Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Would you like me to try and talk some sense into Cole?”

  “There’s nothing you can say that hasn’t been said already. I’ve assured Cole that he could have the family he wants, without being saddled with a wife, but he has this vision in his head right now, and there’s not much else I can do. I have to move on, Max, or go insane.”

  “Come here, Sloan,” Max said gently, reaching for me.

  “Please don’t.” I moved farther away. “Don’t touch me, or I’ll start crying and never stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “I want to make sure you won’t go off and do something stupid.”

  “Like slashing my wrist?”

  Max shrugged. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’ve been tempted,” I said, biting my lip to keep from breaking down. “But you’ll be happy to know I’ve chosen herbal therapy instead.”

  “I suppose that’s a better alternative.”

  “It’s medicinal and more effective than Prozac.”

  “I’m hoping to keep you so busy in the next few weeks you won’t have time to stew in your misery.”

  “Good. When do we leave for London?”

  “Five days.”

  “Can I stay here until I find something permanent?”

  “Of course you can. I have a guest room upstairs. You know that.”

  “Would you do me a favor?”

  “I’d do anything for you,” Max said softly.

  My gut twisted upon hearing those words. God, it would be so simple to fall into his arms and let him make it all better, but I knew in my heart that I didn’t love him the way he hoped. I could feel the sting of tears again. “I can’t tell you how much it means to hear you say that,” I said, in a voice raw with emotion.

  “I know I’m not the solution, darling, but I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Max.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Would you or one of your minions go to my apartment and pack a bag for me? I refuse to go back there. I can’t.”

  “Make a list of what you want, and I’ll get it later.”

  THE NEXT few days sort of went by in a blur. I was high every waking moment. Each time I’d start to come down, the anxiety and sorrow would overwhelm me. I missed my life and my partner so much. It felt like I’d had a limb amputated, and these phantom pains were killing me. I was fighting a couple of urges. The need to cut myself was paramount and getting stronger and stronger. Despite everything Max said to reassure me, I felt like a loser. I wanted to throw myself at Cole’s feet and beg, but I knew it wouldn’t change his mind. Not with his geisha in the next room. I’ve never hated anyone or anything as much as I hated Noriko. Thank God we were leaving the country. If we stayed another day, there was no telling what I’d do.

  The plane ride to London was uneventful. Max insisted that I leave the weed, swearing he’d find more as soon as we arrived. However, I wasn’t taking any chances. I rolled a few sticks, wrapped them in Saran so the dogs wouldn’t sniff them out, and threw them in a pack of Marlboros. I went through security without raising any alarms.

  So far, I hadn’t laid eyes on Trent, which was just as well. My mood was terrible, and I wasn’t fit company for anyone but Max. He was the only one I could tolerate. I didn’t want the other models to know that Cole and I had broken up because then the gossiping would start. Anyone I looked at would be automatically entered into the contest with me as the ultimate prize. The malicious queens wouldn’t be able to curtail their wagging tongues with the utter juiciness of the news.

  We were booked at the Millennium Hotel on Sloane Street in Knightsbridge, where Harrods and a million other high-end shops were located. The photo shoot was expected to take anywhere from five to six days, depending on the weather conditions. One of the shoots would be out in the country at some fakakta castle. I hardly paid attention to anything Max said. I was depressed and getting more lethargic each day. It didn’t help that I hadn’t had sex in well over two weeks. To me that was a lifetime, and no amount of wanking would make up for the lack of a warm body in my bed.

  I was sitting at the small, round table in Max’s luxury suite, listening to his lecture on my eating habits, which had gone by the wayside since I’d left home.

  “You’ve lost weight, and I don’t have time to get you refitted. Eat,” he insisted, pushing a plate toward me.

  “Do I have to?”

  “You’re as bad as a five-year-old.”

  “And you sound like your Aunt Sadie.”

  “It’s my Jewish mothering gene,” Max said, smiling at me indulgently. “Come on, Sloan. Try and have something.”

  “Ack… what is this shit?”

  “It’s a light continental breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got you an assortment of fruit, sweet rolls, cereal, oatmeal, cheeses, and yogurt. I’m sure something will appeal.”

  I picked up an apple and took a bite, followed up by a nibble of cheese. Both tasted like sawdust, but I realized I couldn’t function without food. I’d ignored my diet this week, subsisting on coffee and cigarettes, reverting back to my pre-Cole habits, and it was beginning to show.

  “Have some oatmeal at least. That’ll stick to your ribs.”

  I spooned a mouthful of the oats and spat them out immediately. “Yuck. It tastes awful.”

  Max threw his fork down with a clatter. “Jesus, Sloan. You’re disgusting! What the hell would you like?”

  “How about some toast and scrambled eggs.”

  “There’s toast right there,” Max said, pointing at the breadbasket. “I’ll order the eggs. Do you want sausage or bacon on the side?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’d better care. I’m not putting up with this behavior much longer. It’s starting to get old.”

