by Amber Lin
It didn’t matter. Anything, always. “Yes.”
We tumbled together, bare skin against abrasive ruffles, naked bodies to streaming sunlight. Playfully, I pulled away. He pounced, trapping me beneath his. I lay my cheek against the bed in surrender.
“Stay,” he said. His weight lifted, but I felt the light pressure of his hand on the small of my back.
I remained bent over the bed, with my feet touching the floor and my face turned into the sheets. Cool air brushed my backside, and I knew he was watching me. I had very few qualms about my body. My waist was slim, and the five pounds I’d gained in the past year went straight to my hips. My skin was waxed and shaved with careful precision, and I had a small blue vein running down my left thigh. I couldn’t shake the nervousness about what he thought. I already knew I turned him on; shouldn’t that be enough? But this was Luke.
Nervously, I shifted on the bed.
He hissed a breath. His hand on me moved lower, over the curve of my ass, down the sensitive stretch on my thigh. Between my thighs, I felt his hot breath. Probing, possessive fingers spread me open, exposed me to his tongue.
I moaned at the touch and ground myself against the bed. My thighs quivered as he spread them farther, reaching deeper.
His exploration was so careful, so slow. Far too slow. Not a manipulation but a lesson, as if he was learning what I liked and where I liked it. It should have felt clinical, but instead my arousal reached a fever pitch. Being desired by a man who knew me inside as well as out, being helpless to a man who would never hurt me. It was foreign—and addictive. I wanted to lie open to his emerald gaze, to his careful fingers, to his sweetly curling tongue until eternity. I wanted to shake and cry out and come against his mouth forever. And then I couldn’t want anymore, couldn’t think at all—just feel. Oh God, the things I felt. There was anguish and ecstasy; there was anger and a sublime sense of connection.
The tear of foil pierced my haze, but I didn’t move, not until he turned me over. I spread my legs, eager and hopeful. He entered me in a smooth, painless thrust. A gasp escaped me at the shock of being filled, at the pure joy of being filled by him. His answering groan sent shivers down my arms.
We moved together in an ancient dance, a universal rhythm—one I had done a hundred times, more, and each one had been a sham. A parody of this act and this intimacy. I hooked my legs around him, pulling him closer, forcing him deeper. His lips found mine with no hesitation this time. He was joined to me at every point—my mouth, my sex, the hard planes of his chest against my breasts, and still it wasn’t enough. I scrabbled at his back, desperate and clawing, like some sort of wild sex animal, and he responded in kind, shoving his hand into my hair, holding down my hip, and growling a low sound of approval into my mouth. I spasmed and clenched around his cock, coming countless times, my orgasms bleeding together to form one long litany of sensual rapture.
There was violence in his movements, pain in my response, but there had never been a more pure expression of his love. There was no better gift from a man of meticulous restraint than letting go. No greater way for me to thank him than to give myself, unhindered by payments, free of the cool ice shell that always encased me. I was more naked than I had been a hundred other times, a hundred other beds. I was exposed, raw—and vulnerable. He could break me this way, if he chose to.
Impossibly, his thrusts grew more powerful, more frantic, as if he wanted to reach the farthest place inside me, and God, he had. He squeezed his eyes shut, and I knew he would come soon. I reached up and mouthed the skin at the base of his neck. A flick of my tongue, and he shouted his climax, the cords of his neck vibrating against my lips. At his orgasm, he pushed into me once, twice, then again, stroking himself with my body. I whispered words of encouragement and praise, wishing he might never stop.
He slumped down on me, heavy and supple. The most vulnerable time for a man, I’d always thought. I found myself protective of him in this moment, that he would expose himself this way—not the baring of skin, which I was too familiar with, but the lowering of his guard. He didn’t have to be wary of me. No, I would guard him. At all times, and especially when he was made slack and unseeing with bliss, I would watch over him and keep him safe.
Placing kisses over the tops of my breasts, he leisurely pushed inside me and then out, as if he wasn’t quite ready to end it.
He froze when he saw the scar.
I lay still, allowing him to look his fill, to pass judgment. The reddish skin puckered just under my collarbone. Almost perfectly circular, a clean shot with no additional scarring from when they had pulled the bullet back out. It might fade in a few years, the doctors said. It might not.
“Does it hurt you?” he asked hoarsely.
“Not really. Not on the surface anyway. Sometimes deeper, if I move the wrong way.”
I expected him to pull out, to pull away after seeing the scar. It was ugly, but worse than that were the ugly memories. I knew he blamed himself. Everyone blamed themselves for my mistakes, first Allie, then him. But he didn’t move away; he stayed inside me. His eyes were on that scar, filled with a kind of mourning.
He touched the space beside it, the pale, unmarred skin. “So strong.”
I turned my face away. He kissed my cheek, capturing a tear on his lips.
“What would it take for you to believe that?” he asked.
“What would it take for you to stop searching for your sister?” The words were meant to push him away so that he would stop pushing me. But they came out with no bitterness, no rancor, only an earnestness that revealed too much.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m here now. That’s something, right?”
