by Misti Murphy
His other hand leaves my knee to slide up the outside of my thigh to my hip, bunching my skirt up as he goes and holding it trapped between his hand and my body. He leaves me to stroke him while he runs his thumb over the front of my panties and presses it against my clit.
I shudder at the sensation. It rocks me so much I can’t stay still. Can’t keep stroking him. He rubs small circles over the silk again and again until my hands drop to his chest. Until I’m panting and rocking, and my vision blurs. That’s when he stops. When I’m so close to combusting. He hooks his fingers in my panties and tears through the silk. And I don’t even care. I love it. Especially when his bare fingers touch my swollen, wet flesh. I. Can’t. Stop. An orgasm shoots through me, like the vibrations of a speaker at a sold-out rock concert.
He flips us over. I’m under him now. Flat on my back on the carpet. His hands are on my panties. They tear through the rest of the silk, leaving nothing but the elastic around my waist. “This is what you want?”
“Please.” I nod and bite my lip.
“Okay then.” He moves fluidly, gracefully for such a big guy as he hovers over me. One hand skims my thigh, spreading me wider and then settles on my hip as he slides home and pulls me up at the same time.
I’m full of him. And it feels good. Spots dance in front of my eyes. I grip his biceps and squirm. The urge to move is overwhelming.
He bows his head and kisses me slowly as he draws away and plunges back. He’s gentle and rough at the same time. Our breaths mingle as we move faster. The sound of our damp bodies slapping together fills the air. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, and he groans against my neck before he flutters his lips at my collarbone.
I burst into flames like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar. Pleasure spreads from all the spots where he’s touching me; with his lips and his hands and his cock. It’s spectacular. My insides squeeze tight around him. My vision goes black. I hold on for dear life as another orgasm rushes me.
His weight falls on me. His groan is a roar in my ear. I feel him twitch inside me. Feel his cock spasm and the heat of his cum fill me. It triggers another orgasm.
So this is what I’ve been missing.
I sit up. I’m in bed. Naked, with nothing but a sheet over me. I sort of remember Nox talking to me after we had sex, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to bed. I was so drowsy from our fucking, so he’d undressed me. He’d stayed too, hadn’t he? I’d felt his weight settle on the bed beside me, his hand on my hip. Hadn’t been able to argue it. Didn’t want to. Oxytocin had addled my brain. Made me crave human contact. His contact. It’s not supposed to be like this.
The clock’s red digits say it’s after ten. He must have left for work at some point, the same as he did yesterday. I fall back against the pillows. I don’t know much about Nox Casey other than he refuses to end this marriage, he used to play guitar, and he fucks like a god, but even I can tell he’s stretching himself too thin. It’s wearing on him.
It shouldn’t have happened. Last night. It wasn’t what I intended. Sleeping with him has probably only made him assume that I’ll do it again. It’s not a bad assumption. I can’t say it won’t happen. Not if he continues making himself at home in my hotel room. He makes me feel things, want things that I’ve been so careful to avoid. He’s too easy to be with, and I don’t hate him. Maybe if I could...
There’s a knock on the door, accompanied by my phone pinging with an incoming message. Only Liv does that. She probably expects me to still be asleep. Jumping out of bed, I snatch up a dress and pull it on. Reaching for the zipper, I cross the suite to let her in.
Bouncing into the apartment, two coffees in her hands, she thrusts one at me with a huge smile on her face. “You look like you could use this.”
“Do I?” I take a sip from the takeaway cup and avoid making eye contact.
“Is he here?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play coy with me.” She rolls her eyes as she walks to the bedroom door and peers inside. “Nox, of course. Oh. Damn it. I was hoping he’d still be here.”
“How do you know he was?” I take another slug of coffee and put it down on the counter so that I can deal with the zip on my dress. It slides snugly into place as Liv turns around.
“I assumed. A man like that makes his mind up about something you expect follow through. And after what you said on the phone...”
He’s good at following through, that’s for sure. I drop onto the couch. The empty plates on the coffee table and our uneaten desserts have been cleared away. He must have done that before he left this morning. “How am I going to shake him, Liv? He somehow convinced the desk clerk to give him a key card. He’s everywhere I turn.”
She comes to sit beside me, resting her hands in her lap while she studies my face. “Is he harassing you?”
No. Nothing like that. Or not exactly. I like that he’s a man of his word. I like his attention and the way warmth spreads through me when he looks at me. When he touches me. It scares me a little too. I don’t believe in these feelings and emotions, so why are they happening? It doesn’t feel simply physical. Whether I understand the complex reactions that are taking place in my body doesn’t make them any less real. “Why can’t he let it go, Liv?”
“Maybe he thinks it’s worth pursuing.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “What if it is?”
“You know it’s not.” I frown at her. I must have liked him from the moment we met. More than liked him to marry him. But it’s all a cocktail of chemicals and certain areas of my brain firing up like fireworks that will pass just as quickly. “You know how I feel about this situation.”
“I know you think you can’t be happy with another person.” She clicks her tongue. “You haven’t exactly had any reason to believe otherwise. But the curse isn’t real.”
