by Penelope Sky
The Eiffel Tower was there—exactly how I remembered it.
The pictures were on the walls, of my mother, of my friends…of my sister.
She stared back at me…beautiful…innocent.
The flowers in the vase were dead.
Magnus grabbed the book sitting at the edge of the desk…my copy of the Count of Monte Cristo. He stared at it for several heartbeats before he lowered it and looked at me, like he could really feel what I felt, understand how overwhelming this was…because it was written all over my face.
“Thank you…” When I blinked, more tears fell. I never thought I’d see this city again, be in this apartment again, and it was given to me, like I was back in time.
The longer he stared at me, the more his eyes softened, turning warm like a cup of coffee.
“Thank you.” I moved into him and wrapped my arms around him, embracing him like a friend. I held him close and let my tears absorb into his shirt.
This time, he hugged me back. His arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my head, his breathing escalating…like my emotion permeated his soul. He held me with his strong arms, holding me in front of the window that showed the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
When I pulled away, his hands slid over my body as he let me go, but his fingertips stayed on my hips.
I looked into his eyes, thinking about that picture of Melanie looking at me, smiling in her usual beautiful way. It would haunt me forever, knowing she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, that I was drinking coffee and working on an essay, while she was…god knows where. “Please help me…”
His eyes didn’t harden into anger this time. They remained soft, remained warm, remained…beautiful. His hands stayed on my body, and he studied my face, his eyes shifting slightly back and forth, like that request moved past his brain…and into his heart.
“I need my sister back, and you’re the only one who can help me.” Tears poured down my cheeks, in both happiness and despair. My life had been returned to me, but it would never be the same without her. “She’s all I have…the only family I have.”
His eyes dropped for just an instant, a subtle reaction. They flicked back up just as quickly, like he wanted to hide the movement, like he didn’t want me to know those words hit him exactly where I wanted them to. “Okay.”
The rain started to fall harder, pelting the window with large drops of water. It blurred the lights from the city, from the Eiffel Tower that was lit up in the distance. My arms remained around his neck and shoulders, and my eyes were still, looking into the sexiest brown eyes I’d ever seen.
I couldn’t believe he said that, said what I wanted to hear.
He didn’t blink as he looked at me, studying my reaction, like he knew how I felt without needing me to describe it in words. He knew me through my worst, knew me in the coldest winter, with my back lashed and blood dripping onto my sheets, so he knew every expression I made, even when I was happy, even if he’d never seen it before.
My heart beat frantically, and my surroundings felt like the background of a vivid dream. This was real, even if it didn’t feel that way. He gave me what I wanted and didn’t deny me again. My life was given back to me, one piece at a time, because this man wanted to give it to me. My breathing grew labored and deep, my eyes wetter than they were before. My hands slowly glided down to the crooks of his arms.
He stared down at me, giving me a look I recognized instantly. It had happened once before, alone together in a cabin in the snow, and he’d said the bluntest words a man had ever said to me.
Now it was my turn to say them. “I want you.” My eyes moved to his lips just a moment before he kissed me, watching them come toward me and press against my mouth. His hand slid into my hair at the same time, and instead of starting out slow, he gave me a passionate embrace, like we were picking up exactly where we’d left off. He already knew my mouth, knew my body, knew the way I reacted to specific touches everywhere.
His hands gripped me aggressively, squeezing my arms, my ass, the back of my neck, his mouth kissing me the way men kissed the women in movies…the way I’d never been kissed. Whenever his hands moved to my back, he was always gentle, always aware of the scars he’d given me, like the wounds were still fresh and bleeding.
I was still in the baggy clothes I took from the chateau, but he kissed me like I was in a mini dress and heels. My hands moved underneath his shirt that had drops of rain on the cotton and pulled it over his head, revealing the rock-hard chest that had been on top of me before. I was already familiar with his physique, so I touched the places I already knew, the hard muscles of his chest, the powerful abs of his stomach, his searing-hot skin, like he’d just run a mile in the summer heat.
His tongue was in my mouth, gliding past mine in an expertly executed kiss, taking my breath away before he sucked my bottom lip, tilted his head, and did it again…taking my breath away once more.
Other guys did not kiss like this.
They did not look like this.
They did not touch me like this.
His hands grabbed the material of my shirt and pulled it over my head, his mouth moving to my neck the second he got it free. He kneeled and kissed my collarbone, the hollow of my throat, his hand fisting my hair and knotting it. One of his large arms moved over my ass, and he lifted me off the floor and into his body, taking me from the office and moving to the closest bedroom.
My bed was unmade from the last time I’d slept in it, dirty panties on the floor that never made it into the hamper. My nightstand had an alarm clock that showed the time along with a tube of lipstick I had left there.
