Chapter 12
twelve
ELAINA
Four Days Later…
The kitchen island is spotless, gleaming under the pendant lights like it’s auditioning for a spread in Architectural Digest. Which means I’ve stress-cleaned it at least three times today.
Maybe four…
I dig my spoon into the pint of triple-chocolate-caramel-swirl therapy ice cream that’s rapidly becoming dinner, wondering when I turned into this woman. The kind who mopes around a fancy apartment waiting for a man who probably isn’t thinking about her at all.
Who has nothing to do but clean and shop for ridiculously overpriced groceries, and walk begrudgingly on the treadmill for thirty minutes before lounging by the pool for the rest of the afternoon, reading romance novels that are starting to depress the shit out of her.
Because my blossoming romance?
It’s going nowhere fast.
Likely, I never had a romance to begin with, but hell… It felt so real, that night in the shower, and the way Hunter held me after.
Just held me and kissed my forehead and cradled me close like I was a precious thing he never wanted to lose…
“A thing,” I mutter to the view as the sunset light begins to turn the park below pinkish gold. “That’s the operative word, Elaina. You are a thing to him. A baby-making thing, a mother-pleasing thing. You are not a person, let alone a person he likes. You are not his lover; you are not his friend.”
My bottom lip trembles, but I stop it with another spoonful of sin.
I have to pull myself together. Hunter’s going to be home any second and the last thing I want is for him to see me pouting and sniffling because I’ve missed him more than he seems to have missed me. After all, he only called twice— twice , in four whole days—and the texting has been sparse and sporadic.
But then, he had business to conduct and people to do business with. I’ve been here alone for four days, and that’s a long time to be stuck with nothing but your own thoughts and an internet browser assuring you that all your new business ideas are dumb or already being done better by someone else.
Especially when your body decides to make it clear that you’ve failed at the one thing you were supposed to be doing in your tower tucked away from the world…
The cramps started this morning, right on schedule, proving that our night in the lifeguard stand hadn’t resulted in the outcome I’d been hoping for. Not that I really expected to get pregnant on the first try, and I knew from the get-go that the timing probably wasn’t right, but still…
A girl can dream.
And hope.
And apparently develop real feelings for the asshole who fled to Chicago on “emergency business” the morning after introducing her to his mother…
“Emergency business, my ass,” I mutter, stabbing my spoon deeper into the ice cream. “He never mentioned anything about having business in Chicago before. And it was Saturday.”
But it probably was a real emergency. Hunter doesn’t seem like the type to make up excuses. He’s more the “brutally honest about not wanting to engage with you once you’ve squeezed out his baby and his mom’s kicked the bucket” type.
Which only makes this stupid ache in my chest worse.
I’ve started to fall for a complete dickhead. I knew better—I warned myself not to get attached at least a hundred times—but my stupid heart clearly wasn’t listening.
“It’s just the sex,” I mutter as I finish the last of the pint. “The sex is too good. It’s rotted my brain and infected my heart. Like a virus. Or flesh-eating bacteria.”
The security panel by the door chimes, announcing the elevator’s arrival, and my heart leaps into my throat. Quickly, I shove the empty ice cream container back into the freezer, making a mental note to dispose of it securely later, and ditch my spoon in the sink.
Then, wiping a trace of chocolate stickiness from the corners of my mouth, I wander toward the living room, casual as you please in my black silk pajama pants and his nearly see-through white tank top with no bra on underneath. I hope I look effortlessly sexy and relaxed in this ensemble it took me thirty minutes to pick out, but for some reason, I doubt it.
I can feel my thirst for Hunter’s affection and attention lingering on my tongue, souring the chocolate-caramel aftertaste from my ice cream.
I round the corner, and there he is, looking devastating in a charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt. His eyes find me immediately, something flashing behind them before his usual mask slides into place.
“Hello,” he says. “How was your day?”
“Great, yours?” I lean a hip against the couch aiming for casual. “Smooth flight?”
“Yes.” He loosens his tie as he approaches, just the sight of his nimble fingers working open the knot making me ache for him to touch me.
