by Chloe Liese
I bit back the words that wanted to tumble out—what she meant to me, what I wanted from her—and directed their force into my touch, as I took a handful of that fine little ass, lifted her hips, and sank into her. “Now, innamorata, time for you to hold on tight.”
Twenty-Six
Nairne
It took a lot for me to compare a rain system in the States to one in Scotland, but this day was up to the task. Umbrella in hand, I sat on the training field for Zed’s team as the lads practiced, wishing I had better circulation and less of a stubborn streak. He’d been so angry when I wouldn’t watch from the car.
Thanks to the rain, their ball flew across the pitch faster than normal, a white blur as it pinged between sprinting feet. Lucas punted it and I watched the ball soar in a parabola whose end point was Zed. He was painfully better than all of them. Lethal speed, and muscular strength that won him challenges and gained him power behind his shot.
I’d concluded two things: There was a reason that eclipsed his own happiness that made him stay here, entrenched in a world of violence and crime that he hated. And there was a reason he didn’t tell me what it was. I didn’t like what either of them implied. And I didn’t like that I was expected to offer myself to him, naked and needy, when he wouldn’t trust me with it. If I thought about it too long, my blood boiled.
If I confronted him, it would be a row for the ages. He was a thick-headed arse who thought he always knew best, and my pushing him would just set him off. I weighed the benefit of arguing over it, when our relationship had an expiration date that wasn’t far off. I graduated in spring. My student visa would be up. I hated American healthcare. I needed Elodie to not be an ocean away. She was my family, and I wanted weekend train rides and quick flights to knit us together again.
Zed took a shot that cracked in the air like thunder, and a pang ran through my chest. There was no way I’d ever play footie again, never burst down the field and make a keeper roll on her arse. That stung. I wasn’t yet practiced in staying on that thought long, because I hated problems that didn’t have a clear solution.
Us being a perfect example. I knew I had to leave, and I also knew I couldn’t conceptualize saying goodbye. Wrenching myself out of orbit from that body and soul that had their own gravitational field. No clean answer for that one. So, I leaned into the practical, divorced emotion from reason, and rationally accepted that in a few months, I’d leave, and he wouldn’t follow, feelings be damned.
Damn him for staying. I wanted Zed to leave this world that was his prison, for his sake. And in weak moments, for mine as well. Picturing us together long-term was a rare indulgence, but I let myself, knowing how absurd the notion was. We bickered and clashed. I wasn’t an easy woman to share life with. I was complicated, compulsively analytical, ambitious. But something about us also clicked and worked. He was maddeningly honorable and loyal. He’d settled for an unfulfilling career because it fulfilled his obligation to those who relied on him. Zed was noble, unwilling to turn away from what he perceived as his moral duty.
I admired that in him, because I was the same way. But while he sacrificed himself on the battlefield he’d been born to, my nobility was different. It had a trajectory beyond my original circumstance—forward, at the speed of fucking light. Research. Discovery. Change. Change meant disruption. And disruption meant chaos. I sought it, while he did everything in his power to bring the world to order. We shared the same ethic, but our methods were antipodal.
Zed made the shot, then turned and found me. His eyes pierced mine from across the field and he smiled. I watched him jog. White training shorts soaked from the downpour and left little to the imagination. Defined quads flexed as he ran, the bulge at his groin tucked away in compression shorts, still definable and causing an ache between my thighs.
I knew leaving would hurt. That something about us fit well, like two jigsaw pieces that came together with a satisfying snap. With Zed, I belonged like I hadn’t before. When we were us, there was room for my paradoxes. I could deep throat his cock, then sit around and explain the public health implications of genomic sequencing. Follow his every order in bed, then tell him to piss off when he gave me hell about the rigors of my schedule or sitting out in the rain.
The whistle blew and they huddled in. I shivered. I was used to a damp drizzle—I was Scottish after all—but it didn’t change that I was perpetually cold since my injury. I had a blanket over my lap that kept my legs slightly above freezing, and a massive umbrella that mostly shielded the rain. It was a decent solution, given the circumstances. But Zed was frowning as he got close.
