by Gwyn McNamee
This will either scare her off or make her come running.
I call her and wait for her to pick up.
“Fuck, I am in so much trouble,” she mumbles by way of answer.
There’s no stopping my grin at her response. I’m glad she can’t see me right now because if she really knew how much that meant to me, she would probably run screaming for the hills. Although, that’s probably just a matter of time anyway.
The rest of the week in San Diego attending family gatherings and activities planned by my over-zealous mother dragged slowly. Just about the only thing that was even remotely bearable was the entire day we spent at the world-famous zoo.
Seeing the look of enjoyment and wonder on my three-year-old niece’s face made me really appreciate what I have in my family, even though they were relentless in questioning me about who I was texting with all day and why I had “that shit-eating grin on my face all the time.”
I guess I’m not very good at hiding my feelings. I always thought that was a good thing. I’ve always prided myself on being an open book. Like I told Danika at dinner, I always endeavor to be honest with people about everything.
That’s precisely why my heart is currently in the pit of my stomach and I can’t seem to stop my hands from shaking as I prepare dinner and clean up my condo before she arrives.
You’re an idiot for not telling her. You know she couldn’t have known without you telling her and still, you said NOTHING.
I stop stirring the sauce on the stove and drop my face into my hands for the thousandth time since I met her. Not telling her the moment we met, or at the very least at dinner, was probably the most gigantic mistake I could ever make.
Waiting to tell her is like waiting for a nuclear bomb to go off. When she finds out, there’s a strong chance she will storm out of here just like she did my office that fateful day.
“Fuck!” I run my hands back through my hair and curse myself again and again for being such a selfish, fucking idiot.
When my mother and sisters were harassing me endlessly about the reason for my mental state this week, I somehow managed to avoid revealing anything about Danika to them. It’s not that I have anything to hide, there’s just no reason to get their hopes up that I might have some sort of a relationship with her.
That would truly be a miracle once she knows, and I’m not sure I believe in those.
Eventually, after my repeated refusal to discuss what was going on, my family was, thankfully, more than happy to turn their attentions to Stone, which is how it should have been in the first place, considering he was the one graduating.
As the baby of the family, Stone has always managed to get away with just about everything and coast through life by the skin of his teeth. Despite being my only brother, he and I have always been the least close of any of the siblings. I would blame it on the age gap, but frankly, Stone and I are just two completely different people.
He’s a genius—an honest to God, MENSA member, genius—yet he always manages to make the stupidest fucking decisions. The fact he was able to graduate law school, let alone college, is something I would never have believed possible. His complete inability to control his own behavior or make adult choices has me worrying about him even now, but he has a great job lined up at a prestigious firm, so I guess I can hope he finally came to his senses and is using his God-given gifts in a productive manner. I guess only time will tell.
Spending time with him always makes it so much more evident what missing out on having our father around really did to him. He was only five when Dad died and, despite my best efforts to step into the role of father-figure, I could just never do enough. He chose to look to other, less savory, individuals for role-models, which certainly did nothing to help him develop a good pattern of behavior.
Stone is exhausting, even more so than Skye. Fuck, my entire family is exhausting. After the long week with them and then a late night flight, I’m worn out, physically and emotionally. Maybe seeing Danika tonight was a bad idea; maybe I should reschedule.
You’re just trying to put it off.
Shit.
It’s been a whole week since my dinner with her, but, even after as much time as we’ve spent texting and talking on the phone each night, it feels like an eternity has passed since I last saw her.
Not that I haven’t seen her…
The graphic pictures and videos we’ve exchanged almost every night have only heightened my desire for her. It’s the thought of potentially seeing the real thing tonight, however remote that possibility, that’s preventing me from calling her to cancel.
Unsurprisingly, my cock is winning out in this internal struggle even as my head is screaming that things are about to go up in flames.
I look at Princess, my Yorkie, lying in her bed near the couch. She tilts her head and examines me before slumping back down. Apparently, my absence wasn’t felt too strongly. She got to spend the week with Gabe, who is probably her favorite person in the world, so I’m sure she didn’t give a rat’s ass where I was.
She did her usual jumping and bouncing last night when I got home, but this morning, she was back to her usual semi-interested mode, preferring to sleep and be completely aloof. I was never much of a dog person. My parents always refused to let us have one growing up because they said none of us were responsible enough to take care of it and they would end up doing it. Probably a valid point, but now that I have one, I can’t imagine living in this place without her.
Being alone as much as I am is probably not very healthy, and it only adds to the anxiety I feel about having Danika here, in my space.
I thought getting back to my normal routine today might help, but my trip to the gym and my usual Saturday morning basketball game did nothing to ease the tension or apprehension about Danika’s arrival tonight. All it did was physically exhaust me. After a quick trip to the grocery store, I came home and started all the prep for tonight’s dinner.
If it even gets that far.
Cooking usually relaxes me, probably because I spent so much time doing it with my mom growing up, but not today. Today, I found myself forgetting what ingredients I already put into things and had to taste them a hundred times to make sure they were right.
