Chapter Nineteen - Victoria
The power goes out again just as we’re finishing our dinner. Lobster is not the same without butter. We don’t even have salt and pepper. So it’s nourishment, but nothing else.
“Shit,” West says.
I don’t even bother commenting. Something is wrong and he knows something is wrong. He’s lying. He’s keeping things from me. He’s either not interested in having me freak out about it, or he’s actually worried about the situation we find ourselves in.
I’m not sure which of those options is better.
If he’s trying to prevent a freakout, well, then I’m pissed off that he thinks I’m so excitable that he needs to manage me. And if he’s worried…
That’s even worse. Weston isn’t a worrier. He’s a go-with-the-flow kind of person. It’s one of the reasons we clash so much.
I’m not good at flowing.
“I’m not going out to try to fix the power,” West says.
I say nothing.
“It’s late. We should just try to sleep. I’ll get to it tomorrow when it’s light.”
I don’t know how we’re supposed to sleep with the wind. It sounds like the roof might blow off any moment. And there’s nowhere to sleep, anyway. Except the couch.
“I’ll take the floor,” West says, grabbing our plates and making his way to the sink in the darkness.
There’s a little bit of light. I’m not even sure where it’s coming from, since outside there’s no moon and no stars. But it’s not pitch black.
“Victoria?” West says, making his way back to where I’m sitting. He puts his hand on my bare shoulder—I’m still wearing nothing but this towel—and gives it a squeeze. “Come on, let’s sleep.”
He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch, then makes me sit. He sits next to me. “You’re too quiet,” he says.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“All the ways this situation can go bad.”
“We’re fine.”
“You’re lying. Something is going on here and we’re not fine. We need to get off this island.”
“We’ll worry about it tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do now. Let’s just sleep.”
“I’m cold. We have no blankets.”
“We have towels.” He gets up and finds his way across the room to the closet with the towels. A few minutes later he comes back and starts draping them over me. Once I’m covered, he lays one on the floor.
“Stop it,” I say. “You’re not sleeping on that filthy floor. Just sit next me. Keep me warm.”
I can almost feel his smile, even though he says nothing. When he sits his body is warm, but not warm enough. I curl into him, seeking more.
He puts his arm around me and sighs. “We are gonna be fine, Tori. I promise. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”
“I know.” And I do. It’s one of the things I both love, and hate, about him. His protectiveness borders on possessiveness.
“So…” he says. “What have you been up to the past few years? Your company was going so well the last time we spoke. I’m surprised you’re in such bad shape.”
“I got distracted. My father’s…” But I stop. I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t talk about it.
“I’m sorry about him. You know I always loved him.”
I nod. “I know.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Normally I’d lie about this. If West and I had met up in some random coffee shop in the city and he asked me this, I’d say, Too many to count. Or something else equally ridiculous. Just to piss him off. But I’m too distracted to lie, so I just say, “No.”
We have a few minutes of awkward silence after that. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, when the awkwardness starts to border on uncomfortable.
“Nope. I wouldn’t have touched you earlier if I did.”
I roll my eyes in the dark. Weston Conrad and all his high and mighty morals.
“It felt good though,” West says, leaning into my ear. “Wanna do it again?”
His question has an immediate effect on me. I get a warm feeling between my legs. A tingle of possibilities. And every part of skin that is touching him comes alive.
“Tori?” he whispers, repositioning himself so he can lean into me more. “Tori?” he says again, placing one hand on my cheek and turning my face towards his. “Answer me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Want me to talk you into it?”
I huff out a small laugh. That’s what he always asked when he knew I wasn’t in the mood.
“Huh?” he asks again, his hand twisting the little corner of the towel that’s holding it closed against my breasts. It falls away and his hand is there, squeezing and kneading.
I know how this game is played. I don’t have to say anything to make him keep going. He will persist in his quest to get himself inside me unless I say no.
But I don’t feel like saying no right now. So I say, “Yes.”
This one word coming from my own mouth has the same effect as his first question. Heat and a spark of desire.
“I’ll make you come first this time,” he says, kissing my neck.
I take a deep breath and reach for his cock. I push the towel he’s still wearing up, and grab him in my fist. He’s rock hard already. I have never made a play for his dick and found him anything else but rock hard for me.
“I know what you need, Victoria. You know I have those secrets.”
“Shut up,” I whisper. I don’t want to hear anything about secrets right now. I just want the whole world to go away. I just want the darkness and the emptiness to become the same. I moan as West bites my earlobe. I just want him to make me forget everything for a few minutes.
I just want to be free of all this worry and stress.
“I already said yes,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. “So just stop talking and make me feel good.”
“The way I used to?” he asks.
I could get lost forever in the memories of how Weston Conrad used to make me feel. It’s like a slow fall into madness when I let those thoughts invade reality. So I don’t go there now. I shake my head and keep silent. And he’s moved on, anyway. His mouth is on my breast, his hands between my legs. He doesn’t want an answer, he just wanted to make me think about how good it was.
And it was good. Great, most of the time. But the moments when it wasn’t were unbearable. The lies between us are still there. We are still keeping secrets and I can’t think of a single reason that I would give mine up now. They almost don’t matter anymore. It’s practically over for me.
I can’t imagine that Weston Conrad, after getting away with keeping his, after all he went through, would ever hand over the things he’s got locked inside him either.
Those secrets have served him well.
He’s winning this game.
He is the winner.