by S. M. West
My gaze cuts to the inviting king-size bed. It’s all they had considering we didn’t have a reservation. “We’ve already slept together.”
We’d be in this room even if Kit had stayed. She eyes the chaise longue in the corner, then me.
“You’re welcome to it.” I gesture to her.
“You should sleep there.”
“Not a chance. Sleeping on that thing is not going to be comfortable.” I toss my jacket over the desk chair and pull my shirt over my head. “I’m showering.”
She averts her gaze but remains aware of my every move. I’m at the threshold to the washroom when she asks, “Who’s Caro?”
I peer over my shoulder at her. On the drive here, I made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to lie to her. Not anymore. “My sister.”
“Will she be okay?”
“Yeah, he’ll make sure of it.”
“I could’ve gone with him.”
With my back to her, I answer, “It’s not safe. Give it another day and we’ll head back.”
“Aren’t you concerned I’ll leave while you’re in the shower?”
Spinning on my heels, my eyes pin her; she tilts her head to the side.
“No. Go if you want, the door’s there.” My chin points in the direction. “You’re not my prisoner. But if you choose to stick around, I promise to get you home safely.”
She has no money, phone, or ID. We stopped for clothes and essentials on the way here, but that’s all she has—clean clothes. If she wants to leave, I won’t stop her, but she won’t get far.
Done with the conversation, she turns toward the window to the stunning view of the St. Lawrence River.
After I’m showered, it’s her turn, and I get in bed and wait for her. The bright bathroom light illuminates her sexy curves when she exits in an oversized t-shirt, falling to her mid-thigh.
My gaze drifts lazily down her body, finally having no more doubts, and the time, to appreciate her miles of creamy skin. Her legs are phenomenal. Toned, silky, and long.
The silence between us is suffocating, and I don’t like her heavy gaze on me. The unspoken words of my betrayal, her hurt, my regret, and her condemnation choke us. Finally, she slips under the covers, leaving easily two feet between us.
“You want to talk about it?” My gut sours at sounding like a teenage girl, but if she wants to tear me a new one, I’ll take it.
“Can I open the curtains?” she whispers in the dark.
“Um, yeah.”
Nymph-like, she floats to the window, pulling the drapes wide open. The gossamer moon shines through the glass, bright and eerie.
“Is this okay?” Her slender fingers clutch the drapes in desperation, her teeth piercing her bottom lip.
“Sure.”
Once under the covers, her back to me, I turn to face her and rest my head in my palm, greedily roaming her trim form.
“What did Kit say to you at the Oratory?”
She inhales deeply, holding her breath, and I wait. With an exhale, her voice is sullen and low. “He said sorry and that you’d get me home. He asked me to trust him. Trust you.”
“And do you?”
She’s silent, silent for too long, and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but I doubt it. There’s too much left unsaid.
I hurt her and was way off the mark. I thought we were enemies. How do I fix this insurmountable divide? Not knowing what to do, I do the only thing I can. I give her me.
“Being back in Quebec has dredged up many memories for me.” It’s only me, my voice, in the darkness. I might as well be alone.
“I’m the middle child, with two sisters. Léa’s the oldest, and Caro’s the baby. When my mom split and Dad died, Mamie took care of us. Things were hard. She had property but not a lot of money. We found out she’d been helping my parents financially for years. Mamie talked about selling her land and our homes.” My voice cracks.
Maggie twitches, her body stiffening. She’s listening and has even inched closer to me, although I doubt she realizes it.
“We wouldn’t let her do that. Those places were… fuck. Anyway, money was tight, and Léa got a job after school. Mamie was with us barely two years when she died… A week after Léa’s eighteenth birthday.”
I swallow thickly and push on. “That hit us hard, in more ways than one. Léa dropped out a month before graduation and got a full-time job.”
I was going to talk about Léa, but I can’t. Not tonight. Not after I failed again. Failing Maggie reminds me of how I failed Léa. Again, I was fucking way off the mark and made assumptions—thinking if only I brought in enough cash, Léa’d stop—stupid, but I was wrong.
