by Liv Morris
“No more or this game is over. Done,” I say, but I’m not ready to go nuclear yet.
“Relax, babe. I’ll only use my hands to turn you on.” He thrusts one finger inside me as another circles my clitoris.. “Like this.” My shoulders relax and I release my anger. It’s useless to stay worked up with no way to fight him.
I close my eyes as he begins murmuring, his tone thick with desire. “Love you. Fucking hot. Like never before.” Round and round, his fingers and words go.
It’s wrong; maybe worse than the game James demands I play, but I pretend it’s Sin who’s speaking to me. Touching me. Holding me at his will. I remember back to the smell of his cologne last night in the car. It reminded me of the scent of the forest after a rain combined with the slight hint of leather. I press my nose closer to the wood table and inhale. My body reacts to my fantasy, pushing back against James’ fingers.
“Babe. See? You love this, too.” My action is misinterpreted, but I keep the truth locked safely inside me.
He flicks his tongue over my sex and I tense, so close to climaxing. I can’t believe he’s brought me to the edge like this, or was it my Sin-filled thoughts? My traitorous body starts to release and I take another deep breath of the wood, fueling my senses as pleasure I’ve never experienced ripples through my body.
I hear a faint clicking sound as I float down from my high and wonder if James is releasing me from the cuffs. I open my eyes, and—holy hell. Sin, or who I think is Sin, is standing down the hallway leading to the garage.
I blink rapidly, but the image of him remains. His eyes and mouth are open wide. Nothing moves. His face is still, his body stands stiff. From the look on his face, he’s shocked as shit to see me spread out on the table, bound by my arms and legs.
I want to die, leave this body and escape his dazed stare. James has no idea Sin’s standing there observing the scene, the narrow, dark hallway hiding his presence. If Sin moves forward a few inches, his cover will be blown. James will freak out if he knows Sin’s been watching him and all hell will break loose.
“Damn, Harlow.” James places himself between my legs and holds my hips in his hands. A second later, he shoves himself inside of me and thrusts, his pace punishing. “I’ve never seen you come like that. So hard, babe. So hot.”
My body lunges forward and retreats back on the table as James controls my position. My eyes stay focused on Sin, and his are trained on me, too. They’ve become hooded and turned fully brown without a speck of gold as he watches me get fucked. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I’m on fire, burning under Sin’s gaze. I should stop looking at him like this—it is wrong, so horribly wrong.
After a few moments, he shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, but doesn’t make a sound. The lust-filled look in his eyes has disappeared too, the spell between us broken. He regards me with a creased brow and shakes his head. Lust to pity in a heartbeat. Shame fills my heart.
Humiliated, I mouth the words, “Please go,” and turn my head to the other side. I wait and listen. When I hear the familiar clicking sound, I exhale. He’s gone. But whatever we just shared, I’ll never be able to forget.
Chapter Thirteen
Harlow
“Hey, kiddo!” I lift my head to see Paul Macklin, Rochester Country Club’s primo bartender, calling to me as I enter the bar. I’m thrilled he’s on the clock today.
He throws a white hand towel over his shoulder and flashes his trademark, toothy grin. A weight I didn’t realize I was carrying lifts from my shoulders. Even after a hot shower, nothing had removed the cold chill left over from this morning until I saw his face. I approach the shiny wooden counter as he splays his hands against it.
“Hey, Paul. It’s been awhile.” I return his welcoming smile and glance at the liquid lunch crowd gathering around the bar.
I am met with blank faces. No one remembers me from years ago, or being here without James by my side since his presence outshines mine. I exhale the breath I’m holding and let my shoulders fall.
Different people have sat on these barstools over time, but Paul has been the constant. He was also a dear friend of my late mother, who worked here with him as a barmaid. I have no memory of her working anywhere else.
“It’s been longer than awhile. I haven’t seen you here alone since …” he trails off, his face contorting into a grimace, and I know why. I have always believed Paul wanted to be more than a friend to my mother. I brush the thought away. It leads down a dark road of what ifs.
All my life, this exclusive club served as my home away from home. Paul would let me make my own Shirley Temple’s behind the bar when no one was looking. Employee policies prohibited me from mingling with the club’s patrons, so I hid myself away from their view. As a child, I found a small nook with a padded window seat off a service hallway to sit in and read, do homework, or write my poetry. Once I was old enough to stay home by myself, I hardly ever came to the club. But when I did, I always huddled inside the nook’s safety.
The club divided two worlds, the rich of Rochester and those who worked for them. Today, I’m standing on the other side of the divide, and I feel no different than the young girl who hid away in the nook. I’m just me, Harlow, daughter of a hardworking single mother.
“It’s so hard to be here by myself without her.” I glance down as I speak, fearing I might break down in tears. Between what I endured with James this morning and walking into this club today to see Emma, I’ll be lucky to have a flake of mascara on my lashes when I leave.
“Well, it’s great to see you.”
“And you’re a sight for sore eyes.” And my sore heart.
I move sideways and steal the corner barstool since it’s far away from the other club members. Placing my Prada handbag on the empty seat next to me, I lean forward with a sigh.