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  There was a knock on the door, and I stood to see who’d arrived. It couldn’t possibly be room service, as Max had just gotten off the phone with them. I yanked the door open and was startled by the sight of Trent Hamilton, my walking wet dream. He’d dyed his hair, as promised, and the Irish setter auburn brought out the blueness of his eyes. I had to admit this was a lot better than the blond or brunet. He looked good enough to fuck. “Wow,” I said, unable to keep that word from spilling out. “You look fabulous.”

  “You think so?” He smiled, squeezing out the dimple that always knocked my socks off.

  “Yup.” I smiled back. “Did you just get in?”

  “Uh huh. Are you staying in this suite?”

  “No. I’m being force-fed by the boss.”

  “I’m on the sixth floor,” Trent said.

  “So am I.”

  “You all are,” Max interrupted. “I booked ten rooms on that floor.”

  “We should party,” I joked.

  “Yeah?”

  “What you need to do is have breakfast,” Max said sternly. “Get your skinny butt back here and eat.”

  “He’s such a mom,” I whined. “Come and sit with us.”

  Trent grinned and followed me into the room. My mood had improved exponentially, and the lightness in my step mirrored the overall feeling of relief in seeing his handsome face. Suddenly, I was very hungry for more than food. “Do you want some coffee?” I asked, pouring him a cup.

  He nodded, never taking those blue eyes off my face. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  Chapter 20

  THE ELEVATOR dinged, and Trent and I stepped onto the sixth floor. Max had practically thrown us out of his suite, telling us he had a thousand things to do before we left for Harrods. Our first day was going to be hectic, trying on outfits at the mammoth store, and then driving off to our photo shoot in another location. Max gave us approximately forty-five minutes to shower and shave, knowing that realistically it would be more like an hour before anyone made an appearance. The hallway was deserted. I knew it would turn chaotic as soon as the models, assistant photographers, and
technical staff began their daily preparations, but for now it was peaceful and gave us a chance to talk without worrying about the rumor mill.

  “You look tired,” he said, caressing me with his eyes.

  “Don’t you start.”

  “I was worried when you ran off the other day. Did my session with Jason frighten you?”

  “A little bit. Are you a sadist?”

  “Do you think this is the time and place to have this discussion?”

  I snorted a nervous laugh. “I guess not.”

  “Why don’t we go to your room?”

  “Tin’s fast asleep.”

  “Let’s go,” Trent said, taking my hand and tugging me down the long corridor. His room was several doors away from mine, and he’d obviously lucked out and didn’t have to share. I watched him pull out his key card and swipe it. The click releasing the lock was loud in the silence that surrounded us―just as loud as my heartbeat thudding against my chest. I’d thought about this moment for days, wondering how I’d react when I finally laid eyes on this man who’d been invading most of my daydreams. Now that he was here in the flesh, I was nervous as hell. I hadn’t been with anyone but Cole since we’d been together. Previous to him my experience was limited. Trent was a seasoned Dom who had his pick of anyone in the scene. His day job wasn’t monastic either. I was pretty sure he had all kinds of men propositioning him. Why would he be interested in me? I was vanilla personified.

  He must have sensed my discomfort because he didn’t touch me when we entered the room. Instead, he picked up the phone and called room service, asking for a pot of tea, two cups, and some strawberries, brown sugar, and sour cream.

  “That’s interesting,” I remarked. “I’ve never had all three in combination.”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” he said.

  “That seems to be a recurring theme with you,” I joked. I felt marginally more comfortable. At least he didn’t have that domineering look in his eyes right now. In fact, he looked quite normal—if you can call a stunning six-foot redhead with sapphire-like eyes normal.

  “Relax, Sloan,” Trent said, “I’m not planning on torturing you.”

  “Thank Christ, because I don’t carry smelling salts.”

  His laughter was reassuring. “I don’t wear my Dom hat 24/7.”

  “Have you ever been in a normal relationship?”

  “Being dominant is normal for me.”

  “Whatever happened to down and dirty hot sex?”

  “That’s always an option.”

  “Good to know,” I said, drawn by the glint in his eyes and his mischievous smile.

  “Where’s Cole?” Trent asked casually.

  “We broke up.” I turned away from his gaze and stepped closer to the window. I didn’t want to expand on the subject; it would just upset me. The ache in my heart was a constant reminder of my loss, even though it had been almost a week since we’d split.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Shit happens.” I leaned my forehead against the windowpane and felt Trent come up behind me. He moved my collar aside, exposing my neck and kissing it lightly. His breath was warm against my skin, and the goose bumps appeared automatically.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, turning me around so we could see each other’s facial expression. He brushed my quivering lips with his thumb, knowing instinctively that I was swamped with feelings for my former partner. “I’m a good listener, Sloan.” There was tenderness this morning, and a softer side to Trent I never would have suspected underneath the steely exterior.

  I sighed. “I’m so tired of discussing Cole. Kiss me instead.”

  He dimpled with pleasure. “Works for me,” he said, one second before I felt his mouth cover mine. There was nothing tender about this kiss, though. It was hungry and aggressive, very much what I was expecting from Trent, and he didn’t disappoint. I moaned with pleasure as his tongue swept through my mouth possessively. He yanked me closer, grinding against me. The bulge in his jeans assured me that he was attracted. We were clearly on the same page, despite my momentary slip into melancholia.

