by LW Barefoot
It’s hard not to stare. So many intentions and cravings reflect out of everything from body language to lip service. A swaying crowd of pawns waiting to be played and willing participants begging to be used. I know what that feels like, but I’m missing the disillusionment I see in so many people in attendance.
The sound of a whip and the screams it elicits is the first time I falter. I stumble and almost collide into the back of a man before Grayson stops me and pulls me to him.
“Wouldn’t want to grab the attention of that one,” he whispers.
“Who is he?” I ask watching the man move to a parlor with a scene in the works.
A man works out his frustrations on a woman spread on some kind of bench.
“A judge Evan’s trying to win over. Joe’s had him in his back pocket for decades.”
“So Anthony isn’t the only one Evan’s trying to work with?”
“No, that’s the point of these parties. They started out as a way to blow off steam but it doesn’t take long to know it’s really about power. The people we need to cooperate are intrigued by Evan. Being Joe’s son, he’s young, rich and he did it all on his own. On Fat Tuesday, Joe forced the board to make Evan CEO, but the public doesn’t know that. It’s making others question their association with Joe.”
We’ve been standing off in a corner. The wine we consumed on the car ride over warms my blood and helps me calm down a fraction.
The judge he spoke of takes the gag out of the woman’s mouth. The man hands the judge the whip and he proceeds to lash the woman who moans out in ecstasy.
I understand that I could find Evan doing this exact same thing to someone or worse, so much worse. I push that thought away. I’m prepared for just about anything. Grayson explaining the real reason behind these gatherings help for the time being.
“Evan isn’t the first person in our family to manipulate people in this manner. Who do you think he learned his techniques from?”
I know what he’s doing. He’s been asking all the right questions to test my strength. I keep my eyes level with Grayson’s.
The Sculptor was right, you should be careful looking behind certain masks. Evan is not his father, he never could be. Grayson’s trying to flesh out my insecurities. They’re still there but I’ve found something worth overcoming them for and we’re finally under the same roof.
“Let’s keep moving,” Grayson says, pulling me away, satisfied with my reaction.
I follow him, hand-in-hand to the vibrating ballroom. So many memories tease me and remind me I have more memories to make.
My eardrums pound along with the bass. Shadows dance in obscurity and sensual promise.
I assumed Evan would be in here watching the crowd and making business deals. Grayson and I move around the house. It’s so big and crowded it’s tedious trying to track him down.
I didn’t want to think about the second floor or walking up those steps. I imagined this playing out downstairs, maybe without even words spoken. Evan would either flat out reject me or sweep me in his arms as if I’m finally home and he’s missed me all along.
Having to travel up the stairs and prepare myself for witnessing him in an array of positions with someone that isn’t me is almost the test I fail. No matter how much I’ve prepped, nothing could prepare me for that.
I take a deep breath as we stand by the double doors that lead to Evan’s master suite. I take a look at my closed studio door and I imagine how I felt then. How determined I was to fight for him and how that fight and determination have grown. I’m no longer the coward. Whatever lies behind this door I have to see.
Seth steps out of the shadows. His piercing gaze challenges me.
“I’m not sure you want to go in there,” he says just above a whisper and my stomach flips.
“I’m going to have to find out sooner or later,” I answer him.
I don’t miss the tick of his lips as he pushes the cracked door open but keeps his gaze on me.
When I look away from Seth, I notice two naked women on Evan’s bed. They’re tangled up on top of the comforter. I shudder but force myself to look closer.
It’s only the two of them writhing under the intricate canopy. One licks the other’s neck, sitting behind her, one hand fondling her naked breasts and spreading her legs wide. They’re giving one hell of a show. Their attention is focused on whoever sits in front of them, whoever they’re performing for. Evan’s assistant, Stacy, stands with her hands on her hips when Grayson opens the other door. She turns her attention on us.
“I asked for a redhead,” she eyes me up and down. “But you’ll do. Get on the bed.”
I finally see him. He stares into flickering flames in the fireplace. He lifts a tumbler to his lips and takes a long drink. I can almost taste the mixture of mint, sugar, and whiskey I know are lingering across his tongue.
“Just get on the bed. He’ll join in if he wants to, that’s what you’re here for,” Stacy demands.
She has no idea who I am and tries to stop me from walking to Evan.
He’s trapped in this game he must play. But the time has come and this is the only moment that matters. Not me lying on the floor or Evan destroying my paintings. My drive to forgive and show him that we were both wrong builds as I approach him.
His jaw clenches as he holds the glass tighter. He knows someone who wants something from him approaches. The rigid strain in his features says it all.
These grasping women want his money, notoriety, fame, family connections, and even his cock. But I hold his heart, it’s what I came for and he’s mine. Past all his mistakes and errors, I see the beauty of his troubled soul.
I stop when my shadow cloaks him. I block out whatever and whoever is behind us. Evan doesn’t try to hold in his frustrated breath.
He turns his head. Every angular contour is darkened by the shadows dancing around the room. The depths of his green pools rake slowly up my body with anger then morphs to something else.
