by Aly Martinez
"Then don’t take her. She stays with me."
"You don’t know what you are talking about. She can’t stay with you without protection. They will track her down."
"If we work together, we could do it. I have a place in Chicago. Maxed security system, private entrance, twenty-four-hour guard. Leo, we could make her safe." He stares into my eyes for a few moments as his face continually turns red from my grip on his throat.
It happens so fast that I can’t even begin to tell you where I went wrong. Leo grabs my hand from his neck and spins me, pulling my arm hard behind my back and pinning my face against the same door I just held him against.
He leans in, speaking directly into my ear. "I want a team of my own men, unlimited funds, and for you to keep your fucking mouth shut and take care of her. I worry about her safety and you worry about her well-being."
It makes total sense but I’m no one’s bitch. I slam my head back, cracking his nose and sending him to the ground. I drop to a knee beside him and once again regain my grip on his throat. "Deal."
He holds my eyes for a minute in an unspoken truce before I finally release him. I reach down, grabbing his hand and dragging him back to his feet. His nose is bleeding and my arm is throbbing from the restraint, but we both nod to each other in agreement.
"We leave in the morning. She’s staying with me tonight."
"I’ll let the big boys know," he says, pulling an ice pack from the freezer and pressing it to his nose.
"Hey, Leo." I stop him before he makes it to his room. "Will this ever end for her? I mean, is there a solution besides running all the time?"
"God, I hope so," he says with a resigned sigh. It’s easy to forget that Erica isn’t the only one whose life has been stolen.
"How much help has she had dealing with all of this? She is unquestionably not okay."
"She went through some pretty extensive therapy right after it happened. Then she called them all quack head doctors and refused to go back." He laughs. "Now she Skypes with a doctor once a month, but she needs more. See if you can talk her into seeing someone more regularly. Yeah?"
"Yeah, I’ll see what I can do."
"University of Florida," she answers, dragging her nails over my chest.
"And what made you want to go into medicine?" I ask as we lie in bed.
For the last two hours, I’ve been getting to know Erica Hill. Jesus—she is amazing. When Erica talks about her life before that night, her eyes light and her entire demeanor changes. I only thought she was beautiful before.
"My parents died in a car accident. They were both killed instantly, but when I was young, I childishly thought, if they had had better doctors, they would have lived." She shrugs.
"Christ," I whisper.
"No, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I was really young. I barely remember them at all. I was just a little girl who dreamed of having a perfect mom and dad and the whole fairytale life. Anyway, it just kind of stuck with me. I remember when my first patient was rushed in from a car accident. It validated me. I felt like all my dreams had come true in just that moment. That’s why I chose emergency medicine. It’s not always fun or exciting, but at the end of the day, I felt like I accomplished something. Some little girl’s parents lived because I was there. I miss it." She swallows hard and looks up at me, barely hiding the tears sparkling in her blue eyes.
"We’ll get you back there." It’s not a lie, but it’s definitely not a promise. I don’t know that she will ever be able to practice medicine again. She seems to know that too because she give me patronizing nod and squeezes me tight.
"Can we stop talking? I just want to feel you." She slides her hand under the waistband of my boxers, gripping my swelling cock.
I’d love nothing more than to feel her too, but not tonight. I reach down, removing her hand. I’ve never rejected her before—and probably won’t ever again—but I can’t do this now.
"Not tonight, beautiful," I say before kissing her forehead.
She blinks at me for a minute then begins nervously chewing on her lip. "Oh. Yeah. Um, it’s been a crazy night. You’ve learned a lot of new things about me and I’m sure you need time to process." She suddenly rolls away from me.
Most nights, we sleep like this, so it takes a few seconds for me to realize that she isn’t just settling in for the night. It’s only when I feel the tiniest of shakes from her back that I realize that she is either crying or desperately fighting it.
"What’s going on, Erica?" I roll her back over.
She doesn’t try to fight me, but she covers her face with her hands. "It’s already different."
"What is?"
"You and me." She sniffs, trying to collect herself. "I hate that you know now. It’s already changing us."
"Yes, it is changing us, and thank Christ for that." Her eyes fly to mine. "For the first time since I met you, we have something real. No more lies or secrets. It’s just us now. And tonight, I don’t want to have sex because I don’t want that real to even be in the same headspace of all that other bullshit you told me earlier." She looks away, and I realize that may not have been the best choice of words. "Look at me, beautiful. Tomorrow, we start over as Slate and Erica. And tomorrow, I’m stripping you naked and having my way with you for the very first time. So I suggest you get some sleep." I wink and her eyes flare.
"Slate, I’ll understand if you need more time. I know this has to change the way you look at me at least a little."
"Oh it really does. Because tomorrow I’m going to be looking up at you from between your legs. Totally different view."
"Jesus, Slate."
"Nothing changes. So get that out of your head. I still want you just as much, if not more than I did before." I grab her ass and grind my hard-on against her just to prove it.
"Now that’s just mean." She throws a leg over my hips and grinds right back against me. I let out a groan and rethink this whole waiting thing, but it’s for the best.
"Go to sleep, Erica."
"Slate," she whispers just as I close my eyes.
