A Little Like Destiny

by Lisa Suzanne

  If I’d imagined his naked body a million times as I rubbed myself to pleasure, I’d have needed a million and one to get it right.

  He pulled a condom from the back pocket of his jeans before tossing them on the floor. He tore the packet open and rolled it on before patting his thighs, indicating that I should get back on. I wanted to taste him first, to fist him in my palm, to stroke him and make him fall apart just from my touch, but I wanted him inside of me so much more.

  I crawled on top of him, settling my legs into the space between his legs and the arms of the chair, and he guided himself into me.

  My body was ready for him, warmed up from his fingers and his kiss and his biting teeth and just him.

  He stretched me, so big I could hardly take him all the way in. His hands came under my ass, and he lifted me up.

  “Jesus, that’s good,” he muttered on a grunt.

  He let me fall back down over him, and this time I took him almost all the way in before he lifted my ass again. We both grunted at the feel of his body claiming mine, and then he let me fall over him again. Up and down, up and down, until he let me fall down and he pushed himself in completely.

  We were connected, and while this was just one night, we were connected in far more ways than just body to body. His eyes found mine as we settled into stillness, and a quiet and intimate beat passed between us. This wasn’t just sex to either of us, it was something more, something deeper than I’ve ever felt with another human. We were connecting on some cellular level. We were imprinting on each other’s hearts. I knew he felt it, too, I knew he did, but despite that, I also knew it wouldn’t matter in the morning.

  I refused to think of that as my eyes bore into his, though. Morning would come and this would end, but we’d always have this moment. We’d always share this heat, this connection, this fleeting passage of time, and he’d ruin me for any other man. I could only hope I’d ruin him for any other woman, but in my heart, I knew that wasn’t true.

  He grunted and closed his eyes, ending the beautiful, fleeting moment, and then his fingers dug into my hips and he ground his pelvis up into mine. Even his grunts were hot—these primal sounds like he couldn’t hammer into me fast enough or hard enough, and I moaned back with some carnal noises I couldn’t control. I didn’t even have to move—he did all the work, spearing me and driving into me over and over until my body broke and swells of pleasure washed over me just as he hit his own wall of bliss.

  We tensed and shouted through our orgasms together, coming and coming like it would never end. He grasped onto me as my body shuddered and the waves started to subside, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me close as he stayed inside me. I clung to him, my hands linked around his neck, never wanting to move from him or break this dynamic connection we shared.

  Nothing lasts forever, though, and this moment was meant to end, too.

  Eventually he cleared his throat and whispered to me in the dark as he lifted me gently and slipped out of me. “I think we should do that again.”

  I giggled.

  “There’s a bathroom through that door,” he said, nodding to a door across the room. He fluttered a kiss to my cheek before he helped me up.

  I walked wordlessly across the room to the bathroom. I gazed at myself in the mirror. I was the same woman I’d been before I’d left the house I shared with my best friend earlier this evening, but everything had changed. I didn’t look any different, but I certainly felt different. I felt high from his kisses, like I was flying from the way he made love to me.

  I gave myself a sad smile at that thought. Made love.

  He didn’t make love to me. It was amazing, yes. It was the best sex of my life—without a doubt, by far. But it wasn’t love. How could it be when we didn’t know each other…when I was just one in a long line of many who came before me and many who would come after me?

  He was in his bed when I exited the bathroom. I snuggled in beside him, and he held me as we whispered in the dark. Eventually, sleep took us. I woke to his mouth working against my most intimate skin, driving me to another orgasm before I finally treated myself to the taste of him in my mouth.

  I couldn’t sleep after that, so I sat in the chair and alternated between staring out the window and staring at his sleeping form. If I turned to just the right angle, I could see both. Even after he called me back to bed, I couldn’t go. He was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake him. I wanted to be here with him. I wanted to enjoy my time, and sleeping it away would make it end sooner.

  He woke once more and we had sex in his bed. He moved over the top of me, his body moving in perfect sync with mine, and tears leaked out of my eyes as I came. I was grateful for the darkness and his sleepiness, because he didn’t notice—or if he did, he didn’t say anything. Devastation took over as the first rays of daylight peeked over the horizon. Night was over. The magical glow of the lights from the Strip were buried with the night, just like the memories I’d always have of this night.

  He was still sleeping when I left. If morning came and we talked, if I got to know anything more about him than I already knew, if he started in with the lines about how I was different and intriguing, it would all just be that much harder to move on from what would only ever be one night of passion.

  I dressed quietly then opened his bedroom door and shut it silently behind me. The party from the night before was long over, but evidence remained. Cups, cans, and bottles littered the kitchen’s many surfaces. Ashtrays were full, food had been spilled and attempted to be cleaned, crumbs remained. It looked like a good time.

  It was more than a good time.

  The kitchen and family room were empty, devoid of the many people who’d been here the night before. I stood in the kitchen and contemplated my next move. Should I leave my number? No, leaving my number would seem too desperate. Wouldn’t it? Had we shared something more? Was he sincere when he said I was different? I had to believe it was just a line. Rock stars didn’t give up their rock star lifestyles for random English teachers who showed up backstage at their concerts.