My dress covers my scars, the ones that show my strength, the ones Evan’s worshiped and punished. And the only person who has seen beyond them stares at me as if I’m a ghost. He’s the one who brought me back from the dead.
I untie the dress and let it fall to the floor. The lines and sharp angles around his face soften and his eyes widen slightly.
“Harper,” he whispers my name and nothing else matters.
Evan
These charades are a necessary evil. I roam the halls of my favorite place and hate I have to bring such filth under its roof.
I avoid the ballroom entirely. Too many memories, too many mistakes made there. Despite the mint julep that washes across my tastebuds, I could conjure up the taste of frigid vodka just walking in there.
Nothing tempts me, but I keep up the crucial appearances. I point to a pair of women who would give anything to spread their legs and rumors they stayed the night with me, that I chose them. But their presence is like the whiskey in my hand because the consumption of them will leave me empty and parched.
Stacy’s determined I do more than keeping up appearances. She’s worried someone might find out I’m not enjoying myself. She’s concerned someone important will see beyond this farce. What would cause the host of a pleasure party to not experience what he offers? A broken fucking heart that hurts just thinking about it.
Mae thinks I drink too much and she’s right. As if the only two outcomes left for me are to become like my drunk mother or my abusive father. I hate that the truth is I’m a bit of both.
I try to drown out the feelings I can’t forget. I just need to forget. Anthony’s lips on Harper, his hands all over her, him pulling her away from me. The one opportunity I allowed myself to give into the need to see her, crushed me further. But I deserve worse, much worse.
I stare off into space and will the hours to tick away, for the redemption of the rising sun and another night I spend alone. I’m left to my thoughts as I feel invisible fingers reach out and grasp at something
I could offer, but I’m wrung dry. I have nothing left to give.
My attention pulls to whoever casts shadows over me. I swear to God if someone touches me I’ll break their arm. I take a long drink and turn to see who would approach me when I’m strung this tight.
I’m having a hard time putting the pieces together, forcing my brain to catch up. Harper’s in my line of sight. Her mask does nothing to disguise her radiant eyes. Her hair shines a color I’ve never seen on her before until this afternoon at the airport. But I wasn’t focused on her appearance, just her beautiful presence before Anthony had her.
It’s all surface, all superficial because I’m completely lost without her. My need to protect her sent me spiraling into madness and I was wrong.
My mouth waters as I see the center of my universe. The one person who should hate me stands in the place I pushed her away from. I forced a decision on her and I should have allowed her to make up her own mind. I slowly stand and tower over her.
“Harper,” I speak her name as if it’s my redemption and my curse.
I say it to make sure I’m not hallucinating. That this really isn’t my own personal hell where the angel of my dreams vanishes into thin air.
So many words flood through me, things that need to be said, so many declarations to be made. The only thing I can think is that I need to touch her. Fall at her feet and beg for her forgiveness.
I take a step toward her, watching for her to flinch away from me, but her shoulders are square. She lifts her hands to remove the mask that blocks her beautiful face. Her eyes swim in tears. I grab her in desperation with my heart in my throat and my lips crashing against hers.
Claiming her, pulling her as close to me as possible. I kiss her as if my life depends on it. Wanting to shield her from any and all things in this room because they’re ugly and I don’t want her to see what this lie is.
I capture her moans and tremble as her nails scale across my scalp, pulling me deeper. It feels like my lungs have gone far too long without air and I need to steal her oxygen to breathe.
Her tongue licks across my lips, shy but determined, it makes me weak. I willingly take what she gives me and I don’t deserve it. I come up, this moment is too sacred to share with others.
“Everyone get out,” I yell.
“Evan,” Stacy says my name but stops.
Harper turns to look her in the eyes and Stacy flinches. “You.”
“Get the fuck out of here and take the bedspread with you,” I rage looking at their stunned faces, but nobody moves.
“For the love of God, do it,” I bellow.
Harper
Evan’s all consuming reaction to kiss me, hold me, claim me, makes all this worth it. Every tear I’ve shed over our separation and distance are long forgotten.
He barks commands at everyone while keeping his hands on me. I don’t hold back from touching him and I do as if my life depends on it. I rest my head on his chest. His heart pounding against my ear matches the tempo of my own. His arms wrap around me. He watches, waiting for those sluts to leave.
His body feels like steel. His taste lingers on my tongue and it’s better than I imagined and remembered.
The doors slam shut. Evan keeps me pressed against him as if I’m going anywhere tonight without his hands or eyes on me.
He runs his fingertips over me, lightly touching my skin. Stroking reverently, heating me with his touch. His lips find mine again. Soft at first, questioning even. So soft it’s gut-wrenchingly sweet. He’s never kissed me like this before. His warm tongue seeks mine and it’s the best feeling in the world.
I stop my tears from falling because I don’t want him to think I’m scared of him. I thought I would find him irrevocably changed but this moment we’re wrapped up in each other makes my heart sing. His cheek scratches against my neck and he inhales deeply.
“What are you doing here?” he pulls away and stares down at me.
“I came for you,” I admit.
