by A. L. Zaun
I punched some buttons and hoped for the best. “You’re not a whore, and I sure as hell don’t treat you like one. I know when I treat a woman like a whore or a cheap slut, and trust me, she knows it, too.”
She shook her head slightly as she pushed past me.
“Rick, just shut up.” She stood on her tiptoes. Her shirt rode up her flat stomach, and those yoga pants hugged her ass. Then, with fury, she stabbed the control panel, canceling my microwave programming. “You’re going to ruin it. You’re such an idiot.”
“You really need to seek help for your mood swings. They have medication for this shit.” I opened the freezer to search for ice cream.
“Go to hell,” she spit out.
I shook my head from side to side. “Go to hell, or get out? Make up your mind because, right now, I’m in the fiery pits of hell.” I pulled the plate out of the microwave. “I’ve been to both heaven and hell today.” I dropped a scoop of ice cream over the warm cake. “Personally, I prefer heaven, but it seems that hell is an inevitable pit stop.” I sliced off a small piece of cake and dipped it in the ice cream. “I’m not a huge chocolate cake fan. I prefer crème brûlée or key lime pie.” I slid it off the fork into my mouth “Mmm…oh my god,” I moaned. “This is some good shit. Want some?”
Her eyes blinked rapidly. She looked like she was about to have a stroke. I cut into another piece of cake, bringing the fork to my mouth, when she suddenly yanked the plate away from me.
“Get out,” she huffed. I might have seen a little steam coming from her nose.
“Why don’t you pull up a chair, and we can share the cake?” I suggested. “Then, you can tell me all about your visit with that motherfucker.”
“You’ve gone mad.” Her lip was trembling, and her hands were shaking.
For a second, I thought she might drop the plate, but I knew she’d never let anything happen to that cake. I was about to say something, but she beat me to it.
“Shut up. Don’t even say a word.” She took my cake and stormed out. The slam of the door practically shook the walls of the entire fucking apartment.
“Did you really have to take all the cake?” I yelled after her. “I offered to share.”
I went up to her bedroom door. “I don’t treat you like a whore. I don’t chase pussy. I don’t work for pussy.” I ran my hands through my hair. “You left me in Miami. I chased you to New York. You left me in bed. I went and found you. You left me at brunch. I came back to you with a gift. You tell me how that’s fucking treating you like a whore.”
She opened the door and pushed my stuff in front of me, puffing. “I don’t know what you expected from me, but all we do is fight. You need to go home, Rick. Go back to Miami and to Daniela or a wannabe Dani.” She straightened. A lock of hair fell across her face, forcing her to blow it away.
She tried to lock herself in the room again, but I held the door open. “Maddy, I expected to eat a piece of cake. I expected you to tell me the truth, which is something you do. I expected to have a nice day with you.” I rocked my head from side to side, realizing that might have been a teeny-tiny bit unrealistic. “I wasn’t expecting you to leave me to see that prick.”
Her eyes closed as she rubbed her lips tightly together. “Do yourself a favor. Go home.”
I let go, allowing her to close the door in my face—again. This time, her words hurt.
“You actually packed my shit?” I leaned my head against the closed door, bracing the frame with my arms. “Is there any more cake?” I sighed. I really am tired and hungry.
I couldn’t keep up with her mood swings. It was almost like something just made her switch gears. This wasn’t normal.
“I shouldn’t have taken off when you wanted to come back here. I’m sorry, Maddy.” Fuck my life. “Open the door, babe. Please. I’m asking nicely. Where’s my badass best friend? Wax on, wax off. Come on, it’s not like you to hide in a room, holding a piece of cake hostage. I don’t want to fight with you,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Babe, I’m going to order dinner. Want something?”
Me: I need to order dinner. Any suggestions?
Nelson: You with Madison?
Me: Yeah. She likes healthy, not too heavy.
Nelson: Got it. Soup, salad with fish of the day, and a fruit plate for dessert.
Me: Damn, you’re good.
Nelson: Ha. She took care of this already.