  As I stood and contemplated, I heard a noise down a different hallway. Mark had mentioned houseguests—it could even be one of the other members of Vail. I wasn’t in the mood to get caught sneaking out, so I beelined it for the door, opened it quickly and quietly, and called for the elevator before I had a chance to rethink what I was doing.

  seventeen

  How did Brian manage not to tell me he’s related to one of the biggest rock stars in the world?

  I’m not sure whether to feel betrayed by the lie or impressed with his ability to keep a secret.

  Probably the former, but my emotions are such a mess right now that nothing I feel can possibly be real. If he could so easily keep this from me, what else is he keeping from me? The thought terrifies me.

  The party’s already in full swing, just like the last time I walked through that door. I glance around, terrified of seeing Mark. I have no idea what to think, what to do, how to act.

  I’m here as Brian’s motherfucking girlfriend.

  How the fuck is Mark Ashton Brian’s brother? How am I so stupid that I didn’t see this coming?

  Now that I know, it’s so clear. Running into Brian that morning when I left Mark’s place makes more sense now that I know he lives here—and just now I realize he still hasn’t asked me what I was doing here that morning.

  They have the same eyes. Same shape. Same color. It occurs to me as we step into Mark’s penthouse. They’re the same as Lizzie’s eyes, too—green like a meadow after a long rain, penetrating and deep. And the same hair—Mark’s is a few shades lighter brown than Brian’s, but the same distinct hairline, same thickness. Almost the same build, too. Brian’s an inch or two shorter than Mark, but they both have incredible bodies, the kind that you can only achieve with good genes and hard work.

  And they’re both unbelievable in bed.

  Should I tell Brian that I slept with his brother? It would be the right
thing to do. Wouldn’t it?

  Snippets from my conversation with Brian earlier today float through my mind. We’ve always had this extremely competitive relationship.

  He has this way of charming women and wanting what’s mine.

  He always gets what he wants.

  Definitely no. I can’t tell Brian.

  What if Mark tells Brian?

  Mark probably won’t even remember me. Our one night happened over a month ago. How many women has he taken to bed since that night? One for every night of the week? That thought has my heart sinking into the pit of my aching stomach.

  He’s here somewhere. It’s his place, his party—he’s got to be. And I’m terrified of seeing him, terrified of the type of response my body will have, terrified Brian will see something crackling in the air, that he’ll somehow know something happened just from one fleeting glance. Was there more between us that night? I thought I’d never know, but I might get my chance now.

  I can’t think like that. I’ll never know because I’ll never ask. I’m with Brian, and that one night marring my otherwise spotless record doesn’t matter anymore.

  Does it?

  Lizzie’s head bobs up through the crowd as she dashes over to us. “Hey you guys!” she says with a smile as she grabs me into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again!”

  “You too,” I manage, trying to hug her back and act like I don’t have a typhoon of emotions tumbling around my chest. Becker introduces Jill to Lizzie as I look around. I try to give my friend a meaningful look, but she misses it completely.

  “Beavis is around here somewhere,” Lizzie says to me and Jill. “I assume you haven’t met yet?”

  I shake my head, and Jill says, “Beavis?”

  “Our brother,” Lizzie clarifies. “Sorry, I’ve always called him Beavis. And Brian is Butt-head,” she says, laughing as she affectionately messes up her younger brother’s hair. Brian rolls his eyes and bats her hand away.

  She glances around. “There he is!” They make eye contact and she waves him over.

  My eyes follow hers, and when they land on Mark Ashton, everything fades away. The music silences, the people around me disappear, the party is over. Even Brian is gone—the guy I’m here with, the guy I’m dating, the guy I told just this afternoon that I’m falling for him.

  All I have left is the buzzing in my head, the pain slicing through my heart, and the ache throbbing between my legs. My blood screams with need. Electricity lights on my skin. My chest hurts, my head pounds, and I feel like I might be sick.

  He makes his way through the crowd toward us, and when Jill spots him, her fingers grip my arm in a painfully tight squeeze. The volume comes back on, the people are beside me again, and the party resumes, but it all clashes with the buzz, the pain, the ache.

  “Mark, this is Brian’s girlfriend!” Lizzie says, like she’s the keeper of all the information. His eyes meet mine for the first time since I walked through his door tonight, and it knocks the wind out of me. I definitely spot recognition. He remembers me, and he’s surprised to see me in his house on the arm of his brother.

  I think I spot something else, something deep and hot mixed with a flash of pain, but it’s so fleeting I might’ve misinterpreted it. He masks whatever else is there quickly, but I swear I caught more.

  It has to be wishful thinking. I’m seeing what I want to see.

  “Reese,” Brian announces by way of introduction.

  Mark holds out his hand for me to shake it. I’m trying to decide whether we’re pretending we’ve never met or whether he doesn’t remember his night with me.

