Pieces of Us

Chapter 19 Chasing Ghosts

Amity

I’ve attended and interviewed a heck of a lot of sports stars over the past six years, but nothing beats the thrill of sitting on the sidelines watching burly men tackle each other in a game of highly-charged NRL.

Being a Gold Coast girl at heart, I’ll always root for my home team. It has been so long since I’ve had the chance to just enjoy the atmosphere and not have the spotlight on me.

Earlier this morning, I had a power meeting with my management team, led by Joan—my agent—who got the ball rolling with my upcoming interviews, new range of teas and lingerie deal. A limited edition Christmas tea is about to be launched and the designs for my lingerie line are confirmed.

I can’t say it hasn’t been nice to take a step back from the gruelling work days of being poked, prodded and primped to perfection. I was constantly worried about whether I’d have a nip slip in one of the bras or bikinis, and I was always concerned about being in the healthiest and fittest state possible.

It feels good, though, to almost be back in the saddle. If my mind is elsewhere—like on work—it won’t be on Lincoln and the calamity that is us.

After our blow up in his office, and once I had enough breathing space to calm down, I feel mortified that I let myself get so worked up. Lashing out at him and losing control of my prison-vaulted emotions makes me cringe.

Trying to zone out, I force my attention onto the field. Dad has season tickets, so I’m sitting in the members area. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t make it, and neither could Lily or Rome, so I decided some downtime for me was in order.

I don’t want to sound stuck up, but none of these NRL players would make the cut to be on my show. It’s all NFL, NBL, NBA across America and football in Europe. There is something so refreshing about going unnoticed.

My tongue is salivating at the meaty goodness in front of me, and I’m not just talking about the muscly men. Just as I’m about to take a bite of my sausage roll, someone clears their throat behind me.

I swivel to take a look and any witty words I would have had for the stranger coming in between me and my crusty, flaky goodness, die in my throat as I spot the tall, dark-haired man looking down at me.

Lincoln flashes a sheepish smile as he steps down the bleachers so he’s directly in line with my row.

‘Lincoln,’ I greet weakly. ‘Hey.’

He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardness covering his features as he appears unsure whether his intrusion is welcome. It’s not.

The strained atmosphere is beginning to draw attention the more he stands there, soundless.

‘Sit down,’ I hiss, all but yanking him into the seat beside me. His whisky-coloured eyes eat up my appearance as he glances down at my crop top before meeting my eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ I huff, crossing my arms across my chest. I don’t miss the smirk and heated glare he tosses my way.

‘It’s a home game. Never miss one.’ He shrugs. ‘The real question is, what are you doing here, sitting amongst us mere mortals? Aren’t we peasants to you?’

I glare at him, tensing at his insinuation that I’ve somehow become snobby in the past seven years. I think he’s mistaking me for his whore of an ex. Judging by the way he sits up straight, he can see his joke has been taken offensively. ‘You know I don’t mean that.’ I can see him mentally kicking himself in the dick, and that image turns the corner of my mouth up slightly. My sausage roll is long forgotten as I place it on the ground so I don’t accidentally shove it up his ass for being a condescending clown.

I half huff, half sigh, knowing he was just trying to lighten the mood. ‘I know,’ I admit. Aside from mincing my heart into nothing, he has never actually said a mean word to my face.

‘We still need to talk. I don’t like how we left things. I can’t and won’t let you go now that I have you back, Hart.’

My heart kicks up at his impassioned comment, but outwardly, I remain impressively impassive.

‘I don’t know what your endgame is here.’ I shake my head in confusion.

‘I just want to be in your life again…I need you. I’ll take you any way you want me.’

‘What if I don’t want you at all?’ I shoot back, whipping my coal-coloured ponytail in his face. As if anticipating my actions, his hand shoots out and grabs the back of my neck, holding me firmly in place so I have nowhere else to look but his eyes, which are flickering smoulders of desire. His thumb presses gently on the pulse point of my neck. At this moment, it rivals that of a hummingbird.

