Cutting Ties (Book 2) (Piper Anderson Series)

by Danielle Stewart

  “Do you want something to drink?” he stammered, now looking suddenly uncomfortable by her silence. This wasn’t at all how she imagined this would go. She thought they’d be down to their socks by now, tripping over each other as they raced for the bedroom, but Bobby looked hesitant. They were clearly not on the same wavelength, because Piper’s body was full of hot tingling pressure with not the least bit of doubt about what they should be doing right now. Maybe, this isn’t what he wanted. Maybe she read things wrong.

  “No thanks,” she replied disappointedly. As he moved past her their bodies brushed against one another and it took all of her willpower not to grab him. It sent a shock through her, but he kept moving toward the kitchen. The floor plan was open, so Piper could see right in as Bobby pulled open his fridge and reached for a beer. He spun open the top and flipped it into the trash. He took a long swig, and as he finished he leaned himself against the counter and sighed.

  “What are you doing?” Piper asked with a huff.

  “What do you mean, I’m having a drink. I asked you if you wanted one. Do you?” Bobby replied, confused by her attitude.

  “No, I don’t want a beer. Did we come here to hydrate? Maybe I missed something, but we’ve been holed up with a bunch of people, dying to be alone together. Now here we are and you’re just standing there.” Her hands were on her hips now. She was starting to feel like maybe her desire for him was much stronger than his for her. And for a person like Piper, that was unsettling.

  “I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of animal. I figured maybe you wanted to talk for a bit.” Bobby looked stunned by her flash of anger. She knew he was usually the one pouring his heart out, always reassuring her of his feelings. She could tell by the crooked smile breaking across his face that he was happy for the role reversal. He looked glad to see her so desperate for him.

  “You’re a gentleman. You open doors, you pay for meals, you say please and thank you. I love that about you. It’s really charming. But right now, I could use a little less of that. No, a lot less of that. Every time we get anywhere close to having our moment, something happens. I’m tired of it. I want to be with you now. Right now.” She punctuated the words purposefully to make herself entirely clear, and continued in a frustrated voice. “I don’t care if the phone rings or an asteroid hits the earth. I don’t need chivalry—I need to be in your bed, with next to no clothes on, finding ways to forget how awful my life is right now. Do you think you can do that?” Her face was red, half with embarrassment and half with anger, and her hands remained perched on her hips.

  Bobby raised his eyebrows as his lips curled into a playful smile. This was certainly a side of Piper he had never seen before. He had wanted her for so long and repeatedly fought his body’s relentless cues to take her. Now, here he was alone with her, permission fully granted, and he was completely ready.

  He put his beer down on the counter. He moved with such intention, such confidence, that her hands dropped from her hips, and she suddenly felt nervous. It was all finally about to happen, and maybe she wasn’t as ready as she thought she was.

  But when his lips met hers and his sturdy arms pulled her body in against his, she knew it was time, and she could clearly feel he was ready, too. He backed her up against the front door and kissed her with a hunger that had been a long time coming. His tongue explored her mouth; his hands ran anxiously through her hair. He was answering her question without saying a word. He was ready to please her. He was ready to make her forget.

  They moved around the room, sparks seeming to fly from them. They went from the couch to the kitchen, making their way to the bedroom clumsily, as neither wanted to release the other as they moved. Bobby pulled his shirt over his head, and a burst of his scent filled Piper’s nose. The perfect mix of fresh soap and sheer masculinity and it was driving her wild.

  She felt her nerves flare, but tried to keep them in check. She wasn’t just bothered by the length of time that passed since she’d last had sex; she’d never had sex with someone she loved. Sex had been a means to an end, an event, not a connection. What would it be like to lock eyes with Bobby as he moved inside her? How would it feel to lie in his arms when they had both finished, paralyzed by pleasure and exhaustion? Could she really give herself over to him like that? She wasn’t sure, but she was dying to find out.

