21. Twenty-One
twenty-one
ELLIOT
The truth is I would have sex with Ginger any way she wants it. I’d be plain as vanilla for her if she wanted that kind of thing. I realize the things I want in bed don’t always match whatever partner I’m with.
And my needs change, too, depending on my mood—my partner. I want anything and everything with Ginger. Our physical needs seem to align more often than not. She’s a lowkey switch, and it’s hot as hell. To be inside her, I’ll take her verbal lashings, or drive out her demons—whatever she asks. I’m here for it. The way she reacted to the spanking made me nearly blow in my pants.
“ Harder ,” she pants even as I roughly pound into her from behind.
I grab her hip bones and lift her ass, taking a small step closer to the bed. I take control of her hips, pulling her onto my cock, adding a sharp flick of my hips once she’s fully seated. She lets me use her like a goddamn fleshlight.
“ Fuuuuccckkk …” I groan, throwing my head back so at least I don’t have to see how hot this is. Maybe this way I’ve got a chance of lasting. The sight of my cock sinking into her and coming out slick with her is filthy as fuck.
“I wanna come again,” she whines.
“Come for me.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Elliot. Unh …God, why do you feel so fucking good?”
“Tell me what you need,” I beg her.
“More…”
Not helpful. Fuck, I’m close. Her pussy is clamping my cock like a vise. Sweat is pouring off me from both effort and restraint. More…
I slide my hands up her waist, over her ribs and pull her up until her back is against my chest. I find my way through her hair to bite her neck. She reaches back and grips my nape. I slow down my thrusts and she writhes on my cock. “Goddamnit, Ginger…” This is the best lap dance I’ve ever had.
I cup her tits and squeeze. She groans. Her hand moves between her legs to stroke her bare pussy, and I lose my breath. I’m short-circuiting. If I come, I lose her. Fuck…why is she so wet and hot? Why does she feel so perfect? Why is nothing else ever this good?
I grab her by the hair and turn her head, making her kiss me. And fuck, does she kiss me. Her tongue licks into my mouth, and it is so fucking erotic, I lose all control. My dick erupts inside her, filling the condom.
“Yes,” she says, her lips moving against mine. “Yes. Yes.”
I hate myself. I’m crumbling. A mess as my body unloads, knees shaking and some sound like a death rattle coming out of me. I fucked up.
But suddenly she’s gasping. Her walls closing in on my still spasming cock. “ God, oh God, oh God …”
“Are you faking?” I pant.
She shakes her head. “Put your mouth on me.”
Fuck.
She’s here for the marathon, not the sprint.
I slide out of her while I’m still coming, drop to my knees, and drag her pussy back to my face.
At four a.m., Ginger’s alarm blares. I get up, but she doesn’t budge. After a visit to the bathroom, I tug on my discarded boxer briefs and make my way into the kitchen, in search of coffee.
A quick scan of the counter reveals a toaster, a microwave, a cutting board, but no coffee maker. I scowl. Seriously? Going through the cabinets, I locate a French press that looks like it’s never been used. Deep in her pantry, there’s a small container of coffee grounds that looks like it came from a long-ago gift basket.
Letting the water run from the tap until it heats up, I scratch at the overnight growth on my face, staring at the crack in the wall where the mouse got in. I can do better than a sponge. As cute as Ginger’s reaction had been last night, I’d hate it if she didn’t feel safe in her own home.
Her alarm buzzes again, but she cuts it off quickly. Expecting her any second, I dig through her junk drawer, find a roll of duct tape, and cover the hole with it. Afterward, I replace her full trash bag with an empty one and fill the French press with burning hot water. The coffee turns out surprisingly good.
With no sign of Ginger yet, I fill a mug for her and return to her bedroom as her alarm sounds again. Her arm shoots out from beneath the covers, and she bangs hard on snooze.
I set the coffee next to her phone and give her shoulder a gentle shake. “Good morning. I assume there’s a reason you set the alarm this early.”
She groans, mumbling, “Emergency meeting.”
“What’s the emergency?”
That gets her attention. She bolts up, the covers falling, exposing her bare chest, and sending a twinge of sensation through my groin.