Even now, with everything ready in the kitchen, my body is quivering with tension.
Calm down!
Taking a deep breath, I look around my place, making sure nothing is out of order. Everything looks perfect, but because of my need to be exceedingly organized, it rarely does to me. The book on the far left of the shelf next to the fireplace is sticking out a half inch farther than the rest of them in that row and I quickly shove it back in line. If I truly took the time to look, I’m sure I’d find a thousand little things like that to correct, but I need to change and prepare for Danika’s arrival.
I need to make the best impression possible the moment she sees me, just in case she leaves in ten seconds flat like I’m anticipating.
Princess follows me down the hall to my bedroom and I close the door behind me. I told Danika to let herself in when she gets here and I don’t need her accidentally wandering down the hall and into my inner sanctum without me ready for it.
I’m just sliding on my shirt when I hear the doorbell. Princess scampers away from her bed and is stuck at the bedroom door, jumping and barking wildly.
“Shh, knock it off, Princess.”
She rang the bell despite my instructions.
Maybe she’s just as nervous as I am?
Doubtful. A woman like that doesn’t get nervous. I may keep her on her toes and embarrass her a bit, but nervous? Not Danika.
Now me, on the other hand, I’m practically shaking trying to button my shirt. The front door slams shut. I thank God for the extra minute to try to get my shit together before seeing her and watching everything I’ve accomplished with her in the last week vanish in a millisecond.
I check myself one final time in the closet mirror before heading to the bedroom door.
No matter what happens, just stay calm. You can’t control her reaction and trying to will only make things worse.
I scoop Princess up and turn her tiny face to meet mine. “You be nice to Danika.” She licks my face and I drop a kiss on her nose before returning her to the floor.
At least I’ll always have her.
The second I open the door, Princess takes off, sprinting down the hall at full speed to see our visitor, her nails clicking on the hardwood floors.
I follow her slowly, hoping to delay the inevitable despite my desire to see Danika. That scene from The Green Mile where John Coffey is walking down the hallway on his way to the electric chair flashes through my head.
This will probably be a death sentence for our budding relationship, but I just need to nut up and do it.
I hear her moving around in the living room, her heels making that damn clicking sound just like they did that day in my office. My throat is dry and I struggle to take a deep breath.
It’s out of my hands now.
Jesus, this is going to be harder than I thought.
I stand in the middle of his living room, in total awe of the sleek, modern design of the condo, or should I say, penthouse—thirty stories up in one of the most sought-after buildings in the city. I wonder how he managed to snag this place.
I guess the pussy business is very lucrative.
It’s absolutely stunning, and it’s clear that either he, or his decorator, has exquisite taste. A long, low, sleek, black leather couch sits directly in front of me, with two matching chairs all facing a low, stained black wood coffee table. A large fireplace dominates the wall, with enormous slate tiles reaching all the way up to the cathedral ceilings. The built-in bookshelves on either side are filled with books, not the usual chachkies.
He’s a minimalist, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. I hate to admit I’m jealous but compared to my tiny, second-floor studio apartment, this place is a Taj Mahal. He probably has an enormous king-sized bed with silk sheets while I’m on my queen with Egyptian cotton every night. The floors alone in this place probably cost twenty thousand dollars.
No one gets into journalism for the money, but seeing this place really makes me question my choice in profession. Not seriously, I love what I do too much to do anything else, but there’s that tiny voice in the back of my head telling me I could have done a thousand other things that made better money. Right now, my entire paycheck goes to my designer shoe fetish and to the essentials, like a roof over my head and food.
When I picture my closet, the Sex in the City episode where Carrie adds up the cost of her shoe closet only to determine she had forty thousand dollars’ worth hits a little too close to home.
I look down at my feet. My Sergio Rossi pumps look freaking fantastic but guilt creeps up my bare legs thinking about the half-paycheck that went to buy them. If Savage has a shoe fetish, it will all be worth it. Wrapping my legs around his waist and digging these heels into his back while he fucks me would certainly justify the thousand dollar price tag.
Cool it. You can’t jump on his cock the second he appears. That would look desperate. Maintain some dignity.
Glancing around the room, I’m drawn to the large windows occupying the entire left wall. I wander over to them and find a large patio with chaise lounges and a magnificent view of the Mississippi. The smell in the penthouse is mouthwatering—garlicy and sweet. I hope the wine I brought goes with whatever he made. The bottle in my hand has me picturing sitting out there with Savage and enjoying the warm evening air after dinner and a few glasses, and then partaking in other activities in full public view.
Naked skin against the night air is such a fucking turn on. The way it cools the sweat-slicked body…
I shudder and press my free hand against the glass to stabilize myself on my suddenly wobbly legs.
Damn. This isn’t helping.
Not that anything would. This past week has been seven days of foreplay and one giant clit tease. Who would have thought phone sex could be so fucking hot? I’ve always needed the real thing—skin-scratching, sweaty, hot, raunchy sex. But watching Savage touch himself on video? Holy shit…there are just no words.
