Chapter 3 #2
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he coos, running his palm up my exposed back and bending me over the cool cement barrier. I hear the distinct crinkle of a package, then he’s lining himself up at my entrance.
His thrust inward is sharp and quick, like he entered me last night, and I cry out at the sensation.
The fullness steals my breath. The connectedness ratchets up my heart.
In this position, he hits me in a new way. A raw, intense way. And I arch into him, attempting to keep him deeply seated inside me.
He pulls away, surges forward, draws back. In and out, the frenzy begins. My hands keep my delicate dress from scraping on the rough cement railing as he surges into me hard and deep. He cups my throat while slipping his other hand to my tender clit, teasing the sacred spot as he enters me.
Another stolen moment. The unabashed fucking. God, I’m going to hell for this.
As he hitches forward, I lift one knee to the railing, balancing precariously on one stiletto heel.
“Fuck, flower,” he grunts as I open wider for him. He groans, “Wish I could keep you. Want to make things better.”
I have no idea what he means but I’m too lost in the pleasure he’s producing in my body. To the possession of his powerful thrusts. To the cupping of my throat like he intends to keep me.
Like I could be his.
Too quickly, my body reacts, and like the waves crashing below against the rocky bluff, I break, biting my lip to hold back the shout of joy.
The cry of a release as strong as the rolling ocean.
Wave after wave crests and breaks within me, shattering against my rock-hard heart and my soft petals as he calls them, until he stills behind me, buried deep inside me.
His own swirling current of release happens.
“Holy shit.” His forehead presses against my shoulder blade. His breathing exaggerated.
The time passed too quickly. Sixty-seconds, perhaps? Another minute.
Bolan kisses my shoulder before he pulls out of me. To my surprise, a cool strip of cotton swipes at the mess we’ve made between my thighs. Peering over my shoulder, I see him folding an honest to goodness handkerchief before slipping it into his pocket.
Slowly standing upright, my knees wobble. My legs are unsteady as the layers of my dress tumble back down to my ankles.
He steadies me with a hand on my hip, then he leans forward and softly kisses me. The brush of his lips is a goodbye. Like that tender kiss he snuck in after our first sixty seconds all those years ago.
What had he said earlier about wishing to keep me, wanting to do better? I should ask for more details, but he’s leading me toward the interior of the building with a gentle but firm hand on my elbow.
When he stops just outside the entrance to the inner hallway, he turns toward me, cups both my cheeks and gives me a final kiss that is hot and desperate, heady and rushed, reminding me of that first kiss we shared more than a decade ago.
What’s that saying about love in reverse? Is this a kiss on rewind? We’re back to where we started.
And we cling to one another as if we won’t ever see each other again. When we break apart, I finally question him as if I don’t already know the answer. “What’s your name?”
If I thought asking him would trigger his memory, I’m wrong.
The moment is gone. Another set of sixty seconds is over in a flash.
Without an answer, a sad smile rests in its place.
He tucks my arm into the crook of his elbow and leads me back into the building, guiding me toward the top of the staircase.
Once there, he finally turns to me, something haunting and dark fills those forest-colored eyes as he unhooks my hand from his arm and gives it a final squeeze.
“I’m truly sorry,” he mumbles, contrite like he’d been last night. Like he’s genuinely apologetic for what we’ve done, but the apology feels more like a foreshadowing. Like he’s sorry for what’s to come.
Perhaps I should apologize. “I have something to tell you.”
The distinct sound of heels on marble steps travels upward to where we stand, and I turn when I hear a familiar voice call out my name.
“Ruthie, darling, I’ve been looking for you.” Nylah sounds both breathless and worrisome. My mother-in-law is a strikingly good-looking woman in her late fifties with flawless skin and a wide grin. She’s also wearing red, although her dress is a bit more subdued, less whimsical than mine.
“Ruthie?” Bolan struggles over my name.
When I glance at him, his brows are severely pinched. He looks from me to Nylah and back.
A second set of heels follows the racing of the first, although the newer steps are more methodic, as if someone is taking her time to climb the staircase.
Click-click-click. Like a clock counting down to midnight.
“Oh, Bolan, I’ve been looking for you as well,” Nylah addresses the man standing a good foot away from me. An invisible shield of space between us. We are no longer the couple fused together on the balcony but strangers. Well, at least one of us is, and the other is about to learn a hard truth.
“There you are.” The second woman’s voice is breathy, seductive and deep, unlike mine.
She’s tall and lanky, yet hourglass-shaped with sleek red hair in one perfect wave cascading down her head to the middle of her back.
She’s intimidatingly beautiful and she comes to a full stop beside Bolan and places her hand on his chest. Her bright red nails stand out in sharp contrast to his white tuxedo shirt.