Instead of covering up, she throws the rest of the sheets off her lap and swings her naked legs out of bed. Scooting past me, she scampers toward the bathroom, her long hair brushing the small of her back as it moves with her. Gorgeous. My head clouds as a rush of feeling fills up my chest, leaving a warm tightening in its wake. Everything I’m made of wants to chase her, challenge her, drown in her. Fuck her in the shower.
But the stakes are high.
Her job, my future. But when I look back on the last few weeks, the only thing right is her. A few stolen moments with a woman I can’t have. How fucked up is that?
And how long can we go on like this before she ruins me for anyone else?
Reluctantly, I gather the rest of my clothes and get dressed. Desperate, longing feelings rush through me. I miss last night already.
Who am I kidding? I’m already ruined beyond all recognition. No one from my past would recognize me with my intention so singularly focused on one woman. One who seems all wrong for me on paper, but who, for reasons I can’t articulate, feels like a perfect fit.
I zip up my hoodie. According to the schedule, I’m supposed to be at the Hacienda at eight for whatever ridiculous challenge they’ve dreamed up for me and my partners today. Cleaning storm drains, pulling up shrubs, or whatever the fuck, though Ginger mentioned yesterday there was a change of plans. Before I have too much time to guess at it, she strides back into the room, still completely naked from top to bottom with her wet hair up, making her look even more exposed. She bends over a dresser drawer and starts tossing clothes on the bed.
I don’t bother not staring. Before she puts anything on, she notices the coffee on her bedside table. “You made coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“Wasn’t easy.”
She glances over at me. “Thanks.”
My eyes roam all over her like a perv.
“Don’t,” she says as she picks up the mug. Blowing a stream of air across the top, she takes a sip, her eyes locked on mine. “I don’t have time.”
“I don’t see you getting dressed any faster.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “You want me to drink your coffee or you want me to get dressed?”
“I’m not complaining.”
Her smile curls over the brim of the mug as she takes another sip.
“Sure you can’t spare a few minutes?” I ask, extremely turned on by her complete lack of modesty.
Her face goes serious all of a sudden. “I can’t.” She sets the mug down, and without further stalling, dresses in the clothes she threw on the bed. It takes less than a minute. “Listen, I gotta go. Are you leaving? Because you can’t stay.”
I check my pockets for my shitty phone and wallet. On my way to the front door, I swing by the kitchen and grab the trash bag. “You have a bin?” I ask when she picks her messenger bag up from the couch.
“A what?” she asks like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“A trash bin.”
She throws a glance over her shoulder at me, her face frozen in surprise. “At the curb,” she finally says. “But I can get that.”
“I’ve already got it.” I gesture toward the door. “After you.”
“Um...okay. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Just as she’s about to open the door with me right behind her, she stops, turning to look up at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Listen.”
I’m all ears.
“This is it, okay?”
As she drops the axe on our arrangement, some new emotion coats my insides like sludge. It’s a sick, depressing feeling, and not how I want to start the day. “You sure?”
She hesitates. Again. Her second guesses and mixed signals are killing me. “You’re getting close to finding what you came here for. I don’t want to make it any more confusing than it has to be. I want this for you.”
The words blast through my chest like a grenade.
“Because you’re amazing, and you deserve it,” she adds softly, as if it could make getting dumped any better.
What does help cushion the blow is the equally wrecked look on her face. It would be worse if I were the only person here who understands how much this sucks.
“Do you wish things were different?” I ask.
“Well, they’re not...so...”
“But if they could be?”
“No.” She gives my arm a solid pat. “But this was super fun. Thanks.”
The words are ridiculous, patronizing, and dismissive.
But I let it go. It’s hard to be angry with her when she’s all over the place. Her dizzying unpredictability charms me too much to be mad about. “You’ll let me know if you change your mind?” God, I hope she changes her mind. Even the possibility of it would be enough.
She lets out a short, derisive laugh. “Yeah. All right.” She reaches for the doorknob.
I put a hand on hers. “Ginger, wait.”
