Chapter Twenty-Four
“Well, I really blew it this time,” I said as the ride share drove me through the windswept streets.
“Come over,” Evelyn said. “I’ve got wine and I can watch you drink it.”
“No, I’m going home. I need to think.”
“He’ll come back,” she insisted.
“No, I don’t think so. I said some things that were pretty shitty.”
“He’ll be back. I guarantee it.”
Tears nearly blinded me but I let them flow. I was on a side street, nearing my apartment complex. “It’s all right. Thanks for all your help though. I’ll be fine.” My voice broke.
“Oh, Melody,” my friend said. “Want me to call him?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Gonna go. Bye.” I got out of the car, sobbing like the stupid bitch I was. “God damn, shit, fuck, hell,” I spat into the air. “What is wrong with you? Did you really think he’d just…just…just let you say all that and not react?”
But I had needed to say it. I needed him to know my fears about him. About how all the rumors about him that would swirl around me like blown leaves affected me. About how much his abandonment of me had hurt. Even though I really did forgive him for it.
“Then why did you say those horrible things? Jesus!” I wandered around the darkened lawn between buildings, needing the air and space, not the confined box of my apartment. Finally, I was so cold my teeth chattered, so I ran down the steps and threw open my door. The space, which had looked like something I was about to put behind me after tonight’s date, was back to its dreary, single-working-girl vibe.
“Fuck!” I shrieked and threw my purse against the wall. “Fucking asshole! I hate you!”
I dropped to the floor where I stood, screaming, cursing, crying like an insane person. Gripping my arms, I rocked back and forth, recalling the horror of my life before Trent. The lonely hours, the boring jobs, the pretending that I had all I wanted.
Sobbing and shivering, I crawled to the sliding glass door, needing fresh air. I opened it a crack and sat, sucking in the cold oxygen, curled in a ball on the floor. All I could see was his face and his eyes, so compelling and beautiful, and so very hurt by me and what I’d said. I glanced around the room, picturing him there, in the chair with his blindfold and confessions. He had trusted me. And I’d tossed that in his face like so much shit.
“You’re a closed-off bitch.” The words rolled around in my head, taunting me, reminding me that I had very likely just ruined something that could be—would be—perfect.
I sat, shivering the air, but wanting it at the same time, staring into the dark for an hour, maybe more. By the time I got up, stiff and sore, my head pounding from crying and regret, it was nearly ten-thirty. I drank some water, pondered and rejected food and stared at my phone screen, wishing he’d reach out and knowing that I’d nailed that coffin good and shut.
I slid to the floor again and sat in the kitchen cross-legged, chin in my hand, ticking through ways I might get him back. It was my turn to make the gesture. But as long as I sat there and tried to conjure one, a solution wouldn’t present itself.
I got up and shed my clothes—chosen carefully to highlight the things he loved about my body—on my way to the bathroom. I turned on the shower water, stared at it a while then wrenched it back off with a curse. I stood in my bra and panties, staring at myself in the mirror. I put a hand on my stomach, where I’d held his child for a brief time, for all the wrong reasons. I blinked at myself, realizing this. I’d not had the abortion for a lot of reasons, but one of them had been, plain and simple, to prove something to him. But I didn’t have to prove anything to him.
I flinched at this reality.
Nice work, Melody. Seriously, well done. The world’s most perfect man told you tonight more than once that he wanted to marry you and you called him a Svengali-esque playboy?
“Oh Jesus,” I moaned out loud, hand to my lips. I ran for my phone, skipping the text and going straight for a call. It rang and rang, and when his deep, delicious recorded voice hit my ears I cursed, and dialed again. After the sixth time, I left a message.
“I’m sorry, Trent. I didn’t mean it. I was awful. I love you. Please…call me back.”
I stared at the phone, my heart sinking. I pulled the blanket over my near naked body and curled into a ball, clutching the phone in both my hands, praying like I’d never prayed before.
The doorbell rang in my dreams first. I was in the middle of the floor, naked, blindfolded, softly bound at my wrists. But I wasn’t afraid. I was happy, so happy that I was laughing. Then the doorbell rang once, then again. I stopped laughing and turned to the door, confused by the interruption.
I opened my eyes with a gasp when the doorbell changed to pounding and yelling. I dragged the blanket around me and peered out the peep hole. Pulse racing, I opened the door. Trent stood in the dim hallway, crisp dress shirt wrinkled, tie pulled low, cufflinks undone and the sleeves rolled up. He had both hands on the doorjamb, propping himself up.
“I tried,” he said as he stared at the floor. “I tried so hard.”
I wanted to touch him, to pull him to me, but something held me back. My inner cold bitch would not release me to act the way I wanted to act. I stared at him, frozen to the spot.