  “Mark,” he murmurs, his eyes hot on mine as he grips my hand in his. I have to believe he remembers me from the way his eyes bore into mine. His hand is warm, but it lights an electric shot through my palm, up my wrist, and into my veins, exploding into every cell of my being. Just when I thought I was putting him behind me, I realize how very, very wrong I’ve been. This connection between us is so strong that it’s physically painful, gutting me as my chest aches for him. I gasp for breath, air seemingly thinner up at this high elevation on the top floor of this building.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, entranced by his eyes on mine. They bring me back to that moment he entered my body and stilled as our eyes claimed the other. He must remember it, too, because a searing moment of lust passes between us.

  I want to believe he remembers every second of that night just like I do. I want to believe there could be more there for us—that he felt it, too, that it wasn’t just me, that there was a connection.

  Immediate, rigid guilt stabs my abdomen. Brian, I remind myself.

  Mark’s eyes still blaze into mine, and I’m rooted to my spot.

  Fear rushes over me as we face off for the briefest of moments. I don’t want it to end, but I need it to. Brian will know there’s something between us…was something between us…if we spend one more second shaking hands and having some private conversation between our eyes that I don’t know the words to and I don’t understand.

  “I’m Jill,” my best friend blurts, reading the situation and thankfully pretending like none of us have ever met. “I’m a huge fan!”

  “Nice to meet you, Jill,” Mark says as he tears his eyes from mine and pulls his hand from mine to greet her.

  “You too! We saw Vail perform last month at Mandalay. Awesome show!”

  “Thanks,” he says, his eyes darting back to me. He seems as though he’s in a bit of a daze. His brows draw together ever so slightly.

  “I work for the Sin City Sun, and I’d love to ask you a few questions somewhere quiet if you have some time later,” she says.

  “Of course,” he murmurs. A tiny shake of his head seems to bring him back. “Can I get you anything?” he asks the four of us.

  “We can help ourselves,” Brian says, giving his brother a strange look.

  Mark nods and gives me another agonizing gaze that slices open my heart. I need to get him alone. I need to talk to him. I need to know if he felt more that night, too.

  Brian, a tiny voice in my head reminds me again.

  “Nice meeting you,” he says, and then he disappears into the crowd.

  Lizzie gazes after him for a beat and then turns back to us. “Excuse him,” she says. “He’s moody tonight.”

  “It’s the creative in him,” Brian explains, as if creativity gives him license to mood swings.

  Lizzie shakes her head. “You always say that, but you’re just as bad.”

  Brian rolls his eyes. “I am not.”

  “Yes you are. Beavis is just all twisted up over something.” She turns to me. “Reese, are you coming to the wedding?”

  “What wedding?” I ask. I glance over at Brian, and he’s glaring at his sister.

  “I’m getting married at the end of October in Chicago. I hope I’ll see you there.” She winks at me.

  The end of October is nearly four months away. Brian and I haven’t even been together four months yet. What we have is still new, and I’m certain that’s where the glare came from, but I can’t seem to focus on anything aside from the fact that Mark Ashton is here in this place and he’s Brian’s fucking brother.

  “We’re gonna get some booze,” Brian says smoothly. He leads me over to the kitchen. The counter is filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. Every type of spirit I could ever imagine is there, along with several bottles of wine. He nods to the counter. “What would you like? There’s beer in the fridge, too.”

  Alcohol seems like a bad idea right now. I’ve got one brother roaming around in some mood, and I’ve got another brother who knows nothing about the night I shared with Mark. My lips get loose after a few drinks, and I don’t know that tipsy Reese is a smart move tonight. I don’t know what sorts of decisions she’ll make.

  But logic and good sense evade me. My eyes meet Mark’s across the room. This time I know I spot something deeper there.

  He remembers me, and that knowledge sharpens the pain in
my heart, deepens the ache in my core.

  “Vodka,” I finally say.

  “With what? Orange juice? Soda?”

  “With ice.”

  I tear my eyes from Mark to look at Brian. Brian, who I’m here with tonight. Brian, who I’m dating. Brian, who I’m falling for.

  This is a real issue if I have to keep repeating this to myself.

  He shrugs and tips the vodka over my glass. When he hands it to me and our fingers brush, I want to feel the same electricity I felt with Mark. I want to feel the connection like we belong together, like we’re linked on a cellular level, like he’s in the very blood that pumps into my heart. I want it to be there, but it isn’t.

  It’s different with Brian. We connected as friends before we connected as lovers. He’s become so important to me in such a short span of time. He’s becoming my best friend and the man I look forward to seeing at the end of every day. He’s secure and solid, a good man with a heart that’s pure.

  No wonder he feels like his brother is competitive. His brother is Mark fucking Ashton. Of course Brian feels like he has to prove himself. It makes total sense that he’d be scared his brother might charm me away from him.

  If Brian and I are going to be together long term, he should probably know what happened between Mark and me. Just one night filled with passion, with feelings and emotions I’ve never felt before and I fear I’ll never feel again. One night that I’m still not over. One night that’s burned in my memories and etched on my heart. One night that I’ve tried to let go, but I can’t seem to.

  I think of Thanksgiving dinners at the Fox house, Brian beside me and Mark across from me. Passionate glances between Mark and me while Brian’s hand rests on my thigh possessively and Mrs. Fox scoops a dollop of mashed potatoes onto my plate.