Me: Thanks, man.
Nelson: Anytime.
My lip pulled into a grin. She took care of me like she always did. Yeah, she loves me.
Chapter 19
Madison
I stared at the slice of cake calling my name. He’s such an asshole. I couldn’t believe him. He’d pushed me to the point of a breakdown. That was the only explanation I could come up with for my petulant and childish behavior. I dug my fingers into the crown of my head.
Oh my god, I’ve become Rick.
I fell back onto my bed in defeat then rolled onto my side, propping myself on my elbow.
I hate him
The cake teased me from the nightstand. Reaching over, I ran my finger along the edge of the plate, drenching it with vanilla ice cream that had turned fudgy. I sucked on my finger, savoring the perfect blend of bold chocolate with the soft complement of vanilla. I wanted to eat it. I needed it. I ran my tongue along my lips in anticipation.
In my haste, I’d left the fork with Rick. I was coming undone, and it was all his fault. I searched my room, trying to find something I could use to eat my cake. Nothing. Looking down at my hands, I considered the option since I refused to go to the kitchen. It seemed reasonable—after all, I’d already dipped my finger in it. I was desperately becoming unhinged. I had reduced myself to eating my cake like a savage because of him or my pride. I preferred to blame him.
This wasn’t me. Yes, I could get angry. I could get frustrated. But I never lost control, and I never played the fool—until one Rick fucking Marin walked into my life.
I forced myself to stop—stop fighting, stop running, stop resisting.
I pulled my sorry-ass, victim mind–set body off of my bed and went straight to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror was mine coupled with a hint of something else sparkling in my eyes. Even in the midst of my frenzy, I could still see it. It didn’t look so bad on me. He was right. I hated to admit that. We were separated by a wall that I’d put up, literally and figuratively. He hadn’t called me a whore. He’d actually been sweet in a Rick kind of way. I was the one who was behaving irrationally.
Why was I upset with him in the first place?
A slow realization began to creep into my mind, and I hung my head. I felt shame. Confessing to my grandfather had felt awkward and uncomfortable, but I felt no reproach or regret. And I’d never felt shame though about the choices I’d made with men. I didn’t care one way or another about the men I’d fucked. I had wanted to feel. I had wanted to forget. I had a void to fill. I had voices to quiet. Most of all, I’d wanted to get lost in ecstasy, letting the sadness and solitude slip away…for a while…until Rick.
I looked up at the flush in my cheeks, suddenly embarrassed by the number of lovers I’d had. I could barely remember their faces. Their names, I didn’t know at all. I had images of bodies I wasn’t familiar with. No matter how many men I’d fucked, the longing tormented me and lured me back for more. The pleasure captivated me. It drew me to the escape. The anonymity fascinated me. It kept me unattached and unaffected by emotional ties.
It all started one grief-stricken morning when I’d chosen to play Alex’s fucked-up game. He introduced me to a world of lust, and I had welcomed it.
“Don’t think about anything other than my touch,” he whispered in my ear as his hands slid under my shirt.
Closing my eyes, I felt the soft tickle of his fingers across my stomach before his hands settled on my nipple. He rolled it with his thumb and forefinger, and a soft moan escaped my lips. Warmth spread over me. Heat and moisture dampened my panties. H
is voice was seductive, guiding, and arousing.
I cleared my head of the drama of the past year. I didn’t feel anything but the sensation from his hands. I got lost in the warmth of his breath against my skin, and I was intoxicated by the shivers caused by his lips and tongue.
“How does that feel?” he asked before nipping my ear.
My body was on fire. I throbbed and ached for release. I could only whimper in pleasure, encouraging him to do more.
“I want you to touch me.” He guided my hand over his bulging erection.
I unbuckled his pants and freed him.
He kept his hand over mine. “Stroke me. You’re in control. It’s all about you and what you do to me.” His voice was husky, moaning as I ran my fist up and down his full length.