He sucked in a breath and blew it out, bathing my face in whiskey fumes. “I wanted to forget you. I tried. I was going to…to…do what I needed to do. I was going to fuck some random, blindfolded woman’s ever loving brains out. And forget all about you.” He looked up and the expression on his face did two things to me at once—fear trickled into my mind, while a warm rush of sweet, Trent-induced lust filled my chest. “I needed to purge you,” he spat at me. “I have to be rid of you. I can’t do this anymore.”
I touched his chest. He flinched, removed his hands from the wall and rose to his full height. The heat of his skin through the wrinkly shirt ramped up my longing for him.
“This isn’t just about sex,” he insisted, taking a step forward straight into my personal space.
“I know,” I said, standing my ground. Our bodies were centimeters apart. He loomed over me, but I wasn’t afraid. I was loved.
I touched his face. He didn’t flinch but he did close his eyes.
I was loved. I was treasured. I was damn lucky that he’d come to me, and I was not about to blow it this time.
I started unbuttoning his shirt. “I know it’s not just about sex, mi amor,” I said. “I know all of this. I’m sorry.” I slid the shirt off his arms. He kept his eyes closed as I kissed his chest, going up on my tiptoes to kiss the long line of his neck. “I’m sorry, mi amor,” I kept saying. “I love you…me haces feliz…te adoro…te necesito…eres el amor de mi vida…” The Spanish was so much more vivid and alive in my mouth as I tasted him, falling straight back into the warm, wonderful world he’d shown me.
He didn’t move as I crouched down and helped him out of his shoes, then unzipped his trousers and shoved them to the floor, breathless with eagerness to get at him, to prove to him…no not to prove…just to love.
I smiled as I gripped his thick shaft, swiping my finger across the fluid and putting it to my lips. “Quiero que estés dentro de mi,” I said. He shivered all over. “Quiero, mi amor.” I put my other hand against his rough cheek. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
When he did, I nearly fainted from a combination of desire, fear, and a wild swirl of abject happiness. When I accepted that I could be this happy, that I was allowed to let go of the tight grip I kept on myself in the face of a life full of nothing but shittiness, I felt the tears form. He touched my face. “No more crying, bella,” he whispered. “No more.”
I nodded, and when he swept me into his arms and carried me to the bed, I laughed out loud, like I had been doing in my dream.
“So, I’m funny now?” He fake-glared at me. I giggled, unable to stop myself, and pressed my tear-stained face to his neck.
“No, guapo, you’re perfect.”
“Huh, well, that’s more like it, bizcocho.”
I pulled away from his skin. “Did you just call me a sponge cake?”
“Yep,” he said, tossing me onto the bed so hard I bounced. “Mi sol…mi teroso…mi bizcocho…” He stared down at me, hand on his erection, licking his lips as he called me his sun, his treasure, his sweet and delicious treat. “So beautiful,” he whispered, slipping my panties down and off and unhooking my bra. “So perfect.” He hovered over me, kissed me lightly, teasing me. “So mine.” He stared into my eyes. I nodded and lifted my arms over my head.
“As lo que quieras, mi amor,” I whispered, nipping at his full lower lip. “Do whatever you want to me, my love. I trust you. I want you to…oh my God!” My back arched when he bit down on my nipple and tickled his fingers down my torso. I tried to put my arms around him but he held my wrists in place.
“No,” he said. “I’m touching. And the rules still apply. No coming. Not until I let you.” He licked the edges of my lips, dipping his tongue into my mouth just enough to leave me panting before he licked his way down my neck and found my eager, peaking nipple again.
“Ai, papi,” I sighed.
He groaned and pressed his fingers inside me, going deep and right for my sweet spot, as he liked to call it. I writhed and moaned, feeling the orgasm approaching me, unable to stop it. He pulled his fingers out just in time, and sucked them, as he stared down at me.
“You taste so good, bella. Like the sweetest cream and honey.”
I flushed and shifted so my legs were wider. I needed him inside me. I wanted it so badly I was about to scream. Every inch of my skin wanted him.
“I love you,” he whispered. “So much.” I nodded, keeping my hands off, knowing the rules and loving him for maintaining this control over us both. He kissed the corners of my mouth, my jaw, my earlobe. When he rolled off me and stood, he left me breathless and needy, on the urge of both an orgasm and a crying fit.
He reached down and pulled something from his trouser pocket, then flopped back down beside me and dropped the silvery, heavy chain onto my belly. I propped up on my elbows and looked at it, more relieved to see a silly hunk of expensive jewelry than I ever thought I might be. He tugged it up, circled it around both of my nipples, kissed me then sat, pulling me with him. After fastening it, he held me close from behind. “Thank you,” he said.
I pulled away and pushed him down on the bed, loving the heavy weight of the locket against my neck. “Don’t thank me yet, enamorado. Maybe, after this.” I bit each of his nipples, loving his distinct, sweaty, manly taste in my mouth. “Mi tigre,” I muttered as I kissed my way down his flat belly, until my chin bumped into his dick. He hissed when I tickled around the edge of his head with my tongue, sucking the pre-cum and drinking it down like ambrosia. He threaded his fingers in my hair and pulled, just enough to make me gasp in pleasure.