  “Trent.” I retreated, stepping back to catch a breath.

  “I want you,” Trent affirmed, hauling me back. He kissed me again, claiming ownership of my mouth. “You drive me crazy,” he said, taking my lower lip in between his teeth and biting gently.

  “I’m not exactly immune to your charms,” I muttered, when he finally let me go. I was blindsided by the power that exuded from him in waves.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said huskily. He glanced at his watch and frowned. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Please don’t stop,” I said.

  His eyes turned a deeper blue when he heard me begging. My tone of voice and the word please acted like some sort of switch for him, because he reached for me again.

  “I’m so close,” I whispered, taking his hand and pressing it on my crotch.

  “Sloan,” he said, giving in and tugging on the zipper. He released my cock in one swift move, and I heard the surprise in his voice as he curled his fingers around my swollen shaft. “What have we here?” he purred. “How come I didn’t know about this?”

  “I don’t advertise,” I said hotly.

  “You’re in an industry where people run around naked all the time. This was bound to come up somewhere in a conversation,” he said.

  “I don’t do naked.”

  “If I were as endowed as you, I’d have no such qualms.”

  “Not comfortable displaying these bones.”

  “Oh, baby, there’s nothing bony about this,” Trent breathed, handling my cock like it was a precious jewel.

  “I take it you’re a size queen.”

  “Never a queen,” Trent said, “but very impressed by your size.”

  “Show me?”

  He drew me toward the bed but stopped when we heard a knock on the door.

  “Motherfucker,” I cussed.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, giving my dick a slight squeeze.

  “Ya think?”

  I turned so the waiter wouldn’t see the enormous boner jutting out of my pants. I waited impatiently as Trent made small talk and signed the slip. When the guy finally left, I hurled myself at Trent and slammed him up against the wall, kissing him fiercely. “Are we doing this or what?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he growled, “definitely doing this.”

  Somehow we ended up on the bed with me on the bottom. Trent held my face between his large hands and plied me with hungry kisses while he rocked back and forth over my cock. He still had his pants on, and the friction from his rough denim against my tender skin was excruciating. “Please,” I said, “take your jeans off.”

  He managed to unbutton and unzip in record time, shoving his clothes down his thighs while I did the same. We rubbed against each other, slippery from our combined fluids. It was heavenly, and I was on the verge of coming, as was he. “So fucking delicious,” he growled, mashing his erection against mine. He invaded me with his tongue and I opened up for him, sucking on the warm flesh eagerly in perfect rhythm with the back-and-forth motion of our hips. I clutched him and cried out as I spewed warm cum all over him, only seconds before he joined me in a fierce mingling of body fluids. It was hot, messy, and intense, and I was suffused with guilt.

  Trent collapsed and continued to undulate against me. “That was a lovely appetizer,” he said, kissing the side of my face. My silence cued him into my state of mind immediately. He pushed away and looked into my eyes. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I blurted out. Extricating myself, I dressed in record time and headed for the door. “I’ll see you after I shower.”

  “Sloan,” Trent called out, “don’t go!”

  I COULDN’T stick around for another minute. My reaction to this brief interlude went beyond what was expected. Our passionate moment probably meant nothing to Trent, but it was significant for me. He was the first man I�
��d been with since the breakup, and I was not going to burden him with any of my emotional issues. I had to deal with them on my own. I needed some privacy because I was on the verge of another crying jag, and the last thing I wanted was for Trent to witness my pathetic breakdown.

  Tin was stirring when I walked into our room. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

  “It’s all good,” I mumbled, barreling past him and barricading myself in the bathroom. I stripped quickly, struggling with my pants as they clung to my groin, sticky with conjoined fluids. I turned the shower on full blast, letting the stinging spray pelt my face and back, and then I sank to my knees slowly and began to sob. I couldn’t stop the tears. The immense sorrow pressed against my chest, and I grieved for the end of a relationship that had sustained me for years. Being with Trent only reinforced the sad truth that my union with Cole was really over. I couldn’t have been more despondent if Cole had died. The sobs shook my body, and the harsh sounds that escaped from my throat were loud enough to concern Tin. Soon, he was banging on the door and begging me to let him in.

  I crawled out of the shower stall and unlocked the bathroom door. Tin sat on the floor, took me in his arms, and held me as I continued to cry, all the while crooning French platitudes in a soft voice. His words were reassuring and his tolerant attitude even better. Tin loved me unconditionally and knew every detail of my life―the good, bad, and almost every ugly moment. He had never judged, only supported.

  “Arrête de pleurer, mon chéri.”

  “I’m trying,” I wailed, angry at myself for this humiliating display.

  “Did Trent hurt you?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “We had sex.”

  “Aren’t you the lucky one?”

  This set off another round of weeping until finally there were no more tears. I exhaled a few more shuddering breaths and let go of Tin. My loss of control was over for the moment.

  “Sloan, chéri, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “I know.”

  “In terms of a replacement, you couldn’t have picked a hotter guy.”