“What’s your poison, little lady?” he asks. “I’m guessing you’ve outgrown your usual Temple with a twist. You look like you could use something strong.”
“What makes you think that?” I clip, regretting how sharp my comment comes out the second Paul’s smile fades. Any other day, those words wouldn’t have been spoken, but my emotions are teetering between tears and anger. They’re bubbling up inside me for the first time in months.
“Sorry, Paul.” I reach over and pat his hand. He shakes his head once, as if to clear the memory, and his smile returns.
“It’s okay. I understand,” Paul says quietly. Our eyes meet and we don’t have to speak. I forgot how close I was with him. I’m so thankful I was able to escape the house today, even if it came with a price.
“I think you’re right. Something strong. Dirty martini, please.”
“Well, you’re going for broke. Vodka?” he asks while retrieving a glass from under the counter. I nod before he walks to the long line of bottles against the back wall. So many to choose from, but all of them have the same purpose. They numb. It’s guaranteed.
I lick my lips while I watch Paul pour the vodka into a chrome shaker. He turns and speaks to the older gentlemen at the bar who likely finished a round of golf and is enjoying the benefits of retirement at the 19th Hole. He shakes my martini in one hand while serving a drink to a man with the other. He begins to walk toward me with a glass of the much needed elixir.
“What brings you here during the daylight? I’ve only seen you at a distance with Dr. Elliott.” Paul lays a napkin down and places my drink on it. Small ice shavings float on the top of the liquid and before tasting, I know it’s how I love my martinis: cold.
“You make me sound like a vampire,” I say with a teasing smile and take my first sip, letting the coolness ease down my throat. “I’m meeting a friend and need to talk to her about my wedding.” And who I’m marrying.
I don’t miss Paul’s frown at the mention of my wedding. The conversation we are about to have wouldn’t happen if I were attached to James’ arm, but I want to hear his thoughts.
“So, you’re marrying the doctor? The old guy,�
� he inquires in a roundabout way. I decide to dish it back at him.
“Do you consider yourself an ‘old guy’?” One side of my mouth curls up as he ponders. “Because I believe you’re older than my fiancé. By a lot.”
“Okay, good point.” He laughs off my jab and shuffles toward me. “You are so young and …”
His voice fades away while he gazes over my shoulder. I watch his body go still and keep my head straight ahead. There’s no one behind me except a ghost’s memory.
“… and beautiful like your mother,” he finally says as his eyes find mine, his desolate stare piercing right into me. “Just promise me you’ll really think about this marriage before you jump in. I’ve been around since your ‘old guy’ came to town.”
I inch forward, expecting Paul to continue with more details or unsolicited opinions. Instead, he pats the area in front of me and tilts his head toward the retired golf crew at the other end of the long counter. “Better get back to the really old guys.”
I sink into the cushioned back of the stool and sip on my drink. James is seventeen years older than me, and our age difference doesn’t sit well in a place like Rochester, Minnesota, a town of traditions and long held values. People who rock boats in this small town tend to find themselves tossed overboard, swimming alone.
I witnessed this with my own mother. She came to this city as a single and pregnant nineteen-year-old and never shook the stigma of shame. Women whispered and turned their backs on us as we passed by them on the streets. She would take my hand and smile reassuringly at me, but the pain in her eyes gave the sting away.
Those judgmental people didn’t see her for who she truly was. She was a great mother who loved me with all her heart and worked hard to put food on the table.
Speaking of food … I glance at the jeweled watch on my wrist and wonder where Emma could be. She was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago. I pull my phone out of my purse and check to see if she’s tried to reach me, but there’s nothing from her. All I have are the texts from James that started this morning.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. No worries.”
“Call me if you have any issues at the club.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t stop thinking about this morning.”
I don’t reply to his last text. I can’t stop thinking about it either, but my thoughts likely differ from his. Mine focus on Sin standing there watching me as I lay bound. I drain more of my drink in hopes it helps me forget the look in his eyes. Though, no amount of alcohol will erase my shame. I tuck my phone back into my bag and keep glancing at the entrance to the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of Emma.
I look down and twirl the olive-laden toothpick in my glass. On my empty stomach, the alcohol starts to loosen the tightness in my chest.
Behind me, I hear the clicking of heels drawing near on the mahogany floors. I lift my gaze and the smiling face of my best friend greets me.
“You made it.” I can’t hide the relief. It’s been weeks since we were last face-to-face. I’m hoping her cheerful enthusiasm will help turn this dark day around for me.
“Harlow. Sorry I’m late.” Emma hugs me so tight, I can barely take a breath. She pulls away just enough to look me in the face and focuses on my eyes. Her brows knit together and I glance away. She must not like what she sees.
“What the hell is going on, Harlow?”
I shrug my shoulders and keep my eyes trained on the wood floor. With tears threatening, I’m afraid to meet her eyes again. She moves my handbag to the bar top so she can sit down next to me.
“You know you can tell me anything. Please, talk to me. I’ve been worried sick about you and something is really wrong. Weeks have gone by and you haven’t even replied to my texts. We’ve been friends since we were five years old and we’ve never gone a day or two without talking. Not until you met him.”
