by S. M. Soto
His hands slide up my thighs, disappearing under my dress, and his fingertips pause before the apex of my thighs. My breath catches. My heart trips over itself, and that tug in my gut gets sharper, the ache in my core intensifies, and the thrumming electricity in my veins sends my blood rushing to my clit.
He nudges my knees apart with a gentle firmness and settles his firm body between them.
“What are you—?”
He cuts me off with his fingers swirling through my wetness. “No more talking, dirty girl. I’m not done fucking you yet. The night is still young. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asks with a grin in his voice. One of his fingers dips into my soaking channel, and when he pulls it out, he spreads my wetness along my clit, then rubs in firm circles.
My hips thrust forward in time with his fingers, and when he slides two fingers inside me and continues to stroke my clit, I lose all sense of self-preservation. In the back of my mind, I tell myself this is what needs to happen in order for him to trust me, but honestly? I know deep down this is for me. Because as much as I hate to admit it, Baz’s touch has the capacity to ruin me. And I’d let him.
Baz applies more pressure to my clit, pumping his fingers faster, and I hear the wet sounds my arousal is making around us in the near silent kitchen. Only the sound of my pussy and my heavy breathing can be heard.
“Don’t stop,” I moan, gripping his shoulders for support as I fuck his fingers.
He leans into me and whispers over my lips, “That’s a good girl.”
I must’ve passed out sometime during the night after multiple rounds of sex with Baz. The man is like a machine. I honestly don’t think I have the stamina to keep up with him.
I roll onto my back, and the light sheet pulls across my body as I reach my arm out toward the other side of the bed. My brows furrow when I realize the other side is cool and empty. Slowly, I shift up onto my elbows and then sit up, resting my back against the headboard, and look around the darkened master suite. The sound of ice clinking against glass has me pushing the covers off my legs, grabbing Baz’s discarded shirt, and padding toward the source. I find him sitting out on his balcony, overlooking his infinity pool and the sprawling view of the hills beyond it.
I hang back a bit to watch him, enjoying the freedom to ogle him without him being privy. He takes a long pull from the amber liquid in his tumbler and grimaces. He rakes a frustrated hand through his hair, and I notice the tension rolling off him. He seems … upset. No, that’s not even the best way to describe it. He seems angry and lost. A lot like me.
I drop my gaze down to his arm that is still bandaged and I get a pang in my chest. I can see the ink peeking out beneath the bandage, and I know, if I’d seen the tattoo the night before, I would’ve realized who he was. The skeleton key tattoo is a dead giveaway.
His face is shadowed in darkness, and I can’t tell if it’s his mood or just from the lack of light. Before I get caught snooping on him, I decide to make my presence known.
“Hey,” I say quietly, prompting him to turn toward me. His eyes sweep up and down my body in his shirt, and I see the stirrings of a smirk on his face. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Sleep eludes me most nights.” He sighs, leaning back to get a better look at me.
“Any particular reason?” I ask, wondering if it’s guilt that keeps him up at night. Does Madison’s death weigh on him like it does me?
“Not really. Just work stuff.”
“Ah, whatever you say, Mr. Vague,” I taunt playfully with a rueful twist to my lips. I’m about to lower myself into the chaise next to him, but he pats his lap and reaches out for my hand, pulling my body toward his, so I fall into his lap. His body is a warm, firm wall of muscle behind me, so I curl into him and nestle my head against his chest, staring up at the stars and the crescent moon.
We enjoy the silence that descends between us, our stares trained on his incredible view. The lights down below the hill are still twinkling, but the dawn is slowly creeping on the horizon. One by one, the stars begin to fade.
I close my eyes and think back to my childhood. Back when Madison wasn’t so hard to be around. We’d hike up Graveyard’s Hill and try to suppress our shudders when we passed tombstones, but when we’d finally make it to the top of the hill, shaded beneath the trees, we’d look down at the rest of the town, and we’d watch life from above. It was our little slice of heaven. Kind of morbid now that I think about it, but at the time, that was our place—the one spot we went that was ours. Where we didn’t have to try to be anything but twin sisters who shared the same feelings at times. That was how we bonded. We didn’t need to talk much. It was just … us and the town below us.
My eyes water as I stare down toward the bright, lively city beneath me. I can’t help but wonder what Madison would think of this view if she was still here. Would we still have our silent bonding moments? Or would we have drifted apart with age? The saddest part is, I’ll never really know.
“I used to do this a lot when I was younger. We’d climb up the hill and watch the sunset. It’s been so long since I’ve just enjoyed sitting outside above anything else. So long since I’ve really stopped to enjoy life. I forgot how peaceful it is.”
“Being up here helps me think. Down there, there’s always so much going on, and it’s so chaotic. I need the solitude.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, still lost in thoughts of my sister.
“Who did you used to go with?”
“Hmm?”
“You said we, so I figured you meant you went with someone.”
I freeze for a second, trying to gather my thoughts and refrain from slapping myself. Why the hell did I have to go and get all nostalgic and open my mouth?
“My friend. I used to go with her. Back when we were kids,” I blurt.
“What made you guys stop?”
