by Nicole Snow
“Yeah, I don't know where my parents are.” She jerks away from me, rolling her eyes at the constant sore spot with her family.
“Forget it. You've got better because daddy's home.”
“Daddy? Ew!” She wrinkles her nose, laughing. I push my hands past her, grab the script, and rip it out of her hands so I can have a better look.
“Cold War thriller, right? Make Me Say Spy? The one with the mafiaoso spy who knocks up the American reporter?”
She blinks, surprised. “You've seen it?”
“Used to watch the movies all the time with my brother Hayden. He loved the shit talk and the seduction. I loved the sex and the planes.” I cross the distance to her again, putting the script back in her hands before grabbing her wrists. “Finish your scene. Here, I'll be Petrov.”
“Come on,” she laughs. “What do you know about acting for film?”
“Jack shit. But I know how to make your panties drip. Come on, beautiful. Relax.” I put my arm around her waist, resting my hand on her back, slowly gliding down toward her ass until she begins to speak.
“Go ahead and kiss me, Petrov. It won't get you any secrets,” she says, doing her damnedest to narrow her eyes. I can't tell if it's part of her character, or if she's hiding her lust.
“I'm not looking for nuclear enrichment blueprints, love. You think this is about war? I'm gazing into your eyes because they're all that's on my mind,” I say, trying not to snicker as I make out Petrov's upside-down lines on the page.
“War? You're all about money!” she insists, pushing her hands against my chest. Fuck, do they feel good there. “Don't lie to me, Petrov. You'd sell your own mother for a juicy tidbit to bring back to your handlers in Havana. Whether it's the Kremlin or the Ivanovs paying you more, I don't know and I don't care! I'm not blind. I know what you're after, and you'll say anything to get it.”
“Money?” I whisper, bringing my face to hers. We're so close she can feel my breathing, and I watch her lips bristle. “I want you, love. Keep the secrets wrapped up in your pretty little head. The orgasm is on the house.” I pause for about a second before I'm shaking my head, losing my poise. “Come the fuck on! Who wrote this crap? Forgot how sappy this scene comes off. Must've been the actors who made it palatable.”
She's laughing. It's infectious. Soon, I'm chuckling along with her, holding Robbi in my arms, my eyes searching her past the giddy tears welling up in her baby blues. “Thanks for reminding me. I have a lot of work to do before there's only one amateur butchering these lines.”
“You'll get there someday. Maybe even before I shove my ring on your finger and put a kid or two in you, if you keep working at it.” I run my fingers along her side, halfway tickling her belly, halfway outlining her womb because the primal chant to fuck her welling up inside me won't shut up. “About the free orgasm...is this the part where Petrov takes her to bed and knocks her up?”
The amusement on Robbi's face changes. It's less light-hearted, and more serious, desire and restraint mingling in the redness on her cheeks. “As a matter of fact, I think it is. Don't get any ideas, Luke. We're not acting out that part tonight.”
“You kidding? I've made peace with you hanging onto your cherry until you're forty or fifty.” I cup her cheek with one hand, watching her eyelids flutter while I stop just short of a kiss. “I've had virgins before you, babe. You're the first one who's frustrated me like nothing else.”
Smiling, she opens her eyes, mirroring the hand on her face with hers on mine. Love how my stubble feels on her fingertips. “Be nice, and maybe you won't be frustrated much longer.”
“Like what? A couple hours?”
“No. But I think I'd really enjoy your kiss.”
Tease. Delicate, irresistible, cock hardening tease.
Doesn't stop me from giving her exactly what she wants. The little minx doesn't bat my hand off her ass either. I pinch her cheek hard in my fingers while my mouth roams hers, moving my tongue in and out of her mouth in firm, steady strokes. About how I'd like to fuck the rest of her.
She's a lucky woman, making Lucus Shaw wait.
And yeah, I'll wait a little longer for the grand finale, but I'm damned sure staking my claim. It can't be any other way. Whenever she decides to let me have my way, she's going to be mine.