“Please,” he said. “Please…”
I smiled up at him, then did exactly what he wanted. I knew my man. And I knew that all I had to do was close my eyes and take him. He groaned and shot hot liquid into my throat, then pulled me up fast. “More,” he growled, digging his fingertips into my thighs as I hovered over him, denying us both the connection we craved. “I need to be inside you, bella.”
“Wait, wait,” I said, staring down into his face. “We need a condom or something.”
He grinned, gripped my hips and angled his. We both exhaled as he slid slowly into my body. “I don’t care anymore,” he whispered, cradling my face with one hand as he rolled his hips, giving me all the connection I required. “I want to play with fire…with you.”
“May I…Sir?” I was coming already but knew he loved to hear me ask. “Oh…Jesus…yes!” I sighed and leaned back, loving him so much I wanted to cry. I ground down and felt him touch me deep inside as I cried into the dark room and he filled me, his back arched, his jaw clenched with the effort as he repeated my name over.
We slowed, our breathing calmed as I lay on his chest, drifting, happy—no, more like ecstatic. I kissed his sweaty chest, then sat up all the way.
He opened his eyes and smiled up at me. “Shit, woman. You are…amazing.”
“This may not be all about sex, guapo, but I sure do like that part.”
He chuckled. I rose off him and headed for the bathroom. After staring at the bright diamond embedded in my locket for a few minutes, I returned and sat by him, stroking his scalp, his face, his shoulder his neck. I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Gracias, amigo,” I whispered, thanking God. Trent opened one eye when my stomach grumbled.
“Go check outside the door,” he said, rolling onto his belly. “I’ll be out in a minute. I want to just lie here in the afterglow a little longer.”
Curious, I pulled on a silk robe—one of the many lingerie gifts he’d bestowed on me—and opened the door a crack. I looked down and saw two large brown paper bags. With a huge smile I warmed up the steaks, potatoes and Brussels sprouts, put them on a plate and carried it to my bed. Trent was on his back, propped on my pillows, hands behind his head.
I tried not to reveal how gorgeous he was to me just then. But it felt like a losing battle. I sat next to him and held up a sprout. He took it with a sigh of pleasure. I cut the steak and fed us both, trading bites and bits of conversation about Evelyn and Austin’s upcoming wedding. I knew full well what this seemingly innocuous action meant to a man like him.
He smiled, grabbed the fork when a few bites remained and fed them to me. “Do we sleep here? Or my place?”
I crawled in next to him and draped my arm and leg over his body. “I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.”
He kissed my hair, heaved a sigh, and we both fell asleep in minutes.
* * * *
I woke slowly, languorously stretching and feeling that strange happiness fill me from head to toe. I rolled and found the other side of my bed empty.
When I wandered in to the kitchen I found the coffee pot full, a deep red apple and an equally red rose on the counter, with a note propped against them.
Bella, he’d written. I had an early meeting so had to sneak out although leaving your warm bed was harder than I thought it would be. I want to revisit something with you, if you would. Look outside the door again. The car will pick you up at nine tonight. No need to reply. Let’s save all our talking and anything else that might arise, for tonight—including a serious discussion about playing with fire.
Te quiero con todo mi corazón.
Your favorite goat—Trent
I opened the door and picked up the large dress box, carried it inside and called Evelyn.
“Be jealous of me, chica. I got my man back.”
“Of course you did, Jesus, I told you so. And yeah, I’m jealous.”
“Good, ’cause I’m jealous of you too, bitch. Two men for the price of one? Such riches…”
She snorted. “I don’t know. They’re like a double whammy of super annoying right now.”
“All set for the weekend though, right?” I knew we were. We’d planned the thing to the last possible detail, even in short notice.
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I’m worried about Ross.”
“Oh?” I bit the apple and opened the box, running my hand along the beaded black silk bodice.
“Yes. He’s so distant right now. Like he’s here, but not here.”
“He doesn’t strike me as a man who’d want to share…I mean for more than a few rolls in the hay. Which I’m sure is way fun.”
“It is. But…yeah. I get you. I don’t think either of them are taking this well and I have no idea what to do about it.”
I picked up the dream shoes again, smiling so wide I thought my face my split in half. “So…got one those dates tonight.”
“Cool. He brought the dress and stuff back?”
“Yep.”
“Damn…go after that, girl. And do not let it go this time.”
“I don’t plan to. Of course, there is still the horrible teenager problem. He’s going to be stuck between us. I know she’ll make it tough.”
“Eh, that’s her job. To make her parents’ life hell for a while. She’ll grow out of it. Don’t let her change your mind about what you want.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to. Not this time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She chuckled. “Yeah maybe, if you can talk, or walk.”
I giggled. “Yes. Indeed. Bye, mi amiga.”
“Farewell, future Mrs. Hettinger.”
I whistled my way into the shower, contemplating how much I liked the sound of that.