Sadness engulfs me. “She died.”
I feel Baz stiffen beneath me. Shifting with me in his arms, he sets his tumbler on the table next to him, then places his palms on my thighs, rubbing up and down soothingly.
“I’m sorry.” He kisses the back of my head, and I hate myself for relishing in his kisses. I hate the sense of contentment they give me.
How am I supposed to resist this man? The same one I’m supposed to hate.
I clear my throat. Painfully. “It’s okay.” My bottom lip trembles, and I’m glad he can’t see me. “It happened a long time ago.”
“Was she sick?”
God, I wish she had been.
And this is where the answers get tricky. Anything I say may trigger memories for him or make him question who I am. I wish I could turn to him and tell him everything, let go of all the anger and sadness I’ve been carrying around for years, but I can’t. I need to tread lightly.
“She moved away just before our senior year.” Lie. “She started dating a new guy where she lived.” Lie. “She was murdered.” Truth.
“Jesus,” he hisses. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I murmur quietly. “She wasn’t the greatest person. Hell, she wasn’t even a good friend, but she …” I trail off, my throat tightening with the onslaught of emotion.
“But she didn’t deserve to die,” he finishes for me. Almost like he read my thoughts. “No one does.”
I process his words for a beat before asking, “Do you really believe that?” I shift on his lap to face him.
“What?”
“That even if people are bad, they don’t deserve to die?” I search his eyes and his face, looking for the bad guy. If I found out he killed Madison, would I want him to die? Would I be able to kill him? My brain says I could do it. But my heart, for some reason, as I stare at Baz, my heart says that it’s not an option.
“I think too many people take matters into their own hands as an act of vengeance or revenge, but where does it get you? With blood on your hands? Who are we to play God?”
“Didn’t know you were religious,” I reply flatly.
He scoffs. “
I’m not. I’m just saying I don’t think killing someone because they were a bad person justifies anything.”
I straighten on his lap, anger simmering just at the surface. I cock my head to the side, regarding him. “So you’re telling me if someone hurt or killed someone you cared about, you wouldn’t want revenge?”
His brows dip at the question, and for a second, I worry I gave too much away. Seconds tick by before he cups my cheek with his hand and traces soothing circles on my skin with his thumb.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, staring into my eyes. “If someone hurt you, I’d probably kill them.”
A thrill shoots down my spine, and my breath catches. I shouldn’t like that, but I do. God, I do. It’s the first time anyone has ever cared enough to utter such words. For my entire life, I’ve been second best and hidden in the shadows, and for the first time, I feel like someone is actually seeing me.
“You getting sweet on me, Baz King?” I ask playfully, making him laugh. He looks at me warmly.
“Maybe.”
The butterflies take flight, and I avert my gaze. He lifts my chin, making me look back at him. “Let’s head back to bed.”
“To … sleep?”
His laughter is deep and infectious as he helps me off his lap. “Christ, I’ve created a monster.”
I swat at his shoulder. “It was a fair question, what with how often we’ve been having sex. You’re like a machine.”
“I don’t hear any complaints,” he counters with a brow raised.
“You’re right.” I smirk, tossing him a wink before turning and sashaying back into his bedroom to go back to “bed.”
I wake to a warm body at my back the next morning. A heavy weight rests on my side, and when I peel my eyes open and look over my shoulder, I see a sleeping Baz. I enjoy watching him for a little while longer, but like being doused witha bucket of cold water, this is when I realize things might start getting awkward.
I don’t want to look like a complete fool and fall into the idiotic notion that sex with me would change his mind about keeping me around. Baz King is not the type who settles down with one woman, that I’m sure of. He probably wants this morning to go as smoothly as possible. A simple brush-off. He’ll tell me he enjoyed hanging with me, but since I’m headed back to New York, there’s no point in dragging any of this out.
With my mind made up, I slip out of bed and quietly pad into his ensuite bathroom. After using the restroom, I wash my face, run my fingers through my hair, and squeeze toothpaste onto my finger to brush with quickly. After gargling some of his mouthwash, I feel mildly refreshed. At least I can do the walk of shame with my dignity mostly intact—no morning breath, crusty eyes, or ratty hair.
A startled yelp catches in my throat when I push out of the bathroom and find Baz sitting up in bed with his back resting against the headboard. He’s shirtless, much like he was when we finally went to sleep, with every muscle and ab on full display. The sheets are barely covering his morning wood, which makes it hard to look away. I pause, and my mouth gapes when he says, “Are you hungry?”
I was expecting something more along the lines of … “It was great, but I don’t have time for commitment.” Or “I can call you a cab if you’d like?” But an offer to have breakfast with him is not what I was expecting. At all.
The shock factor of it all makes me smile. “I’d love breakfast.”
He grins back and slides out of bed, completely nude. My eyes linger on the firm globes of his ass as he crosses the bedroom toward his closet. I stand like an idiot as he gets dressed and uses the restroom. He comes out dressed in a pair of sweats and a dark gray Henley that hugs his muscles to perfection.
Baz pauses in front of me, his eyes roving over my body, but his gaze lingers on my face. Fear claws its way up my throat as he stares down at me. I washed off all my makeup this morning, and now, he’s seeing me. The real me.