“Remember how I said my mother took off? I decided to find her.” I pause. Can I talk about my mother? It seems like every memory is wired to explode.
She rolls onto her back, briefly glancing my way before staring at the ceiling.
“Go on,” she coaxes softly.
“Last time I spoke to her, I was seventeen. I’d been working for a year and had cash. I got the dumb idea that if my mom knew I could support her, all of us, she’d come home. We could be a family again.”
“Were you doing what you do now? I mean, for work?”
At the sound of her voice, a lazy smile tugs at my lips. “Not exactly, but I was in the business.”
“How old were you when you started?”
“Sixteen.”
Her head snaps to me, her lips part. “Were you still going to school?”
“Nah. I dropped out shortly after Mamie died.” I deliberately omit that I dropped out after I found out about Léa.
“So you thought if you were working, being the man of the house, your mom would come back?” She’s not mocking, despite the naivety of my actions.
“Yeah.” I sigh. I was so sure Mom would come home. “The PI I hired found her in Vancouver. I begged her to come back, and you wanna know what she did?”
Her soulful, earnest eyes are intent on me. It’s stupid, but in the dark, in bed, our breathing the only thing we can hear and only inches separating us, I’ve never felt so naked and vulnerable. At her mercy. My need for her absolution is so vast and ravenous, it swallows me whole.
“She fucking played me for a sucker.” My bitterness is too raw to hide. “Told me what I wanted to hear. Told me she’d come home. She just needed a couple grand to ship her things to Toronto.”
I huff, shaking my head. “Stupid me, I wired her the cash. I almost told my sisters she was coming home but decided to surprise them.”
My chuckle is corrosive, feeding on the ache in my chest. “Thank fuck I didn’t. She took the money, and I never saw or heard from her again.”
“Nick.” Maggie’s tender voice lightens the shadowy stillness.
My chest is lighter, and I’m breathing somewhat easier now that I got it all out. I feel better for having shared this with her, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Maggie rolls away from me.
On my elbow, I stare into the dark, my mind filled with Léa and Caro, and even Mamie. Faint, almost non-existent sobs pull me from my thoughts. Maggie’s crying.
“Hey, come here.” My hand rests on her shaking shoulder, poised to wrap her in my arms, but she quickly sits, back against the headboard, and curls in on herself.
The moon silhouettes her shrinking form. Her torment knots my chest. Fuck, did I break her? That’s not possible. This woman is both fierce and gentle. Even when weeping, she is strong. Even when fighting, she is compassionate.
“Maggie, I’m sorry.” The crazy part is I’m not sure what I’m sorry for—there are so many things I fucked up.
She burrows her head between her chest and knees, her arms crossed over her legs, and my chest burns with an unbearable ache that only holding her can cure. I gather her in my arms, hauling her easily into my lap.
I’m astonished. She doesn’t protest; instead, her arms clasp around my neck, her lips brushing mine softly. All air leaves my lungs, and the blood rushes to
my hardening length.
She pecks at the corners of my mouth, roaming my top then bottom lip. My want for her grows tenfold, but something isn’t right. She’s raw and overwhelmed. Her emotional wires jumbled.
“Maggie.” My low growl surprises both of us, and she pulls away as if scolded and hangs her head low. “Look at me.”
My fingers slide under her chin, tilting her face until I have her eyes. Silence. I search her shadowed face for some indication of where her head is at. I’m trying to rebuild the bridge to her, a better bridge than the one I destroyed.
“Talk to me,” I rasp, my fierce want evident. She closes her eyes and shivers. “Tell me, what has you paralyzed when faced with darkness and height?”
“No. I won’t talk about that.” Her mouth twists into a scowl. “You don’t get that from me after what you did.”
Ouch. Her rejection hits hard but it’s deserved. I can only hope for her understanding about why I did what I did, because forgiveness isn’t possible.