"Sleep."
"Thank you."
I don’t respond. I don't need to.
"Erica," Slate whispers into my neck.
For the brief second before I open my eyes, I imagine that I’m back in my small apartment before that horrible night. Perhaps I’m tired from a long shift at the hospital instead of last night’s emotional upheaval. But the one thing I take with me from reality into this fantasy world is Slate.
"Wake up, beautiful."
I feel the covers slide down my chest and his warm mouth latch onto my breast. Without opening my eyes, I play with his hair as his tongue circles my nipple.
"Mmm," I moan, arching my back off the bed.
Never pulling away from my breast, he shifts his body to lie between my legs. There is a sheet dividing us, but it does nothing to stop his hard cock from sliding against my clit. I lift my hips as he rolls his, making for the most amazing spark only Slate can bring me.
He drags his mouth up my chest and neck, pausing at my ear. "It’s a new day, Erica."
It’s a short sentiment. Nothing extreme. However one word rouses me into consciousness—Erica.
I open my eyes to see the golden eyes and crooked smile that I would recognize anywhere. His hair is disheveled and a thin layer of scruff covers his jaw. Yet, Slate has never looked sexier in his life. It’s a new day, and even after all of the filth I divulged last night, he’s still at my side.
"You ready?" he asks, enabling me to tell him yet another truth.
"Yes," I answer, and morning breath be damned, his mouth slams over mine.
He immediately uses one hand to push himself up to hover above me and the other to drag the sheet from between us. The morning sun is bright as he settles back on top of me, but this is Slate. For the first time ever, I don’t care what he sees. I’m finally ready to bare it all.
He slides a hand down my body and ever-so-slowly drags it between my
legs. Just before he rounds the final curve, he pauses to catch my gaze. I don’t want to think about the scars or be nervous with Slate, but I feel it anyway. I clench my eyes closed and nod for him to continue. Only his hand never moves another inch.
"Erica, I love you. I never knew you before you had these scars, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend my entire life trying to erase them from the inside out." My heart swells and my voice catches in my throat. "You see my nose, beautiful? Well, it’s been broken three times. I swear, a few years ago, it was perfectly straight. I was a sexy bastard back then," he teases before becoming serious again. "Everyone has scars, Erica. Don’t for a second think yours are any different based on how you got them. I love you—scars and all."
The hand that was only seconds ago trailing down my body shifts direction and slides back up and into my hair. As his mouth seals over mine, Slate Adam Andrews tells me a truth of his own without even uttering another word.
I allow him to kiss me for a minute longer, but only because it would be criminal to stop him. Slowly, I lift my left arm over my head, pulling on the hand he’s using to support himself. He drops to his elbow as I guide his hand to restrain my wrist.
"I love you too. And I trust you." I take hold of his other hand and glide it down between my legs. The second he brushes over my wet core, we both moan.
He doesn’t move as his eyes hold mine, but he immediately releases the arm I placed above my head. "Tell me to stop if you need to."
"I won’t need to."
Erica’s words fuel me forward. I suddenly sit up to kneel between her legs but never look down. I don’t want this to be about the scars. She’s nervous about my reaction almost as much as I am. I have a shit temper. I know that, when I see them, it’s going to enrage me that someone hurt her in such a violent manner. I also know she will misconstrue that anger as some sort of personal judgment against her. If she is expecting me to sit between her knees and examine her old injuries, she couldn’t be more wrong.
I just want to be with Erica.
My hands start at her knees, sliding up each of her thighs and spreading them wide as they go. My eyes remain locked on hers, being sure to give her no reaction whatsoever. Her breath catches as my hands meet the lines of puckered flesh running up the inside of her thighs. They are so slight that I’ve never felt them before in all the times we have been together, but then again, she has never let me touch her like this before either. Finally, I meet her heat and her eyes nervously flash around the room.
"Erica," I growl to catch her attention. My fingers slide over her wet folds, feeling the indentations where she was cut. My blood begins to boil, but I do my best to lock it down. "Fucking perfect," I whisper, pushing a single finger inside her. I drop my thumb to her clit, making slow circles. Her tense body relaxes as she closes her eyes.
"Slate," she moans, lifting her hips off the bed to meet my every stroke.
I finally drop my gaze to my hand moving in and out of her. The red lines are stark compared to her creamy, white skin, but what I can’t tear my eyes away from is the way she freely undulates under my touch. Fuck, it’s a beautiful sight to watch her apprehension melt away as she becomes lost in the moment. I can’t take it for even a second longer.
I quickly push both hands under her ass and lift her entire lower half off the bed to meet my mouth. She lets out a startled squeak, but soon her legs relax over my shoulders. With a hand over her hips and one under her ass, I hold her to my mouth while I devour her pussy. I’m a desperate man. I thrust my tongue inside her, kissing and sucking every inch of her wetness. I flick her clit, starving with need to feel her come against my mouth. Not Riley or Beautiful, but to feel Erica come under my touch for the very first time.