Does he notice?
Is he slowly putting together the pieces of our shared past?
His hand rises toward my face, and I suppress the need to flinch. With his thumb, he swipes gently across my cheekbone.
“You don’t need all that makeup. You’re gorgeous without it.”
With that, he dips down and kisses me speechless, before he pivots, striding out of the room.
“C’mon, you’ve got to be hungry by now, dirty girl.”
I take a few minutes to gather my wits and my emotions before I follow him downstairs. I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting him to be so sweet or nice this morning. I was expecting the boot, not breakfast and compliments.
Down in the kitchen, I watch Baz move around his immaculate space as he preps breakfast for us. I offered my help, but with a hot kiss and a swipe of his tongue, he told me he had this covered. So now, I’ve just been sitting here, watching him work, while I compartmentalize.
I don’t want to look at Baz like he’s two different people, but to me, he is. He’s the Baz from that first night I gave myself to him, but he’s also Sebastian—one of the Savages—from high school. There’s no evidence he killed my sister. Hell, there’s no evidence any of them did, but it doesn’t mean they didn’t. None of this means he’s innocent.
Needing to keep a clear head, I remind myself that my sister was murdered. Years have gone by with her case unsolved, so I owe her this much. I owe her justice. It was supposed to be me that night, after all. It’s the least I can do.
Part of me wonders that if the roles were reversed, and I was the one who went to the kissing rock that night, if Mads would be doing the same thing? Would she be searching for the truth? Or would she have moved on years ago and left my death in the past?
I watch Baz as he works, and I realize he’s the type of man she’d be with. She’d be sharing a space like this with him. Driving a car like his. Sleeping in his bed each night. And though I shouldn’t care, the thought makes me unreasonably angry.
My phone vibrates in my palm, snapping me out of those thoughts, and I swipe across the screen to read Kat’s message. It’s the itinerary for our flight. She assured me in a message earlier this morning that she and Vera were perfectly fine and thoroughly fucked. The thought of them sleeping with any of those murderers makes me shudder. Which is hypocritical since I’ve been doing it for two days in a row.
Baz sets a plate filled with an assortment of food in front of me, and we dig in. He reads something on his iPad while I scroll through my emails, clicking on my bank statement notifications. Another overdraft fee.
Fucking hell.
A pit settles in my stomach, threatening to rise up my throat like bile, but I swallow it down with more coffee, eggs, and bacon. I tamp down the urge to nibble on my nail and fidget uncomfortably. I’ll need to find a way to pick up more work to pay my bills. At the rate I’m going, they’re going to haul my ass off to jail for all the debt I’m in.
We clear the food off our plates, and Baz grows serious as he sips from his coffee. “You leave today, right?”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Yes.”
He’s silent for a beat. His thumb takes several swipes across his lips before he turns toward me and says, “I’d like to stay in touch.”
My eyes widen, and I almost choke on my coffee.
Well, shit.
I pause, hesitating to say yes for obvious reasons. One being, Baz could be guilty. I force a swallow and scratch anxiously at the back of my neck.
“I can give you my number … which I guess is kind of strange, considering …”
“Considering how many times I’ve fucked you?” He smirks, and I dip my head, hiding the blush that stains my cheeks.
A rueful smile twists my lips. “Exactly.”
Baz slides off the stool and spins me toward him. He cages me in, his arms and shoulders effectively trapping me in the best of ways.
“I mean it. We’re keeping in touch, dirty girl,” he says as he stares down at me intently. He slides a hand behind my neck, tangling hi
s fingers in my hair before he yanks my mouth up to meet his.The kiss is hot. It’s hard and demanding, yet smooth and firm in his intentions. He’s saying goodbye without saying goodbye.
When we pull away, we’re both heaving for much needed breath, our foreheads resting against each other’s.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I whisper.
Surprisingly, Baz drives me back to Kings Resort himself under the guise of having work to do. We exchanged numbers, and as awkward as it seemed, he made me promise I’d send him a message once I was safely back in New York. What he didn’t know is what I had planned for us.
During the flight, I was silent. Plotting. Making necessary arrangements. If I wanted more insight into the guys and their everyday lives, I needed to find a way to stay in Los Angeles. And to do that meant using my connections to my benefit.
Three Weeks Later
“Are you sure you’ll be okay out there by yourself?” Kat asks.
A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth while I zip my suitcase. I struggle, trying to keep the phone propped between my shoulder and ear.
“Yes. I promise. It’s only for seven weeks.”
“That’s two whole fucking months.”
I stifle my laugh. “Yeah, I know that, Kitty Kat. But think of it this way—it’s for my writing career, and this might finally be the big break I’ve been waiting for.”
“I know, I know. I won’t lie—I hate that you’re leaving, but I am excited for you, babe. I just want you to be careful. We’re going to miss you so much these next few months.”
“I promise I will. Look,” I say, pulling the phone away from my ear to check the screen. It shows I have an incoming call from downstairs. “I have to get going. The car should be here any minute now. But we’ll talk the second I land, okay?”
“I’m holding you to that, bitch.”