She takes my hands in hers. Her gentle touch works as a trigger and my tears begin to fall. It’s like someone punched a hole in my heart and the hurt came tumbling out.
“I have missed you more than I can even say.” I sniffle and speak through my tears. “I hate to have a breakdown here in public.”
“Are you kidding?” Emma says, reaching beyond the counter’s edge to retrieve a few more cocktail napkins. “I think we both may need these.”
“Me, too.” I wipe my eyes and nose with the napkin. They’re high-quality and soft, close enough to a tissue. “I should’ve called you. I feel like the last four months have been a haze.”
“I know, Harlow. You’ve been through so much. I hate that I haven’t been there to help you. Obviously, things have been tough. You need to tell me about Dr. Elliott. James. What’s going on with him?”
“Where do I even start?” I scoff.
“Where it hurts.” Ouch. Everything hurts right now. “Let me order a drink. I think I’m going to need one.” She smiles reassuringly at me and signals for Paul’s attention. He’s waving his arms in the air like he’s telling some long-winded story to a patron at the bar.
“Okay. Just give me one of whatever you’ve been drinking. It seems to be working fine for you.” Emma winks in my direction as Paul approaches us.
“Two more please.” I smile up at Paul with what I’m sure is a loopy grin mixed with my red eyes from crying, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he knits his brows together and shakes his head. I think he’s going to be a party pooper.
“How about ordering some lunch first?” I hate to admit it, but he’s probably right. I pluck my two olives out of my empty glass and pop them into my mouth.
“One serving of vegetables down.” Paul rolls his eyes at my silly display and it only fuels more laughs from me. I think they’re coming from my frayed nerves. “At least give Emma her first drink of the day.”
“Okay,” Paul acquiesces, but only after laying down a couple lunch menus in front of us, the “you need to eat something” message loud and clear.
Paul brings Emma her own dirty martini and me a lonely glass of ice water without even a lemon for a garnish. I run my tongue over my lips, hoping to taste the remnants of my long gone martini, but I know Paul’s right. It’s too early to be working a buzz and I’m driving.
After settling the bar with Paul, which means I charged it to James’ account, Emma and I move to the dining room. The hostess recognizes me as James’ fiancée and seats us in a corner booth as I request.
Once we are seated, we order the ladies lunch option of Cobb salad. I pick through mine, focusing on the perfectly ripe avocados, and wait for Emma to pick up the conversation where we left it at the bar.
“So, let’s start at the tears, or somewhere close. I’m surprised he let you come here. He has kept you all to himself for months.” Emma raises her eyebrows.
“It wasn’t easy to get away today.” I glance down at my plate and shift in my chair, remembering the bargain I made with James. No way in hell could I tell her what happened between James and me, though. In the blink of an eye, she would kidnap me and move me across the border to Canada.
“I don’t understand why it’s hard to leave your house and meet me. Or return a call?” She pushes her half-eaten salad away. The conversation has killed my appetite, too.
“He’s been worried about Tony’s family. Supposedly, the police said his family feels I’m to blame for his death.”
“Wait. Are they really after you?”
“I haven’t seen anything that would back it up. I’ve only heard this from James.” I want to tell Emma it’s likely a lie, but I don’t.
“I don’t get it. Is he forbidding you from talking to me, too?”
“I don’t know, Emma. I guess he has been.” It’s a half-truth, or a partial lie. I do know and he has forbidden me.
“You understand this is twisted, don’t you? You’re a grown woman with the right to come and go as you please,” she says, frowning at me, concern etched in her eyes. “It’s like you’re his posse
ssion.”
I can’t argue with her. She makes it sound so simple, and it is to her. She has a backbone made of steel and the support of a loving family. I had nowhere to turn when I was crushed by life. Also, I have nothing. Not even a single dollar. This fact overwhelms me every time I dwell on it.
“I’m sorry if I’m hitting too close to home, but I worry about you. I’ve known you since kindergarten—hell, I don’t remember not being your best friend. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re happy and I’ll stop. I’ll even try to support you, but it will be hard.”
“Happy?” I laugh the word away. “I have no idea what that means anymore. Since my mother …” Tears burn my eyes and I can’t go any further without breaking down into a complete sob fest.
“You haven’t had time to work through her loss. And why the rush to get married?”
This question, I can answer. “James wants to give me his name and make me his family. I have no idea who my family is.”
“Harlow, you’re like my sister.” Emma’s eyes fill with tears, and so do mine. “Seeing you crying and hurting is killing me.” She reaches for my hand. “I think you need time away from him to decide what to do with him and your life.”
“Things with James started out so differently.” I take a deep breath and prepare to tell her the truth … or part of it. “He made me feel safe. The bottom dropped out of my world and he was there to pick me up.”
“When I last saw you, two weeks after … well, after everything,” like me, she doesn’t even want to mention the topic directly, “I wanted to tell you I’d wished you’d called me, the night she died.”
Me, too. I sigh.
“He promised to right my upside-down world. Give me a chance to move forward. All I needed to do was focus on my future with him and move on from my past.”
It’s this morning, along with his excessive demands for sex and control I can’t move past right now, but I can’t tell Emma that. At least, not yet.