  She hastily pulled at the buttons on her shirt and felt one come loose and fall to the floor. She didn’t care, she could sew it back on, she could buy a new shirt, she could burn it, nothing was going to slow them down. When all the buttons were finally free, she shook the shirt off her shoulders. Bobby stopped kissing her and pulled away. They were in the hallway now, just steps from his bedroom and he wanted to see her. He looked down at her body, remembering the only other time he had seen her perfect caramel skin wrapped in the fancy lace of her bra. He smiled at the memory, at how far they had come from that day in the town hall office when he’d accidently walked in on her changing.

  He pulled her back in and deepened the kiss, sending an excited rush through her body. His hands slid down, found the back of her thighs, and he lifted her up in one swift motion. She straddled him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her into his room.

  She wanted to be lost in the passion of the moment, but a quick survey of his room left her giggling. “You bought the decorative fake plant from the furniture store, too? Seriously, no one buys that.”

  He rolled his eyes and tossed her onto his bed, appreciating her joke but not letting it slow him down. He towered over her now, and she felt his hand on the button of her pants. Her face grew serious and she placed her hand over his.

  “I know you’ve seen my scar before, but I haven’t been with anyone since it happened. I just thought you should know.” She was looking away from him as she spoke. She had come to accept the mark on her leg, but really she was more afraid he couldn’t see past it. He gently removed her hand, unbuttoned her pants and moved them down off her waist, exposing the scar on her thigh as well as the black lace of her panties.

  The scar did nothing to distract him from his desire to pull the rest of her clothes off, unwrapping her like a present he’d spent months waiting to open. But if it worried her, then he’d do his best to show her how insignificant it truly was. “Did you know we met on the twenty-third? That day at the diner when I chased after you, it was the twenty-third. This scar is a part of you, and I know that it isn’t an easy thing to carry around, but we can make it mean whatever we want it to. He might have given it to you, but he doesn’t get to tell you how to feel about it.” He traced the raised number twenty-three with his finger and leaned down to kiss her again.

  After a moment of indulging in the passion of his lips, she felt all her anxiety melt away. Their bodies were now moving together, the remainder of their clothes being shed like weights dropping to the ground and lightening them in a way they hadn’t felt before. Being there in his arms, naked and exposed, Piper felt a chill run through her body, not a cold chill but the kind that makes its way over you before you even know it’s coming. It started in her back and ended somewhere in the warmth spreading between her legs. It was a good chill, a very good chill. As she ran her hands up and down his chest she kept silently admiring his body, the perfection of it, the hard work it must take to maintain it.

  With every new angle of his body coming into view she felt more disadvantaged. His abs were defined muscles that tightened under her touch. Her stomach was flat but not toned. His arms looked as though they were sculpted, the muscles rock hard under his skin. Her arms felt too long and out of practice for all of this. His calves and thighs had run miles today and it showed with every flex. She felt too thick in the thighs, wondered, was a B cup enough? She’d never been completely satisfied with her body, what woman was? Oh crap, did she really miss a spot when shaving her legs this morning? But to her surprise Bobby seemed to be perfectly thrilled with each new surface of her body he discovered, so she fought down her na
gging voice of insecurity.

  They moved to the top of the bed with all its matching decorative pillows and shams, probably purchased from a display window at the department store. This was what they had patiently waited for. This was their moment. He trailed light kisses down her neck and ran his thumb across her collarbone. His other hand was caught up in her silky hair, running his fingers through it again and again. As she readied herself for him, the anticipation driving her nearly to the brink, Piper heard an odd thump and pulled Bobby’s body closer to hers. Maybe it was the slamming of a car door or the passing of a loud truck, maybe it was her heart thudding in her chest. Either way it unsettled her. Looking past him she exclaimed, “Bobby, your blinds are open.”

  He reluctantly released her earlobe from between his teeth and glanced over his shoulder. “No one can see in, it’s the backyard,” he assured her as their bodies separated and he stood, reaching for the cord on the blinds. She watched him standing there and took in the magnificence of his naked body. She was lightheaded with the thought of what was to come, how long it had been since she’d felt a firm grip on her hips, the pleasure of moving as one. As he made his way back to her, kneeling on the bed, he flashed a devilish smile, and she playfully backed away trying to tease him.