“At least we can agree on that.” I sip my coffee. My grandmother was the one who coined the McClain misfortune in relationships a curse. But all it is really is the inability to fall in love. Even my parents were only ever in lust, and then they were divorced by the time I was born.
“So what are you going to do?” she asks. “Are you going to leave?”
“No.” I put my coffee down and reach for my laptop. Leaving won’t help my problem. For all I know Nox will follow me to the ends of the earth at this point. I almost smile at the idea. Almost. But I can’t want that. No matter how much common sense I throw at the problem, inklings of doubt force their way through. It isn’t just my own luck I’m worried about. I don’t want to see him hurt just because he’s misguided about what this marriage should be. This isn’t how things are supposed to work out. “I have to make him sign the papers.”
“Okay.” She questions me with the lift of an eyebrow.
“Do you remember the Anti-Cupid project I worked on for the Bella website?” I open up the blog and click into the archives.
“It was hilarious,” she says.
“It was.” I pull up the article about how to get your man to dump you. The one I had planned to use before I thought he might have changed his mind. “I’m going to get him to want to sign them by being everything he can’t stand.”
The smile slips from her face. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s a humor article. It’s not based in reality.”
“I have to try something.” I close the lid on my laptop. “I can’t sit around and wait.”
Liv’s quiet for a long moment. She twiddles her thumbs. Eventually she clears her throat. “You know this isn’t the same as—”
“I know,” I snap. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to remember being sixteen and thinking I was invincible. I flirted with love, flaunted it. We were the ones who were going to make it last. Until it didn’t. I shut my eyes and push all that sentimental bullshit down deep, where it belongs. I can’t do it again.
“And there really is no curse. Sometimes things happen for no reason.”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“It’s what I have to do.” I glance around the hotel suite. “But I can’t do it here. Time to take this show on the road.”
“You’re moving in with him,” she says.
“Exactly.” I jump up. I need to pack and organize everything. “I need to find out where he lives.”
“I know someone who can help with that. The bartender, Jack, is Nox’s brother.” Head tilted to the side, she taps her pink fingernails on her chin until I start to squirm. Her smile grows, taking over her face and making her eyes suspiciously sparkly. “You’re actually moving in with him.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I tell her as I march toward the bedroom. This isn’t about getting closer to the man who is my husband. It’s about finding a way out of this mess I put myself in. I still have no idea why I did it in the first place, but I will end it.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, I trudge up the dirt road to the cabin. Jack had handed over the address to Liv without a second thought. He’d even told her where the spare key was. The wooden steps echo under my feet as I climb them. There’s a small plaque hanging on the vertical wood cladding by the door, with the name Casey Cabin burned into it. I stroke my fingers over it before lifting it up to get the key.
This is crazy. Moving in with a man so I can push him away is crazy. But then so was marrying him. I shove the key into the lock, twist it. The door swings gently inward. Taking a deep breath, I hesitate, but drastic measures are needed if I’m going to get Nox to sign the divorce papers.
Stepping inside the empty cabin, I glance around the living space. My suitcase thuds on the wooden floor as I put it down in the kitchen. Placing the key on the island, I murmur into the silence, “Honey, I’m home.”
CHAPTER NINE
Marriage is a horror movie.
No one gets out alive except the virgin.
And we all know there are no virgins after the wedding night.
Only bunny boilers.
NOX
Tossing my keys at the counter, I open the freezer to take out one of the containers Lou usually drops off while I’m working. No matter how many times I tell my sister that it isn’t necessary she continues to do it. “It’s leftovers,” she says, or, “You know I’ll just have to throw it out.” It’s her way of helping out and making sure I eat. Can’t argue it. Not when I barely have time to scratch my balls.
Worked my ass off today. Can’t get ahead no matter how hard I try. Now I’m distracted. Tried not to think about Beck. Couldn’t manage it. Dean called me out on it. I was whistling or some such shit. An old Stone Temple Pilots song. Apparently I haven’t done that in years if he’s to be believed.
I reach into the full freezer and pull out a tub of ice cream. Fat free? What the hell? Fat free yogurt. Low carb sugar free cheesecake. Like that even makes sense. Vodka. I shut the door. What’s Lou trying to do to me? My stomach grumbles hollowly.
I’ll feed Hollander and go see Beck. It’s my turn to take care of her. I’ll take her out for dinner. We can talk about Sophie or whatever she wants. Or us. Tried to tell myself it was only about the money, but I want more. Want to make the most of the time that she’s here. Want to take her to bed again. Want to find out what makes her tick.
“Hollander, dinner time,” I call out as I open the fridge. Where’s my beer? Hollander’s food? Why is there tofu on my top shelf? Cottage cheese. And what the hell is this? I pick up the small tub in the door. Eye cream. What the fuck? Who keeps stuff they use on their face in with food? This shit’s not edible. The door slips from my hand and rattles closed. And where’s my cat? He’s always about my feet the minute I walk in the door.
I turn around and actually look at my cabin. There’s a potted fern on the side table without anything under it. A pool of dirty water is already staining the tabletop. There are magazines and books and coffee mugs on every surface of my living room. Crossing the space, I pick up the fern and bring it back to the kitchen. Sit it in the sink.