“That’s something,” I whispered.
He replaced his condom and entered me again. I was tender, sore from our previous rough session, but he moved slowly, soothing me until I felt a soft glow of pleasure. There was no bruising grip or frenzied thrusts this time, only the smooth glide of his cock inside me, the steady rise of his broad shoulders over me. Only the press of his temple to mine, as if we were connected by more than our bodies—we were. He came with a soft expulsion of, “Oh, shit.”
We fell side by side, limbs entangled and hearts beating rapidly.
This was what he’d always wanted, if his declaration in the kitchen was to be believed. We had always been heading to this—to ruin, for a prostitute and a cop had no future. Neither of us had a future, caught as we were in the past. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that something else drove his fascination with me. So bent on saving me, as if a guilt much older than the past year propelled him. There were too many similarities to ignore. His sister was a prostitute with Henri; so was I. His sister was blonde; so was I—well, usually. Now my hair was dyed brown, and to his credit, that didn’t seem to slow him down. But maybe the strongest sign was that his sister had paved her own road to destruction…just like me. A decade younger. The do over.
“It wasn’t your fault. I brought this on myself. This gunshot. My entire life.” More softly, “I’m not your sister.”
“I…I think I know that,” he said drily. “Considering what we just did? Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“I don’t mean literally.”
“I know what you meant.” He spoke in a low, almost teasing tone. “You aren’t trying to diminish me, are you? By taking away my choice?”
I laughed, recognizing my words from last night. Then, I had been self-righteous and defensive, aggressive and fearful, but now… “God, no.”
He continued. “Because I seem to remember you telling me that no matter what had happened in the past, you could choose your present. No matter how broken you were, it didn’t take away your right to consent. It seems only fair I should get the same treatment.”
“You are very pleased with yourself right about now, aren’t you?”
“Very. But that probably has more to do with the two amazing orgasms I just had.”
The trill of a cell phone sounded f
rom the kitchen. An echoing alarm rang in my chest. It was happening, dissolving in my hands, and nothing I could do would stop it.
“I’ve got to check that.” He ducked into the bathroom and emerged, slinging on his clothes. “There might be news on Henri.”
“What if there is?” I sat up, pulling the sheet to cover me.
“Then we’ve got to get over there. I do, anyway. You can stay here.”
I frowned. “You’re not going without me.”
He made an impatient motion as the phone abruptly cut off, probably going to voice mail. “We can figure that out later.”
“That means you can tell me no later. I’m going.”
“Look, for all I know, it’s a wrong number,” he said, though that seemed more unlikely as the phone rang a second time. He gave me a curious look. “What’s wrong, Shelly?”
Everything. “I’m just trying to figure out if that was our last time, that’s all. If we go back to Chicago and confront Henri, then what? Will I go back to being your informant? Or not even that? Will you call me and leave voice mails about how your day went? Just tell me where we’ll stand.”
A frustrated sound left his throat. “I don’t know, but if we don’t find Henri soon, we’re all fucked. That has to be our first priority.”
Priorities, responsibilities. There was Claire and the shelter. So many girls who needed help, when our failure was all but guaranteed.
“Why can’t we just stay here?” I heard the pleading in my voice and hated it. I knew it was unreasonable, but we were flying here. Almost delirious with weightlessness, I would rather burn up in the sun than fall in the grit of the earth. “You said that it’s safe. Undetectable. Why do we need to go back?”
“And never leave?” The doubt in his voice conveyed just how ridiculous that idea was.
“I don’t need anyone but you.”
His face softened. “I understand it’s scary. But this is the best way for everyone. What about Ella?” He paused. “And I thought you understood. This is my best chance to find out what happened to my sister.”
Tightness formed in my chest, one I recognized well. The disgrace of selfishness, the feeling of inevitability. Like staring out the window, looking over the houses of my friends, feeling cold hands lift my skirt. I couldn’t stop any of this. Once upon a time, I had tried to escape my fate. To my eternal shame, I had been willing to use my friends as an excuse. I had pretended to help Allie so that I could be free. Here I was, years later, doing the same thing, desperate to stay with Luke at his expense.
I swallowed. “I know where Henri is.”
“Right. We’ll find him and— What?”
“Or at least a clue. The girl in the bathroom said he was in a building called the Barracks. It might be an old airport just outside Chicago.”
He blinked. “You’re just now telling me this?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Christ, Shelly. I don’t need an apology.” The anger in his voice made me wince. “Tell me why.”
I’m a coward. I angled my head, looking up beneath my lashes. “I wanted to spend a little more time with you.”
He made a slashing motion, green eyes flashing. “I told you not to play the hooker with me.”
“Don’t play the hooker? This isn’t a game, Luke. It’s who I am. Don’t you get that? I can’t stop being one any more than I can cut away my skin.”
His harsh breaths filled the space between us. The shrill tone of his phone broke the spell. He turned and left the room.
