"It was quick, not some awful, drawn-out affair. But my uncle just... couldn't take it. His heart gave out just a couple months later." Unsure what to say, if there even was something to say to that, I turned my head slightly and pressed a kiss underneath his clavicle. His arm tightened around me again. "Long time ago, Prue. Don't feel sorry for me."
"I don't feel sorry for you. I feel sympathetic for what that must have been like. It's different."
"If you say so," he said, but the cockiness wasn't in his tone. He reached for the remote and flicked through a couple of channels. Figuring that was the end of our little sharing circle, I turned my head slightly and watched him channel surf.
"Hey!" I snapped, reaching out and making a grab for the remote.
"What?" he asked, sounding amused.
"You just turned off Don't Trust The B."
"I turned off what?" he asked, hand closing tighter around the remote as I tried to pry it from his fingers.
"Don't Trust The B In Apartment 23," I clarified. "It's a generational modern classic that didn't get the love it deserved and you just shut it off," I said, watching as he stretched his arm out toward his side, out of my reach.
"Babe... I'm not watching some show with fucking eleven syllables in its title."
"It's way better than this Forensic Files crap," I objected. "There's enough awful in the world. I don't need to watch shows about it. Now give me..." I started, throwing half my body over his to lunge for the extended remote. "Yes!" I hissed as my hand closed around it. But then I was flying backward, hitting the mattress hard, with Byron's body suddenly covering me, a big, white-toothed smile on his face. "I still got the remote," I pointed out, wiggling it around as I smiled up at him.
"Yeah?" he asked, giving me his full weight for a second as his arms shot up and snagged mine at the wrists. "Try using it."
Arms pinned over my head, his inviting body covering mine, his disarmingly open smile shining down on me... yeah I kind of forgot what the hell a remote control was. As such, it fell from my hand, utterly forgotten.
"That's what I thought," he said, smile turning into a smirk before his lips pressed down on mine. With my arms pinned, I had expected hard, rough, dominant. Instead, he gave me slow, sweet, explorative kisses, planting a row of little ones across my lips before pressing in hard, his tongue slipping forward to claim mine until every inch of my skin felt like it was buzzing, until my air got tight in my chest, until my legs went up to wrap around his back and my arms fought their imprisonment, wanting to wrap around his shoulders and hold him against me.
His grip slipped slightly until his hands pressed down on mine. And instead of pulling away at the intimacy of it like I had expected the second I felt the contact, his fingers slipped between mine and closed up tight.
And I swear, the second my bare hand touched his bare hand, my soul sang a song my heart understood. And I realized in a moment of blinding, Earth-shaking clarity, that I had never felt anything even akin to it before.
It was too soon. It was stupid. It was reckless. It was completely and insanely unlike me.
But I loved him.
I loved him in a way I wasn't familiar with: wild, unstoppable, nonsensical.
It wasn't something I had known before. Love had been something that grew from mutual interest, long conversations, shared meals, shared spaces, shared... everything. It came from knowing the ins and outs of your partner.
It came from, well, my head.
This wasn't that.
This was all heart.
And that was the scariest thing I had ever felt in my entire life.
But the fact of the matter was, I wasn't the woman I was, or more accurately, thought I was, when I first walked through Byron St. James' door. He had systematically ripped the false layers away, the guards, the masks. He had shown me what was underneath. I was so myself with him that it was painful. My whole body ached.
"What's the matter?" Byron's voice asked, jolting me out of my own thoughts to find him pressed upward, eyes on mine, seeming to see right through me.
"Nothing is the matter," I lied.
"Babe... I stopped kissing you like twenty seconds ago and you didn't even notice. So fuck off with that shit and tell me what's up."
"Not everything in my head is your business," I countered, my words a little harsh to cover up the swirling, all-consuming fear working its way through my system.
"If your head is in my bed, everything in it is my business."
I exhaled slowly, fighting against the hold he had of my hands. "Fine. Then let me up and I'll get out of your bed and then you don't have to worry about it."
