by Geneva Lee
“I don’t recall,” he says. “But I’ll look into it and we can discuss it over dinner.”
“Of course.” And like anyone who spends their time worming into the upper rungs of society, he knows he needs to be important to stay there. He’s not going to tell me anything until he gets his reward. That’s a problem for another day.
“Well, I better head back. I have a lot to sort through.”
Like years of emotional baggage.
“Do call down if you need help,” he says. “I’ll make sure someone gets you the proper tool for the job.”
“Thanks.” I can’t say I like the sound of that. Mr. Randolph must see me as another way to get in with the Valmont crowd. I’m just another heiress in his eyes. If he only knew. It’s not as though I’m too helpless to jimmy open a locked drawer. I learned the fine art of getting past a lock in my early teens, back when my parents bothered to lock up the booze. My mother’s idea. My father, like most of the other Valmont parents, could have cared less about what me or my brother was doing with their friends. I’ll get dressed, go to the store, and get one along with some basics: a change of clothes, toiletries, a toothbrush. At least then I can avoid returning to Windfall for a few days.
Chances are that I don’t even need a stupid screwdriver to open the drawer. I’m brainstorming other ways to get the drawer open as I step off the elevator, and my focus is so intense I don’t even see him.
“Got somewhere to be, Lucky?” Sterling’s voice rushes over me like a surge of cold water, sending chills dancing along my spine. It’s not the effect he usually has on me, but it’s no less dizzying.
It takes effort to face him, especially since I’m in a robe and tennis shoes with no socks. Oh, and because the last time he saw me I was sprawled naked on his bed. There’s that, too. “What are you doing here?”
“I think that’s my line.” He moves toward me and I move backward instinctively. Sterling stops, a frown marring his perfect face. “We need to talk.”
I can’t help snorting. People in couple’s counseling need to talk. Friends need to talk. Whatever we are? It requires more than talking. We need to scream. We need to throw shit. At least, I do. But I settle for agreeing with him. “Yes, we do.”
“Those texts aren’t what you think,” he begins.
That’s how he’s going to play it? No way. “Did someone named Sutton call me a bitch?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did she beg you to come home to her?” I can hardly blame her for calling me a bitch. I am a bitch, and I’m damn proud of the fact. It’s his part in this that bothers me.
“You don’t understand—”
“Did you say loved her?” My voice cracks on this last question.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he’s getting a headache. “I did, but I had a good reason.”
Tears smart my eyes and I whirl away from him. There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. He doesn’t deserve my tears, but that’s the thing about a broken heart, the person that deserves it is never the one who gets theirs broken. “I don’t think I need to hear an explanation. I think the message was pretty clear. You can’t explain saying I love you to another woman.”
“If you think that, that proves how wrong you are.” Strong hands grip my wrist and he spins me toward him before I can pull away. “I can explain.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” I yank myself free and cross my arms over my chest. Pasting on my best poker face, I do my best to look unimpressed even though I can’t ignore the tingling that lingers where he touched me. I can’t trust myself around him any more than I can trust him. That much is clear.
Then he drops a bomb on me.
“Sutton is my sister.”
“Oh.” That explains the I love you. I’ve spent the last few hours planning exactly what I would say to him the next time I saw him. I didn’t prepare for the possibility he’d have a reasonable explanation.
“You did remember that I have a sister, right?” he asks, a smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth.
He’s got me cornered—physically, emotionally—and he knows it.
“I thought you didn’t know where she was,” I say stupidly.
“I didn’t know where she was five years ago.”
“I guess you found her.” Suddenly, it seems I have a gift for stating the obvious. Sutton is his sister. That does make sense. But like so much of Sterling’s life, I don’t know much.
Sterling doesn’t seem to hold my newfound observational skills against me. “I did.”
It’s less that I forgot about his sister and more that, in the past, talking about her was like flipping his asshole switch. “I thought you didn’t want to find her.”
“I didn’t. She found me.”
“And why does she think I’m a bitch?” Sutton being his sister might clear up why he said I love you, but it doesn’t change how they seem to talk about me. I’d seen the message with my own eyes. Not only had she said it, he hadn’t corrected her.
“She’s not your number one fan,” he says, shifting away from the wall.
Now we’re getting somewhere. Somewhere uncomfortable for both of us, but where we need to go. “And why would that be?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says. “About my life.”
No shit. Now who’s stating the obvious? “Enlighten me.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a laugh that sounds anything but amused. “You read my messages, jump to conclusions, and then—”
“Jump to conclusions?” I repeat in disbelief. “What am I supposed to think about you saying I love you to another woman and it’s not like I was snooping. You gave me your phone.”
Now he looks cornered. Good. “I did give you my phone.”
“Don’t you dare paint me as some psychotic girlfriend who is nosing around in your business.” I poke his sternum with my index finger. That turns out to be a mistake because it’s like hitting a launch button.