  Suddenly, with a startling loud buzz and piercing static, a voice echoed loudly through the room. “Car BR3 what is your position? We have a possible 138 outside McCormick’s Bar.”

  Piper jumped back in fear but was already closer to the edge of the bed than she had realized. She tumbled backward off the bed and landed with a hard thud on the floor. Bobby slapped at the box on his nightstand, silencing the shrill voice of the dispatcher. He lunged across the bed, laying on his stomach and looked down at Piper who had her head in her hands.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, not able to read Piper’s reaction. “I have a police scanner in here. I keep it turned up really loud so I can hear it from the living room. I forgot to turn it off.” He reached his hand down toward her, and she peeked through her fingers up at him.

  “I fell off the bed,” she croaked, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

  “I can see that,” he replied with a wry smile. “Do you want to come back on the bed?” he asked as he reached his hand down and ran his finger across her shoulder.

  “No,” she mumbled, too embarrassed get up. She peered through her fingers and pouted up at him. “I fell off the bed,” she said again, still sounding tragically self-conscious.

  He slid his body forward and braced himself with his hands in front of him on the floor. In a flash he was lying next to her on the cozy area rug that had come with his furniture. “I fell off the bed, too,” he teased as he ran his finger from her toes, over her knee and up her leg. When she smiled widely at him, he knew she was all right. She lay back, welcoming him to join her. He moved on top of her, and stared down into her eyes as they became one. She drew in a raspy breath and murmured, “Finally.” She didn’t just mean finally they were having sex, it was more than that. She had finally let go, finally given herself to someone.

  They spent the next few hours exploring the depths of their ecstasy. They slipped in and out of short restful sleep, only to wake up to the other’s tantalizing caress, igniting passion once more. When their bodies gave out, their eyes too heavy to fight the comfort of sleep, they faded away together. They slept tangled in each other, legs locked together, so close they seemed to be breathing the same air. For Piper it wasn’t long before the elation of their lovemaking bled into the haunting clouds of her nightmares.

  Hiding—Piper was great at it. She could turn any small space into a sanctuary to try to avoid danger. It didn’t always work but there was something about being tucked away in a tiny space that made her feel secure. She’d found a closet at elementary school that was meant for storing old supplies and tools, and many afternoons were spent crouched behind the large industrial garbage can in the corner. She was there, tucked behind it, her bruised knees pulled up to her chest, as the door swung open. Mr. Olivares, the new teacher, strolled to the wall and started pawing through a bucket of dried up markers.

  He was a handsome young man. He had kind eyes and she liked the way he switched easily between Spanish and English. She jumped a little as he began to speak to himself. “I swear this school is such a dump. I can’t even find a decent writing utensil. Por qué llegué a esta escuela?” In his frustration, as he turned away he accidently pulled the bucket down and markers rolled in every direction, one to her feet. She was frozen with fear. As Mr. Olivares gathered them his eyes found her ripped yellow sneakers, and he jumped back in fear. “Ay Dios mio! What are you doing back there?” he asked, covering his heart with his hand. “Come, come.”

  He led Piper to his empty classroom and set her in his large rolling desk chair. She felt powerful sitting behind his desk like a grown up; at nine years old that was still something to get excited about. Mr. Olivares looked her over. Her dirty face, her torn clothes, and her bruised legs. He’d seen this girl before but had apparently looked through her rather than at her.

  “This is a safe place,” he said as he crouched down in front of her. “If you are in some kind of trouble, if someone is hurting you, you can tell me. I can help you.” This had never happened before. An actual grown-up had never told her they saw her and realized something was the matter, then offered to help her. She wasn’t the only one in her school, not even the only one in her class, who clearly had a hard home life. The bruises weren’t exclusive to her.

  Sometimes when something was so prevalent, it became accepted. But Mr. Olivares was new here, he’d never seen a place like this before—he didn’t know any better, so he tried to help.