Naked on the bed. How many times had I found myself this way? I was tired of it, so weary of being used and discarded. It was my own fault for flying so close to the sun. Maybe this was what Allie had been trying to protect me from. I lay in bed alone, listening to the timbre of his voice as he made plans without me.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke got everything together quickly, just like I knew he would. They had a vague idea of the location, and his buddies were tracking down schematics and anything else they could find. An hour later, I was back in my clothes from the club, high heels and all, and we were on the road. A few minutes more, and it began to thunder.
Slashing rain battered the car window. I had passed out on the ride out here, with no inkling how far we really were from the city. The storm slowed us even more, turning a two-hour drive into three. The steady back-and-forth of the windshield wipers was a metronome to the tension within.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Again.
He stared straight ahead. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. If it were fine, you would look at me. Talk to me. Something.”
“I am talking to you. I’m not looking at you because I’m driving.”
“Bullshit. You haven’t looked at me since you found out I didn’t tell you. It was a mistake, okay? I’m not allowed to make mistakes?”
“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” he said evenly.
I faced away, watching a drop trail from the top of the window. It darted from one drop to another, joining and then separating, never staying long in one place. It was at the whim of the wind, of this car—of everything. No will of its own.
“I’m sorry.” My voice broke on the end.
He muttered a curse and pulled off the road. I peeked out the window, seeing only driving rain and grass and a line of trees in the distance.
“If you’re going to dump me, can you at least find a rest stop or something? I don’t want to get my hair all wet.”
“Jesus, Shelly. Some of the things that come out of your mouth.”
“Is that a request?” I eyed the space beneath the steering wheel. “Because I don’t normally do drive-bys, but I might make an exception for you.”
“I just want to strangle you. Or make love to you until you stop baiting the world.”
I smirked. “Kinky, with a touch of philosophy. I like it.”
“I can’t stand the idea of letting you go, okay? That’s why I’m not talking about it. It’s why I’m not talking to you. I’m not mad.”
“Then don’t let me go. Take me with you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant after. I can’t bring you with us.”
“I have to go.”
“You would just get in the way. We’d be watching out for you instead of focusing on the job.”
“I know Henri better than you or anyone else you have working for you. What if things get tough and you can’t find him or can’t get close? I can. He’ll see me. He’ll talk to me.” It was a low blow. “If it comes to getting information about your sister, no one has a better shot than me.”
He stared straight ahead. “I don’t know if I can do that. Put you in danger.”
After what happened last time, he meant. “I won’t get shot again.”
“You can’t know that.”
There was real worry in his voice, and it shook me. So of course I had to lighten the mood.
“I promise I won’t get shot. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Surprisingly, that isn’t giving me confidence.”
I sobered. “I need to go. For me, to get closure. There are some questions of my own I need to ask.”
He considered that, watching the rain batter the windshield. “Okay,” he finally said. “But you need to understand there’s no guarantee you’ll get to ask them. I might just shoot him on first sight.”
“As long as I get to watch.”
“Bloodthirsty woman.” He sounded approving.
* * * *
We drove straight to a hotel, where purple beaded lighting and black leather couches adorned the lounge. Bypassing the check-in, we took the elevators up.
I tapped the art deco paneling. “Why the fancy place?”
“Not my choice. Major doesn’t like anything affordable.”
“Major?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about bringing another person in on this, even though it seemed a little late for shyness. Mostly I didn’t want to share Luke in the time we had le
ft.
“A guy I know. A few guys willing to help. They’re friends; don’t be nervous. What am I saying? They’re the ones who need to be nervous. Don’t bite.”
“Don’t worry. That costs extra.”
His frown was very intimidating. I wondered if he used that on perps. I considered asking, but that would probably just aggravate him further.
“Okay, okay.” I put my hands up. “I can behave. You know, GFE. The Girlfriend Experience.”
He grimaced. “If you actually were my girlfriend, then we wouldn’t have to pretend.”
Girlfriend? That sounded so high school. Which was easier to focus on than the flutter of happiness in my belly. “I’m sorry, did you ask me to be your girlfriend? Because I feel sure I would have remembered that.”
“What are the chances of you not mocking me for this?”
“Are you going to ask me to prom too? I don’t think I have a dress, but maybe we can go shopping together. That’s probably best. What color is your tux?”
“And this is why I didn’t ask.”
“Pass me a note in homeroom, and we’ll see.”
He snorted, but I detected humor dancing in his eyes.
We rode the rest of the way in silence. The elevator doors opened to a narrow hallway with light-beige vinyl walls. An older couple left their room and began walking toward us. The woman stared at my boobs, her face puckered in disgust.
I rolled my eyes. Typical closet lesbian.
“Behave,” Luke murmured.
I scooted over to make room for them to pass, but the woman’s hips bumped into me. I stumbled and would have fallen straight on her cleavage if Luke hadn’t caught me. He firmly pulled me forward, his hand on my elbow.
Rather than resist him, I draped myself over him in dramatic relief. “I can’t wait to get to our room.”
He shot me a quelling look.
I lowered my voice. “I’ve been thinking about this the whole drive.” Glancing back, I saw the woman shoot me one last murderous glare before rounding the corner. I shrugged at Luke’s raised brow. “What? She practically felt me up.”