“This is shit weather for someone with a broken thermostat to be sitting in.”
I shrugged. “It’s a dreich day, I’ll give you that. I’m fine though.”
Dark waves turned black in the rain. Water droplets slid from his temples down the ridge of his cheekbones, obeyed the angular contours straight to his lips. I took his hand and pulled him toward me. Then I kissed the rain from his cool face, before finding his mouth and sliding my hot tongue inside.
Zed groaned and took my mouth possessively, fisting my hair as I cradled his warm face in between my chilly hands.
“Whoa, Nairne, easy.” He pulled away to adjust himself and gave me a stern stare.
I answered with a smile and nothing more. Then I slid my hand between his legs and up his thigh. His whole body was wet, all muscles on display, and I was supposed to keep my hands to myself? My fingers got just south of a rapidly thickening part of his anatomy before his hand snapped to my wrist. His face held warning but his mouth bit down a smile. “Nairne.”
“Och, fine.” I dropped my hand. “I’ll stop.”
He leaned to kiss me once more, then gestured ahead. “This way.”
Inside was a maze of double doors and linoleum that led to a weight room where Zed and Lucas did their standard post-practice routine. I’d heard it was entertaining, and I liked Lucas, so I decided to join. Zed promised he’d be right back, after he changed out of his soggy practice gear, and left me alone between the free-weights and a wall of mirrors.
I stared at the woman in the reflection. Damp from the rain. Lean legs and arms. I sniffed and wiped a drop of water from my nose, unable to break my eyes from my reflection. It wasn’t the body I came into womanhood with, but it was me and I was trying to love it.
Lucas and Zed burst in and startled me.
“Well, dove, have you come to your senses yet?” Lucas pushed ahead of Zed and grinned. “I just want you to know, I’m here whenever you change your mind about him.”
Zed smacked him upside the head as he passed. “Fuck off. She’s not into oversized Brits.”
He hopped up on the pull-up bar and flew. Muscles contracting beneath bronzed skin as he dropped and rose fluidly. The man had damn fine arms. Big for a footballer’s, cut and developed while not imbalanced from the rest of him. He managed nineteen reps while Lucas and I chatted, Lucas often throwing insults and jabs that made Zed shake his head but not break his rhythm.
“Prepare yourself, the lot of you.” Lucas strutted over to the bar once Zed dropped down and stood back to stretch his arms.
Then he widened his legs to stretch them, too, and stage whispered, “Every week he tries. He never wins.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything, and you’re due for an arse-whipping, Salvatore.” Lucas glared at the pull-up bar as if willing it to work in his favor. He hardly had to jump, given his towering height, and started in, making cracks as he went, before he began to slow at fifteen.
He groaned, made it up for one more, and dropped down with a thud at sixteen reps. “One of these days, Zed, I swear it. You’re bloody due.”
Zed was in a half-fold, stretching his hamstrings, and laughed from inside his arms. “Whatever you say.”
Lucas wiped the sweat off his brow with his shoulder, then deftly shoved his foot into Zed’s hip and tipped him over. “Bastard,” he muttered, before it became a cry of su
rprise as Zed did a leg sweep, sending Lucas flying in the air and landing on the mat with a thud.
“You completely deserved that, you ass-hat.” Zed sprang up and laughed. “What do you Brits call a fall like that? Oh, yes, arse over teakettle.” He neatly stepped out of reach as Lucas made a vain swipe at his legs.
Zed came over to me and massaged the base of my neck like he often did. “I told you it was entertaining.”
I laughed. “You weren’t wrong.” My eyes trailed back to the pull-up bar. I did pull-ups at physiotherapy, used my arms for everything. I could match Zed, probably.
“Zed, can you do me a favor?”
His hands paused. “Of course.”
“Would you lift me to the pull-up bar? I want to see if I still have a few in me.”