"The fuck is up with you?" he asked, brows drawing together, but he released my wrists and pushed himself back until he sat on his ankles and looked down at me.
"I'm tired," I lied, wiggling out and away from him, moving off to the side of the bed and making a grab for my jeans and tee, standing and slipping into them as quickly as possible.
"You're not tired," he countered, moving to sit back against the headboard, watching me. "Don't lie to me, Prue. You know I see right through that shit so you're not accomplishing anything. You want to leave, go, there's the door. But don't lie to me."
"Then don't ask questions it's obvious I don't want to answer."
"Babe, you never want to answer any fucking questions. It's like pulling teeth to get anything real out of you."
"I never asked you to get to know me, Byron," I said, my voice a little hollow because I knew that, while I never asked it of him, everything in me was begging it of him.
"Alright," he said, shaking his head a little like he was confused. "Go get your space. But this isn't over."
"This what? This conversation?"
"That, yeah. But this," he said, gesturing between us, "too. Know you're going to go hole up in your room and convince yourself some bullshit about it being reckless and stupid and messy..."
"It is."
"Yeah, babe. But that's fucking life. It's reckless and stupid and messy. And you do shit sometimes just because it feels good or because it would be an interesting story one day or, for fuck's sake, even just for bragging rights. Not everything needs to be analyzed to death. Not everything has to be smart and well planned out."
"Everything in my life does," I objected.
"Why?"
"Because I don't need another mess to clean up," I snapped, feeling my eyes sting with the threat of tears and knowing I had to get out of there.
Maybe picking up on something in my tone, or maybe seeing the unshed tears, Byron's face softened a little as he moved off the bed, taking a step toward me and pausing when I took a step back. "Alright. Maybe you are tired. It was a weird night. Go get some rest." Given permission, though wholly unsure why I felt like I needed such a thing, I turned and started toward the door, only to be stopped again by his voice. "Prue," he called, making me freeze and it took a lot of self-control to not turn. And maybe run toward him. "Just saying, if you're still in this mood tomorrow, we're gonna have problems."
"We have nothing but problems," I said, but so low, so under my breath that there was no way he heard me.
I let myself into my room and sank back against my door for a long moment.
Because I was right.
We had nothing but problems.
Not the least of them being I was hopelessly in love with someone who could never and would never love me back, someone I would have to walk away from sooner rather than later, and in doing so, leave parts of myself bloodied and strewn all over his perfect little life, a life that would never welcome any part of me, sure to sweep, mop, and bleach me away like I had never existed at all.
And that was the worst part of the ordeal.
For me, nothing could ever erase him. Not just because I cared for him, but because I was grateful to him. He forced me out of my comfort zone. He made me acknowledge parts of myself I had ignored or hadn't even real
ized were a part of me. He helped me get my father into rehab, something I had tried to do for years unsuccessfully. He saw an untapped potential and he dusted it off and put it to work, boosting my confidence in the process. He made me a better version of myself.
I owed him for that.
And because of that debt, I would never forget him.
But, for him, I was just one of many.
Utterly forgettable.
Which made loving him all the worse.
FOURTEEN
Prue
I woke up to my alarm bleeping out, shrill and insistent, from across the room. On an unapologetically loud grumble, I rolled over, throwing the blankets off my body and trying to force my eyes to open.
But then the bleeping stopped.
My eyes snapped open to find Byron turning away from the alarm, wearing nothing but black sleep pants slung low on his waist, but looking wide awake. His hair was endearingly bed-messy and I felt my heart swell a little at getting to see him so uncharacteristically unkempt.
"We have nothing but problems?" he asked, brow raising as he made his way to the side of my bed.
I reached up to self-consciously rub the sleep from my eyes and flatten my sure-to-be messy hair. "What?" I asked, knowing damn well what he was asking. Apparently Byron, among his many other annoying talents, also had super-hearing.