“Aren’t you?” he storms. “You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Because you won’t tell me anything!” I’m the unbelievable one? There are a lot of ways that he’s changed. There are a lots of ways that I’ve changed. But the lies and mystery he likes to keep as armor? It hasn’t changed.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
My jaw unhinges and I hastily close my mouth with a glare. If I started writing down all the things I don’t know about him, it would rival Santa’s Christmas list. All he does is keep secrets. It might even be what came between us before. I can’t be sure, because I don’t even know what that was!
“I think there’s a lot to tell. Like why she wants you to come home or why you said not this time,” I quote the text back to him.
“You memorized it?” His eyebrows raise.
I can’t tell what he thinks about that, except that I’m in real danger of actually being a psycho girlfriend despite my intentions.
“It’s kinda burned in my brain,” I say. “I mean, I fucked you thinking I could trust you, and then before I could put my panties back on, another woman was sending you texts.”
Sterling sucks in a deep breath and I’m not sure if he’s preparing for a shouting match or finding his zen. He releases it slowly, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You can trust me, Adair.”
“Okay, prove it,” I challenge him. “Tell me how you made your money.”
I’m tired of being on the outside. I’m tired of looking at him and seeing as many questions as I do possibilities.
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.” He shakes his head and I get the distinct impression he’s lying to himself as much as he is to me.
I watched a marriage built on lies. I lived it. There’s no way I’m settling for less than all of him, even if it means getting none of him. “It has everything to do with it. Where have you been the last five years? Why did you come back? I�
�m tired of only knowing half of your life. How do I know things are real between us?”
Sterling’s perfect eyes wince in pain. If it hurts him to be misunderstood, why doesn’t he make himself clear? I see the little muscles in his jaw twitch as he takes a step toward me. I back up reflexively, bumping into the wall. There’s nowhere to go.
“Lucky,” he tries to say it evenly, but his tone is a complete betrayal of the storm on our horizon.
Isn’t that how it’s always been with us? We crave the breeze that blows in while we ignore the blue-black thunderclouds. For us, it’s easier to pretend it’s not coming. We tell this lie. We believe it. We turn our backs to the wind. It’s what makes the squall impossible to overcome. The storm grabs hold before we can break free, capsizes us, drags us below the surface. We drown in each other. I’m tired of it. I want to sail into the storm—standing on the bow, back straight, head unbowed. I want to face what we are and see if I’m strong enough to survive the truth of it. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re beyond wrong.” His intensity is breathtaking and now it’s in his eyes: the hurricane I’m determined to face. That’s when I realize that he is my storm. He is the danger. I can either sail through him or turn back. There’s no other way to survive him. So why do I melt against the wall? Why do my eyes close, my lips part?
His hand flashes towards me and unties the knot of my robe. It falls open before I’ve processed his intentions. One impossibly strong arm reaches under my right, around my back, and grabs my upper left arm. His body presses me against the wall, his knee pins my legs apart.
“Does this feel real?” he says. I can sense how hard he is fighting to keep control of himself. It should frighten me. Instead, I feel the fabric of my panties soak. He holds me fast against the wall, waiting for my response.
I nod.
His mouth finds mine, desperate and hungry. Frantic to claim me. He takes my bottom lip into his mouth and nips down hard. The sharp metallic tang of iron floats across my tongue.
“Is this real?” he growls between all-consuming kisses. There's no hesitation. He touches me like he owns me. And that's when I realize it. He does.
I can still pull away. I can still stop this. I can sail to safe harbor, but I haven’t made it this far to give up now. On myself. On him. On us.
I bite back.
Sterling betrays little of the pain. Instead, he simply grunts. He is primal. Animalistic. He takes as he gives. His possession liberates me until I can feel it. I can feel every raw, aching nerve in my body.
The fingernails of his free hand scratch me slightly as his hand makes its way to my waiting, bared breast. “And this?” My nipples stiffen painfully, and I moan in spite of myself. “Tell me this isn’t as real as it gets.”
Meeting his gaze as evenly as I can, I shake my head. I can’t tell him that.
“That’s right, Lucky,” he says through gritted teeth.
As if to underscore his point, he bends to take my right nipple between his teeth. He doesn’t bite down, but I feel the threat he will almost hysterically. His hand soothes my left breast, rubbing gently in counterpoint to his mouth, which begins to suck on my breast, hard. I can feel blood rushing in, engorging the nipple, making it more tender.
When at last he releases it from his mouth, the feeling is dangerous and exquisite. Relief at freedom gives way to a painful stab of absence, which itself gives way to a deep ecstasy, throbbing in time with my heart. It feels like he has connected me to the resonant frequency of the universe.
“I know what’s between us is real, Adair. It’s a feeling I have when I look at you. Would you like me to show you how it feels?”
My eyelids flutter, an approving moan slipping past my lips. A wicked grin lights his face, and I realize my head is bobbing furiously, though I don’t think I sent that instruction.
The arm pinning me in place disappears. My body reacts intuitively, attempting to close the distance between us, but Sterling pushes me back against the wall with a palm to my belly. He kneels before me, kisses my navel. His fingers pinch the black lace fabric of my panties, pull it away from me. He lets the fabric go, and the elastic threads snap back into place, giving me a jolt. He does it again and again, always kissing my belly.