I'm on her ass for weeks, and she still won't give it up. I've never met a chick like Robbi. It's infuriating how hard she is to conquer.
We kiss, we touch, I run my hands all over her, and she still stops just short of opening her legs for me. Her resistance also makes my dick throb like it hasn't since I found my first nudes in the library's old National Geographic set.
I've never liked hard to get before her. Hell, until I truly began to appreciate my little bird, I never liked a lot of things.
Part of me wonders if I'm quietly losing my mind while I reach under the bed, feeling for the secret key to our future. It's tucked next to the thin black box where I hide secrets far more bittersweet.
I reach for them first. The small lacquered box resembles a coffin. I pop the rickety lock with my thumb, pull out the first letter, and scan over words I've read a thousand times since a servant found them in her old dresser drawer.
Never doubt that you'll do great things, my baby. Whether it's here on earth or up in the air with me someday, you're going to make the world respect you in ways no Shaw has ever done before.
I love you, Lucus. I'm writing this from thirty thousand feet in the co-pilot's seat, on my way across the South Pacific. It's just past sunrise. It's beautiful down below.
Your father's blood means you're guaranteed a hectic, ambitious life. There's a time and place for that. But I hope you have enough of me in you to stop every so often.
Just stop, admire, and breathe, little one.
You'll find your peace when the world slows down. That's where I've often found mine.
Be good to your brothers, your father, and to yourself.
Love always. - Mom
I stopped tearing up a long time ago at the note from a woman I never really knew.
Now, I read her words with a sick curiosity in my heart, wondering if she was really as at peace as her words imply. She wrote it during her last successful flight, just weeks before another fateful trip to Alaska, where she met her end.
Mom was always on the go. My brothers say she spent all her time with the family when she was around, but after a few weeks she'd get restless. She'd hand us off to dad and our nannies while she went on her merry way around the globe.
What the fuck was she running from?
A stirring down the hall gives me one idea. It's a woman laughing above a deeper, more masculine sound. My old man growling in her ear.
I don't have to see them to know he's got her in the hallway half undressed, his arms slung around her shoulders, holding her up while he enjoys his latest fling.
I stand up and kick my door shut. I'm tired of this shit, even though it's happened so many times over the years it ought to be normal.
Hayden and Grant tell me he went off the rails after mom died in that crash. I'm skeptical that's true because I've never known him any other way.
Whoever the latest harpy on his arm is, she's giving me a convenient distraction. He doesn't bother me when I'm home, resigned to my long flights in the cargo planes. He hasn't chewed me out for weeks about never going to Milwaukee to take over the Shaw business there.
I'm never doing real estate or finance. I can't settle down in the boring day-to-day business, where there's no room for creativity.
The cargo flights are grueling, and the pay isn't great by my family's high standards, but it's where I belong. It's never been about the money. Regular distributions from my grandparents' trust ensures I'll be stinking rich while I figure out how I'll leave my mark on this world.
Mom's letters are right about one thing – there's too much of her in me. Maybe that's why what's happening with Robbi is insane by any objective measure, but it isn't in my
heart.
I push the black box of old letters away, shoving my hand beneath the bed. The other secret I have stowed away there is in a black box, too, but it's smaller, softer, more delicate.
This is the ring I'm going to use when I ask her to be my wife. I'll do it when I see her again, the morning after I take her cherry, which she's hinted is finally mine.
Lightning hits my cock and flows into my blood. I think about all the vile ways we'll be fucking tonight, and then again after she's said yes.
I'll mount her, mark her with my teeth, take her a thousand bawdy, demanding ways over the years to come. She'll learn every single one with my fingers, my tongue, my seething cock buried to the hilt.
Her body isn't enough. It's her heart and soul I'm after, a completion I've never sought before in any of the meaningless girls I've had. Fuck, I want to bring the rapture, the end of my playboy days, every time I think about finding out what makes her squirt. I'll burn her soft, red face into my brain forever while she's coming herself senseless.