He sat down by my hip, looking down at me. "Don't," he said, bossy as ever, but the words landed soft. "What problems do we have?"
"Byron I..." I shook my head a little, struggling with letting it all out or not.
But the night before, tossing and turning in bed, I had decided I wasn't going to be that girl. I wasn't going to be the heartsick girl pining after the man who couldn't, and wouldn't, return her feelings. I wasn't going to sit around and think 'what if' and 'maybe'. I wasn't going to create giant, grand, romantic possibilities in my head. Because, regardless of the woman I was becoming, I was nothing if not prudent. I wasn't going to open myself up to any more hurt than necessary. I was going to take whatever Byron gave me because, one, I couldn't see myself standing a chance at resisting him, and two, because I wanted to give that to myself.
"Babe, what?" he asked, sounding a bit frustrated, but like he was trying to keep it under control.
"I don't want to talk about that," I admitted because it was the truth.
I noticed him biting on the inside of his cheek, trying to decide what he was going to say or do. Ultimately, he threw off my blankets, smiling a little to find me in a Disney tee and silly superwoman panties, and nothing else. Then he nudged me slightly and moved to stretch out beside me, rolling me onto my side, facing away from him so that my back was against his chest. His legs cocked up beneath mine and his arm went around my belly. His face nuzzled into my neck and he planted a kiss beneath my ear.
Nestled in my chest, my stupid, traitorous heart squeezed at the sweetness of it all.
"You out of that shitty mood or do I need to fuck you out of it?" he asked and I felt myself smiling. Sweet, at times, Byron was still Byron all the damn time.
"Oh, gee, I dunno," I said coyly, wiggling my bottom into him and feeling his cock against my ass, hard already. I knew exactly which option he preferred. And, well, I preferred it too.
"Well, we can't have you walking around in a shitty mood all day, now can we?" he asked, his hands leaving my belly to snag my panties and drag them down to my knees. I lost his body behind mine for a moment as he pulled his pants off and, judging by the telltale crinkle, slipped on a condom he had obviously come prepared with. He rolled back against me, his cock pressing intimately between my thighs and I rubbed against him shamelessly as his legs came up under mine again and his hand slid down my belly. It moved gently between my thighs and guided his cock toward my entrance, pressing against it slightly then sliding leisurely inside. Like he had all the time in the world, like it never even occurred to him to rush through it.
His hand stayed between my thighs, resting on my clit but not working it, as he slipped in to the hilt. I sighed, leaning back into his chest, closing my eyes. His other hand went underneath my head and his palm moved under my shirt to gently stroke over my breasts, teasing them to hardened peaks as he stayed buried inside me, unmoving. Restless, needy, I started rocking my hips against him slowly, the angle making his cock brush up against my G-spot when I found the right motion.
"That's it," he said, nipping into my earlobe as his fingers rolled my nipple, "take what you need from me."
Everything.
I needed everything from him.
But I had to settle for what his body could give me.
And, well, there were worse things in the world so I picked up my pace slightly as the clawing need for release intensified, until I was rocking back into him hard, hearing his ragged breathing in my ear.
I drove lazily upward, hitting the peak and pausing, holding still for a second. "Come, babe," he commanded in my ear and then I pushed back against him, feeling him fill me completely. And I did.
Hard.
The pulsations were a deep, intense throbbing of pleasure that had me crying out loudly, the sound almost pained.
He started rocking into me as I stopped moving, forcing the orgasm to stretch out until there was nothing left.
I came back down slowly, lazily, like floating back into my body and consciousness. And when I did, I realized he was still impossibly hard inside me.
We weren't done.
A thrill passed through my system, making me smile a little.
His hips shifted and his cock slid out of me to be grabbed by the hand between my thighs, taking it and shifting it back slightly, pressing it against my ass. I felt myself immediately stiffen. His finger was one thing. It was unexpected and different and just a little bit dirty, but otherwise not a huge deal. This, this felt like a huge deal.