Is this what he feels? That I’m a tease, or that he needs to tease me? Or is it just torment? Delicious torment? He doesn’t need to show me that. He always tormented me.
Suddenly I feel the rough skin of his knuckles brushing between my legs. Then, the lace of my panties bites into my hips, followed by the sound of ripping fabric. I feel the shredded lace dangling loosely around my hips, exposing the rest of me. Cold air floods across my sensitive sex and couples with my wetness to send shivers up my spine.
He stands, his wild look reflecting how I feel. Arms wrap around me, holding me close to him. My body finds its shape in him, my curves filling the open space that should never be allowed to exist. Then, his hands move to the last band of fabric hanging off my hips. He finds the seam and slowly pulls it apart. I feel every thread give way. When he rips the last few threads from my body, my breath explodes out of my mouth. Sterling puts his mouth near my ear and whispers, “This is real.”
“Yes.” It comes out in a squeak as I struggle to take in oxygen. My hands grope feebly at the button of his jeans.
“We should be careful, Lucky, we don’t—”
“I’m on the pill.”
It’s his turn to react instinctively. He lifts me from the ground and pins my splayed hips between his chest and the wall. He looks up at me, his face full of naked lust and wonder and reverence. Had it always been there? Had I been too stupid or too consumed with my own pleasure to see it? I feel something fundamental shift—realign. But I don’t have time to consider what it is or what it means, because Sterling frees his cock and plunges inside me.
My arms hook around his neck. My ankles cross above his buttocks. I hold on to him. Sterling’s hands cup the bottom of my ass, supporting my weight but also pulling me wider, so that he can fill more of me.
Restraint has left the building.
He looks into my eyes—and for a moment, he shows me he has nothing to hide, and that I have nothing to fear—and I want this to last forever.
“Don’t,” I pant, “stop…don’t ever stop!”
Sterling smirks and shifts slightly until I can’t find the words to make demands. “Ohhhh—”
His long, strong strokes become quick and powerful, punctuated by the impact of his pelvis on my clitoris. He’s my anchor point. My body shatters around him, safe in the eye of the storm. I am free. I am tethered. I am everything and I am only this. When Sterling arrives a moment later, his eyes roll up to the ceiling, and at last the missing element is found. I dissolve into him, and he into me.
This has always been the easy part.
Sterling’s sweaty forehead presses against mine as we untangle ourselves. He adjusts my robe, covering my body again. “Have dinner with me.”
It’s not a question. I swallow to give myself time to come up with a reason to say no, but I can’t find one that outweighs how much I want to say yes. I gesture down to the robe.“I should change.”
“I like you just the way you are.” He brushes his thumb over my swollen bottom lip.
“You tore off my panties,” I remind him, “and the last time I checked the restaurant had a dress code.”
“Well, when you put it like that.” He releases his hold on me, and, bending down, he gathers the lacy remnants of my panties from the ground before shoving them into his pocket.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to keep those.” Why do I hope he says yes?
He winks at me, turning his smile up until it’s blinding. “Consider it a trophy.”
“If I find them mounted on the wall at your apartment, we’re going to need to talk.”
Sterling twines his hands through mine, leading me down the hall. I’d forgotten for a moment that we never made it inside the suite.
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Now that he’s no longer occupying every ounce of my attention with his body, my surroundings remind me. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve done something as reckless as that, but the flush of shame I expect to heat my cheeks never arrives. I don’t care that I have no business screwing Sterling in the hall of the Eaton. Because I’m already thinking about Sterling’s hands and how much I want them on me again. I’m shaking so badly I can’t get my keycard to work.
“Allow me.” He reaches for it, but I hold it away.
“I’ve got it,” I snap despite all evidence to the contrary. It’s too much. He’s too much. I can’t even think with him this close. Not after that. Not still reeling from how he makes me feel. It takes every ounce of discipline I have to shut the door to the suite in his face with a quick “I’ll be right out.”
If that’s what happens when he catches me outside my door, I can’t risk allowing him inside. We need to talk. He needs to come clean, and I need to hold him accountable. With a locked door between us, I remember that I don’t even have underwear here. I settle for cleaning myself up in the bathroom as best I can. I’m going to have to get some clothes soon, particularly if he’s going to keep shredding mine.
There’s not much I can do without makeup or a hairbrush. My reflection looks as reckless as I feel. My hair is a tousled wildfire, flames swirling uncontrollably around my shoulders. My lips are still swollen with blood from the brutality of his kisses. I ditch the robe and see the imprints from where his fingers dug into my hips. It takes some finessing, but I manage to make my dress look presentable by ditching the torn sash and using a safety pin I find with the complimentary sewing kit provided by the hotel. It’s not exactly dinner at a five-star hotel apparel, but it will have to do. There’s nothing to help my unruly hair, but I find I actually like it like this. I want Sterling to look at me and remember what it felt like to pin me against the wall — to control me. I want him desperate to get me back into bed. I’m going to distract him, so that he lets his guard down. Because tonight — no matter what happens — I’m winning this round. I’ll either get my answers or give him marching orders. Sterling won’t know what hit him.