist, her knees falling wide, hips rocking against me. The friction between us, so sweet and hot I can feel an orgasm barreling down on me, tightening the small of my back. My balls. The head of my cock. Jesus Christ, I’m going to—
The blare of a passing car horn finds me. Reminds me who I am and what I’m doing.
Who I’m doing it to.
Henley.
This is Henley.
My Henley.
I drop her onto her feet and take a step back, my cock seizing in protest from the sudden lack of contact. Being denied isn’t something it’s used to.
Holy shit. What the fuck am I doing?
I bend down and retrieve her shoes. She’s standing over me, chest heaving. Cheeks flushed. Legs shaking. My only solace is knowing she was as close to coming as I was. “I’ll think about it,” I say, even though I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. Right now, I’ll say just about anything to get away from her.
“Think about what?” She sounds dazed. Out of breath.
“Your offer.” I grin at her, shoving her shoes into her limp hands. “Unless you’ve already changed your mind?”
She shakes her head at me. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
Half of me wants to throw myself into traffic while the other half wants to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs and lock the doors. “Well, then—I’ll take it under advisement, and I’ll be in touch. Until then, you can see yourself out.” I turn, forcing myself across the grease-stained concrete to mount the stairs to my apartment, ready to barricade myself inside to keep away from her.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I look over the railing, ready to send her a parting shot. Something pithy and mean, but I’m too late.
Henley’s already gone.
Twenty-eight
Henley
2009
April
This time I don’t hesitate. As soon as I’mplanted on his front porch, I raise my fist and knock loudly. After Conner left, I crawled back into bed, the piece of paper he gave me clutched in my hand, and stared out the window.
Ryan came home just before sunrise, unable to look me in the eye as he crawled through my window.
“Thanks, Hen,” he says, walking past me, heading straight for my bedroom door. He’ll go to his own room and sleep all day. If our father wakes up and needs to be dealt with, that’ll be my job.
I got dressed and sat on the end of my bed and watched the sunrise. As soon as it was light enough, I stuffed the paper Conner gave me into my pocket and left.
This time it’s Conner’s father who answers the door.
I can hear kitchen noises—the smell of bacon and coffee reminding that it’s early. Too early to be here.
Regardless, Mr. Gilroy looks glad to see me. “Henley,” he says, his voice deep and booming, face instantly split in two by a wide, genuine grin that quickly dies when he sees the bruise on my face. “Is everything okay?” This is a real father. I think it every time I see him. One who doesn’t smell like cheap liquor and sweat. One who works hard and loves his family. Takes care of his wife. Protects his children.
I don’t answer, I just reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope full of cash and hold it out to him.
He looks at it like he has no idea what it is.
“Mr. Gilroy,” I say, ignoring the slight tremor in my tone and what it means. “We both know Conner doesn’t need a calculus tutor.”
For a second, I’m sure he’s not going to take the money back, and I can feel my face tighten. My jaw setting itself at an odd angle. My eyes burn and tingle at their corners. Seeing I’m on the verge of tears, Mr. Gilroy snatches the money from me, like he’s hoping it’ll keep me from bursting into tears.
“I stand by what I said,” he tells me, feeding the mon
ey into his front pocket. “That boy of mine is as dumb as a box of doorknobs.”
I laugh. It’s a watery sound that will drown me if I let it. “Is he awake?” I say, carefully brushing my fingertips across my bruised cheek. “I’d like to talk to him.”
He opens the door wider, inviting me in. “He’s upstairs in his room,” he says, closing the door behind me. I’m halfway up the stairs when he calls my name.
“Henley.” I look down to find Mr. Gilroy standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me. “Do I need to have a talk with your father.”
His concern squeezes my throat, making it hard to answer. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Please don’t.”
“Alright.” I can see his jaw muscles flex and tighten, but he agrees, giving me a stiff head nod. “This time.”
I don’t argue. “Thank you,” I say before turning and pushing myself up the stairs and down the hall.
His door is open. I can see his bare feet hanging over the side of the bed. When I reach the open doorway, I stop. Standing in it, I see Conner. He’s awake, sitting on his bed. Back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, book in his lap, head bent over the pages.
I suddenly don’t know what to do. Why I’m here.
“Can you come in and shut the door?” he says without looking up from his book. “Declan’s a nosy bitch, and I don’t want him hearing whatever it is you came to say.”
I force myself through the door, turning to shut it slowly. When I hear it click, I take a deep breath, my heart slamming against my ribcage, hard enough to hurt. When I turn around, Conner’s watching me.
Waiting for me to catch up.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the piece of paper he gave me last night. “What does this mean?”
His gaze flickers away from my face for a moment, looking at what’s in my hand. “It’s Schrödinger’s Equation,” he says.