A slow smile spread on my face as I enjoyed the effect I had on him. I was so entranced by the thrill and power that I hadn’t felt his hands lift off of mine before he slid my shorts down my legs. I opened my eyes as he walked me over to a chair.
“Fuck me, Madison. Lose yourself on my cock.”
My chest rose and fell rapidly as the primal desire to fuck took me over. I was devoid of emotion. A wanton urge to have my body explode in orgasm drove me.
“Nothing changes,” I said.
I watched him roll the condom over himself, and I licked my lips. I pushed his tall, taut body back into the chair and lowered myself over his cock.
His mouth curled in satisfaction. “Everything changes. You’re going to learn how to fucking fly, baby, and you’re going to love it,” he promised, slipping off my shirt. “I want you to fuck me, and then I’m going to fuck you hard until you beg me to stop.”
Euphoria, ecstasy, and pleasure replaced pain, heartbreak, and grief. In all those years, I’d never begged him to stop. Now, I swallowed the lump in my throat and rubbed away the tears threatening to fall. I got lost in the eyes staring at me in the mirror as the memory of my grandmother’s words came back to me.
“Never, Madison, look at me.” She held my sobbing face in her hands, “Never regret the choices you make.” She brought me into her frail chest, rubbing circles with her hands on my back. “You made the best choices you could at the time. These same choices might not work at another time, but for the moment, they’re your choices. Own them and take responsibility for them. Never let anyone make you feel shame. Never let anyone make you doubt yourself. Pick yourself up, my dear beautiful girl. You are loved.”
She kissed the top of my head as the heaving in my chest slowed.
“Surround yourself with those who see the sparkle in your eyes. One day, you’ll love again, and he’ll see you for who you are. He’ll appreciate the parts of you that are exceptional, and he’ll be gracious about your flaws and imperfections. Hold your head high.”
She pulled back from me, causing my eyes to dart up to hers. Her eyes lovingly held my gaze as she smiled. “You are Madison Stuart. You live life by your rules. Don’t let anyone else tell you how to live it. Be you. Be proud of who you are and the woman you’ve become. Now, repeat after me—I am Madison Stuart…”
“I’m Madison Stuart.” I wiped the tears I didn’t realize I’d shed. “I’ve got the world by the balls. I live life by my rules.” I paused to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I straightened my shoulders and held my chin high. A slow blush touched my blotchy cheeks. “I’m in love with Rick Marin.”
I splashed some water on my face with renewed courage. “I can do this.”
I walked over to the nightstand, and my lips instantly dipped in a pout. “I’m sorry, delicious cake. I’ve got two strikes on me today.” I picked it up, disappointed that it had become mushy and slightly ruined from its original state of perfection. This hurts.
I marched out of my room with my phone in one hand and the chocolate casualty of my juvenile behavior in the other.
Rick turned away from the front door with bags in his hands. Raising them, he announced, “Dinner.” He set the white containers down on the table and began inspecting the contents. “Are you done with your tantrum? Because, honestly, if I were going to grade it, I’d give you an F.” He looked at the chocolate cake and shook his head, taking the plate from me and putting it in the sink. “This is a prime example. There’s an art to the tantrum that you haven’t mastered.”
“You would know. You’re the master, and you’re right. I suck at them. Frankly, I don’t want to have another one,” I admitted as he came back to the dining area.
Please don’t make me say it. This is hard enough, and I haven’t even gotten to the challenging part.
“You wanted to know why I left to take care of business.” I rubbed my lips together, needing water to quench my dry mouth.
His eyes darted to the container he was picking from and then back to me. “Can I handle this on an empty stomach?”
I furrowed my brow as I gave him a glassy stare. “No, go ahead and eat. I’ll wait for you to finish, and then I’ll tell you what you were demanding to know.” I walked over to the couch with my arms crossed. I took a couple more steps when I felt his arms come around my waist and pull me into his chest. I leaned into him and let my body melt.
“I’m a dick, Maddy,” he whispered in my ear.
“Yes, you are,” I agreed, breathing in his scent. Then, I turned into him, laying my head on his chest. “I never thought you’d be good at this.”