She doesn’t look up at me, but she doesn’t move, either. “I’m not ready for this to end,” I say.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have signed that contract.”
“I know,” I admit. “It was a mistake.”
She doesn’t speak for long enough that a shred of hope reemerges. But then she opens her mouth. “No worries, Elliot. I promised you a happy ending, didn’t I?”
I swallow, her falsely upbeat tone filling me with dread. My heart cracks open, words I’ve never said coming out so quietly I’m afraid she won’t hear them. “You make me happy.”
She twists the knob and yanks open the door. “You and I both know I was never your first choice.”
Her parting words stick with me as I wait in the guesthouse to be told where to be. Outside my west-facing window, a small crew bustles around the gazebo as Kat shouts instructions at them.
Never my first choice?
As if I’ve ever even had one when it came to her. If Ginger knew the amount of time I spent watching and thinking about her during Jenna’s season, she’d shove those dismissive words straight back down her throat. The first time I met her was during an interview. She told me to elaborate on my short answers, and she sounded frustrated and rushed and fed up with me from the beginning. I loved it.
She was the opposite of Jenna. Petite and delicate where Jenna was tall and strong. Dark where Jenna was light. Hard where Jenna was soft, and I wanted her. Ending up with Jenna had been a long shot until the end, but Ginger was real. Her existence made my mouth water. Her words were like a flogging, and I enjoyed every second of it. But she was also impossible. Impossible to find, impossible to pin down, and impossible not to think about in all the hours I wasn’t spending time with Jenna. God, my Ginger fantasies were filthy, though. Pure indulgence.
The reality of having her, turns out, isn’t too different from my dirtiest thoughts. Especially last night. It makes me sick to think I might never be with her again, that I’m destined to have something less than . Meanwhile, it’s getting harder and harder to convince myself that these feelings are only physical. I wonder what her secret is—although this morning her little act was a hell of a lot less convincing than usual.
I shake my head like I’m trying to clear mud from it. I can do this. I can find a way out.
The need to get my hands on that contract and rip it to shreds surges, stronger than ever. I should have left the show last night when I had the chance. Fists clenched, I return to the window and stare out at the gazebo, perched on the edge of the hillside.
Lavonne is there, facing my window, speaking to someone with her back to me—a blonde in the kind of dress that distinguishes her from the crew. A rush of familiarity has me leaning forward to discern who it is. Her hair is too long to be Cassie’s, and there aren’t any more blondes left. When she answers Lavonne, her head turns. I slump, catching myself with my hand on the window.
What the fuck is Jenna doing there?
The urge to destroy something overtakes me, and I rip off my blazer, flinging it onto a chair. I drive both hands through my hair and pace. What is this? She’s the last person on the planet I want to see, much less have any kind of on-camera moment with.
A tap on my door halts my stride, and I change direction. Vanessa stands outside, her headset on.
“We’re ready for you.”
“Where’s Ginger?”
“On the set. You ready? That’s what you’re wearing?”
“I’m ready,” I all but growl.
“Follow me.” Into the headset she says, “I’ve got Elliot. We’re on our way.” To me, she says, “We’ll be rolling as soon as you step outside the door.”
Of course they will be. Assholes .
Once we’re in the Hacienda, passing the kitchen, Vanessa picks up her pace.
I could leave. Right now. Turn on my heel, head for the front, get into one of the cars and take off, but curiosity wins out. That and the need to see Ginger’s face—figure out all the ways she lied and manipulated me to get me to this point.
Vanessa opens the back patio doors, steps out of frame, and I walk outside.
Lavonne and Jenna stand in the gazebo, waiting, gazing, like the marriage rite is about to be performed.
I still, staring across the distance at Jenna, the woman who made marriage seem like a decent idea—the reason I’m putting himself through this circus show again. And then my gaze finds Ginger—the real reason I’m here, standing next to Jamie, giving me a firm nod to get moving.
She knew about this.
She knew, and she didn’t even drop a hint.
So this is what she wants. She was serious this morning when she said she wants me to find the one. Ginger is giving me away because our affair is meaningless. To her.
And it’s over.
I step into the light.