“I’m sorry,” he whispers between kisses, surprising me. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”
I try to pull away to look at him, but he snakes his hand through my hair and holds me still.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to disappoint you. I want to take a chance. I hope you’ll still take a chance on me.”
His words wash over me in comforting waves. The fact that he’s not only acknowledging how he made me feel but also apologizing is a remarkable reflection of how far he’s come. He’s accepting responsibility for his actions and trying to rectify the damage he’s done. I can recognize this and appreciate it as a therapist. But more to the point, I’m grateful for it as the woman trying to have some kind of relationship with him.
“That’s why I’m here,” I tell him.
Moving to my mouth, he kisses me deeply, desperately. It has a different quality than our session in the pub, though. That was purely animalistic. This is an attempt to solidify our connection. He wants confirmation that we can move past last night. That’s what I need, too.
I roll onto my back and bring him with me, pulling up my skirt to make room for him between my legs. He’s hard and, I imagine, incredibly eager after going without last night. Still, he takes his time with his kisses, doesn’t grind against me, or try to skip right to it.
I’m the one who pulls at his shirt. His flannel is still buttoned, but he takes my suggestion and quickly removes it along with his undershirt. I start to remove my own jumper but stop when I see the random tattoos covering his chest and upper arms. They include a haphazard trail of “kisses” made up by the outline of a woman’s lips, a skull, a Native American Chief headdress with colorful feathers, an eagle, dice, and other things I don’t have a chance to sort out. What I can tell by their seemingly thoughtless placement and lack of connection is that they’re marks made on a whim. They look like the marks of someone who doesn’t value himself. More telling than those tattoos, however, are the painful looking scars on his torso. There’s a thick scar around half of his left nipple, a series of four-inch scars outlining his three lower right-side ribs, and a large scar that forms an X over his heart. I wonder if he made these scars himself or if they came from some kind of altercation. Then, there are the scars on the inside of his elbows. So many little puncture wounds that didn’t heal correctly.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks.
I force myself to meet his eyes, to look away from all the damage he’s done to himself.
“No.” But we can both hear the hesitation in my voice.
With a heavy sigh, he falls onto his back next to me.
Turning on my side and leaning on my elbow, I tell him, “It’s just, I didn’t know you had all these. I was distracted for a moment.”
“Guess I never thought we needed to have a session about my shitty tattoos.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I trace the feather of the Indian headdress. “They’re not so bad.”
He laughs and when he glances at me with a knowing smile, I smile back. We both know I’m out of my league with this. But, at least right now, neither of us are bothered by it. It’s a nice, easy moment. But then he takes my hand and draws it over the scars I had seen.
“This one,” he says of the scar near his nipple, “came by way of fighting over a dealer’s last hit of heroin with some other loser. He pulled a knife and started swinging it around like he was fucking Zorro, but that didn’t stop me. I wanted my high. He made one swipe and nearly took the whole thing off.”
“Oh,” I say for want of anything better.
“These by my ribs? I did these myself when I was fucked up on I don’t even know what it was. I’ve taken a lot of shit I didn’t intend to in hope that it was heroin. Whatever it was that time, it made me hallucinate and think I needed to reveal my skeleton. So, I got a kitchen knife and started to bring out my ribs.”
“That’s, em—”
“Then, there’s the one over my heart. X marks the spot, don’t they say?” he asks with a laugh. “I did that one, too. During one of my famous self-detox sessions. There can be some hallucinations with that, but I remember feeling pretty clear-headed about the idea that I had to make that mark to remind myself that as long as I had a heartbeat, I had something worth sticking around for.”
“Daniel—”
“I’m sure you know what these are,” he says, as he pulls my fingers over the little ridges on his inner elbow. “When I’m feeling optimistic and in control, I say these are the marks of my past.”
He hesitates to continue, and silence fills the room for a moment.
“And when you’re not feeling optimistic and in control?” I ask.
“Then? Then, they’re an invitation to go backward. They’re a reminder of how a little prick of skin with a needle full of heroin can give me an escape, give me a feeling of relief like nothing else ever can or will. It’s a whisper in my ear that bounces around my head more often than you want to know.”
“So, how do you combat that?”
“Any way I can. Sometimes it’s by focusing on Roscoe. He’s been a true lifesaver. Sometimes it’s by putting everything I have into Rogue, whether that’s the lighting gig or just in the past few months in the studio. Sometimes it’s by doing stupid shit that I don’t plan in advance in order to feel the high of a thrill.”
He had been speaking while looking up at the ceiling but now he turns on his side to face me. “Last night was some of that stupid shit. I was all over the fucking map, creating my own reality like the old days, and feeling incredibly unworthy of you. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I’m sorry I did that.”
His simple apology is raw and honest. “I forgive you,” I tell him.
The relief is plain on his face. “And listen, I didn’t not fuck you last night as some sort of control move,” he says, and I laugh. “Seriously. I wanted to. I would have. But I held back because I realized I didn’t want to start things off with you in the same out of control way that I had with Jules. I didn’t want to doom us like that.”
This admission makes me smile. “But what about my fireworks?” I ask playfully to lighten the mood.