Her body pulses around me as she rolls her hips against my mouth. With one last swipe of my tongue, she comes, calling my name as she hits her climax. It’s not loud or wild. Instead, she says it with such reverence that it hits me in a place that’s so deep I never even knew it existed before now. I slowly lower her back to the bed, continuing to taste her on the way down. She shoves a hand into my hair as I trail kisses up her stomach and over each breast. I slide up her body, covering her completely. I’m careful to read her reaction for any type of hesitance, but if she even gives it a second thought, I can’t tell.
I reach toward the nightstand to retrieve a condom, but she shakes her head. "Don’t. I started birth control as soon as you came back."
I lift a questioning eyebrow. "Then why have I been using condoms for the last four weeks?"
"Because I didn’t want to hear you call me beautiful the first time we were truly together. I wanted you to be with me." Her eyes well with tears.
"You have to stop crying in bed or I’m going to develop a complex," I tease then kiss her gently. She quietly laughs as she swipes the tears from her face. "I’ve been dating a woman, and no, she wasn’t always you. But in this bed, I’ve only ever been with Erica. This might be the only place you were ever truly honest with me."
She gives me the smallest smile and pushes her hips up off the bed, signaling to me that she’s ready for more. I move a hand between us, and this time, she doesn’t even flinch. Slowly, I guide my cock inside her tight pussy and she throws her head back against the pillow.
Rubbing my scruff against her cheek, I lean down and whisper, "Erica," into her ear just so there is absolutely no question in her mind about who I’m with right this second.
For well over an hour, I make love to Erica. It’s not the normal hot and frantic sex we usually have, but that doesn’t make it any less incredible. Every time she gets close, I ease up and keep her on the edge. It’s slow and agonizing, but in the end, it gives us both exactly what we need—a connection without words, without lies, and without hurt. It gives us a new beginning.
"Holy shit!" I exclaim when I walk into Slate’s Chicago apartment.
When I think apartment, even for a big, famous, rich guy, I think small and compact. But this place is the exact opposite. I knew Slate had money, but he seems like such a low-key guy that this place actually surprises me. It’s huge. There’s a private entrance and a scary security guard. I thought for a minute that Leo and I were going to be frisked before we were allowed to enter. Thankfully we weren’t, because I know Leo never leaves home without a gun stashed somewhere.
Slate sent us first in case there were any paparazzi staking out his place. He says that it’s rare for them to track him outside of LA but not completely unheard of. With his retirement announcement still fresh, he didn’t want to take any chances.
"Well, it’s definitely a step up from the last place," Leo says, dropping his bag beside me.
This morning, Leo officially withdrew us from the Witness Protection Program. I thought it would have been a long process with lots of paperwork to reclaim our identities, but not even three hours later, a manila envelope appeared on our doorstep with driver licenses, passports, and birth certificates enclosed inside. I am officially Erica Renee Hill again. I’m so freaking excited that I can’t even bring myself to be scared.
"Did he tell you where we are supposed to be sleeping?" I ask Leo, who is currently typing numbers into the security panel, locking things back down.
"I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you will be sleeping in his bed and I’ll be in the guest room," he answers, being his usual smartass self.
"Do you think he really wants to share a room? That’s like moving in together."
"You’re kidding, right?" he asks with a slight laugh.
"No, I’m not kidding! I’ve never lived with a man before." He gives me the ‘Oh, really?’ look that makes me shout, "You don’t count!"
"Babe, I’m pretty sure you got married last night. There may not have been a ring or preacher, but you definitely got hitched. I won’t even begin to tell you how many zeros are in my security budget. Call me crazy, but I think he’s serious about you."
"Shut up. I know he’s serious, but living to
gether is a totally different story. And wait. How many zeros are we talking?"
He laughs and ignores my question. "I’m gonna look around. Find that man’s room, because I’m not brawling over why your bags are still in the foyer when he gets here."
I wander around his apartment in awe of how big this place actually is. From what I can tell, it consists of four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a rec room, a huge, open den/dining room combination, and a kitchen that would make any chef jealous. It’s clean, uncluttered, and very minimalistic—just like the man who owns it.
I finally stumble upon a massive master suite that causes my jaw to drop. It’s decorated with stark, white walls, but the curtains and bedding are blood red. The king-sized four-poster bed juts out from the corner. But how I really know this is his room is because it’s the only one covered in pictures. I’m not just talking memorabilia from his fighting days either.
Slate is a different person in the public eye, but this room is filled with pictures of my Slate with various people. Some I recognize as his mom or his trainer, but what really steals my breath is the one of me smiling in a selfie. I remember him snapping it of us back when I thought he was just Adam Andrews. We were lying in bed, and my head is turned into his chest to hide from the camera, but my smile is unmistakable. If I didn’t know it before, it’s plainly obvious to any onlooker that I loved him even way back then.
"I love that picture," he says from the doorway.
"Shit!" I scream, spinning to face him.
"Damn, I’m sorry." He hurries into the room, wrapping me in his strong arms.
"Shit," I repeat into his chest, trying to catch my breath.
"It’s just me, beautiful."
"Just so you know, the no-sneaking-up-on-me rule will always be intact."
"Noted." He kisses the top of my head.
"Any issues?" I ask, looking up into his amazing eyes and crooked grin.