I take a second perusal of his appearance. The tailored tuxedo. Those deep green eyes. Trimmed facial hair that is still scratch worthy.
I cup the side of my neck, curious if he left marks on my skin.
He’s certainly imprinted on my soul again.
Then my eyes catch on those feminine nails, filed to nearly pointed tips, and pressed against his chest, like blood stains on white cotton.
Full-on panic takes over, gripping my chest like a vise clamped around my ribs, as if my insides know something is terribly wrong before my brain can compute the issue. Suddenly, I can’t get enough oxygen.
“Melody,” Bolan whispers to this other woman although his eyes do not leave mine. His body stands ramrod stiff while she leans into him, evidently rather familiar with him, as she tips her head to his shoulder.
“Ruthie, darling,” Nylah addresses me once more, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off him. Off them.
This cannot be happening to me. Again.
“I see you’ve met Bolan,” Nylah states, breaking into my thoughts.
I turn toward my mother-in-law, blinking, the movement lazy like I’ve been drugged and evidence of my confusion.
“Bolan Adler,” she clarifies. “Joanna’s son.”
I turn back toward him, trying to identify any resemblance to his mother, Nylah’s cousin, her best friend.
“That means—” I lamely point at him as my mind filters through the facts.
Joanna’s son. He’s practically family. He was Clifton’s cousin once removed. Had he been close all this time, and yet completely out of reach? How had I not known? How was I not aware of this connection?
But then another thought slams into me.
As a member of the family, Bolan is a special project taken on last minute by Imperial Sports Management. Despite working directly with Jared, I didn’t know all the details. He’d wanted to handle this “new client delicately” on his own. However, the information slipped in a conversation with Nylah.
Joanna Frederick’s son.
Who happens to be Bolan Adler.
Until this moment, I hadn’t connected the dots. Never knew there were dots to be connected.
“We should really be getting downstairs,” Melody speaks up. She squeezes his chin, but he flinches his head away from her touch. Her eyes narrow, and she stiffens, standing straighter beside him.
“Yes. Yes,” Nylah chuckles, the sound both light and tense, although I’m not certain she understands where the tension truly rests. From her next comment, her own reason to rush Bolan off becomes clear. “It’s almost time. The big speech.”
“You’re a guest speaker this evening?” I ask, sounding dumbfounded while still unable to pull my gaze from him.
He wasn’t on the roster. I didn’t even know he’d be here.
“A last-minute addition. We thought it’d be nice to have one of Joanna’s sons speak,” Nylah clarifies.
Bolan scoffs. The sound is its own statement, but I can’t process the meaning. Joanna’s other sons declined the invitation to attend tonight.
“I see,” I whisper, lowering my gaze and my head when I don’t understand anything.
What is even happening?
“Maybe we should make our announcement this evening,” Melody adds, her voice sugary sweet to disguise the venom underneath.
“What announcement?” I look up again as Bolan closes his eyes, cutting off the forest, like he’s chopping down all the trees inside.
“I’m the future Mrs. Adler.” Melody nearly simpers, shimmying her shoulders back and forth, like it’s the best news.
“You’re married!” I shriek, jumping over the future part and glaring at Bolan while bile fills my throat.
The same throat he cupped, only minutes ago.
My stomach churns and swirls, like the violent waves of the ocean outside these walls.
My breath comes hard and fast, lungs constricting with each painful attempt to drag in air.
Bolan’s lids flip open. His eyes wide, panic swirling in that sea of green. His voice is strained when he says, “Not yet.” He keeps his eyes focused on me and I watch them slide from that moment of fear to shuttered darkness, like he’s closing me off.
His declaration does nothing to settle the nausea in my belly or make my sudden dizziness disappear.
“But you’re engaged?” I clarify, my voice still shrill but quieting, as I glare at him. He has the grace to look away from me. Or is he a coward, afraid to face what he’s done? What we did? Before he marries someone else.
“Ruthie.” Nylah chuckles tersely. “What has gotten into you?”
Him, I want to scream but I can’t state the truth.
He was just inside me on the balcony. Filling me up and stripping me down.
This level of shocking rejection and betrayal is certainly appropriate for an event named The Red Dress Affair.
All those scarlet gowns downstairs match the color of my shattering heart, like violent red petals scattered in the wind.
For half a second, I wonder if Clifton ever felt this way about his past actions. This searing pain of regret. The blazing brand of a giant scarlet A on my chest.
However, I don’t take the time to wallow in misery. I’ll do that as soon as I get away from here. From him.
And like Cinderella, I race from the party.
Saving myself with no seconds to spare.