It works. He laughs and in one swift motion returns to his position on top of me. “Oh, I’ll give you fireworks. That’s all coming, baby.”
I laugh and touch his cheek as we meet eyes. He’s at turns wounded and insecure and then strong and confident. He’s ever changing. Ever my Daniel.
Leaning in to kiss me, his urgency is back. Soon, he’s pressing his hardness between my legs, grinding against me with increasing need. His hand is up my jumper when Roscoe lets out a high-pitched whine. We both turn to look at the dog.
“Not now, buddy,” he says, and returns his attention to me.
But Roscoe won’t be put off. He whines again and paws at the bed.
“Jesus, man, don’t you know I’m trying to get laid here?”
I laugh and push at his shoulders. “Go ahead. You need to let him out.”
“Sorry about this. Just stay right there, yeah? Better yet, get naked and stay right there.”
“Just hurry!”
He kisses me again, lingering until Roscoe gives another whimper. Then he jumps up, holding his crotch as he walks comically bow-legged to the door.
Shaking my head, I watch him until he’s closed the door. Instead of falling back on the bed, I sit up and grab my mobile. I see that I owe my sister an update. I’ll just text her quickly before going to the en suite for a shower. I’m glad to have a chance to clean up before he comes back.
10
Danny Boy
* * *
I’ll owe Roscoe a good long walk later, but for now it’s another quick trip to the back garden. I will him to get on with things, so I can get back inside and back into Amelia’s bed.
Ms. Patterson’s bed.
As much as I wanted this with her, I never thought it would happen. I still have a hard time believing it even as she’s just a few feet away.
/>
Roscoe’s done, and I usher him inside and upstairs. I’m set to rush past the kitchen to the guest room, but Shay is standing at the island. He’s stirring milk into a mug of tea and has his mobile to his ear, saying goodbye to the caller.
“Hey, kid,” I say.
“Hey. How was your date?”
“It’s not done yet, to tell the truth.”
Shay gives me a blank look.
“Amelia. She stayed over last night. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine.”
“Good, because I need to, eh, see about sealing the deal here if you know what I mean.” I start to walk away but stop when Shay speaks again.
“I didn’t need that information, Danny Boy.”
“Yeah, well, ya got it. Enjoy yourself.”
“Fuck off,” he says mildly.
“Something like that!” I laugh.
“You got some kind of protection?”
That freezes me just as I’m about to keep walking. Do I have any condoms? I’m not sure. I haven’t been with anyone since Jules. I can’t remember if I threw anything into my bag on the off chance that I’d hook up with someone here in San Francisco.
“Do you happen to have anything?” I ask.
He winces at the idea, as if giving me one of his unused condoms is unseemly. He can be such a priss.
“No,” he says.
I laugh. “Guess that’s how Jess got pregnant, yeah?”
“Something like that.”
I shake my head at his reply. Shay is the epitome of sardonic. But, man, am I glad to have found my way into his life. I’d be in a bad way if he hadn’t given me yet another chance, even when it risked his own relationship with Jessica. I’m relieved that my disruption of their lives wasn’t a lasting one.
“Was that her on the phone?” I ask.
“No, it was Gav.”
“Oh. Any news on the tour?” I’ve been itching to hear when we’ll be heading out on the road again, needing that good thing to focus on. But now, as I think of Amelia, I’m not so eager. I want time with her.
“No, still looking like mid-January, but nothing finalized yet.”
“What did he want, then?”
Shay laughs. “He didn’t want anything. We just chat, you know?”
Though I’ve come to have friendships with the guys of the band, the idea that you’d just ring someone up with no motive is foreign to me.
“So, nothing to report?” I ask, pushing.
“Well, he didn’t call for this reason, but he did tell me a bit about your Amelia and her . . . recent time with Felicity.”
Ah ha! I nearly say but stop myself—both because I realize it’s pointless if I think I’m right about there being a purpose to Gavin’s call, and because this little revelation reminds me of what Amelia mentioned last night. I never did get the full story of how Felicity played into what she was saying.
“You know about that, right?” Shay asks, eyeing me in that way he does.
“Yeah, sure,” I lie. “It’s all good.”
His slow nod tells me he knows I’m bullshitting. But he doesn’t push the issue. He’s good like that. It probably goes back to that incredible patience he has. He’ll wait me out, knowing I’ll confess or otherwise reveal more when I can no longer hold out. Now is not the time, however. I have more pressing issues. Amelia awaits.
“So, I gotta—”
“Yeah, you go ahead,” Shay says. “I’m going to head out for a sail. Jess is at the school. You two can have the place for most of the day.”
“Thanks, kid.”
He nods, and I finally move on.
Back in the room, I find that Amelia is in the shower. I also see she’s left something very useful on the nightstand: condoms.
Shaking my head, I laugh. I suppose a responsible woman like Amelia would come prepared. Just in case.
Just then, her mobile buzzes, rattling right next to the little strip of condoms. Another buzz follows, then another. The water is still going in the shower and I debate checking the message, certain it’s her sister.