  Sitting silently she contemplated the idea of confessing her pain to him. He’d be horrified, he’d be disgusted, but would he help her or make it worse? This was a fork in the road; stay the course or take a chance? But then she remembered Alison Campari. She’d been beaten badly by her mother, and rather than staying home long enough for the worst of the injuries to heal she’d come to school. The teachers couldn’t ignore her eye, swollen shut and oozing pus.

  Child Services was called. She was removed from her home—her mother arrested, charged, jailed. Eight weeks later Alison was on the news, near death from a violent rape at the hands of her foster father. Sometimes, even when you think it can’t get much worse, it can. Sometimes bad isn’t as bad as it gets. She looked into the sweet eyes of the worried teacher and smiled. She wouldn’t tell him a thing. She’d make up a story about the girls in gym class picking on her, that she was sad and wanted to hide. She’d roll the dice that whatever was out there waiting for her might be worse than what was at home.

  But that gamble didn’t always pay off. That night she’d managed to do her homework in spite of the blaring music her father was listening to as he slipped in and out of a drunken stupor. She heard a knock on her door and panic filled her. This wasn’t the type of place people dropped by to visit; they weren’t the kind of people who ever had company.

  Her mother shook awake her father, who was slouched over on the couch. “Did you pay Marty?” she asked, waving for Piper to sit still and be silent. “Huh?” her father groaned. “Yeah, I paid him today.” The knock came again, this time slightly louder. “Go get the damn door,” he said shoving his wife away from him. She tried to smooth down the matted parts of her brassy bleached hair and straighten her wrinkled shirt.

  Her mother pulled open the door and there stood a very timid looking Mr. Olivares. His hands were folded behind his back, his eyes trying hard to shine in the face of the horror he had seen walking through the building that was littered with trash.

  Now standing in the doorway looking at another travesty he’d only imagined before today, he spoke. “Hello, my name is Mr. Olivares. I’m a teacher at your daughter’s school. She had a tough day today and I just wanted to check in and make sure she was doing okay.”

  Her mother’s head spun around
and daggers shot from her eyes at her daughter who was trying hard to hide her fear. She wasn’t sure what was more frightening, Mr. Olivares discovering her horrible secrets or leaving without discovering them.

  “I’m fine,” she managed to croak out at the urging of her mother’s glare. Her father was now pulling himself to an upright position and joining the conversation.

  “They let wetbacks teach now? What’s this world coming to?” He managed to stand and stroll uneasily over to the door where Mr. Olivares now stood with wide, fear-filled eyes. Her father could have that effect on people. He had characteristics of a monster that he could flash whenever he liked, turning them on and off as needed. “I’m guessing you were trying to catch my little girl home alone, huh? You thought maybe you could have a little fun with her?”

  “No,” Mr. Olivares replied, his face twisted in confusion and disgust. “I can assure you that was not my intention. She had a rough day at school and I wanted to make sure you were aware of it and that she was feeling better. That was all.”

  “Well, we’re aware of it now,” snapped her mother, slamming the door in his face. Both her parents spun around and their eyes bore into her. She’d broken a cardinal rule. She’d brought attention to this house. That was not allowed. There would be hell to pay. As the dream turned into a reliving of the brutal beating she’d endured that day, her body couldn’t help but react.

  Piper shoved at Bobby’s arm that had been resting comfortably over her shoulder, and she pulled her hands up over her face, protecting it as she had from her parents’ blows. She drew her legs up, forcing her body into the smallest version of herself. As Bobby woke, finding Piper cowering next to him in bed, he searched the room, expecting to find some tangible danger. Then as he looked her over once more he realized she was asleep, fighting some kind of evil he couldn’t see.

  “Piper,” he boomed, reaching down and putting his hand on her shoulder and shaking her slightly. Piper’s arm shot up reflexively, her elbow connecting sharply with the skin above his eye and causing him to reel backwards in shock. The impact of her arm on real flesh rather than the ghosts of her dreams had Piper shooting up in bed, panting and trembling.