“I ordered extra sushi so there would be leftovers if you’re hungry.” I gesture vaguely toward the kitchen. “It’s in the fridge.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but…thank you.” His gaze sweeps over me, making my nipples tighten beneath his shirt. His focus lingers on my chest for a beat, assuring me he hasn’t become immune to my charms in his absence, before returning to my face. “Everything okay?”
I shrug. “Great. Fantastic. Why?”
His forehead bunches in a light frown. “You look…upset.”
And there it is—the perfect opening to tell him about my period. To explain why I’m feeling emotional and sad and need him to hold me even though he probably doesn’t want to hold me. I could be mature and show him it’s okay to be vulnerable together by leading by example.
Instead, I say in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Why would I be upset? When my business partner vanished just a few days after locking me in his tower with a warning not to venture too far outside the neighborhood or fuck the sexy lesbian at the front desk?”
His eyes narrow. “It was an unexpected emergency. I thought I explained that before I left.”
“You didn’t explain, you announced your departure and left at the crack of dawn.” My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep it level. “I was barely awake when you said goodbye.”
“But I said goodbye,” he says, still obnoxiously unruffled. “I thought that was what you wanted. Would you have preferred I left a note?”
“I would have preferred a real conversation, maybe over breakfast or something. Or you could have offered to take me with you.” The words are out before I can stop them, but hell, I’m on a roll, and it feels good to let it out. “You know, a joint decision, like normal people who are living together and fucking like rabbits and lying to one person’s dying mother together would do.”
He stills, his expression hardening. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair about it?” To my horror, tears start to well in my eyes. “The part where I said the painful thing, or the part where you get to run away, and I don’t? Where you get to pretend this isn’t way more—” I break off, swiping angrily at my cheeks, hating myself for getting so close to puking my heart out at his feet. “Never mind. Forget it. Sorry I said that thing about your mom. I’m just emotional because I got my period this morning.” I sniff and add with a bitter grin. “So, sadly we failed the first time around, and you’re going to have to keep dealing with me. At least you will if you still want to make a baby.”
The anger drains from his face, replaced by something that looks an awful lot like empathy.
But I know it’s not, and I refuse to let him play with my emotions like this.
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand, fingers spread wide. “Don’t pretend to care. I know you don’t. And I’m fine. I just need chocolate, which I just ate a shit ton of, and sleep, and?—”
He crosses the space between us in two long strides, pulling me against his chest. “Stop talking.”
“Make me,” I challenge, but my voice breaks on a sob.
“I do care, brat,” he murmurs, his hand fisting in my hair near the nape of my neck. He draws my head back, demanding my submission in that way only he can. “Of course, I fucking care.” His kiss is fierce, almost desperate, stealing my breath and my anger all at once.
He tastes like coffee and mint and that salty-sexy-delicious Hunter taste that I’ve missed more than I want to admit.
“I care, and I want to keep trying,” he murmurs against my lips as he backs me across the room. “You’re all I could think about while I was gone. You and this tight little pussy I couldn’t wait to be inside again.”
“Really?” I ask, as my hands fist in his dress shirt, pulling him closer.
“I’m not a liar, Elaina.” His hands slide under my (his) tank top. “Or at least I try not to be. I’m an asshole, but not a liar.”
“That’s true,” I agree. “You are an asshole. And I missed you. A lot.”
“Get in the shower with me,” he says, nipping at my lower lip as he rolls my nipples in his talented fingers. “Let me make it up to you.”
“I’m a mess,” I warn him. “And not just emotionally. It’s the first day, and I don’t have a cute little flow to match my cute little pussy.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he says, pinching my nipples tighter, making me gasp and my inner walls swell around my tampon. “I still want to be balls deep in you. If you want my cock, it’s at your service, and your pleasure is going to come first.”
“It always does with you.” I cling to him as he lifts me into his arms, guiding my legs around his hips. “You’re not all bad.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I hope you still feel the same way after I make you wait for your first orgasm. You deserve a little punishment for meeting me at the door with a bad attitude and this sexy fucking top.”
I smile against his lips as he carries me toward the master bath. “Okay. But just a little. And you love this top. You want me to keep it and wear it every time you get home from a business trip.”