He turned my chin his way and gave me a complicated stare. “Nairne…”
I dipped my lips to kiss his palm and moved myself to beneath the bar, then locked the brakes.
Squatting down in front of me, Zed leaned in close. “I mean no offense, but this seems dangerous. Can I spot you at least?”
I bent over, tying my ankles together gently with a resistance band I kept in my bag. I didn’t like them flailing about and it helped me feel more centered when I’d done them at PT.
“Not necessary. I’ll tell you when I need you, all right?” I looked up from my task to see concern etched in his features. I squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’ll be sensible, promise.”
Zed lifted me easily, hands around my waist, until I got a solid grip.
“Right then, let go,” I murmured down to him, taking in his tiger eyes. “Go on now.” I nodded.
Zed gasped sharply as he released me. “Hey! Eyes up!”
“What?” Lucas snapped as I started my reps with a view of their altercation in the mirror before me.
One. Two.
“I’m not blind, fuckface. I saw where you were looking,” Zed snarled.
Three.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”
Four.
“You’re lucky your visual accuracy is indispensable to your position on the field—”
Five.
Zed shoved him.
Six.
“Or you’d be sporting two black eyes.”
Seven. Eight.
My body surrendered to the burning pain, slipped into that blissful mindless space as endorphins flooded my system.
Nine.
“Muffin,” Lucas said.
Ten.
“I know it’s easy to feel insecure when you’re seeing a woman so clearly out of your league—”
Eleven. Twelve.
“But you’ve got to settle down. You’re being a wanker.”
Thirteen. Fourteen.
“And frankly, no amount of chest thumping is going to keep a bird like that around forever.”
Fifteen.
“You motherfucker,” Zed started in on him.
Sixteen.
Lucas stopped Zed’s mouth with one of his big hands. Zed smacked it off.
Seventeen.
“Bloody hell,” Lucas muttered. “Your bird just beat me.”
“Eighteen,” I grunted, continuing my count.
“Jesus, you’re right.” Zed’s eyes went wide.
“Nineteen,” I squeaked. My arms were shaking. One more. I wanted one more.
Lucas sounded gleeful. “Oh, Zeddy, I told you, you were due.”
Every muscle in my arms protested, but I hoisted myself up fully and barely whispered, “Twenty.”
“Your bird just beat you!” Lucas crowed.
Zed stared in disbelief. “Fuck me.”
I couldn’t land myself and realized I was about to fall. “I’d love to but, not now, Zed. Hurry!” I yelled, feeling my palms struggling to hold their grip any longer.
He caught me around the waist just as my hands began to slip off, his breath exploding in panic across my face. “Fuck’s sake, Nairne.” His tone was sharp, but his face was bewildered admiration as he swayed me.
“A veritable ironwoman is before us!” Lucas kissed me soundly on the cheek before Zed easily held me one-armed and used his free hand to shove Lucas away. “Somebody finally fucking beat Zed! Well that calls for a pint, does it not?”
At the door, Lucas turned back and ceremoniously saluted me, then directed himself toward Zed. “You, sir, have finally met your match.”
I sat in my flat, trying to do multivariate calculus while a thudding ache between my legs distracted me. It had showed up two days ago, after Zed left, traveling for a game and then some sponsorship photo op. I missed him, and not just with my body.
What about in spring, when you’re an ocean apart?
I blew out a breath and pushed that thought away. I wouldn’t change my life’s course for a man who was intractable on moving, especially when we’d only been together for a short time. Once the novelty of our amazing sex wore off, we’d probably drive each other insane and end things. We’d end it before time ended us, because Zed liked to call the shots, and I hated riddles with no rejoinder. We’d be over before I was handed my diploma.
The doorbell rang as I landed on that tidy answer, and I used the arm crutches to walk toward it. When I opened the door, a small package sat halfway down the walkway, which seemed odd. I wasn’t terribly strong on the crutches yet, but I had a goal of walking commencement and receiving my diploma that way. That meant I needed as much practice building my coordination and strength as I could. I moved down the pavement, careful of the ice and my pace, aware of my balance. But when I got to the package, I realized I didn’t know how I’d necessarily bend to retrieve it and get up. We hadn’t gotten that far in therapy.