"You don't want it, no big deal. You do want it, great. If you're not sure, we can give it a try," his voice said, always reading me, always knowing what to say. "But, babe, if you pass this up, you'll be missing out. I can tell you that."
I swallowed hard, feeling his head put pressure there and expecting myself to want to flinch, to pull away, to run screaming. But the strongest urge I had was to press against the invasion, to welcome it. And, well, if my body wanted it and Byron was convinced it would be something I'd enjoy... then I owed it to myself to try it. Not quite able to form the words to tell him so, I pressed my hips downward on his cock, feeling the tip start to penetrate.
"That's my girl," he said, his voice sex-rough and it shivered through my belly as my mind tried to convince me that the turn of phrase meant nothing. But then there wasn't much thinking as he slowly started pressing inside me, the sensation a bit like a burning, a pulling, as my body stretched to accommodate him. "Hurt?" he asked, just an inch or so inside, his hand sliding back up to my clit and starting to work it.
"No. It's... strange," I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat.
"It will stop being uncomfortable and start being fucking phenomenal in a minute," he promised, continuing his slow penetration, giving my body time to accept him. I felt his hips press into my ass and knew he was fully inside me. "Fuck yeah," he groaned, his forehead pressing into my shoulder. And, well, if there was still any uncertainty, any reservations, they flew away at those words on his lips. "Need a minute?" he asked, finger still working my clit in small circles.
I felt like I should have. I mean, from what I had heard, anal sex was supposedly insanely uncomfortable or downright painful or impossible to go through with. But maybe that was just because the men didn't take the time, didn't listen to the womens' bodies. That wasn't the case with Byron. He was in-tune. And when he was uncertain, he checked in. So once the strange initial feeling ebbed away, there was nothing left to need a minute for.
"No."
He didn't need more than that. His hips rocked gently, barely a movement at all, making his cock just withdraw a
n inch and press back in. When I didn't stiffen or object, he rocked a little harder, pulling halfway out and pushing back in. And I found out right then that he was right. I would have been missing out.
It was different. It wasn't the same sensation as one felt with normal sex, but it was akin. It was a close cousin. And it didn't feel any less good. And because it was new, it was almost overwhelming as my hips started asking for more, asking for whatever he could give me.
"Yeah?" he asked and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Yeah," I agreed, rocking into him as he thrust deep, a little harder.
"Good. Then," he said, his voice wicked. Then I felt myself rolled onto my stomach, his body covering mine. But only for a second as he sat back on his ankles, still inside me, pulling me onto my knees with my hips, ass up toward him. I moved to plant my arms and press up and felt his palm flatten between my shoulder blades. "Head down," he demanded, his bossy tone back in his voice and the sound made my insides shiver. Satisfied I wasn't going to disobey, he released my shoulders to track his hand up the back of my neck, going into the roots of my hair near the crown of my head, curling in, and yanking hard enough for me to yelp. But damn if it didn't send a flood of wet between my thighs. And damn if he didn't know it would do just that.
He fucked my ass then. Hard. Rough. Fast. As wild as he pleased. And everything in me responded to it, to the unusual sensations, to the forbiddenness, to the seemingly impossible budding of an orgasm. Impossible, but happening. I could feel my sex tightening, the muscles contracting, getting ready to spasm through my release.
"You like my cock in your ass, don't you?" he asked, his voice a raspy growl. His hand moved from my hip and slipped between my legs. "Yeah, you do. Pussy is fucking drenched. You gonna come for me?" he asked, each thrust making my body jolt forward and I had to put my arms out in front of me and press them against the headboard to keep me from moving across the bed.
"Yes," I moaned, feeling the tightening proceeding my orgasm. Then his finger pressed into my clit and I came, hard enough that my whole body shook almost violently through the first waves of pleasure. Byron was close behind me, his hand yanking hard on my hair as he slammed deep, jerked upward slightly, and cursed viciously as he came.
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