He laid me on the bed while moving on top of me, getting my sweatpants and panties off in one single pull. Clothes didn’t drop slowly like last time. We were both anxious, eager to have what we already knew was good. He kicked off his shoes and got his own jeans and boxers off before he moved on top of me, getting between my legs instantly, like he couldn’t wait another second to have me, like he’d wanted me for days, when it seemed like he’d been indifferent to me throughout that entire time.
He shoved himself inside me, knowing I was wet before he even touched me.
I moaned at his entrance, reunited with the physical bliss that made me forget every bad thing that had ever happened to me…for a time. My nails clawed into his shoulders, and my ankles locked together in the middle of his back as he ground against me, pressing my body into the mattress as he dominated me, gave it to me deep and hard, like everything we were doing wasn’t enough, like he needed more of me regardless of how much he had.
I couldn’t kiss him because I was breathing too hard to do so. He panted in my face, moving deep inside me every single time, anxious and desperate, like this was the first time rather than the second.
It was more passionate than last time.
I held on to him, cupping his face to mine and bringing our lips together as I came, whimpering and writhing like I didn’t know what to do with myself. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes because it was so good, causing both sets of toes to cramp because I’d tightened my body in so many ways.
His eyes were on me, and he gave it to me harder, thrusting my body into the mattress like he wanted me to be swallowed by it. He moaned as he made me come, like he could sense how good he made me feel.
My nails clawed at his back, feeling the mosaic of muscle that comprised his powerful frame. I rocked with him until I was finished, until the tears stopped falling and settled onto the pillow underneath me.
My ankles loosened around his back, and then I rolled him over so I could be on top.
He hesitated, as if he didn’t expect me to do that. The confusion remained on his face, like he liked to be in charge, liked to do the fucking while I just enjoyed it.
But once I started to roll my hips, take his dick while palming his chest, his expression changed.
He closed his eyes for an instant, groaning like he really enjoyed it.
I’d never been adv
enturous or one to take charge in the bedroom. Most of my lovers were short-term, and there’d never been enough time to have anything this passionate. But with him, I didn’t think twice about my actions…I just did them.
He propped himself up on one elbow and placed his open hand against my stomach, like he wanted to feel my body tighten and move, feel the way I rocked back and forth with the muscles I’d built up working in the camp.
Seeing the way he clenched his jaw like he’d never been fucked so good made me want to work harder, made my body get wetter because it was a turn-on. I leaned forward and arched my back, my face above his, our slick bodies moving together at a new angle.
He closed his eyes again and inhaled a deep breath. His hand moved to one ass cheek, and he gripped it hard, moving my ass up and down like he wanted a little more, like this was exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. Then he made a loud groan as he finished, his face getting flushed and red, so fucking handsome.
It made me come again.
It was different from last time.
He didn’t get up to leave.
There would be breaks of silence in between, and sometimes I would doze off, just to be reawakened with him on top of me. There was no discussion of the last thing he said to me, that he would give me what I wanted, and we chose to put that off until morning.
I turned on my side away from him and faced my nightstand, my eyes so tired I could barely make out the time on my clock.
It was 4:19.
We didn’t snuggle after sex. He stayed on his side, and I stayed on mine.
But he grabbed my arm and gently rolled me to my back.
I looked over my shoulder at him.
He lay on his back, his head turned my way. But then he looked at the ceiling again, his eyes eventually closing.
I rolled over again, unsure what that was about.
He grabbed me again and this time pulled me harder.
“What are you—”
“I don’t want to see.” His hand released me and returned to his stomach.
“Don’t want to see what?”
He closed his eyes.
Then it dawned on me.
My back.
I turned on my side the other way, my back displayed to the doorway.
He lay there, his breathing deep and even like he was relaxed.
I watched him, seeing how gentle he looked when he was relaxed, like he was a good man…who had a different life. We were two regular people in bed together, meeting in a coffee shop in the most romantic place in the world.
I saw the scar located behind his ear, the line from where the metal pipe had struck him and made it bleed. It was hard to look at it, reminding me of the pain I’d caused him with my bare hands.
I understood how he felt.
I moved into him and pressed a kiss to the scar, trying to replace the violence with affection.
He opened his eyes and looked at me.
I returned to my spot, keeping some space in between us, the rain still hitting the outside of the window.
His eyes watched me for a while, impossible to decipher. Minutes passed and the look continued, as if he didn’t understand what I did or why I did it. Then he turned his face back to the ceiling and closed his eyes.
21
The Boss
It was the first time I showered in my apartment.
I stepped out and looked at myself in the mirror, seeing how much I had changed in the familiar light. My skin had tanned so much that my old foundation was no longer the right color, but I still did my eyes and lips, made my hair full and nice, the way it used to be.
I almost didn’t recognize myself.
My clothes fit a little loosely because I’d lost some weight. My body was fit now, so everything was tight. I pulled on a pair of jeans, little booties, and a sweater before I headed downstairs.
It felt like a regular day, like nothing had happened.