‘You might not want me. You might hate me forever. But, Hart, baby, your body still fucking wants me.’ I’ve been breathing unassisted for twenty-four years of my life, yet somehow it has escaped me how to perform this basic human function. My breaths are shallow as I take in this new, dominant side of him. He’s transformed into all my smutty book boyfriend dreams, where he takes control and works my body into a frenzy.

I’m tired of denying what I’ve kept dead and buried for so long. I’m still—and probably always will be—attracted to Lincoln. I’m old enough to recognise the signs, as well as compartmentalise all my other hateful feelings towards him. My mouth has gone dry, probably because all forms of liquid in my body are flooding to one particular spot. My underwear.

Trying to gain a modicum of normalcy, I bite my lip before sweeping my tongue across it to smooth the sting. I keep my voice low and only hush the words between us. ‘Linc?’ I use my nickname for him. Leaning in close to his ear, he loosens his grip on my neck, like he’s losing control.

‘My body used to want a lot of things from you. Your tongue licking my clit. Your fingers making me squirt. That massive cock of yours stuffed in my throat and pussy. I used to crave your cum in my mouth, or painting my face and body. We never got around to you fucking my ass, but if we did, I bet you’d stretch that, too. Would you like that, Linc? To tear me apart?’ He nods, in a trance, but I don’t wait for a verbal answer. ‘But the thing about wanting things is…we don’t always get what we want, do we?…or in my case, deserve.’ I forcefully push him away, making him bump into the guy next to him, causing beer to spill. ‘Excuse me.’ I clamour past him and the rest of the fans, bolting up the bleachers without looking back.

I’ve left my wallet and keys on the floor, so at some point I’ll have to show my face again, but right now I need respite. An escape. I spot the bathrooms and head straight for them. The game is in the thick of it, so I don’t expect many patrons to be here, which benefits me just fine.

Storming in, I fight the urge to let out a blood-curdling scream. I didn’t want to let him get to me, but he did. And I retaliated, taking the bait like a dumb fucking fish.

‘Amity, what the fuck was that?’ Lincoln roars, barging in behind me. He’s got my wallet in his hand as if it’s a bargaining chip, and the only way to get it back is to get closer to him.

‘Give me my wallet.’ I don’t address the fact that he’s not supposed to be in here.

‘No. Tell me what the fuck that was. You can’t just say that shit and expect me to continue watching sweaty fucking men wrestle each other when I’ve got the hard-ons of all hard-ons. When, Jesus, did you learn how to talk like that?’

I feel victorious, knowing I turned him on, but also pissed at myself for feeling giddy.

‘How would you know what I’m even like now? We haven’t had sex in over seven years. You wouldn’t have any idea what makes me wet. How to get me to come. How to get me to scream your name. Or how to fuck me so good, I wish your cock lived inside me.’ It’s like my mouth isn’t even connected to my brain. Why the fuck am I antagonising him?

This conversation only ends in one of two ways. With him fucking the shit out of me, or one of us getting murdered. I don’t know whether his stare is lustful or lethal. Maybe we have sex, and then he can kill me.

In a split second, he backs me into one of the stalls and smashes the door shut, locking it without looking and slamming his lips on mine. All rationale leaves my body, and I’m pliant from his touch.

‘No,’ I mumble, but it comes out sounding like a garbled plea, especially when his fingers are at the juncture of my neck, pinning me to the wall. His other hand shoves its way down my shorts, making contact with the lace of my sopping wet G-string.

He kisses me roughly, pushing the lace further into my clit, stealing what little air I have left. This dizzy, euphoric feeling is caving in on me, with my only respite and thirst for breath coming in the form of his lips moving to my ear. ‘Mine,’ he growls, sucking my lobe into his mouth, which is a direct line to my aching clit.

I know in the back of my mind that I definitely should not be doing this, but every other sense isn’t allowing me to stop.

I bang my head back on the wall as his lips descend down my body. He bypasses what I consider my best asset—my breasts—in search for a new place to kiss. On his knees, he pulls my shorts down my legs and rips my G-string from my body, tossing it over the stall. I have a thousand pieces of lingerie from sponsors, so I’m not too fussed that he’s made my underwear into scraps, but I’m annoyed he felt how wet they are. He shouldn’t know he still elicits this reaction from me.