“Good at what? Because there’s so much I’m good at,” he teased before placing a kiss on the top of my head.
“You do have many talents,” I snickered.
“And now, you can speak from experience.” He smirked, breaking away from the hold. “What am I good at?”
“You’re not so bad, Marin.” I tilted my head up.
His eyes crinkled in the corners.
How do I tell him that he’s good at human relationships without leading him on?
He was loyal. He was persistent. He didn’t give up. He might not think he could do this, but he was wrong. He’d been doing it all along, and he was good at it, but I couldn’t give in totally.
“I still hold true to your Asshole Extraordinaire status.” Taking him by the hand, I led him the rest of the way to the couch and motioned for him to sit as I took a seat across from him on the coffee table.
“But…” he started, flashing his signature grin.
I glanced away, looking down at my hands as I wrung them nervously. “But nothing.” My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I shook my head slightly.
Pull it together, Madison.
“I’ve known Alex for a long time.” I paused, licking my dry lips. “Unlike most of the men I’ve slept with, he and I have history.”
I shifted my gaze to the side as his hands rubbed my legs.
“This is who I am.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “You didn’t have to call me a whore for me to know what I am, and Alex is hell-bent on making sure I never forget it.”
He cleared his throat and kneeled in front of me. “Look at me,” he ordered.
I did.
“You’re not a whore.”
My lip curved in a small smile as his hands stretched around my waist and my arms relaxed, resting on his shoulders.
“I already know all about this. What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, tightening his grip.
“Let’s settle on the term promiscuous.” I cupped his face in my hands and stared into his eyes. “Don’t rewrite history or romanticize me just because I’m the flavor of the month.”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He sat back on his heels, staring at me with disappointment and shock in his eyes.
“Flavor of the fucking month?” he huffed and ran his hands through his hair. “You’re full of shit. You know you’re not the flavor of the month. I think you’ve known it for a long time—a hell of a lot longer than I have.” He raked his hands over his thighs and clenched his jaw. “So, tell me, what’s going on with this motherfucker?”
“I confessed to m
y grandfather yesterday—not because I was trying to clear my conscience. It was damage control, and I was owning up to my choices.” I paused. What do I have to lose? “Alex was looking for my weakness with my grandfather. I called his bluff, but he did find a vulnerability.”
“What the fuck is going on? Seriously? Weakness, vulnerability? Speak English. You fucked this guy for, what? Years?” He rubbed his face with his palms. “Mark talks about him like he’s Jesus Christ, the only one who can help you in fucking Miami. Just tell me why you left me at the fucking restaurant to go see him?”
He stood up and started pacing the small room. He mumbled something in Spanish and ran his hands through his hair.
Then, he looked down at me. “I want you on the plane with me tomorrow morning. This place is fucked-up. Mark wants me to convince you to move here or work with that motherfucker. Why would I do that? You’re all over the place. I can’t keep up. At home, you’re a bitch, cold and distant with a hint of humanity. That I can deal with.”
My grandfather knew my position very well. Why am I not surprised, though, that he’d try to use Rick to do his bidding? New York wasn’t an option for me, but getting on a plane with Rick tomorrow morning wasn’t either. Both men would just have to accept that.
I came up next to him and held on to his arm. “Nothing screams home like you thinking I’m a bitch, and Bruce telling me that he’d rather swim in a tank of sharks with an open wound than be around me.”
“That asshole can go fuck himself.” He shook his head, facing the view of Manhattan in the evening. “Shark tank. What a prick. You’re just too much woman for him, and it makes his dick feel small.” He sighed, bracing the windowsill. “Nice try,” he said, tilting his head toward me. “What the fuck does this motherfucking prick have on you? Or do you want to keep fucking him?”
I exhaled, pulling myself together. “He texted pictures of me in compromising positions,” I said flatly. “I panicked because the idiot I’ve become didn’t want you to see them.” I reclined against the windowsill next to him, extending my phone to him. “I refuse to let him hold anything over me.”