Forever, I said. Something I'll never say lightly.
My thumb flips the little box open. I stare down at the ring, an elegant black diamond set in rare gold.
She doesn't like to trot her desire for the dark things out in the open, but I know it's there. If she wanted flowers, candy, and soft kisses like a normal girl, she wouldn't be attracted to me. I wouldn't have her leaning in, dry humping my leg, every time I take her bottom lip with my teeth.
I stand up, closing the box with an audible snap. More laughter and footsteps echo in the hallway, dangerously close to my room.
Tucking the ring into my pocket, I bolt across the room, ready to rip the door open and tell them to keep it the fuck down. My drunken ass of a father never blows up when he's tongue-deep in his girl candy, even if I practically spit in his face.
“Oh, Ericka. Bad, bad, bad fucking girl. Tease me like that again, woman, and you'll spend the next week without panties in this house. I'll come by personally to make sure every fucking pair is locked up in my drawer.”
Ericka? Christ. My hand stops on the doorknob, and I look at the shot glass on my desk. It's still brown from a couple quick nips of good whiskey I've thrown back.
Maybe I'm drunk, taking too much after dad for my own good. Maybe I heard him wrong.
Not that it's a terrible surprise. I've had a gnawing suspicion in my gut his latest fling was with someone on our property, possibly Robbi's mom. It would explain an awful lot about why her parents work such odd hours.
“Frank – not here! The ladies haven't finished their shifts. My own daughter could walk by and see us like this. We're not supposed to be in this wing of the house, much less doing – oh, my.” Her familiar voice melts.
Exhilaration. Moans. Gasps.
Cringe.
“No. Yes! I mean, no!”
“Shut up,” my father growls. “This is my house, you're my girl, and I'll do as a I damned well please. I'll drag you out the nearest exit, down the hill, and fuck you in front of your pathetic husband if I'd like. You'll come for me in front of him, with your little girl watching, if you don't pull up that fucking skirt for me right now.”
I hang my head, banging my forehead against the door. It's louder than I intend, but of course, it doesn't stop them.
I want to pour hot wax down my ears and seal them up forever. How the fuck am I supposed to live with this not throwing a gigantic wrench into everything?
Ericka curses, gasping her delight as he begins to do God knows what. His words are slurred as usual.
Rage pumps through my heart, savage and relentless. Whatever happens, he's not screwing up my plans with Robbi. I've lived my whole life in his drunken, womanizing shadow. I've fought to avoid his worst habits, always looking for the day when I could roll out the gates of the family estate in my car, and never return.
Tonight, it's not so simple. It's not abstract. There's no excuse for the shit he just said.
The asshole just threatened me. No, I don't care if he knows he did or not.
Everything he said, everything he's doing with Robbi's mother, outside my own fucking bedroom, is a death threat to our future.
I don't know what to do. My fists would like to connect with his face, over and over, even at the risk of this clown disowning me.
But a father-son brawl won't really fix the other problem staring me in the face.
The worst suspicions I've had for months about Ericka's situation were just confirmed in the big, sick reveal. I stagger backwards, heading for the other side of the room, where I can't hear their pleasure through the walls.
I'm fighting my worst instincts. They say destroy, but my brain can't see one reason why that'll help. Clocking my father square in his cheating, just-fuck-my-life-up face won't make him any less of a soulless pig tomorrow. It won't make Robbi's mom any less of an underhanded slut.
Disrupting them with a violent flurry of fists is Option A, and it won't do me any favors.
Option B: run to her. Tell her everything. Then take her far, far away from this black pit where she doesn't belong.
Only trouble is, she's a fragile girl. She won't take the rift between her folks lightly, much less finding out the father of the man she's falling for is the reason her parents are heading for divorce.
If I tell her, will her eyes resent me? Will they see my old man ruining her happy life, and not the man who loves her?