“Then tell me about your brother. You said you hate him. What happened?”
“No. If I tell you about one, it leads to the other.”
“They’re related?” My stomach twists as her words sink in.
I dragged her into a shitshow that had nothing to do with her, orchestrated by the very man she hates. A man that somehow or someway traumatized her. Fuck me.
“Maggie, I’m sor—” I try on my new mantra for size.
“I don’t believe you.” Fire burns bright in her dark orbs.
She leans into me, her nails digging into my chest, and her teeth sink into my lower lip. My balls tighten at the sting. The heat of her tongue trails across my teeth before she slowly releases my flesh.
“You used me. Some would even say you fucked me.” Her violent blue eyes promise war. “Don’t you think it’s only fair I use you?” She pauses, our gazes lock, weapons drawn. “I fuck you.”
She bites my earlobe, again the pleasure and pain shooting to my hardening cock. I buck under her and she moans in ecstasy from the sensation to her core. Our sparring begins.
My hand grips the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her damp hair. “Maggie—”
She’s insistent, covering my mouth with hers; her tongue teases the seam of my lips, and even confused about her motives, I open, sucking in the warm, plump flesh of her bottom lip. Sweet and salty with a hint of mint.
She tastes like paradise. Not only in the sugariness of her mouth and the salinity of her tears but her spirit. Her potent purity and compassion overrun my palate, seeping into my blood, body, and soul.
I consume her desire and fear, both there in the way she clings and shoves me away. My body vibrates, my teeth nibbling on her neck.
“Nick.” My balls tighten at her husky voice, and the ache snaps me out of my lust.
“Is this what you want? You’ll regret it.”
Her lips twist sharply, but her body leans into me. She pauses, her unearthly eyes studying me before getting up. Why’d I open my mouth?
“Let me worry about that. Don’t you think you’ve given me many regrets already? What’s one more?”
A low growl rumbles through my chest. “Come here.”
“It’s just a fuck.”
I hate how the harsh truth, from a woman who loathes me, sparks both unbridled desire and a burning pain within me.
Leisurely, with the intent to seduce, her gaze trails the length of my body. She likes what she sees. Her chest heaves faster, and goosebumps ignite across her skin.
Sighing, I run my hand roughly through my hair, unable to tear my conflicted gaze from hers.
Sensing my internal debate, she pushes, “Nick, you owe this to me. Give me what I want.”
It’s both a plea and a command, and damn, if her words don’t tangle my insides. She tugs on my hand, trying to get me out of the bed.
“What is it that you want from me?” I bite out, torn between wanting to fuck her and knowing it’s not a good idea.
“To use you, and don’t tell me this isn’t what you want.”
I don’t trust my read on her. Is she serious? Is this a game? I’m beyond lost with barely any self-control.
“Why? You hate me.” I grab her hand to stop her from removing her top.
“I don’t have to like you to fuck you.” There’s a chill in her voice, cloaking us.
She wants a quick fuck. I get that. We’re attracted to each other, so why am I making this more complicated? She’s an adult; so am I.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone in a year.” She cocks her hip. “What about you? Can you say the same?” she says, already reaching her own conclusion.
“I’m clean too.” I make it a point of getting tested. “I never go bare.”
That’s enough for her to still want this. We shed our clothes more mechanically than anything else.
She wants a hot fuck, no emotional connection. I can do that—sex with her isn’t a fucking hardship—but I’m just a fuck.
Shit, I know all about that. I’ve paid escorts and had one-night stands. But, dammit, this is Maggie.
She’s naked, and even though I’ve seen her like this before, it’s different. A low, painful groan releases from my lips knowing she’s mine, if only for tonight.
“Using sex to forget isn’t smart.” Why the fuck can’t I let this go? What am I, her therapist?
I sound like a pussy, but I don’t want to her hurt any more than I already have. Or maybe I’m an arrogant prick for thinking I have the power to hurt her.