Big, strong hands wrapped around hard flesh. It’s hotter than anything I could have imagined or found in any porn. I haven’t come that many times solo since…well…never.
And I need to do something about this because I can’t go on at work with my mind somewhere else—mainly on Savage’s dick. Somehow, I’ve managed to get my articles done, but I’ve gotten nowhere on my investigation into Mayor Dunne and his sketchy dealings. Paul has cold feet and no matter what I say, I haven’t been able to convince him to get me what I need on Abello.
Anyone else would have given up on this story a year ago, but not me. Sometimes my stubbornness hurts more than it helps. I just hope this won’t be one of those times. My skin crawls just thinking about Abello. That man is depraved. There’s just no other word for it. The sheer number of bodies desiccating out in the bayous—bodies that can be attributed to him—is staggering. The only reason he isn’t in prison for the rest of his life is the loyalty of his subjects—a loyalty that is making this investigation damn near impossible.
But someone has to crack eventually. I just hope I found that person. If not, I’m back to square one and the notebooks full of rumors, innuendos, and theories I have at my apartment become nothing more than kindling for the fire I can’t have in my non-existent fireplace. Maybe Savage will let me borrow his?
A nice roaring fire in that thing would set quite the mood. I could watch my career go up in smoke as he fucks me on the floor, and the couch, and the coffee table, and the chairs. That familiar throb starts between my legs and my only consolation is that I’ll see Savage any minute and, hopefully, this night will end with our clothes off and our needs fulfilled.
I look down at my dress and wonder if I may have overdone it for a dinner at Savage’s place. The red sundress looked casual and flirty when I examined myself in the mirror before I left, but now, now it feels like I’m overdressed and begging for something. The plunging neckline and high hem are practically an open invitation to him.
Who am I kidding? He has an open invitation to anything and everything he wants.
A door down the hall opens and a strange, fast clicking noise races toward me. I turn and find the most adorable dog I’ve ever seen racing from around the corner.
I don’t remember Savage ever mentioning he had a dog.
My love for animals is only rivaled by my love of shoes, so I’m more than happy to welcome the little one. A pink bow on the top of her head alerts me it’s a girl, and I crouch down to greet her.
“Oh, hi!” She jumps up, her front paws barely reaching my knees, and wiggles so hard I think she might fall over. I laugh and run my free hand over her soft, fluffy head, reaching down to find the dog tag on her collar. “Princess, eh? What kind of man has a Yorkie named Princess?”
“One who’s a total fucking sap.”
I jerk, surprised to hear his voice. I hadn’t noticed him enter the room. I glance up with a smile, and lose all control of my body and senses when I finally catch sight of him. A barely-audible gasp escapes my mouth and the bottle of wine falls from my hand, crashing to the floor and shattering, sending glass and dark, red wine spraying across the floor.
Princess yelps and bolts away, disappearing down the hall.
Shit.
Oh.
My.
God.
What did I just do?
Looking down at the mess on the floor, I avoid his eyes and, instead, watch the dark red liquid spreading across the floor.
Say something!
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, still keeping my eyes firmly planted on the mess I’ve made.
“It’s okay.” His voice is calm and understanding, but I just can’t bring myself to look at him, not after how I just reacted.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I
hear him leave the room and look up as he disappears into what I assume is the kitchen. My knees give out and I grab the back of the couch and lean against it while I stare down at the wine on the floor.
He reenters the room and stops in front of me without a word. I glance up and reach out, taking a handful of towels from him before dropping to the floor to sop up the wine.
“Be careful, don’t cut yourself.”
Tears well in my eyes at his concern.
Christ, I am such an idiot.
Savage uses a small vacuum to suck up the broken glass as I push it to the side. When the floor is finally dry, I hand him the wet towels without making eye contact.
A loathsome combination of embarrassment and disgust at myself has my stomach churning. The desire to leave while he’s out of the room is one I have to fight—hard. I can’t leave now. That would really make me a thoughtless bitch. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not that.
Instead, I make my way around the couch and drop down into the corner with my back to the kitchen. I rest my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands, closing my eyes and cursing myself for the millionth time.
I sense his approach and his feet appear in front of me. His black shoes are gleaming, almost as if he’s had them professionally shined recently. Every single moment I’ve spent with Savage runs through my head—our meeting at his office, our dinner, the late night phone calls and videos—and I try to figure out what I missed.
Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I realize?
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” His voice finally breaks the tense silence between us. I’m thrown by his calm reaction to my not-so-adult response to the new information.
How can he be so fucking calm right now? The longer I avoid looking at him, the more the apprehension builds and the shittier I feel.
Pulling myself together, I shake my head and glance up at him, finally meeting his sympathetic blue gaze. He smiles at me, and it seems genuine, but it does nothing to ease the tension in my body or the situation.
“I didn’t do it intentionally…not tell you…. It just…never came up. I knew you probably couldn’t see in my office, and I beat you to Angelo’s the other night, so…”