The debate lasts about a half a second before I pick up the mobile to find that I’m right. It seems Amelia had sent Moira a message as soon as I left the room.
Amelia: I guess I spoke too soon. Things are good!
Moira: I told you I need details! Tell me he fucked his way into your good graces [winky face with tongue sticking out emoji]
Amelia: You are obsessed!
Moira: Only because I can’t wait for you to finally find some real passion. Enough with those limp dicks you seem to end up with. I hope it’s so good with this fella you can’t walk straight, Ame!
Amelia: Chat later. Have to go now [blushing emoji]
Moira: Enjoy! Use those condoms!
Moira: And tell me all about it later!
Moira: Seriously.
Moira: You’re not answering because you’re bollocks deep into it, aren’t you?
That last one makes me laugh out loud. I think I like this Moira. She seems like fun. And I especially like the little bit of insider information she’s provided. Seems Amelia is ripe for a bold new experience. Last night was a good start. Let’s see what we can do now to add to that.
I’ve just replaced the mobile on the nightstand when Amelia steps out of the en suite. Her hair is piled up on her head and she’s wearing a towel around her middle. Her skin is flushed and dewy from the shower. And her face is a mix of confusion and anger.
Fuck, she’s seen me looking at her mobile. I wonder how long she was watching me as I read her texts. Not that it matters, really. All that matters is she knows I’ve done something I shouldn’t have.
“It was buzzing like mad,” I say quickly. “I just checked as a reflex. Didn’t even see anything, really.”
She goes to the nightstand and snatches up her mobile, quickly scanning the messages.
Me being me, I decide to try to make a joke of it.
“Seriously, I didn’t see anything about limp dicks or anything like that,” I say with a grin.
“Oh, Daniel,” she says with disappointment and watches me for a moment in silence. I can sense her trying to decide whether to drop this or not.
Luckily for me, she chooses to laugh softly and shake her head as if she has no choice but to let it go. Damn if she hasn’t always wanted me to succeed, even with her.
I pull her to me with an arm around her waist. “I won’t look again, promise.” When she gives me one of her dubious stares, I add, “I’ll be too busy to, won’t I? Might even be bollocks deep in—”
“Daniel!” she says, and puts her hand over my mouth. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks red. But she’s holding back a smile.
I nip at her fingers with my teeth, making her laugh.
“Now, where were we before Roscoe interrupted?” I tug at her towel.
“About that,” she says with a tone that sounds like she’s going to tell me something I really don’t want to hear. “I was thinking it might be a good idea to slow down a tic.”
“Slow down?” I glance at the condoms.
“Yes, well, that is for a . . . later time.”
“How much later?”
“I don’t know exactly. Just until it’s the right moment.”
Now it’s me with wide eyes. I’m so fucking sore from not getting anywhere. Not last night and not this morning. After getting so close just a little while ago, this feels like punishment for being caught looking at her mobile.
“It’s not because of you looking at my mobile,” she says, reading me clear as day. “Although, I’m not really happy about that. I just got to thinking when I was in the shower. And, as much as we seem to have a very . . . lovely connection, I think it would be good to spend more time together before we pursue that.”
“A lovely ‘connection,’ huh?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You meant I made you come like you never have, right?”
She looks away, bit
ing the side of her lower lip.
“My dear Amelia,” I purr, “if you’re going to put me off from fucking you, at least admit that I made your toes curl last night.”
Laughing softly, she buries her head into my shoulder. “Yes. It was amazing, Daniel.”
I take her hand and draw it downward over my crotch. “Return the favor? Make me come. Just like this. Nothing more right now.” I’ll take a hand job if nothing else.
“You’re not serious.” Her eyebrows shoot up as she looks at me, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.
“Oh, I think you can feel just how serious I am.”
“I haven’t been asked for that since secondary school.”
“Some things never lose their charm.”
She doesn’t say anything, just lets me guide her hand over what is now the hard length of me while watching me through half-closed eyes. I want to pull that towel from her body and pull my own clothes off, so we can be skin to skin. But I understand this is safer for her. I get that she’s been through a roller coaster of thoughts and feelings ever since yesterday. If this is her limit right now, I’ll happily go along with it.
Leaning in to her, I suck on her bottom lip and seize the moment to unbutton my jeans. They fall to my knees, though I keep my boxers on. They’re loose enough that I can pull her hand inside and guide her in holding me.
Breaking away from my kiss, she says, “You want it like this?”
Her quick glance around tells me she’s wondering about our positioning. We’re still standing. I don’t care about that. I just need her touch. But I purposely take her question to mean she’s asking for my guidance on how to touch me.
“Yeah, baby. Just like that. Nice and slow. Not too hard. Good long strokes.”
Either she buries her head into my shoulder out of embarrassment or because she wants to look down at me. No matter the reasons, she’s doing an excellent job at the moment, steadier and more assured in handling me than I might have thought she’d be.
“Oh, yes,” I moan when she surprises me by turning her palm over the tip and using the precum there as lube over the rest of me. I’m throbbing in her hand, aching for her increased pressure and strokes, but wanting to draw this out, too. “Feel that? Feel what you do to me?”
Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8) Page 5