She guides my hand between her legs. Hot and wet. Ready for me.
“Nick, shut up.”
She moans when my fingers slide through her slick arousal, my dick pressing into her stomach. We stare at each other and I almost think things are shifting and this may be more than physical. Until she abruptly breaks our connection, turning on her heels to press her back to my front.
Her supple ass rubs against my thick, throbbing erection and she slides a hand around my neck, placing the other flat on the wall in front of her. My doubts float away as my body takes over. I want her, and this may be the only time I ever get to have her.
My cock nestles in the warm, tight crease of her cheeks, and she shimmies up and down. Amazing. Skating my hand over her hip, then abdomen, to her pussy, I slip my fingers back between her legs.
“Tell me what you want, Maggie.”
A whimper escapes her parted lips; she tips her head back into my chest, the long creamy column of her throat exposed. My hand grips her stretched neck, caressing her taut tendons.
“Make me forget.”
“Who’s gonna make you?” My tone demanding, and she shivers.
I’ll take her away, but she’ll damn well know it’s me she’s with.
“Nick.” My name is a breathy moan that goes straight to my cock.
Her frantic pulse thunders under my fingertips, and she writhes against me. My fingers circle her most sensitive spot, at the apex of her thighs.
I gather and smear her arousal around and around, close to where she wants me most but never touching. I angle her face and take her mouth in a brutal kiss.
A kiss wrapped in my profound apology for trying to survive at her expense.
A kiss drenched in my swollen need for her, not only for now but for later, perhaps forever.
She succumbs to my unrelenting ministrations, grinding her ass into me while her thighs clench around my fingers poised at her wet entrance. Her desire seeps into my mouth. Her body is primed and ready.
“Nick.” She squirms. “I want you inside of me.”
I remove my hand from her core, and she whimpers, leaning her head and hands flat on the wall in front of her. She stands as if ready for a strip search.
One hand digging into her hip, I position her ass, squeezing one firm cheek, and my fingers sink into her lily-white flesh.
She jumps, and before she has a chance to re
act further, I press against her entrance and thrust balls deep inside her.
“So fucking tight,” I hiss, clenching my teeth while my thick cock strains against her snug, flexing heat.
“Yes,” she breathes heavily and I slide out, then all the way in. She’s full of me.
I hold, gathering my control and letting her adjust. She’ll want hard and fast, but I need a minute or I’ll blow my load.
She arches her back, and I tighten my grasp around her neck and my fingers bite into her hip. I set a hard and unrelenting rhythm, and she cries out in pleasure, her pussy convulsing around my cock.
Her body tightens, her head back, she moans, “Nick, deeper, faster.”
I cup her breast, pinching her hard, swollen nipple, and she sucks in a breath. “Give it to me, Maggie.”
She stiffens and spasms around me, her legs shaking while she comes undone. Beautiful and raw. I’m right with her.
My orgasm barrels through me, and my muscles coil and fire flies through my entire body. We ride out our release together, the full weight of her body pressing into the wall, and I go with her.
We pant and still, coming down together. Our bodies are slick, and the scent of our sex is strong and heady around us.
My hands wrap around her waist, and with my cock still inside her, I move us to the bed, tempted to just climb in with her, but I should clean up.
I slip out, and she crawls onto the bed. “I’ll be back.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, snuggling under the covers.
I return with a damp washcloth to find her curled on her side, away from me, sleeping. Her breathing is soft and deep. My chest tightens, and my hand rubs between my pecs, trying to ease the pain.
18
Sunday 8:05AM
Maggie
Shivering, I lean against the elevator wall. I’m exhausted. Since this whole ordeal began, sleep has eluded me, and last night was no different. Sex with Nick helped, knocking me out for a few hours, but once I woke, that was it.
And like some silly schoolgirl, I watched him sleep. My dark angel. Brown hair falling into his eyes, his long lashes fanning his face, and scruff shadowing his jaw. Younger and more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.