I need a minute to come to grips with what I’m seeing. I stride into the bathroom. Turn the water on. Splash my face. Glance at the mirror. A woman has moved in with me. Beck, it has to be Beck. Oh, she has to be kidding.
Opening the medicine cabinet, I gape at the boxes of tampons and panty liners. Stare at the tubes of hair removal cream and hemorrhoid ointment. Picking up a box, I turn it over. Birth control. At least that’s something to be grateful for. A pink towel hangs over mine on the rail. Another, sopping wet, is scrunched up on the floor. My shower has been invaded by three million different bottles in a rainbow of hues, and a pink shower cap with hearts all over it.
“Beck?” My wife has moved into my house and taken over... Didn’t foresee this. Didn’t expect her to make this type of move with her almost allergic reaction to my refusal to end our marriage. Figured I’d end up at the hotel with her for the next three months, and that we would co-exist in a temporary way with plenty of space. And after last night, I expected she’d have her guard up even higher than it was before, though I planned on tearing it down again and again. I clear my throat as I walk from the bathroom to the bedroom. “Beck, we’re going to have a conversation...”
Beck’s on my bed. Fast asleep, curled up on her side. Her dress has ridden up her thighs, exposing golden skin and a few light bruises from where my hands were on her last night. One arm is under her head. The other is thrown over Hollander. My big, fat feline lifts his furry head and yawns before settling it on his paws again. He couldn’t care less that I’m home, snuggled up in her arms. Damn traitor.
Lena hated Hollander. She turned her nose up and said she was allergic. She wasn’t though. Used to chuckle at the fact that he’d take every opportunity to get close to her, like he knew doing so would aggravate her. Became so bad that I had to keep him at Lou’s. Damn cats are smarter than people sometimes.
This is different though. Unexpected. Hollander’s like a dog. Loyal to one person. He never behaved like this with Lena. Never curled up like he is with Beck. Can’t help but smile. Her moving in and turning my place upside down isn’t that bad. Three months with her under my roof isn’t that different from spending the time in a hotel suite. I back out of the room, pulling the door closed. Let her sleep. We can talk later.
Juice swollen oranges litter the ground, split open and spilling their guts onto the hard earth. The pervasive scent of spoiled fruit lingers under the aroma of the trees. Everyone’s busy. Too busy. There’s not enough time. Not enough money either. Sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades and I prop the rake against a tree while I take off my shirt and stuff it in my back pocket.
These trees. Biggest mistake of my life. Lena wanted them. Had to have them. I pick up the rake and go back to piling up the spoiled fruit. Gave her everything she could ever want and look where it landed me. Fucking oranges.
“Is this why you always smell like oranges?”
I turn around at the sound of her voice. Beck stands under one of the trees, her back against the trunk. She’s wearing a tank top and denim shorts; the kind that have the pockets hanging out from the legs and make no sense. On her they look cute. “Could be.”
“I thought you didn’t like them.” She glances up at the fat balls above her head. “You cuss every time someone mentions them.”
“They’re a nuisance.”
“They’re fruit.” She wrinkles her nose.
“They’re beginning to rot. The ones that have fallen off the trees.”
“Oh.” She steps out from under the tree. Her gaze flicks to my chest and then settles on my face. “That’s why it smells different.”
I go back to raking. Almost done now. Not much light left an
yway. The sun is being eaten up by the horizon. “You moved in.”
“You noticed.”
How could I not when it looked like a tornado went through my house? Not going to tell her that. Not yet at least. Don’t want her to leave. The fact that she’s here and talking to me is more than I hoped for after last night. “That I can’t feed Hollander, and that there was an angel in my bed. I noticed.”
“I’m no angel.” She shakes her head and the end of her ponytail bounces against her shoulder. “That’s his name?”
“Yeah. He likes you,” I say. “He doesn’t usually like people.”
“I like him too.” She walks right up to me. “Does it bother you that I moved in?”
“No.” I swap the rake for a shovel and a hessian bag. “No, it doesn’t.”
Her eyes widen almost indiscernibly. She hides her shock well. Plucking the bag from my hands she holds it open. “I should have asked though. Or mentioned it. Or—”
“You’re my wife.” I shrug it off. “This is your home.”
The grooves in her forehead become noticeable, but she doesn’t say anything. Digging the shovel into the pile of oranges, I start to scoop them into the bag. She’s not here because she wants to be. She’s goading me. Someone with her attitude toward marriage and relationships doesn’t up and change overnight, no matter how fantastic the sex was.
Doesn’t mean I won’t use her being under my roof to my full advantage. Whatever she’s doing here, whatever she’s playing at, I’m not going to let it faze me. The money is too important. Life changing. It could fix everything. If I have to put up with Beck trying to turn my world upside down, so be it. I’ve done it before. Can do it again for a time. Lena destroyed me, but Beck will save me. Even if she never knows it. It’s kind of fitting really.
“I didn’t know about Hollander’s food,” she says as I scoop the last of the oranges into the bag. “Is there anywhere I can get more tonight?”