I cobbled together an effort that involved letting one knee drop while keeping my arm through the sleeve of the crutch and pushing off. Then I realized I didn’t have a hand free to move well with the arm crutch. I set down the package and stood to go back in for my chair.
“Do you need a hand with that?” It was a man’s voice and not one I knew.
Adrenaline surged through my system, and as I spun, I tumbled backward. Then everything went dark, until the world came back blurry, with a deafening ringing in my ears that was finally cut by the man’s voice once again.
“Ma’am?”
I groaned and hot pain shot up the base of my neck, into my head.
“Ma’am,” he said again.
My head was pounding, and I couldn’t see well.
“You took a spill and gave your head a good smack. I think I startled you.”
My vision focused slightly. The bloody delivery man. I’d lost my shit on a delivery man just trying to be friendly.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “EMS are on their way.”
His face was kind, and though he was much younger, his eyes reminded me of my Granda’s. I sniffled and blinked back tears.
“Does anything hurt, ma’am?”
I laughed through an involuntary sob. “I’ve hurt worse, don’t worry.”
Sirens wailed as he talked to me while I lay on the cold pavement, shivering. I started shaking harder as they put the collar around my neck and heaved my body onto the stretcher. I relived it. The flash of the stadium. The smell of fresh cut grass. How odd it felt not to feel anything below my hip. The sound of my spine snapping that echoed in my ears.
I panicked because my head couldn’t turn, and I needed to retch. They turned me so I wouldn’t choke as I vomited, and I fought tears. Shearing aches shot through my body, so violent I knew I was going to pass out. Consciousness left me as past and present converged into one salient point—pain.
Twenty-Seven
Zed
Teo said I could do with practicing more gratitude. I’d told him to shove it up his ass. He didn’t see the dirtiest parts of my life. I made sure of it. While he was protected, I made more enemies daily and looked over my shoulder like my life depended on it. Because it did.
No, in my mind, gratitude was for idealist
s who weren’t wise enough to see the world for the shithole that it usually was. Don’t get me wrong. I was a man who appreciated plenty. Tangerine streaks over the Charles River at sunrise, the unnatural perfection of fresh snow, the beauty of a woman’s body in the throes of her pleasure, the taste of a rare burger and a cold beer. I could savor what came to me. But thankfulness for what didn’t exist was too much to ask.
I couldn’t fake my feelings, gratitude, or otherwise, but I was practiced in masking them. At the moment, I was pissed, worried, horny, aggravated, and hungry. But you wouldn’t know it because currently I was smiling while posed in my country’s team paraphernalia and holding a soccer ball at my hip like a fucking idiot. Goddamn press.
Lucas had hung back because he loved watching me squirm under the camera lens. “You’re adorable, Zeddy.”
I launched the ball at his nuts the moment they called a wrap. “Fuck you.”
She hadn’t answered for nearly twenty-four hours. If I wasn’t about to get on a plane from New York to Boston, I would have been very tempted to send some of my minions to her place again. But this time, to do a little breaking and entering to make sure she was alive. I’d be there in an hour and a half, tops, and then her little ass was getting the spanking of its life. For making me worry. For clutching my heart in a vise of panic and pain that didn’t feel one bit reasonable.
Although she had done this before, I just couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t answer this time, unless something was seriously wrong. It didn’t make sense. We’d left on great terms. Hell, I’d swear she was still orgasming when I kissed that sweet cunt one last time, then her lips, and sprinted to my car to make my flight.
“Still nothing?” Lucas wheezed. He was classy, asking about my lady, while he was bent over his brutalized nuts.
“Nothing.” I pocketed my phone.
And naturally, the moment I did, it buzzed. It was Bruno, who I’d tasked with finding her. Poor Nairne, her Sopranos suspicions were more on the nose than she thought.