Because he’s barely keeping his head above the crashing waves threatening to drown him.
“How can you even think about coming back here? Harper, don’t you see that I don’t deserve you?”
“Don’t Evan, don’t assume you know how I feel. Don’t you dare cheat me out of that right.”
I hold my ground as Evan swallows that bit of truth.
“Are you playing me, Harper? Is this your way of getting back at me? Because Anthony’s fucking hands were on you just hours ago.”
Evan grips my jaw. He’s angry and I don’t blame him. Anthony pissed me off when he stopped me from climbing in Evan’s car. He stole hours from us and I won’t forget it. I shiver as his fingertips dig into me but it’s not enough.
“Why is he trying to use me against you, Evan? Why does he promise to be there for me when you throw me away again?” I ask staring up at him.
My heels do little to help with the height difference. Evan lets out a deep breath and loosens his grip.
“Harper, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He lets out another deep exhale as his inner battle becomes apparent. I’ve held myself back from him in the past and that was my mistake. My reluctance to tell him my true feelings are why we’re in this mess. I need to put it in words because I refuse to let him go.
“Why are we doing this to ourselves? Hell has been breathing down our necks and instead of letting the light in, you still fight it, fight us. Why do you still fight?” I demand.
He grabs me in an instant. Crushing our lips together, stealing my breath away. I give into the need I always feel when I’m with him.
I’ve missed his lips and voice and touch so badly it’s as if he’s my only reprieve. The only thing that could save us is this love, this burning desire that will destroy us. But I would gladly be consumed by the flames than to go without him again and stay in the freezing void I’ve been struggling in for so long.
“We shouldn’t do this, Harper. How can you even forgive me?”
“I forgave you that night, you were just too blind to see it,” I say. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted”…get it out, I tell myself… “It’s always been you”…draw in air, feel that divide closing, brace yourself…
“Do what you will, but don’t forsake me”…
“I will always be yours!”
His glowing eyes swim in tears, his warm breath fans across my skin as he whispers, “I don’t deserve you.”
“It doesn’t matter, Evan, because I love you and I choose you. And these,” I hold up the stack of cards he sent along with the flowers in my sweaty palm. I’ve been crushing them in my fist tightly since we stepped out of the car. “These aren’t good enough, Evan.”
I feel relief flood through me the moment I utter the truth. As much as I loved him spelling out that he loves me, I need to hear it from him.
“I love you, Harper.”
The tone of his voice pushes me to the edge of my sanity because it’s broken and deep.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls my necklace out. I don’t hesitate as I lift my hair and he moves to secure it. The gift I once hated once burned for is the best thing he could have given back. I look up at him from under my lashes as soon as he drops the weight of his crest. It’s been burning a hole is his pocket since I left.
“I need you, Harper,” he exclaims and holds me tighter.
Our lips brush and caress.
“I need to make love to you,” he whispers.
His tongue licks across mine and I could get intoxicated on kissing him alone.
“Fuck me, Evan, because I’ve missed you more,” I admit.
I need him wild and lust-crazed because we won’t feel empty when this night ends. In the early morning hours, when doubt of tonight’s actions becomes a memory, it won’t leave us abandoned because we love each other. He’ll have plenty of time to make love to me then, to bind me up and set me free. But tonight I need to release him to do so.
I pull his hand down to my sh
eer panties, brushing his fingertips over the damp material and he hisses.
“I want to love you,” he murmurs.
He’s fighting internally but his fingers pull the material away, stroking rhythmically, pushing a single digit in me. I thought my bravery vanished walking the steps up the second floor but it didn’t.
“You do love me, but I need to be fucked, Evan, and I need to be fucked hard and rough by you.”
My words give him pause because I don’t usually demand anything from him. But he listens and removes his hand before he walks me back to the bed. Untucking his shirt and slowly releasing the buttons. He throws it off and I admire his muscles ripple as he reaches for his undershirt. He’s lost weight since I’ve been gone. The ridges of his sculpted stomach are more defined and I drink in his appearance as he reveals more of his body.
I stop moving when I see the new addition when he drops the cotton. He unbuckles his belt and continues undressing but I can’t stop staring at his new tattoo.
I intimately know every inch of his body but this is different. Black ink marks his skin, covering his shoulder, sweeping onto his collarbone and chest. It’s masculine because it’s on him and the placement is perfect. Like a tattoo should be, fitted and precise to the person bearing the ink.
“Evan,” I gasp.
I need him to explain what it means but it’s my signature. My stamp and trademark, my hand-painted swooping ‘H’ I claim every painting with. The feminine insignia wraps around his bulging muscles like a proud brand and a sweet caress. Shrouded around the background of one of my trees in heavenly fog. It resembles one of the many I painted and he destroyed. My symbolic anchor to Evan wasn’t lost on him.
“You’ve scarred me, Harper,” he says, voice low and deep.
He moves in on me and that heated energy is back full force.
“You’ve left a mark on my heart and my fucking soul, so don’t look at me wide-eyed and confused because you’ve just willingly walked back into my life and I’m never letting you go.”