“I want you to keep it,” he says. “And I want to take pictures of you in nothing but this, with your nipples dark and hard for me beneath the fabric.”
I moan my approval of this plan as we kiss again, hungry and eager.
Minutes later, we’re both naked in his obscenely large shower, steam rising around us as he fingers me, not seeming the slightest bit bothered by the blood on his hand or the way I whimper and pout when he keeps me on the edge a little too long.
In fact, when I finally do get to come on his hand, he praises me like I’ve just finished a marathon.
“Good girl, so fucking good,” he breaths against my forehead as he holds me up with one hand and continues to make my knees even weaker with the other. “You’re so fucking sexy when you come for me. I love making you lose control. I love the way your pussy locks around my fingers like it’s never going to let go.”
“Please, need you,” I say, digging my nails into his shoulders. “Now.”
This time, he doesn’t make me wait or beg, he simply lifts me up and glides into me as he pushes me back against the tile, under the hot spray. We both groan as he fills me, twin sounds of relief that assure something primal inside of me that this is real.
That it’s real, and I’m not alone in craving him like a drug.
“Missed this,” he growls, setting a rhythm that makes me see stars. “Missed you.”
I come apart around him, crying out his name as he follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside me as I cling to him with all the strength left in my well-loved body.
Not well-loved, the inner voice reminds me. He doesn’t love you, but he did say he missed you. That’s something .
It is, but is it enough to make me want to stay and go any further down this road? Even if I leave right now, it’s going to hurt. But if I wait another month, two, maybe six or more?
Well, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to bounce back from that kind of loss the way I’ve always bounced back after relationships have ended before. This thing with Hunter is…intense.
We stay joined for long moments afterward, the water starting to cool as we catch our breath.
Finally, he pulls back, meeting my no-doubt conflicted gaze with a troubled expression of his own. “I think we need to talk.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me, too.” I swallow, fighting another wave of emotion. “But maybe it can wait until morning? I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’d really love to just cuddle in bed with you, eat some popcorn while you eat sushi, and go to sleep on your chest.” I refrain from saying “one last time,” but just barely. “If that’s all right?”
He tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s very all right. Get dressed in something other than my tank top, something that I can’t see through, and I’ll deliver popcorn to you in bed. Butter or olive oil?”
“Butter, obviously,” I say as he pulls out and sets me down on my feet. “What do I look like, some kind of monster who’s worried about my heart health?”
“You look like a woman who’s been well-fucked and needs to do a little clean up,” he says, casting a pointed glance at the red trailing down both my thighs. He winks as he reaches for the shower door. “But you’d better hurry. That water’s getting cold.”
“And who’s fault is that?” I call after him as I reach for the soap. “If you hadn’t made me wait for the first one, the water would still be warm.”
I’m pretty sure I hear him chuckle, but the water’s too loud to know for sure.
But he’s definitely smiling as I join him in bed ten minutes later, where he’s already laid out dinner trays with our snacks on them, just like in a fancy hotel. And he has The Wizard of Oz pulled up on the television, making my chest ache with bittersweet happiness.
“Oh my God, I love this movie,” I say as I climb onto the mattress. “I rewatch it every Halloween.”
“It’s one of my comfort movies,” he says, making me laugh. “What?” he demands as I giggle some more. “I’m not allowed to have comfort movies?”
“No, it’s just cute,” I say, selecting a perfectly buttery kernel. “It’s good to know even very bad men with hearts made of stone need comfort, too, every now and then.” I toss the popcorn between my lips, moaning with appreciation. “Wow, that’s fucking amazing. What kind of butter is that?”
“Truffle butter and a hint of citrus salt,” he says.
“You’re a genius.”
“Thank you,” he says, before adding in a softer voice. “And it’s not made of stone, though… Sometimes I wish it were.”
Before I can follow up on that revelation, he presses start on the movie and tucks into his sushi, clearly not interested in further conversation.
But I hold his confession tight to my chest, deciding it’s reason to hope that our talk tomorrow morning will go better than expected. Still, as I snuggle into the little spoon position two hours later, lulled quickly to sleep by the even rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his arms, I wonder if this is a new beginning or the beginning of the end.
I guess only morning will tell.