Feelings of anger evade me when his tongue drops to explore my pussy, fucking me with it.

Jesus Christ, was it always this good?

He’s definitely grown up since the last time we did this.

I’m certain that someone should pass a law for it to be illegal for men to shave their stubble. The scratch feels so fucking damn good that I want to claw at the back of his head so he remains in this exact spot for eternity.

My knees are weakening into an earth-shattering shake, and as if on cue, he repositions my legs over his shoulders.

‘I’ve missed you so fucking much, Hart,’ he mutters before biting my clit and sucking it into his mouth.

I must be having an out-of-body experience, because I feel as if I’ve floated out of my body and am looking down at this glorious man eating me out. ‘My fucking pussy,’ he growls. His feral grunts mingle with my whines as I’m teetering closer to the edge. His fingers thrust in and out of me. The sounds are obscene but add to how hot and forbidden this encounter is. After my juices dribble down his chin, he pulls my lips apart and blows soft air on me, making me quake. I try to close my eyes, push him away with my hand—anything—because the sensation is too much, but he doesn’t let me. He slaps my clit as punishment.

‘Oh, God. Oh, God,’ I chant, thankful the crowd is cheering loud enough to drown out my cries.

‘That’s it, baby. Cum all over my face.’ I explode into shrapnel. ‘That’s it, baby, fucking soak me.’ Without warning, my climax incinerates through me, decimating everything else but this moment. My body draws tight as a silent scream rips through my throat. Clumsily, my body slumps and falls back against the wall.

Through blurred vision and choppy breaths, I peer down to see Lincoln, who looks like he’s worshipping me on his knees. The adoration and tender caress on my thighs is as if he’s in disbelief this just happened. ‘I missed doing that to your cunt, baby.’ You and me both, buddy, I think as I bang my head lightly on the wall behind me. I can see his stubbled jaw is covered in me, which he makes no effort to wipe up.

Neither of us speaks for a while. I’m unsure what to say at first. Without looking at him a moment further, I pull up my shorts and fiddle around for my wallet.

I turn away from him, trying to make sense of what I just allowed to happen.

I hear him stand. ‘Amity. Hart. Baby.’ I can hear there’s no regret in his voice, only concern for my mental fragility. I’m not acting aloof. I’m panicked because this shouldn’t have happened.

‘I hate you,’ I whisper, tears clogging my throat.

‘I know.’

‘Please, just let me go. I need more time.’

‘Hart.’

‘Stop calling me that! It kills me inside when you say that name. My name. The name you gave me. It’s too intimate. Affectionate. Meaningful. We aren’t any of those things anymore,’ I cry.

Huge arms hug me from behind, encasing me in his strength and warmth. My stupid body leans into him. To the once-familiar.

‘You’re killing me, baby. You know that, right? Every time you break, I die a little more inside. I don’t want to break you anymore. I don’t want to cause you any more pain, but that’s all I seem to do. You are, and always will be, the love of my life. I was young and stupid. I never said it before, but I’m saying it now, and I’ll say it to my last dying breath. You are mine, and that will never change. You’re it. I’m going to fix us. I’m going to make this better.’

I wench my way out of his hold and twirl so I can face him.

‘No. Bullshit. Fuck you. Fuck you for declaring your love to me when it’s too late. When it should have meant everything to you seven years ago. This isn’t love. The way you hurt me can’t be what love is. Love isn’t fucking my close friend. Love isn’t choosing her over me. Love isn’t letting me walk away for seven years. Love is meant to be reckoning in the best way, but all your “love” does is ruin me. Ruin who I am, who I was. It made me the worst version of myself.’

Fuck. I know I’ve said too much when his eyes bulge out of his head in a questioning stare.

In a dash of hysteria, I flick the lock and miraculously escape through the toilet door. The bang reverberates behind me, knocking on the wall a few times, but at least I can’t hear footsteps getting nearer. Within seconds, I exit and run towards the bus to get as far away from Lincoln as possible.

Once I’m safe and sound, I practise my breathing and close my eyes, trying to un-jumble his deranged view of what love is, and how I’ve maybe just opened up a whole can of worms.