“Fuck.” I don't know the answer. My fist bangs the wall. No matter how many times I turn the options over in my head, there are no easy answers.
No simple escape. Even if I throw her over my shoulder and carry her away with me after she learns the awful truth, it won't bleach it from her mind. She'll still have family wounds deep in her heart.
Considering the circumstances, she may want to shoot the messenger, too. Who am I to blame her?
Our ring lingers in my palm. It's become like a hot coal the longer I touch it. I clench it and sweat, pacing my private apartment, wondering if the liars in the hall are finally done.
Leave, you idiot, a dark voice says inside me. You have to get the hell out of here before you do anything else.
There's some truth to it. My older brothers got away, and it's done them a lot of good.
Right now, it's the only thing that makes sense. For me, for Robbi, for the future I've just decided we're having, we have to get precious space, or we won't have anything else.
I need to go to her, load her in my car, and get us the hell away from this place.
Sure, she'll learn the truth sooner or later, but it won't come from me.
If I get my ring on her hand before she bites the bitter apple, I know we'll work it out. All the poison seeping in from our parents. It won't ruin us if we figure it out together, with plenty of distance between us and this hellhole.
When I fling my door open and step into the hall, it's deserted. Thank God. They've gone to my father's room to finish what they started. I'm not wasting this precious time while they're distracted.
I have to find Robin, and then check on rooms in Chicago. The city will do, until we have a place to call our own.
If I have my way, I'll be signing the ink on my own plane next week, something it's taken me years to save for. Those wings will shelter us. They're freedom itself in steel, titanium, and the custom gold and platinum trim I've had installed to spruce up the interior. They'll take us far from the sickness unfolding here, and closer to each other.
I love this woman. I wasn't going to say it point blank until I put my ring on her hand, but if that's what it takes to move her tonight, then I'll do it sooner. I'll rip out my heart and push it into her hands, beating and alive, bleeding the hope I have for us into our world.
There's no way this won't be messy.
Forget the perfect choreography of love I've been planning in my head on those long cargo flights. Long as she's mine, we'll find our way, no matter how complicated or painful it turns out to be.
3<
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One Last Night (Robin)
“We have to leave tonight, little bird. Car's waiting. Come with me.” He keeps making the same demand, and I keep staring at him like he's crazy. We're standing in my backyard, close to the path leading to his family's gardens, alone as we always are at this time of night.
“Just up and leave?” I ask, staring at my backpack. “I don't know if I'm ready, honestly.”
He catches me in a daze, and takes one wrist in his huge hand, pulling me close to him. “You've finished your classes. You said last week you'd be moving onto acting school next. Robbi, you can do that anywhere. Don't have to be stuck here for another few months while you wait to find out if you're moving to downtown Chicago or Hollywood. Fuck, maybe London.”
“London?” I wince. “I don't have the money or the talent, Luke. I think heading downtown is as good as it's going to get.”
“Say the word, and I'll pull the right strings,” he growls, pushing his hand against my back, sending chills up my spine.
I've heard him serious plenty of times, but this is a whole new level. He won't take no for an answer. He doesn't care about my excuses, my hesitation, or my very sound logic why this is a bad idea. What I can't figure out is why.
Why the hell does he want us to leave so badly? Why tonight?
I stop for a second, staring into his bright blue eyes. They've never been more determined. Tonight, they're unshakeable, even more piercing than usual. He's promising me the universe, and I'm too proud to take a single star.
“This is our second chance. We'll start a whole new life,” he says, brushing his stubble against my cheek when he comes close. “Together, we'll make it happen.”
“That's kinda the thing. I have to do this acting thing myself,” I say softly, hoping he won't take offense. “I can't let you step in. If I'm going to get anywhere, it's got to be with my own talent. If I'm not good enough, if I use your connections, well, I'm only hurting myself. Weakness will shine through in front of the panels, on the stage, or on the screen, if I ever make it that far. I appreciate the offer – really, I do – but all the money and handshakes in the world can't cover for mediocrity.”