I opened one of the drawers and found some extra cash before I left the building.
It was lunchtime for most people, but I’d woken up late after my long night, so it was still morning for me. I took the walk to my favorite café a block over. I walked past the windows, saw the people inside with their laptops and coffee. The counter held displays of their cookies and pastries, their assortment of freshly baked breads and cheeses.
I stopped at the window and looked inside.
The sound of cars was loud behind me, the bell on a passing bicycle, a dog barking at another dog farther down the sidewalk. It was an overcast day, and the sidewalk was still damp from the rain that had fallen last night…but it was the most beautiful day of my life.
I couldn’t believe it was real.
I stepped inside and placed my order, nearly forgetting how I liked my coffee. It was strange to talk to a real person, someone who had no idea what I’d survived. I stood there and waited for my food, listening to the blender, a customer talking obnoxiously loud on his phone, and the sound of quiet chatter as friends and family enjoyed lunch together.
I felt like I wasn’t really there, but a ghost instead.
When my food and coffee were ready, I walked back to the apartment.
Walked there…because I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted.
Everything in my apartment was moldy and expired, even the coffee, so I’d had to fetch something from the outside world. But even if there had been something to eat, I probably would have left anyway.
I returned to my apartment and set everything on the counter. Magnus was still asleep, and I had no idea how long he would stay that way. I went upstairs and placed the coffee cup at his bedside so it would be there when he opened his eyes. I crept inside and gently set it on the nightstand.
He opened his eyes and looked at me, his gaze sleepy like he was still out of it.
“It’s not hot chocolate, but it’s warm.”
He propped himself up on one arm, his hair messy from rolling around all night. His eyes were still heavy from sleep, but he looked me over, his eyes starting at my legs and slowly moving up until he looked at my face.
I knew I looked totally different, in a way he’d never seen before. I’d even shaved in the shower, so if he saw me naked again, I’d look different there too—not that I expected that to happen again.
His large arms were flexed and covered with veins, and his broad shoulders made the mattress dip underneath him. The sheets were at his waist, showing the chiseled abs and line of hair. A more beautiful man had never been in my bed before. Without blinking, he regarded me. “Beautiful.”
I didn’t know how to react to those words…the only compliment he’d ever given me on my appearance. “I have breakfast downstairs whenever you’re ready.” I left the coffee behind and ventured downstairs. The house was a mess and would be a pain to clean, but I was grateful to be there, so I refused to complain. I started on the dishes because that seemed to be the most pressing.
The chair pulled out from the kitchen island.
I stilled when I heard him behind me. I turned off the faucet, and I dried my hands. When I turned around, he was sitting on the stool, the same place where my sister had sat, shirtless with the coffee in his hand. He brought it to his lips and took a drink, watching me at the same time.
I opened one of the containers and gave it to him. “It might be cold…”
He pulled it toward himself and immediately started to eat, like he didn’t care if it was frozen solid.
I drank my coffee, the cream and spices an explosion of flavor on my tongue, the pumpkin reminding me of holiday parties and celebrations. It was something I’d thought I would never have again. Now I wanted it every single day until it was no longer on the menu.
He ate in silence, his hair still messy, the dark patch of hair between his pecs a little darker than the hair on the top of his head. He took bites and chewed, his eyes on me all the while.
I realized it was one of the few times I’d ever seen him eat.
&
nbsp; I was always the one eating.
Silence passed and we didn’t speak.
Sometimes it was tense between us, but there was always this underlying comfort, like we didn’t need to speak to feel connected. We could enjoy the silence and eye contact without filling it with pointless conversation.
I waited until he was finished eating before I got down to business. “How are we going to do this?”
He brought the coffee to his lips and took another drink, the empty tray in front of him. “Be more specific.”
“My sister. What else could I be talking about?”
He regarded me for a moment, taking another drink, his elbows on the counter, his muscular arms in full visibility. “Let me figure it out.”
“No.” My sister’s life was in the balance. I wasn’t going to let him execute this plan without telling me the details. “I’m a part of this.”
He set his cup on the counter and stared at the surface.
“Do you know where she is?”
He nodded.
“So, can we just go there and grab her?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly.” He lifted his gaze and looked at me. “I’ll go to his residence and talk to him. There’s no guarantee this will work. I told you I would help you. I didn’t guarantee I would be successful.”
“You have to be successful.” I kept my voice controlled, but I wanted to burst into a scream because failure was not an option in this.
He sighed before he straightened, sitting fully upright. “This is a lot more complicated than your life at the camp. Believe it or not, but the outside world is far worse than that place.”
I couldn’t believe that. “You’ve never been a prisoner, so you have no idea.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve survived.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his cold calmness was somehow more ominous. “I will do my best, but I can’t make him do whatever he doesn’t want to do. Honestly, I can’t think of a sound argument for getting him to comply. I’m gonna have to wing it.”